Then You Were Gone Read Online Free PDF Page A

with one hip. “Get the lasagna out of the oven? Come on, we’re eating.”
    “Okay, all right,” Sam says. The picture drops.
    Last one: “Adrienne B-Day Fifteen.” I remember this. Not long before our breakup. A few weeks, maybe? We’re at Dar Maghreb on Sunset. Moroccan. Chicken pie with powdered sugar, tiled walls, belly dancers. Mom and Dakota on either side of me. Everyone looking pretty and made-up: three sets of red lips. Smooth hair.
    Dakota—boobs now, layered bob—says, “We do this with our hands?” She means eat —no utensils.
    Mom: “Indeed, we do.”
    I reach for something. Chicken pie? Flatbread? Dakota stops me. “Birthday girl! Let me do that!”
    “Let you do what ?”
    “I’m gonna feed you,” she says brightly. She reaches down,pinches some pie between her fingertips, and raises it to my mouth. “Open up.”
    “No.” I laugh.
    “Why, come on, don’t be scared,” she coos. “Come on. Open your mouth.”
    “Be nice,” says Sam.
    Dakota looks directly at the lens, says, “I am nice.” Then she pries my lips apart while I squirm. “There you go, baby.” She smooshes the chicken onto my cheek, missing my mouth completely.
    Freeze frame.

13.
    “Can I have one of those?”
    Freak section. I’m bumming a cigarette off a girl wearing an apron as a dress.
    “Here.” She passes me her pack and a stubby pink lighter.
    I help myself, light up, say, “Thanks.” Today I dressed the part: dark brown sweater over black tights. And I lined my eyes with kohl.
    •    •    •
    Hours later I’m in the computer lab googling like a maniac. I find an online Dakota tribute: an ultra simple website with Dakota photos and some super sappy reader comments. I can barely look at any of it. Except the video. There’s a shitty, shaky video of Dakota performing somewhere. I dig through my bag, find my headphones, and plug into the computer. She’s singing softly. She sounds like a gurgling baby. Below her are a gazillion bobbing heads. People love her. I love her.She’s pretty and perfect and up onstage she makes magic. Made magic?
    New website. New video. This one’s overexposed. Dakota with Dark Star in some stark rehearsal space. Daytime. She’s barefaced. Her blond hair limp and long and just so fucking glorious. She’s harmonizing with her own recorded vocals. Swaying slightly. Looking girlish and sexy while she smiles at Julian, who’s got his jean-jacketed back to the camera.
    “How’s that?” she asks, stopping, leaping up.
    “Awful,” says some guy off camera. Everyone laughs. Dakota’s face widens. She’s happy, laughing, flinging herself onto Julian’s lap. The camera rotates. His hands are on her face. They’re kissing and grinning. Someone throws a guitar pick across the room. My heart bleeds/breaks/aches.
    Tap tap tap.
    “Christ!” I jump, whip around, tug off my headphones.
    “Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s just me.” Lee with his hand on my shoulder.
    “Hi, sorry, hi.” I turn back to the monitor and quickly sign out of my session.
    “What’re you doing?”
    “Nothing. Email.”
    We kiss. Lee pulls back, making a face. “Have you been smoking?”
    “I—” Crap . “Barely. One drag, I had to. Margaret had cloves.”
    “It’s shitty for you.”
    “Right, I know. One drag, Lee, that’s all.”
    “Walk me to chem?”
    We walk for a bit, and he doesn’t try to touch me, but he’s staring, so I go, “Something up?”
    “Your face looks different.”
    “My face ?”
    “I dunno, your eyes, maybe? Is that it? They’re darker?”
    “No, it’s nothing.” I shake my head, yanking at my tights and sweater—a far cry from my usual uniform: Lee’s old jeans matched with whichever thrift store top is clean. “I lined them, that’s all. You’ve seen them this way before.”
    He considers me. “I like it.” He’s nodding now. “It suits you.”

14.
    I get off the bus at Benton and drop into a pocket of hot, sweet air blowing out the kitchen