for me, telling herself I hadn’t forgotten because I was a negligent friend but only because I had other things to worry about, what with being recently orphaned and miserable in a cold, unfeeling city three thousand miles away.
Which just made me feel all the more negligent, since it was so far from the truth. I mean, I wasn’t orphaned, not really, and while I was definitely looking forward to having T.K. back for good, Rafe had assured me she’d be safe as long as she took the proper precautions. And T.K. was like a poster child for proper precautions — we had a fully stocked first aid kit in every single room of the house in California, not to mention both the glove compartment and the trunk of the Prius, and neither of us was particularly accident-prone.
And as for being miserable in a cold, unfeeling city — well, that wasn’t exactly accurate, either. I’d be wearing my INY T-shirt at that very moment if I didn’t have to wear a uniform to school. Somehow, it was all both new and right at the same time, even when I was worrying about Quinn’s emotions potentially seeping away in a slow but irreversible decline.
The fact of the matter was there was only one real problem with the entire situation, and that was it was beginning to feel normal. Like this was home, and Palo Alto was a nice place where I’d lived a long time ago, back in some other life.
Which might complicate things when T.K. did return.
A brightening gleam of light from the mouth of the tunnel signaled the train’s approach, and thirty seconds later it pulled into the station with a screeching wail of brakes. The doors slid open, and we squeezed ourselves in with the other rush-hour passengers. Then the doors slid shut, the train left the station, and people started staring at us.
There might have been some strange glances before, out on the sidewalk, but I’d chalked that up to Charley’s singing. And for the first couple of stops, we were busy talking about how I could make up for missing Erin’s birthday, so I didn’t catch on right away. But once I did notice, it was impossible to ignore, and it just got more and more creepy at each stop, as some of the people who’d been staring would get off and new people would get on, take their places, and start staring at us, too.
When I saw a woman nudge another woman and point at us, like we were chimpanzees at the zoo, I couldn’t take it anymore. Charley was telling me about a service that would send Erin an ice sculpture carved from our own original design, but she stopped talking when I elbowed her. I had to stand on tiptoe to whisper in her ear. “People are staring at us,” I said.
“I know,” she whispered back. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”
“How could I not notice? What do you think is going on?” “I have no clue —” she started to say.
And then we pulled into the station at 51st Street, the doors opened, and suddenly, everything became clear.
Charley gave a yelp. “I don’t believe it,” she said in shock. I was speechless, so I couldn’t reply.
“I’m going to kill him,” said Charley as the doors shut. “Kill him.”
Through the windows the tiled wall of the station began to blur as the train picked up speed, but I could still see the row of billboards, with the same image on each: the moment Charley and I first met.
It was from the night Dieter had been filming up on the roof of her building, when I’d accidentally wandered onto the set. Charley stood with her hands on her hips, looking imposing and glamorous in a red satin dress. I was also standing with my hands on my hips but looked far less imposing and glamorous since I was wearing jeans.
“What does Dieter think this is going to accomplish?” demanded Charley, as if I’d have any idea. “Is this what he meant by harnessing the power of visual media?”
I was still speechless, so I still didn’t reply.
“I’m going to kill him,” Charley said again.
There wasn’t any
Learning to Kill: Stories