Page 26 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
“I grew up,” I said. “Got a job and an apartment. I made a new life, all by myself. Maturity. Adulthood. Independence.”
“You mean solitude.”
“I like being alone.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Bull. Shit.” He leaned in close. “I know you, Eliot. You hate being alone.”
“You haven’t seen me in three years. You don’t know what I hate.”
“Don’t know what you hate.” He laughed. His breath was warm and sweet. Red wine and summer air. “Eliot Beck. My best friend for a decade. I don’t know what she hates. Right.” He leaned even closer. That empty hole where his face should be. “Eliot Beck hates being alone. Eliot Beck called me every day after school for eight years because she had too much to say, too much that couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning. Eliot Beck begged me to sneak onto the roof at sleepovers, even when I didn’t want to. Eliot Beck talked my ear off, sunup to sundown, and a little after that, too. Right up until she passed out. Said she was afraid of the dark. But I knew the truth. She wasn’t afraid of the dark; she was afraid of the emptiness that comes with it.”
I stepped back, his words so accurate they felt like a slap across the face. “I don’t even know why you’re here.”
“You know exactly why I’m here.”
“Right,” I said. “For revenge. Because I disappeared, and you hate me for it.”
“Is that really what you think?”
“Yes. I’m not stupid. And I don’t even blame you, okay? I’ve been a bad friend. A horrible friend. But…there are things you don’t understand, Manuel. Reasons I had to leave. I couldn’t…” I inhaled. I couldn’t say more. Not without telling him everything. “It’s okay if you hate me. Really.”
For a small eternity, Manuel was silent. Then, quietly: “I don’t hate you, Eliot.”
I paused. “You don’t?”
“No.”
“Well, you should.”
“Should I.” He said it flatly. No question mark.
“Yes.”You have no idea how much you should hate me.
I am not a good person.
I looked out at the waves. I wished suddenly that I were out there in the chop, not swimming, not skiing, not floating in a tube—just bobbing, letting the waves toss me about like a buoy. Hollow, light as air, no effort needed to stay afloat.
“You know,” said Manuel. “You can be really self-centered sometimes.”
I turned back to him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not criticizing you. I’m just stating a fact. You spend a lot of time in your own head.”
“You more than anyone should know that…”
“I know, I know. The OCD. It traps you up there. I know. But Karma and I both agree—”
“That’s the other thing.” I kicked a loose rock. “Since when areyou and Karma so close? Since when does she know about your exams and girl problems and parties at the Spree?”
“The Spee.”
“Whatever.”
“Right. Whatever.Whateverthat you don’t know the name of the place I spend every weekend.Whateverthat you don’t know anything about my life whatsoever.” Manuel bent over. Swiped up a handful of pebbles, sifted through them. Let the round ones trickle back through his fingers, leaving only the flattest. “Did you know,” he said, “that you haven’t even asked me about my parents yet?”
