Amy & Roger's Epic Detour (18 page)

“Hey, pretty girl,” Michael said, opening the door and smiling. This was his name for me, what he’d started calling me after our first makeout session. I always just called him Michael. He was from Oregon, an inch taller than me, and always smelled faintly of Irish Spring.

“Hey,” I said, putting a smile on my face. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” he said, opening the door wider. I stepped into the room he shared with Hugo, a German exchange student who kept his side of the room immaculate. Michael’s side was always a mess, his bed piled high with clothes and books. But those could easily be moved.

“Is Hugo here?” I asked.

“No,” said Michael, shutting the door. “He’s at a study group.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Look, I know I’m probably going to say the wrong thing here. But I’m really sorry, Amy.”

I nodded, as though these words meant something, as if they hadn’t just bounced off me. “Thanks,” I said, walking over to him. “I really appreciate that.” I slid my arms around his neck and kissed him, lightly at first, then more intensely. He kissed me back, but then pulled away.

“Um,” he said. “Are you sure we should be … I mean, don’t you want to talk or something?”

“No,” I said. I was there to forget I wanted to talk, there so I would have something else to feel for a while. “It’s fine. I promise.” I kissed him again, just wanting to think about something else. Or not think about anything at all. And this was the perfect solution. I tugged at the bottom of his College of the West T-shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it on Hugo’s bed. And then, before I could change my mind or lose my nerve, I pulled my own tank top off.

“Wow,” Michael said, looking at me. “Um.” I struggled with my skirt’s zipper with fingers that were trembling slightly. But I got it undone and stepped out of it and stood facing him. “Really?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

“Absolutely,” I said, as though I was sure. And to prove it, I started kissing him again. We stumbled backward together until we hit his bed. I sat on the edge of it while Michael cleared it off hurriedly, then stepped out of his khakis and yanked off his tube socks. “The light?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

“Right, sure,” he said, crossing back to the door, locking it, then flipping the switch and throwing us both into the dark.

Have you ever been down to Colorado? I spend a lot of time there in my mind.

—Merle Haggard

I let myself in the front door of the International House. I wanted to go to Bronwyn’s room, clear a spot on the floor for myself, and go to sleep. I just wanted to close my eyes and make it all go away for a little while.

“Sullivan?” a voice called from the TV room. I paused, one foot on the stairs that would lead me to peace and quiet. “That you?” the voice asked, sounding a little desperate this time. I sighed, turned, and walked toward it.

Leonard was still on the couch, and it looked like he might not have moved in the last few hours, except that he had put on a T-shirt, a faded yellow one that read
CALL ME KEVIN
. “Hey,” I said. He was still playing his game, only now it seemed the terrain was different. It looked rockier now, and less sylvan.

He turned his head and looked at me. “Oh,” he said. “I thought you were Roger.”

“I think he’s still at the party,” I said. “I left early,” I added unnecessarily, just to have something to say. “I was just … tired.”

He kept looking at me, as the game continued on behind him. “You look different,” he finally said.

“Oh,” I said, tugging the hem of Bronwyn’s skirt down. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s good,” he concluded after looking at me for a moment longer. “Nice.” He nodded once more, then turned back to the game, jumping out of the way of some kind of wolf creature just in time to avoid being killed. As I watched, words in flourishy type flashed across the screen.
Quickly You must save Princess Jenna!

“Princess Jenna?” I asked, and saw the tips of Leonard’s ears turn red.

“Yeah,” he said, with an embarrassed laugh. “Her real name is Princess Arundel. But I figured out how to hack the game and change it.”

“So who’s Jenna?” I asked, as he flushed again.

“Nobody,” he said with a shrug. “Just this girl in my chem class. Whatever.”

“Okay,” I said, but I noticed that he suddenly wasn’t playing as well, as three gnomes appeared and began kicking him in the shins. I stared at the screen, as buff virtual Leonard shook off the gnomes and began dashing across the rocks again. “What’s the appeal?” I asked.

“Of Honour Quest?” he asked, not looking away from the game, fingers jabbing the buttons on the controller.

“Yeah,” I said. “You just run around and try not to let the wolves get you?”

“Lupine were-demons,” he corrected me. “And it’s not just running around. I’m on a quest.”

“For what?”

“We think it’s to save Arundel. Or, you know, Jenna.”

“You think?” I asked, leaning over the back of the couch.

“The end of Honour Quest is a carefully guarded secret. Nobody I know has finished it yet. And really, it’s not about the destination. It’s getting there that’s the good part. But there have been rumors that the princess isn’t the final goal. That at the end of it, the game reboots and you’re on a new quest. And you’ve actually just spent this quest gaining knowledge and strength and faerie acorns in preparation for it. Which would be
sweet
.”

“Got it,” I said, watching him onscreen for a moment longer, running full-out toward an ending he wasn’t even sure of. I shook

Quickly! You must save Princess my head. “’Night, Leonard,” I said, as I headed toward the stairs.

“Totally,” he said. “You too. Goddamn orcs,” he muttered as he began slaying again with a vengeance.

I headed up the stairs to Bronwyn’s room and pushed open the door. The room was dark, and I was about to turn the lights on when I saw that Bronwyn was in bed, sleeping, her breath slow and rhythmic. I hadn’t even realized she’d left the party. Using the light spilling in from the hallway, I looked around the room and saw that alongside her bed, she’d laid out a sleeping bag for me, with a neatly folded green T-shirt and sweatpants on top of it.

It seemed easier to just change into these rather than try to deal with my suitcase in the dark. I closed the door and changed, trying to make as little noise as possible. But Bronwyn seemed to be a pretty deep sleeper, which was a good thing. Because I’d just wanted to go to sleep, anyway. If she’d been awake, we probably would have had to talk about the party, and I could have told her about Bradley. But now I didn’t have to, so it worked out.

I pulled the sleeping bag around my shoulders, hoping that whatever magic had worked the last two nights would work tonight, and I could just go to sleep. I wanted to block out the memories of Michael and stop remembering that night. But as soon as I closed my eyes, all I could see was his face, and I knew that probably wasn’t going to happen.

Those memories so steeped in yesterday. Those memories you couldn’t run away.
—Ember FX

M
ARCH
11—
THREE MONTHS EARLIER

I sat on the edge of Michael’s bed and put my bra back on, getting the hooks wrong but not really caring. Michael was rubbing my back in slow circles, and I moved away from him under the pretense of getting my shirt. But mostly, I just didn’t want him to touch me anymore. I pulled on the tank top with hands that were shaking slightly.

“You okay?” he asked from the bed, where he was sitting up, still under the sheet. I wondered why I’d never noticed before that the whole room smelled like pizza.

“I’m fine,” I said brightly, but I could hear the edge of hysteria in my voice. I found my skirt balled up under the bed and I smoothed it out, then pulled it on, standing to zip it.

“Hey,” Michael said, sounding concerned. He held out his hand to me. “Come here.”

I didn’t want to go there. All I wanted was to get out of his room as soon as I could, and, if possible, go back in time and erase the last twenty minutes. “I should get going,” I said, trying to keep at bay whatever was threatening to break apart inside me. I looked around for my black heels, but they seemed to have vanished.

Michael pulled his khakis back on and walked over to stand in front of me. “Amy,” he said, reaching out to smooth down my hair.

“Have you seen my shoes?” I asked, trying to step around him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, taking my hands in his. “Look, I promise the second time will be better.” I pulled my hands away, reasoning that I really didn’t need my shoes. I could get home barefoot. It would be fine.

Michael pulled me into a hug, running his hand over my hair, and I felt myself stiffen. It was all just too much. Everything was too much. What we’d just done, and how I hadn’t known that I would feel so vulnerable while it was happening, which was the last thing that I wanted to feel. How when it was over, I’d realized what a huge mistake it had been. But a mistake that was impossible to take back. How, suddenly, with his arms around me, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I pushed him away and stepped back. As I did, I saw a hurt look flash over his face, but I didn’t care. All I knew was that I had to get out of there.

“I have to go,” I said, hearing how unsteady my voice sounded, and feeling like something inside me was crumbling. I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought this was a good idea. I just needed to go someplace where I could be alone, and try to handle the fact that everything in the world seemed to be broken.

“Let’s talk about this,” he said, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him.

“I don’t want to talk!”
I yelled this, not even knowing I was going to, and my voice broke on the last word.

“Okay,” said Michael, now looking a little freaked out. “Um. That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

I turned away from him and forced myself to take a breath, even though I could feel how jagged it was. “I just … I just want to be alone, okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.” I headed for the door, leaving behind in his messy room my shoes, my virginity, and the last semblance of the girl I’d once been.

“Amy,” Michael said. “Don’t—”

But I never found out what he was going to say, as I slammed the door behind me and walked down his dorm hallway, keeping my eyes on the industrial brown carpet, not looking back to see if he followed me. I felt tears pricking the inside of my eyelids. My eyes felt like they were burning, and two tears escaped from my right eye. I could feel just how much there was—everything that had happened, the enormity of it all. There weren’t enough tears to cry. I didn’t have enough voice left to scream. And it wasn’t like anything was going to change. No matter how much I cried, even if I let myself yell, things were never going to get better. So I pushed back as hard as I could against the feelings inside me that were crying out for release. I concentrated on breathing, and taking one step, then another, and not thinking about what had happened, or the house I would have to go back to, or how it felt that my heart was beyond broken—how it felt so shattered that it was ground down to powder. I pushed these feelings away with everything I had left.

And by the time I stepped outside, into the still warm evening, I had stopped crying.

4
Through Adversity to the Stars

I’ve reached the point of know return.

—Kansas

We were going to Kentucky.

Well, first we had to go through Kansas and Missouri, but then we were going to Kentucky.

When I’d woken up at ten that morning—having finally drifted off to sleep around four—Bronwyn was gone, and so was my suitcase. My jeans were folded on her bed, along with a white T-shirt, very like the one she’d worn the day before. There was a yellow Post-it lying on the clothes that read For Amy, and a pink Post-it next to the yellow one that read Wear Me. Confused, but not seeing any other options, I got changed, feeling the softness of the fabric as I did so. It was a nice shirt, and it was white—I’d have to be sure to stay far away from jam.

I rolled up the sleeping bag and headed downstairs. Leonard was asleep on the couch, snoring softly, controller resting on his chest. As I headed to the kitchen, Roger came out of it, wearing the “Bear Necessities” T-shirt he’d bought at the Yosemite gift shop. He must have just showered, because his hair was still wet and I could see the comb tracks through it, the cowlick in the back struggling valiantly to stand up. “Hey,” he said. “Morning.”

“Hi,” I said quietly, even though there was probably no need, as the game was blaring some kind of pan-flute music and that didn’t seem to be disturbing Leonard in the slightest.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asked.