35 Why Are We Here? (2/2)

Gemma was silent. This was a new version of the Isaac Tupperman story, Isaac of the Bronx, Coates and Morrison, the poems left on Willow's bicycle, the possible pregnancy. Hadn't Will looked up at him with wide eyes? She'd been infatuated and then disillusioned—but only after he'd dumped her. It didn't seem possible she had stepped out on him.

Then, suddenly, it did seem possible. It seemed obvious to Gemma now that Willow—who had felt shallow and second-rate next to Tupperman's intellect and masculinity—would have made herself feel stronger and more powerful than he was by betraying him.

They kept walking through the woods. The sun began to set.

There was no one else on the path.

”You want to be like Will, then be like her. Fine,” Brooke said. They had reached a walkway over a ravine. It led to wooden steps built up to a lookout tower that gave a view of the deep valley and the surrounding hillsides. ”But you're not Willow, you understand?”

”I know I'm not Willow.”

”I'm not sure you do,” said Brooke.

”None of that is your business.”

”Maybe I've made it my business. Maybe I think you're unstable and the best thing would be for you to back away from Will and get some help for your mental problems.”

”Tell me this. Why are we out here?” asked Gemma. She stood on the steps above Brooke.

Below them was the ravine.

The sun was nearly down.

”Why are we out here, I asked,” Gemma said. She said it lightly, swinging her backpack off her shoulder and opening it as if to get out her water bottle.

”We're going to talk it out, like you said. I want you to stop dicking around with Will's life, living off her trust fund, making her ignore her friends, and whatever else you're doing.”

”I asked you why we're out here,” said Gemma, bent over her backpack.

Brooke shrugged. ”Here exactly? In this park? You drove us here.”

”Right.”