The Brightest Star in a Constellati... - Chapter 24: Chapter 24

☆ Evan ☆
For the first time ever, the distinct lack of music is unnerving. I try fruitlessly to find a song that fits, but even when I choose one, I shut it off seconds later. Every stroke of the keyboard, every strum of a guitar—it doesn't match my mood. And I don't know what to do about it.
Nicole invited me to come to the mall with her, and despite the fact that it took me twenty-two minutes to drag myself out of bed this morning, I offered to pick her up. And I don't exactly want to leave her stranded, so I focus on driving, driving, driving.
That's all a person can do in Northwood. Claire got her license before I did, and for weeks afterward, she would come and see me after class to ask if I wanted to go for a drive.
We'd circle the perimeter until we passed the town sign, then turn around and drive back to the water. Repeat. Before that, it was going on walks around the area. That's the reason why I got my license. If only to prove that I have what it takes to leave this town. It counts as a way of determining who plans on staying. That when given the chance to start driving, they say, Why would I want to do that? Everything I need is right here. I can walk to the grocery store. I can walk to my friend's houses. What do you need your license for, other than to leave?
I find Nicole's apartment, and while I wait for her to show up, I put on some music. She strikes me as the kind of girl who likes an accompanying soundtrack. If they ever met, she'd be good friends with Claire.
Nicole comes barrelling out of the door and hops into my passenger seat, smiling wildly. Her hair is tied into a braid, and she's wearing earrings in the shape of bright pink hearts.
"No glasses?" I ask.
Flicking her braid over her shoulder, she lets out a high-pitched giggle and replies, "Nope. Thing is, I'm hanging out with a guy other than Delacroix for once, which is apparently a big deal, according to my dad. I tried to convince him otherwise, I swear."
As I drive, Nicole keeps chattering away next to me. She does this for the entire ride. "You're going to shop until you physically can't shop anymore," she tells me. "We're going to Payless first—they have cheap shoes—and then after that, I'll figure it out. How do you feel about cinnamon rolls?"
"Is that even a question?"
She nods knowingly. As we reach the mall, I fall into step with Nicole. She whisks me from one store to the next, cycling in and out of fitting rooms and tossing articles of clothes on me to hold. Some stores don't carry shoes at all, but she justifies it by reminding me that at least her outfit will match. I get a few pity glances from other patrons as I hold a mountain of shopping bags in both hands.
It takes Nicole almost an hour to find a pair of heels that fit her requirements. They're a pair of black boots that lift her up to a different plane of existence. I wonder what that height is like—the world where one can see the top of the fridge.
It's only when we're finished, when we're headed to the food court, that I spot a group of Northwood students. I duck into the nearest store.
Among them is Jenny. Pale skin, eyes scanning the mall like through the scope of a sniper. And trying to stop Nicole is pointless—she enters the hallway, and the two cyclones collide.
Jenny stops. Her gaze combs over Nicole—who, for the first time since I've known her, looks stunned.
"I like your hair," Nicole says, though her voice rises one octave higher than it should be. She points to Jenny's new brown highlights. "It's pretty."
Staring her down in a challenge, Jenny is backed by a few other students. Not her usual group from the student council, so I don't recognize them. "I wish I could say the same for you. Pairing neon green with pink? Not that you would know the first thing about fashion. I bet you ask your best friend to help with that, don't you?"
Her words are dripped in a saccharine lie. It tastes bitter on my tongue. Jenny calls Nicole by a name I don't recognize; harsh and intentional, she drags out the male name and watches in glee as Nicole's smile reverses.
I step out from behind the wall. Jenny's eyelashes flutter, tilting her head to look at me.
"Back off," I say. When Jenny doesn't move, I continue, "I'm serious, okay? I don't want to hear it from you. You shouldn't be saying that. And you know, I've never understood why Claire is friends with you. Tell me, why do you think you're better than everyone, Jenny?"
Nicole tugs on my sleeve. Her eyes are begging me to drop it, but I don't budge.
"I'm certainly better than you. You're a liar, McKenna, and you know it. Since you want to bring up Claire, how about telling her where you're going? How about telling her that you've ditched her to hang out with him?" Her head angles toward Nicole. "You won't do it, just like you won't be honest with your girlfriend. Don't try me, okay? Because Claire is your only chance at getting scouted, and we both know that."
She whirls on her heel and saunters off the way she came. Nicole drags me back before I can run after her. Before I can do what Carolyn would.
"You need to calm down," she whispers, moving through the food court to find a table. She points to the seat. "Evan."
How many days? Two hundred and thirty-six. Thirty-three weeks. 5687 hours. And that's too much time. Too much time for the bomb to explode, and too much time left for me to have to pick up the pieces from the fallout. I feel my cheeks redden, and I feel like I am about to explode. Like a piece of clay that heats too quickly—something about carbon, Elaine told me once—on the verge of an explosion that ruins every project in the kiln with it.
Nicole fetches a bottle of water and sits across from me. All the while, seven fragile words resound in my head. I'm sorry that I let you in. It swirls around, becoming harder to ignore with each time that it passes my thoughts. I wonder when exactly a chasm is going to open up and swallow me into its depths. Especially now, I doubt it would be noticed.
Twisting the cap of her water, Nicole takes a sip. Spins the cap around on her ring finger, and it scrapes against the table. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Eventually, she breaks through the mall chatter to say: "Thank you. You didn't have to do that."
Our eyes meet. She keeps twisting the plastic cap, in circles and circles. Behind her, the faceless passerby filter past the table, moving in opposing directions. Away and towards.
At least I know what direction I'm headed in. What direction I want to head in. "I thought—I don't know—that you would have wanted to deal with it yourself."
"It sounds like you're angry," she says, slowly. "And I get that. I'd understand if you want to leave."
"What are you talking about?"
The bottle cap tumbles onto the linoleum and hops away, finding its end underneath the rectangular garbage bin at every corner of the mall. "Oh." A look of relief washes over Nicole. "You don't understand what just happened."
I admit, "Not really."
Nicole whistles like she's rewinding a cassette tape. "Okay, thank God. First of all, do you know what a deadname is?"
"A what?"
She sighs, this time a bit less flustered. "It's the name I was given when I was born. When I was assigned male at birth. I don't use it anymore, and that's why it's called a deadname. It's dead, and it's staying dead."
"And Jenny knows it," I say.
Nodding, Nicole explains, "We were in the same junior high class. She's never made the switch. I like to compliment her when I see her—it throws her off, just a little, long enough for her to forget that she hates me. If you didn't understand what she was saying, why the defence?"
I hate that I let you in. "I understood enough. From what she said at the game, I'd gathered that she isn't... the best person. Which I knew before that, but Claire likes safety. She likes it when she can keep everything the same. I know that's not an excuse."
I squeeze my water bottle between my fingers. Pressing my index into the plastic, it forms a circular indent when I remove it. It pops back into place after six seconds.
"I'm not going to hold that against you. To be honest, I don't like having to be the person to teach this stuff. I'm getting tired of it, but it's hard when you start from zero. I trust you, and I didn't really trust..." She trails off.
I can guess who she's referring to. "Sam?" I say.
"Not to compare you," Nicole says, "because it's a different scenario entirely. But you're right. I didn't trust him."
Both Nicole and Peter avoid this subject. It's unspoken. It's a feeling that lingers long after I enter the room. "I don't think I have the full story there. What happened that led up to the party?"
With a slight shrug, Nicole replies, "Not even I know the full story. I wasn't there all the time. Sam didn't want me there, probably because I could sense he wasn't being genuine. But that's the thing about Delacroix. He gets attached very easily, and I think... part of it was the fact that he didn't expect Sam to reciprocate. His crushes are always one-sided, so this was different. Different in all the wrong ways." She pauses to look at me. "That's why you reacted, isn't it? I didn't catch it at first."
"Maybe I'm trying to save something that can't be saved." I lean back in my seat, my eyes scanning the floor above us. The lights form rows in the ceiling, like the landing strip of an airport.
For thirty-one seconds, Nicole dazzles me by saying, "I don't think that's a bad thing. I think a lot of people in this town just want to destroy it. They throw shit into the fire just to watch it burn. Maybe fixing things isn't that bad." Then she stands up and aims her wattle bottle for the recycling bin, missing by a fair distance. And she's back to regular Nicole again, like none of it ever happened.
☆ ☽ ☆
I hold my key against the apartment lock, twisting it like it might snap in half if I push it too hard, waiting for the shouting from inside to die down.
Randall's been home for a week. Ever since, the fighting has continued. Through the front door, I hear his voice first. "You can't, Carolyn. She's—that's simply not your place."
"Give it to me!" Carolyn demands.
I ease the door open. In the living room, three figures stand, facing each other. Randall gestures at Elaine, and his voice turns soft. "Come here. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to worry." He drapes a hand over Elaine and moves her towards the couch, away from my mother.
"What are you doing?" Carolyn steps closer to him. "You don't think I'm going to hurt you. I wouldn't—I wouldn't—"
The door slams behind me. All three faces turn to me at once. Carolyn is the first to pounce. She extends her palm out, flat, and says, "Give me your phone. I'm checking your message history."
My eyes flicker to Randall. He nods once, as if prompting me. I hand it to her, my stomach twisting as a bout of nausea comes over me. I struggle to swallow the bile. To rid myself of the thought that Carolyn will comb through everything. The Astronomy Club group chat. My texts back and forth with Claire.
"Do you see, Elaine? Your brother can follow the rules. Give me yours, now." She turns to Elaine.
"Dad does it. He already looked." Elaine's voice is strained.
Unlocking my phone, Carolyn scrolls through my conversation history. I can see notifications filtering in from the group chat, and I cross my fingers that the topic isn't going to set off Carolyn's internal alarms. "What's AC?" she asks.
"After class," I explain. "It's just a joke that the guys play. You know, that nobody gets work done once our classes are over." This lie is practiced, already on the tip of my tongue.
That's when it dawns on me, and I start to collect the pieces to the rest of the puzzle. All I wanted to prove was that I can be invisible.
In actuality, I think I've just fucked up.