I Know It's Over Part 16

"Yeah, she told me about her mom."

Keelor blinks in surprise.

"I was losing it and I told her about Sasha," I continue. "Seriously, we just talked and fell asleep."

Keelor drops back against the counter with his mouth open. "I thought you didn't want anybody to know about Sasha."

"I was out of my head-it was bad. I still don't feel right." I grab the gla.s.s I was using earlier, refill it, and guzzle more water. "I'm gonna catch a ride with the next person who leaves."

"Okay," Keelor says uncertainly. I don't know if he's worried about me or if he's suspicious of my story.

"Look, you can ask her later. She'll tell you."

"No, I believe you," Keelor says. "I think Jonah's taking off soon-you can go with him."

I catch a ride with Jonah and tiptoe into my house. I'm not breaking curfew or anything, but I don't want Mom to see me like this. Once I'm safely in my bedroom, I hobble over to my bed and pa.s.s out on top of the covers. My dreams are endless. They blend into each other so it seems I'm having one epic dream all night long, only it doesn't make any sense. When I finally wake up, I feel like I've been asleep for days, but my clock radio says 7:39. The doorbell's ringing and I roll over onto my chest and ignore it. The moment it stops, I immediately drop back into unconsciousness.

"Nick." That's Mom's voice and I roll over and open my eyes. "Nathan is downstairs," she continues. She's wearing her purple terry-cloth robe and has sleep stuck in her throat.

"Nathan?" I rub my crusty eyes and sit up in bed. My tongue tastes like a Dumpster.

"I'm going back to bed," she says. "I'll let you handle this."

I stare after her for a few seconds before forcing myself out of bed. Last thing I knew I was eating oranges and arguing with Bridgette in some pointless dream. So far this isn't much of an improvement. Nathan over at my house before eight a.m. on New Year's Day can't be good news.

I go downstairs, still in yesterday's clothes, and find Nathan sitting in the kitchen, staring at the gurgling coffee machine. "Sorry, I know it's early," he says, his eyes darting over to me. "I tried to call you-your cell must be off."

I rub my eyes again and sit down next to him at the table. "It's really early. What's going on?"

"The New Year's Eve party last night." He taps the table. "I had a blowup with my dad about it. I got home a couple of hours ago and mentioned some things he didn't want to hear. I just need somewhere else to be for twenty-four hours while he calms down."

"Yeah, sure." The gurgling coffee looks and smells disgusting. The only thing I want in the world is orange juice so I get up and pour myself a tall gla.s.s while Nathan's waiting for his coffee. "So what'd you tell him exactly?"

"Nick." Nathan frowns and lowers his head. "I don't think you really want to know."

He's right, but I don't want to admit it. I look at the coffeepot filling up with dirt brown liquid and gulp down orange juice. How much are you supposed to know about your friends? Should I be asking him whether he's a top or a bottom or what?

"Okay," I tell him. "I don't need to know."

"You don't want to know," he repeats. "But it's okay."

"Look." I put my gla.s.s down and face him. "I don't tell you everything either, right? Maybe you don't need to know absolutely everything about me and I don't need to know absolutely everything about you."

"Yeah, but Nick..." Nathan's eyes are somber. "Someday I'm going to be with someone-I hope so anyway."

"I know," I snap. "I get it, Nate, but I don't need to know the details."

"Because you think it's sick." His voice is calm, but his eyes are angry.

"I never said that. Why'd you come here if that's what you think?"

"Because you're my best friend. I don't want to have to go somewhere else."

My fingers are wrapped tightly around the gla.s.s. I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to think about it either. "You don't have to go anywhere," I tell him. "Where are you getting this bulls.h.i.+t from? Are you forgetting what I said to your dad?"

"No, but I can tell when we talk sometimes, Nick. You don't really want to know. You say the right things, but you don't want anything to happen. You want me to be normal."

I don't want him to be normal; I don't want to be normal myself. The word doesn't even mean anything. "I'll be okay," I say. "I'll get used to it eventually." I lower my voice. "I just don't want a clear picture in my head."

Nathan shakes his head and tries to suppress a smile. "You picture all your friends in the act?"

"You know what I mean." Only when they're giving me play-by-plays. "So are you staying or what?"

Nathan puts both hands flat on the table. "There was a guy last night, a journalism major. We hooked up for a while-nothing heavy. I'll probably never see him again."

I nod like it's all good. f.u.c.k Nathan for being right. "Is that what you told your dad?"

"Yeah, basically. He was the first person I kissed since I was fourteen. Pretty sad, huh?" Nathan's eyes are tight on mine. "I didn't even really like him that much. I think I just wanted to be close to somebody for a while."

"Everybody needs that."

"Try telling that to my dad."

The coffee is finished brewing and I grab a mug for Nathan and fill it. "I have to get some more sleep. I didn't get home until almost four."

Nathan yawns. "I haven't even been to sleep yet."

"Okay." I hand him his coffee. "Let's go."

We head up to my room and I pull my sleeping bag out of the closet and toss it onto the floor along with an extra pillow. I climb into bed and shut my eyes, but Nathan hasn't finished talking yet. He asks me about Marc's party and I tell him most of what I remember. I hesitate when it comes to Jillian, sleepy as I am, and Nathan says he knows I'm leaving something out. He thinks it's about Dani, but I break down and admit what happened with Jillian.

"I feel like s.h.i.+t," I confess. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"You and Sasha aren't together," he reminds me. "Technically you didn't do anything wrong." He's only saying that because he's my friend. He knows it's wrong as well as I do.

I open my eyes and look at Nathan; his eyes are closed too. "I don't want to be with anyone else," I say. "I just want to be with Sasha." It's a lie and it's true. I don't know how it can be both, but that's the way it feels.

"You shouldn't be with anyone now, Nick. You're too f.u.c.ked up to even know what you want."

"I know," I whisper. It's the last thing I remember before falling asleep.

It helps having Nathan around, but after he goes home to face his dad the next day, I can't avoid the fact that Sasha hasn't called. I shut my bedroom door tight, grab the phone, and sit on the floor. It takes me a minute to dial and when I do, her mom picks up. "Nick, I don't think you should make a habit of calling here anymore," Mrs. Jasinski says.

A habit, is that what this is? Before I can reply, Sasha's voice sings into my ear: "Nick?"

"Yeah." Everything I wanted to say suddenly seems stupid. I can't tell her how she's always in the back of my head or how happy she made me when she told me she missed me. "You never called."

"I just got back from Lindsay's this morning."

"Did that help?" I ask, evening out my voice.

"Dad hasn't spoken to me since I got back, but I don't know if I want him to so..." Sasha sighs. "I don't know. Maybe."

The pause between us lasts seconds too long and I breathe in and out, gripping the receiver. "Sasha." My voice dips. "Do you want me there with you on Wednesday?"

"I think it'd be harder." Sasha clears her throat.

"Okay." I'm holding my breath. "I just need to know you're gonna be okay."

"I'll try," she says. "How about you?"

"I miss you."

"Nick-"

"Don't worry," I tell her. "I know it's over. Will you just let me know you're okay afterwards?"

"Yeah," she promises. "I can do that. Take care, okay?"

"You take care. Call me anytime." I'm not ready for the conversation to be over. I haven't asked if she's going to be awake or even if she's scared, but I hang up. It's the story of us, I guess. I was never ready for anything.

nineteen.

The only cla.s.s I can deal with is Visual Arts. Ms. Navarro lets us sketch anything we want all period to get us warmed up and Nathan sits across from me, drawing an old woman in a clingy, long dress. Her face is full of lines, but her body is young. He's always drawing freaky stuff like that. Mostly I do scenic stuff or real people. I can do them from memory pretty good, but Nathan has real imagination.

Nathan's dad grounded him for the next month-even from the GSA-but otherwise he's doing okay, better than me. I slept for about four hours last night, dreaming about stuff I don't want to remember. The funny thing is I really wanted to go to school this morning. Then I got here and my chest started pounding again.

I don't remember a single thing from Information Technology cla.s.s. No, wait, I remember Jonah clapping my back and saying how great Marc's party was. English and physics were equally stimulating. One of the teachers made a comment about us all being "works in progress."

I could've stood up and announced, "Not me. I'm done." But I don't want people thinking I'm funny today. In fact, I don't want anyone to talk to me and I'm relieved when Dani breezes by me in the hall. She shouldn't be embarra.s.sed about the other night, but I don't have the energy to tell her that. Anyway, it's not like we were ever really friends. I never called her just to see how she was. I didn't want to hurt her either-that's the best thing I can say and it's not great.

Keelor I can't avoid, but when he stops by my locker at the end of the day to check up on me, I can't help feeling the way Nathan felt about me: He doesn't really want to know. Maybe my bad luck feels contagious. Most of us could get somebody pregnant. All it takes is a little slipup.

"She'll be all right, man," Keelor says. "Those people know what they're doing. When is she coming back to school?"

"Next week," I tell him. "But we're not in any of the same cla.s.ses."

"That's a good thing. You don't need that now."

I do. But he wouldn't get that.

Nathan walks by at that exact moment, says hi to both of us, and keeps walking. Once he's gone, Keelor says, "I told you he wouldn't come to Marc's party."

"He was at a party in Toronto."

"With gay people, right? I get that he's gay, but do you notice how everything's about that now?"

"Like everything isn't about you getting laid," I say with a smirk.

"Of course not." Keelor's face explodes into a grin. "There's always hockey."

"Right." It's hard to believe there was a time when the three of us were practically the same person. The only thing I can think is that it was never really true in the first place.

I sleepwalk through the next two days-cla.s.ses and work-it's all the same, I'm just not there. I jump when anyone speaks to me and Brian reminds me to smile and look customers in the eye. That's something he tells you on your first day at Sports 2 Go, along with where to hang your jacket. Usually I can do this job in my sleep-people live to buy things-but that part of my brain has been switched off.

So I force myself to play Nick Severson. Ha ha. These are good. Excellent. Whatta ya play? They're the best at their price range. On your credit card? Have a good one.

There's no way to distinguish between real Nick and phony Nick. It's disturbing. I could play Nick Severson forever and most people wouldn't notice the difference as long as I stayed off the ice.

Mom picks me up at the end of the night. She gets into the pa.s.senger seat and shuts her eyes, like she completely trusts me to drive home unsupervised. It's like she's making a point of it. Saying she trusts me without actually saying it. I'm supposed to trust her too, you see, and I never explained about Christmas Eve. She's still p.i.s.sed off about that and the feeling doesn't seem to be fading. What she doesn't understand is that I see through everything she's doing and it only makes me feel farther away.

"How was work?" she says finally, slowly opening her eyes.

"All right."

"You still enjoy it?"

"It's okay." I watch the road and feel her frowning beside me.

"I'll be gone before you leave for school tomorrow," she announces. "I have a job interview first thing."

"Great." I smile over at her. She's gotten a couple phone interviews out of her resumes but nothing live until now. "Good luck. I'm sure you'll ace it."

"I don't know about that," Mom says with a laugh. "All those probing questions. What particular strengths do you bring to this job? Describe an instance in your current position where your efforts averted a potential disaster."

"Maybe you should bring a lawyer," I joke.

"Or maybe you could do the interview for me," Mom suggests. "You're much better at thinking on your feet-like your father."

She wouldn't say that if she knew half the things that have happened lately. I'd laugh if I had the energy. As it is, I keep driving without even a smirk to give myself away.

"Oh, Nicholas." Mom folds her arms in front of her and stares out the window.

"Oh, what?"

"What happened to our communication?" she says sadly.

"Mom." I'm so numb that I don't care. "Cut the melodrama. We're just talking about your interview. You always do this."

"Yes," she says coldly, "I don't know why I don't just switch off my emotions until you move away."

"s.h.i.+t." What a heartwarming thing to say. Thanks, Mom. "I'm not playing any head games with you. Just because I don't tell you everything doesn't mean you can act like this."