Just Visiting

by Dahlia Adler

  “Rae—”

  Her head pops up at the sound of her name. “Oh, it’s you.” She turns off the radio. “I didn’t hear the door. I thought it was my mom.”

  “Nope.” I walk over to the bottom bunk and sit down. “Just me.”

  “Well hey, just you.” She puts down her pencil and turns halfway in her chair so she’s sort of facing me, but I still can’t see her eyes. “What’s up? Have you missed the trailer park so much that you just had to stop by?”

  I ignore the joke. “I told you about Ashley. I’ve never told anyone that before.”

  “Yeah, and I told you about Fitz. I’ve never told anyone that before either. So are we even now?” she snaps.

  “It’s not a competition.”

  “Then don’t make it sound like one!” She takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry if all the shit about Fitz makes you think less of me. I know I made some stupid decisions when I was younger. I thought I was doing the right thing for me and for someone I thought I loved. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  “Wait, what?” I genuinely don’t know where she’s going with this. “Of course it doesn’t make me think less of you. Why would you even say that?”

  “Because this stuff was my fault,” she says as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. She turns to face me fully. “I know that stuff with Ashley was almost all beyond your control, as opposed to my circumstances, which were my own stupid fault. I get it. I wish I could take back everything that happened to both of us. And I wish I were as innocent as you, but I’m not.”

  My jaw drops so wide Rae can probably tell what flavor of ice cream I just had. “How can you even think I’m comparing, or that I think this is your fault? Seriously, Reagan, there is twisted stuff going on in your head right now.”

  She narrows her eyes. “If not that, then what’s this about?”

  “The rest of it! How could you tell me all that other stuff and not tell me that he’s…that he’s…” I can’t even get the words out, and suddenly it hits me how selfish I’m being. I’ve never even met the guy and I can’t say it, so how can I possibly expect Reagan to?

  “Dead?” she says flatly. “So you think that too?”

  “I don’t know what to think! How am I supposed to know when you keep leaving me in the dark?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry you don’t know what’s going on,” she shoots back, her voice oily with disdain. “I’ll be sure to give you an exact status on my ex-boyfriend as soon as I know where the fuck in the world he is.”

  I jump up, and immediately hit my head on the top bunk. Tia Maria! A quick touch of my hand to my head reveals no blood, which means there is nothing to stop me from getting out of there as soon as possible.

  So I do.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  REAGAN

  I stare at the door for a long time after Victoria leaves. I know I should apologize, or at least run after her and make sure she has a way to get home, but I feel completely immobile. It’s like someone’s used industrial-strength glue to keep me in my desk chair.

  How did she know? And why can’t people just shut up when they don’t know what they’re talking about? Fitz isn’t dead. I know it. I’d feel it. I don’t care how angry I am, or how much he hurt me—I’d know if he were dead like I know my own name or how to fix the fridge door at Joe’s when it catches.

  The box of letters is all but screaming my name now, and I lever myself off the chair and get the box down from the top shelf, reading one after another after another until I’m surrounded by envelopes. There are so many Fitzes in these letters—angry Fitz and affectionate Fitz and joking Fitz and terrified Fitz. The only Fitz missing is the one who addresses The Incident. That Fitz is conspicuously absent.

  Where are you? It doesn’t matter how hard I stare at blue ink; it doesn’t blur into any hidden messages or clues. It doesn’t tell me anything at all.

  Slowly and carefully, I pack the letters back into their envelopes and take a step onto the chair when the ringing of my phone startles me and I slip off the surface and fall smack on my ass. The box flies out of my hands and the letters scatter everywhere, heavy oversized confetti covering the linoleum.

  “Shit!” I grab my phone from my desk, rubbing my sore butt with my other hand, and prepare to yell at whoever’s just interrupted my pathetic evening of reminiscing. Instead, I freeze when “Dave”—I still need to change that—lights up my phone.

  Going from thinking about Fitz to talking to Dev feels so…wrong. And yet, Dev made it clear there isn’t anything between us, so obviously he’s just calling for a friendly chat. Just like we used to have before the weekend’s weirdness. And if he’s trying to keep things normal, I should do the same, right?

  Right.

  I take a deep breath and pick up the phone. “Hey.”

  “Hey, you. Guess you got home safe and sound.”

  “Well, this is my cell, so for all you know I’m trapped in some random guy’s attic, but yes, as it happens, I did.”

  He laughs, and I swear it sounds lower and throatier than usual, making me think things I definitely don’t want to be thinking. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Nice to know you were worried.” I don’t mean to add an edge to my voice, but it’s there, cutting and unmistakable.

  There’s a pause before he says, “I thought we were okay.”

  “We are.”

  “You don’t sound like we are.”

  I huff out a sigh. “You caught me at a bad time, okay?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  The idea of telling Dev about Fitz would be laughable if there was anything humorous about either situation. Instead, I go with the light version. “Just an argument with Vic. How was your ride home?”

  “Max was texting with Mia the entire time and Jamie was talking about how he supposedly hooked up with some girl last night. So, literally the same as every other day.”

  I can’t help smiling just the tiniest bit at the fact that Jamie was at least gentlemanly enough to withhold Vic’s identity. “Sounds fascinating.”

  “Oh, it was. So have you decided yet if you’re gonna go visit any other schools?”

  “Just to be clear, you’re not asking about KU again, are you?”

  “Of course not. Though if I were, I might point out that the scholarship deadline is the second week of November and if one were even remotely considering attending KU, one should probably pay attention to that.”

  “If you were.”

  “Right. The same way I might also point out that my cousin Asma goes to KU and would be happy to host anyone who might want to go visit for a weekend.”

  “How hypothetically helpful of you.”

  “Isn’t it, though.”

  It’s too much, the playfulness and talk of the future. I need to break the spell. “Is Sara planning on going to KU?” I ask casually.

  “She’s applying.” His tone is a little flatter, but there’s no pause, and it’s obvious he was anticipating the question. “She’s also applying to Northwestern, Notre Dame, Syracuse, Georgetown…”

  “And you’re not applying to any of those places?”

  “My mom teaches at KU. Hard to beat that tuition break.”

  “Don’t you mind?”

  “That I can’t really apply elsewhere or that I won’t necessarily be going to the same college as Sara?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “I like KU. I’m down to be a Jayhawk. And I still have medical school and residency and a fellowship ahead, so I’m sure I’ll travel around plenty.”

  “And?”

  “And I already told you I have no delusions of living happily ever after with Sara.”

  “Even if you end up at the same school?”

  His sigh is laden with exasperation. “Reagan—”

  “Never mind.” I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to KU, and he can do whatever he likes with whomever he likes; I’ll never see it. He’ll be as inv
isible to me as Fitz.

  He doesn’t answer, and I’m not sure how to follow up my childish little rant. Finally, I just say, “I should go. Homework.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he mutters. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I mumble something along the same lines and we hang up. As I set about the task of cleaning up the letters that are scattered across my floor, I can’t help wondering when I completely lost the ability to say goodbye like a normal person, to let someone else go in peace.

  The next day is about as unmitigated a disaster as humanly possible, barring the fact that I actually ace my English quiz despite not getting a minute of studying done the night before. Or a minute of restful sleep. Instead, it was just gruesome vision after gruesome vision, from Dev and Sara walking hand in hand on a lush college campus to Fitz showing up at my door minus a limb. Throughout it all, I kept calling for Vic, but to no avail. She didn’t even make an appearance.

  She doesn’t make much of one in school, either. We only have a couple of classes together, and even when we sit next to each other, we only smile briefly and then refuse to make eye contact. It’s not a fight, exactly. I don’t know what it is. I know I should apologize, but I also know that just saying any words at all will reopen a conversation I absolutely do not want to have. And so when the bell rings at the end of Art, I bolt from the room before you can say “Picasso.”

  Unfortunately, in my rush to get the hell away from Vic’s concern and frustration, I don’t pay attention to my actual destination until I collide with something like a car carrying crash test dummies. Only instead of jerking forward on impact, I just gracelessly fall to my ass on the floor.

  “Ew, what’s wrong with you?” The nasal, high-pitched voice is definitely coming from one of the two bodies currently in my line of sight. I’d put money on the one with the spindly legs and up-to-her-ass mini—which both belong to Kelly Bryce—but I can’t count out the hulking beast in baggy jeans for sure. “Watch where you’re going.” The spindly legs shift into a pose that tells me she’s definitely crossing her arms over her tiny chest, and confirms that she’s the one making light of my misery.

  I have no snappy comeback immediately ready; after all, I did bump into them, and I don’t exactly have an excuse for it I’m willing to share. I’m certainly not going to bust out with a “sorry” after she was such a bitch, but I gather my stuff up and get to my feet to circle around them as if nothing had happened.

  Instead, I catch a good look of the guy’s face, and the fact that his arm is around this waste-of-space chick, and I nearly fall down again. It’s Luke Schmidt, and he’s clearly with Kelly. It doesn’t look like it’s a new pairing, either, despite how recently he called Quinn “my girl” at Joe’s. I stand up and hoist my messenger bag higher on my shoulder, knowing I’ve got nothing to lose right now if I’m guessing wrong.

  “He’s cheating on you, you know,” I tell Kelly, ignoring the meatball completely.

  She snorts. I had no idea it was even possible for her to be more piglike, but there you have it. “You don’t know anything, you loser,” she says with a firmness I can tell she doesn’t feel. “Just because you’ve been single since the second Fitz was smart enough to dump your ass doesn’t give you a right to be bitter and make shit up.”

  Personally, if that were the accurate version, I’d think it would, but whatever. “The sad thing is,” I continue as if Kelly hadn’t even spoken, “she’s so much cuter than you. You’d think he’d just drop you and be with her fulltime, but she doesn’t even go to this school. Which sort of makes it the perfect crime, doesn’t it?”

  I swerve around them and walk past, knowing at best all I’ve started is a fight that’ll last maybe three minutes, but it feels worth the effort. Until I realize that out there in Charytan Junior High, Quinn Fitzpatrick is on the verge of having her heart broken. I spin back around and storm over to the couple, specifically the stupid hulking lumberjack. “She’s only fourteen, you know,” I whisper fiercely at him. “She’s just a little kid. You can’t do something like this to someone like her.”

  “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” he says lazily. He turns to Kelly. “Seriously, babe, she’s crazy.”

  “Would you just stop bothering us?” Kelly spits. “You’re crazy. Everyone knows it. Why don’t you just go back to keeping your mouth shut like you’ve been doing so nicely since Fitz stopped keeping you in line?”

  I wouldn’t have thought Kelly such a bold bitch, but then again, I’m an easy target. There’s not a single person at Charytan High who’d come to my defense.

  “Shut up, Kelly.”

  I feel warmth at my back and Vic’s words rumbling through my ears. Of course there’s a single person at Charytan who’d come to my defense, even when she’s pissed at me. She’s not exactly a comeback queen—never has been—but it doesn’t matter. My cheeks burn with shame for having thought she’d ever abandon me, no matter how pissed, no matter how much I deserve it.

  “Oh, of course, your lesbian lover is here to defend you.”

  I know I should roll my eyes and walk away, that living under the radar is the only way I’ve survived since Fitz enlisted. But with Vic stiffening at my back, trying to come to my aid even though I don’t deserve it, I feel a burning need to prove that I’m worth the damn she can’t seem to stop giving about me no matter how much she should.

  “Hats off on the super original gay joke. You know, just the fact that you think ‘lesbian’ is an insult is pathetic. What I think is that you’re all enormous wastes of space doomed to rot in this sinkhole town forever, but on the bright side, it’s glaringly obvious you and Luke deserve each other. I wish you the best of luck making each other miserable right until you get knocked up with your ass pressed against the stick shift.”

  I link an arm through Vic’s and together we step around them, ignoring the quiet stares of everyone else in the hallway. “Remind me to stop getting on your bad side,” she murmurs as soon as we’re free and clear. “What’s your deal with them, anyway?”

  I explain about Quinn. “This would kill her,” I add. “She’s so fragile.”

  There’s no response from Vic, and she’s not meeting my eyes, just biting her top lip and grazing her fingertips along the cool metal of the locker bank lining the wall as we pass.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Obviously something.”

  She sighs. “I just think it’s a little…iffy that you’re acting like Quinn’s your responsibility. I know he was your…I mean, you…” Another huff of breath. “It doesn’t sound like she’s your problem anymore. Or that she’d even want to be.”

  The words sting, and I want to tell Vic she has no idea what she’s talking about, but after everything, I hold my tongue. “Maybe not,” I allow.

  We reach the door to her math class, cutting the conversation short. Or maybe it’s the perfect timing. “Will I see you at lunch?” she asks as she steps inside.

  I appreciated her backup, but I’m still not ready to talk about everything; this conversation proves that. “I need to use the computer for a history paper at lunch. But I’ll see you around.”

  She nods, just once, and slips inside, leaving me alone in a solitude of my own making.

  VICTORIA

  It feels almost like cheating, but with Reagan continuing to act the secretive weirdo, I don’t feel all that guilty as I make my way back to the college office for my study hall period. Not that I really want to have another bonding sesh with Mrs. MacKinnon, but I would like to have another look at my options…without thinking about what anyone else wants or expects me to do, for once.

  The door to the office is partially closed, which means that although anyone can still enter and grab brochures or applications, Mrs. MacKinnon is already with someone. Probably just as well, since I’d rather go on a naked hayride than get any more “advice” from her. I don’t so much as glance in her direction when I stroll inside, half-clo
sing the door behind me, and head straight for the catalogs and applications.

  It’s a sad pile, really. Maybe two kids per year actually go to college outside Kansas, so there’s nothing lying around for places like NYU or UCLA, let alone the Ivy League or FIT. There’s one brochure lying around for the University of Chicago that’s probably been there since the ’70s; it’s dirty with fingerprints but ultimately, Reagan’s one of like three kids in our class with a prayer of getting in, and she’s definitely not interested.

  The cleanest, newest piles—the ones that have been recently refilled—are for CCC and K-State, though there’s a little KU pile that doesn’t even look like it’s been touched. Of course, KU’s been totally forbidden to me by Reagan, but that’s exactly the point of coming down here. Before I strike it off my list for good, I need to make sure it’s actually wrong for me instead of just wrong for us.

  I reach out for a brochure when a vaguely familiar and brutally obnoxious voice startles me backward. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your girlfriend.”

  My hand flies back to my side with a force and speed that could probably kill a man. If only I could test that on Sean Fitzpatrick right now. I know that even if he saw me with the KU catalog, it wouldn’t mean anything to him, but I can’t help feeling like I just narrowly escaped getting caught hooking up with someone else’s boyfriend or something.

  “For your information,” I tell Sean, bracing myself against the catalog table to hide my shaking hand behind my back, “my girlfriend was just getting into it with a guy who’s screwing around on your sister. So, maybe you could try to stop being such a jerk to her for once.”

  He grits his teeth and I can see his jaw popping beneath the tightly stretched skin. “What are you talking about? You don’t even know my sister.”

  “I don’t, but Reagan does, and she still cares about her a lot, even though your family doesn’t make it very easy. Oh, and apparently Luke Schmidt does too.”

  It’s nice to see Sean rendered totally silent, and such a rare achievement that I take the opportunity to dance right past him out of the office. Only once I’m headed out of the office do I realize that I never even took a brochure.