Sarah Stevenson - Underneath (Sarah Jamila Stevenson)

I don’t say anything.

“Fine,” she says. “I know, I know. You’re Miss Perfect. You’d never use your underhearing for anything other than to help other people. Oh, except for Cody ,” she concludes bitterly.

“That’s not fair,” I say quietly. But it still stings.

The silence stretches out between us like a minefield. And she still hasn’t told me what happened.

“Well,” she says, finally breaking the silence, “That’s how I felt. After you left his house, I was really pissed at you. It seemed like you just walked off, like you didn’t even want to help. I mean, shit, it’s Cody . But a couple of hours later, his parents get home, and I’m scrambling my ass out of there as fast as I can, and I hear his dad yelling something about how Cody was supposed to be at work an hour ago, and what the hell kind of crap did he think he was trying to pull, not showing up for the job he’d helped him get, and how did he expect to ever pay for the repairs on the car.”

“So … okay, so then what?” I gaze at Mikaela levelly, knowing there has to be more.

“So then, nothing. So then I hightail it to the nearest bus stop hoping his parents didn’t notice I was there and drinking their booze. That’s when I was most pissed at you. You were supposed to be my ride, and then on top of that I left my phone on the bus.”

“Well, I figured you didn’t need a ride. I figured you wanted some alone time with Cody,” I say sarcastically. “Since you guys are so tight these days. And I’m apparently totally useless, since I’m not going to use my underhearing at everyone’s beck and call.”

“Oh, come on ,” Mikaela says. Her voice is frustrated. “I don’t think that at all.”

“Okay, but you were going along with him and pressuring me to do something I really can’t do. I wouldn’t lie about that. And even if I could do it … I wouldn’t. You know that.”

“I know!” She sounds miserable, cowed.

“So, what? You were drunk? Lust-crazed? You can’t resist his eyebrow ring?”

She lets out a loud, aggravated groan. “Okay, so maybe I made out with him a little. I shouldn’t have. It was dumb.”

I think about that for a long minute, but I’m surprised to find I don’t care much one way or the other. “Whatever.”

Her voice is bleak. “I just kept trying to convince myself that he—that we had a chance. That if we got together, then somehow everything would just fall into place. And … I guess I already knew that was wrong. But I felt so desperate. And on top of that I was scared you were still mad at me about the stupid solstice party. I started acting crazy. I kind of went on a bender.”

She shifts a little, turning to face me more directly. Her brown eyes are intense and her hands are knotted tensely in her lap.

“Listen. I’m done with him, Sunny. He’s not important. He wasn’t worth it.”

I inhale, slowly. Exhale, slowly. Hear:

—and you are.—

For a moment, all I can feel is her urgency, her loneliness and regret. I shake myself.

“Look,” she says, sliding off the bumper and standing in front of me. “I suck at saying sorry.”

Before I can respond, she throws a small object into the back of the car, next to where I’m sitting, and briskly walks off, platform boots beating a fast rhythm against the pavement of the parking lot.

I look down to my left, at whatever it was she threw at me. It’s long and narrow and wrapped in newspaper—the news briefs section, with one readable headline: “Morbidly Obese Man Found Comatose in Bathtub.” I rip the paper. Inside is a black fountain pen, the simple kind that stationery stores always have. But all over it are Mikaela’s signature decorative swirls and thorny vines, in shiny silver paint. It’s beautiful.

There’s a note wrapped around it. The note reads, in Mikaela’s precise looping handwriting, “To match the blank book I gave you. It occurs to me that there are less invasive ways to get people to read your thoughts than, well, you know. Here’s to writing them down, the old-fashioned way.”

At lunch the following day, I head over to the picnic bench behind the art building, where Mikaela is sitting with David, Becca, and Andy.

I stop about ten feet away, take a deep breath, and walk right up to Mikaela.

“You don’t suck at apologizing,” I tell her quietly. I sit down on the side of the bench next to her and, very deliberately, loop my hair up into a bun and fasten it in place with the pen she gave me.

She gives me a tentative smile. I return it, just as tentatively. But I feel better, like there’s been an invisible wall between us and now it’s gone.

“So,” I say conversationally, “you never told me what happened to Cody. I can’t help noticing his conspicuous absence.”

“Funny you should ask,” she replies. “I was just telling these guys that Cody’s probably not coming back. He emailed me this morning—his parents pulled him out of school and everything. I think they’re looking for a private school. He’s staying with his aunt and uncle right now in Malibu.”

“Malibu? Poor him,” Andy says. “What a horrible, horrible punishment.”

“No, seriously, his aunt is some kind of cop and his uncle is a bodyguard for rich people. I bet they’re paying his uncle to keep an eye on him.” Mikaela reaches over and steals a chocolate-chip cookie out of Andy’s lunch. He tries to smack her hand away and misses.

David smiles faintly. “Remember how he used to drive us around all the time? Before he crashed the car, I mean. Even all the way out to Melrose. Good times.”

“Ah, he’ll still be an asshole even at private school,” Becca says, winking at me. “He’ll just be a rich private school asshole.”

“But he was our asshole,” Mikaela says with a forlorn sigh. We all stare at her. The corner of my mouth twitches, and then I dissolve into helpless laughter. Even the super-serious Andy looks like he’s trying to fight a case of the giggles.

“Okay,” I say, finally getting myself under control. “Now, wait, he emailed you? What else did he say? So help me, I’m curious.”

“Well, not much. He claims he’s going to ‘work his connection’ with that Wiccan coven thing he’s always going on about, but I think it’s just that he has a crush on that chick with the cloak. The one from the solstice party. I’m pretty sure she isn’t interested in a high school junior, unless she has a thing for little boys.”

“Ew.”

“No kidding. Hmm,” Mikaela says musingly, “I wonder if they’ve ever had hot and horny witch sex in the woods?”

“Oh, gross, you have to shut up,” Becca says, throwing a handful of corn chips at Mikaela.

“You’re always throwing food! Children are starving,” Mikaela retorts, grinning evilly. I wonder if she really is over Cody or if she’s putting on an act. I wonder if she’s going to keep in touch with him. Email him. Call him.

“Well, I’ve lost my appetite thanks to that mental image,” Becca says.

“Yeah, I think we need to change the subject,” I say.

“Oh, fine . Prudes, all of you.” Mikaela gets up and wanders around the table, stopping to look over David’s shoulder. “Hey, this is good. Really good.”

Andy leans over. “Nice, dude.” He looks up at me.

“What?” I frown.

Andy shrugs. “You should show her.”

David turns the sketchbook around to face me. He looks away, smiling a little, but his ears are red.

Inside is a tiny portrait. Of me . I mean, it’s clearly supposed to be me, but I’m not that … wistful-looking. Am I? It looks like David’s been working on it for a while, and I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know what.