Page 6 of Back to You
That’s how it seems, at least. It’s where we’re always meeting—in the beginning, to study for our tests in middle school, then to study for our SATs in high school, and three years ago, or now, to study for our college assignments and exams.
I was technically closer to Victoria than I was to anyone else at school, which I guess made us best friends by default. We were tied for first place in every subject except compulsory sports, which neither of us took seriously. There were times when I wondered if that was maybe the sole reason she tolerated me: to keep tabs on me or intimidate me. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer and whatnot.
Once, in class, I made a stupid comment about the film we were watching—I can’t even remember exactly what I said. But everyone sitting around me laughed, and Victoria looked over, brows raised, and asked me to repeat it.
“It’s stupid,” I said.
“No,” she insisted, loudly, like it was a challenge. “You said something really funny, didn’t you? I want to know what it is.”
It had not even been that funny the first time, and it was even less funny when I was made to repeat it. She didn’t laugh at all. Just waited a moment, and then released a quick huff of breath between her teeth.
“Oh, right, hilarious,” she said, turning her eyes back to the screen while I sat there, feeling foolish and judged.
Still, when I see her sitting inside the library, in our usual spot by the window, wearing the same blue turtleneck she’s worn since we were fourteen, I’m overcome by this urge to rush over and tell her everything: that I died and now I’mhere, that I burst into tears in the middle of my economics lecture and it was maybe the most honest I’ve ever been about my own feelings.
The words are on the tip of my tongue as I take a seat next to her, but when she looks up and sees me, she starts talking first.
“Oh my god, I just had theworstday ever, you wouldnotbelieve it,” she says, rubbing her temples.
I feel my words fall back down inside me. “What happened?”
“You know that super-important group project that’s due literallynext week? One of our group members skipped our meeting last night to watch that new Kate Diana rom-com.” She rolls her eyes. It’s not even directed at me, but my shoulders tense. I love Kate Diana rom-coms, though of course I’m not going to admit that now. “Like, if you’re going to jeopardize everyone’s grades for a movie, the least you could do is pick out a movie that’s actually worthseeing.”
I forgot that Victoria could be like this. That almost everything is silly or a waste of time to her. That she holds real contempt for people who enjoy rom-coms. In high school, when I told her that I wasn’t sure if I was smart enough to sign up for the Math Olympiad challenge, she snorted and said in her most derisive voice, “Please, evenCynthiais doing it.”
Cynthia was one of our mutual friends—not that we were super close or anything, but she invited both of us to her birthday party every year, and only the week before she’d brought an entire cheesecake to school and given me one of the biggest slices. This all mattered more to me than her math grades, which were objectively maybe not so great, but still. I should’ve defended Cynthia then.
Instead, I was preoccupied with making sure that Victoria never spoke about me in that same derisive tone.
“I’m sorry. Group projects can be super stressful,” I say, trying to sound sympathetic.
“Tell me about it.” She heaves a sigh. “If he doesn’t show up for our meeting tonight, I might as well just drop dead. No,hemight as well drop dead.”
Well, speaking of dropping dead, this funny thing happened to me earlier ...But even as I imagine myself saying it, I know by now that I won’t tell her. The moment has passed.
“... show you the PowerPoint I made before the meeting?” Victoria is saying. “I just need someone to double-check all the numbers for me. It shouldn’t take that long, maybe three hours at most. We’ll be done by eleven.”
I feel myself frown. Something about her tone is uncomfortably familiar. “Wait, tonight?”
“Yeah,” she says with an expectant look. And suddenly I realize who she reminds me of. I remember all those times my manager asked me to stay behind to work, one hour, two hours, until midnight, in that same offhand tone, with the same expectant glance.
Allison, can you review the weekly report again?
Allison, I’m heading home now, can you finish up over here for me?
Allison, you don’t mind reaching out to everyone on the client list, right?
And I went along with it, afraid to say no, afraid to disappoint, afraid she’d replace me with a more eager investment banker who needed less sleep. I worked and worked and worked for her until I died, right inside her office.
I’m surprised by the hot twist of rage in my stomach.
Victoria doesn’t even seem to notice that anything’s wrong. “Why, you already have big plans for the night?” She’ssmiling like this is an inside joke between us, like it’s so obvious that I don’t.
“Um, I do, actually.”
Her brows shoot up. “Well, this is exciting—do tell me.”
“I’m going clubbing later, with Luke and his friends,” I say, a thrill racing through my blood at the very thought. I almost don’t recognize myself, it doesn’t seem possible that these words could leave my mouth and be true.
