The door closed politely in his face.
Vito stood there for a few seconds with his mouth hanging open. He felt a weird urge to ring the bell again, like maybe this time the universe would realign and Reggie’s mom would appear, or maybe even Reggie himself, so he could say what needed to be said and get this weight off his chest, but it wasn’t gonna happen—not today, maybe not ever.
* * *
Before starting back to Kyle’s, he took a picture of Reggie’s house and texted it to Paige.
My best friend used to live here.
I miss you.
He felt a little queasy as he slipped the phone back into his pocket, but he shook it off and started down the street towards the condos. It was chillier now, and a light rain had begun to fall.
He stopped and studied the new building. Some of the condo units were gray and some were yellow, and they all had balconies. The sign out front read Meadow Branch Commons: A Unique Experience in Residential Luxury. The words made no sense. Something buzzed in his pocket. He had a question, at least it felt like a question, but he didn’t know what it was, and then it was gone, and there was nothing in his head but radio static, and then that was gone too, and his mind was a blank.
- 26 - Nate Cleary
Kelly was up in her room, all set to go. The blackout shades were down, the ring light was glowing, the webcam was mounted on its tripod. I handed her the cookie tin without breaking into frame.
“Is this for me?” Her voice was a startled whisper. “You’re so sweet. What did you bring me?”
She took her time undoing the ribbon, making a project out of it. She was really good at stuff like that. Unscrewing. Untying. Uncapping.
“Something smells really good, TapTapTap.”
She pried off the lid, slowly and cautiously, as if there might be a bomb inside. She waited a moment, letting the camera linger on the cookies inside.
“Mmmm. White chocolate chips, red M&M’s, and walnuts. You know me so well.” She made a sad but sexy face. “I’ll have to save them for later. I put on some special lipstick just for you, and I don’t want to mess it up. Is that okay?”
I nodded yes. That was my whole job. To stand behind the webcam so she could look at me while she talked. She said it helped to keep her focused.
“I’m so lucky to have you in my life,” she whispered. “You knew I was feeling a little down, and you baked my favorite cookies for me. From scratch, TapTapTap. You’re so thoughtful and caring.”
And then she did the thing I loved, licking her lips in slow motion, all the way around, just the pointy tip of her tongue. It was a thrill to watch her do it in real time, knowing that thousands of people would watch it later on YouTube.
“You’re the best boyfriend ever.”
It never failed, the way her voice went straight into my bloodstream, like a drug. She knew it too. Sometimes, when we were hooking up, she’d whisper TapTapTap into my ear, and it always sent me right over the edge.
* * *
It was raining when I left her house. Not hard, just a misty drizzle. I got into my car and sat there for a few seconds. I had that feeling you get when you go to a movie in the afternoon, and the world seems unreal when you come out. It was always that way after I helped Kelly with a video.
It was nice, being told over and over again what a great boyfriend I was. But it was also a little weird, because I wasn’t really that great. I was just following instructions. She told me what cookies to bake and how to wrap them, and that’s what I did.
But that was okay. I liked making her happy, and I liked being part of her work. It felt grown-up in a way that none of my other relationships ever had.
I liked her so much that it made me a little sad about graduating and heading off to college. I still didn’t know where I was going, but there was a decent chance that I’d end up at Hamilton or Washington University or Davidson, and that would be the end of me and Kelly. I tried to talk to her about it a couple of times, but she just shrugged it off, like September was a million years away, and there was no point worrying about it. It made me wonder if she’d even miss me when I was gone.
* * *
I was so deep in thought, I drove right past him. He was just part of the scenery, a tall man sitting on the curb in front of the new condos, looking dejected, getting rained on. I was halfway down the block before something clicked in my brain—Holy shit, I know that guy!—and I hung a quick U-turn and drove back to where he was sitting.
I asked if he was okay, and he gave me this blank look, like he wasn’t really sure, and then I asked if he was Vito Falcone, and he seemed surprised for a second, like he hadn’t expected to be recognized, even though he was the most famous person who’d ever lived in our town.
“That’s right,” he said, and he sounded almost relieved. “I’m Vito Falcone.”
- 27 - Tracy Flick
I didn’t want to go to the Welcome Dinner. I didn’t want to meet the star quarterback, or share a meal with my colleagues on the Selection Committee. I just wanted to be left alone.
You think it’ll make you feel better, telling your secret to someone, getting that poison out of your system, but it didn’t work like that for me. It just unlocked a lot of bad memories, and questions I didn’t know how to answer.
I had this image in my head, Mr. Dexter and me in the darkroom after school. I had my hand in his pants and he was giving me instructions: Faster now, but loosen up a little. It didn’t seem real—I thought maybe I was making it up—except that I remembered all these yearbook photos drying on the line, the happy faces of kids who weren’t my friends—they were making wire sculptures in art class, giving each other piggyback rides, playing racquetball in gym class, normal things like that.
There you go, he told me. That’s more like it.
Who was the girl who did that? I didn’t recognize her. And how had my mother let it happen? That was the part I kept tripping over. I couldn’t help thinking that she was at fault somehow—that she should have known—because the two of us were so close, we were best friends, we were like one person. But maybe it wasn’t really like that? Maybe we just said those things to make ourselves feel better?
Where were you? I wondered. Why didn’t you stop me?
But I didn’t want to be mad at my mother—she’d had such a hard life—so I blamed Marissa instead, even though I knew on some level that she didn’t deserve it. All she’d done was reach out and try to be my friend, and it had worked, probably a lot better than either of us had expected. I lowered my guard and told her who I was, and I’d lost control of myself in the process. I resented her for that, for allowing me to be so vulnerable.
We hadn’t talked since that night in the sauna. She’d called me a few times—more than a few, actually—asking if I was okay, giving me the name of a therapist she knew. She also left a series of small gifts on my front stoop—flowers, a bag of loose tea, a bath bomb—always accompanied by a brief note on that handmade paper, saying she was thinking of me, inviting me to go for a walk or meet her for coffee, whatever I wanted. She also delivered the humidifier, which I’d forgotten about in the chaos of my departure, despite her many reminders. The ironic thing was, I didn’t need it anymore, because the nosebleeds had stopped, as abruptly and mysteriously as they’d started.