Part 20 (1/2)

”You did? When?”

”Well, he came to talk to me. He felt pretty bad about not sitting with us at lunch.”

”What'd he say?”

Wally rubs the back of his neck. ”Baker went over to his house on Sunday night and told him she didn't want to be around you anymore.”

Hannah's heart stops. ”What?”

”Yeah.”

”Did she tell him why?”

”No, she just said something had happened and she needed her s.p.a.ce. Clay felt really torn up about it, but he said Baker was more upset than he'd ever seen her, so he thought he should support her for a few days, until this whole thing blows over.”

”Until it 'blows over'? And what if it doesn't?”

”You really think it won't?”

”I-” The question nearly suffocates her. ”I'm not sure.”

”Well,” Wally says slowly, setting his hands on his knees, ”if it doesn't...then we'll adapt. All of us will.”

”I just don't know if-Wally, I wish I could talk to you about what happened, but I don't know how....”

”You don't have to, Han,” he says, nudging her with his shoulder. ”Everything will be okay. And hey, it's not all bad. I think it's been good for Clay and Baker. Clay said they've started to talk more about their feelings for each other and everything. He's actually taking her out on a date this weekend-”

The words knock all the breath out of Hannah. ”What?”

”Yeah, they're going out to dinner tomorrow night. He's actually way nervous about it, which is funny, you know, because we've never really seen him get nervous about anything before. But it's good for him.” Wally hops down off the trunk and starts to stretch his calves. Hannah watches him as if he's not really there; she feels dazed and exhausted, and has the strongest urge to curl up in her bed and hide away from the world.

”I think they're both excited about it,” Wally continues.

”Good,” Hannah says, trying to infuse some heartiness into her voice.

”Hey,” Wally says tenderly, stepping up to the trunk again. ”It's gonna be okay. You'll work it out. That's what friends do.”

”Yeah,” Hannah rasps.

”I have to go-I'm gonna be late for practice.”

”Yeah. Sure thing. Bye.”

Wally starts to walk away, but then he glances at her and doubles back to the car. He wraps his arms around her in a st.u.r.dy, secure hold, and Hannah gives in to the embrace, drawing comfort from the warmth of his skin and the musky smell of his neck.

”It's gonna be okay,” Wally says into her ear.

She hugs him hard and doesn't let herself think about anything else.

Hannah stays in bed until one in the afternoon on Sat.u.r.day, her mind drifting in and out of sleep, her dreams splintered into fragments of memories. She wakes up to fogginess and slips back into darker fogginess. The memories ebb and flow, as real and powerful as the ocean.

Hey, come here, Baker says. I want to show you this piece I've been learning.

And Hannah watches, in the theater of her subconscious, as 14-year-old Baker, with braces and an overlarge sweater vest, plays the piano for her.

Tell me your favorite thing about nature, 16-year-old Hannah says.

Trees, Baker says. Really old, beautiful trees.

Hannah wakes again to the sound of the television playing downstairs. She hears her dad pacing around his first-floor study. That responsible voice inside of her berates her to get up and do her homework, do something productive, but she turns over on her stomach and slips back into the memories instead.

On Sat.u.r.day night, she lies on her back on her bedroom floor and stares at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars Baker helped her tape up there back in freshman year. She imagines everything Baker and Clay are doing right now.

The dress Baker wears. Is it the beige one with the brown belt? The lilac one with the lace sleeves?

Tell me if this looks good, Baker says as she stares at the mirror in the dressing room.

Of course it looks good, Hannah says. Everything looks good on you.

Does Clay wear a Polo s.h.i.+rt and khakis? Does he wear the cologne his mom gave him for Christmas? Does Baker like it?

You smell good, Baker says on the back porch at her house. Are you wearing perfume?

No, Hannah laughs.

I think it's just your shampoo, Baker says, s.h.i.+fting her head on Hannah's shoulder. It smells like you.

Hannah pictures them at a fancy restaurant, strolling in hand-in-hand, Baker in the dress and Clay in the khakis, pleasing the world with their complementarity. Clay must pull her chair out for her, and Baker must smile shyly and thank him.

Does she laugh at his jokes? Does he think about how pretty she is? Does he reach across the table for her hand? Does she let him take it? Do the older people sitting at the tables around them nudge each other and say Look how cute?

Hannah plays music through her iPod speakers. Eventually she starts to talk to G.o.d. Small phrases, monosyllabic words. Why does this hurt. Can you hear me. Can you make this go away. Her eyes fixate on a patch of green stars on the ceiling. I love this pattern, Baker says as she lies on Hannah's bed. I wish I could sleep here all the time.

You can, Hannah says.

Her back starts to hurt from the fibers in the carpet, but she doesn't move from her spot.

She folds her hands over her stomach and blinks at the ceiling and imagines what it would be like if she was the one out to dinner with Baker. She pictures Baker's smile and her dark chicory eyes and how she tucks her hair behind her ear. She sees her study the menu like it's a textbook chapter she's going to be quizzed on. She sees her order a sweet tea with two lemons, please, and she sees her fold her napkin over her lap.

What are you looking at? Baker asks.

Nothing, Hannah smiles.

She stands up and walks into her bathroom and stares at herself in the mirror. Her bloodshot eyes stare back at her. She turns around and lifts her s.h.i.+rt up, searching for the rug burn she knows will be there. Her upper back has scratchy pink marks all over it. She presses her fingers against her raw skin and watches the flesh s.h.i.+ne white.

”So what do you want to do about prom pictures?” Wally asks her during Monday's una.s.signed period.