A Cold and Quiet Place

by Alison DeLuca

  “But, still. You can tell what someone’s like by the way they act. If you’re a good person, you’ll do nice things. Volunteer in a charity or help your friends.”

  “Like James is doing right now,” Staci laughs. She nudges Lily with one toe and leans back on her elbows to squint at the sun.

  “But maybe not.” James leans forward, eyes intense with sincerity. “Maybe someone seems to be a good person, but underneath they’re not. It happens all the time – politicians get caught in affairs, the nice neighbor turns out to have a few bodies buried in the backyard. Interesting, don’t you think? Everyone has so many more levels than you see on the surface.”

  “Jesus.” Lily feels winded by the thought. It’s a revelation, the thought that she’s an enigma to everyone else - just as Tyler is to her. She pats the towel for a pencil and sits up to write furiously on the receipt for bagel bites. “You just gave me an idea for the essay today. Damn, James, I owe you.”

  “Lucky. I still need a topic,” Staci says idly. She plops a rolled-up sweatshirt over her eyes.

  “Don’t suppose you’d let me take you out as a reward? Just as a friend?” James asks. Lily glances over the rim of her sunglasses. The smile on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, don’t answer. I know you’re all taken and stuff.” He emphasizes the word ‘taken’ with jazz hands. “Sorry I asked.”

  Lily smiles, tells him it’s fine. She doesn’t want to make a big deal of it. She and James never had much between them – a few kisses, one semi-intense make-out session in the Biotech section of the library. He seems to cheer up, digs in his bag for chips, and hands them around to the clusters of studying students on towels. Swimmers aren’t the only athletes who are constantly famished.

  By the time they’ve finished the chips, the four of them have to run to their first exams. Lily feels sweat run down her back as she heads into the room. Haddigan’s in the class with her, so Staci and James yell good luck and head to their own exam.

  She’s ready to go, extra pens on one side and thick pad of paper open to the first page, when the phone vibrates. Lily looks around, but the other students check a few last-minute notes or peer at their laptops.

  Wht up 2 pops up on her phone.

  Just about to take Lit exam, Lily writes back. How are r you? Can’t wait to hear all the stories! Have to take an exam right now tho.

  Wate wut I wnna tlk

  Lily feels a thread of panic in her gut. From his spelling she gets the idea Tyler’s been drinking. Maybe there’s a party on-campus or he’s snuck a few Natty Ices into his room. However, Lily can’t worry about it. The professor breezes in and prepares to start the 90-minute clock on their essays.

  Bye bby I love you, she dashes off and powers down her phone. He’s got to understand her grades are important. After all, the process of graduation and college selection still lies ahead of her.

  Tyler’s text is a distraction, but luckily the ideas she and James talked about on the campus yield a strong outline for her essay. The quotes she researched earlier fit into the idea of the mystery in other people’s hearts, and Lily writes easily with only a few glances at the notes she brought. Next to her Kyrie, a girl from a nearby town in Massachusetts, groans and stabs the Delete button on her laptop. Lily gives her a sympathetic grimace and returns to her own work.

  Am Lit isn’t her favorite subject by a long shot, but Lily’s outline (prepped over several nights while she waited for Tyler’s call) makes the test seamless. She finishes ten minutes early, enough time to turn in her paper and check her phone.

  Lily’s heart sinks. One text floats on the screen. How us gonna get out of this Lily how long will u work 4 it bout to find out.

  Her hands shake as she responds. So sorry, Tyler. I had to take my test. Couldn’t just blo it off – it’s the final. She sends the text, misspelled word and all.

  There’s no response.

  ◆◆◆

  Once exams are done, Lily rushes to her dorm room and tries to call Tyler. He’s actually recorded a voicemail greeting: his voice screams, “What?” followed by a blast of loud music. After the beep Lily gabbles long strings of pathetic words. She’s sorry, so sorry, she had to take a test, there was no way to text in class…

  Another heartless beep cuts her off. Lily forces herself to put down the phone and turn her attention to the piles of clothes on the floor. She heaps them into a large dirty pile and a tiny clean one. Of course she’s missed the weekly laundry run, but the dorm stocks several clunky machines downstairs. Lily sorts the clothes, grabs a handful of quarters, and hauls her nasty sweats to the basement.

  When she gets back, Tyler still hasn’t responded. Lily sends him X’s and O’s and a smiling selfie.

  The clean clothes go in drawers, ready to be stashed in her suitcase. With the floor cleared, Lily can see how dirty the room is. There’s a dark stain in one corner of the rug, and papers litter the place. Her desk is a stew of books. The bed looks like a hurricane swept through earlier. T-shirts and bras poke out from the drawers of her dresser as though they’re waving a cheerful hello.

  Lily stares at the unresponsive screen of her phone, plugs it in, and sends a few more messages. Tyler had asked how long would she work for it. She could just let it go…

  But the thought is impossible. His anger would boil over, and they’d be done. No more late nights on Facetime, no voice in her ear as they fall asleep together. It’s not an option.

  Please, bby, just talk to me.

  Lily presses Send and goes to get her laundry. If I walk down the steps and don’t see anyone I know, she thinks, there’ll be a text when I get back. She’s regressed to the seventh-grade version of herself, when she believed magic spells were the only way to get a guy to notice her.

  She makes it down without running into anyone, loads up the dryer, and runs back up. Just as she opens her door, Yasmin pops out of the bathroom in a silk robe. “Hey there,” she says, tapping one fingernail on the door.

  Lily mutters Hello and slams the door. Just as she thought, there’s no response on her phone. For a moment she hates Yasmin. Even though it’s illogical, she feels the interaction has ruined her mojo so Tyler won’t text her back.

  Old papers go into the trash. Lily wipes up the stain on the floor with a torn sweatshirt and throws it away on top of the discarded tests and essays. Maybe her mom will bring spray bleach next week when it’s time to move out for the summer. With extra cleaning supplies she can…

  “Hell with this.” Lily checks again, her stomach in a knot. She ejects a dry sob when there’s no response.

  The room is clean, and the clothes will take half an hour to dry downstairs. There’s nothing else to do but wait, unless she checks in on his Instagram and Twitter. Once the idea sprouts, Lily can’t rest until she brings up the apps and has a look.

  Tyler has a long list of new followers, the majority female. Hi cutie! one girl called Mia Sofia writes. Wish all freshmen looked like you!

  Even though she knows she’s being stupid, Lily scrolls through the other comments. There’s one post buried among all the girls, a brief check-in from a sports bar. Out with the team, Tyler writes. He doesn’t specify any names.

  Twitter yields the same results. Lily recognizes a few names: Ben, his roommate, plus a couple of the guys Tyler trained with in New Jersey.

  Lily closes out of social media hell and glances at her phone wallpaper, a quick shot of her and Tyler together at Nationals. She catches her lip between her teeth at the sight of her smile and his wide grin. They look so happy and in the moment.

  She’s about to turn off the phone and go check on her laundry, when she sees the time. It’s already half-past, which means swim practice is nearly over. Lily gasps, throws down her phone, and pulls off her clothes in a pile on the clean floor. Her breath whistles as she yanks on her swimsuit, drags on her last pair of sweats, and runs for the door.

  When she reaches the ground floor, Lily remembers the laundry. It’s a hou
se offense to leave stuff in the dryer for too long, but she’ll just have to chance it.

  Her ponytail whips her neck as she runs across campus and Keene road to the gym. It feels as though every slow walker is out for a leisurely stroll, and several times she has to push her way around teachers and students with a quick apology.

  When she slams into the gym, Robert is cleaning up the practice sheets. Lily runs up to him and launches into a long explanation. “So sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry, coach.”

  “Hi there!” Haddigan pops out of the pool, and Staci hands her a towel. “Where were you, slacker?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lily repeats. She feels like she has apologized all day. “Got caught up with exams, and had to meet with an advisor…” It feels like an electric shot to her intestines when she realizes she’s just lied to her friends and her coach. “Plus my room was super messy,” she mumbles.

  “It’s okay, these things happen, take a breath. You don’t need to be sorry.” Robert claps her on the shoulder. His grin fades as he adds, “Just remember there’s a competitor out there who made it to both practices today. Now hit the gym, and give me double the effort.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Lily sucks in air and limps over to the weight room.

  ◆◆◆

  Ms. Haskins waits for her when Lily returns from the gym. Her gut rolls, maybe with hunger or nerves, as the dorm adviser shows her the pile of clean, crumpled clothes balled up on top of the dryer. “I know this time of year is hectic,” the woman says, “but you still need to consider the other girls. Communal life is difficult enough without all this mess.”

  “I’m sorry.” More apologies.

  Ms. Haskins folds her arms and watches as Lily picks up the clothes, carries them up to her room, and dumps them on the floor next to the garments she left before her rush to the gym. The static holds the clump together before it subsides under its own weight and settles in a gray and maroon heap. She might as well have never bothered to tidy the place.

  Ignoring her belly, Lily picks up her phone. Tyler still hasn’t responded, but there’s a friend request from a guy called Ben. She’s about to delete it when she sees his residence is listed as Rosemont. Ben – the name’s familiar.

  Lily plops onto her crumpled sheets and accepts his request. An instant later a message pops into her inbox on Facebook: What’s up hey Tyler says you need 2 keep texting if u want him 2 talk 2 u just thought u should no.

  Hi, she sends back. Uh, who are u?

  Oh, yeah. Ben. Tyler’s roommate. Sorry.

  Lily nods. No wonder the name is familiar. Tyler talked to you about me?

  The dots swirl on the inbox. Yea. Says ur dun unless u text him about a million x 2nite. Best delete this, jus sayin.

  OK, she writes. THX.

  She’s starving, she has to study for the next set of exams, and she has to pick up the crumpled clothes off her floor. First, though, she needs to get started on those texts.

  Lily sends off a few messages of hearts and a description of her workout. She tells Tyler how her room is neat now. Pictures to follow! she adds. It buys her a few minutes to pull out her books and set up for a study session. There are power bars in her desk – they’ll just have to do as dinner.

  James has emailed her his notes for their history exam. Lily owes him big-time, but she can’t even think about it now. Instead she sends him a quick thank-you, pings Tyler a few more heart emojis, and settles into writing her outline for her exam. The power bar wrapper splinters under her fingers, a slab of protein rolled in cocoa and peanuts. Promising herself cheeseburgers and fries later, Lily spends the next hour reading for five-minute intervals and sending frantic messages to Tyler in between.

  When she finishes her history coursework, Lily realizes she’s going to have to run to the grill and pick up a jar of Nutella or boxes of Cheez-Its. Her stomach thunders with hunger. She picks up her phone, steps over the clothes heaped like a zit on the floor, and heads downstairs. Please forgive me, she texts as she walks. Please, Tyler. I never meant to hurt you. Just had to do schoolwork. You get that, right?

  The doors to the campus swing outward with a loud screech that makes Lily grit her teeth. June has brought longer days to Massachusetts, and the sun paints the sky with blood as it sinks beneath a bank of clouds.

  Lily’s phone vibrates. It’s me again, Ben’s Facebook message reads. T says u doin ok. Nother 2 days and you’ll B off the hook.

  An older guy walks by her on the sidewalk, stoops to pick up a paper coffee cup from the path, and throws it at the trashcan near Lily’s dorm. The lid swings and crashes back into place with a sound like a slap. Even tiny sounds, it seems, have the power to turn her into a wreck.

  Lily bites her lip and tries not to cry.

  11

  Lily finds summer vacation means freedom from Prescot that quickly turns into her irritation at Mom and Dad just for being her parents. She escapes her house after a few days and goes to Erica’s house for a few hours.

  Her friend’s backyard is landscaped to look like a miniature version of the gardens at Hever Castle: lawn mowed in diagonal stripes, and fruit trees as a border on the fence. Apple and pear saplings have been forced into woven arrangements by an anonymous gardener, and the branches interlace in braided designs.

  Lily and Erica lie out on the smallest patio, the one with a pavilion to shade Erica’s delicate skin. Lily lounges out of the circular shadow, squints at the sun, and hopes for an early tan. The bright light is purple against her closed eyelids.

  “So awesome you’re back.” Erica sips her lemonade from two straws. “Life was a lot quieter without you around.”

  “Is that a compliment?” Lily takes a drink and stifles a shudder. It’s far too sweet, the usual syrupy concoction Mrs. Winslow buys. She finds her own sports bottle and sneaks a drink of lukewarm water.

  “Yes, of course, duh. I was so bored. And the girls at Snowe are such bitches – oh, my God. You have no idea how clique-y the school has become since you left.”

  “Oh, no. Really? Let me guess – Courtney and her whole crew.”

  “Yup. She’s always nasty, but you know what? I just ignore her now.” Erica scrolls through her phone as she talks. She laughs, types in a rapid response, and sets it down. “How can you stand the heat? I’m dying here in the shade.”

  The air is filled with a dry, crackly sound as though the backyard is on fire. When Lily looks around with eyebrows raised, Erica jerks her head at the huge oaks bordering the Winslow property. “Gypsy moths,” she explains. “They’re so gross, Lily, you have no idea. One plopped on my arm last week and I freaked out.”

  “Ugh. Knowing you, I bet you had to take seven showers.” Lily dodges the dripping ice cube Erica throws at her and glances at her own phone. Time to check in with Tyler. Just hanging with Erica, she writes. How’s the swim team?

  He sends back a single Hi as a response. Lily has learned by now she can’t let it go – he expects her to keep texting. Her mathematical mind has figured it’s about a five to one ratio. She sends him five messages, and he’ll send her a one-word answer.

  More importantly, he won’t lose his temper or shut her out for days on end.

  Hope things are good. I miss you! PS – There are gypsy moths in the trees here. I think I can hear them chewing the leaves. So foul. Sun feels good, tho. Send you a pic of my tan later.

  She adds a few more texts and leans back. “Ugh, so hot,” she complains. “Want to go to the beach later this week?”

  “Oh hell yeah.” Erica smiles into her phone and takes a selfie. “As long as I can bring the umbrella and the big towel and the baby pool.”

  Lily grins. Erica’s list of necessary items for the beach is extensive – her umbrella is so huge it takes three people to put it up, and she needs a blow-up pool filled with water to wash off the sand. It’s a pain in the ass to load up her stuff and bring it all to the Jersey shore, but Lily’s used to it by now. Besides, cool ocean breezes and boardwalk f
ries are too tempting. “Okay, we’ll make it happen.” Goingt to hit the beach, she writes. Maybe tomorrow or the day after.

  She frowns when a long text comes back from Tyler. Why you talking to her? Thought you were done with that crazy slut. You need to tell her to get lost. Too gullible. Anyone could tell you anything and you’d believe it. Unbelievable, smh. You’re such a fucking idiot.

  Tyler, I told you she wasn’t the one who sent those texts. She’s fine – she’s my friend.

  By now she knows how to calm him down, even from miles away. Lily asks a couple of questions about his performance at school, how incredible his times are, what her coach in New Jersey has planned for the home team. It defuses him, and after he tells her about Rosemont’s pool and how dumb her workout routine is compared to his, Lily feels he’s forgotten about Erica and the beach.

  Any parties tonight? she asks.

  Why, you checking up on me? Being a jealous bitch? I’m faithful, I don’t study with members of the opposite sex unlike some people.

  No, she responds. It’s fine. Just hoping you’re having a good time.

  There’s a long wait. Yeah.

  Her phone drops to the over-padded deck chair, loaded with the weight of their conversation. She knows she still has to go onto social media and Like all of Tyler’s posts, respond to his comments and be his good girlfriend. Retweet his tweets. Heart his Instagram posts. But for the moment she feels crushed by the crunchy sounds of gypsy moths in the trees, the too-sweet lemonade, and the sun.

  Yes. The summer must be the reason why she feels drained and limp.

  A shout breaks through the gypsy moths. Erica’s mom walks towards them with a pizza box and a pile of napkins. “Thought you might be hungry,” she says.

  “Pizza is so salty,” Erica complains.

  Lily gets up from the lounge chair and sits next to her friend. “Thanks, Mrs. Winslow.”