She found Ash sitting on the edge of a daybed with a pink-and-white bedspread, his box by his feet. Pale pink paint covered the walls, and a white dresser and a pile of stuffed animals sat in one corner. In contrast to all the pastels, a poster of the band Swamp Demons hung above the dresser, showing tattooed band members climbing out of some kind of cesspool.
“You’re probably used to sharing a room,” Elgin said, dragging in an inflated air mattress, “but there’s only one real bed in here.”
Sharing. Of course he wouldn’t know about the storage closet. They hadn’t shared a room since they were ten. “This is great,” Greta said, sliding the mattress onto the floor. “We can bring blankets from downstairs.”
“No need,” Elgin said, opening the closet door and pointing to a stack of folded bedding. Greta broke out in a sweat just looking at it.
“You know, you can probably turn the heat down, now that no one’s living downstairs,” she said. “It might save you on your gas bill.” Weren’t seniors always concerned about utility bills?
“Better not,” Elgin said, hauling out the thickest blanket and a few sheets and placing them on the air mattress. “I don’t want those pipes to freeze. That’d be a real mess.”
Greta smiled. “Thank you.”
Elgin nodded and left. Ash made up the air-mattress bed, grabbed a pillow from the daybed and lay down.
Greta asked, “What are you doing?”
Ash looked up. “What?”
“You sleep in the bed. The real bed.”
“That’s okay. I’m used to it.”
“Get up, Ash. You’re sleeping in the bed.”
“Whatever, Greta. It doesn’t matter.”
He hadn’t even questioned it—that was the sad part.
“It’s your turn.” She kicked at his foot. “No more sleeping on the floor.”
“Well, maybe we can alternate,” Ash said.
“No. From now until we leave you’re sleeping in the bed.” She was as guilty as Patty and Roger of letting things slide. No more. “I’m not moving until you get up here.”
“Okay. Fine.” He held up his hands, resigned, and settled on the bed. But smiled.
In the night, lying on top of the blankets wearing only a T-shirt and shorts, she heard Elgin shuffle by the door. She sat up, suddenly wide awake, and lifted a hand to shake Ash, in case he entered their room. But his footsteps continued down the hallway. Greta listened for him for a long time but heard only the creaking and shifting of the house.
The next morning they tiptoed around, speaking in whispers. Elgin’s door remained closed. Bright sun through the living-room window lit the whole upper floor. After drinking at least a liter of water, Greta stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by sun and plants, and felt the warmth on her bare arms.
“Greta!” Ash hissed from the kitchen. “Did you see this?” He held up a package of bacon with a yellow sticky note on it. She came closer to read it: This should be eaten soon. Ash nearly giggled.
“Guess what I’m cooking while you’re in the shower?” he said.
Sunshine. Green leaves. Bacon. Best morning ever.
At minus twenty degrees, the air shocked their skin after being in Elgin’s semitropical suite. They jogged across the street to Nate’s house and waited in the entryway while he rummaged for his keys.
Greta had mapped it out in her head, the hallways and routes that would get her to her classes with the least chance of running into Dylan, Rachel or Matt. In social studies, she sat as far as possible from Angus. No cologne today. Still, it was like her body remembered, and her mind lagged behind the teacher’s words, hearing them but not comprehending. When it was time to work independently, Angus twisted in his desk, craning to see around the people between him and Greta.
“Greta,” he shout-whispered. She looked down at her binder, pretending not to hear. Everyone around them turned to stare. “Greta, Arjun here’s a basketball player.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angus pointing to a tall, acne-pocked guy sitting beside him. She recognized him from Dylan’s games. Arjun turned and checked her out. Greta’s face burned.
“There’s a closet back there.” Angus motioned with his chin. Greta didn’t turn to look. “You could…you know.” In the aisle between him and Arjun, he made a jerk-off gesture with his hand. A few sniggers broke out around them. Greta couldn’t speak or move, every vein in her body hardening.
“Shut up, Angus,” Arjun said, turning back to the book on his desk. Everyone else shifted away too.
Greta knew she should feel better, the spotlight on her switched off. But it had felt, when Angus spoke, as if her clothes had been torn away in front of thirty sets of eyes. As though she really had followed Arjun to the closet, let him do whatever, with everyone laughing at her outside the door. Nasty girl. Easy. She dug her nails into her palms, not wanting Angus to see he’d gotten to her, choking, drowning in the purple-punch feeling.
In French class, she sat in absolute silence for most of the class, until a girl next to her asked to partner up to practice a conversation about ordering in a café. As Greta struggled to say the new words, she started to forget about Angus and Arjun. And the girl looked at her like she was a normal person, like her only concern was if Greta accidentally pronounced all the silent letters. By the end of class Greta was thinking of Nate and Ash, their corner in the cafeteria and the BLT sandwiches they had brought for lunch.
Then Priya appeared right outside the door of the French classroom, her books tucked under one arm. Greta nodded at her, dropped her head and attempted to duck by.
“Greta, wait!” Priya called, catching her by the arm.
“What?” Greta turned, her anger surprising her. She owed them nothing.
“I just want to talk to you for a sec.” Priya tried to make eye contact with Greta, her face curious.
“My brother’s waiting for me,” Greta said, shaking off Priya’s hand.
“Please. It won’t take long.” Greta had never heard her say please before.
“Fine, but right here.” She wasn’t going to be dragged into some kind of Survivor tribal council with the rest of them.
Priya pulled her to the side of the hallway as bodies pushed past on their way toward the cafeteria. Greta stared at her, challenging.
“Well”—Priya cleared her throat—“I noticed things have been a little tense between you and everyone else for a while now.” By everyone else she meant her minuscule group of super-important friends, of course.
Greta raised her eyebrows but didn’t speak. She didn’t have to try with Priya anymore.
“Can I ask why?” Priya said. “What happened?”
“They didn’t tell you?”
Priya shook her head. “Whenever I asked, everyone either shut down or got mad. So I stopped asking.”
“Why do you care?”
Priya sighed. “Look, I know it’s none of my business. About a year ago, Rachel screwed me over big-time. I know what they can be like. I kind of wondered if the same thing had happened to you.”
Greta looked away from Priya. They probably just wanted to see what she would say behind their backs.
“And Dylan”—Priya paused—“I know him too.” Greta snapped back to Priya’s face. “We were together for a few weeks last year. Let’s just say I wasn’t willing to do certain things on, like, the first or second date.” Things you were willing to do. Slut. “He didn’t want to wait.”
That shame—waiting in the wings since social studies—crept out of hiding and oozed through her body. She swallowed, her stomach queasy. Like on the morning at the cabin, after the party.
She’d woken to a wave of nausea rolling over her. Cold air pressed against her bare arm, left outside the blanket. She’d pulled it in, held it against her body. Her bare breast. Her eyes had jolted open, a shock ripping through her. She lay in a four-poster bed in a nearly empty loft. A flowered quilt covered her naked body. Around her, the room shone
impossibly bright through a curtainless window. Not a single sound. Except breathing.
Greta had moved her eyes in its direction. Dylan’s loose brown waves spread across the pillow, his head turned away from her. Bare shoulder and arm over the blanket. She lifted the blanket and glanced down at him. Bare back and ass. Another wave of nausea, so strong she sucked in air through clenched teeth. Maneuvering onto her back, she had tried to breathe slow and steady.
Her body hurt. Her left knee throbbed when she shifted. Some vague recollection of falling down and arms helping her up. She was sore. There. She reached her hand between her legs and drew her fingers to her face. Blood. She bolted upright, tearing back the quilt on her side. Bleeding on that bed would’ve been more humiliating than a public stoning. Her discarded clothes lay on the sheet, pressed flat by her body. Her wrinkled shirt had caught a few drops—the sheet beneath still white. She exhaled. She could wear her jacket to cover the shirt.
Dylan still slept. Some tiny relief in her rattled core. Someone, something, had smashed her insides. Every organ, every blood vessel, was still there, but fragmented and in the wrong spots. If only she could’ve been home, alone in her room, to piece it back together. She pulled on her jeans—underwear missing—then bra and wrinkled shirt. Her jacket hid the stain on the shoulder. She couldn’t look at it. A second burst of relief, being covered by her own clothes again.
Then Greta lowered herself onto the bed, on top of the blankets, and stared at the ceiling. Breathe in. Breathe out. Her stomach twisted again, but less urgently. Dylan lifted his head off the pillow and looked around. He reached over and felt her beside him, then shifted to face her.
“Hey.” He smiled. Still a beautiful smile. “Already dressed?”
Her head bypassed the shattered core. “I’ve been awake for a while.”
“How are you feeling?”
She blew out a puff of air. “A little rough.”
He laughed and pulled her closer. “You should have told me you were such a lightweight. I would have gone easy on you.”
What did he mean by that? “Yeah, I don’t drink a lot.” Go with that one.
“And don’t worry”—his voice dropped low, even though no one else was around—“I used a condom.”
Her gut coiled in a tight ball. Okay. Condom. Good. One less thing to worry about. Teachers in health class had been pushing condoms since the seventh grade. Ninety-eight percent effective if used correctly. “Thanks.” Thanks?
“No, thank you.” He laughed again and rose from the bed. Greta looked away as he got dressed.
Taking her hand, Dylan led her down a ladderlike staircase to the living room. In the nearby kitchen, Matt tossed garbage into a bag and emptied half-filled cups down the sink. He didn’t even look at her. Rachel stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in her clothes from the night before. Everyone else was gone.
“Should we start a fire?” Rachel asked. The cabin was only slightly warmer than outside.
“No.” All eyes turned to Greta when she spoke. “We should go.” How quickly could they get out of there? She’d feel better once they left. The nausea tumbled in her stomach like a wretched boulder, rolling around her shattered insides.
Before anyone could speak, Greta started gathering cups and empties from the living room. Her head went clunk every time she bent down, her legs off-kilter when she stood up again. She steadied herself, one hand on the sofa. Dylan came and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her like he had the night before, making her stronger. She wished they could curl up in the wicker chair again, stop everything from swimming around her.
Too soon, he let go, ducking when Matt threw an empty soda bottle at him. “Didn’t you get enough of that last night?” They wrestled in the kitchen.
Greta lowered herself onto the sofa and closed her eyes. She’d had sex with Dylan. She’d had sex, period.
As they left the cabin, Greta watched Matt slip the key under the welcome mat, the wooden slats beneath it untouched by snow. “In case we want to come back again,” he said. “I don’t want to sneak it out twice.”
On the drive home, Matt and Dylan mostly talked basketball. The car felt stifling, heat blasting through every vent. Greta cracked her window open until everyone turned to look at her. They passed a car flipped in the ditch, its tires angled unnaturally toward the sky. A dead beetle. In the window reflection, Greta saw her black eyeliner smudged around her eyes. Face pale, her lipstick long rubbed away. She was a human train wreck, an embarrassment. Rachel couldn’t get her home fast enough. A shower. Quiet. A place where she could close her door and pick through all the little shards.
Rachel dropped her off first, so Dylan and Matt saw her sad stucco house in the light of day. Another point in the humiliation category. She slipped out of the car before Dylan could kiss her, the taste in her mouth like compost. But a tiny relief when Rachel pulled away before she walked down the steps to the basement. Somehow going in that door seemed worse.
And another relief at finding Roger and Patty out grocery shopping.
“Are you okay?” Ash sat on the sofa, the TV on, and watched her walk past.
“I’m fine.” She kept going.
Her dingy room with the unmade bed was the most beautiful sight in the universe. She lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress, her knee throbbing again. Ash knocked and let himself in, standing over her. Greta shrank from the box of onion crackers in his hand, the picture on the front making her want to heave again.
Ash smiled and waved it a little closer. “Not hungry?” He cocked his head and squinted. “Nice hickey, by the way. Don’t be such a cliché, Greta.”
“Shut up! Get out of here!” she shouted, making him step back.
“Fine.” He threw up his hands and turned to leave.
He made it to the door before she said, “Actually, come back.”
“What? Why?”
“Just get over here.”
He came back and stood in the same place. “What?”
“Sit down.”
He did. Greta shoved his body so he faced away from her on the bed. Then she leaned against his back. “Wait.” She took off her jacket and dropped it to the floor. He wouldn’t see the stain, facing the other way.
“Why am I—”
“Shut up, Ashwin.”
They sat with their backs against each other, holding each other up. After a minute Greta let her head fall back, resting it against his neck. She felt his body heat escaping through his thin T-shirt. She swore she could feel his heartbeat. It tied in with the rise and fall of his chest. Maybe that was it, some throwback to their time in utero. Although it would freak him out for her to say it.
“Greta—”
“Shh.”
Everything had slowed, finally calm. She’d wanted to say, Don’t tell Dad, but somehow knew those words would hurt to say out loud. So she lowered herself to her pillow and slept.
Outside the French classroom now, Priya squinted at her, leaning closer. “Did something happen with Dylan?”
No way she was talking about this with Priya.
“What did Rachel do to you?” Greta asked.
Priya hesitated and looked around for eavesdroppers. “Rachel wanted to be with Matt since forever, so she started a rumor about his then-girlfriend cheating on him. They were probably going to break up anyway, but that was the final straw. After Rachel and Matt got together, his ex confronted Rachel, in front of Matt, about making up this lie. Rachel blamed it on me. Matt said he didn’t care, but there are hallways I still can’t walk down without being afraid his ex or her friends will beat me up. So that’s when I saw the real Rachel.”
“Why didn’t you warn me about her and Dylan?”
Priya looked annoyed. “And you would’ve believed me?”
Greta thought of Dylan at Priya’s party, holding her strong when she stumbled, looking down on her like some knight in shining armor. Rachel’s sweet smile versus Priya’s resting-bitch face. She was right. �
��Probably not.”
They regarded each other, unsure of where to go next.
“If what you’re saying is true, why don’t you find some new friends to hang out with?” Greta asked.
“Now? Half the school hates us, and the other half wants to be us. Who’s going to accept a cast-off at this point? No”—she shook her head—“I just have to survive a few more months. Then I’m going to university in Toronto, and I’ll never have to deal with all this again.” She waved her hand to encompass the whole school.
So Priya was doing a countdown of her own. Greta didn’t know what to say without saying too much. “I should go. My brother’s waiting.”
“Okay. Why don’t you give me your number? I’ll text you, and you can text me back if you ever want to talk.”
Slim chance of that. Greta wasn’t sure anything she put in writing wouldn’t be forwarded to every phone in the school. Still, she told Priya the number and watched her add it to her contact list. Why not? Rachel and Dylan already had it.
“Okay.” The phone might get disconnected anyway, unless Roger had continued paying the bill. “See you.” Greta turned and walked away before it got any more twilight zone.
She watched Priya during lunch, sitting beside Rachel, teasing Matt about something. Was she for real? Funny that when she wanted to, Priya knew just where to find her. Angus had probably said something about being in the same class. It wasn’t that Greta had outsmarted them, crouching behind the ficus tree and taking back hallways; they just didn’t care. It could all be much worse. Nobody harassed her online, telling her to kill herself, or beat her up in the girls’ bathroom. She’d had her fifteen minutes of fame, and then things got quiet. Like, invisible-quiet.
Ash followed her eyes to them. Dylan wrestled with Chloe when she tried to shove a french fry up his nose, his arms around her body as he pinned her. Rachel reclined in Matt’s lap. Priya and Sam chatted with a few new unknowns. Ash’s face darkened, watching them, and he twitched in his seat. Greta didn’t think he’d ever forgive them for what had happened after the party at the cabin. She looked away.
Trail of Crumbs Page 8
