“You’re still a virgin. Aren’t you, Katie?”
I nod.
He stands so close to me that our lips are touching. “Drew doesn’t deserve you. He’s going to end up in a monastery someday, and you’ll be left with a bunch of memories that don’t mean a damn thing.”
I flinch, so imperceptibly that Stetson doesn’t even notice. I can’t believe what he’s doing to his best friend. What we’re both doing.
I could walk away now and everything would be okay. But I don’t. I just stand there, almost unable to move, and whisper, “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
It seems to last forever, but I know it hasn’t been more than five or ten minutes at most. We’re sitting on the floor next to each other when Stetson cups my chin, tilts my face upward, and looks into my eyes. “Hey,” he whispers, giving me a kiss on the tip of my nose, “this is our secret. Right?”
I nod. “Sure. Sure it is.”
He smiles at me. “You’re a great girl, Katie. You should visit again sometime.”
And then he shimmies back into his boxer shorts and stands up, handing me my shirt.
I feel hollow and sick. I can’t wait for Stetson to leave the room so that I can gag into the sink.
We are both almost dressed when someone knocks lightly at the door. “Stetson? Hey, hurry up, I have to pee.”
We stand perfectly still. Stetson holds up a finger. “Hold on, Estella.” He stares at me while I hurry to finish getting dressed.
But Estella can’t wait, and we have forgotten to lock the door. All of a sudden she’s just there, staring at us. She chews on the inside of her cheek, taking in the whole grisly sight.
“What’s going on in here?” she asks. Her voice is soft, beautiful rage.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Before I have a chance to continue—God, what can I possibly even say?—Stetson interrupts. “We were just talking. We didn’t want to wake anyone up.”
Estella nods. “Just talking,” she murmurs. “Right.” And then, without any warning, her voice rises to a screech. “Drew!”
Suddenly we have an audience. Everyone stands around us, staring at me and Stetson in the bathroom. We are both fully dressed, but I’m sure we look tousled. Stetson is relaxed, sitting on the closed toilet seat, his arms crossed behind his head.
“Estella, cut the drama. We were just having a conversation”—he points to Drew—“about you, man.”
Drew is looking at me in a way that I’ve never seen before. It’s a combination of hurt and hopefulness and wariness and contempt, all at once. “Katie,” he says, his voice trembling and hopeful, “is that true?”
“Yes.” I go to Drew, take his hands in mine, and kiss him. “Of course it’s true.” I still feel sick to my stomach, and I know it’s not the beer.
“What were you saying about me?”
I shrug. “Lots of things. I’m going to graduate soon. We were talking about you and me and the future . . .”
“And you didn’t think to have that conversation with me?” Drew sounds bitter, doubtful.
“Man, you were asleep. Katie just wanted some advice.” Stetson stands up, walks over to Drew, and puts both hands on his shoulders. “I swear to you, nothing happened. I would never do that to you.”
Estella is furious. “I know what I saw,” she says. “You two were in here for a long time, and you sure as hell weren’t talking.” She glares at everyone.
“Would you shut up?” Stetson snaps. “Just because you’re jealous doesn’t make it okay for you to go making things up.”
“Jealous?” she sputters. “What exactly am I jealous of, Stetson? I dumped you, remember?”
“Not me—Katie,” Stetson says simply. “You’re jealous of Katie.”
“Oh, don’t make me laugh. Little miss small-town Pennsylvania here, with her magical gift for swimming and absolutely nothing else?”
“Shut up, Estella!” Drew says. “I’m so tired of hearing you talk. Nobody believes you. Katie and Stetson—my girlfriend and my best friend—fooling around ten feet away from me?” Drew shakes his head and glares at her. “Even for you, that’s ridiculous.”
The whole time we’ve been having this conversation, I notice Mazzie hasn’t said a word. After it’s over, Drew and I go to his sleeping bag and lie there together while Estella and Jeremy go back to his room. Stetson goes to his own room. Mazzie goes into the bathroom.
I lie awake all night, trying to fall asleep. For a while I can hear Estella in Jeremy’s room, insisting that something was going on between Stetson and me in the bathroom. Eventually they quiet down, and for a while I believe I’m the only one who’s still awake.
But then Mazzie comes out of the bathroom, pattering almost soundlessly across the hardwood floor in her bare feet, and slips into her own sleeping bag, which is not far from Drew’s and mine.
In the almost-dark, we gaze at each other, and I know that she knows.
I’ve heard from plenty of my friends that, after you have sex with a boy, you feel full and alive and like a woman for the first time. But I don’t feel that way at all. Instead, I feel like something inside me died. I think I’m supposed to feel like things are coming together, like I’m finally a grown-up. Instead, everything feels like it’s falling apart. And I have no idea how to fix any of it.
It’s an awkward ride back to campus on Sunday; Estella won’t talk to anyone, so we all try to carry on a conversation while ignoring her. But Estella isn’t an easy girl to ignore.
That Monday, I know I can’t face her in gender studies. When I peek into the room, I see that Mazzie isn’t there either. I’m pretty sure I know where she’s at.
I tuck myself under the sink across from her.
“Aren’t you going to miss class?” she asks. We’re finishing the semester with a close reading of The Awakening.
I shrug. “Aren’t you?”
She shakes her head. “I read that freshman year at my old school. I can’t believe we don’t cover it here until senior year. Pathetic.”
After a pause, she says, “You had sex with Stetson, didn’t you?”
She’s taken my shoes and socks off for me, automatically, so I can rest my feet in the puddle of water beneath the pipes. “Why would you think that?”
“Because after everyone left the bathroom, I stayed to pee. There was a condom in the toilet.”
“. . . ”
“. . . ”
“Oh.”
“Why would you do that, Katie? Even if you don’t like Drew anymore—why would you do something so awful?”
I shrug. “Maybe I wanted to feel awful.”
“Did it hurt?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Did you cry?”
“Almost.”
Mazzie sucks in a deep breath. “I always knew he was a jerk. Cool, sure—but still a jerk.”
“I know. Me too. Hey, Mazzie, you won’t say anything to Drew, will you?”
She stares at me for a long time. Underneath the sink, it’s so dark that almost all we can see of each other are our pupils. I love being here with her. I can’t imagine what she must think of me, but I hope she knows I was telling the truth: I wanted to feel bad. I deserved to feel bad.
Mazzie doesn’t say a word. She presses her thumb and forefinger together, holds them at the edge of her lips, and pantomimes zipping her mouth shut and locking it. Then she opens the door to the cabinet—just a crack—and tosses the imaginary key onto the dirty ceramic tile floor.
chapter 16
Christmas break of my senior year is the first Christmas where there is no trace of Will in our house. There are no presents for him under the tree. His stocking is not hanging beside mine on the mantel. His bedroom door is locked.
It all seems too cruel to bear. On Christmas morning, it takes me over an hour to open a mountain of presents (new clothes, a new luggage set, and a thousand dollars—cash). There’s also a ton of stuff that my mother says is for me to “g
ive to Mazzie, if she wants them, or just keep them for yourself.”
When the last present is opened (an emerald tennis bracelet), I turn to my parents and demand, “What about Will? Are we going to see him?”
They glance at each other, like they knew this was coming.
“Kathryn . . . I thought we talked about this,” the Ghost says.
“You aren’t going to visit your son on Christmas?”
“Of course we are,” my mom says. “But honey, it’s not a good idea for you to come. You would be upset.”
“Why? Because of where he’s staying? Because of what he looks like?” I shake my head. “I don’t care. I want to see him. It’s Christmas, for godsakes.”
The Ghost can’t help himself. “What does it matter if it’s Christmas? You and Will don’t believe in God, anyway.”
“That’s right.” I glare at him. “Maybe you should take all these presents back.”
My mom starts to cry. Immediately, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
“Let’s all take a deep breath. Katie, I’m sorry.” My dad closes his eyes, and I notice how the deep wrinkles on his face never go away, no matter what his expression is. “We need to love each other right now. It’s more important than ever.”
But they still won’t let me come. The only thing I can get the Ghost to promise as they’re getting ready to go is that he’ll make sure Will has my new phone number at school.
“He doesn’t get to use the phone very often, Katie,” he says to me, “and I don’t want you to be upset, but it’s been almost a year since you’ve seen him. He’s different now.” The Ghost and my mom both have their coats on. Outside it’s snowing lightly. It’s Christmas, and these people—a doctor, a painter, people whose house has a library and a swimming pool and everything most other people could ever dream of wanting—are going to visit their only son in jail on Christmas Day. Who’d have ever thought our lives would unfold like this? Certainly not my parents—I know that much.
“He might not want to call you,” the Ghost says. “I don’t want you to be upset if you don’t hear from him.”
“Promise me,” I say. “Promise on my whole life that you’ll give him my phone number.”
He hesitates. My mother looks back and forth at both of us. She’s wearing a ridiculous faux fur coat and is overdressed for a jail house visit, even on Christmas Day.
“I promise,” the Ghost says. And I believe him. I think he’s so certain that Will will never call me, not in a million years, that he figures, what the hell? I’ll give him her number.
But I know he’ll call, no matter what shape he’s in. Even when I hate him, I love him. Even when he stops calling, I hear his voice. Will is my only brother. Without each other—without the invisible thread that binds us together, no matter how weak or frayed it becomes—we are simply drifting, all alone, without anything like a compass to know where we’re headed.
Two weeks into the spring semester, people start hearing back from colleges. Mazzie gets into Berkeley—the only college she bothered applying to. This is no surprise.
The mail system at Woodsdale is slow and disorganized, so even though all the Ivy League schools are supposed to mail their letters on the same day, the letters trickle into our boxes as the mailroom staff deals with the overload. The first school I hear from is Brown. Of course, they’re pleased to offer me a spot in the fall. After that, there’s Harvard, followed by Penn. I get in everywhere, and I even get nice scholarships from all of them.
But all I want is my letter from Yale. “Can’t I just go to the mailroom and ask for it?” I’m sitting in my room, chewing on my bottom lip while Mazzie combs my wet hair. She is perched on the bottom bunk, and I am on the floor, my head back, flipping through Harvard pamphlets.
“Lindsey already tried. They won’t let anyone in.” She tugs hard at a knot in my hair. “Don’t worry so much. I’m tired of hearing about it.”
Mazzie is still annoyed by Woodsdale’s poor Ivy League matriculation rate. In Hillsburg, I’d never even heard of someone going to an Ivy League school. It will definitely be in the local paper.
“Berkeley isn’t an Ivy League school. You realize that, don’t you?”
She yanks harder on my hair.
“Ouch!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” She does it again. “Oh, my mistake. Mea culpa.”
I try to wrestle the comb away from her. She’s just secured me in a vicious headlock on the carpet when our phone rings.
Once. Twice. Three times.
“It’s probably just Drew,” she says.
But I know for a fact that Drew is busy all day.
“Answer it,” Mazzie says.
Will’s voice is far away, as always. The connection is poor. “Katie,” he says. He sounds eager, almost high. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“. . . ”
“You don’t have to say anything—”
“No, I’m okay. I mean, considering everything. I’m kind of incarcerated.” He pauses. “How was Christmas? Did Mom put toothbrushes in our stockings? Remember how she always does that? Who needs a toothbrush for Christmas, right?”
I almost drop the phone. I start to wheeze a little bit. I can’t bear to tell him they didn’t put up his stocking.
“Will.” My voice is pleading. “Please tell me you didn’t do what they think you did.”
“Katie, I have so much to tell you—only you. But I can’t tell you over the phone. Can you visit me?”
“What? Where are you?”
“I’m in Pittsburgh. It’s like an hour and a half from where you are.”
“When?”
“Next weekend? Between one and five?”
There’s a party next weekend at Amanda Hopwood’s house—I’ll be glad to skip it. “I’ll be there,” I tell him.
His voice becomes a shaky whisper. “Promise? Mom and Dad never visit, and it’s so lonely and I’m scared, Katie, and there’s something I need to tell you, okay? I can only tell you. You’re the only one who can know the truth.”
“Will, just please tell me you didn’t—”
“Next week. I’ll tell you next week. Hey, Katie?”
“What?”
“I love you. I love you so much.”
I close my eyes. I’m crying without making any noise. “I love you too, Will. I’m sorry I didn’t take your calls last year.”
We’re at an honest-to-goodness prison, Mazzie and me, right here in downtown Pittsburgh. There’s a separate visiting area for psychiatric patients. While Mazzie waits in the car, I go through the whole process of having my purse searched and my ID checked. Then there are all the stares from the guards and inmates that make me feel like they’re trying to undress me with their eyes. The whole place smells like bodily fluids and cleaning solution. Fluorescent lights burn overhead, dead bugs trapped in the plastic panes that cover the bulbs, the barely noticeable hum of the lights becoming deafening if you focus on it for too long. Lying awake at night in a place like this could drive you crazy, if you listened closely enough to all the background sound that isn’t really sound at all.
After a few minutes, they bring out my brother. I’ve seen him in handcuffs before, but never like this. He’s wearing a bright orange jumpsuit and his head is still shaved. He’s smoking. It’s a pathetic gesture, trying to smoke with handcuffs on. We aren’t allowed to touch each other.
What is there to say? There isn’t any small talk, no questions about how I’m doing or what he’s been up to in prison or anything like that; it would be too depressing.
“Will,” I say, leaning across the flat metal table, “what did you want to tell me?”
“I’m so happy you came, Katie. Will you come again? Before my trial?”
“I thought Dad said there wasn’t going to be any trial.”
He shrugged. “That was before I learned what I know now. There has to be a trial so I can make my case.”
I hesitate. “Okay.”
“And afterward, when I get out of here, will you come visit me all the time?”
He looks so hopeful. He’s so glad to see me. Everything from the year before is forgotten, at least on his end.
“Will.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “What did you do? You said you would tell me. What happened that night?”
He’s still smoking, right down to the filter. With his other hand, he makes a come here motion. I lean in.
He whispers to me. When I sit back again, all I can do is stare at him.
“So you see—it all makes sense, doesn’t it? I started doing some reading while I was here, and it all makes sense now. You be careful, Katie. Be careful the same thing doesn’t happen to you, because that’s what they want to happen, you know? And we can’t let it. You can’t let it. You keep your head low and go to school and just promise you’ll come visit me as much as you can. Promise.”
I wish I could hold him. It makes me ache inside to be able to see him but not to touch him.
Back in my car, Mazzie is waiting with her bare feet on the dashboard. She’s reading King Lear.
“That was fast,” she says, closing the book and tossing it into the backseat.
I nod.
“What did he say?”
“He made me promise not to tell anyone.”
“Oh . . .”
I’m suddenly more tired than I’ve ever felt in my whole life. I know I’ll remember his words for as long as I live. And Mazzie is the only person in the world I can tell them to.
I close my eyes. “He said, ‘I am Icarus, son of Daedalus. I will plunge to my death in the sea. It is your fault, Minos, for keeping us imprisoned. I will come back and eat the meat from your bones.’ ”
Mazzie says, “That doesn’t make any sense. I mean, it’s kind of the Icarus myth, but he’s got it all mixed up . . .”
“He did it, Mazzie. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He said he’d been doing a lot of reading. He must have come across Greek mythology in the library and felt connected to it for some reason.” I put my head on her shoulder. “He did it,” I whisper again.
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