Her eyes are closed. She’s only sleeping, he tells himself.
But it’s difficult to believe that when she’s so pale and still.
The last time he spoke to her, he told her she was worthless- that he would be better off without her in his life. Everyone would be better off, he’d suggested. She told him she loved him. And he told her it wasn’t love-it couldn’t be, because she didn’t have that in her. He’d sent her away.
And then she’d appeared onstage, drugged out and miserable, begging him to take her back in front of the whole school.
He’d been humiliated. Enraged. Until he got the phone call.
He sits down on the small plastic folding chair next to her bed and cradles her hand in his, careful not to move her arm. He doesn’t want to hurt her. She doesn’t wake up.
The room is empty. Her parents are in the cafeteria. The nurse just left. Adam is alone, and he can say what he needs to say. Even if she can’t hear him.
“Please be okay,” he begs her. “I need you.”
He wishes she would open her eyes. Or squeeze his hand.
Talk to her, they’d told him. It can help.
“Remember when we were in fourth grade and I forgot my permission slip for that trip to the amusement park?” he asks. He feels stupid, even though there’s no one to hear. But he keeps going. “And I started crying in front of everyone when Mrs. Webber told me I couldn’t go? You tore your permission slip in half so you’d have to stay there with me. You missed out on your first roller coaster-” He stops and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to remember. “Just for me,” he whispers. He wants to lay his head on her chest and listen to her heartbeat, confirm that it’s steady and strong. But there are too many bandages and wires, and he’s afraid he could hurt her. Even more.
He leans down, his face close to hers, and for a moment he is tempted to kiss her, convinced that, like Sleeping Beauty, the touch of his lips might bring her back. Instead, he rests his head on the pillow next to hers and whispers. He asks her to wake up. He tells her, again, that he needs her.
Still, she sleeps.
Adam lies motionless for a moment, watching her breathe, soothed by the rhythmic rise and fall of the white sheets. Then he sits up, stands, and says good-bye.
“I’ve got to go,” he says. “I’m sorry. But I’ll be back tomorrow. ”
If he had forgiven her sooner, and she hadn’t made that speech…
If he had caught her before she had run out of the building…
If he had followed her to the parking lot, stopped her from getting into the car…
He knows she can’t hear him, but he says it again. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Harper said, and the artificially casual tone was back in her voice. “I’ve got all the friends I need right now, and like I say, I’m fine, so you can forget that whole guilty conscience thing.”
“That’s not-”
“Better get inside now,” she said, staring at a point over his shoulder. “Or my mother will send the dogs out for me. Thanks for stopping by.”
“Harper, if we could just-”
“See you around.” She turned her back on him and walked inside the house.
Adam wasn’t ready to go home. No one was waiting for him there. So he circled around the back of his house and hoisted himself up onto their rock. He could see Harper’s bedroom window; the shades were drawn. He lay back against the cool granite, staring up at the hazy sky, tinged with a grayish purple.
He thought he should be angry, or sorry, or hopeless. But he was just tired. He closed his eyes, and waited for sleep.
“Dude, get up!”
“Whuh…?” Reed Sawyer propped himself up and shook his head, trying to get his bearings. A thick fog hung over his brain, courtesy of a mid-afternoon toke and nap session. But gradually, the blur of noise and color resolved itself into comprehensible details, and the world clicked back into place.
The cold, hard metal beneath him-the hood of his bandmate’s car.
The loud voice harshing his buzz, the heavy hand shaking him awake-said bandmate.
The big emergency-a gig, their first in weeks. Tonight. Now.
Reed nodded to himself as the facts crawled back into his brain. He lay back against the hood and pulled out another joint. His fingers fumbled with the lighter, but it lit up, and a moment later, so did he.
He sucked in and grinned. That first lungful was his favorite part, the sweet familiar burn spreading through his body. Peace.
“What s with you-get the hell up!” The hand was shaking him again. His eyes had slipped closed without him noticing. Things were easier in the dark.
“Chill, Fish,” he groaned. “I’m up.”
“The gear’s packed up, we’ve got to go,” Fish complained. “What’s with you, man? Do you want to be late?”
Did he want to be late? Reed didn’t want… anything. To want, you had to think about the future, you had to think outside the moment. Reed drew in another lungful of smoke. Thinking about the future only led you to the past; it was safer to stay in the present.
“I’m coming,” he said, digging into the pocket of his jeans to make sure he had his lucky guitar pick. “In a minute.”
“Right.” Fish grabbed his arm and dragged him up. “Get your ass off my car. You’re coming now.” He rolled his eyes and, with a laugh, grabbed the joint out of Reed’s hand. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to share?”
As they ambled toward the van, Fish babbled about the gig, about possibilities, new songs, recording, making it big. Pointless dreams, Reed realized that now. But he kept his mouth shut.
The band didn’t seem to matter much to him these days. Nothing did. Not since-
Before it happened, he’d almost gotten himself kicked out of school. He’d refused to apologize for something he hadn’t done. It had seemed so important then: upholding his honor. Telling the truth.
At the thought of it, Reed almost laughed. What the hell was the difference? That’s what he’d figured out, after the accident. It didn’t matter what you did or didn’t do. If life wanted to kick you in the ass, no one could stop it. If the universe wanted to take away the one thing that mattered…
So he’d given in. He confessed, he took the suspension, went back to school. It was what everyone wanted, and that made it easy. He hadn’t stopped to think about what he wanted. Because he didn’t want anything. Not anymore.
“We got a surprise for you.” Fish ran a hand through his greasy blond hair-he’d decided the tousled, windblown look would get him more girls. Stuck at the back of the stage, behind the drums, only his head was visible, he always pointed out. He couldn’t do anything about his face, but the hair was a constant work in progress.
“Uh-huh.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“No.”
“You don’t want a surprise?” Fish asked, sounding put out.
“Do I get a choice?”
Fish shrugged. “Good point.” They’d reached the van, and Reed headed toward the driver’s seat, as always. But Fish pushed him toward the back. “Not today. I’m driving, Hale has shotgun. You’re in back.”
Reed shook his head and slung himself into the van- nearly landing in the lap of a tall, skinny brunette who was sprawled along the length of the backseat. Her legs were nearly bare, along with the rest of her.
“Uh… Fish?”
“Surprise!” Hale chuckled and twisted around to face the backseat. “Reed, meet Sandra. We thought she could cheer you up. She’s a big fan.” Hale’s hands flickered briefly at his chest, universal code for bigness of a certain shape and form. Reed didn’t need the tip. Sandra was bulging out of a tight leather halter top, her breasts seeming ready to escape at any moment.