by Sara Wolf
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s his life—he can do whatever he wants.”
“Not when it hurts my best friend!” Kayla snaps, and starts to move, but Wren grips harder.
“Kayla, please.”
“Look at her, Wren!” Kayla gestures to me. “I’ve never seen her this quiet and amiable in my life! She’s like…she’s like almost normal! Something’s seriously wrong!”
“I’m still here, you know,” I say.
Kayla deflates. “Look, Isis, I’m sorry, but I’m also not sorry because this is seriously a fucked-up situation.”
“I’m okay,” I raise my voice a notch. “I’m okay. Right now, with you guys here, I’m just fine. And you’re only here for two days. Let’s not ruin our time together with shit like this, okay? Please. For me.”
Wren and Kayla share a look. Finally, Kayla sinks into her seat and breathes deep.
“Okay. I’ll try to not punch Jack through the stratosphere while I’m here. All bets are off for when I come by during winter break, though.”
For once in my life, I don’t say what I’m thinking. I wait, and I listen as Wren tries to cover the awkward silence with chitchat while my heart sinks heavy in my chest. Is this what it feels like to be normal? So disappointed with yourself and everyone else you can’t talk at all? I should’ve said something. I should’ve gotten up and walked over to Jack and Hemorrhoid and said exactly what was on my mind, that I’m sad he’s with her and not me. But I didn’t. Who even am I? Is the real Isis with the body-snatching Zabadoobians? How can I get her to come back and replace this lifeless clone I’ve become?
No—I’m not lifeless. I’m doing everything I should be doing; I go to parties and smile and drink and do my assignments and essays. I kiss. I don’t tell. I do everything a girl in college should be doing.
So why does it feel so wrong when I catch the barest glimpse of Jack?
He knew me before college. He knew me during one of the most chaotic years of my life. He knows me. Maybe that’s why it feels so wrong. No one else has known me like he has—seen through me, to the person inside me, so truly and quickly. Maybe that’s why it feels wrong when I see him with someone else, when I see him, period. We should be together. Every time I see him, that’s just drilled into my head harder. But then the thought of Nameless pops up, black and oozing bad memories and telling me I’m the worst, and I recoil into my instinctual shell.
Sometimes looking at Jack feels like reaching out to the horizon—I’ll never touch it, never hold it, but it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
After Wren and Kayla and I have fueled up, I show them around campus and my dorm. Yvette is inside, studying for once.
“Yvette!” I slap my hands on both her shoulders. “These are my fantastic friends, Kayla and Wren. Fantastic friends, this is Yvette, my other fantastic friend.”
Yvette smiles half awkwardly and shakes equally awkward Wren’s hand. She blushes when Kayla hugs her.
“It’s great to meet you guys. Isis won’t shut up about you.”
“She won’t shut up about you, either!” Kayla laughs. “I’m gonna be totally honest with you—it made me kind of jealous.”
“Yesss,” I hiss. “Now fight over my love in an arena death match!”
“Not happening,” Yvette says. “Unless there’s a battle-ax. In which case, yes.”
“Two-handed or one-handed?” Wren asks.
“Two-handed, obviously, for maximum badassery.”
“Perfect,” Wren agrees. “Although if it’s one-handed, then you can have two. Twice the chopping.”
She smiles. “I like the way you think.”
“Oh my God.” Kayla darts over to Yvette’s impressive collection of lipsticks on the windowsill. “Those are such nice colors!”
“You like ’em?” Yvette walks over to her.
“Definitely! Where did you find this shade? I’ve been looking everywhere for it.”
While they discuss the finer points of colored wax, Wren and I linger outside the doorway. I put my head on his shoulder tiredly, and he pats it.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“Fine. Dandy. Dine and fandy.”
“Even with Wi—my cousin here?”
I blow my bangs out of my eyes. “You can say his name. I’ve been trying to. Weee-illl. Weeeeeel. I’ve seen him more times around campus than I ever wanted to. And it’s helped. Sort of. If you see something enough it becomes normal, you know? So I figure if I say his name enough, it won’t hurt as much anymore.”
Wren’s hand is gentle on my head, but his other hand tightens into a fist.
“I’m sorry, Isis. I’m sorry he’s here. If I’d known, I could’ve warned you—”
“So I could’ve what—not gone here?” I stand up straight. “No. I’m not gonna let him have any more control over my life than he already does.”
“But—”
“No buts. Okay, maybe some buts. But only the kind in jeans, and only nice ones.”
“Isis, seriously…”
I take his hand off my head and hold it with the best smile I can muster. “I’ve spent almost two years running away. And I’ve started to hate it.”
Wren squeezes my hand wordlessly, and I squeeze back.
“I just wanna walk forward, like everybody else is, instead of running away.”
“I’m just…worried.” Wren sighs. “Just take it at your own pace, okay? Everyone’s different. And if you try too hard, too fast, you could end up hurting yourself.”
“It’s sweet you’re worried. But I can take care of myself, Wren. We aren’t kids anymore.”
Wren’s quiet. Suddenly my phone buzzes with a text from Heather, a girl in my sociology class I’d made kind-of-sort-of friends with after we realized we both loved mobster movies. Since then, she’s been my party hookup, inviting me to as many as she can. And that’s what she’s doing now, too.
I don’t want to go. I want to stay in with Kayla and Wren, watching stupid cat videos and catching up on all we’ve missed. But after Wren’s run-in with Jack, I feel like I have to show them I’m okay. I have to move forward. I have to show them I’m moving forward so they don’t worry about me.
“Hey, do you happen to feel like drinking copious amounts of cheap booze?” I ask Wren. He sigh-chuckles.
“I suppose. Any excuse to stay out of my parents’ house for a bit longer is more than welcome.”
“Is that where you’re staying?”
“Yeah.”
“In that case, let’s tear ass-phalt. Kayla! We’re going to a party. You wanna come, Yvette?”
“Is it one of Heather’s?”
I nod, and she shakes her head.
“No thanks. Those are a little wilder than I’m used to.”
“If you’re sure!” I singsong. “Don’t wait up for me—I’ll be late.”
We take my car, the backseat cramped with textbooks and changes of clothes I forgot to take in. I’m so excited to be going to a party with Kayla again like old times that Wren has to remind me to keep my eyes on the road.
“—and you’ve got to meet Kieran,” I insist. “Heather’s fine, she’s just not that funny, and Tyler’s a jerk, but Kieran’s a pretty nice guy. We’ve been hanging out a lot lately at Heather’s parties, and he’s super chill.”
“‘Hanging out’?” Kayla air-quotes. “Back in my day, that meant making out.”
“Por que no los dos?” I ask. Kayla rolls her eyes, and Wren laughs.
“Since when did you start taking Spanish?”
“Since I realized it’s the second-most-spoken language in the world. Also, Spanish dudes are beautiful.”
Kayla tosses her hair. “I’ve seen better.”
“It’s true, you are the fairest in the land,” Wren chimes, and she smiles brilliantly and all but flounces in her seat.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
“Hold on, I need to pull over and vomit,” I say.
“Why?” Kayla asks.<
br />
“Because you two are too cute.”
Kayla immediately punches my shoulder.
We pull up to Heather’s boyfriend’s frat house after everyone’s arrived. I used to think parties in high school were huge, but I realized how small they are the second I saw my first frat house. An entire house, bigger than most families’, filled to the brim with people? It’s insanity. But it’s become my insanity, my own personal brand of alcohol-induced forgetting. The music alone makes the windows in the other houses on the street shake in their frames. I lead Kayla and Wren inside, awkwardly shuffling through the boozed-up crowd.
“Do you know any of these people?” Kayla calls.
“Uh, not really?” I try to laugh it off. “I know Heather and Kieran, he’s on the wrestling team, but that’s about it. Oh hey! There’s Tyler. He tried to make out with me once, and shortly thereafter learned the meaning of absolute pain.”
I point at a boy with a buzz cut and skinny jeans. He gives the once-over to Kayla as we approach, and whistles.
“Well hello, hello. Who’s the friend, Isis?”
“She’s taken,” Wren says instantly and with a hardness that surprises me. Where’s meek Wren? Not here, that’s for sure. Then again, I’m sure he’s had to beat off the other guys with a stick since he and Kayla went official.
“Whatever, man,” Tyler scoffs.
“Listen, Tyler,” I say. “I’d really appreciate it if you could stop being such a primordial ooze for one minute and tell me where Kieran is.”
Tyler shrugs. “Somewhere upstairs, I think.”
We push past him—well, I do. Kayla and Wren sort of lag behind, Kayla looking bewildered and Wren looking slightly more off-put than when he came in. I feel like an absolute dog turd knowing they aren’t having a good time.
“Drinks!” I announce as we pass a hastily set-up table upstairs. Drinks solve everything. I’ve learned that well since Jack started dating Hemorrhoid. I grab two Jell-O shots and shove them in Kayla’s and Wren’s hands, pouring myself a shot of vodka and yelling “Cheers!” as I down it. I spot a dark head of hair over the crowd and dash toward it. I slap my hands over the person’s eyes.
“Guess who?” I chirp. Kayla and Wren catch up to me, watching us.
“There’s only one person with that annoying of a voice,” Kieran deadpans. “Isis.”
“He got it right!” I take my hands off and pinch his cheek as he turns. “He’s growing up into such a smart boy. Eats his veggies and everything. Kieran, these are my friends Kayla and Wren. Kayla, Wren, this is my barely friend Kieran.”
“Gee, thanks,” he drawls, then flashes a smile at Wren and Kayla. “I’ve only known her for two weeks, but sometimes it feels like twenty years of unending torture.”
“Welcome to the club!” Kayla laughs. “Isn’t it great in here?”
“Practically palatial,” Wren agrees with a small grin. “You’re luckier than most, Kieran. Jack got punched within the first hour of—”
Kayla jabs her elbow in Wren’s side, and he falters, shooting me a look. My stomach churns a little, thinking about Jack right now.
Kieran looks confused. “Um, did I miss something? Who’s Jack?”
“More shots!” I crow, forcing a smile at the three of them. “I’ll go get some. You guys stay here and mingle.”
I take the stairs two at a time.
“Isis! There you are!” I turn to see Heather, a black-haired girl with the biggest lips ever. She throws her arms around me the second I walk in the kitchen. She smells like tequila and reminds me of Kayla; when the real Kayla isn’t here I can sometimes squint and pretend she’s her. Tonight, at least, I don’t need to pretend at all.
“Hey, Heather. What are you up to?” I ask as I pour shots.
“Playing beer pong, obviously.” She holds up her red cup and winks. “I’m glad you came, though; this party was just getting boring.” She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor.
“Heather, wait, I’ve gotta—”
“Just one dance, please?” she begs. “That’ll get tons of people dancing, and then you can go do whatever! But this party is super dead! We need you—no way I’m dancing on my own!”
I want to say no, to go back to Wren and Kayla, but then I remember Jack’s name coming from Wren’s lips. I love him, but he managed with a single word to crumble the wall I worked so hard to build. Kieran’s going to ask questions about who Jack is, and everything will be ruined. He was such a nice distraction, his emerald eyes and easy laugh and our similar sense of humor a great way to bury my memories. But now the doubt of who Jack is will filter in between us, and I’ll be forced to tell him, forced to confront it all.
It’s ruined.
So I go with Heather, and I dance my heart out with her on the carpet. I will the bass to blast my thoughts clean from my head. People start dancing with us, around us, and Heather gets happier and happier with each person. And I get sadder and sadder. None of these people know me, and they never will. None of them care about me. The ones who do are upstairs. That’s where I belong. But it’s so much easier to dance down here than it is to go up and face them. So I keep dancing.
Because I’m a coward.
Because I’ve done enough hard stuff to last a lifetime.
Someone, Heather maybe, passes me a shot. And another. The music is so loud my ears are starting to ring, but I like it. I need it. Eventually, just as I’m getting out of breath, I feel a tug on my arm. I look over to see Heather pointing at a distant figure.
“Hey, isn’t that the girl you were talking about? The one you hate?”
She’s right—in the kitchen stands Hemorrhoid, red hair practically luminescent and her black dress classy.
“I don’t hate her,” I shout back. “She’s just—she’s just a girl, okay?”
“No, I remember! You told me when you were throwing up at the Rho Delta Kappa house! You said you hate her because she’s dating someone you like!”
“People say a lot of things when they’re drunk, Heather. The Greeks even made a saying for it: in vino veritas!”
“Harass who?”
“Ugh, never mind!” I yell.
“I’m gonna go talk to her!” Heather shouts, her eyes glassy. She’s clearly had too much. “Someone’s gotta tell her to back off!”
“Heather, no!” I snatch her arm. “Just leave it, okay?”
With a surprising amount of force for someone so drunk, Heather tears away from me and stomps toward Hemorrhoid. I dash after her, but the dancing crowd is so thick I have to push people aside.
“Sorry, excuse me, minor social apocalypse incoming, sorry!”
Heather gains distance, and my queasy stomach goes into full-blown panic mode. If Heather confronts her about me and Hemorrhoid says something about it to Jack—what will he think of me? As much as I dislike Hemorrhoid, I don’t want her involved in anything negative because of me. Heather’s already talking to her, if I run out of the house now maybe everything will stop forever and I—
“She said what?” Hemorrhoid scoffs, eyes pointed like daggers directly at me. “If you’ve got a problem with me, say it now.”
I put on my best smile, Heather looking satisfied with her misguided work.
“God, I’m really sorry about my friend,” I say. “She’s drunk, she has no idea what she’s talking about. I don’t have a single problem with you, Hemorrhoid—”
“What did you just call me?”
I freeze. I’d said that name for her so many times in my head and to other people that my booze-loose idiot mouth just blurted it out. Her pretty face twists with anger.
“Repeat what you just said, bitch.”
“I’m sorry! That was a mistake! We all make those sometimes, right?” I falter. “I didn’t mean to—”
Hemorrhoid advances on me, all painted nails and anger, and Heather pumps her fist in the air.
“Get her, Isis!”
People look and start to wander over. I back u
p to the wall, my eyes darting around for someone, anyone to save me. I need an escape, and I needed it yesterday.
“I don’t want to fight.” I hold up my hands. “This is a misunderstanding, okay?”
“You called me something!” she snaps.
“Yeah, I did! And I’m sorry!”
“You still said it, bitch!”
She lunges for me, and I duck past her. She stumbles into the arm of a couch, and people make an “oooh” noise. She rights herself and pivots, now looking even more pissed.
“Hey, relax.” I use my calmest voice, even though it shakes. “Let’s not—”
Stars burst in my eyes, my cheek screaming in pain. Her knuckles are so bony, like daggers into my flesh. The punch is so hard it knocks the wind from me, and as I crumple to the floor, some tiny part in the back of my brain laughs at me, at the irony of it all; she’s punched me at a party, just like I punched Jack so long ago.
Faintly, through the crowd jeering, I hear someone call my name.
“—sis? Isis? What happened to you? Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” Kayla’s voice.
“Stay away from her!” Kieran barks.
“We have to get her out of here,” Wren commands.
I rub my eyes to clear them of their watering and feel someone with strong arms help me up. It’s Kieran, and he leads me out of the house, Wren and Kayla hot on our heels. I can hear Hemorrhoid’s shouting faintly.
“Come back here! You’re such a fucking bitch!”
I’m still too dazed to pull away when Kieran puts me in the backseat of my own car. Wren kneels and inspects the damage.
“Jesus, she got you good.”
“Do you have a first-aid kit in your car?” Kayla shouts, already rummaging in my trunk, with my keys in her hand. When she swiped them from my purse, I’ll never know.
“No,” I moan. “I’m fine, seriously.”
“Seriously? You’re bleeding, Isis,” Kieran insists. “We were wondering where you went. Turns out you ditched us for a half hour to get in a fight.”
“That was toward the end of the dance.” I wince as Wren dabs away the blood on my cheek.
“Who even started it?” Kieran asks.
“I didn’t,” I say. The three of them share a moment of silent suspicion aimed at me. “What? I’m telling the truth! I definitely didn’t punch first. But I did call her names first.”
