Across the parking lot, a family of four glanced over at the sound of Keme’s cry, slowing to watch.
“No,” I said, but I lowered my voice. “No, I’m not going to shut up. You can pretend nobody else knows, and you can pretend she doesn’t mean anything to you, but I’ve seen you with her, Keme. I know how you feel. And I get that it’s hard right now. I get that you’re hurt, and it feels like everyone has abandoned you, and Millie is dating Louis—and I know how hard that is, because I went through it with Bobby. But I’m standing here right now, Keme. I came looking for you. Fox is looking for you. Bobby is looking for you. Indira is at home with Millie, hoping you’ll show up. Because we don’t want you to leave.” I drew a deep breath. “Did you even consider the fact that maybe Millie is dating Louis because she doesn’t know you’re interested in her as more than a friend? If she knew how you felt about her, Keme—”
He made an ugly, hocking noise, spat again, and shook his head.
“I know it’s scary,” I said, “but I think you owe it to both of you to give it a chance—”
“You think?” His voice had a flat, icy disregard that was worse than his shouting. “Youthink? What do you know? You ran away, Dash. That’s the whole reason you’re here. You ran away. So don’t stand there and tell me you know how hard it is. You don’t know, because you ran.”
My face heated. I was distantly aware of the family of four settling into their minivan, doors clicking shut, the engine starting. The flashing lights of the marquee blurred, and I blinked to clear my eyes. “Yeah, I did. I ran. That’s how I know it doesn’t fix anything.” I cleared my throat. “But I stayed for Bobby, Keme. And I think you need to talk to her—”
“You’re so stupid,” he said in that same horrible, lifeless voice.
“—and tell her how you feel—”
“You’re a joke. You know that? This is pathetic, chasing after me because you don’t have a life of your own. Everyone thinks you’re pathetic.”
“—and I promise you, Keme, because I know it’s terrifying, that things are going to be okay. Millie loves you too, and once you tell her—”
He spun toward me again, and this time, I took a step back.
“I did tell her, you idiot! I went to that stupid party, and I told her! And you know what she said?” He paused, as though waiting for an answer, but I couldn't open my mouth. “She said she was dating Louis, but she hoped we could still be friends.” He stopped. Struggle twisted his face, in a moment of clarity cut out of the welter of emotions, I realized he was trying desperately not to cry. His voice was thick when he said, “And you know what her stupid boyfriend did? He and his friends followed me out of the house and jumped me.”
The night seemed to rush out from underneath us, like a dark tide pulling away. In that vast outwash, Keme looked very small, like he was already moving away from me. His chest rose and fell in savage breaths, and he stared at me. There was a challenge in that look. A fight that part of him, I could tell, wanted. A single tear escaped and slid down his cheek, and it glimmered under the security light before he dashed it away.
“But she wants to talk to you,” I said. The words were reflexive. They were full of my own hurt. And as soon as they were out of my mouth, I wanted to call them back because of how childish I sounded.
Keme shook his head. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the sheen of tears was gone, and they were dark again. The rattle of a diesel engine reached us, and he turned toward the street as the Greyhound came around the corner.
I stood there. I felt again like the world was washing out from under me. I’d read that the universe was still expanding. That it was still getting bigger. And that was this feeling. That the universe was nothing but objects trying to fly away from each other as fast as they could.
The Greyhound rolled to a stop, and the door opened. An older man in overalls and a satin Ducks jacket got down, followed by a pregnant woman who couldn’t have been older than twenty, her hair in pigtails under a train conductor’s cap. Another woman in a rumpled pantsuit followed, helping two children off after her. And then there was no one else, and Keme took a step forward.
Before my brain could catch up with me, I followed.
Keme must have noticed because he stopped and turned around. I stopped too. He waited. And then he turned to the bus. I followed again. He stopped. It’s like something off TV, a dull voice said at the back of my head. It’s like a skit we practiced.
“What are you doing?” Keme said.
“I don’t know.” But that wasn’t the right answer, so I said, “I’m going with you, I guess.”
A surprisingly adult weariness spread across his face. “Go home, Dash.”
But when he took a step, I did too.
“Knock it off,” Keme said as he turned to face me again.
“No.”
“You’re not going with me.”
“I am.” My own laughter startled me. “I know this is crazy, but I actually think I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
Another choreographed pair of steps.
“Dash!”
