The Fallen by Celia Thomson Page B

the bus had arrived early or someone at the school had arrived late, and they had to wait
outside
for the first bell. It was a brisk fall morning, and, like many other students, Chloe had not dressed for extended outside lounging; she stamped her feet and balled her fists into her pockets, considering bumming a cigarette.
    â€œI had a date,” Chloe responded coolly. It was easy in this temperature.
    â€œWith Alyec?”
    â€œNo. Someone else.”
    Amy regarded her for a long moment. She was going sort of mod today, sort of Austin Powers, in a big purple fake-fur coat and goggles.
    â€œWhat the fuck, King?” she finally said. “First you don’t even answer when I invite you to my poetry reading and now you announce this little secret life—”
    Chloe knew how she
wished
she could respond. Likethe people on TV who always had a good answer, the proper words, just enough righteous indignation:
    â€œI have a secret life? Since you and Paul started dating, it’s like neither of you exist anymore. We haven’t really seen each other except for my birthday, and suddenly you’re pissed that I won’t come to your poetry reading you so
graciously deigned
to invite me to?”
    Or at least the heartfelt, emotionally genuine pre-mutual-crying speech:
    â€œAmy, I’ve really felt abandoned recendy. I know that you and Paul have suddenly become very important in each other’s lives, and I respect that—but
we’re
friends, too. A lot has been going on in my life I haven’t had a chance to tell you about—and you’re my best friend. I really need you sometimes, and lately I feel that you just haven’t been there for me.”
    But, “I’ll be at your poetry reading,” was what she actually said, grudgingly, looking at the ground.
    â€œOh.” Amy looked confused, then relieved. “Thanks. Maybe you’ll tell me about your secret lover
then?
” Yeah. Whatever.” There was a long pause. Chloe sensed that this was a crux of a moment, what could be the beginning of a serious rift. For a second it was breathtaking, like she was poised at the edge of a canyon, at the top of a tower, ready to jump: no more annoying, pretentious Amy
or
weirdness with Paul, just a slow parting of ways behind her. In front were Alyec or Brian, the new things she could suddenlyseem to do, the freedom and excitement of the night.
    But she wasn’t ready for that yet. An image came to her mind of the lionesses in her dream and at the zoo. If they were human, they wouldn’t even let something as small or foolish as this waste their time.
    â€œCould you ask Paul to come a little later?” Chloe finally asked. “Give us some girl time to catch up?”
    Amy’s face softened.
    â€œYeah, of course! Totally. Come by at seven.”
    â€œWill do.”
    They were silent for a moment, awkward in their emotions.
    â€œSo… like my coat?” Amy finally asked.
    â€œHow many Muppets died to make that thing?” Chloe shot back, grinning.
    Chloe was in a state of mental panic when Alyec called out to her in the hallway. She didn’t hear him, overwhelmed by what she had just promised. Ame’s poetry readings were something not to be believed.
    Chloe thought madly about tiny FM radios that she could hide in her ear and pull her hair over to hide, about getting very badly drunk or stoned, about getting one of the loopier Wiccans at school to put her into a trance before the reading.
Anything
that could get her through it with her sanity intact and a straight face.
    She and Paul used to sometimes have to hold hands during them, squeezing for strength and distraction duringthe bad parts, keeping the other restrained if she or Pani couldn’t fight the urge to giggle or get up and run screaming from the café. Somehow she didn’t think that would be happening with Paul
this
time, however.
    Maybe I can puncture my