Page 103 of Goodbye Days

I forget about Adair and Judge Edwards looking at me like my name was carved into their skin with a rusty nail.

I forget about the people at school whispering about Jesmyn and me.

I forget about Billy and Hiro.

I forget about the panic attacks.

I try to remember the last time I felt so good and I can’t.

Jesmyn appears at the top of the stairs. I made sure to arrive fifteen minutes late. She’s wearing a pair of high-waisted, skintight black jeans with rips in the knees, a black T-shirt that shows the tiniest strip of her midriff, black ankle boots, and the gray jacket she wore for Eli’s goodbye day. Her bangs are cut in a straight fringe and hang a bit in her eyes. She has ornate, smoky eye makeup.

Seeing her feels like taking a rise in the road too fast, when all your organs are weightless. “You changed your hair.”

“You noticed!”

“Of course. You didn’t have bangs before.”

“They turn out all right?”

Play it cool. “Yeah, totally,” I say uncoolly.

She looks me up and down. “And hello, Mr. Rock Star Makeover.”

“Georgia made me buy new clothes for the show.”

“She has awesome taste. We make a great pair.”

I feel a momentary fluorescence and become light-headed.

“Oh! Forgot something.” She runs back to her room and returns holding her iPod.

She makes it halfway down the stairs when it hits—it’s the same feeling as that of going to school dressed for a warm morning, and when class lets out, the air smells like wet stone and the wind blows hard and cold from the north. Eli. You’re heading to Eli’s show with Eli’s girlfriend while Eli’s spirit makes its way down a river, or floats in a cloud, waiting to fall as rain. While Eli sits in an urn.

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, she hugs me in a whiff of citrus and honey.

She pulls out her phone and holds it at arm’s length. “Squinch up.”

I move in close to her and try to smile normally. She takes a picture, types something, and puts her phone in her pocket. Then she jumps, claps, and gives a little squeal. “Yay! I’m so excited for this show!”

I hope she stays in this mood. If she does, she can carry us. I’ll need it, I’m sure.

We get in my car and she sits cross-legged. She grabs the aux cable on my stereo and turns to me. She has a nervous giddiness in her voice I’ve never heard before.

“Okay. I have a surprise.” She takes a deep breath and plugs in her iPod as we pull away. She giggles and covers her face. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she murmurs.

The music starts—a sensuous, verdant electronic soundscape with driving drum machine beats. Then the vocals enter, lush and warm. The opening days of summer. It’s her; I can tell immediately. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her sing.

It makes my bone marrow throb. It steals my breath, but not in a panic-attack way.

“Is this—”

She peeks at me, blushing from between fingers. Her nails are painted matte black.

“—you?”

She nods.

Of course she would have to be brilliant at this too. There’s no respite. She’s actively trying to destroy me inside. “Wow. You are incredible.”