Page 35 of Beauty and Kaos

Her words mirror the thoughts echoing in my head, bouncing around mercilessly in the void.

“You can’t blame yourself for what you didn’t know,” I tell her, knowing I should be telling myself the same.

“I know,” she says, holding the keys out in her palm. “She was supposed to be here. She was helping me with all of this.” She nods toward the wall of lockers across from us. “52 is hers.She has my tripod from the last shoot. I need it for tonight, but I haven’t been able to open it.”

I glance at the locker, then back at the keys. “I’ll do it,” I tell her, reaching for them. “I didn’t know her at all.” And maybe I didn’t. Fuck, I don’t know anymore.

She nods and drops them into my palm. I stand and walk over to the locker, blocking it from view with my body as I reach out and realize my hand is trembling. The lock slides open with aclink, and I set it on the bench. Then I pull open the metal door.

Braced inside is Mia’s tripod, and I pull it out to hand it to her. She nods.

“Thanks,” she says, tucking it into the strap of her camera bag.

I reach back in and pull out a pile of clothes. Shorts, a bundle of socks. When I unfold a yellow Gray’s Cove Track Team t-shirt, with a simple design on the front of a crane in running shoes, my breathing becomes shallow, and rapid. My heart thunders in my chest. I think I’m having a panic attack, but I can’t let Mia know.

I sit down and concentrate on long, deep breaths. This isn’t even her shirt, it’s mine. She stole it from me when she left, and I let her because I knew she loved it. I’ve had it since Sophmore year, and it’s the kind of soft that cotton can only get when it’s washed a million times. I fist my hands in the shirt, then remember where I am, far back behind enemy lines, and set the shirt on the pile of clothes with the others.

A black jacket hangs on the hook, the last item in the locker, and I pull it out. It doesn’t look familiar, and I glance over it curiously. In fact, it looks like a men’s jacket. When Iflip it over, I read the logo on the back in bright red, shiny letters.

“Tesla?” I ask, glancing over at Mia.

She nods. “That’s Evan’s.”

“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t know Evan had a Tesla.”

“Yeah.” She looks up at me. “They were dating, you know.”

“Evan and Paige?”

She nods. “He didn’t like to let on how serious it was in front of the team, but I knew. I knew a lot of the nights when she wasn’t coming home, she was with him.”

“I wonder what he thinks about all this?” I ask, watching her carefully. “He seems so unfazed by the investigation.”

She shrugs. “Everyone grieves differently, I guess. Evan doesn’t want to look weak. They were pretty close, I’m sure he’s a mess on the inside. But, like the service we provide here, we plaster on that big, fake smile and keep right on going.”

“I know how that goes,” I agree, looking down at my boots. More than she knows.

“That’s why we have to do stuff like this,” she says, nodding toward her growing pile of camera equipment. “To leave everything else at the door, go somewhere that’s not work, and remember why we’re alive.” She brushes the tears from her eyes and picks up her makeup bag, striding over to the mirror.

I want to tell her that I feel her pain. That she’s not alone. I thought I was alone, but maybe I’m not. Maybe Mia isn’t responsible for any of this, and she’s collateral damage. Suffering beneath our customer service mask. Together, and also alone.

“I didn’t know if I should tell you about Evan. When I saw you two step out of the cash room together, it looked like youwere into him,” she confesses, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. A smile lifts at the corners of her lips.

“I don’t know yet,” I say. “There’s something about him that intrigues me.” Not a lie.

She nods. “You seem to be intrigued by several people.” Her claim is accusatory, but as her smile widens, I know she’s messing with me.

I sigh, fighting the smile that teases at my lips. “Some more than others, it seems.”

“I don’t know about Evan, just getting out of a relationship that ended like it did. Maybe he’s ready to move on. Maybe that’s how he heals.” She shrugs. “But Zaden… I’ve seen him with other women. And I’ve never seen him look at them the way he looks at you.”

I cock an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

She laughs. “Like he’s starving, and you’re a sandwich.”

I laugh too. Because it’s easier than crying, or grieving, or being so angry I want to hit something.

“You ready?” I ask her.

---