Again, Josh seems to know every single thing she’s thinking, because he says, “I get it, you know. Why you’re so nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Charlie says.
“You are,” Josh says. “And it’s okay. Listen, I think I know who you are. I thought your name seemed familiar when we met at the ride board, but I didn’t realize why until just now.”
Charlie says nothing, hoping that will somehow make Josh stop talking, that he’ll just get the hint and drop it.
Instead, he shifts his gaze from her to the road, then back again, and says, “You’re that girl, right?”
Charlie sinks back in the passenger seat, the base of her skull against the headrest. A light pain pulses where they connect. The stirrings of a headache. Confession time is here whether she’s ready for it or not.
“I am,” she says. “I’m that girl. The one who let her roommate get murdered.”
INT. GRAND AM—NIGHT
Charlie hadn’t wanted to go out that night. That was her excuse for why she did what she did. Back when she had an excuse. Before she came to understand that her actions were inexcusable.
It was a Thursday night, she had an early film class the next morning, and she in no way, shape, or form wanted to head out to a bar at ten o’clock to see a second-rate Cure cover band. But Maddy insisted she go, even after Charlie had begged off several times.
“It won’t be any fun without you,” she said. “No one else but you gets how much I love them.”
“You are aware it’s not really the Cure, right?” Charlie told her. “It’s just some guys who’ve learned to play ‘Lovesong’ in their parents’ garage.”
“They’re really good. I swear. Please, Charlie, just come. Life’s too short to stay cooped up in here.”
“Fine,” Charlie said, sighing the word. “Even though I’m tired. And you know how irritable I get when I’m tired.”
Maddy playfully threw a pillow across the room at her. “You become an absolute monster.”
The band didn’t take the stage until almost eleven, coming out in Goth garb so over-the-top it bordered on the ridiculous. The front man, aiming for Robert Smith realness, had powdered his face with white pancake makeup. Charlie told Maddy it made him look like Edward Scissorhands.
“Rude,” Maddy said. “But true.”
Three songs into their set, Maddy started dancing with some wannabe Bon Jovi in torn jeans and a black T-shirt. Two songs after that, they were backed against the bar, swapping saliva. And Charlie, who was tired, hungry, and not nearly drunk enough to stay, had had enough.
“Hey, I’m leaving,” she said after tapping Maddy on the shoulder.
“What?” Maddy squeezed out from beneath the random guy kissing her and grabbed Charlie’s arm. “You can’t go!”
“I can,” Charlie said. “And I am.”
Maddy clung to her as she made her way out of the bar, pushing through a dance floor packed with frat boys in baseball caps and sorority girls in belly tees and preppies and stoners and flannel-wearing deadbeats with stringy bleached hair. Unlike Maddy, they didn’t care who was playing. They were just there to get plastered. And Charlie, well, she just wanted to curl up in bed with a movie.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Maddy said once they were outside the bar, huddled together in a back alley that stank of vomit and beer. “We were having fun.”
“You were having fun,” Charlie said. “I was just . . . there.”
Maddy reached into her handbag—a glittery rectangle of silver sequins she’d found at Goodwill—and fumbled for her cigarettes. “That’s all on you, darling.”
Charlie disagreed. By her estimation, this was the hundredth time Maddy had dragged her to a bar or a kegger or a theater department after party only to ditch her as soon as they arrived, leaving Charlie to stand around awkwardly asking her fellow introverts if they’d ever seen The Magnificent Ambersons.
“It wouldn’t be if you’d just let me stay home.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“By ignoring me?”
“By forcing you out of your comfort zone,” Maddy said, giving up the search for a smoke and stuffing the handbag under her arm. “There’s more to life than movies, Charlie. If it weren’t for me or Robbie or the other girls in the dorm, you’d never talk to anyone, like, ever.”
“That’s not true,” Charlie said, even as she began to wonder if maybe it was. She couldn’t remember the last time she exchanged more than cursory small talk with someone outside of class or the insular world of their dorm. Realizing that Maddy was right only made her more angry. “I could talk to a ton of people, if I wanted to.”
“And that’s your problem,” Maddy said. “You don’t want to. Which is why I’m always the one trying to force you into it.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be forced.”
Maddy coughed out a sarcastic laugh. “That’s pretty fucking obvious.”
“Then quit trying,” Charlie said. “Friends are supposed to support each other, not change them.”
God knew she could have tried to change Maddy. The flightiness. The drama. The clothes that were more like costumes. Things so dated and preposterous that sometimes people rolled their eyes when she entered a room. But Charlie didn’t try to change those things. Because she loved them. She loved Maddy. And sometimes—like that night—she questioned if Maddy felt the same way.
“I’m not trying to change you,” Maddy said. “I just want you to live a little.”
“And I want to go the hell home.”
Charlie tried to walk away, but Maddy latched on to her arm again, pleading. “Please don’t go. You’re right. I brought you here, then ditched you, and I’m sorry. Let’s go back inside, have a drink, and dance our asses off. I won’t leave your side. I promise. Just stay.”
Maybe Charlie would have stayed if Maddy hadn’t said what came next. She was ready to forgive and forget as she always did. But then Maddy took a deep breath and said, “You know I don’t like walking home alone.”
Charlie flinched—truly flinched—when she heard it. Because it meant Maddy still made it all about her, like she always did. This wasn’t about her enjoying Charlie’s company or having fun together. She simply wanted someone to walk her drunk ass home when the party was over. It made Charlie think that maybe Robbie was right. Maybe Maddy didn’t think of her as a friend. Maybe she was only an audience member. One of many. One who was enough of a pushover to let Maddy get away with whatever bullshit she decided to pull on any given night.