Part 27 (1/2)

”Unless you want to keep feeling like this,” she said, ”I am.”

I stood, slowly, getting my bearings, deciding if I was really ready to let it go, even as the symbol that Troyer suggested. I lifted the toilet lid and seat and lay the paper on the water. It floated there, rippled, the blue paint bleeding into the bowl.

”Flush it,” she said.

I looked at it, moving in the water-waiting. My sadness, the symbol of it turned by Troyer into something I could just get rid of.

It seemed impossible, but I pushed the handle. The water rushed from the sides of the bowl and drowned the paper. It spun in a tornado of blue, sucked into a hurricane of white, before it was forced down the bowl.

”Do you feel better?” she asked.

”No,” I said.

”At least you're honest,” she said, touching my back, ”but you will.”

”I was pregnant,” I said, the words feeling like marbles in my mouth. I'd never really said them before, never really admitted them. Not even to my brother. I just told him I was in trouble and needed him to drive me to the clinic. That was all I had to say. He knew me enough to know I didn't want to elaborate and loved me enough not to make me.

”Wow,” she said.

”Yeah, wow,” I said.

”Was?” she asked.

”Yes, was,” I said, making myself look at her. I felt the room spin, moved my fist to my belly, but I didn't hit. I let myself feel the hurt that was there, for once not trying to mask it with more pain, with physical pain, with anger.

”I'm sorry,” she said. ”I'm so sorry, Ca.s.sie.”

”I did it,” I said, like I'd had to do that day in the judge's chambers with my parents, when I admitted that the huge bag of pot we were found with was my fault, even though Lila was the one who s.n.a.t.c.hed it, even though Amy was in the car, too.

I had. I'd made the phone call. I'd given the folded-up twenties to the receptionist. I'd signed the piece of paper that said: I understand that if something terrible happens to me it isn't their fault. It seemed ironic to have to sign that. Something terrible was going to happen whether their estimation of something terrible happened or not.

”You know you couldn't have had a baby, right? You're seventeen,” Troyer said.

”I know,” I said, starting to cry again. It didn't matter if I'd flushed the sadness-it was still there.

She reached out and hugged me, just held me, the fan in the bathroom going above us, humming and swirling like we were in a snow globe. I could smell her hair, clean with the scent of flowers from the hotel shampoo. ”You need to live this life,” she whispered. ”You can live it with regret, or you can let it go.”

And even though I had no idea how, with the two of us having helped each other get here, get to this place, I knew she was right.

Well, you can count how many f.u.c.king Days are left.

I woke up in an empty bed. It made me wonder if the night before in the bathroom had been a dream. I lifted my head-no sound coming from the shower, no light coming from under the bathroom door, just the soft snore of Nez sleeping in her bed next to me. It was still dark. Maybe Troyer had snuck out to get a soda. I felt her side of the bed, but it was cold. If she'd snuck out it had been a while ago.

I looked over at the love seat where Rawe slept-it was empty. She must have noticed Troyer was gone, too. c.r.a.p. I pictured Rawe out in the hotel hallway calling Troyer's name. Would Troyer even answer? Or would she sit with her knees up to her chest next to the soda machine, hoping for just a few more seconds alone?

Even after last night, I still didn't think of her as Laura, but I guess that was because we now knew each other so well that names and their meaning made no difference.

The hotel room door opened. Light from the hallway pierced the bed, sheets glowing white for a moment as the door was propped open then closed. I lay back down quickly but watched as Rawe tiptoed to the love seat. I guess that meant she hadn't found Troyer. She was trying really hard to be quiet, but that wasn't easy to do in hiking boots, so she bent down to untie them. Why was she still even bothering to wear them?

”Where's Troyer?” I whispered into the dark hotel room. I knew it was no surprise to her that Troyer was gone if she was awake.

”Shhh,” Rawe said, pointing at Nez. Not like I would have cared ordinarily, but I definitely didn't care at that moment that Nez was sleeping.

”Where is she?” I asked louder, like I could already kind of tell from the way Rawe was acting that maybe she wasn't just missing; I needed Rawe to tell me what I didn't want to hear.

”Nez is sleeping,” Rawe said.

”Not anymore,” Nez said in a raspy voice.

”So where is she?” I asked, looking at Rawe. It was pretty obvious, even in the dark, that she was trying not to look at me.

”Wick,” Rawe said, ”we can talk about this later.”

”Just tell me,” I said, even though I knew what Rawe was going to say next. Even though I didn't want to hear it, I was asking for it.

”She went home,” Rawe said.

I felt the ache in my stomach and immediate nausea. Why didn't Troyer wake me up? The one person in the world who it seemed had kind of understood me felt like she could leave without even saying good-bye.

And, worse than that, the one person I had finally, really let in was gone.

”She left you a note,” Rawe said, walking across the dark hotel room to hand it to me.

I took it from her and flicked on the light that was stuck by a bra.s.s arm to the wall above the nightstand. It was a piece of paper from Troyer's a.s.sessment Diary-just plain notebook paper like all of us had. She'd folded it down so small that the edges were sharp.

”Oooh, love letters,” Nez said, in bed with her back to me. ”Feel free to highlight the interesting parts for me for later, because like I said, I'm sleeping.”

”Screw you, Nez,” I said. I stared at the note. I was glad she hadn't left me with nothing, but it seemed ironic that Troyer was going to have the last word.

I wasn't sure I wanted to know what it would be.

”Turn the light off,” Nez said. She covered her head with her pillow.

”You're awake anyway,” I said.

”Not by choice. Just because your girlfriend left you a note doesn't mean I need to be awake, even if your lady parts are.”

”f.u.c.k off, Nez,” I said.

”Hey,” Rawe said, finally jumping in. I always wondered why swearing was the last straw with adults. I guess it was because they were the sucker punch of words. ”Nez, go take a shower.”

”It's the middle of the night,” Nez whined, her hair all around her head like a shadow.

”No, actually it's morning,” Rawe said.

I turned to the clock. It read five a.m. in angry red numbers. Five a.m. meant it was my last day. It meant tomorrow I would be sent home. Unless I was unlucky enough to get an earlier flight like Troyer had.

Nez got out of bed and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

”I didn't read it,” Rawe said, indicating the note that was still folded in my hand.