Where She Went by Gayle Forman
Authors: Gayle Forman
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, People & Places, Juvenile Fiction, music, Social Issues, Interpersonal relations, Genres & Styles, New York (N.Y.), Performing Arts, Love & Romance, Rock Music, Musicians, Death & Dying, Emotional Problems of Teenagers, Emotional Problems, Emotions & Feelings, Interpersonal Relations in Adolescence, Violoncello
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there’s a world of difference between knowing something happened, even knowing why it happened, and believing it. Because when she cut off contact, yeah, I knew what had happened. But it took me a long, long time to believe it.
Some days, I still don’t quite believe it.
TEN
Barrel of the gun, rounds one two three
She says I have to pick: choose you, or choose me
Metal to the temple, the explosion is deafening
Lick the blood that covers me
She’s the last one standing
“ROULETTE”
COLLATERAL DAMAGE , TRACK 11
After we leave the diner, I start to feel nervous. Because we bumped into each other. We did the polite thing and stuck around to catch up, so what’s left except our good-byes? But I’m not ready for that. I’m pretty sure there’s not going to be another postscript with Mia, and I’m gonna have to live on the fumes of tonight for the rest of my life, so I’d like a little more to show for it than parking lots and arthritis and aborted apologies.
Which is why every block we walk that Mia doesn’t hail a cab or make excuses and say good night feels like a stay of execution. In the sound of my footsteps slapping against the pavement, I can almost hear the word, reprieve , reprieve , echo through the city streets.
We walk in silence down a much-quieter, muchscummier stretch of Ninth Avenue. Underneath a dank overpass, a bunch of homeless guys camp out. One asks for some spare change. I toss him a ten. A bus goes by, blasting a cloud of diesel exhaust.
Mia points across the street. “That’s the Port Authority Bus Terminal,” she says.
I just nod, not sure if we’re going to discuss bus stations with the same amount of detail we did parking lots, or if she’s planning on sending me away.
“There’s a bowling alley inside,” she tells me.
“In the bus station?”
“Crazy right?!” Mia exclaims, suddenly all animated. “I couldn’t believe it when I found it either. I was coming home from visiting Kim in Boston late one night and got lost on the way out and there it was. It reminded me of Easter egg hunts. Do you remember how Teddy and I used to get about those?”
I remember how Mia used to get. She’d been a sucker for any holiday that had a candy association—especially making it fun for Teddy. One Easter she’d painstakingly hand-colored hard-boiled eggs and hidden them all over the yard for Teddy’s hunt the next morning. But then it poured all night and all her colorful eggs had turned a mottled gray. Mia had been tearfully disappointed, but Teddy had practically peed himself with excitement—the eggs, he declared, weren’t Easter eggs; they were dinosaur eggs.
“Yeah, I remember,” I say.
“Everyone loves New York City for all these different reasons. The culture. The mix of people. The pace. The food. But for me, it’s like one epic Easter egg hunt. You’re always finding these little surprises around every corner. Like that garden. Like a bowling alley in a giant bus depot. You know—” She stops.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “You probably have something going tonight. A club. An entourage to meet.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t do entourage, Mia.” It comes out harder than I intended.
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. I just assumed all rock stars, celebrities, traveled with packs.”
“Stop assuming. I’m still me.” Sort of.
She looks surprised. “Okay. So you don’t have anywhere you need to be?”
I shake my head.
“It’s late. Do you need to get to sleep?”
“I don’t do much of that these days. I can sleep on the plane.”
“So . . .” Mia kicks away a piece of trash with her toe, and I realize she’s still nervous . “Let’s go on an urban Easter egg hunt.” She pauses, searches my face to see if I know what she’s talking about, and of course I know exactly what she’s talking about. “I’ll show you all the secret corners of the city that I love so much.”
“Why?” I ask her. And then as
Some days, I still don’t quite believe it.
TEN
Barrel of the gun, rounds one two three
She says I have to pick: choose you, or choose me
Metal to the temple, the explosion is deafening
Lick the blood that covers me
She’s the last one standing
“ROULETTE”
COLLATERAL DAMAGE , TRACK 11
After we leave the diner, I start to feel nervous. Because we bumped into each other. We did the polite thing and stuck around to catch up, so what’s left except our good-byes? But I’m not ready for that. I’m pretty sure there’s not going to be another postscript with Mia, and I’m gonna have to live on the fumes of tonight for the rest of my life, so I’d like a little more to show for it than parking lots and arthritis and aborted apologies.
Which is why every block we walk that Mia doesn’t hail a cab or make excuses and say good night feels like a stay of execution. In the sound of my footsteps slapping against the pavement, I can almost hear the word, reprieve , reprieve , echo through the city streets.
We walk in silence down a much-quieter, muchscummier stretch of Ninth Avenue. Underneath a dank overpass, a bunch of homeless guys camp out. One asks for some spare change. I toss him a ten. A bus goes by, blasting a cloud of diesel exhaust.
Mia points across the street. “That’s the Port Authority Bus Terminal,” she says.
I just nod, not sure if we’re going to discuss bus stations with the same amount of detail we did parking lots, or if she’s planning on sending me away.
“There’s a bowling alley inside,” she tells me.
“In the bus station?”
“Crazy right?!” Mia exclaims, suddenly all animated. “I couldn’t believe it when I found it either. I was coming home from visiting Kim in Boston late one night and got lost on the way out and there it was. It reminded me of Easter egg hunts. Do you remember how Teddy and I used to get about those?”
I remember how Mia used to get. She’d been a sucker for any holiday that had a candy association—especially making it fun for Teddy. One Easter she’d painstakingly hand-colored hard-boiled eggs and hidden them all over the yard for Teddy’s hunt the next morning. But then it poured all night and all her colorful eggs had turned a mottled gray. Mia had been tearfully disappointed, but Teddy had practically peed himself with excitement—the eggs, he declared, weren’t Easter eggs; they were dinosaur eggs.
“Yeah, I remember,” I say.
“Everyone loves New York City for all these different reasons. The culture. The mix of people. The pace. The food. But for me, it’s like one epic Easter egg hunt. You’re always finding these little surprises around every corner. Like that garden. Like a bowling alley in a giant bus depot. You know—” She stops.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “You probably have something going tonight. A club. An entourage to meet.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t do entourage, Mia.” It comes out harder than I intended.
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. I just assumed all rock stars, celebrities, traveled with packs.”
“Stop assuming. I’m still me.” Sort of.
She looks surprised. “Okay. So you don’t have anywhere you need to be?”
I shake my head.
“It’s late. Do you need to get to sleep?”
“I don’t do much of that these days. I can sleep on the plane.”
“So . . .” Mia kicks away a piece of trash with her toe, and I realize she’s still nervous . “Let’s go on an urban Easter egg hunt.” She pauses, searches my face to see if I know what she’s talking about, and of course I know exactly what she’s talking about. “I’ll show you all the secret corners of the city that I love so much.”
“Why?” I ask her. And then as
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