Chapter Twenty-Seven

It takes me the afternoon to come to the conclusion that I need to survive this rehab thing with my sanity intact, and I can’t do that with the denial police breathing down my neck and Adam glued to my side when it’s obviously going to be…difficult. Even I can see it’s not a healthy situation for us to be together all day, every day, how having him constantly by my side, even if I’m annoyed with him half the time, could become an addiction.

Lust, even frustrated lust, it turns out, is seductive.

I need to turn things around, get Adam off full-time Lola duty. I need to cooperate, in other words.

And frankly, even if I’m not, strictly speaking, an addict, I’ve learned that I do have an addictive personality. Plus there are a few other problematic areas in my life that might benefit from being addressed—my friendships, my family issues, my coping mechanisms, my habit of alienating the very people I want to bring closer, my being so ridiculously screwed up that I thought it was a great idea to fake my way into rehab…to give a few examples.

I have work to do and I either have to start pretending to do it, or I need to bite the bullet and actually do it. Based on my experience so far, pretending is just as hard as the real thing—maybe harder.

Plus…I really want to go to Disneyland. I mean, I am a kid who lives in California who, despite numerous parental promises, has never been to Disneyland. It’s practically traumatizing.

Finally, I really, really need my roommates to settle down and the people in this place to start trusting me so I can stop going through all this extra drama.

After dinner and Reflection, I notice that Talia’s left my missing stuff in a neat pile on my bed. I put on jeans and a thin gray T-shirt with a giant floppy gray flower on the chest, and silver sandals.

Then I go to the AA meeting where I stand up…and reconfess.

It’s not my proudest moment, but Dr. Koch made his expectations abundantly clear, and anyway, a girl’s got to be practical.

Besides, my confession isn’t even really a lie.

It goes something like this: “My name is Lola and I might actually be…an addict…of some kind. And I am certainly as flawed and messed up and confused as anyone else here and could use some life lessons and coping mechanisms and so on. So…I thank you all for your support and patience as I…as I work this out and work…on it. And, uh, I’m sorry if I’ve been a pain in anyone’s ass.”

The reaction is awesome.

People cheer.

Dr. Koch gives me a wink and a thumbs-up.

Adam claps, though his expression remains serious, almost puzzled.

Talia cries, though that is her first response to almost everything.

Jade studies me instead of glaring.

Wade smiles a super high-voltage smile.

It’s a big moment, and when the meeting is over, I’m practically mobbed with people coming up to embrace me or thump me on the back, to offer their time if I want to talk, and so on. They’re happy for me, supportive and sweet.

Except Adam. He’s the only one I still can’t read. I thought he’d be happy—proud of me, or at least relieved. Of all the people in the room, he’s the one I most want to come congratulate me, ideally with a long, tight hug, which would be okay (right?) because everyone is all about the hugs here and it would be public and therefore aboveboard and yet still get me nice and close to him, at least for a few seconds. But he doesn’t come over. Instead, he leaves. And as the door thuds closed behind him, I am disappointed, confused, hurt.

After all, I’m only trying to do what he does and follow what feels like the right thing.

But fine. Screw him. It’s not my fault he decided to confess his feelings for me and that now we’re both all messed up about it—he did that. And now he doesn’t want to do it. Like, ever. So, fine.

Meanwhile, Wade is standing at the back of the mob, waiting his turn and never taking his eyes off me until finally there are only a few of us left in the chapel.

“Carlyle,” he says, finally coming over and wrapping me in a big, more-than-friendly hug—tight and warm and just a little bit sexy, the exact kind I wanted from Adam. “Nice job.”

“Well, I’m not totally comfortable about it all yet, but it felt…good, I guess.”

“Excellent. Now, I just have one question for you.”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel about roller coasters, Carlyle?”

I gaze at him, purposely summoning up the old feelings, giving him a sly smile. I know I can’t rescue the guy, and the old feelings, while easy to recall, aren’t necessarily as strong as they could be. But a little flirtation can’t hurt, and might even help. “Same way I feel about carrots, Miller.”

I enter my room that night with a mix of dread and determination. It may be that I’ve recommitted myself to rehab, but I’ve still got Talia (thief) and Jade (psycho) to deal with and there has to be some way to make peace. When it comes to Jade I’m even willing to eat a bit of crow to make it happen.

“Okay,” I say to Talia as soon as I’m in the door, “you first. Let’s talk.”

“I think it should be me first,” Jade says.

Meanwhile, Talia kind of shrinks into her pillow.

“Making up for lost time with the talking, huh, Jade?” I say.

“Fuck,” she says. “Why do you do that?”

“Why does it bother you?”

“Because it’s so…just so…”

“It’s my sense of humor, that’s all,” I say, and move to stand in front of my dresser so I can see them both. “I’m trying to survive and get through the day like everyone else. And yeah, I’m not too into showing my vulnerable side so I make a lot of jokes. You’re not exactly an open book yourself.”

“But I’m not bothering anybody.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No. And I don’t spend all my time bragging about my fabulous life either.”

“I don’t…I’m not…”

“I hate to say it because I love you and all,” Talia pipes up from the depths of her bed, “but Jade has a point.”

“Look, my life isn’t that fabulous,” I admit. “I talk about the good parts because that’s what I want to focus on. What’s wrong with that?”

What’s wrong with it is I’m full of shit, just as Jade said when she freaked on me earlier, and it looks like maybe I’m working a little too hard at hiding the things I don’t want people to know about.

“What’s wrong is nobody wants to hear it,” Jade says, almost spitting. “Because some of us are in pain.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

“How would I know you are?” she counters.

“Just because I’m not playing the my-life-is-worse-than-yours game some of you people seem to be into, doesn’t mean there aren’t incredibly shitty things happening in my life sometimes.”

“Actually, I don’t really care if there are.”

“Fine. That works just fine for me. I don’t need you to care. But we have to live together for the next few weeks, and I don’t want to be worrying you’re going to stab me in the middle of the night, so I’m going to try to annoy you less. Okay?”

“There you go again with the jokes.”

“It’s not really a joke. You’re scary sometimes. You’re like some kind of psycho-goth-ninja. I never know what you might do.”

At this, she chuckles. Progress.

“Okay, what else? You don’t like me talking about my family. Right?”

“My parents just died.”

“Holy shit.”

“Don’t get sympathetic,” she snaps. “I can’t handle it.”

“Fine,” I say, schooling my emotions and trying to present a blank face. “Fine, no sympathy.”

“And Talia told you the very first day what an ass her dad is and yet you go on about what great buddies you and your dad are. Get a fucking clue.”

I breathe in slowly through my nostrils and out through my mouth, reminding myself my job is not to delve into any of this or, conversely, to pick any more fights. “I won’t talk about them, then. Unless I have to in class or whatever.”

“All right,” Jade says, and I can see her relaxing. A bit.

“I can’t promise not to annoy you, though. You know, just in general. But I’ll try to cut down.”

She rolls her eyes.

“But you have to stop doing that. And giving me the finger all the time because that’s rude, not to mention it provokes me.”

“Fine. I’ll try,” she says.

“All right. Me too.”

“But I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Yeah, I got that. Ditto.”

“Done.” And with that, Jade gets off her bed, grabs her cigarettes, and goes out to the freshly unlocked balcony, leaving me alone with Talia.

I push away from the dresser and sit on the edge of my bed, facing her.

She pulls her duvet over her and closes her eyes.

“Look, Talia, if you can’t explain…whatever. I mean, I’m not happy you stole from me, but if you could just assure me it won’t happen again, I guess that’ll do.”

“It’s not because I don’t like you,” she says in a small voice. “It’s more because I do.”

“I… Okay, I don’t get it.”

“I know. It’s weird. It’s complicated.”

“Well…if you want to borrow something, just tell me. I don’t care. You can keep some of the stuff, even. I mean, I have tons of clothes. I can just order new ones.”

Talia gives me a look, and suddenly I get it.

“Oh,” I say. “That was one of those moments, right?”

She nods.

“I don’t mean it… I don’t really mean it to… Okay, but I’ll work on it. And you can tell me when I’m doing it. Yes?”

“Hey, I know this time you were actually trying to be nice,” she says.

I nod. “But…”

She nods. “Yeah. Oh, you know, your jeans didn’t even fit me, by the way.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“And I could never pull off those feather earrings.”

“Sure you could.”

“Matter of opinion.”

“Or the Ray-Bans—the Fat-Asses—you should keep those. I have two pair, exactly the same.”

“Fat Asses…?”

“Yeah, my mom told me they make me look fat.”

“What…?”

“So I bought two pairs just to piss her off and I call then the Fat-Asses. See? There’s a nice little tidbit from my less than fabulous life. Here, take them,” I say, handing them to her.

“We can be twin fat-asses, then,” Talia says with a pleased smile.

“But back to the reason,” I say. “I still don’t understand why you took them in the first place.”

“I just…I kept thinking you were going to leave. I don’t like it when people leave me.”

I stare at her, trying to see behind the words to something that makes sense.

“So…taking my stuff was supposed to stop me from going?”

“No. It’s just…objects are permanent. And sometimes you just need something. It doesn’t make sense but you need it.”

“Oh wow, I know that. I know that feeling. I had that feeling today. I…I think I have it all the time but I just never was aware of it before. It’s like you just…” I reach out my hands in a grasping motion, trying to demonstrate. “It’s like hunger, but…more. Worse.”

“Yes,” she says. “Oh my God.”

“All right. So I get that part—you needed something.”

“I did. That’s how I felt. I would have returned it all, though, I swear.”

“I still can’t say I completely get it,” I tell her. “But, I mean, did it help?”

“Temporarily.”

“Ah. Yeah. Like everything.”

She nods.

I sit down beside her, wrap an arm around her shoulders, and squeeze her to me. “I feel better that it wasn’t malicious. That makes a big difference.”

“Never,” she says, leaning her head against mine. “But I’m really sorry.”

I nod. “Me, too.”

Thursday morning, I am in the lounge before Adam. I see him in my peripheral vision when he arrives—as always with slightly damp hair, face clean-shaven and wearing his no-nonsense T-shirt and jeans. I don’t look up. He doesn’t stop to greet me, either. He just goes to the front of the room and opens the binder.

“‘I know a new freedom,’” he says, and then finally meets my eyes, almost as if he’s giving me a challenge.

Then Dr. Koch arrives and hands me a new Level Three card.

Apropos, as Talia would say.

As we’re dispersing to our Contemplations, I can’t help drifting to where he still stands, near the door to the balcony.

“So,” I say, “happy?”

“About what?”

“Your new freedom? Or,” I continue when he frowns, “my new freedom?”

“My freedom’s irrelevant,” he says, eyes boring into me. “As for yours…”

“Yes?”

He shrugs. “I just want you to use it wisely.”

“But…why are you acting so weird? I thought you’d be proud of me. I thought you’d be happy.”

“Lola…” He closes his eyes for a second, lets out a sharp sigh, opens them. “Everything’s fine, okay? I’m fine, you’re fine, you’re ready to do the work and that does make me happy. It’s all good.”

“But I just…” One of my hands reaches out, almost of its own volition, to touch his forearm. He looks down at it, then back to me, and steps away with a quick shake of his head.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I say, pissed off but whispering, just in case anyone is close enough to hear me. “I can’t touch your arm?”

“Go,” he says, his voice harsher and deeper than usual. “Go Contemplate. I’ll see you later.”

I only see Adam a couple more times that day, and only in passing. It’s weird, but a relief, I guess, since we apparently can’t have even the simplest of interactions without things going sideways. His demeanor is friendly, if a little formal, and for a while I follow his lead because really, what else can I do?

Friday, though, he shows up to escort me to therapy, still obviously not trusting I’ll go.

We walk there in silence.

I survive the session and hate it a little bit less.

To my surprise, he’s there when I come out.

“Am I in trouble?” I say, trying unsuccessfully not to sound sarcastic.

“Not that I know of,” he says. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you.”

“I have a free period,” I say, following him down the long corridor overlooking the ocean where I tried to charm him that first day. “I don’t think you need to worry about my attending it.”

“You’re doing well, Lola. I’m impressed with your compliance,” he says stiffly.

“Adam.” I stop walking.

“Yes?” he says.

“Can you…do you want to hang out with me?”

He hesitates, not quite meeting my eyes.

“You’re mad,” I say. “You seem mad.”

“No,” he says. “I’m really not.”

“Listen, it affects my mental health if my mentor isn’t on his game, you know. Or if he’s bullshitting me. You’re lucky I don’t have Dr. Owens’s bell.”

“I’m not mad at you,” he says, more convincingly this time.

“All right then, come on,” I say, and point to the courtyards below. “Let’s go sit. You’re my mentor and I want to talk.”

“All right,” he says, and we head down the stairs and to the door.

“Your card or mine?” I say, holding up my Level card and cocking an eyebrow.

“Go ahead,” he says, shaking his head and trying not to smile.

I hide my own smile at this hint of progress, and use my card to take us outside to one of the many peaceful, empty courtyards, which may or may not stay empty, but hopefully will.

He looks around, chooses a bench in the shade, and sits.

“Okay, spill,” I say, swinging my denim-clad leg across the bench so I can sit straddled, facing him, but not too close, even though at the moment he’s facing dutifully forward, so it’s only the side of his face I’m looking at. “Clarice would say your energy is heavy.”

“Ha,” he says, not really laughing, but smiling a little.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just mad at myself.”

“Right. So, Adam, I know the subject is technically closed, but—”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We can open it. For a short time.”

“Really?”

“A short time.”

“Awesome. I can do short. Because while you’ve been learning lots of things about me, I’ve also been learning about you, and I think I can sum it up—the problem you’re having. Then it’ll be out in the open, which might help. And then we can just…close the subject back up. Deal?”

“Go for it,” he says, glancing sideways at me, both amused and skeptical at the same time.

“You regret it,” I say matter-of-factly, but in a low enough voice that no passerby would hear me. “Telling me, kissing me back when I kissed you, all of it. And now you’re having a crisis because you don’t know if you can trust yourself to do this job—so you’re questioning your entire future.”

“Huh,” he says, turning to face me finally, drawing one knee onto the bench and dropping it down on the other side. “Impressive.”

“Am I right?”

“On some of it. I am having a bit of a crisis, especially about this career—the future, as you said. But I’ve put two years of school in already and it’s still what I want.”

I nod, and gesture him to continue.

“Regarding us—no, I shouldn’t have let anything happen.”

The word “us” sounds so good it makes me ache. Lame, short-term boyfriends like Trevor of the smushed-bug-on-the-windshield kisses aside, I’ve never been part of an us, even a not-happening us.

“But?” I say.

“But I don’t regret it.”

At this, I let go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“I’m supposed to,” he continues, looking at me in that super-honest and direct way he has that used to make me nervous and now makes me feel weak in the knees, “but I can’t make myself, and it would be such a lie to say I did. I don’t.”

“I’m so…” I look down for a moment, worried he’s going to see all the mess of emotion I’m trying to keep in check. “I don’t either,” I say, then look back up again. “I’m so happy, so relieved; I mean, it shouldn’t make a difference, but I…I don’t want you to regret it.”

Though we’re a few feet apart and clearly nothing is going to happen, we are both very still, very still and staring at each other, and in my case hardly breathing. It feels like my stomach is full of tiny, tumbling acrobats, maybe an aerial act or two.

Someone has to say something or the tension might kill us both.

“You know I wish… I mean, it feels like…” I stop.

“What?”

“Oh shit. No, what I was about to say…uh, it wouldn’t help.”

“Tell me,” he says.

“While the subject is still open?”

He nods.

“It’s inappropriate,” I warn him.

“Yeah, I figured.” He stretches out his legs just far enough that both his ankles tuck inside mine. Of course it’s just our ankles so it shouldn’t feel like a big deal, and no one who saw us could accuse us of anything…but knowing he’s been trying not to touch me at all makes this intensely personal and ridiculously sexy. Yep, ankles touching and I might pass out.

“Tell me,” he says again.

“I wish we could just lock ourselves away somewhere private for a couple of days and, you know, try to get it out of our systems.”

“I don’t suppose you mean talking it out…?”

“Nope.”

“Lola…” he says, his voice a deep rumble.

“I know it’s not a real option. But the thing is, all of this…” I make a churning motion with my hand in the air between us. “I don’t know what to do with it. How to…get rid of it.”

“You ever tried the getting it out of your system method before?”

“No.” Heat rises up my neck and onto my cheeks. “I’ve never, ah, needed to.”

Or even really wanted to—not like this.

“I don’t think it would work,” he says. “I’m pretty sure it would make things worse.”

God, I want to make things worse.

“But it would be fun.”

“I don’t think I can handle worse,” he says, almost like he’s in pain.

I slip my feet out of my sandals and, without ever losing eye contact with him, slide one foot, and then the other, up the sides of his legs to rest them on the tops of his thighs, my denim on his. He looks down, then back up at me.

“Inappropriate?”

“Yes,” he says, but gently places his hands on my shins. “Completely.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

Neither of us moves. The distance between our bodies, all the parts that aren’t touching, which is most of them, feels huge. And yet we could close that space in no time at all.

“I just want to point out,” I say finally, “that people don’t come out to this courtyard very often.”

“I know,” he says, hands gripping my shins, then sliding upward, toward my knees.

“Please can we just—”

“We have to stop this.”

“Uh-huh.” I look down at his hands, now on my thighs. “I see how you’re stopping.”

“I will, I swear. Any second,” he says, then his hands go behind my knees, gripping like he wants to pull me forward—up and onto his lap. It would be so easy, so fast. And if he does it I will wrap my legs and arms around him so tightly he won’t be able to get rid of me. I’ll run my hands up under his shirt, up his back, bury my face in his neck and inhale the scent of him, kiss him till he doesn’t even know his own name anymore.

Into these delicious, tempting thoughts come…

Voices.

Not our voices—voices of people who are approaching, and fast.

Shit.

It’s a split-second decision. We’re not in a horribly compromising position and we could probably get out of it and back to “normal” in time, but in that moment I am certain there must be a visible, smoking cloud of lust surrounding us. Not to mention, I would be hard-pressed to have even a semi-intelligent conversation right now. No matter what we do, they’ll know, and then we’ll be in deep trouble. Par for the course for me, sure, but I don’t want it for him.

And so, in a dazed, panicked move that feels to be in both fast and slow motion, I leap away from him, scramble off the bench, then start tugging him by the arm toward a thick clump of bushes nearby.

“What the—?” he whispers, following me but looking over his shoulder at the same time.

“We look guilty as hell,” I hiss. “Hide!”

“You’re insane,” he says, but he follows me as I scramble under the bushes, squirming tight to the wall to make room for him. He pulls himself in beside me, swearing under his breath.

“Shh,” I say.

He goes still, and none too soon because Clarice and Mary enter the courtyard, chatting intensely about some protocol or something—honestly I’m so focused on not getting caught I don’t take it in. It sounds like they’re just going to walk through, but there’s a long, torturous moment where they pause near our bench, which would mean we’d be stuck five feet away from them, for as long as they wanted to chat.

Adam and I are side by side on our backs, chests heaving, trying to stay silent. I am terrified his feet might be sticking out of the clump of bushes, and also afraid they might look too closely and see us. It’s not like we’re behind a hedge. And it’s not like there would be any chance of anyone thinking we were innocent now, if we got caught like this.

And still, I am tempted to roll on top of him, or maybe nibble on his earlobe.

Instead, I reach for his hand, but he moves it away.

After an excruciatingly long couple of minutes, Mary and Clarice move away from the bench and then, finally, out of our courtyard.

To be safe, we wait until their voices are very faint.

And then I start laughing. It’s a silent laugh, a silent, shaking laugh that starts in my chest and shoulders and spreads to my belly. I put my hand over my mouth, but I can’t stop.

“You think this is funny?” Adam croaks.

I’m unable to respond.

“I don’t think it’s funny at all, Lola,” he says, and starts pushing his way out of the bushes. “Come on.”

I follow him, still laughing because I can’t control it and can’t explain it, either, and then we’re back standing on the path, looking the worse for wear. He has sticks and leaves in his hair and streaks of dirt on his shirt and jeans. I’ve got scratches on my hands and arms, and dirt on my jeans and tank, and Adam points to my hair—almost reaching out to touch it, then changing his mind—where I find leaves.

“Why the hell did you dive in there?” he demands. “We could have just…moved apart.”

“Well, you didn’t have to follow me,” I say, the laughter finally easing.

“Oh, and stand there trying to explain why my mentee is hiding in the bushes?”

“Well, I just—”

“Never mind. Fuck, that took five years off my life, I swear. And you sat there laughing. This is exactly why—”

“Why are you shouting?”

“Because I’m upset,” he shouts. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“You didn’t do anything. We did nothing wrong.”

“Oh, seriously. If they hadn’t come along? We were about to be doing something, Lola.”

“Were we?” My breath hitches and I tilt my head flirtatiously.

“Cut it out. Shit. I have to get my head out of my ass.”

“I don’t think that’s where it was.”

“Lola, I’m not kidding, we have to stop—” He comes toward me like he’s going to grab me, then backs away instead, holding his arms out from his sides. “I have to get reassigned. To freaking China or something. The North Pole.”

“You think all that ice might help? Send me some when you get there.”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head grimly. “Maybe if I got entombed in it.”

I laugh, but again, he doesn’t.

“You know what I really hate about this?” he says.

“What?”

“All this…” He gestures to the bench, to the bushes, then from himself to me. “All this garbage, and having to hide, and having it be that we just are both repressing all this…”

“Mm-hm?”

“It makes it… I don’t want to have this kind of sordid thing…with you.”

“You think it’s sordid?”

“Yes. No. I mean, God, I shouldn’t talk about it anymore. We can’t do any of it. But also, I wouldn’t want to, like this. Hiding in bushes, feeling guilty. You’re not just some girl I want to get naked with. That’s not enough. That’s not good enough.”

I’m tempted to say I thought the bushes thing was fun, and ditto the classroom kisses, and all the insane, built-up tension between us. But I know what he means and am both confused and moved by it.

“You would want to take long walks and talk about philosophy and see art films…”

“And wander deserted beaches and hold your hand and sit around talking about nothing, and learn about your favorite things, and listen to music, and not be a secret or a broken rule,” he says.

“That sounds really good,” I say after a long, painful moment.

“Fuck,” he says.

After that we spend a couple of minutes making sure we look somewhat normal, and start walking, keeping our distance from each other.

“Please don’t get reassigned,” I say to him as we approach the mansion. “I would…I would really miss you. Even fighting with you, I would miss. I promise, pinkie-promise, cross my heart, I will behave.”

He snorts.

“I will.”

“It’s not just you,” he admits.

“I know, but I won’t make it worse,” I say, then flush, remembering our earlier conversation about making things worse. “Not any kind of worse. I’ll stay away. I mean, I’m still me, so realistically I might still be a bit of a handful for you. But not about this, I promise. I won’t so much as flirt with you. I won’t get you into any trouble.”

“I’m in trouble already,” he says.

“Adam, please. You are the only person I trust in this place.”

A long moment passes, then finally he says, “I’ll think about it.”

I break into a huge smile.

He doesn’t smile back.