I was really, really confused.
“There’s a Starbucks down in Whitley,” Nick explained.
And then it dawned on me what they meant. They were talking about sneaking to town.
“No way,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Why not?” Sadie asked innocently.
“There are about a hundred reasons why not. Number one, we’re quarantined. Number two, I’m pretty sure someone will notice. Number three, it’s the middle of the aftern—”
“Are you seriously going to stand there and list them all?” Marina asked.
I glared.
“What about these?” I lifted my wrist with the med sensor.
“No problem,” Sadie assured me. “They only show your location if the sensor goes off, so the nurses can find you. Dr. Barons doesn’t sit there Geotracking us around Latham House.”
I stared at it doubtfully.
“I promise it’ll be completely fine,” Sadie said. “Don’t you trust me?”
I wanted to. I really did. But more than that, I wanted to keep hanging out with them. And I had the impression that if I didn’t go, their ranks would close, and I’d find myself adrift again on the colorless sea of Latham, with no one to blame but myself.
So I relented, and then Charlie came down from the dorm and we headed off into the woods.
IN THE ALMOST two weeks that I’d spent at Latham, I’d never wondered if there was a way out, or if that way out led anywhere interesting. I figured the woods were followed by more woods, and maybe a highway with a roadside stand where you could buy farm-fresh artichokes, because I’d seen tons of those on the drive up. I’d never once thought that after a mile, the woods would let out into a small town with an old stucco mission and a brightly colored main street. But that’s exactly what they did.
I still didn’t know how I’d let Sadie convince me to do this. We weren’t even supposed to be in the woods during rest period, never mind hiking a mile through them into town. And we absolutely weren’t supposed to leave Latham for any reason, particularly something as pointless as getting coffee.
About halfway there, Charlie was looking paler than usual and was having trouble catching his breath, so we stopped to rest. He leaned against a tree, closing his eyes for a moment while we all stared at each other uneasily.
“Maybe we should go back,” Marina said.
Charlie opened his eyes and glared.
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just need a minute.”
After a couple of minutes, he joked that he’d photosynthesized some more energy, and we all continued on.
This ball of nerves lodged itself firmly in my stomach the moment Whitley came into view. The town looked like the places my family used to visit when I was little, driving up and down the coast with a guidebook directing us to quaint historic sites, while my father quizzed me on the history.
“You’ve done this before, right?” I asked.
“Lots of times,” Sadie assured me. “It’s no big deal. Just try not to cough in front of anyone and it’ll be fine.”
She dug a handful of cough drops out of her pocket and passed them around. As we unwrapped them, my heart started racing. We were really doing this—going somewhere that wasn’t Latham. And as much as I’d protested the trip, I had to admit that I was excited at the prospect.
“In case anyone gets nosy, we’re college students,” Nick said. “And we’re making a pit stop on the drive up to Berkeley. Now push down your sleeves to hide your med sensor.”
I dutifully pushed down my sleeves and crunched the rest of my cough drop, and we followed the root-ravaged hiking trail into town.
WHITLEY WAS ONE of those quaint storybook places, nothing like the sprawling suburbia where I was from. I was used to strip malls, not main streets. Even so, being in this tiny out-of-the-way place felt like walking into a huge city after spending time away from civilization.
It was warm out, with just a faint bite of breeze. Early October. The shops had started putting Halloween displays in their windows, and some of the doorsteps already had pumpkins. The lampposts were covered with flyers advertising a Fall Fest in a couple of weeks, which featured face painting and a hayride. There were more flyers, for a corn maze and a haunted house.
“I heard they used to turn Latham into a haunted house,” Marina said, reading the flyer. “Back when it was a boarded-up prep school.”
“I went to it once,” Charlie said. We all turned to stare at him. “When I was six. My cousins brought me, and I got so scared I started crying. My aunt had to wait outside with me.”
“That’s adorable,” Nick said. “You were afraid of the big bad plastic masks.”
“I was six!” Charlie insisted. “And that’s not why I was afraid. One of my cousins told me that if I was really bad, I’d have to stay there, with all the monsters, forever.”
“You’re making that up,” Sadie accused, but Charlie just shrugged.
And then he started coughing. He muffled it in his sleeve, and thankfully there wasn’t anyone walking nearby, but we all still glanced around nervously. I was convinced we’d be caught, that someone would spot us and know exactly what we were and where we’d come from. But that didn’t happen. Charlie caught his breath and mumbled an apology, and we continued on.
We passed a pet shop, a little bookstore, and some kind of organic juice place with a sign in its window urging customers to like it on Facebook. I’d spent so long brooding over the fact that I was cut off from everything, and trying to get back to the real world, but now that I had, it felt strange and misshapen. Or maybe that was me. I felt so self-conscious, like I wasn’t supposed to be here, and like everyone could tell.
When we reached the Starbucks, Charlie was flushed and sweating. I was pretty sure we shouldn’t bring him into a coffee shop, and Marina had the same idea.
“Hey, Charlie, want to check out the thrift store with me?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said, brightening.
“Back here in twenty?” Sadie called.
“If we’re running late, we’ll text you,” Marina deadpanned, and for a moment, I believed her.
“Come on, troops,” Sadie said, holding open the door of the Starbucks.
Nick and I followed her inside. I’d expected the place to be mostly empty, but a surprising number of people were sitting at the tables with their laptops out. I was wearing my Stanford hoodie and jeans, and even though I was sure we stuck out, I guess we looked pretty normal. Just three clean-cut kids grabbing coffee. No one even glanced up at us.
“So, butterbeer lattes?” Sadie asked.
“I don’t think that’s on the menu,” I said.
“Ah, but it’s on the secret menu,” Nick said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. He went on to explain that Starbucks had a treasure trove of unlisted options, one of which was the butterbeer latte.
“If it’s coffee, I’ll take it,” I said, following Sadie to the register.
This bored-looking blond dude with adult braces was reading something on his phone, and he didn’t notice us at first. Sadie leaned across the counter a little bit, examining a packet of cookies.
“Hey,” she said.
The cashier glanced up, and I swear his eyes bugged out at the sight of her tight black V-neck sweater. I didn’t blame him; I’d been trying not to get caught staring at it all day.
“Um, what can I get for you?” he asked, flustered.
“Five venti butterbeer lattes.” She smiled sweetly, as though daring him to say they didn’t make those.
The cashier laughed.
“Hey, Mike,” he called to the barista. “Can you do butterbeer lattes?”
The barista, this lumberjack-looking hipster dude, shrugged and said sure.
“No one ever orders those,” the cashier said, punching it in. “That’s awesome.”
I held out some money, and he reached out to take it, then stopped, staring at my wrist.
I glanced down to see what he was lo
oking at, and tried not to panic. I’d pushed up the sleeves of my sweatshirt without thinking, and my med sensor was right there.
My stomach twisted, and I winced, waiting for everything to come crashing down.
“Is that one of those fitness bands?” he asked.
I’d never been so relieved in my life.
“Yeah, it is,” I said, tugging down my sleeve.
“I’ve been thinking about getting one,” he said, taking the money and counting out my change.
“They’re awesome, you should,” I said, and then I decamped to the island of napkins and straws, my heart still hammering.
Nick came over and started nervously fidgeting with the sugar packets.
“I told you to pull your sleeves down,” he said. “Thank God for yuppies and their stupid fitness tech.”
I glanced over at the little coffee station, where Sadie was chatting with the barista. He said something sharply and slid the drink carriers across the counter with more force than was necessary.
“Grab some drink sleeves,” Sadie said, coming over.
“What was that about?” Nick asked.
“Nothing,” Sadie said. “Let’s go outside before Michael throws a fit.”
“You know the barista?” I asked.
“Long story.”
She didn’t elaborate, and we brought the drinks outside the store and waited for Charlie and Marina.
“Well?” Sadie asked, after I took my first sip.
I was having a religious experience. Caramel and cream and sugar and caffeine and I didn’t know what else, but I didn’t care.
“The look on your face,” she said. “I bet you’re glad we came now.”
“Of course I’m glad,” I said. “I just had to protest, for the principle of the thing.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” Sadie smiled into her straw.
Charlie and Marina weren’t back yet, and after the second time Sadie checked the time display on her med sensor and sighed, I asked if she thought they’d wanted some time alone.
“Charlie always wants time alone,” Nick said. “It’s why he always skips Wellness.”
“I meant, um, with Marina,” I said.
Sadie giggled.
“They’re just friends,” she said. “I mean, Charlie’s adorable, but so are the boys he likes.”
“Boys?”
“I know,” Sadie said with a wry smile. “The entire female population of Latham was upset over that one.”
I hadn’t pictured Charlie as being gay, but now that Sadie had said it, I could see it easily. Suddenly, the One Direction poster above his bed made a lot more sense.
Marina and Charlie came back from the thrift store then, both of them carrying bags. Charlie looked much better, which was a relief.
“What did you get?” Sadie asked, peering excitedly into Marina’s bag. “Oh my God, that dress is amazing. We have to use it in a photo shoot.”
“Four dollars!” Marina said. “And it has a matching belt.”
“I found the theme song to Cops on vinyl,” Charlie said proudly.
I thought he was kidding, but then he held it up, and sure enough.
We walked back toward the woods, sipping our sugary coffee concoctions, and I was suddenly glad that I’d come, and that they’d invited me. Back home, no one would have thought to include me in something like this, and I probably would have made an excuse if they had, not because I didn’t want to, but because I thought I shouldn’t.
It occurred to me then how much I’d missed. I’d always told myself that there was plenty of time to goof around later, after I’d gotten into Stanford. But if the past month had taught me anything, it was that the life you plan isn’t the life that happens to you. And I was beginning to realize that there was only so long where a trip to Starbucks could be illicit, where there was a campus to sneak away from, and rules to break.
I glanced over my shoulder toward the town one last time, wondering when I had gone from feeling out of sync with Latham to belonging there, because I was relieved to be heading back. Sadie consulted her little compass, and we set off toward Latham. She walked up front, navigating, and I decided to join her. The woods were beautiful that afternoon, the leaves just starting to turn. There were shades of orange and gold and pale yellow, colors I’d seen in movies and photographs but wasn’t used to in real life. Some of the leaves had already fallen, and they crunched under our feet.
For a while, Sadie and I didn’t say anything, just walked through the woods together, crushing leaves with our sneakers. I kept glancing over at her, in her tight black sweater and jeans, with wisps of hair loose from her ponytail. She was so short that I could see down the front of her sweater, to the little bridge where her pink bra stretched across her cleavage. I swallowed, forcing myself to look away and think about something else, since my heart was already racing from the caffeine.
The woods reminded me so much of camp, of being thirteen and self-conscious about everything. Sadie looked so different than she had back then. But I’d grown eleven inches and could no longer stick a raisin in the gap between my front teeth, so I guessed she could say the same thing.
And then she looked over at me and asked what I was thinking about.
“The last time we were in the woods,” I said.
“You mean thirty minutes ago?”
“No, at summer camp. I used to play badminton with Scott . . . Canadian Scott, not creepy Scott who lit worms on fire.”
“I was hoping it was the worms one,” she joked, and I shot her a look.
“Anyway, he kept hitting the shuttlecock into the woods. And I kept having to go get it. Which sucked. And then one day, when I was looking for the thing, I saw you in the woods taking pictures.”
What I didn’t add was that I’d been fascinated, and that occasionally I’d missed on purpose so I could chase the shuttlecock into the woods and see if she was there.
“I still take pictures in the woods,” she said.
“Can I see them?”
“Lane!” She pretended to be shocked. “You can’t just go asking a girl if she’ll show you her pictures!”
“Oh, sorry, what was I thinking?” I teased.
“I totally knew you were there, at summer camp,” Sadie said. “You weren’t very subtle about it. You were like—”
She did an impression of me standing and gawking, and I felt my face heat up.
“Why didn’t you say anything if you knew I was there?”
“Why didn’t you?” she challenged.
I shrugged, not wanting to confess that I’d been ridiculously intimidated by girls when I was thirteen. They’d pranced around torturing me, these magical creatures with tangled hair and wet bikinis and long, tanned legs. I couldn’t find shorts that were baggy enough. And it wasn’t like the girls were prancing toward me. I’d been short. With braces.
The woods started to thin out, and when I had the impression we were almost back in what passed for civilization, Sadie unzipped her backpack and took out a pen.
“What’s your extension?” she asked, and I stared at her blankly. “Your room phone?”
“Um, 8803?”
“Write it down for me?” She gave me the pen and held out her hand.
I took her hand in mine, and as gently as I could, I inked my number across the back of it. She smiled up at me, and then she grabbed my hand and wrote down her extension. I stared at the four neat numbers nestled in my palm, feeling like Sadie had given me more than just her phone number.
And suddenly, we were back behind the cottages, in the same spot where I’d seen them sneaking out of the woods on my first day. Except this time I wasn’t watching from my room. I was there, a part of it. A part of everything, I guessed.
The grounds looked the same as always. Peaceful and picturesque and frozen in time. It was a place where there wasn’t a point to technology, and a place that ironically existed because we didn’t have enough of it to cure us.
It looked like n
o one had noticed our absence at all. We’d really done it. We’d gotten away with a trip into town. For Starbucks.
“Lane?” Sadie said tentatively.
She smiled at me and tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ears.
“Yeah?”
“We’re all going to skip Wellness today.”
“Oh.” I’d thought she was going to say something else. “How do you skip Wellness?”
“It’s easy. You just don’t go.”
“I think I can manage that,” I said.
And then I went up to my room and climbed into bed with a P. G. Wodehouse novel I’d gotten from the library. I tried to concentrate on the book, but I kept flipping it closed to read Sadie’s number on my palm. The thrill of Sadie holding my hand in hers while she wrote down her extension hadn’t yet faded. So I stared at my palm, grinning, while the theme song to Cops drifted faintly through an open window.
It was Friday afternoon, and I was supposed to be walking laps in a pair of gym shorts and sneakers, but I wasn’t. And I didn’t care. Maybe it was just the caffeine coursing through me, but I felt better than I had in weeks, as though instead of walking those laps, I could have run them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SADIE
THE FIRST TIME Lane called me, it was Saturday night and almost lights-out. I’d been in the boys’ dorm earlier, where we’d watched The Princess Bride after Nick had mutinied and insisted on something that wasn’t (a) animated, or (b) in Japanese, with subtitles.
I’d just gotten out of the shower and was changing into my pajamas when the phone rang, startling me. I scrambled for it, the cord getting tangled in my T-shirt.
“Hello?” I said, expecting it to be my mom, or maybe my sister.
“Um, hi.” It was a boy’s voice, deep and unsure, and I thought it had to be a wrong number. Genevieve’s dad had called me once, by accident, because her extension was only one number off from mine.
I waited silently to see what this boy wanted, and then he was like, “Sadie?”
“Lane?”
“Yeah, sorry. I forgot these phones don’t have caller ID.”
I’d never had a call from a boy before. I mean, I had, in eighth grade when Vijay Chandra and I had to do this presentation on the water cycle, and he’d called me over the weekend to practice. I’d gotten the occasional text or DM, but never a call. And never late at night, although it was sad that 8:55 felt late.
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