“Ah, she’s got a tight—”
I turn away abruptly. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but I’m positive it will be crude and demeaning. At that moment I don’t care if he torments me until I go back to Chicago. I’m not staying another minute.
“Wait, just wait, dammit.” He shoots up from his chair, his tin of contraband spilling onto the floor as he reaches for me. He doesn’t want me to leave, and I reluctantly turn back.
“Sit down. I won’t say another word about her. Let’s start over. Colin Matthews.” His outstretched hand hangs between us.
“Or any other girl?” I press.
“Shit, why not.”
“Charlotte Randolph.” I take his hand, but just the fingertips so he knows I don’t trust him very much. He gestures for me to sit, and I settle gingerly into the club chair opposite his. Colin’s hair is long and unruly. I wonder if he’s had it cut since it grew back. There’s a long swoop that he pushes back to reveal his mother’s famous blue eyes. “Does everyone call you Colin, or do you have a nickname you go by?”
“No, it’s Colin. Why, do you have a nickname?”
“Everyone calls me Charlotte, but my mom’s friends all call her AM.”
“Like the time?”
“No, radio. Like AM/FM radio.”
“That’s weird.” He pulls out a pack of spearmint gum from his pocket and offers me one. It’s a peace offering I guess.
“Mom says it’s a life marker. High school people know her as AnnMarie, but her best friend starting calling her AM for short and it stuck in college, so you know how long people have known her by what they call her.” I’ve always thought was neat. Daddy calls her Sunshine sometimes, but I don’t share that with Colin.
“I’m going to make up a nickname for you.”
“I don’t think so.” Nicknames are for friends. I don’t see Colin as my friend.
“You’ll like the nickname I give you.” He smirks. I can’t even imagine what horrible thing he’d come up with. Colin is a weird mix of arrogance and uncertainty. I’m intrigued against my better judgment. Nate would probably despise him though.
“Is this your second time here?”
He holds up three fingers.
“Three times?
“I want to get better. I guess I’d take anything at this point.” I’m way underweight, which is part of the reason I’m here. His glowing health makes me envious.
“I figure I’ll die before I’m eighteen. I want to live as much as possible until then.”
I don’t know his situation, so I don’t give out the reassuring platitudes that adults reflexively offer. Maybe he will die before the age of eighteen. Sometimes I think you know. That there’s a place inside you that holds the truth of your future, but only the brave or stupid or hopeless look. I’m none of those things . . . yet. “You’d think with all these advancements they could make some elixir that would make us completely healthy in an instant.”
Colin leans back and stares at the ceiling. “There’s always a catch. Like if you took the elixir, you wouldn’t be able to ever have sex again or it you’d take 25 years off your life at the end of it. No one lives without paying a price for it.”
20
Nathan
Greta has taken to texting me repeatedly, telling me she’s so sorry about last night and how she was drunk and it was all an accident. At first, I agreed it was an accident, but the more that she keeps assuring me that it was—the more that she fucking will not leave me alone—makes me wonder about her motivations. Nick told me to watch out, and maybe I need to pay closer attention.
I haven’t said a word to Charlotte about the picture, and I regret it. I should have brought it up first thing and that I haven’t makes me look like I’m lying to her—at least by omission. But what am I going to say?
Hey, your weird friend fell on top of me, and someone else took a picture. It’s nothing?
That sounds like I am trying to concoct a cover up as well.
The photo’s already being passed around. It has been sent to me by about four different people.
“What’d Charlotte say about the picture?” Nick asks. I told him I wasn’t interested in another party, so we’re playing a video game.
“I didn’t tell her,” I admit.
He glares at me and then closes his eyes. “You’re determined to fuck this up, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” I snap back. The whole thing is giving me a headache the size of Lake Michigan. “It’s no big deal. I’ll talk to her in the morning.” If I stay up late enough, I can catch her when she wakes up, and I’ll explain everything. Greta’s weirdness. The photo setup. Everything.
“Just remember that it’s not just your relationship that will get screwed. It’s my friendship. It’s our families’ connections.”