tip and loading them into her backpack. Weird.
âNo.â I pause.
The girl continues to sit at the counter facing the street, fiddling with her phone. She smiles to herself, unaware that anyone is watching. I glance up at the windows above the pizzeria, but the velvet curtains have been drawn closed again. Thinking about the first girl makes the pizza weigh heavy in my stomach. The pizza of dismay.
âNo, I guess I didnât,â I say.
âYouâve got to make her sign one of Kraussâs releases, you know, to cover my ass. This is so going on my Vimeo channel when itâs done.â
âUh-huh,â I say.
Then weâre in the back of the cab and Tyler is giving the driver the address of the film lab. I turn and look one last time through the rear windshield. It glitters with droplets of hot summer rain.
The chair where the tattooed girl was sitting is empty, and thereâs nothing but some greasy napkins and plates to show she was ever there.
Upstairs, behind the neon of the psychic medium sign, the velvet curtain twitches. I press my cheek to the taxi window, squinting up at the façade of the building.
A vertiginous rush knocks me sideways. Iâm almost certain I glimpse the pale outline of the girlâs face with hipster hair curled over her ears. The face is looking down at our taxi in the street, and sheâssmiling. That perfect mouth with its perfect mole. The eerie feeling spreads across the back of my neck again, and I close my eyes against it. Itâs almost sickening. The taxi jolts as it pulls away from the curb, jostling me against Tyler and shaking loose the weird sensation.
But when I open my eyes again, the girl is gone.
CHAPTER 3
I âm so tired I havenât even bothered to take my sneakers off. I root my face in my pillow, feeling myself just beginning to float off the surface of my bunk when thereâs a soft click, and a triangle of light cuts into the room.
âJesus. What happened to you?â a male voice says. Itâs deep and gravelly, unmatched to the young, slender guy it actually belongs to.
I moan, draping my arm over my eyes to block out the light.
âWhat time is it?â I ask, my voice thick with sleep. I belch, and the stale taste of pepperoni and garlic pizza fills my mouth.
âBeats me.â
Springs creak as Eastlin flops onto his bed. Soft sounds of sneakers being unlaced. A click as he turns on the desk light. The lamplight hammers into my brain. Tyler took me out after we hit the editing room, to say thank you, I guess. God. Itâs not like we donât know how to drink in Wisconsin. But I canât drink like Tyler. And he magically seems to know all the places downtown that donât card.
âMan, come on,â I whine.
âWhat? Itâs only two.â Eastlin is laughing at me.
I peek under my arm at my roommate and see him leaning overa mirror on his NYU-issue desk, wiping his face with a moist ball of cotton.
âTwo? God.â
âYeah. Itâs early!â Eastlin grins and chucks the dirty cotton ball at me. It hits my forehead with a wet
splap
. âI wouldnât even be home, except for the DJ sucked, and this guy wouldnât leave me alone.â
âWhat guy?â I ask.
âSome twink. He was
thirsty
.â Eastlin shakes his head with pity.
âYeah?â I say.
âOld, too.â
One of Eastlinâs dirty socks comes sailing toward my face after the cotton ball, but I bat it away in time.
âSounds rough.â I try to commiserate. My gay friends back home donât go clubbing. Or if they do, they donât tell me about it. Which makes me pretty sure they donât. My high school friends are more the beer and batting cages type.
He laughs, leaning an elbow into his pillow while pulling out his phone. âAnd was your night as good as it looks?â he asks without looking up. He stretches a bare foot out, spreading the toes