Places No One Knows Read Online Free PDF Page B

like it was a foregone conclusion, and Loring will slip farther and farther toward the edges, until she simply disappears. The separation will be neat—no mess, no blood—and Maribeth is always so charming, and so, so warm. All the way up until she’s not.
    She waves me over and I know Loring can already sense the vibrations as the balance of power shifts. She gives me a smile like a bank-job hostage. Her mouth moves just fine, but nothing’s happening around the eyes.
    Maribeth reaches for me, moving so that Loring is effectively boxed out, and flutters her lashes meaningfully. “
So?
I heard you had a little talk with
CJ
last night.”
    I ignore the seat she offers and slide into the one across the table. “He wants me to go to the dance with him.”
    “Oh my God, he just went up and asked you?” She sounds affronted—nearly scandalized—but her smile is fueled by pure, high-test pride. “I
told
him to do it like a normal person, with hearts and flowers and something
cute.
”
    Ducking her head conspiratorially, she runs her finger over the little brass key hanging on a chain around her neck. Hunter didn’t give it to her, but I know the key must represent some meaningful encounter—that one time at the beginning of September, they conversed or flirted or did a group project on locksmithing or maximum-security prisons. I know her well enough to know the key is aspirational. A symbol of their bright and productive future together.
    “It’s fine,” I say. “I don’t think I would have liked that.”
    “Oh, you would have—you
would.
It would have been adorable!”
    The way she can be counted on to tell me what I want is irritating, but for once, it doesn’t strike sparks off the phosphorus strip in my chest. I’m not operating on a lot of sleep, but
some.
After my weird little pseudo-dream, I got four or five really decent hours. I feel okay.
    The sun is out now, and everything seems new and clean and soft. I smile, thinking how nice it is that Maribeth is smiling and I’m here in the commons with her. I have a cup of coffee and it tastes sweet and dark and bitter, exactly how I like it.
    She reaches across the table and holds my face in her hands. “You look better this morning.”
    The way she says it is cozy, reassuring. Just tender enough to remind me that the rest of the time I look terrible.
    But maybe I’m projecting, thinking my own thoughts instead of hers. She didn’t mean it like that—can’t have meant it like that—and there are so many things to enjoy. I’m glad that Maribeth always wears her hair loose down her back like a Disney princess, and she hasn’t changed her perfume since eighth grade, and her face is lovely and familiar. I like my laugh when I’m with her, and the way we’ve been glancing sideways at each other for our whole lives.
    I even like Loring, although her ideas, organization, and execution are always terrible and she needs too much validation from people like Maribeth. That, more than anything, is a critical indication that it won’t be okay. As soon as you need something from Maribeth, it’s all over.
    The way she’s watching Loring now is openly appraising. She does the vaguest, subtlest thing with her mouth—halfway between a smile and a frown. “Loring, that thought you had about the table decorations was really interesting. Did you read that in
Ladies’ Home Journal
?”
    Maribeth’s face is angelic. She waits. Does she pause the tiniest bit before she applies the adjective
interesting
? Does she draw the word
really
out a beat too long? No one can say for sure. This is the magic of plausible deniability.
    I know the trick because I invested time and energy into understanding it. Maribeth knows it because she was born with the ability to slice through a person’s self-assurance without even thinking.
    Afterward, what recourse? Just shrug and smile and say you don’t care about glitter or crepe paper or being included. Whether your existence has