Page 19 of Left on Read

“That wasn’t really the best way to say it,” Esha murmurs. “But she’s right. They’re taking his side in a breakup that hasn’t happened yet.”

We all three look at one another for a heartbeat as that thought settles in.

There’s a moment of the slightest uncomfortable silence.

Then Piper sobs. It’s a wet, aching sound from the middle of her chest. I don’t know what to do with most tense social conventions, and I don’t know what to do with Piper’s deflated heart, but I can absolutely handle her tears.

“Okay, come with me.” I pull Piper off her high-rise chair. She sniffles, and her every breath sounds snotty. “Stay here and watch her stuff, please,” I tell Esha. She nods, knowing exactly where I’m headed. Toward the best place to cry.

Hayes quirks one eyebrow up at me as we rush past him. I always thought that look was the derision leaking out of him. A sneer. I still don’t know exactly what that eyebrow means, but maybe it’s not meant to be as harsh as I assumed.

Piper sniffles, and I hold open the heavy bathroom door with basically my entire body. She leans against a sink that has to be freezing, pressing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. All the stall doors are open, so we’re thankfully alone. There’s nothing worse than a crowded bathroom when all you want is a place to sob in peace.

“Do you want a makeup wipe?” I ask, meeting my own eyes in the mirror instead of looking at her. “I know they’re terrible for the environment, but I have an emergency stash.”

Instead of responding, Piper grabs two handfuls of paper towels from the dispenser and runs them under the tap. She looks gaunt in a way that’s kind of scary.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she says. The water’sstill running over her fists. The paper towels are starting to dissolve into gross brown pulp.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” I turn off the water and scoop the melted paper remains out of the sink. It’s a sensory nightmare. She grabs another dry paper towel and scrapes at her undereyes. She’s wiping at her skin so hard, I can hear the scratching.

“I don’t belong here.” Her arms cross at her chest, one mascara-stained ball of paper towel still in her hand.

As she looks at my reflection in the mirror, I tense. Now that the tears have stopped, I’m lost again. “Here? In the bathroom?” I look around us, like there’s something in the mint-green subway tile lining the walls that’ll tell me what to do in this situation.

“No. Well, yeah? I don’t belong at this school. And the bathroom is a part of that, I guess.” She runs her fingers through long, white-blond hair, smoothing flyaways and parting it into three strands she starts to braid.

“Why wouldn’t you belong here?” I lean against the sink next to hers, facing away from the mirror. This way, I can look at my shoes and not feel bad about it.

“I’m not like you. I’m not smart. I wasn’t built for this. I’m failing most of my classes and barely passing the rest. Y’all like living in a pressure cooker. You thrive, and I barely survive.”

I laugh, and her face crumbles. Shit. No. That’s not what I meant. I was just thinking of how off base she was, to assume I’m actually having a good time. That I’m thriving. That’s what’s laughable.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …” My voice trails off as tears pool in her eyes again. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I promise. I would never do that. I’m not good at comforting people, but I’m not, like, mean either.”

Piper’s face pinches up in confusion.

I take a deep breath and try to explain myself. Not for the first time, I wonder why I’m always having to explain myself. “I’m not thriving. I literally brought you in here because it’s the best place to cry. I have a list.”

She giggles, a wet squeak of a laugh. We’ve never been all that close, but I suddenly feel like that laugh has been missing around here. She brightens up this pressure cooker. Lessens the intensity just a little.

“I’m serious,” I say, even though I’m almost always serious.

“I know,” she replies. Her voice has come back some. She both looks and sounds stronger than when I pulled her in here. “Thanks.” With a smile that seems almost shy, she stands up straight, rolls her shoulders back, and pulls open the bathroom door with a strength I don’t think I have ever possessed. I stand up too, taking one last look at my reflection before I follow her.

Hayes is sitting on the floor in the hallway. I would’ve tripped over him if I wasn’t looking at my feet like always. He’s sipping the energy drink he’s just bought from a vending machine. I’d almost bet his physician parents treat those things like an illicit substance.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “Maybe don’t just hang out right outside the bathroom. I think that’s how you end up on some kind of list.”

“I saw you take off for your crying spot.” He shrugs, like that’s supposed to explain why he also took off for my crying spot. I’ve had boys say and do things that send me running away crying, him included. I’ve never had one follow me.

Through the open cafeteria doors, my eyes drift to where Piper sits, back at her table with Esha. They’re not talking; they’re just sitting together with their notebooks open. Piper’s dusty lavender and Esha’s puppy folders and cat binders.

“I loaned it to a friend.” I shrug too. This is weird. Standing here right outside the bathroom. Looking down at him on the floor. Him gazing up at me like I’m some fascinating specimen in Lab. I wonder if that fascination is like,Wow, this cell-wall structure looks like a piece of artor if it’sWow, mold took over the entire petri dish.

“Everyone in this school is kinda emotionally fucked up, huh?” He shakes his head.

“Everyone?” I ask, thinking he misspoke. “Even you?”