They Wish They Were Us

by Jessica Goodman

  Shit! She came through . . . My heart starts to race. What could Shaila have possibly said? Anything good in there? Any leads?

  Looking, but I can’t tell yet. Maybe you can see if anything sticks out? Rachel says.

  I tap over to my inbox and see one email from Rachel. It has an enormous attachment. The wait time to download is minutes but it might as well be an eternity. I groan and heave myself out of the car.

  I’m still staring at my phone, willing the letters to appear, when Cindy Miller answers the door.

  “Oh, Jill,” she says through a bright smile. “You must be here for Adam. Rough meeting with Big Keith last night.” Her nose crinkles like she’s smelled something funny. “I’m sure you’ll cheer him up. You always do.”

  I can’t help but flush. “Thanks, Mrs. Miller.”

  She moves aside and I run up the stairs, shoving my phone in my pocket. The letters will be there later.

  I push the door open gently. Adam’s room is just like I remember it, wallpapered with little blue sailboats. Two lacrosse sticks hang in an X over his king-size bed. Rows of well-loved paperbacks line two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

  Adam’s flat on the bed, with his legs dangling over the side.

  “You came,” he says.

  “Of course.” I close the door and take a seat in his desk chair, the black swivel kind that goes up and down with the pull of a lever. “How are you?”

  Adam groans. “Shitty. Feel like an talentless loser.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “Come closer,” he says. “You’re too far away.” My heart races and I stand. Being his person has always meant following his directions. I need you. Come closer. I sit down next to him and lie back, letting our whole bodies touch. Every inch of my skin tingles.

  “You’re always here for me, Jill,” he says. “Even when I don’t deserve you.”

  “You always deserve me,” I say softly. His skin is so close, I can feel his heat, the tiny hairs on his arm grazing mine. I wonder if he’s aware of me, too. If he can sense the nervous humming in my veins. It bleats over and over again. You saved me. You saved me.

  Adam heaves himself up to sit.

  “Jill,” he says again. “Promise me you’ll always love me.”

  The words shock me. How did he know? But before I can say anything, Adam leans down and the space between us disappears. I inhale sharply as his mouth presses against mine. His lips are soft and he tastes minty and sweet, like a peppermint patty. Every crevice of me is on fire. He slides his wet tongue against mine and I fight the urge to nibble on it. He brings one hand to my neck and rests the other on my knee. My body has wanted this for so long, to mold to Adam’s, to relent. To let everything go.

  I feel him hard, pressing against his jeans. Something I’ve dreamed about forever, since the first night he came to my house. I wrap my arms around his neck and run a finger along the prickly baby hairs. They’re so real, I want to cry.

  But my brain snaps to attention. The room tilts, as if everything is sliding off a table. Adam is suddenly stale against my mouth. It all just feels . . . wrong. Like he could be doing this with anyone. I could be anyone. I’m just here.

  I pull back. “Wait,” I whisper. “We can’t.”

  Adam lets out a soft laugh against my neck. “Of course we can. After all this time, we finally can.”

  But everything is different now. I’m different now.

  “It doesn’t feel right,” I say.

  He leans back and flops against the bedspread, bouncing away.

  “I don’t want it to be like this. If you want this,” I say, motioning to the air between us, “I want it to be real. For good. Not because you’re upset or sad. I want it to be more.”

  “You don’t want to live in the moment?” He’s not looking at me now. His eyes are on the little boats, their white sails flapping in the wind.

  I take a deep breath. If I say what I really want to, I can never take it back. I go for it. “I want us to be together next year when I’m at Brown. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

  Adam turns back to me and runs his index finger down my cheek. “You won’t,” he says softly.

  “Adam!” Cindy Miller’s voice rings through the house. “Can you come here for a sec? My laptop’s on the fritz.”

  Adam rolls his eyes but flashes me a smile so wide I can see his dimple.

  “Be right back.” The bed groans as he retreats and I blink back tears. It only took a minute for me to ruin everything. My phone vibrates against my thigh.

  Did you read???? Rachel writes. I don’t see anything usable yet. She mentions Adam though.

  My heart beats fast and my palms grow sweaty.

  I tap back over to my email and see the attachment has finally downloaded. I click to open and I’m greeted by dozens of pages of Shaila’s loopy handwriting. I scan the words, hoping to find something, anything, that could be a clue. I catch fragments of sentences, of Shaila’s effusive, loving prose, her all-caps moments of excitement. But one letter dated mid-March stops me. One word stands out. A name. It’s bolded as if Shaila traced the letters twice, maybe three times, without even realizing it. When I see it, my heart drops. I scan back to the top of the page and start reading.

  KARAAAA!

  I can’t even tell you how excited I am for summer these days. I just want to be back in the Hamps with you and Graham again. I am loooonnginggg for the days of hanging at Graham’s house, our feet dangling in the pool while we shove ice cream bars into our faces.

  Adam says he’ll come out for a few weeks, too. Then it’ll really be like last year—all of us together again. I promise he and I won’t ditch you guys again. You know we were just running lines for that play he’s working on. He says I’m the only one he trusts here in Gold Coast to do his dialogue justice.

  Speaking of, I’m starring in Rent, bitch!!!! Remember when we saw it back in middle school and sang that candle song back and forth for literal months? Now I’m going to get to do that on an actual stage in front of actual people.

  Adam has been helping me run lines after school and I cannot tell you how amazing it is. There’s seriously no one else here who gets this whole world. Thank god I have him. Anyway, I gotta go. Rehearsal is starting back up in a few. Talk soon, love.

  Xo, SHAY

  My head spins and I can hardly breathe. Shaila and Adam hung out the summer before freshman year? A lot, it seems. Enough that Kara had called her out for ditching. I knew they had gotten friendly during Rent, but why didn’t they mention it? Shaila made it seem like she saw him once or twice with Rachel. Never alone. Not that they had their own . . . thing.

  “Sorry. Mom’s a total dummy when it comes to all things electronic.” Adam steps back into the room gingerly and shuts the door behind him. “Everything okay?”

  I shove my phone in my pocket and sit on my hands. They need to stop shaking. “Yep,” I say, and try to keep my face neutral.

  “You sure?”

  I nod. I need a moment to myself. Just one more. “Just a little warm. Could I have a glass of water?”

  Adam smiles that sweet, lopsided smile of his and backs out of the room.

  I let out a rush of air and lie back against his pillows. Images of Shaila and Adam dance in my head. Why had they kept that from me?

  I curl over onto my side and my knee knocks against Adam’s nightstand, jostling it open. I extend a hand to push the drawer back in its place, but it won’t move. It’s stuck, as if something is blocking it from shutting all the way. I reach into the drawer and wiggle my hand around, trying to see what’s there. My fingertips graze something soft and velvety. But when I wrap my hand around it and try to pull it loose, it stays put. Weird. I sit up to get a closer look and when I do, all the air rushes out of my lungs. There in Adam’s nightstand is a slim square jewe
lry box. My head spins as I convince myself that it can’t be what I think it is; it’s just not possible.

  With shaking fingers, I reach for the box and wiggle it free. It’s light and fits completely in my palm. I just need to check, to know I’m not losing my mind. Carefully, I pry the box open.

  A flash of bright light. The afternoon sun bounces off of whatever is inside and spreads through the room, blinding me for just a second.

  I blink and look again. My stomach drops. Two sparkling diamond studs are nestled in the box. Big and round and shimmering, with tiny platinum prongs holding the stones in place. They look just like Kara’s.

  Her words ring in my ears.

  She said she could never wear them, that people would ask too many questions. She gave them back to him and he freaked out.

  My heart thumps so loud, I fear Adam can hear it from the hallway.

  They’re Shaila’s.

  “Hope tap’s okay,” Adam calls from outside the room. “Seltzer’s all the way downstairs.”

  I snap the box closed and place it carefully inside Adam’s drawer, shoving it back into place. I leap to the opposite side of the bed. Adrenaline courses through me and I need to escape. To forget whatever I just found.

  I try to find words but my throat is scratchy. “Yep!” It’s all I can say and it comes out like a cat’s howl.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asks, appearing in the doorframe. He lets his head fall to one side. Gone is the messy, bummed-out boy who sat beside me before. The real Adam, my Adam, appears instead. But I don’t know anything anymore.

  “I’m not feeling well,” I say. “I gotta go.”

  “C’mon,” he says. “Stay with me. We’ll figure everything out.”

  I shake my head and stand. A rage builds inside me, pulsing through my blood, reaching my fingertips. I want out. I need to go.

  I push past him and make for the stairs.

  “Jill, wait!” he calls after me. But I’m already out the door, sprinting to the car. My hands shake as I shove the keys into the ignition and reverse, peeling out of the driveway.

  It’s not until I’m halfway to my destination that I realize where I’m going. The road is open and I gun it. A kelly green sign looms overhead on the Long Island Expressway.

  New York City

  30 miles

  TWENTY-THREE

  I STAND IN front of Rachel’s doorway drenched in sweat. The city is so humid the air sags. Was it always ten degrees hotter here than in Gold Coast? My damp hair sticks to the back of my neck and my sundress is a full shade darker than it should be.

  “C’mon, Rachel,” I mutter. I must have been here for five minutes already, buzzing her apartment. She’s not picking up her phone and I’m starting to panic.

  I peer into the cloudy glass window in the doorframe when suddenly, someone taps me from behind.

  “Jill?”

  I spin around to find Rachel standing with her arms crossed over her chest, her hair braided and pulled to the side. She’s dressed up in platform sandals and a chambray dress, like she’s just been at the farmers’ market, or brunch with Frida. “You’re here.”

  “Uh, of course,” she says. “I live here. Why are you here?”

  “I saw something,” I say. My voice warbles in an unfamiliar tone. “At Adam’s.”

  Rachel’s eyes widen and she shifts her canvas tote from one shoulder to another. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  It’s even more muggy in the stairwell and I start to pant. We take the steps two at a time, and I’m almost out of breath by the time we reach her apartment. Rachel throws open the door and gestures for me to sit on the couch, then slides in beside me. “Okay, what’s up?”

  I shake my head. I don’t know where to begin.

  “The earrings,” I say. “The ones Kara was talking about. Shaila’s diamonds. I saw them in Adam’s drawer today. He has them.”

  Rachel’s face goes white.

  I watch her eyes as she puts the pieces together. They squint and search and finally she squeezes them shut. “Fuck.”

  “She wasn’t with Beaumont . . .” I say. My face contorts as I fight out the next words: “It was Adam.”

  “But Graham,” she says.

  “I know,” I whisper.

  “And . . . me.”

  “I know,” I say again.

  “I always suspected he was cheating when we were dating,” she says. Her breaths are labored, sharp. “Honestly? I thought it was you.” She laughs. “He always adored you.”

  My face feels hot and my stomach flips.

  “I reached out to him last summer, you know. About all of this.” She motions around with her hands. “I thought he might have a soft spot for me after all these years and that he’d want to help me find justice for Graham.” Rachel lets out a sad, soft laugh. “He didn’t even respond to my text.”

  I remember what Adam said when he told me Rachel contacted him, too. She’s nuts.

  “Even though I thought he cheated, staying with him was easier than breaking up senior year. Being alone. Trying to figure out whatever this was.”

  She motions to a framed photo on the coffee table. In it, her arms are around a Latina girl with long dark hair and a big red smile. That must be Frida. Rachel’s eyes are bright, and together, they seem so alive, so happy.

  “It was so much better to be the hot couple,” Rachel says. “The couple everyone wanted to be. He made it easy, too. We had fun together. We loved each other. In a weird kiddie way, but still . . . in a way. At least I thought we did.” Rachel leans back against the couch and lets out a low whistle. “You know what this means, right?”

  I do.

  “He could have killed . . .” I hold up my hand to cut her off. I can’t hear the words right now.

  I wish I could ask Shaila why she did it and if she knew how much this would hurt. I want her to know she had the power to break me, even from the grave. I want her back so we can get over it and hold each other close and say fuck him! I want to hear her deep, full laugh and see her written apology scrawled out in her round script. I’m sorry, J. I want to scream.

  I want to mourn what I thought I knew about the people I love. Loved. How do I recover? How do I get over this?

  I can’t.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Because it feels like my heart has been smashed open and every truth I ever knew is spilling onto the floor. Rachel starts talking so fast I can barely keep up. She creates a plan, a road map out of this mess. A way to find out the truth. Pretty soon there are papers and pens and details and directions. She makes some calls and opens a bottle of cold brew. Her exhilaration vibrates through the tiny apartment. I swear I can see it in the faded paint slapped on the walls, blowing up little air pockets until they’re about to burst.

  Through all of this, I clutch a throw pillow and sit still, alternating between listening and zoning out.

  Until finally Rachel stops talking. The room is silent for the first time in hours and I wonder how late it is and what my life will be like in a week’s time.

  I heave myself off the couch and shuffle over to the window. The view faces the East River and across the way, little flashes of light shine back at us from Brooklyn. I know there’s no hope of seeing stars here, not with all the streetlamps and the neon billboards and blinking lights aboard the ferries. But like I always do, I look up. Sticking my head all the way out Rachel’s window and turning toward the sky, I try to make out just a single star.

  The night stretches on forever and the air is clear and warm. I wait a beat and then another, just hoping for one.

  Finally, a cloud sails along an imaginary track to reveal a swath of galaxy visible just for a second. My heart slows to a steady, determined thump.

  * * *

  —

  When I finally get home, Jared�
�s the only one awake, seated at the kitchen island, housing the last of Mom’s eggplant parm straight from the glass dish. “Where’ve you been?” he slurs.

  “Maybe I should ask you that.” I pull out a stool next to him and grab a fork. I’m so exhausted and drained that the piece of silverware feels heavy like lead.

  “Nuh-uh. Mine,” he says, shoving me over with his shoulder.

  “No way! I’m starving.” Jared relents and makes room for me in his saucy, cheesy minefield.

  “Party tonight?” I ask.

  He nods. “Just a lineup.” I let out a snort. Of course.

  “Topher’s?”

  “Nah. Robert’s. That house is nuts.”

  I haven’t been there since last year, but I remember it. All chrome corners and glass edges and uncomfortable furniture not made for actual sitting.

  “It got broken up, though,” Jared says. “Robert took his dad’s Lambo for a joyride. Such a show-off.”

  “Idiot,” I mutter.

  “No kidding. The group thread says he got caught speeding up toward the Mussel Bay tollbooth. A DUI maybe. He’s at county right now.”

  “Wait, are you serious?” It’s not a shock that it happened. Just that Jared says this information so nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal, just a bummer they all have to deal with.

  Jared nods. “Guess we’ll find out details on Monday.”

  I shake my head at the stupidity of all of this, of Robert and the Players.

  “I heard you were at the Millers’ today,” Jared says. “Bryce told me. He heard you hanging.”

  I nod and force a forkful of food into my mouth. Jared looks at me with bloodshot, half-droopy eyes.

  “You guys a thing?” he asks.

  I choke back a lump in my throat and stare back down at the layers of eggplant. The cheese on top has chilled, turning into a flat piece of rubber.

  “No.”

  “For the best,” Jared says. “Henry’s not over you, you know?”