Lovesick on the floor.
Reese stared at the words, wondering if “J” had ever seen this poem. She reached out and touched the outline of the L in the word Lovesick. There was something about the feel of the wall beneath her fingers, cool and dry and solid, that made her calm down. She kept her hand on the wall and looked around as the pressure in her head lessened. Dozens of women had poured their hearts out onto the ocean-colored walls, and their words leaped out at her, almost vibrating with raw emotion. It was like she was sitting at the bottom of a teardrop.
She could still hear the music from the club, but the closed door blocked out most of it, and now it was more like being surrounded by a heartbeat. She could feel it reverberating from the wall into her hand and through the blood in her veins, as if the sound of the bass connected her to the words etched into the wall. She didn’t know where the feelings on these walls ended and where her own began.
Her fingers splayed wide, framing the haiku between her thumb and index finger. Impulsively, she pulled out her phone and took a picture of it: the blue wall, the black letters, the white curve of the toilet on the right. The image was grainy and probably too poorly lit to be readable, but she didn’t want to leave this place without a record of it. She felt as if something inside her had unexpectedly awakened; as if a third eye had opened in her forehead and she was only beginning to learn how to see.
Amber knocked on the door again, and now she sounded worried. “Reese? Are you sick in there?”
Reese pushed herself up, tucking the phone back in her pocket. She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale and washed out, but she didn’t look too awful. She tucked her hair behind her ears and opened the door.
Amber was standing outside, her hand raised as if she were about to knock again. Relief filled her face. “Are you all right? What happened?”
“I’m sorry. I was worried I was going to be sick. But I’m fine.”
“Was it the dinner?” Amber asked, horrified.
“No, I just got a bad headache. It happens sometimes.” Behind Amber there was a line of women, some of them looking pissed off at being forced to wait for so long. Reese stepped out of the bathroom. “I have to get some fresh air. I’m sorry.”
Reese kept her head down as Amber led the way through the jostling crowd. If she didn’t make eye contact with anyone, somehow it felt safer. But still she felt their gazes on her, and her stomach threatened to give itself up again. When they finally squeezed out the door, popping into the cool July night, Reese felt as if her synapses were expanding in reaction to the air, and she sucked in several deep breaths in relief.
“Do you need some water or anything?” Amber asked.
“Maybe that would be good.”
They went across the street to the corner store, and Amber bought her a bottle of water, handing it to her with an anxious expression. “Was the headache really bad? Did you feel nauseated too?”
“Yeah.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
“It hasn’t happened lately.” Not since the night David came over to her house. Thinking about him when she was with Amber was unsettling, and she pushed the memory away.
Amber bit her lip, watching as Reese drank the water gratefully. “Well, this wasn’t exactly how I wanted the night to end up. Maybe I should walk you home.”
“Let’s go to the park. I feel like I need to be in an open space or something.”
“Okay.” Amber reached out and took Reese’s hand. Her touch sent a noticeable shiver all through Reese’s body, and Amber’s eyes widened.
“Reese?”
The voice came from behind her, and Reese turned around. “Julian?” she said, startled.
He was standing in the light of the streetlamp on the corner about ten feet away. “It is you.” He took a few steps toward them, and his eyes flickered from her to Amber, who was still holding her hand.
Reese’s cheeks burned, and she let go. “Hey,” she said.
“Hello,” Julian said, curiosity plain on his face.
They could still hear the thump of the music from the club and the chatter of the girls across the street. Someone broke into raucous laughter. Amber said, “Hi. I’m Amber.”
“I’m Julian.” He glanced at Reese with his eyebrows raised high. “So, what are you doing tomorrow morning?”
Reese sighed. “Having breakfast with you?”
He grinned. “Sounds good. I’ll be over.” He turned to continue where he was going, and added, “Have a good night, ladies.”
The swing set in Dolores Park was deserted, the light from the nearest streetlamp barely reaching into the sandy playground. The chains creaked as Amber lowered herself into one of the swings. “Push me,” she said.
Reese put her hands on Amber’s waist and pulled her back, then pushed. Amber’s legs kicked, and she let out a rippling laugh. Reese backed up, her sneakers shuffling through the sand, and reached out to push Amber again. For a while, there was no sound except for the whoosh of wind in Amber’s wake, the creak of the swing set, and the sound of cars driving past on Dolores Street. Overhead, Amber’s body made a shadow against the dark sky. It was a clear night—at least in this part of the city—and in the distance the lights of the downtown skyline twinkled. Reese took the swing next to Amber’s and pumped her legs until she was flying up into the sky. The wind felt good on her face, blowing away the last bits of her headache.
“Reese,” Amber called.
Reese looked over to see Amber extending her hand. She reached out and grabbed it when they swung close enough together. It tipped Reese off balance, and she careened wildly as Amber’s fingers locked on to hers. Amber shrieked with laughter.
“Kick!” Reese cried. They tried to coordinate their motion, but it was too late, and the swings rapidly decelerated until their feet scraped against the ground.
Amber was still breathless with laughter when Reese tugged Amber’s swing closer, their legs tangling together. Reese reached for Amber and pulled her head to hers, kissing her, and Amber’s laughter stopped abruptly. Reese slid out of her swing, her knees in the sand as she knelt between Amber’s legs and wrapped her arms around her back. She felt the bones of Amber’s shoulder blades shifting beneath her hands as Amber slid her arms around her; she felt the pulse of Amber’s heartbeat against her own. This was better than soaring in the night sky. This was knowing the texture of Amber’s breath as well as she knew her own, as if they breathed from the same set of lungs. I am you, Reese thought, and you are me.
There were so many things Reese didn’t know about Amber. She didn’t know her parents’ names or where she had been born or even whether she would stay in San Francisco after the end of the summer. But she knew this: she was falling for this girl, this beautiful, beautiful girl, and she wanted to fall. She wanted to leap right now, arms spread wide, gravity pulling her down, the wind tearing at her hair. She didn’t care if she crashed, as long as Amber crashed with her.
CHAPTER 22
Reese dreamed of the yellow room again.
It was like floating in a silky yolk, her entire body buoyed by the viscous weight of the liquid around her. She watched the red veins climbing and spreading across the walls with a detached, intellectual curiosity. Would it split into two branches there? Or three? And what would happen when the red covered the yellow, turning this golden sunset into a bloody sphere?
She spun around, entranced by her weightlessness. She was like the jellyfish she had seen once at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, their bodies glowing like alien ships drifting in space.
She heard the dull echo of that sound she couldn’t quite place. A repeated, underwater kind of beep, but more sonorous and stately. If a bell could be rung from the bottom of the ocean, that’s what this sounded like.
This time in her dream, the red veins began to accelerate. Tendril upon tendril of creeping red vine spread over the walls, and heat suffused her body. She began to sweat, and her heart bega
n to race, and she raised her hands and pounded against the now-red walls. To her shock, they gave beneath her hands. They were slick and warm, and when she spread her fingers into them, her fingertips sank into the surface, stretching it out. She was like a creature in a horror movie attempting to break free from a cocoon. She shoved her face into the rubbery exterior, her hands and body stretching the pliable surface over her skin. She was about to break through—she felt the wall beginning to rip—and then the dream ended, and she was sitting up in bed, her skin hot and damp.
Her breath tore out of her lungs as if she had been sprinting. It was Monday morning. Her clock read 9:06. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the blinds, shedding a ladder of light across the hardwood floor. Her room looked so extraordinarily normal in comparison to that other room, with its creeping veins and disturbingly textured walls.
Her gaze fell on the small can of red paint on her desk. She got out of bed and picked it up, turning it around in her hands. BITTERSWEET ROOT was stamped on the lid. She pried it open with the assistance of a pair of scissors and dipped her fingers into the liquid, watching it drip back down in lazy droplets. She looked around her room. The walls were painted blue-gray. She walked to the wall where the Rhapsody of Emily poster hung beside the closet and smeared her paint-tipped finger over the blue-gray. The red was a dark cut against the lighter wall. The sight of it vibrated through her like the bass in the club. As if some kind of physical memory was awakening.
This was what she had to do. She had to paint the room she saw in her dream. Just like that bathroom with its ocean-colored walls. The compulsion was so strong, she wanted to start right now, but she only had this one tiny can of paint.
She set it on the floor so she could get dressed to go to the hardware store.
Julian was sitting on the front steps when Reese returned, carrying two bags full of paint cans and brushes. “I was about to think you were standing me up,” he said. “I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.”
She had forgotten he was coming over. “I didn’t bring my phone with me.” She put the bags down to unlock the door.
Julian peeked into the bags. “What are you doing with all this paint?”
“I’m going to paint my room.”
“What color?”
“It’s… kind of complicated.” She carried the bags inside and left them at the bottom of the stairs.
“Complicated?”
“Yeah. Can we talk about it later?”
He came inside and shut the front door. “Oh-kay. You’re acting a little weird, you know.”
A flash of impatience swept through Reese. She wanted to get started on the painting, but now Julian was standing in the hall holding two cups of coffee, and she couldn’t force him to leave. She took a deep breath. “I didn’t sleep that well.”
He handed her a cup of coffee. “Here. Drink this.”
“Thanks.” She took the paper cup and headed into the living room, dropping onto the couch.
Julian followed, sitting in the armchair and propping up one foot on the coffee table. “So, are you gay now?”
She choked on her coffee. The hot liquid burned down her throat, and she had to gasp for cool air.
“Sorry,” Julian said, smiling. “Maybe I should’ve given you a warning.”
“I’m not gay,” she said, throat raw. “I’m just… not straight.”
“I knew it!” he crowed. “I totally knew it. And there’s a word for that, you know. Bisexual.”
“I don’t know,” she said reluctantly. “That seems pretty definite. Like: Yeah, I like both.”
“Don’t you?”
The question made her squirm, and she peeled the lid off her coffee and blew on it. “I guess, but I don’t want to put a label on it.”
He took a sip from his drink. “I felt the same way when I first realized I was gay. I didn’t want to name it.”
“Really? Why?”
“I think because I wasn’t comfortable with it yet.”
She hunched over, gazing down at the milky coffee. Julian always remembered how she drank it. “Yeah,” she said finally. “Maybe that’s it. Not that I think it’s wrong—I don’t. But it’s really new.” She took a careful sip. “Besides, bisexual… it makes me think of girls on reality TV making out in front of guys.” She made a face. “I don’t want people to think that about me.”
“People are always going to think something about you that isn’t real. It doesn’t matter what they think. Nobody ever knows what to think of me. I’m not black enough for some folks, and I’m not Jewish enough for others. I mean, my favorite food is bacon. And then you throw in the gay thing, and it messes it up even more.” Julian sounded strained. He sighed. “This is getting too heavy. What’s up with this chick Amber? When did you meet her?”
She smiled faintly. “Last week. And… thanks. For telling me that.” She and Julian had been friends forever, but she couldn’t remember talking about this stuff with him before.
Julian waved it off. “It’s the way it is. So: Amber. How am I supposed to be your best gay if you don’t tell me all the dirty details?”
“Don’t only straight girls have best gays? How is that going to work if I’m not straight anymore?”
“I wouldn’t know.” He gave her an arch look. “I apparently am not friends with a straight girl.”
She laughed. “I ran into her near Dolores Park. I mean, I literally ran into her—or she ran into me. She wasn’t looking where she was going. When I went back the next day, I saw her again, and she wanted to buy me a cup of coffee. We started talking, and then it… sort of went from there.”
“Where does she go to school?”
“She doesn’t. She graduated in June and is taking the year off.”
“So she’s an older woman.”
“Whatever, she’s a year older.”
“And what do her parents do?”
“Her mom is a scientist.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.” Reese had never thought to ask.
“What about her dad?”
“She never said anything about her dad. I think her parents are divorced or something.”
“Where does she live?”
“She’s staying in her uncle’s apartment on Dolores Heights.”
“What’s she doing in San Francisco?”
“Hanging out for the summer.” Reese frowned. “What’s with the third degree?”
Julian’s face softened. “Sorry. I just want to make sure she’s not a serial killer or something.”
“She’s not a serial killer. But thank you.”
“And you like her?”
Reese blushed. “I like her.”
He smirked. “So are you done with your plan to not date anybody?”
“I totally meant it when I decided that,” she protested. “You know I did.”
“But you’re done?” he pushed. “Like, you’re dating this Amber chick?”
“I went on one date with her,” Reese objected, putting down her coffee.
“You’ve only seen her once?” Julian was incredulous. “You looked pretty tight.”
“We’ve only gone on one official date,” Reese explained, and as she said the words she saw Julian’s face light up.
“How many unofficial dates did you have? And how long did they last?”
“I’m not telling you everything, jeez. What about your ‘I never kiss and tell’ policy? But yeah, I guess I’m dating her.” Saying the words suddenly made it real, and her stomach flipped. “Shit. I’m dating a girl.”
Julian broke into laughter and had to put down his coffee cup so he didn’t spill the liquid. “Aw, I always knew you were family, Clarice.”
His tone was light, but she was touched by what he said. It made her a little uncomfortable, though, so she laughed and said, “Don’t get all sappy on me.” She threw one of the couch pillows at him.
He ducked, and the pillow bounced off his shoulder. “Hey
! Watch it.”
Reese took another sip of her coffee. “So are we done with the processing? I want to get started painting.”
“Wow, you’re like Martha Stewart on a mission.”
“I just want to get it done.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “All right, chill. Do you have any plans tonight?”
“No. Why?”
“You know how I told you I was doing some work for Bin 42?”
“Yeah.”
“Someone sent me a lead on something in the Bay Area. There’s a warehouse north of the city where the government might have stored some wreckage from one of the plane crashes.”
“From June nineteenth?”
“That’s the theory. I want to go there tonight and check it out, and I need you to come with me. I want to get video footage of the warehouse and hopefully whatever’s inside, and I need you to back me up.”
“You need me to drive,” she said dryly. “Isn’t that it?” Julian still hadn’t gotten his license.
He grinned sheepishly. “Well, we have to get there somehow, and it would be great if we could use your mom’s car.”
She turned the coffee cup around in her hands. “When would you want to go? And where exactly is this warehouse?”
“It’s west of Petaluma in the middle of nowhere—maybe a two-hour drive from here. I looked it up online. I think we should wait till after our parents are asleep to leave.”
Reese didn’t think there was much chance that her mother would give her permission to drive two hours north in the middle of the night to sneak into a government warehouse. That meant she’d have to lie about where she was going or steal the car keys after her mom went to sleep. “I have a better idea,” Reese said. “David has his own car. I could ask him to drive us.”
“David Li? You think it’s a good idea to bring in someone else?”
“Well, he’s kind of already involved,” Reese admitted reluctantly.
“What do you mean?” Julian gave her a pointed look. “What haven’t you told me?”
She hesitated, thinking of the nondisclosure agreement. Even if it didn’t hold water, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to ignore it. “Ever since I got back, some weird things have been happening to me and David. Remember when you showed me that photo of Area 51?”