None of the wishes ever work, but something about sending my deepest, secret desires to distant balls of burning gas and fragments of rock falling into the atmosphere makes me feel better. It’s a ritual that calms the ocean of bitter pain for a brief moment.
Tossing the cigarette into the ashtray I brought out, I think about calling Bishop or Lucas to see what either of them are up to. I’ve calmed down somewhat from talking to Dad, but speaking to them would help.
“Here you are. I was looking for you.”
I whip my head to the side. Blair climbs through the window nimbly and navigates the narrow ledge that leads over to my spot on the roof. The wind disturbs her ponytail as she stands over me, taking in the view.
The vulnerability burns. No one’s ever found my spot. I swallow.
“Are you going to sit?”
Blair settles next to me. “It’s cool up here.”
“Yeah.” I try to picture it with fresh eyes, forgetting everything I’ve confessed up here. “I come up here to think.”
“There’s a spot in the woods between the trailer park and the convenience store where I used to hide out when I didn’t want to be found.”
Blair tucks her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She’s wearing the same oversized hoodie from the night her mom collapsed, her fingertips poking out of the big sleeves. I pinch the pant leg of my sweatpants to keep from reaching out to take her hand.
We’re quiet for a few minutes. My pulse turns erratic. I’m plagued
by an awareness of her presence and every movement.
“I know your secret,” Blair murmurs in a conspiratorial tone.
I dig my grip into my sweatpants, out of view. She can’t.
“Doubt it,” I scoff. I tap my chest, near my heart and the shooting star tattoo. “I keep them all under lock and key.”
Blair rests her chin on her knees. Her gaze holds mine. “You want everyone to think you’re this carefree playboy. But you’re not. Your secret is that you care. More than anyone.”
My stomach drops at the truth in her assessment. In my pocket, my phone sits heavy like lead. Three texts sent to Dad after our phone call go unanswered.
The puppets at school believe my mask is the real me, but it’s not. They see what I want them to. Blair’s right. The truth is I try hard as hell not to care about anything. I compartmentalize it all, burying the hurts deep where they can’t get to me.
How does she do that? How does she always see through the armor I’ve constructed to protect myself from disappointment?
Maybe Blair hides a chained up monster, too, because her little claws scrape at the box I’ve tucked all of the weakness into. Sometimes it seeps out, like Pandora’s chaos escaping a cage not strong enough to trap the torrent of horror desperate to get out and spread.
Blair’s voice is soft when she continues. “I think it’s why you try so hard to control everything around you. Down to the exact curve of your smiles.”
I laugh jaggedly to play off how she blindsides me when I least expect it. Dragging a hand through my hair, I turn my attention up to the sky. “I didn’t let you sit up in my secret spot with me so you could psychoanalyze me. Quit it, or you’re getting the boot.”
“Sorry.”
More surprised that she apologized to me than the fact she figured me out, I cut a quick look at her. She fiddles with the cuffs of her hoodie.
“Me too,” I offer.
The rest gets stuck in my throat. I mean all of it—sorry for internalizing so much anger because she left, sorry for making her my favorite target, sorry for trying to drive her to leave all these years.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, trying to push all of my meaning into the apology. “I know I muddled it before and you didn’t believe me, but I am. Do I need to find another glass of water to dump on myself?”
Blair laughs, the bright sound drifting in the night. “No need, though I think I do prefer you wet.” She sends me a sly look from the corner of her eye. After a beat, she flaps her hand. “I guess I’m sorry for making a move on your car, too.”
“I’m not.” Blair’s brows lift in surprise. I shrug. “If you didn’t break in, I wouldn’t have you here right now.”
It’s fucked up that my revenge plan led to this, but I can’t say I’m mad at the turn in the tide.