Every You, Every Me by David Levithan Page B

distracted, you just looked lonely over there. At least to me. But whenever I would tell you that, you’d say, “I’m fine. I just slip out of it, you know?” And I’d say, “I’ll catch you,” and you would say, “It’s not the kind of slipping you can catch.”
    “Where did you get that?” Fiona asked. She wasn’t staring at the photograph—her green eyes were focused on me, only me. “If it was your photo, you’d know who was in it.”
    “I found it,” I said, knowing how lame this sounded. “In the hall. I figured whoever it was would want it back.”
    “I still think it looks like you,” Katie said.
    “Whatever,” Charlie said.
    I felt foolish for trying. And part of me wanted to give in to the foolishness—to make copies of the photos and hang them around the halls like Wanted posters—asking Have you seen this man? Maybe offering a reward. As a way of solving this uncertainty mystery. Only, if I did that, the photographer would know. She would see it, and she would retreat. She’d cover her trail. You and I are walking in the snow. “Why are you walking backwards?” I ask. You point in the direction we came from. “So they’ll think that’s where I’m going.” You point to where we’re going. “And that’s where I’m from.”
    I changed the conversation. I thought I’d gone unnoticed. But after school, Fiona tracked me down.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    I shoved my books in my locker. Closed it.
    “What do you mean?” I said.
    “You’ve been weird for a week now. Something’s going on.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumbled. Then I realized I was staring at the ground, not her. She’d never believe me if I didn’t look at her. So I did, and the expression on her face was part pity, part annoyance, part understanding.
    “It’s like—” she said. Then stopped.
    “What? What is it like?” I asked.

11B
    That night, I broke about a hundred promises to myself and looked at your old online profile. I thought maybe there’d be some answers there. Or evidence.
    It said your last log-in was the day in the clearing. You must’ve checked it before we went to school. Before the three of us left to hang out. Before.
    Fiona’s expression didn’t change. “It’s like right before it happened with Ariel, Evan. I know I wasn’t there, but I was around it. I saw things. I remember how overwhelmed you were.”
    “It’s not like that,” I argued.
    It was painful to see you frozen like that, frozen in time. It wasn’t like you were smiling in your profile picture, or even happy—even though there were times you were happy anything something and there were times you were smiling kittens! playing poker! ; you just weren’t the type to parade them. Instead it was a shot I had taken of you leaning against my bed, staring me down. I’d been so excited when you chose it for your profile pic. So honored. Ridiculous.
    I clicked on that picture to see more pictures.
    “Then what’s it like? What’s going on?” Fiona asked.
    There was no way for me to tell her. Because I felt that if I told her one thing, I’d have to tell her everything in order to explain it. Everything.
    I could feel all the memories pressing against the leaky wall I’d put up to hold them back. The pressure was enormous, and I had to throw my body up against it in my mind, this was all in my mind so the memories didn’t drown me. I was not going to look at the familiar pictures the parties, making faces into the camera phone, the birthdays, the two of us —I was looking for something unfamiliar, something I hadn’t noticed before.
    “Evan,” Fiona said, not reaching out with her hand, but with her voice, “I’m on your side.”
    “But who’s on the other side, Fiona?” I had to ask. “Is it her? Does that mean you’re against her?”
    Fiona pulled back. “Evan, something’s wrong with you. Even if nobody else can see it, I can see it.”
    I found one. Three