I have a splitting headache. Mom and I got into it pretty bad after the presentation today
Curious-in-Cheshire 6:19p: there is no way you had it worse than I did
I-Kissed-Alice 6:19p: So why do you want to meet, then, if everything is terrible
Curious-in-Cheshire 6:19p: because seeing you is the only thing holding this day together
I-Kissed-Alice 6:19p: ugh. Me too. I’m sorry.
Curious-in-Cheshire 6:20p: go take a nap. We still have time.
I-Kissed-Alice 6:20p: 8, still? Do you want real food instead?
Curious-in-Cheshire 6:20p: real food sounds good.
I-Kissed-Alice 6:20p: meet me in front of Frist at 8 and we’ll walk until we find something
* * *
CHAPTER 17
ILIANA
Username: Curious-in-Cheshire
Last online: 5m ago
“Stop apologizing.” Sarah is a smaller version of herself, hunched forward with her arms crossed in front of her middle as if she’s holding her guts in.
It’s the fourth time I’ve apologized tonight, and the third time she’s told me to cut it out, but … nothing’s happening.
She still looks the same—sad. Small. Hesitant.
“I just—” I want you to pretend it never happened, I want to say.
I need you to pretend it never happened—rather, I need my oldest friend, and I need you to not be angry with me anymore.
I need you to be excited with me and be brave when I feel so, so afraid.
But nothing changes. We’re walking in lockstep up the hill from our hotel, and even if the Frist Center for the Visual Arts is two city blocks away, I can still see the glow of its lights like a beacon calling us home. Under all that light stands Alice—she’s never late to anything—and for all I know, she’s scared to death, too.
“You’re quiet,” Sarah says.
We run out of sidewalk, and the light turns red across the street. I hit the button to cross with a gloved hand and turn back to face Sarah again.
“The traffic light is turning your hair red,” I say weakly.
People accumulate behind us, all finding their way wherever the heck it is they’re going. Probably somewhere fancy. The light glows red on their faces, reflects off the screens of their smartphones and catches in their hair, too.
“Do you have any idea who she is?” Sarah whispers.
The red hand on the crosswalk sign flips over to a brilliant white stick figure, and we step out into the road. Sarah’s hair flips from red to green, too.
“None,” I say. “I sort of wonder if she hid herself from me on purpose—know what I mean?”
“That’s paranoid.” Sarah is careful not to look at me.
Her eyes are on the shop windows, lit from the inside against the dark night. We pass a nail salon and an empty Chinese restaurant with a counter covered in take-out orders. A bookstore next, then a law office that’s closed for the day.
“Is it paranoid, though? Really? What if she’s as afraid of who I am as I am of her?”
“If you’re afraid of each other, why are you meeting?”
She has a point. The edge in Sarah’s voice doesn’t make it easy to swallow, though.
“Look, you didn’t have to come with me—”
“Like hell I’m going to miss this.” Sarah’s smile is hesitant. She reapplied her makeup hours ago—the project presentation is long over and we’ve had time to crash at the hotel before dinner, but her eyes still carry a little bit of cry in them. She turns to face me and takes my gloved hands in hers. “I have to know how this ends, all right?”
I nod. “I know.”
“Just—quit worrying about it.”
“Yeah.” Like hell, as Sarah says. Until I find my way to Alice, and I know everything is okay, I won’t quit worrying about it.
We walk the rest of the way to Frist in silence.
I purposely don’t look at the person standing alone on Frist’s massive front staircase—instead, I drag Sarah to hide behind a car parked on the curb.
“I think she’s over there,” I say. I can’t breathe.
Traffic flies past us, and we press closer to the parked car.
Sarah strains to look up at the stairs through the parked car’s windshield. “What did she say she’s supposed to be wearing?”
“Um.” I pull my phone from my pocket and open the Slash/Spot app. It shows she’s online now, of course. Probably staring at her phone, waiting for me—a sign—something. I’d be doing the same if it were me waiting for her. I flick over to our direct messages. “A baby blue coat, uh, and a black ribbon in her hair.”
Like Alice, she’d said. I didn’t tell her what I would be wearing.
The time