Since You've Been Gone (12 page)

“Me?” I asked, trying to catch my breath, glancing behind me to see the road was still empty. But she couldn’t have meant
me
—we’d never met before. I would have remembered that, I was sure of it.

“Well,” the girl acknowledged with a smile, “someone like you. Someone who didn’t look like a total scary weirdo. Although at this point, honestly, I probably would have taken that, too. But you’re like the first person to show up here in like an
hour,
I swear. I was worried that I was suddenly in a zombie movie where all of humanity had disappeared.” She stopped and took a breath, and I just blinked, trying to keep up with what was happening here. She spoke fast, and seemed to be a combination of stressed out and on the verge of cracking up, which was a mixture I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen before.

“What—” I started, then stopped, when I realized I wasn’t sure what to say here. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she said, then seemed to rethink this. “Well, I mean, I’m, like, physically fine. I’m just . . .” She took a breath. “Can you help me break into my house?” She pointed behind her, and I felt my jaw fall open.

It was an absolutely enormous mansion. It looked old, stately, and very grand. It was the kind of place I could imagine steel barons owning, a house where black-tie parties were thrown, where duchesses and senators were invited to dinner, where grave, white-gloved butlers would open the front door.

“I live here!” the girl continued. “I swear, I’m not trying to steal anything. I just locked myself out.” She shook her head, then reached up to steady the towel. “And normally, I’d be
all whatever, just take a walk or work on my tan or something. Because my parents are coming back at
some
point. You know, most likely. But I’m a little worried my hair’s about to turn permanently green.” After she said this, she started to laugh, closing her eyes and bending forward slightly, her shoulders shaking.

Even though I didn’t know what was funny, and was still trying to figure out what was going on here, I felt myself smile as well, like I was about to start laughing too, just to be in on the joke.

“Sorry,” she said, straightening up and letting out a breath, pulling herself together. “The situation is just so ridiculous.”

“Why is your hair about to turn green?” I asked.

The girl grimaced and pulled off her towel. I felt my eyes widen as I took a tiny step back. Her hair was coated in a bright green mask that looked like it was hardening into a helmet shape. “You’re only supposed to leave it on for twenty minutes,” she said, reaching up to tentatively touch her hair. “And it’s been, like, an hour. Or more. Probably more. Oh, god.”

“Sure,” I said, “I mean, how can I help?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I was surprised I’d said them. But I had meant it, 100 percent.

“Oh, thank you so much,” the girl said, her shoulders sagging with relief. “We just moved in a few weeks ago, so it’s not like I even know where the best places to get in are.
But I’m pretty sure there’s an open window I can get to, if you just give me a boost.”

“Okay,” I said, and the girl grinned at me and headed up the driveway. I followed, and noticed she was barefoot, and that the chipped bright-red polish on her toes seemed to match her lipstick. The house was even more impressive the closer I got to it, and I suddenly realized I’d seen it before. When we’d first come to Stanwich, when my parents were house-hunting, the realtor had driven us past it, talking about how it was one of the town’s architectural landmarks, using words I’d never heard before, like
portico
and
vestibule.
“Your house is amazing,” I said as I followed her around the side, gazing up at it.

“Thanks,” she said with a shrug, clearly not as impressed as I was. “Okay, see that window?” She pointed up to a window that looked worryingly high, but that I could see was open, the beige curtains inside blowing in the faint breeze.

“Yes,” I said slowly, trying to figure out how—even with my help—this girl was going to get up to it.

“So I think if you just give me a hand, I should be able to get in,” she said. “And then I can wash this stuff off. And hopefully it won’t have done permanent damage, or made my hair fall out, or anything like that.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” I said, even though I had no knowledge whatsoever about this. I regretted it immediately—the leader of the pack of girls I was friends with would have
rolled her eyes and asked,
how
, exactly, I knew that. But this girl just smiled at me.

“Thanks so much,” she said. Before I could reply, the girl was striding forward, examining the window, hands on her hips. “I think this should be doable,” she said, though she sounded less confident than she had a moment before. She looked at me, and I suddenly wished that I looked more pulled together—which was ridiculous, because I’d been running. But this girl looked so cool, I couldn’t help but be aware that I was wearing my old, too-short running shorts, and an ancient sheer T-shirt of my mom’s that read
Williamstown Theater Festival Crew
. “Thank god you’re tall,” she said. “I’m so jealous. I wish I was.”

“You’re not that short,” I said, since I only had about four inches on her.

“I am, though,” she said, shaking her head, and I noticed, getting a little worried, that her hair didn’t move at all when she did this. “Oh my god, when I was in Copenhagen, it was the
worst.
Everyone there is tall. I was practically the shortest person around. You would totally have fit in. I love your T-shirt, by the way. Is it vintage?”

“Um,” I said, looking down at it, thinking that
vintage
was probably not the right word for it, but nodding anyway. “Kind of. It was my mom’s.”

“Awesome,” she said. “You can tell. Cotton only thins out like that with years of washing. I know a consignment
shop in San Francisco that would pay you at least a hundred bucks for that.” She seemed to realize that we’d gotten away from the mission at hand, because she turned back to the window.

As I looked up at it, I couldn’t help but wish that Beckett had been with us, since he would have been able to get up there, no problem.

“Okay,” the girl said, looking from the window and back to me. “Maybe if you give me a boost?”

“Okay,” I echoed, trying to sound more sure of this than I felt. I met her eye, and we both started laughing, even though I couldn’t have said why.

“Oh my god,” the girl said, clearly trying to regroup. “Okay. Okay okay.”

I made a cradle with my hands, and she stepped into them. And while I tried my best to push her up, this quickly turned into the girl basically standing on my back while she grabbed for the windowsill.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this. Am I hurting you?”

“It’s fine,” I managed as I tried to stand up and give her another boost.

“Got it!” she said triumphantly, but when I straightened up, I saw this was maybe a little optimistic, as she was hanging on to the sill, but seemed much closer to falling to the ground than getting herself into the window. “Um, sort of.”

“Here,” I said, grabbing one of her feet that was kicking in space as she tried to hoist herself over. “Maybe if I give you another push?”

“Yes!” she said. “Great idea. You’re a genius at this.” I held on to her foot, and she pushed off my hands and was able to swing one leg, then another, over the sill. She fell over the window with a thump that I could hear even from the ground. “Ow,” I heard her mutter from inside.

“You okay?” I called up.

A second later, her green head appeared in the window. “Fine!” she said. “Thank you so much! You saved my life. Or at least my hair.” She smiled at me, and then disappeared from view. I figured she’d gone to wash off the green mask, but found myself waiting by the window for just a few moments more, wondering if this was over. When she didn’t come back, I turned and walked down the driveway. As I got to the end and turned right on the road, in the direction that would take me back home, I realized that I didn’t even know the girl’s name.

When I started running in the same direction the next day, my muscles protested—loudly. But I didn’t even think about not going, though I hoped it wouldn’t make me seem like a stalker. It just felt like I’d seen the first five minutes of a movie, and I had to know what happened next. And if the girl wasn’t there, I wasn’t going to knock on the door or anything. I was just hoping that maybe she’d be outside
again. When I got closer to her house, I felt my hopes deflate as I realized that the driveway and sidewalk were empty. It seemed totally obvious now that they would be. Did I just expect that she would be hanging outside, waiting around? I turned to head home, and as I did I noticed that there was writing on the ground, in chalk, the letters a mix of capitals and cursive.

Hey, running girl!! Thanks so much.

Hair is fine. J xo, SW

On the third day, I didn’t even try to run. My legs were killing me after trying to do two long runs when I was still out of shape. I’d gotten my mother to drop me off about a mile away, telling her that I wanted to scout a new run. I think normally she would have asked more questions, but Beckett had been throwing a temper tantrum in the backseat and her attention was divided. She told me to give her a call if I needed a ride home, reminding me not to be gone too long, since we had a family dinner planned.

If it had been one of the girls from school that I’d been trying to impress, I would have worn something different. One of my nicer dresses, the skirt my mother had just bought for me, the kind of clothes that always made me feel like I was pretending to be someone else altogether. But I found myself reaching for another one of my mom’s old T-shirts, the ones I only normally used for running or hanging around
the house. I also put on some lipstick, even though I didn’t have anything close to bright red. As I looked in the mirror, I realized I still felt like myself, but a new version of myself, one I’d never tried out until today.

I walked slowly toward the girl’s house, trying to get my courage up. I had decided, back when I was getting ready, that I was going to go up and ring the bell. She’d left me a note, after all, and wasn’t that kind of like an invitation? But the closer I got, the more I began to question if I would actually be able to do this. Ring the bell of a mansion, and then when someone came to the door, ask for—who, exactly? The plan was seeming stupider and stupider the closer I got, but I made myself walk all the way up to the base of the driveway. The chalk message was gone, no doubt washed away in the thunderstorm that had woken me up at two a.m. I looked up the driveway for a moment longer, then lost whatever bit of courage had gotten me this far and turned to go.

“Hey!” I looked up and saw the girl leaning out of a second-story window. She smiled at me. “Hang on, okay?” I nodded, and her head disappeared inside.

I shifted from foot to foot, smoothing my shirt down, wondering why I felt so nervous. I was nervous around my friends at school, but that was more nervousness that I would say something stupid or find myself kicked out of the group. This was something else entirely.

“You came back!” I looked up and saw the girl was heading down the driveway, walking fast, then running for a few steps, then walking again. As she got closer, I saw she was holding a pair of sandals in one hand, swinging them by their long leather straps. She reached me and dropped them next to her on the ground. “I’m so glad you’re here! I wanted to thank you, but then realized I had no idea how to do that. Look!” She bent forward and shook her hair at me, and I realized that it was intact, and not the slightest bit green.

“No damage?” I asked, as she flipped her head back up.

“None!” she said happily, pulling one end into her eyeline to examine it, then tucking it behind her ear. “I mean, as far as I know. Watch, it’ll all fall out next Tuesday.”

“Delayed reaction,” I said, nodding. “Or what if you’ve discovered some magical chemical compound that only is activated when you’ve left it on too long? And that’s why they tell you not to do it.”

“Love it,” she said. “The hair mask is my radioactive spider.” I laughed, and didn’t even really have time to worry that I was boring her or sounding stupid before she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Emily,” I said, and she smiled, like that was just the name she’d been hoping to hear.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Sloane.”