So that’s what I started doing. For the next three months, whenever I saw her, I pretended I didn’t know her, and she pretended she didn’t know me. It felt strange at first, but then, as with most everything that feels strange at first, it felt normal after a while. Or maybe I just didn’t notice her as much.
We might have finished out the year like that, ignoring each other in the main lobby, riding the elevator side by side without so much as looking at each other. But the Thursday morning that Jimmy Liff picked me up so he could show me how to get to his town house, Haylie Butterfield—Simone—was sitting in the MINI Cooper’s front seat.
“You two know each other?” Jimmy asked. He was still in the driver’s seat, ducking to see me through Haylie’s window. Haylie and I looked at each other and, in silent agreement, shook our heads. She opened the door and leaned forward so I could climb into the backseat. Jimmy introduced us.
“Valerie, Simone. Simone, Valerie.”
“It’s Veronica,” I said.
He glanced up at me in the rearview mirror. “That’s right,” he said, as if I needed confirmation. “I knew that. Sorry. Is it okay if I keep my window down? It’s so nice out. But just tell me if it’s too much air.”
By the time we pulled away from the curb, he had his hand on Haylie’s leg. She was wearing ribbed tights, not black, but gray, and he moved his fingers up and down the textured lines as he drove. I tried not to appear startled, in case he looked in the rearview mirror again. But, apparently, Haylie was not just trying to look different and have a different name, she really was different than she’d been before. In high school, she had exclusively dated the clean-cut and obviously-destined-for-success—a quarterback, a student body president, and even—famously—a sophomore at MIT. “That sounds impressive,” my mother had pointed out. “But why can’t he date a girl his own age? And why not a girl in the same state?”
Jimmy turned on the radio at the same moment he started talking. “Before we go out to the town house, I want to stop somewhere and see you drive.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “No offense,” he added.
The backseat was very small. My knees were not far from my chin. “Oh, I’m a good driver,” I said. “No tickets, even.” This was probably because I’d never had my own car, but I didn’t mention that.
“Just the same. We’ll make sure.” He was difficult to hear over the music blaring on the radio, someone shouting in German over loud guitars. Sitting this close, I could see the skin around the bolt in his nose looked a little puffy and red.
Haylie turned around. “This car is his baby,” she said, her voice friendly, but not familiar. I could have been meeting her for the first time. She had her hair pulled up under some kind of turban that would have looked really stupid on anyone else. “I drive it, too, but usually no one else. We’re sure you’ll do just fine. We’re so grateful you could do this for us.” She flashed a smile.
I nodded. So she was going on the trip as well. And apparently, before they left, she was going to be condescending. Maybe it was the only way she could think to be. But I didn’t smile back.
Jimmy drove to the parking lot of the football stadium. He gave me the keys, and though I got out of the car on his side, he gestured for Haylie to move from the passenger seat to the back. In the back, Haylie sat with her feet on the seat. In the rearview mirror, she looked like she had no torso, her heart-shaped face resting on the knees of her gray tights. I put the car in gear and told myself not to be nervous. I was a good driver. I tried to remember this as we rolled around the parking lot, me braking, accelerating, and turning at Jimmy’s command. I did all this with the stereo on, the German guy still shouting.
“Okay. Yeah. I feel okay,” Jimmy said, using one hand to signal for me to stop. He got out of the car and walked around the front to the driver’s side. By the time I had gotten out and walked around to the passenger door, Haylie had moved to the front