When it got bad, she liked talking about the Two Year Gameplan. She and Hellie would start community college in the fall or they’d take online classes. They’d both get jobs at the mall and put their money toward a used car so they wouldn’t have to take the bus everywhere.
Usually Hellie liked to play along, but not that day. She’d been sullen, cranky, poking holes in everything. “No one is going to give us enough shifts at the mall to afford a car and rent.”
“Then we’ll be secretaries or something.”
Hellie had cast a long look over Alex’s arms. “Too many tattoos.” Not on Hellie. Lying there on the steps of Royce in her jean shorts, her golden legs crossed, she looked like she belonged. “I like that you think this is really happening. It’s cute.”
“It could happen.”
“We can’t lose the apartment, Alex. I was homeless for a while after my mom kicked me out. I’m not doing that again.”
“You won’t have to. Len’s just talking. Even if he’s not, we’ll figure it out.”
“If you stay in the sun much longer, you’re gonna look all Mexicana.” Hellie rose and dusted off her shorts. “Let’s smoke and go see a movie.”
“We won’t have enough money for the bus back.”
Hellie winked. “We’ll figure it out.”
They’d found a movie theater, the old Fox, where Alex sometimes saw the staff putting up red ropes for premieres. Alex had nestled against Hellie’s shoulder, smelling the sweet coconut scent of her still sun-warm skin, feeling the silk of her blond hair brushing occasionally against her forehead.
Eventually she’d dozed off, and when the theater lights came up, Hellie was gone. Alex had gone out into the lobby, then the bathroom, then texted Hellie, and it was only after the second text that she finally got a reply: It’s ok. I figured it out.
Hellie had gone back for the party. She’d gone back to Len and Ariel. She’d made sure Alex wouldn’t be there in time to stop her.
Alex had no money left, no way to get to home. She tried hitching, but no one wanted to pick up a girl with tears streaming down her face, dressed in a dirty T-shirt and the nubs of black jean shorts. She’d walked up and down Westwood Boulevard, unsure of what to do, until at last she’d sold the last of her pot to a redhead with dreads and a skinny dog.
When she got back to the apartment, her feet were bloody where blisters had formed and burst inside her Converse low-tops. The party was in full swing at Ground Zero, the music filtering outside in thuds and chirps.
She crept inside but didn’t see Hellie or Ariel in the living room. She waited in line for the bathroom, hoping no one would report her presence to Len or that he’d be too wasted to care, washed her feet in the tub, then went to the back bedroom and lay down on the mattress. She texted Hellie again.
Are you here? I’m in the back.
Hellie please.
Please.
She’d fallen asleep but woke to the sound of Hellie lying down beside her. In the dim shine of the security light from the alley, she looked yellow all over. Her eyes were huge and glassy.
“Are you okay?” Alex had asked. “Was it bad?”
“No,” Hellie said, but Alex didn’t know which question Hellie was answering. “No, no, no, no, no.” Hellie wrapped her arms around Alex and drew her close. Her hair was damp. She had showered. She smelled like Dial soap, devoid of the usual sweet coconut Hellie smell. “No no no no no no,” she kept saying. She was giggling, her body shaking in the way it did when she was trying to keep from laughing too loudly, but her hands clutched Alex’s back, the fingers digging in as if she were being pulled out to sea.
Hours later, Alex had woken again. She felt as if she’d never have a real night’s sleep or a real morning, just these short naps broken by half waking. It was three a.m., and the party had died down or moved elsewhere. The apartment was quiet. Hellie was on her side, looking at her. Her eyes still looked wild. She’d vomited on her shirt at some point in the night.
Alex wrinkled her nose at the stink. “Good morning, Smelly Hellie,” she said. Hellie smiled, and there was such sweetness in her face, such sadness. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Alex said. “For good. We’re done with this place.”
Hellie nodded.
“Take that shirt off. You smell like hot lunch,” Alex said, and reached for the hem. Her hand passed straight through it, straight through the place where the firm skin of Hellie’s abdomen should have been.
Hellie blinked once, those eyes so sad, so sad.
She just lay there, still looking at Alex, studying her, Alex realized, for the last time.
Hellie was gone. But she wasn’t. Her body was lying on the mattress, on her back, a foot away, her tight T-shirt splattered with vomit, still and cold. Her skin was blue. How long had her ghost lain there waiting for Alex to wake? There were two Hellies in the room. There were no Hellies in the room.
“Hellie. Hellie. Helen.” Alex was crying, leaning over her body, feeling for a pulse. Something broke inside her. “Come back,” she sobbed, reaching for Hellie’s ghost, her arms passing through her again and again. With each swipe she glimpsed a bright shard of Hellie’s life. Her parents’ sunny house in Carpinteria. Her callused feet on a surfboard. Ariel with his fingers jammed into her mouth. “You didn’t have to do it. You didn’t have to.”
But Hellie said nothing, just wept silently. The tears looked like silver against her cheeks. Alex started screaming.
Len slammed through the door, his shirt untucked, his hair a messy tangle, already swearing that it was three in the morning and couldn’t he get some rest in his own house, when he saw Hellie’s body.
Then he was saying the same thing over and over again. “Fuck fuck fuck.” Just like Hellie’s no no no. Rat-a-tat-tat. A moment later he had his palm pressed against Alex’s mouth. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up. God, you stupid bitch, be quiet.”
But Alex couldn’t be quiet. She sobbed in loud torrents, her chest heaving as he squeezed her tighter and tighter. She couldn’t breathe. Snot was running from her nose, and his hand was clamped tight against her lips. She scrabbled against him as he squeezed. She was going to black out.
“Jesus fuck.” He shoved her away, wiped his hands on his pants. “Just shut up and let me think.”
“Oh shit.” Betcha was in the doorway, his big belly hanging over his basketball shorts, his T-shirt gapping. “Is she?”
“We’ve got to clean her up,” said Len, “get her out of here.”
For a moment, Alex was nodding, thinking he meant to make her look nice. Hellie shouldn’t have to go to the hospital with vomit on her shirt. She shouldn’t be found that way.
“It’s still early. No one’s out there,” said Len. “We can get her in the car, drop her… I don’t know. That nasty-ass club on Hayvenhurst.”
“Crashers?”
“Yeah, we’ll put her in the alley. She looks used up enough, and there’s got to be plenty of shit still in her system.”
“Yeah,” said Betcha. “Okay.”
Alex watched them, her ears ringing. Hellie was watching them too, from her place beside her own body on the mattress, listening to them talk about throwing her out like trash.
“I’m calling the cops,” Alex said. “Ariel must have given her—”
Len hit her, openhanded but hard. “Don’t be fucking stupid. You want to go to jail? You want Eitan and Ariel coming after us?” He hit her again.