Chapter 44
THE SUNNYSIDE UP
I drive around aimlessly for a while, not sure what to do with myself—sure only I want to be out of my house, away from my family.
After a while, though, my stomach growls.
I never had dinner. So I head back into town and go to the Sunnyside.
The evening crowd is different from the midday crowd; the old folks are gone from the counter, replaced by teenagers studying, gossiping.
Sharing pie post–sports practice. Mondays, though, are relatively quiet.
When I arrive the only full table is a group of juniors I vaguely recognize studying for the PSAT.
When I come in they go quiet for a moment, and I can see their eyes darting looks at each other.
A skinny boy with braces clears his throat meaningfully before flipping the pages in his book.
“So let’s switch gears and talk geometry proofs. ”
I sit down by the big plate glass window facing Main Street and order coffee and a piece of pie.
It’ll mess up my sleep tonight, but I don’t care.
I want the sweet and the bitter. For once I leave my phone in my purse.
I don’t want to look at it. I don’t want to feel trapped in that little screen.
Instead I look out the window, taking slow, careful bites of my pie.
It’s cherry—not overly fresh, because it’s the end of the day, but it’s sugary and delicious nonetheless.
How long will it be before I can go anywhere without people staring? Will it only be when I leave Varda?
Or was Kendra right? Will this follow me the rest of my life?
I have a bleak vision of showing up for college and looking around at all the bright-eyed freshmen setting up their dorm rooms, ready to try new things, only to see someone glance at their phone, and then look up at me, and then look back at their phone and start to type something in …
It won’t matter that I’ve been exonerated, that it was baseless rumors to start with. People will see superficial headlines, old tweets and reddit posts and Insta updates and TikToks, and they’ll think there’s something to it.
And even if they don’t, they’ll know about the worst fucking thing that ever happened to me before they know anything else.
I stare out the window. They’ve put up a bunch of cardboard cutouts of bats and witches and ghosts on the glass, and I realize how close we are to Halloween.
This time last year Rocky and I were planning out our couples costume.
I wanted to go as Flynn and Rapunzel from Tangled, but he talked me into Batman and Catwoman.
I guess you could count that as another red flag—well, he wasn’t violent, but he definitely liked to get his way; he manipulated me into a pleather catsuit.
But that’s not really true either. Or at least, that’s not how I remember it.
I don’t remember him pressuring me; I remember him begging to be allowed to dress up as Batman.
I remember laughing at how earnest he was about it.
I remember feeling pleased and generous that I could give him that—that I could fulfill something so simple and innocent and easy.
So which was the truth?
Even with everything else that’s happened, that is the hardest thing for me: searching my memories, trying to figure out what things I misread or misunderstood, trying to put together a picture that makes sense to me.
But then I see something outside that makes me drop my fork onto my plate.
It’s Hayden. Hoodie pulled up over her head, walking down the street, alone. I do a double take and jerk my head back. Then, before she has a chance to get past the window, I tap on the glass to get her attention.
Our eyes meet through the glass. I see her mouth drop open. Is she going to bolt? Straighten her shoulders and keep walking? I jump up from the seat and hurry to the door. I can feel the PSAT kids watching me, but I don’t care anymore.
She stands just outside, hands in her pockets. Her face is shadowed by her hoodie, but I can make out how tired she looks. Maybe she’s been fighting with Carter again. Then again, I don’t even know if they’re still together after homecoming.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.” I bite my lip, suddenly not sure what to say. I really did fuck up—I put her in danger, sharing her secret, even if it was Max who had exposed it. But the way she turned on me still hurts.
“Didn’t see you at school today,” I finally say.
“Yeah, I’ve been … not ready to go back,” she says. “People have been weird since homecoming. I’ve been getting lots of messages blaming me for Carter being benched.” She looks up, like she’s studying the face of the building behind us. “I guess I know how you felt, now.”
“You heard what happened this weekend? About Max?” I ask. “How he…”
“Yeah, I heard.” She takes a deep breath and then looks me in the eyes. “I’m sorry I ditched you, Iris. I … I didn’t ever believe that you were involved, but the stuff with Carter…”
“Yeah, I get it. I swear, I never told Max—he just, he knew because he’s a fucking sneak, I guess. But I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire.” I tug at a lock of my hair, hesitating. Then I step forward and put my arms around her.
She’s a little stiff in my arms, but then she hugs back. It’s so different from the way she used to hug. Say what you like about Hayden, but she’s always been warm. This is almost like a handshake, a formal truce agreement. The thought makes me suddenly, unspeakably sad.
She’s the first to let go. “I’ve got to get home. I’ve got to finish another goddamn essay. I don’t know why I took AP English.” She gives a little laugh. “I still think you should be a guidance counselor. Next semester I’m going to ask you to pick slacker classes for me.”
I still think you should be a guidance counselor?
Where have I heard that? Because I don’t think it was from her.
The smile feels frozen on my face. That’s what you get for taking calculus. Should’ve taken slacker classes like me. Choir, pottery, printmaking. Find an art teacher that looks extremely stoned all the time, easy A.
Has anyone ever told you you should be a guidance counselor?
Thank you, I like to be inspirational.
I know the words by heart because I read and reread them so often. I treasured every word. I was grateful for every quip.
Back when I thought it was Jonah I was talking to.