I want to contradict myself. I want to overrule my hesitations. I want A to be here.

But I can’t steal that girl from her track meet. And when I picture A as some runner girl, I slow myself down. What if she’s another Ashley? Or even just normal-looking. What would we do then?

I think about writing back to A, but if I’m not telling him (her?) to drop everything to see me, I don’t have much else to say. I am not going to tell A about Justin—not about the fight, not about the making up. And what else do I have in my life that’s worth talking about?

I turn off my phone and head into school.

•••
I go through the motions. I try not to talk in class, but talk when I have to. I say hello to friends, but not much more. I give Justin what he wants—enough distance to be himself, but enough closeness to know I haven’t gone far. I eat lunch without tasting it.

I find myself thinking of Kelsea, about her notebook containing all those ways to die. Not because I want to kill myself. I am nowhere near wanting to kill myself. But I can understand feeling so detached from your own life. To feel that your connection to everyone else is so thin that all it would take is one decisive snip to be separated completely. If I don’t cling, I drift. I feel that no one is holding me. In my life, I am the only one who holds.

Except for A. But A is not here.

Rebecca and Preston try to reach me. They see the thin thread and tie messages to it, sliding them my way. Preston invites me to another round of buyless shopping. Rebecca tries to bribe me into a coffee excursion after school. Both of them remind me that Daren Johnston is having a party tomorrow night. I’m sure I’ll end up going.

Plans. I realize I’m not making plans because I want to see where A is living tomorrow, if A will be free. It’s the weekend. I can drive far if I have to.

No. I see Justin and I think, Stop it. He asks me if I want to go to a movie. He even lets me choose.

Once upon a time, this would have made me happy.

I can’t be bothered to tell my mother I’m not coming home for dinner. This will make it two nights in a row, and she’s going to give me hell for it. So I figure I might as well do what I’m going to do and get the hell after, instead of getting the hell before and not being able to go.

We drive around for a while, then get some Taco Bell and head to an earlyish movie. As we’re waiting for the coming attractions, I find myself looking at all the other people in the theater. Most of them are my age, and I can’t help but wonder if one of them might be A. Her track meet would be over by now. Maybe she decided to go to a movie with friends afterward. It’s not impossible.

A few girls catch me watching. Most turn away. A couple confront me, staring back to make me feel uncomfortable.

Justin is fidgety, maybe sensing how my attention is wandering. I lean into him, hold his hand. He shifts the popcorn in his lap so this can happen. But when the previews start, he pulls away.

I don’t think the movie is what he expected it to be. The posters promised it was a horror movie set in space. But soon it’s clear that the most horrific thing the astronaut is fighting is the endlessness of his boredom and the pointlessness of his life. Justin’s eyelids start to flutter. I want to use his shoulder as a pillow, but he told me once that if I lean there for too long, it kills his circulation. So I go back to looking at the audience as much as I can, picking out which person I’d be most attracted to, if A were inside.

I know the answer should be all of them.

It is not all of them.

It’s not as simple as saying all the guys are yes and all the girls are no. It’s more complicated than that. Although mostly it’s the guys I consider.

The answer—the real A I want—is sitting right next to me.

When I get home, it’s my father who’s waiting in the kitchen, looking disappointed. He tells me Mom’s already gone to bed, and that it was inconsiderate of me to ditch dinner without a call. I lie and say I told Mom ages ago that this was going to be a date night with Justin. I call it a “date night” so my dad will imagine we went for ice cream sodas and gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes the whole time.

He falls for it completely.

I check for a new email from A, but don’t find anything. And I don’t write back, since I still don’t have anything interesting to say.

The next morning, my mother says she isn’t speaking to me. I know I’m supposed to feel bad, but mostly I’m happy not to deal with her.

I’m worried that they won’t let me go to the party tonight, so I make a big production of doing my homework and completing some random chores. It’s very easy to win my father over this way.

Before I leave the house, I consider emailing A and letting him (her?) know where I’m going to be. Then I remember what happened to that poor guy Nathan the last time this happened, and I decide to stay silent. Still, I wonder where he (she?) is. I also wonder why I haven’t heard anything.

I pick Justin up, because I know he’s planning on drinking. I ask him what he did all day and he barely remembers. I think maybe his life is as uneventful as mine, and that’s why we’re together. To be each other’s eventfulness.

Or maybe that’s why we go to parties, to find some eventfulness there. Or wastedness. Or both. Preston’s also driven, so he and I sip Diet Cokes as I tell him about the movie, which is more interesting to make fun of than it was to watch. While I’m talking, Preston keeps his eye on the door, waiting for his gaydar to go off. It stays silent for a while until this James Dean wannabe strides in. Preston comes to attention like a hunting dog that’s spotted the prettiest duck to ever fall from the sky.