Another Day. David Levithan

wish you were here, too. I could come over if you want.”

      “Nah. I just have to ride this one out. It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to be around me when I’m so sick of being around me.”

      “I’m willing.”

      “I know. And I appreciate it. But it’s not going to happen today.”

      The fact that he sounds disappointed makes my own disappointment a little easier to live with. Even if it still leaves me alone for the rest of the day.

      Alone. The only thing that prevents me from feeling completely alone is knowing that I have someone, that if I really need him, he will be there.

      “I’m going to go now,” he says to me. I don’t point out he’s not actually going to go anywhere. Neither of us is going to go anywhere.

      “See you tomorrow,” I say, because I know we’re not going to talk again tonight.

      “Yeah. See ya.”

      My mother comes home and I help her put away the groceries. We make dinner. We don’t talk about anything. She talks, for sure. She talks and talks and talks. But we don’t talk at all.

      When I get back to my room, I check my email on my phone. I am surprised to find a message from Nathan.

      Hi Rhiannon,

      I just wanted to say that it was lovely meeting you and dancing with you last night. I’m sorry the police came and separated us. Even though you’re not my type, gender-wise, you’re certainly my type, person-wise. Please keep in touch.

      N

      I smile. It’s so . . . nice. I wonder if he’s single, even though I can’t really imagine Preston going for him. Preston likes guys who are trendier. Or at least don’t wear ties to parties.

      I also wonder about being his type, person-wise. What does that mean, really? Where does that get us?

      Shut up, I tell myself. A nice guy tries to be friendly with me and I immediately think, Why bother? There is something seriously wrong with me. The reason to bother is because he’s a nice guy.

      I hit reply, but I don’t know what to write. I feel I need to make an excuse for not writing to him first; I’m sure the piece of paper with his email address on it is still in my pocket. I also want to sound like someone who gets this kind of email all the time.

      It’s weird, because the Rhiannon who comes out in what I write doesn’t sound like I normally sound.

      She sounds like she’s really enjoying herself.

      Nathan!

      I’m so glad you emailed, because I lost the slip of paper that I wrote your email on. It was wonderful talking and dancing with you, too. How dare the police break us up! You’re my type, person-wise, too. Even if you don’t believe in relationships that last longer than a year. (I’m not saying you’re wrong, btw. Jury’s still out.)

      I never thought I’d say this, but I hope Steve has another party soon. If only so you can bear witness to its evil.

      Love,

      Rhiannon

      I don’t know why I write “Love” like that. It’s just what I always write. Everything else seems cold.

      But now I’m worried I sound too eager. Not eager in the same way I’m eager with Justin. Just eager for . . . whatever’s next.

      As soon as I hit send, the emptiness returns. I’m back into the day I was having. Maybe this is what alone really is – finding out how tiny your world is, and not knowing how to get anywhere else.

      I go on Facebook. I read Gawker. I watch some music on YouTube, including the Fun. song from the day with Justin, the one Nathan sang back to me. I feel stupid doing that. I know Nathan wouldn’t find it stupid. Somehow I know that. And I know Justin would find it stupid. I asked him once if he thought we had a song. I mean, most couples have a song. But he said he had no idea, and that he didn’t even understand why we’d want one, anyway.

      I’d told myself he was right. We didn’t need one. Every song could be ours.

      But now I want one. It’s not enough that every song can make me think of him.

      I want one, just one, that will make him think of me.

6

      The hangover hangs over Monday as well.

      It’s like his personality has spoiled from lack of use. He’s in school, but he still thinks he’s in bed. I can’t take it personally that he’s not happy to see me, because he’s not happy to see any of us. He won’t say more than two words in any sentence, and after a few minutes I decide to leave him alone.

      A lot of our Mondays are like this.

      Our Monday at the beach seems like much longer than a week ago.

      What is wrong with me?

      “How was your weekend?” Rebecca asks when I get to third period.

      “How wasn’t my weekend?” I reply.

      “What does that mean?”

      “I don’t know. I just mean that not much happened.”

      “How was the party?”

      “It was fine. I danced with Steve’s gay cousin. Justin got shitfaced. The cops came.”

      “Steve has a gay cousin? I didn’t know that.”

      “I don’t think they’re close.”

      “Well, if he’s still around, Ben and I were going to hang out with Steve and Stephanie during assembly period this afternoon. Just get coffee or something. Wanna come?”

      I notice she hasn’t invited Justin. It’ll be a triple date, only I’m not being asked to bring my date.

      “Can I get back to you?” I ask.

      Rebecca’s not stupid. She knows why I’m not committing.

      “Whenever,” she tells me. “We’ll be there either way. Although it would be great to have some time with you. I feel I haven’t seen you in ages.”

      Now it’s clear that Justin’s being deliberately excluded. Because Rebecca sees me all the time. It’s just that he’s always by my side when she does.

      I find him right before lunch.

      “What are you doing?” I ask.

      “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks back.

      It looks like he is switching his books in his locker. It looks like he’s about to head to lunch.

      “What do you want to be doing?” I ask.

      He slams the locker shut. “I want to be playing video games,” he says. “That work for you?”

      “Wanna get out of here and do something? There’s that assembly seventh and eighth period. Nobody will notice we’re gone.”

      I am looking for that spark. If it’s gone out, I am trying to relight it. Because I have a spark inside of me, too. And right now it wants to be bright.

      “What the fuck has gotten into you?” he asks. “If we could just leave, don’t you think I would’ve done it by now? Jesus. It’s bad enough to be here. Why do you have to keep pointing it out?”

      “That’s not what I meant,” I tell him. “I just thought it could be like last week.”

      “Last week? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

      “The beach? The ocean?”

      He shakes his head, like I’m