Summer in the Invisible City (17 page)

There's only one person in the whole world I can think of who could possibly make me feel better right now. I'm just not sure if she wants to see me. And I'm not sure if I'm ready to see her.

—

The doorman lets me in to Willa's building and as I ride up to her floor, I wonder if she's still mad. It's been ten days since our fight but these ten days felt more like a zillion. It smells like sunscreen in the elevator, like some family with kids all lathered up and ready for the beach just rode in it. It's July. It's beautiful outside. I should be happy like everyone else.

From the hallway outside Willa's apartment, I hear voices and laughter, and suddenly I don't know if I should be here.

I'm standing there frozen when the door opens and Gene greets me.

“Hey, Sadie. The doorman just buzzed up and said you were here,” he says.

“Umm, right,” I mumble.

“They're in the living room,” he says, turning away from me and padding down the hall.

They
? I think. But I just say, “Thanks.”

Miles is sitting on the couch next to Willa. Not on the couch opposite. Not in the armchair. On the couch
with
Willa and she seems totally happy about that, sitting there all cross-legged with her hair down and brushed. She's not wearing her glasses, and from where I'm standing, I can't be sure, but I think she might have blush on.

Willa sees me and she stops smiling. Then she says, “Oh.”

I look from her to Miles and then back to her.

“Oh,” I say.

For a minute, we are silent, reading each other's minds like books. Then, she gets up off the couch and walks over to me.

“Excuse us for a second,” she says to Miles. She turns to me like I'm a little kid being dragged to the principal's office and points down the hall. “Go.”

—

Willa closes the door behind us in her room. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to make up,” I say. Because it's the only thing I can think of that'
s true.
“I'm so sorry for what I said.”

Willa rolls her eyes. “Why? Izzy and Phaedra didn't invite you to a party? Or, wait, lemme guess, it turns out Sam isn't the greatest guy in the world, after all?” she taunts.

“Leave Sam out of this,” I say.

“Oh, is he your boyfriend now?” she asks, challenging me.

“No,” I say. “It's all messed up but it's not his fault. It's mine. It's a long story.”

Willa purses her lips and squeezes her eyes closed like she's trying not to scream. Finally she says, “
I don
't want to hear it, okay? I don't care about your adventures in social climbing.”

Social climbing? Her words strike a match inside my heart, and a vivid, sharp rage ignites in my chest.

“Fuck you, Willa,” I say.

Willa's eyes grow huge, but I don'
t stop.

“I'm sick of you judging me all the time,” I say. “Just because I don't have everything figured out like you do doesn't mean I'm a bad person. Just because I want to make new friends doesn't mean I'm social climbing.”

“Fuck me?” Willa almost shouts, stepping closer to me. “You're the one who accused me of being jealous of my sister. You're the one who lets people walk all over you and then you just expect me to pick up the pieces. Fuck
you
.”

I've never said “fuck you” to anyone before. No one has ever said it to me. And suddenly, it seems like the silliest thing in the world and I begin to laugh. Not just a little chuckle, but a real, uncontrollable, belly laugh.

“I'm sorry,” I say, covering my mouth with my hands. “I'm sorry. It's not funny. I know it's not funny.”

Willa watches, horrified. “Why are you laughing?”

“It'
s just, I
've never said, fuck you, before,” I say. I'm laughing like a maniac, so hard I can barely speak. “And it's really funny.”

Willa's face softens. We look at each other and suddenly
we're both laughing. It's the kind of contagious laughing fit that feels like it will never end.

“You looked really scary when you said it,” Willa says, and she has to wipe away tears.

“It felt
crazy
,” I say. “I felt like a crazy person saying it.”

“Was it convincing when I said it?” she asks.

“Yeah, it was really scary,” I say. “I mean, you looked tough.”

“I felt like a big dork trying to act tough,” she says.

Slowly, we begin to calm down.

“What is happening right now?” I finally manage, breathing deeply. “Are we still fighting?”

“
I don
't know,” Willa says. “
I don
't know anything anymore.”

“Me neither,” I say. “Nothing makes any sense.”

“That was really, really mean what you said about me and Danielle,” she says, sobering up. “And it's not true. I don't know if you think deep down I'm jealous of my sister. But I swear on my life I'm not.”

“I wouldn't judge you if it were, though,” I say. “It's normal.”

“But I'm not,”
Willa groans.
“Everyone thinks I'm jealous of her and it's so annoying. Really, I just feel bad for her most of the time.”

I nod. I know it's true. That's the kind of person Willa is.

“And I feel really bad that I didn't go with you to your dad's thing,” she continues.

“You should feel bad,” I declare. “It really messed with my head. I needed you there.”

“I know,” she says. “That was really selfish of me. Just because I didn't want to deal with those girls. I shouldn't let them get to me. You can be friends with whoever you want, and I'm not gonna be a baby about it. I can share you.”

“Well, that's a whole other story,” I say. “Those friendships are kind of messed up. But don't worry, I won't make you listen to my—what did you call it—‘adventures in social climbing?'”

“Yeah.”
Willa giggles.
“I memorized that line. I've been dying to say it to your face.”

“Willa, you have no idea how much I love you,” I say.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Willa says, doing that deflecting thing she always does when things get mushy.

“Stop it. I'm serious,” I say. “You're my best friend. I love you. You're family to me.”

Willa nods slowly. “You're my best friend, too. You always will be. Even after high school and everything.”

“Not Miles?” I tease.

Willa looks at her feet, her cheeks growing red. She is wearing mascara, I think. And eyeliner.

“Omigod. You
like
him,” I say. “Wow. Why didn't you tell me?”

“When? In between your stories about all the new stuff you're doing and your amazing photo teacher and your mysterious boyfriend from New Hampshire?” she asks. “I know you think Miles is a huge nerd.”

“But I'm your friend,” I say. “
I don
't care if he's a dork. All that matters is that you like him.”

Willa looks up at me and when she speaks, her voice is
so tender it bends my heart. “Good. 'Cause I think I might.”

“
Besides,
” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder and speaking in a gentle voice, “you're a nerd, too. So it makes sense.”

Willa swats my hand away. “Fuck you.”

And then we start laughing all over again.

—

I sit in the armchair in the living room and Miles and Willa sit on the couch together. There's a foot of space between them so they aren't touching, but that space looks deliberate, like they're afraid if they touched, they'd explode.

“Don't ask Sadie any hard questions,” Willa tells Miles, when we've settled in. “She's having a bad day.”

“
No hard questions. Done,
” Miles says.

“Thank you,” Willa says.

“You'
re welcome,
” he says. And then he picks up a kernel of popcorn from the bowl on the table and throws it at Willa. “I'll save all my hard questions for you.”

Willa laughs. She looks at Miles and her smile brightens. Then, she drops her gaze and reaches for the remote, blushing hard. It's a short moment, but it's an infinity, too, The same way falling off a tall building would be three seconds that lasted forever.

I wonder if that's how I looked at Sam, before I ruined everything.

On the way home from class the next day, Sam finally calls.

I practically drop my backpack in the middle of the sidewalk, I'm in such a rush to answer it.

“I'm so glad you called,” I exclaim, instead of saying
hi.

“Hey,” he says.

“I'm so sorry. I am such an idiot and I haven't stopped thinking about all of it,” I blurt.

“
Wait,
” he says.

“No, I just have to say this. I really messed up.”

“I have to talk to you in person,” he says. He sounds sad. “Can I come over?”

—

An hour later, I buzz Sam in.

“Welcome,” I say awkwardly when I answer the door. “My mom is still at work so it's just us.”

“Nice,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks tired.

“Want something to drink?” I ask. “
We have juice.
”

“
Sadie,
” Sam says, and his voice is slow and broken.
He sinks down onto the couch. I'm still standing.

“What's wrong?” I ask. “You're starting to scare me.”

He folds forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He presses his hands over his eyes. He lets out a ragged, exasperated breath and then relaxes, leaning back again.

I sit down next to him. He'
s so tense, I
'm afraid to touch him, but I decide to anyway. I reach up and gently place my hand on his shoulder. He doesn't pull away.

“My mom and her boyfriend went away for the weekend, last weekend, you know?” he says.

“Okay,” I say. “I remember.”

“They broke up,” he says, staring at the floor.

“Oh.” That doesn't seem so bad to me, so I say, “That sucks.”

He is still for a moment and then he turns toward me, catching my gaze with hard, burning eyes.

“We're moving back to New Hampshire,” he says. “Next week.”

A weight drops in my stomach. “But,” I start, and then I have no idea what to say. “
You can
'
t just leave. You
live
here.”

“Not anymore,” he says.

“Can't you stay here without her?” I ask. “Just stay.”

“And do what? That's crazy,” he says.

Understanding hits me: Sam is leaving. There will be no me and Sam. No more walking around with nowhere in particular to go. No kissing and fighting and making up.

“I'm going to get stuck there,” he says. “I know it. I'm going to end up just like him.”

He doesn't have to say who, because I know.

“I don't know your dad,” I say carefully. “But from everything you'
ve said, I don
't think you're anything like him.”

Sam is resting his elbows on his knees, fidgeting with his hands. He hangs his head forward. I reach out and touch his hand. He looks at me and then I take it and hold it in both of mine. He's staring at me, but I can't look at him so I stare at our hands. My hands are small and pale from a summer spent in a darkroom.

“I'm so sorry about Noah,” I say. “It didn't mean anything. I hate that that's the last thing that happened and now you're leaving. It'
s so unfair.
”

“Hey,” he says. “It's okay.”

I let myself look up at him, and he smiles a little bit. Maybe the saddest smile I've ever seen. His eyes moving carefully over my face.

And then he leans in and kisses me. It's slow at first. I can feel the shape of his bottom lip in between mine. And then he gently parts my lips with his tongue and I lean into him, my mouth melting into his as we pull each other closer. We pull each other so close that I have to climb up onto the couch so I'm sitting on his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and his hands are on my hips and then holding my rib cage, his thumbs grazing the bottom of my breasts just the tiniest bit. I run my hands down his arms, wanting to feel all of him, feeling the hard belt buckle of his jeans against me. Something stirs deep inside me, and I can tell from the way he's holding me, guiding me toward him, that he feels it, too.

He pulls his face away from mine but he doesn't let go.

“I'm sorry, too,” he says. “I shouldn't have made you feel so bad. I just can't stand thinking about some other guy . . .”

“I know,” I say, cutting him off. “I know.”

He reaches up and pushes the hair out of my eyes, the skin on his fingers is the perfect amount of rough.

Then he says, “I lied to you.”

“What? About what?” I ask.

“
I don
't want to be your friend. I never wanted to be your friend,” he says.

He lifts me up and rolls me onto my back so he's lying on top of me. His thigh is pressing in between my legs. The afternoon light illuminates the super-soft skin on his nose where the sunburn has peeled off, and I touch it gently with my finger. I look at the place where his skin disappears into his clothing, and I remember how he looked with his shirt off at the beach. I want to see all of him. I hook my finger into the collar of his shirt so that the tips of my fingers graze the top of his chest. And then we're kissing again, his arms are wrapping all the way underneath me and around me. We draw breaths in between our kisses, which are growing more and more heated.

“This is a bad idea,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “But I want to be with you now. While we still can.”

“I'm going to be gone in a few days,” he says. “I'm leaving. For good.”

“You can always come visit,” I say. “And maybe you can go to college in the city and—” my words trail off because he's smiling a little now. “Why are you smiling?”

“'Cause you're sweet,” he says. “But I can't do this. I can't do something that could hurt you. When all I want to do is . . .
not
hurt you.”

I finger a loose thread along the collar of his shirt. I can't look into his eyes. “Please don't go.”

And then he says, “
Sadie.
” And he says it in that way he does, like it's two fragile words barely held together.

And I know what he means. This is the end.