Page 84 of In What World

As I watch her do it, I finally understand how close love can feel to hate. The jealousy and resentment I so carefully nursed throughout high school only ever needed to be cast in a different light to reveal the truth beneath: I have always admired Priscilla Covington-French. She can fully transform herself without any preparation. It is as easy as breathing and as real as her own life. The depth of my feelings as a teen was so vast I didn’t understand how to swim through it all and see this truth. I had too much pride and mistrust clouding my judgment.

And no, she wasn’t perfect. Yes, she did hurt me. She said cruel things she didn’t mean. That didn’t make them any less painful, even if she cared for me beneath it all.

I can honor that we got it wrong in high school, but I don’t have to be angry about it anymore. Because I will never be Teenage Marlowe again. No matter how many versions of reality we travel to, nothing will ever erase the years of wisdom I’ve gained since this time in my life. Which means she doesn’t get to control so much of my story anymore.Ido.

My Priscilla squeezes my hand. “See? Everything I’ve told you has been true.”

“I know. I think I always knew. I was just scared,” I say.

We watch Teenage Priscilla onstage.

“You know, you’ve always been my favorite scene partner,” I whisper. “I wish I would have told you that then.”

“You’ve always been mine, too.” She moves to kiss me, andthough my pounding heart pulses intoeverypart of my body, I stop her.

“We cannot hook up on our high school stage,” I say.

Mischief glints in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. There are teenagers here who could catch us.” I pause, weighing my logic against my desires. “We can go to the costume room. That door locks.”

“The famous costume room,” Priscilla says. “That Dallas had to keep locked after a certain someone kept stealing his custom pieces…”

“Lucky for us, as a current employee of this high school, I am in possession of the passcode.”

“9-2-9-5?” she guesses.

“Nope. This one’s just his birthday.”

When we enter, a wave of nostalgia hits me so strongly it almost knocks me over. Nothing looks very different from the present day, but there are subtle shifts. Wardrobe pieces we no longer have. Paint that’s not yet peeling. Overhead lighting that hasn’t been changed to the blue cast of LEDs.

“God,” Priscilla says, brushing her hand along a rack of costumes. “It’s almost like we’re back in time or something.”

I close the door softly, and the promise of what’s about to happen next makes me almost giddy. It’s illicit in a way I haven’t felt in so long.

There’s a sofa against the wall with piles of clothes covering the seat cushions.

“For us,” I say after clearing the space.

“Wow,” she replies. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Nothing but the best for you.”

She grins, about to continue the bit, but I stop her with a kiss. My teeth nibble her lower lip, lingering there before I say, “Lie down.”

Her eyes have darkened with a hunger I recognize, because it matches my own. She does as I command, stretching herself across the sofa.

“So beautiful,” I say as I kiss her. Even though it’s now a part of the shared language we’ve built, it’s still honest, and it gets her to blush in the exact way I hoped. “You smell so good,” I tell her next, leaning forward to bury my nose in her neck.

She wraps her arms around me, pulling me on top of her as she spreads her legs so I fit the space between them. What I think is her cupping my ass turns out to be a full-on wrestling maneuver. She flips me over, holding my hands together above my head as she lowers her mouth onto mine, her kisses much hungrier and harder than the delicate pecks I’d been placing.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” she asks. “I knew you’d want to be in charge.”

Her mouth moves down, her teeth scraping lightly across my clavicle until she reaches the strap of my muscle tank. She bites the fabric and pulls it off my shoulder, moving it down along with my bra until one of my breasts is exposed. Her mouth finds my nipple, and she kisses and sucks in a way that stokes the fire burning low in my belly.

“Just what I wanted to do back in 1893,” she says.

We laugh, and it’s strange how normal it feels to switch between passion and amusement. Her lips are still cupped around me, and every breath she takes blows a puff of air onto my chest.