Chapter 2: wouldnt it be nice

"When we first met, he was someone else. Literally. I was scared, confused, trying to figure out this epiphany, but I knew he saw straight through me, and we talked as people, not characters in a simulation. I remember thinking he was my savior, my prince charming. I remember the first time he killed me. We're awful people. But it's like a puzzle: his broken pieces fit together into mine."

— 4 —

Sometimes I feel bad for the carton of milk.

You find it in the store, the least likely place in the world for anyone to drink it. It's safe there. Unconcerned with the world you're from, thoughtless and carefree. Until you come along. You take it in your hands, look at the lost child on the back, shrug mindlessly, and put it in your cart.

And you take it home to kill it, then toss the dead kid into the trash when you've made enough protein shakes with its innards.

I feel like the milk right now. As I wait for Sayori to text me. Milk has a natural defense mechanism I lack: it's one of many. The clock is its friend. If it lives long enough, it'll move into its next stage of metamorphosis like any perishable food. Sayori doesn't have multiples of me. She'll come to purchase me off the shelf because she has her eyes set on my autonomy.

"You good, bro?" my friend asks as we sit on the bleachers, drinking water after today's practice.

I shake my head, getting sweat all over myself. "A girl is going to text me. She's going to give me directions."

He frowns in surprise. "Oh, well, congrats. She hot?"

I sip from my discount Amazon hydro flask thing. The ice inside rattles like lost keys in the washer. "I didn't look."

"What, like, you just swiped right until you got a match?" He shakes his head. "Dude, fuck that. My girl has this friend, y'know. I could ask her to set y'all two up. Be better than random internet bimbos if you're looking for a good time."

I snort. "Keith, you moan whenever you wipe your ass. I wouldn't trust your definition of a 'good time' for shit."

He looks down at his empty water bottle. Crushes the plastic in his hand. Rolls it up into a neat little bun and pockets it. "Well, just wear a condom, I guess. No need to be touchy because you're nervous. Just shower it off. I'm sure she'll like you even if you are completely unlikable."

"Thanks, that means a lot," I say dryly.

Keith stands and gives me a playful punch in the shoulder. "Anytime, bro."

I'm left alone, with nothing but sweat and waning sunlight. I watch the rest of the team say their goodbyes. A few go out of the way to call out and wave to me, and I return the gesture. But I end up just sitting there, staring at my phone. Counting down the minutes until I decide it's too late for Sayori to text me and have the perfect opportunity to ditch this and return to my routine.

I'm not crazy or anything. It's not like I can't deviate. I do it all the time, like this here plan tonight. I just know what I like. What keeps me happy, sane, and grounded.

Eventually, I find the nerve to consider this a lost cause. She seems to have mercifully forgotten about this whole thing. So can I. So I can take a quick shower in the lockers.

But as I'm toweling myself off, my hotline buzzes. The looming sense of dread returns.

Sayori: hihi it's the Mulholland building tonight, room 306

You: When?

Sayori: Yes

You: Time?

She doesn't reply. I am milk.

I change and make my way there. It's not a far walk. I'd be going past it to go home in any case, so it's not like I could just keep walking. What if Sayori saw me?

School after classes end is a haunted place. A liminal space. Every step I take through—I count every other footfall—feels like trawling the backrooms. This is a space no human was meant to see. The sunlight is just enough to still be passable. I pass a potted plant and pay it my respects. A potted plant's true nature is introversion; it loves company and attention, but it needs alone time to recharge so it can face the world the next day and pretend to be a social butterfly.

None of my teeth feel like they're in the right place, shifting in my mouth with every step I take. My crucifix necklace burns a hole in my skin, and I need to let it out to breathe. I look back at the plant for support. It ignores me, as is its green right.

Every step is a mile. I count seventeen blood cells visibly crossing my eyes.

Until I stop, standing outside of room 306. The wide hallway windows bathe everything in orange and shadows. I see my shadow reach out for the door, before pausing. Maybe this is the wrong room. Maybe I'm in the wrong place. Maybe I don't know where I really am, and this is the wrong place, and I've made an honest mistake during a good faith effort.

Perhaps I could turn around now.

I tried my best coming here.

Back to my comfort. Eat dinner. Measure out my proteins and carbs. Read a book, watch a YouTube documentary, and go to bed when the pills take me. You need at least eight hours of sleep to keep your gains for the day, to recover properly, and to avoid becoming lazy and fat and disgusting and weak and pathetic.

That's such a good idea. Why didn't I think of it until now?

A shadow moves within the room. I see it through the frosted glass. I can even make out a voice. Maybe two. Or, Jesus, three.

This is the right place. I knew where I was going. Know where I am now. I almost wonder if if I just freeze here, it'll all go away.

One shadow grows. And Sayori opens up the door.

Her puzzled expression breaks into a huge grin, a flower witnessing the day's first sunshine. "You made it!" she says, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the room.

It's a normal classroom after hours. Mostly long tables with chairs behind them. A front desk and ceiling-mounted projector. Computer in the corner for the university network. And, when I can't avoid looking anymore, two new girls.

"Guys, guys, look, I promised I'd bring someone!" Sayori says as six eyes lock upon me. "This is my old friend from when I was a kid!" And she gives them my name.

I take a breath. People are watching me. I can't fuck up anymore. The time to do that passed when it was just me, the milk, and a potted plant.

One of the girls puts her hands on her hips and looks me over. She has pink highlights and a black Patagonia shirt. No way she's any taller than five foot even. I look back, and wonder what she eats. I imagine a stiff breeze would break her neck. It's almost a little ugly. As if she can sense my thoughts, she somehow looks more defensive.

"Hi," she says, and that's it.

"That's Natsuki!" Sayori says. "She's, like, she's cool. Way more energy than you'd think. Also, she's a great baker! You should see the stuff she brings in sometimes!"

Natsuki looks reluctantly pleased. "I guess."

My eyes go to the last girl, leaning by the window with her arms folded. If I had to describe her, I'd say goth in recovery. Just the vibe she gives. Baggy purple hoodie, skirt, and long black hair. Taller than the other two, though just slightly above average. Carrying a book under her arms. Instead of rushing into anything, she just seems to be passively studying me.

"Something on my face?" I ask.

Natsuki scowls at me like she wasn't done being complimented.

The unknown girl quickly averts her eyes. "Uh, sorry. But yes. Yes, you do and it's very distracting."

Sayori sucks on her lips. "Yeah, sorry, I didn't want to say anything. Yuri just has more balls than me. She's really smart and kinda brave."

Yuri looks almost panicked. "Me, brave? Sayori—it was just—that spec on his cheek is really, uh, sorry, that's not what I…" She falls silent and looks miserable.

I can't move. Emotionally. Just trying to think what could be on my face, making me ugly, standing out in the wrong way.

"Yuri's too humble," Sayori says. "You got a lil' something here." She wets her thumb and brings it to my cheek.

I step back quickly, snaking from her grasp. "I can—" I rub where Sayori was going for. Hard enough to start to heat it up with friction. My finger comes up with a speck of black. And suddenly I feel a hot wave of embarrassment.

They're looking at me. I thought I cleaned myself, but not enough. They're going to think I'm some dirty, uncouth meathead who can't shower properly or take the time to be presentable!

"Crap. Sorry," I say, rubbing more and more to make sure it's all gone. "I was in such a rush to shower I guess I didn't scrub off the eye black grease."

"You put grease on your face?" Natsuki asks skeptically.

But the tall girl, Yuri, is staring at me again. "You play sports?"

I jostle the bag I have over my shoulder. "Yeah. The black stuff keeps down solar glare. Sunglasses that won't break."

"Interesting to see you're also joining a literature club," Yuri says, staring at the back of her hand. "I mean, uh, it's always great to see someone break outdated stereotypes. It really is great. I'm not insulting you!"

I look over at Sayori, pretending to be scandalized. "Wait, this is a lit club?"

Sayori does that thing again, touching her fingers. "So, uh—yes, yes it is!"

Natsuki sits on one of the desks, idly kicking a leg. "You didn't know this was the literature club? I mean, we put effort into…" She shakes her head, sighing. "Geez, Sayori, where do you find these people? Does he even read?"

"He quoted a poem to me!" Sayori says sharply. "We were just catching up, and he quoted it to me, and I was like—yes, y'know? He would totally love it here!"

I set my bag and the old clothes inside it on a chair. "I mean, it wasn't a lot. I know the stuff everyone knows. Second Coming, Wasteland, Childe Roland, Destruction of Sennacherib, Keat's lost Hyperion." I shrug. "I just remember stuff from English class."

"So then," Yuri asks, giving me a curious look. She's not moved from her original spot. "In your freetime, outside of class, what types of books do you like?"

My eyes meet hers, and she seems to hold my gaze with some amount of effort. "Peter Watts. Cormac Mccarthy. As of late, I mean. Been re-reading Blood Meridian again. One of my favs, because I kind of hate it, so I love it."

Yuri shifts off the wall, standing up straight. "What's that one about? If, uh, you don't mind me asking."

Sayori looks between us hopefully. Natsuki continues to act unimpressed even as she obviously eavesdrops.

"Revisionist western," I say with a shrug. "Kid from Tennessee ends up falling in with the Glanton Gang, a group of scalp-hunters killing Comanche Indians after the Mexican-American war. They see and commit every manner of horror in the lawless Wild West. No redeeming qualities to them. It's almost a horror as the main character slowly grows a moral compass after everything he's taken part in, and is told in the end of the book…"

I stop myself. "So, yeah. It's horrible. I like it. Because I still can't tell if it's really literature or almost just blood and guts for its own sake."

There's something in Yuri's eyes. "So, that's your style of book. Hm. Have you ever read A Portrait of Markov?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Ah, well, you see—"

Natsuki groans. "Monika's late. Any idea where she is?"

My attention snaps to her, and there's a feeling like spiders burying into my spine. My fingertips feel itchy, an old craving somewhere in there. It's the feeling of having something stuck in your teeth that you can juuuust wriggle with your tongue, and you keep licking it and licking it, convinced you can get it out, but it won't dislodge, so you have this rush of energy and spiteful turmoil down inside your mouth.

Sayori gives me a strange look, before smiling it away. "Nah, I'm sure she's just doing something. We can't even begin without her and she knows that."

Natsuki doesn't look convinced. "You did tell her you were dragging someone new in, right?"

Sayori nods. "Mhm! She knows. She texted me and said she was eager to—"

She looks at the door. Then snaps her fingers. "Shoot, I was sure we were going to have a speak of the devil moment."

"Why?" I ask, trying to figure out why I feel like I need another shower again. With steel wool. "Is Monika the devil?"

"No way, dude," Natsuki says with a tsk. "She's club prez. Somehow she convinced us all to come together and now, well, here we are." She shrugs. "She—"

The door opens suddenly. There's a girl standing there, green eyes, long brown hair. Jeans and a black X-Files t-shirt, hoodie wrapped around her waist like a belt. Her cheeks are red with embarrassment. "Hey, everyone. Sorry I'm late, I was—"

She eyes me up almost doubtfully. I attempt to return the look with a measured indifference I don't feel. There's some sort of recognition between us. And like Sayori yesterday, it feels profound. More and more as I take in her features and her name.

The way she doesn't walk as she enters, almost glides. A body built like a weapon, filled with blood and sinew and venom. Features so perfectly symmetrical it's almost uncanny. A dash of makeup that's starting to wear off as the day ends. How she just stares at me. Looks with confusion to Sayori, then back at me.

Yeah. I know this girl.

There's a good reason I haven't seen her since high school.

For a moment, we reorientate ourselves mentally. I can see it in her eyes. A mild look of fascination, mixed with this subdued horror. Seeing me and trying to make sense of it. Deciding how to tell the story between us.

"Uh, Monika?" Sayori asks, looking between us. "Do you two know each other?"

Monika snaps out of it. She covers her mouth and laughs awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect…" She shakes her head, looking embarrassed. "When you said you were bringing a new member, I didn't expect you'd convince one of the football players."

She's pretending she doesn't know me from before. I see no reason not to play along.

I act surprised. "Ah! You were giving me a funny look, I was afraid I still had something on my face. Yuri here pointed out I hadn't rubbed off some eye black grease and I'd prolly die if I still had some on there."

"What, no, don't do that!" Yuri says with worry.

Natsuki tosses a ball of paper at Yuri. "It's sarcasm. Chill."

Yuri lets out a breath, awkwardly playing with her hair. "Oh. Uh. Sorry."

Meanwhile, Monika tosses her hair back and gives me a curious look. "So, what are you doing here?"

Tone, friendly. But the underlying accusation, the venom—I sense it.

I point at Sayori. "I was kidnapped. Call the police."

Sayori says my name sharply. "That's only mostly true, you meanie!"

"I'm being held hostage against my will," I say happily. "Free my homie me."

Monika maneuvers into the class, setting down her backpack on the teacher's desk. "Well, this is the literature club. There's plenty of ways to spend the rest of your sentence. Presuming you are staying."

She says it like she's confirming my interests. She means it like I should leave.

I meet her green eyes and feel my blood temperature rising. Like, I wasn't sure about this place. Didn't know it was a lit club, and was just hanging with my old childhood friend. Monika subtly implying I shouldn't stay makes me want to face her down and double-down. To add this place to my routine out of petty spite.

"I mean, I'm just seeing where the wind blows," I say with a shrug. "I don't mind reading. Most of my other friends, we don't chitchat over it much. Could be fun."

Sayori nearly hops up. "Wait, hold on—I've got the perfect lure. Angler fish style! Natsuki!"

"Hmm, what?" Natsuki asks, looking up from her phone. And then she scowls. "Dangit, Sayori—I was trying to keep that to myself."

I stay silent and observe, feeling Monika's eyes on my skin.

"Cupcakes!" Sayori says. "You promised you'd bring some today and I'm starving."

Natsuki sucks on her lips, trying to remain firm. She glances at me as if I'm the problem. Maybe she and Monika are just on the same wavelength. But Sayori just makes puppy dog eyes. And won't stop.

Eventually the girl sighs and opens her backpack. "You guys suck," she says, but without any heat. She brings out a little tray covered in heavy duty tin foil.

It's like gravity changes direction. Everyone falls towards Natsuki. Yuri is pulled from the wall until she's hovering over the table. Sayori is practically vibrating. Monika calmly approaches. The only one left out is me. I lean against a desk and observe.

As soon as the foil is off, Sayori grabs something and runs away like a mouse stealing a cracker. "Holy crap, Natsuki, you've outdone yourself. This is good, like yes please good!" She's already got white frosting on her lips.

I play with my thumbs.

Yuri looks over at me. And after taking a moment to think, sighs and brings me a cupcake. "Here," she says, and sucks on her lips. "It's… yeah. You looked a little nervous, so, y'know, thought you'd like it."

The way she's looking at me, I can't say no. Held out to me like an offering. Slowly, I take it in my hands.

"Thanks!" I happily lie.

It's a conglomerate of sugar. Unknown calorie content. Unknown if the frosting has cream cheese in it. Designed to look like a cat's face atop a small mound of bread. Little bits of milk chocolate act as the ears.

I hold it in my hand, but all I feel is the weight. It's not a physical thing. It's light, airy, and gravity almost isn't enough for me to notice it. It's what it will do to me.

I can picture it clearly. Taking a bite. Getting frosting on my mouth like Sayori did. I can imagine that going to my stomach, dissolving in acid. I can picture so clearly everything turning into glucose. Spiking insulin. Making me hungrier. With nowhere to go, storing somewhere as fat.

I can imagine the taste. Sweet, delicious, perfectly made. It's an insidious killer. Natsuki is trying to murder me. It's like going to Planet Fitness on pizza day: a scheme to keep you trapped, to keep you from your best, to undo all of the hard work you put in today just so they can pull you back in and tell you it's okay.

"Natsuki makes the best stuff, like I said!" Sayori says, and takes another bite.

Meanwhile, Natsuki folds her arms proudly. "You're only saying that because you were hungry."

I rotate the sweet in my hand. "So, Yuri, what were you saying earlier about your book? Portrait of Markov? Sounds very Dorian Grey."

Yuri looks surprised. "Hm? Oh, no. Well, I mean…" She thinks it over. I'm glad for the distraction. "It's more about this girl from a religious camp of sorts. All she has in her life is a sister. She tries to escape, but there's this man named Renier, too. And while her life is in danger, she needs to desperately choose who to trust, and…"

It's idly fascinating. She sounds a lot more confident talking about the book. Recalling details and facts without seeming to worry. She seems to sense this too and clears her throat.

"But, I mean—spoilers," she says. "It's, I mean, maybe it's like your Blood Meridian. Not really a western, not really a horror."

"Hmm," I hum. "I'll have to check it out."

She plays with her hair. "I mean, like, if you'd like, I have a…" She glances at Natsuki and loses her confidence. She takes a bite of her cupcake as an excuse to shut up.

Natsuki is doing her best to pretend not to look at me. And failing.

I return the favor by pretending to be looking for the best place to take a bite of the cupcake. All that sugar, that bread. The little cat's face.

Sighing, Natsuki asks, "Are you one of those guys who always bites the head off the animal cracker first?"

"Excuse me?" I ask.

Natsuki shakes her head. "You're just giving it a weird look. It's not like I poisoned them or anything."

"If she did," Sayori says, wiping crumbs off her shirt, "I'd be dead, but I'd die happy!"

"Don't say things like that," Yuri says quietly.

My eyes go to Monika, who's finished her cupcake, and seems to be giving me a knowing look I instinctively dislike. I feel the need to try to figure out how to salvage this without eating the cupcake or offending Natsuki worse.

So I take a breath. "Sorry, Natsuki," I say. "I just got out of practice. I get sick if I eat right afterwards. Y'know how it is."

Natsuki sucks on her lips. "If you don't want it, just say so, dude. Give it to Sayori."

"That's me!" Sayori chimes in, unnecessarily.

"No, it's not that," I say quickly. "Ah, actually, that tin foil you brought."

"It's aluminum," Monika says.

"What?" I ask.

Monika shrugs. "They don't make tin foil anymore. Aluminum is cheaper, more durable, and the government can still read your mind if you make a hat out of it." She smiles impishly.

"O… kay," I say slowly. "Natsuki, mind if I took what's left of the aluminum foil? I wanna wrap the cupcake and take it home. I just can't eat it now is all."

Natsuki suppresses a glower, but gives me the foil.

"Gracias," I say, crumpling the foil to preserve this poisonous little ball of bread.

"De nachos," she says unenthusiastically. "Whatever, dude."

There's way too much silence as I wrap the cupcake up. Natsuki is staring at me as I put it in my backpack, unsure where else it should go. It's going straight in the garbage as soon as I'm home. Or maybe my roommate would like it; I don't care about his fitness.

"Okay, everyone!" Monika says, clapping her hands. "What did we write last night?"

I remain silent, watching everyone. Feeling out of place. I watch the girls get closer and talk. Something about literature, something about poetry.

Until Sayori notices me just lurking in the background. She smiles and comes up to grab my arm. "C'mon, you, stop being a stranger."

"I mean, y'all was writing something, and I don't have much," I say. "I didn't know you did that."

Natsuki sighs as Sayori drags me to the group. "Yeah. Sometimes we have a book we go over. Sometimes we hang out and just talk about authors. Recently, Monika got us to write and share poems. It's…" She considers. "I mean, it's fun. Can you even write poetry?"

"I don't know," I say truthfully. "I've never done it outside of some forced schoolwork."

Monika gives me a smile that feels so goddamn fake. "It's not hard. Natsuki was doodling one in her notebook last week, and I thought it'd be a fun activity. It's sort of become our whole thing lately."

"I think, y'know, you might like it," Yuri adds quietly. "You seem well-read. Not to say there's anything wrong if you only read sometimes, that is. But—sometimes it's nice to try to get your thoughts on paper. To capture the essence of thought and commit it to ink. See it take a life of its own."

Sayori beams. "Yeah! You should totally do it with us. Really fit into the club."

"If you think you're up to it," Monika says.

I look around the four girls. Their varying expressions, body language, liters of blood inside of them. "I mean…" I sigh. "Sure. Actually, yeah. Yeah! I might not be any good, but I can try something."

"So you want to actually join?" Monika says, and more than anything I want to just to make her uncomfortable.

Sayori looks hopeful. Even Yuri looks interested.

I shrug. "Yeah. Why not? I got nowhere else to rant and rave about any interesting books I find."

Yuri nods. "You can see our poems today. Get a feel for what we're doing, I mean. Styles and words. Then tomorrow, after classes or whatever you do, we can meet again and see what you have."

I smile. "Yeah. That sounds fun! Just—don't mind if practice runs late for me. Sometimes things go into overtime. But I'll try to smith some words. See what happens."

"Wanna read mine first for a good example?" Sayori asks. "Poem, I mean. The one I wrote."

"I'd love to, Sayori!"

Monika shifts, putting a hand on her hip. And I can't help but feel vindictively victorious.

Sayori snaps her fingers at the girls. "And just like that, boom! Sayori gets a fifth member. No thanks are necessary, I'm just that good."

And everyone groans.

— 5 —

We share poems. Natsuki isn't happy. Yuri seems embarrassed. And Sayori is too eager. They've all got radically different styles that are hard to really follow. I almost feel like, when tomorrow comes and I show up again, I'll need to really try to impress them. We're on different levels.

In the end, I'm alone in a corner with Monika, looking over the poem she offers me. Pretending to read it as the silence between us grows.

"You really didn't know I was president of the literature club?" she asks, voice low. Just for us.

I shake my head. "No. Sayori and me go way back. She dragged me here."

"Uh-huh. And you really want to stay?" she asks, side-eyeing me.

"That a problem, Lewinsky?" I ask mildly.

Monika suppresses a scowl. "Don't call me that. It wasn't funny back then, and it's still not funny now"

I shrug.

She sighs. "Look, it was years ago. We were different people. At least I hope you're different. You look it. So if you promise not to cause trouble for my friends and I, then you can stay."

"It your call, or theirs?" I ask, handing back her poem. I didn't see a word she wrote.

Monika takes it back and doesn't say anything for the longest time. Until she says my name, pauses on the first syllable, and sighs. "I care about them, y'know? I started this club because I wasn't happy where I was. I tried Model U.N., but it was just arguing and politics. Not the fun kind. Just, people being mean to each other. Toxic, in a word. I do track and field here, but—I don't know. It's fun, but it's just a thing."

"You wanted somewhere where you could relax," I say. "Be yourself. No stress, no pressure. Letting the flow take you."

Monika nods. "Yeah. I made a couple of friends. A few people joined. A few left. And now I'm left with those three." She nods her head at the girls. "And I care about them. I want them to have fun, to be themselves. So if you say you're here because it actually interests you, and you're not planning to cause any trouble, then, well…" She tugs on her X-Files shirt and smiles. "I want to believe."

I nod. "I guess you and I gotta start over, huh?"

"Wouldn't it be nice?"

I snort. "Okay, Hemingway."

She laughs. "Okay, maybe you do have an interest in literature. That's a good start. Better than last time."

"Mhm," I hum. "I'll do my best to fit in and try to write something good for y'all."

Monika takes a long breath. Smiles. And claps her hands. "Okay, everyone! I know it's a little late, but we've also had a long day. We have a new member here. Let's all go home, get a good night's rest, and come back bright-eyed and bushy tailed with new poems." She gives me a knowing look. "He promises to impress us, so make sure we all judge him harshly, okay?"

"Deal!" Natsuki says quickly.

Sayori elbows her. "She's joking. Don't be mean."

"Oh, that's a relief," Yuri says, playing with her hair. "I—didn't want to be mean, too. Scare off a new member. That'd be just awful."

Monika clasps her arms behind her back. "Tomorrow, then! I'll see you all there."

"Righteous," I say, standing up and stretching. My necklace jingles against its chain slightly. I sling my backpack and head out back home.

I don't leave the building before stopping at the potted plant of course. It keeps its head down. I give it some water. It's allowed to drink while recharging its social batteries. I wish it the best for tomorrow before leaving.

Only for Sayori to accost me as I step into the dying light.

"Hey!" she says, arms behind her back, practically spinning around me like a puppy. "So. That was the literature club. Whatcha think?"

"I try to limit my conscious thoughts to only once or twice a day," I say.

She follows me, hands locked in that position. "You're going to come back and write a poem, right?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Sayori frowns. "Just—look, Natsuki is nice. She's not good at the whole warm welcome thing, but once you get to know her, she's great. And I think Yuri likes you. You mentioned books with blood and gore, and she's sold!"

"I wasn't thinking of them."

We walk without speaking for a good moment. Even from the corner of my eye, I can see the gears in her head turning. Whatever conclusions she draws, they don't please her.

"It was nice to see you again, though," she says quietly, a small smile on her lips. "I'm studying education, you know that? It's really meta: you're learning how to make others learn best. Little kids, bigger ones. If I go teach in a high school, most of them are going to be taller than me.

"I almost couldn't have seen myself here a couple of years ago. Life has this funny way of dragging you forwards. It's a river with a strong current. Sometimes fed by melting glaciers, sometimes by rain clouds. But it's nice when its course takes you by the things that used to make you feel happy and safe. It's like how things were before the rapids."

I regard her as she looks away. Not sure at first how to respond to that. "Where do you live?"

"Huh?"

"It's getting dark. Can I walk you home?"

Sayori smiles slyly. "Wow. Look at the charmer you've become! Smooth."

I roll my eyes. "Nevermind, I'm abandoning you here. Good night."

She grabs my arm almost frantically. "No, no, no—I was kidding! I think it's just sweet. Like how we used to as kids. I'd like it a lot, actually."

I sigh. "It's like starting over from square one, but make believe. You've changed, like you said. But I've been me for so long I don't know what's changed, what's the same. It's a slurry in my head, a wild stream of consciousness that I can't figure out where it began. One day I just had the ability to form long-term memories and it's all been downhill from there. Some of those memories are you. Another you, but still you. So it's like meeting you again for the first time, with a wink and a nudge to someone I think I missed."

My thoughts go to Monika. Her mental image feels like housing a viper in my stomach, coiling and writhing through the stomach acid. It weighs seven pounds and eight ounces.

Sayori keeps hold of my arm, but there's this little smile across her face. She looks warm. Her cheeks are full of blood. "I think I'm going to like getting to know my best friend all over again."

I say nothing. I just let her hold my arm.

And walk her home just off campus.