Page 40 of Come As You Are

“And what about Matt’s roommate? You guys seem tight.”

“Do we?” I snort, knowing that Salem would probably mime an act of violence on himself at the very thought. “Don’t tell him that.”

Her mouth curves into a smile. “Why’s that?”

“There are prickly jerks, and then there’s Salem Grayson—an entire other level. I don’t think there’s a single person on earth he likes as much as he likes dead musicians.”

“So you guys have never…”

“Never…?” Then the meaning of her question hits, and I laugh for real. “God no. Me andSalem? In what world?”

“I had to ask!” She twirls her long strawberry hair into a bun on top of her head and stretches out her limbs. “I suspected we were doing this routine to impress someone, and I was afraid it might be him.”

“It’s not,” I assure her. “But wait, why ‘afraid’?” All at once, everything registers. “You know.” It’s not a question.

“Evie—”

I jump up from where I’ve been sitting on the floor. “You know about Salem and Jenna. You’ve always known. And you’re trying to get dirt for her.” I think back to the day at the mall, and how they teased me about him then, too. At the time, it’d felt like an induction into their glorious group, but now I see it for what it was: a fact-finding mission. “God, I should’ve known.”

“Evie, no, come on. You’re making it sound like this evil plot. Wearefriends—”

“Really, Isabel? Because using me to make sure I’m notgetting in the way of the guy your friend wants is not what friends do. Making me a stepping stone to someone else—getting an invite from me to his room…” I can’t even continue. It’s all so pathetic. I am right back where I was a few months ago, a tool in the quest for two people to find each other while I lose everything.

Howam I back here?

“I gotta go.” I stumble out of her room to the sound of her calling my name, the cards fluttering from my hands to the plush carpet below.

It’s a relief to make it to Rumson without bumping into anyone, and when I get back to my room, I do something I never do and lock the door. There isn’t a soul on earth I want to see right now, or for the rest of the day. All I can think about is who’s using me, and am Ievergoing to be someone who just gets to have a life and friends and a boyfriend without there being an asterisk on it all?

Okay, you’re going to make yourself crazy.I can’t be alone with my thoughts. I need some noise to drown them out. I flip open my laptop and open up a music app.

I’m about to put on one of my usual comfort choices like Taylor Swift when I decide I need a change of pace. What were those bands Salem mentioned again? After all, he gave newer music a shot when I suggested it; it seems only fair that I try his.

I look up Nirvana, thinking of the shirt he wore on the first day, and he’s right: a lot of this isn’t bad. From there, I follow “If you like this, you may like that” suggestions that take me from Hole to Veruca Salt to Letters to Cleo. I explore Foo Fighters and Soundgarden and Mad Season. I take a quick break to pick up food from the Beast and bring it back to my room so I can listen some more.

Some of the music is good. Some of it is awful. Some of it reminds me of sitting in Craig’s basement and watching him maneuver soldiers and elves through virtual battlefields while barely acknowledging my existence. Some of it makes me think of Sierra for no reason at all other than that it feels like her vibe and apparently my brain and this shit with Isabel are determined to pull me back into the past.

And finally, after I don’t even know how many songs have passed, I do the thing I’ve been determined not to do.

I go online to look up all the people I left behind, starting with my sister.

Sierra’s pictures always make it look like she’s having the best time in the room, and if any part of me had thought maybe that would change in my absence, that’s now squashed. It’s just like it’s always been for her—cracking up at a party, clutching the arms of her usual partners in crime, Jace and Levi. Lying out on the grass and lifting her face to the sun. Showing off an outfit in shades of neon, her fingers raised in a peace sign. Not one thing about her life has changed.

Including the fact that Craig and Claire are nowhere to be found.

So they didn’t end up managing to worm their way into her orbit for real, then. He slept with his girlfriend’s sister, and she kept their secret, and for what?

Craig’s only social media use is limited to stuff like gamer Discords, so I don’t bother with that; instead, I click over to Claire, expecting the usual brightly colored squares of her art. She’s never been big on posting pictures of her face, and she absolutely hates all photographs of her body.

Or at least she used to.

It’s only been a couple of weeks since I left Greentree, and a few months since I’ve seen or spoken to Claire, but I swear I don’t know who this person is smiling hugely with her arm around two girls with similarly dark-brown skin, her meticulous braids dip-dyed lilac. I have never seen the camo-print romper she’s wearing in this picture at the Dunkin’ Donuts we used to go to every Sunday morning, cheesing around the hot pink straw emerging from her iced matcha latte. (At least her usual order hasn’t changed.) And there is no way that the girl wearing a bathing suit—abathing suit—in this picture clearly taken at the town pool is my old best friend ClaireBear.

And even though there’s no sign of Craig, or Sierra, or… any of our old friends, actually, in any of these pictures, it’s too much.

I turn off my phone, throw it on my bed, and turn the music all the way up.

The last morning of the world’s most depressing weekend, I get myself to the library bright and early. I’ve developed an affinity for a particular seat, and showing up while everyone else is still chowing down on bagels in the Beast is the best way to get it, even if I do miss Sunday Dunkin’ runs with Claire now more than ever.

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