If I had gotten home a few hours earlier…

I knew she was having a bad day. I knew she was going to start drinking as soon as I left. She was looking through those photographs Shawn had taken of the two of them in New Jersey. But I went to class anyway.

You didn't know she was going to die of alcohol poisoning…

But I knew she was in pain. I knew that she drank a lot when she was in pain. And I didn't really care, did I? I've always been more concerned about feeling sorry for myself because I grew up without a dad and practically without a mom. Poor, poor Maya. Everybody should feel sorry for Maya. Her life is so hard. No one should expect anything from her.

You know that's not how you feel. You've always just wanted to be independent, to get away from everyone who might give you something that you can't give back.

"Maya, please stop."

She stopped walking, but she didn't turn around. She realized that she had no idea what part of the city she was in, or how long she'd been walking. "I told you to go away, Lucas." She could hear his footsteps on the pavement as he came up behind her. "I want to be alone right now," she said.

"You need to rest. You can stay at my house tonight."

Like his parents would let her.

"I'm going back to the apartment," she said, simultaneously saying it and deciding that was what she was going to do. "I don't want you to follow me."

"Frankly, Maya, I couldn't care less right now what you say you want. You can go back the apartment, but I'm going with you."

She couldn't really be mad at him. He was Lucas.

He took another step closer to her. "Let's make a deal. I can come with you, but I won't talk to you unless you talk to me first. I'll sleep in the living room, and you can stay in your room. It'll be like I'm not there."

Okay.

They took the subway back.

Nothing about this felt real. It was too sharp, too pointed. Maya felt like she was seeing and feeling and thinking everything at once, and it overwhelmed her to a point where she couldn't see or feel or think anything. The other passengers on the subway were acting so normally. Couldn't they tell? Couldn't they see it all on her face?

Lucas didn't try to touch her. He looked straight ahead at the other end of the car. She had met him in a subway car. That was funny, right? She laughed a little, but it stayed in her chest and didn't make it to her mouth. Lucas's head turned sharply to face her, like the needle of a compass, his eyes full of concern. He must have thought she was going to cry. That was funny too, wasn't it? She really should be crying.

Suddenly, a feeling of calm washed over her. Laughing. Crying. What did it matter? It wasn't going to change anything. She just wanted to lie down.

He kept up his end of the deal the whole way. She left him in the middle of her living room, and she went to her room. As she passed her mother's door, she listened closely for the television. That was funny, right? As if the television would be playing. As if someone was still alive to turn it on.

She fell asleep exactly eighty-five seconds after her head hit the pillow.