by Leila Sales
Then again, what else could he do? If he looked in the mirror and saw himself for what he is and what he’s done, how would he be able to stand himself?
“You lied to me,” she says.
“Did I?”
“You know you did! You purposefully acted like Leo was just some dumb jock who you were casually friends with. You said you didn’t know the reason he left, except that probably it was your parents’ fault. You said that you and Bianca were soul mates, you were meant to be. You purposefully let me believe that your brother was still missing, that he might be dead, for God’s sake. You said—”
“Arden, I never lied to you.” He pauses. “Maybe I just lied to myself.” She starts to speak, but before she has time to respond, he goes on. “It had nothing to do with you. I didn’t know who you were before yesterday. I didn’t even know you were reading Tonight the Streets Are Ours.”
“But you knew that people were reading. And you led all of them to believe that you’re someone you’re not.”
“It’s my life,” he argues. “It’s my story about my life. And this is who I say I am. This is what I say happened. If Bianca wants her story about my life to be different, then good for her. Let her write her own version.” His hands curl into fists.
Arden snorts. “You just loved getting all those comments from girls fawning over you, strangers sympathizing with you, telling you how unfair your life is.”
“So what if I did?” He jumps to his feet, too agitated to sit still. “So what if I wanted that? And furthermore, what I wrote online basically is what happened. I said that I fell in love with a girl who had a boyfriend, which I did. I said that she cheated on him with me, which she did. Have you stopped to ask yourself why you were okay with that when Bianca’s boyfriend was just some guy? Why is it, now that you know he’s some guy who is my brother—now that you know he freaked out over it—suddenly it’s not okay anymore? Suddenly I’m a monster?”
She stands as well to look him in the eyes. “I don’t think you’re a monster. But why do you do these things? And seriously this time, why did you take off this morning, when I had no idea where I was or how to reach you? That was an asshole thing to do, Peter.”
And all of this is making her know even more that she really, really needs to find Lindsey, like, right now. She shouldn’t even be wasting her time on this guy, trying to find answers that don’t exist to questions she can’t even express, when she should be out scouring every block and every building for Lindsey.
“You got me,” he says, holding out his hands. “I’m an asshole. I do asshole things. You’re right, Arden. You see right through me. That’s exactly what I am.
“I woke up this morning and I looked over, and you were lying there, and I felt terrible—I mean, stomachache, headache, everything-ache. And I remember a lot about last night, but just the very end of it is fuzzy. I remember visiting that doll store on Fifth Ave. I just don’t remember how we got home from there, or if we … you know, if anything happened after that.”
“You don’t remember if we had sex,” she says flatly.
His cheeks flush a little. “And I know you have a boyfriend, and I opened my eyes and there you were, fast asleep, and I felt so terrible and everything just seemed so terrible, and all I could think was Not this again, I can’t believe you did this again, what is wrong with you, what is wrong with you?”
“So you left,” she supplies.
“So I left. I know I shouldn’t have. But I do a lot of things I shouldn’t do. I don’t know why. I can’t help myself. I just hope I didn’t do anything to mess up things with … What’s his name again?”
“Chris.”
“Right. I don’t want to be the grenade in your relationship.”
You already were, she thinks. Aloud, she says, “Don’t worry about it. You and I didn’t have sex. Nothing happened.”
“Oh.” He clears his throat. “That’s good.” His hands drop by his sides awkwardly, like he’s not sure what to do with them now.
“Are you honestly going to publish Tonight the Streets Are Ours as a memoir?” she asks.
He blinks rapidly a few times. “I’m going to try. If any publisher will have it, then yeah.”
She takes a deep breath. “Don’t do it, Peter. It’s not fair to Leo. It’s not fair to Bianca, or to your parents. It’s not fair to anyone who reads it, who might feel like … like maybe you understand what they’re going through. You’re taking advantage of all of them.”
He turns his face away from her. “Stop. Just stop. Look, I don’t know what your life goals are. But I’m not going to stand here and tell you that you shouldn’t try to make them come true.”
She stares at him. “You’re really going to do this.”
He bends down to fuss with some flowers in a planter. “Some of the greatest art in history is born from tragedy. Literature, music, paintings. If I can create something beautiful and meaningful out of everything rotten that happened with me and Bianca and Leo, then maybe … maybe there’s a point to all of this.”
To Arden this seems like a ridiculous justification. The right answer would have been to leave Bianca alone. Even if Leo had been unhappy with his life anyway, even if he had wound up leaving anyway, at least something else would have been the last straw for him. At least Peter and Bianca would be innocent.
But it’s too late for the right answer now. What’s done is done. And she supposes that Peter is only trying to work with what he’s got.
“Just do one thing for me,” Arden says. “Don’t write about last night. Don’t write about meeting me. Not on your blog, not in a book, not anywhere. I am not your story to tell.”
“Fine,” Peter says. “I can do that.” He rubs his neck and looks at her through lowered lashes. “It’s too bad, though. I would have a lot to say about last night. I would have a lot to say about you.”
And she’s curious to know what he would say about her—of course she is. But she’s not going to ask.
“I need to go home,” she says.
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you mad at me?”
She thinks about this. Mad isn’t the word. She had just wanted Peter to be someone different from the person he is. But whose fault is that?
She shakes her head. “I feel sorry for you,” she says. “I feel sorry for all of you.”
Peter nods, like this is the best response he could hope to get. “Can I walk you back to your mom’s?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got it covered.”
“Okay, then. I guess … I’ll see you around. Maybe on my first book tour!” He laughs to show that he’s joking, sort of. She pictures Cumberland’s one fading bookstore, with its rack of cigarettes, and she thinks it’s unlikely that Peter will ever have a book tour that brings him anywhere close to her.
He extends his arms, and she steps forward into them. They hold each other for a long moment, and Arden wonders about all the people who must have hugged in this garden over the years and whether any of them could have had a relationship like hers and Peter’s. She thinks she hears Peter sniffle a few times while her face is pressed into his shoulder, but she doesn’t look, and she doesn’t ask him if he’s okay.
“Are you walking out, too?” she asks when they pull apart.
“Not yet. I’m going to hang out here for a little while longer, read my book, you know. I just got to the good part.”
She nods. “Bye, Peter.”
“Bye.”
She turns and heads back toward the street, toward her mother. Once she’s outside, she glances behind her and she sees Peter sitting back on the bench, his book unopened in his hands, staring at a marble statue of a little boy, all alone.
Lindsey’s big night
Using the directions stored in Arden’s phone from last night, she and her mother navigate to Jigsaw Manor. “Why on earth did you think this would be a good place to leave your car?” her mother asks as they walk fifteen minutes from th
e nearest subway stop.
“I didn’t have to parallel park,” Arden replies. This gets a laugh from her mother.
When they reach the car, Arden’s heart somersaults, because there is a person lying on its hood. A girl.
“Lindsey!” Arden cries, running toward her.
Lindsey sits up and slides off the car. She gives a laugh of surprise as Arden flings her arms around her and hugs her, hard. “I’m so sorry,” Arden whispers. “I shouldn’t have run off last night. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Lindsey says. “I shouldn’t have picked a fight with you. And I shouldn’t have let you go.”
“Well, I’m Mrs. Ellzey,” Arden says. And the two of them lose it, laughing so hard they have to hold on to each other just to stay upright.
“Lindsey, honey, it’s so good to see you!” says Arden’s mother as she reaches the girls.
Lindsey shoots Arden an inquiring look. Like, What is your mom doing here, is this okay, do I have permission to show that I’m happy to see her? Arden gives her the slightest of nods, and Lindsey squeals, “Mrs. Huntley, oh my God! How are you doing? I can’t believe you’re actually living in New York. Do you love it?”
Arden’s mom laughs. Her cheeks are glowing. “It’s different from Cumberland, that’s for sure! It’s an adventure.”
“I’m so jealous,” Lindsey tells her. “I would kill to live here.”
Arden wonders what exactly Lindsey has seen of the city in the past sixteen hours to make her feel this way, but she doesn’t want to ask in front of her mother. She says, “I thought you wanted to work on a farm.”
“I do,” Lindsey says.
“That’s, like, the opposite of living in New York City,” Arden points out.
Lindsey shrugs. “I can do both, someday.”
Arden reflects on how ironic it is, Lindsey’s blithe confidence in the longevity of her life, even though she seems to be constantly risking everything for something shiny dangling right in front of her.
“I want to go to college here,” Lindsey tells Arden’s mom. “I’ve decided.”
“Maybe you girls can come back and we can all visit some colleges in the city together,” Arden’s mother says. She hesitates and looks at her daughter. “If you want to, that is. And if I’m still here.”
Arden thinks for a moment about letting her mother back into her life, even if it’s just in this way. “Yeah,” she says at last. “I do want to.”
Her mother nods, her eyes soft. Then she clears her throat and focuses on the car. “Let’s see what we have here. Good God, Arden, this car looks even worse than I remember it. No wonder it broke down.” She shakes her head. “Key, please.”
Arden hands over the key and watches as her mother gets into the driver’s seat, puts the key in the ignition, and turns it.
The Heart of Gold roars to life.
“It’s working!” Arden cries.
“Oh, I fixed it,” Lindsey says, looking up from her bag.
“You did what?” Arden and her mother both stare at Lindsey. “I’ve really missed a lot since last night. You’re an auto mechanic now?” Arden asks.
“No. I got someone to look at it this morning. They said there was something wrong with the car…” Lindsey trailed off.
“Well, clearly,” Arden said.
“No, the carburetor. I just forgot the word. Anyway, they did some stuff, and it should be fine now.” Lindsey shrugs. “So are we going to drive home?”
Arden’s mother answers for her. “If you’re going to be driving in this contraption, then yes, starting as soon as possible is a good idea. You have a long trip ahead of you, and I do not want you speeding. Keep to the slow lane, and don’t go over sixty miles an hour, Arden, do you hear me? And take a break if you start to feel tired.”
Arden does hear her, and she knows this is all wise advice, so she will follow it—but there’s something sad, too, in hearing these words from her mother, because it’s clear to them both that her mother has given up her right to tell Arden what to do. At least for now. You can leave, of course—you can always leave—but then you have to deal with the consequences.
Arden and her mother exchange a long hug. “I’ll see you soon,” her mother says. “I love you.”
And Arden believes her.
The two girls get in the car, set up the GPS, and drive away. “You will reach your destination in six hours, two minutes,” says the GPS.
“Man, school tomorrow is going to be rough,” Lindsey comments.
“So tell me what happened to you last night!” Arden bursts out. “And why didn’t you respond to any of my texts?”
“My phone died, obviously. Speaking of, do you have a charger in your car? I need to call my parents. I missed church. They’re probably freaking out.”
“They are,” Arden says. “I know they talked to my dad.”
Lindsey shrugs, unperturbed.
“Aren’t you worried?” Arden presses her. “I mean, they could…” They could do anything. Ground Lindsey forever. Put her into some sort of boarding school for juvenile delinquents. Forbid the two girls from ever seeing each other. They were parents; the choice was theirs.
Lindsey sighs. “This is who I am. This is what I did. And, Arden, what you said last night made me think … like, okay, I should take responsibility for the things I do.
“So yeah, I’m sure they’ll be furious. And yeah, I’m worried. But these are the choices I made, and this is where I am now. So whatever the punishment is for that, I’ll take it. Because you know what? I wouldn’t trade in last night for anything.”
“Wow,” Arden says. “Why do you say that?”
“Well. You remember that girl I was talking to? Jamie?”
“The one with the piercing that made her nose look like a door knocker?”
“It’s called a septum piercing. I thought it looked really cool on her. I’m going to get one. She said it didn’t hurt that much.”
“Your parents will love that, too.”
“Who cares? They’re not my owners. Anyway, Jamie turned out to be really cool. She’s a sophomore at Pratt and she actually lives at Jigsaw Manor. She showed me her room—it’s hidden behind a curtain by the room where the band was playing when we came in. You’d never know it was there. And the walls are covered floor to ceiling with her work. She’s good. She does mixed-media collages, like really politicized stuff, about gender and race and…” Lindsey trails off, as she seems to run out of politicized issues to list. “Anyway,” she goes on after a pause, sounding unusually shy now, “she kissed me. I mean, we kissed.”
“Linds! That’s fantastic!” Arden takes her eyes off the road for a moment to look at her friend, who’s blushing but grinning hugely. “And how was it?”
“It was everything I’d hoped it would be,” Lindsey replies simply.
Arden feels a pang. She wants to feel that way about someone.
“She actually apologized for being rude to you,” Lindsey goes on. “She thought we were dating and we were having, like, a lovers’ quarrel. That’s why she was being kind of nasty when you met her. Once she realized you weren’t trying to get inside my pants, she was totally cool.”
Arden snorts a laugh. “Us, a couple?”
“Well, when you take a moment to think about it, you can see exactly why she’d assume that.”
Arden takes a moment to think about it. “Good point,” she agrees.
“But she wants to see me again. She said next time I’m in New York, I should get in touch, and she’ll take me out on a proper date.”
Arden immediately thinks of all the ways this could go wrong, will, most likely, go wrong. This girl could break Lindsey’s heart. She could leave her for someone older, someone who doesn’t live three states away. She could stand in the way of Arden and Lindsey’s friendship. Lindsey could try to go to college in New York City just to be close to Jamie, only to find that she and Jamie don’t even really like each other that much.
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But Arden sweeps these thoughts out of her mind. Because right now, Lindsey is happy. And there will be time enough to deal with the unhappiness when it comes.
“What happened after you kissed?”
“Not much. I mean, we made out a lot. She let me sleep in her room.”
Arden waggles her eyebrows up and down.
“Not like that. I mean, I would like that, someday, don’t get me wrong—I just thought having my first kiss was enough for one night. I want to have something to look forward to.”
“So you just slept? I’m not missing anything here?”
“We just slept. And then this morning she made me a tofu scramble and a kale smoothie for breakfast, and I told her that the Heart of Gold broke down on the highway yesterday so she called over her friend who’s a mechanic to work on it.”
“Her friend did a good job.” Arden rubs the car’s steering wheel appreciatively. They’re still on city streets, so it’s easy to stay well under her mother’s sixty-mile-an-hour edict. “Thank you,” Arden adds. “You’re a miracle worker.”
“I know I don’t always know the right thing to do or say,” Lindsey says. “Sometimes it takes me a while to figure it out. Sometimes I do the wrong thing first. But if you give me enough time, Arden”—she shrugs—“eventually I’ll figure it out.”
Arden never imagined that she would like having the day saved by somebody else. But today, she is surprisingly grateful.
She merges onto the highway, which is, as she’s come to expect from New York City streets, filled with traffic. “Something tells me this is going to take more than six hours and two minutes.”
“I hope your night was okay,” Lindsey says. “I’m sorry I didn’t want to leave with you. I just really wanted to see if anything was going to happen with Jamie. And honestly? I wasn’t that into Peter. Don’t be mad. I know he’s smart and funny and talented and everything. But there was something about him … Like, he never even asked how we managed to track him down. He just seemed to take it for granted that he’s such a big deal that random girls would follow him around. You know? It just seemed a little self-absorbed to me.”
