Hold Still Part 14

"Today is Ingrid's birthday." I stop breathing for a moment, fully aware that this is the first time that we've ever talked about Ingrid as being something between us. "I needed someone to celebrate with, and I don't know if you knew or not, but she was pretty in love with you."

His smile vanishes, and without thinking at all, I reach out and put my finger on the line that forms between his eyebrows.

He doesn't flinch when I touch him, but the line stays there even after I take my hand away. Finally, he says, "I kept waiting for something to happen with us. It was just weird, you know, 'cause she wasn't in my group of friends or anything. And things were kind of going on with another girl who liked me, and everyone knew and expected me to like her, too. So I was just kind of . . . I was just waiting for things to figure themselves out, you know? And then Ingrid was just gone one day. I mean, it was horrible, everyone thought it was horrible, but for me it was like . . ."

I wait for him to finish, but he just shakes his head back and forth.

"Let's go," I say. And I have him hold my mocha in one hand and his tea in the other as I walk my mom's bike toward the theater. As we're walking, Jayson keeps trying to explain.

He says, "Everyone was really shocked. Well, you know they were shocked."

"No," I say. "I don't know how anyone felt. After the morning it happened, I never went back to school. I missed finals week, and by the time this year started, hardly anyone said anything about it."

"Oh," he says. "Well, they were. Everyone was sitting around wondering what happened, saying how they never would have expected it, how she was so talented, and they wished they knew her better. Stuff like that."

I think about this. I try to picture it. I want to ask Jayson, Who? Who was saying that? Who? Who was saying that? I want him to give me names, because it's so hard for me to imagine. It's not that Ingrid was unpopular, it's just that we mostly kept to ourselves. I want him to give me names, because it's so hard for me to imagine. It's not that Ingrid was unpopular, it's just that we mostly kept to ourselves.

We keep walking and soon the street turns to gravel and the cars stop pa.s.sing, and it's just Jayson and me by the theater.

He turns to me and says, "I listened to everyone else talking, and I kept thinking that it was different for me. I mean, I felt like we were gonna have something . . . something was gonna happen for us one of those days. I thought about her all the time. I mean, all the time all the time. She was just adorable. I knew knew that we were gonna be a thing one day. I was just waiting for things with Anna to blow over and then Ingrid that we were gonna be a thing one day. I was just waiting for things with Anna to blow over and then Ingrid died died. And everyone was talking about her and I felt like telling everyone that it was different for me, but I knew that was stupid. I didn't deserve it."

I know that if I could think of the right thing to say, I could make him feel so much better. I try to think of myself, of all the things I need to hear, and then I think of how it used to be when I talked to Dylan. Maybe there is no right thing to say. Maybe the right thing is just a myth, not really out there at all.

I lean my bike against the ticket booth and head around the corner, Jayson's footsteps behind me. When I get to the back, I try to open the door, but, as always, the old bra.s.s doork.n.o.b won't turn. I try the single skinny window. Sealed shut.

I look at the ground and find a rock the size of my fist.

"What are you doing?" Jayson asks.

What am am I doing? I doing?

I look at him and shrug.

Then I smash in the window. The gla.s.s shatters and I get a shard stuck in my fingertip.

"s.h.i.t!" I say, pulling it out. It starts to bleed and I stick it in my mouth.

Jayson stands a few feet away from me, staring like I'm crazy.

"Hold on," I say. I kick the rest of the gla.s.s in and push the drape aside. Then, careful to avoid the remaining gla.s.s, I step in.

Inside is cool and dark. It smells musty and familiar, like the science hall, like my grandparents' garage. I stand for a moment and let my eyes adjust to the dark. When I can see well enough, I try to open the door, but it must have been locked from the inside with a key. I go back to the window.

"I can't open it," I say to Jayson. "You'll have to come in this way."

Jayson looks hesitant, but eventually swings a leg over to join me. We stand next to each other with our backs to the wall and take in what's in front of us. It's a small room with a tattered couch and a couple lockers and a coat hanger. A ladder rests against one of the walls.

"This must have been the break room," Jayson says.

The break room leads to the lobby and its empty concession stand. The ceiling is higher than I had pictured, the dusty floor is tiled in gold, green, and blue, and the doors to the screening room are wide open and welcoming, as if a film is just about to start.

Jayson and I walk to the top of the aisle and look down at all the empty red velvet seats and the blank screen.

"Ingrid and I used to come around here all the time," I say. "It was our favorite place to hang out."

Jayson turns to me. "You guys used to hang out here?" he asks.

I nod.

"This is crazy," he says. "Every night I go running, and half the time I run by here. I always thought it was so cool, and I kind of thought that no one knew about it but me."

"We thought that n.o.body knew about it but us," I say.

He shakes his head. "I can't believe it's gonna be torn down."

Jayson and I stay in the theater for a while, exploring. We find a cracked mug and a file of index cards listing the t.i.tles, directors, and running times of hundreds of films. We find the long narrow staircase to the projection room. Up there we find an umbrella, boxes and boxes of old film reels, a bag of black letters for the marquee, and a man's hat. When our eyes begin to ache from straining to see in the dark, Jayson climbs out of the window and I climb out after him.

We walk back toward the coffee shop without talking. When we get there, Jayson stops in front of his dad's car. "Do you want a ride home?" he asks.

"No," I say. "I have my bike."

He opens the car door but doesn't climb inside.

"So, does Taylor think I'm a complete loser?" I ask.

Jayson looks at me, alarmed.

I roll my eyes. "I'm sure sure he told you all about the other day." he told you all about the other day."

"He didn't tell me anything," he says, but I can tell he's lying.

"I'm sure," I repeat.

He doesn't say anything for a second and then he laughs. "Okay, he told me. But we're best friends, you know, so don't go thinking that everybody knows. It's just me."

I look down at the concrete. "I'm so embarra.s.sed," I say. "I don't know why I did that."

Jayson grins. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything," he says. "But it all sounded pretty hot to me."

"Well, thanks." I laugh. "Thanks so much."

"No. But seriously, Taylor totally likes you."

"Okay," I say.

"So don't worry."

I get on my mom's bike. "Okay. I'm not worried."

Jayson lifts his hand good-bye. I lift mine back.

"Thanks," he says, "for everything."

"No problem," I say, and head back home.

15.

Later that day, I head to Dylan's house.

When I get to her gate, she's walking out the door in a gray jump-suit that makes her look like a fashionable gas-station attendant.

"Oh," I say. "Are you leaving?"

She glances at me. "I'm on my way to the post office."

"But it's Sunday. The post office is closed."

"I'm just using the stamp machine."

"Can I walk with you?"

She looks up at the sky and squints, pushes her rolled-up sleeves over her elbows, shrugs, and starts walking.

I follow her. We get to the end of her street and turn before I manage to make myself tell her that I'm sorry.

"I'm kind of working through a lot of stuff right now, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"That's true," she says. "You shouldn't have."

"Well, I'm sorry," I say.

We keep walking, and then suddenly we're by the empty lot where I took my landscape, except it's not empty anymore. The bones of a house are coming up.

"Hey, look," I say.

Dylan glances at the house. "Yeah," she says. "The owners already booked my mom to cater their housewarming party."

"I wonder how it'll look when it's finished."

We start walking again.

"So, nice work on the treehouse," Dylan says. "You're making progress."

"Oh my G.o.d. Stalker!"

Dylan laughs. "I had to ask you a question, so I went over to your house, but no one was home. I knew you were building one, so I walked down the hill and found it. Your parents have a ton of property."

"What did you want to ask me?"

"Actually, it was Maddy who wanted me to ask you," Dylan says. "She has the lead in a play. She's a really great actor, you know. Anyway, she wants you to come. I don't know if it's such a great idea."

My stomach sinks. Maybe I really have ruined our friendship for good. "Why not?"

"The play is Romeo and Juliet Romeo and Juliet. I didn't know if that's something you'd really like to see right now."

"Oh," I say, but I'm not sure what she means.

We cross the street to the strip mall and head toward the post office. Dylan pauses outside the gla.s.s doors. "I'll just be a second."

I walk over to a pole and lean against it. Why would Dylan think I wouldn't want to see Romeo and Juliet Romeo and Juliet? I'm pretty good at English. It's not like Shakespeare's over my head or anything. We read it freshman year. Actually, I think I can recite a few lines. I try to remember the different parts I know-the balcony scene, the part with Juliet and the nurse, the part when she realizes that Romeo drank all the poison . . . Oh. Oh.

Dylan comes back out and sits on the curb.

"Today is Ingrid's birthday," I tell her. "She would have been seventeen."

Dylan remains quiet, and even though I'm close to tears, I smile. Here she is, once again, never saying things just to say them.

"I'd like to go to the play. When is it?"

"Friday."

"We'll go over together?"

Dylan shrugs. "I don't know." She hugs her knees to her chest. I want to ask her a million questions about her life, but I don't think it's the right time.

She smirks. "So what have you been doing lately? Just running into people?"

"Mostly hiding in the bathroom, actually."

"Sounds lovely."

"Well, it's a really nice bathroom. Oh, and you know Taylor Riley?"

"Yeah, he's in my chemistry cla.s.s."

"I kissed him."

She stretches her legs out in front of her. "Oh yeah? Good for you."

"No," I say. "I mean I threw myself at him. I mean I took off my shirt and attacked him."

Dylan squints up at me. I can't tell what she's thinking.