Playlist for the Dead

17. Let It Go

I LEFT MR. BEAUMONT’S OFFICE feeling overwhelmed. It was all just too much—Hayden being gone, the Archmage, the trifecta. I needed to feel like I wasn’t crazy, and these days, I only felt like that when I was with Astrid. I looked for her in the cafeteria at lunch but she wasn’t there. Her friends were at their usual table, though, Eric included, so I figured, screw it—I’d ask and see if they knew where she was.

“Hey, Sam!” Damian, the bearded guy from the party, called out. “Are you coming to sit with us? Scoot over, Jess.” He nudged a tiny pixie-haired girl I recognized from the party. She looked down but nodded and then moved for me.

I hadn’t planned on sitting down, but what the hell—not like I had anywhere else to go. “Thanks,” I said. I didn’t have any food, either, but I wasn’t hungry. “I was actually looking for Astrid—any of you guys seen her?”

Everyone turned to look at Eric, which made sense. He nodded his head at me. “Sure, she was in class earlier. I think she skipped lunch to study for a test. I can show you where her locker is if you want to try to catch her before sixth period.”

“That would be great,” I said, though I felt kind of awkward. Sure, it was kind of weird that Astrid’s boyfriend would help another guy who was clearly into her—I didn’t kid myself that I was hiding it well—but it was cool of him to do it.

“No problem,” he said. I wondered if he even saw me as a threat.

The cafeteria was on the bottom floor of the school, and of course Astrid’s locker was on the very top, in the opposite corner. Once Eric told me where it was I wasn’t surprised we hadn’t run into each other much; the school was divided into four quadrants, and my locker was in the southwest corner, where all the lockers were red, while hers was in the northeast, with glaring yellow lockers. Just being in those halls made my head hurt.

“Sorry I barely saw you at the party,” Eric said, as we headed up the stairs. He was wearing fancy pointy-toed shoes that clicked as he walked. Spats? What a hipster. “I heard you got into it with Trevor.” What did he mean by that? Did he think I was the one who hurt him?

“Got into it?”

“You know, at the party. I missed all the action but people told me he punched you in the face. I heard you told him off pretty good, though.”

“Yeah, well, he was always a jerk to Hayden,” I said. “It was worth getting decked just to tell him what I really thought.” I was almost afraid to ask, but I did it anyway. “Did you hear about what happened after?”

“Oh, I did.” He gave me a sidelong look as we pushed through the throngs of kids rushing to their next class. “He kind of got what he deserved, didn’t he? Like Jason.” It reminded me of what Astrid had said about karma.

“Maybe.” I wasn’t sure what the look meant. Was he trying to get me to admit something? “Sounds like Trevor got hurt pretty bad, though.”

“He’ll heal,” Eric said, trying to sound callous, but his voice cracked a little. I bet he thought things had gone too far, just like me. “Gives him some time to think about all the shitty stuff he’s done to people, anyway.”

“You think a meathead like him thinks about anything?”

Eric laughed. “Probably not. If he had any self-awareness he’d probably self-destruct.”

Well, this sucked. I liked Eric. It made it a lot harder to hate him.

Eric stopped in front of a locker so covered in stickers it was impossible to tell what color it had been. It looked like an eight-year-old had attacked it—there were rainbows and unicorns and kittens everywhere. “She was not a fan of the yellow,” Eric said.

“No kidding.”

“Listen, I’ve got to run to class, so you’re on your own from here. But we should hang out sometime. I know you’re probably laying low with everything that happened to your friend, but if you feel like getting out, a bunch of us are going to my house tonight. Astrid too. You should come by.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said. “Maybe I will.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He gave me a fist-bump before heading down the hall. I didn’t think I’d ever fist-bumped with anyone before, besides Jimmy. Was he being sincere in inviting me over, or was it just one of those keep-your-enemies-close kind of things, so he could watch out for Astrid? The funny thing was, I wasn’t sure I cared. I liked the friends of hers I’d met so far, Eric included, and just the idea of hanging out with them made me feel a little less lonely.

Astrid didn’t show up before the next period started, but I had study hall anyway so I figured I’d just hang out and wait, making sure to avoid the hall monitors. I put on my headphones and clicked a song from the playlist. It was from a new band we liked, whose music had a creepy edge to it that felt appropriate to me. But if Hayden had been trying to send messages through this playlist, I was worried I wasn’t getting them. I had to pay more attention to the lyrics. This song gave me the sense that he felt like people had been lying to him. I may have done a lot of things wrong, but lying to Hayden wasn’t one of them. I had to remember that finding out what really happened had to be my priority.

Astrid finally arrived at her locker just a few minutes after the bell rang, just in time for me to acknowledge that my priorities had shifted a bit in the last couple of weeks. I felt guilty even as I noticed that she looked as cute as ever; her streaks today were red, yellow, and green, and she was wearing a Bob Marley T-shirt.

“Sam!” she yelled, with a big smile on her face. “What are you doing here?”

I was so excited that she seemed happy to see me that I almost forgot to talk. “I was looking for you.”

“And you’ve found me. But I have to run or I’ll be late for class. Will you come meet me here after school? I’m craving french fries, and you promised you’d show me the best in town.”

“I’d be happy to,” I said, smiling back at her, so wide I worried my face would break. “See you this afternoon.”

So much for my plan of taking a nap to catch up on some of the sleep I’d missed. But there were so many things I wanted to ask Astrid, ranging from the selfish (was Eric her boyfriend or not?) to the serious (how did she know about Athena? And who is she?). The afternoon seemed to last forever; thankfully I had English last period, and Mr. Rogers tended to ignore it when I fell asleep in class, even though my desk was right in front of his.

The brief catnap gave me enough energy to run through the halls back to Astrid’s locker as soon as the bell rang. She must have raced back too, because she’d beat me there. “I’m dying of curiosity,” she said as I approached. “Where are we going?”

“Ever heard of a place called Peterson’s?” Peterson’s was an old soda fountain just outside of downtown, run by a couple who’d owned it since the ’50s. They didn’t have any kids, and a Coldstone Creamery had opened up a couple of blocks away, so I figured they were probably going to shut it down soon. I liked to give them business whenever I could; Hayden and I would go there after the mall sometimes. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk from school.

“Sounds familiar—I think I know the place you’re talking about. It always looks closed, though.”

“Half the time it is,” I admitted. “They keep really weird hours. But they’re usually open in the afternoon. Hayden and I used to go there after school sometimes, on our way to the mall.”

She didn’t say anything, just grabbed my hand and squeezed it for a minute, then let it go. I wished she hadn’t. For the brief moment our hands were entwined, I had no questions. But as soon as she let go, they all came back.

We walked quietly at first, past the fields that had mostly been harvested, though a few still had tall stalks of corn for Halloween mazes. I could still pick up the scent of burning leaves. It felt nice to walk beside her without talking, feeling like it wasn’t necessary to fill the space between us. Except that now I wasn’t being honest with myself—part of the reason I wasn’t talking was because I was afraid that the first thing I’d say was “How did you know about Athena?” There had to be a better way to lead into that conversation.

Astrid seemed a little jumpy, too, pulling at her extensions and almost skipping as we got close to the diner. It was almost like she knew that I needed to talk to her. Which I guessed made sense; the last thing she’d said to me was the password, and she had to know I’d have questions.

When we reached Peterson’s Soda Fountain, I held the door open for Astrid to walk through. “How chivalrous,” she said, and gave a little curtsy. Something about the way she said it reminded me of the chat logs between Hayden and Athena. I swallowed hard. How much did she know, anyway?

The soda fountain was literally not much more than that—there was a counter lined with peeling linoleum, flanked by stools covered in cracked red leather with bits of foam poking through. I knew it wasn’t the most appetizing-looking joint, but I hoped Astrid would trust me, even as the thought crossed my mind that perhaps I couldn’t trust her. “Here okay?” I asked, pointing to two of the less destroyed-looking stools.

“Sure. Where are the menus?”

“No need. Allow me.”

“The gentleman is going to order for the lady?” she asked. And I had that thought again—she sounded like Athena. Which reminded me that Astrid had said she was into Greek mythology. She’d have known that Athena was the goddess of war, like I’d seen in the chat logs.

What if she didn’t just know about Athena? What if she was Athena?

She couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense; I couldn’t picture Astrid and Hayden together at all. Or was it just that I didn’t want it to be?

I was saved from saying anything by Mr. Peterson finally making his way to the counter. He had to be in his nineties, white haired, liver spotted, and worn out. I used to try to chat with him; I wanted him to remember me between visits, to be one of those people who could get anyone to open up. I wanted to learn more about the Petersons than just the basics listed on the paper placemats he laid out in front of us, which gave the history of the fountain. But either I wasn’t charming enough or Mr. Peterson just didn’t give a shit—he never talked to me other than to take my order, and he never remembered me when I came back. “Know what you want?” he croaked.

“Two chocolate egg creams and a large basket of crinkle fries,” I said.

“Egg cream?” Astrid asked as Mr. Peterson slowly walked away. “As in, raw egg? You sure about this one?”

“They haven’t put real eggs in these things since the 1800s,” I said. “It’s just milk and syrup and fizzy water. But it’s amazing.”

The Petersons may have moved slowly, but they were an efficient unit. Mrs. Peterson was already working on the drinks by the time Mr. Peterson had the fries bubbling away. Astrid tried to chat with them while they worked, only to be ignored just as I always had been.

“I used to try too,” I said, glad that she and I had the same instinct, but secretly relieved that she hadn’t done any better than I had.

Mrs. Peterson placed the drinks in front of us, bendy straws poking out of the foam that sat at the top of the old-school fountain glass. Astrid took a long sip, eyes widening as she swallowed.

“Right?” I said, and she nodded.

“How did you even know to order this?” she asked. “I’ve never even heard of it.”

“It’s an old Brooklyn thing,” I said. “I used to get them with my dad, when we lived back east.”

“I’m not sure I knew that you didn’t always live here,” she said.

“No reason you would,” I said. “I’ve been here since I was eight, but on the other side of town. And up until now I’ve never hung out with a cheerleader.”

“A cheerleader no more,” she said. “But I am a junior. Technically, I’m slumming, hanging out with a sophomore.”

“I’d say you shouldn’t let your friends see you, but Eric invited me to hang out with you guys tonight.” I figured this was my opening. “Speaking of which…”

“Actually, there was something I’d been meaning to ask you,” Astrid said, pulling on one of her hair extensions. “It’s potentially embarrassing so I kind of want to get it out of the way.”

Uh-oh. This couldn’t be good.

“Embarrassing for me, I mean,” she said, and I exhaled. “The thing is, we’ve hung out a few times now, and it’s been really fun—I don’t think I get along with anyone as well as I get along with you.”

“Me too,” I said, waiting for the “but.”

“But”—To hear it out loud made my stomach drop—“you’ve had tons of opportunities to make a move, and yet nothing. Am I totally reading this situation wrong? See what I mean about embarrassing myself?” It was true; she was blushing furiously. Except that was not at all what I’d expected.

“You wanted me to make a move on you?” I finally managed to say, after metaphorically falling off my stool and picking myself up off the filthy linoleum floor.

Of course Mr. Peterson chose that moment to plunk a giant basket of fries right in between us. “Ketchup?”

“And pepper,” Astrid said.

“You put pepper on your fries?”

“On the ketchup.”

“You’re a strange girl,” I said. “But, you know. My question. You haven’t answered it yet.”

“The answer was implied,” she said. “You haven’t answered mine.”

Good point. “But I’m confused,” I said. “What about Eric?”

“Eric?” She looked confused. That was a good sign.

“I thought he was your boyfriend.”

Apparently my timing was bad; Astrid had just put a heavily peppered french fry in her mouth, and she started laughing so hard she choked. Not quite Heimlich-level choking, but definitely potato-flying-everywhere, tears-pouring-from-eyes choking. I picked a chunk of potato off my shirt and waited for her to settle down.

“Oh, you sweet sheltered thing,” she said. “You clearly have severely underdeveloped gaydar.”

Gaydar? Gaydar! My new favorite word!

“Eric’s my best friend. He used to have a very serious boyfriend, but that ended recently, which means he and I are both very, very unattached. I guess we do spend a lot of time together, so I could see where you might think—but no. Never. And I have to say, I’m extremely relieved there’s a good explanation for all of this.”

Double that for me. My heart started pounding so hard I could feel it behind my eyes. “So you’re saying that if I made a move…”

“You’ll never know unless you try, buddy.” She was still smiling, and was I wrong or was she leaning in toward me?

So she hadn’t been nervous because she was worried I’d ask about Athena. She was nervous because she was into me. I couldn’t believe it. This was it, the moment I’d hoped for. I was so nervous my hand shook a little bit as I pulled a cheap paper napkin out of the dispenser on the counter, leaned in toward Astrid, and wiped a stray piece of ketchup-covered potato from her cheek. “That’s better,” I said, and then, finally, I kissed her.