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How can you love someone who might kill herself?
How can I ask that of you?
I haven't told anyone except my therapist.
But I want you to know.
I want you to know and not run away.
I'm always going to be broken.
A knock on my door breaks my concentration.
I snap the notebook shut. "Hey."
"Hey." Emma taps her fingers against the door. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah." I push up from my desk. "I'll come out. Let's watch something."
She pulls the door open. Leans against the frame. "I was going to ask you that."
"That's why we're soul mates," I tease.
"Really?" Her voice brightens. "I've beaten out Katniss?"
"Katniss doesn't make me chocolate chip pancakes."
Emma laughs. She takes my hand and leads me down the stairs.
The room is the same as always. Clean. Quiet. Still.
She motions to the couch. Then to the kitchen. "Or you can help."
"Sure." I follow her into the tiny space and get out all the wet ingredients.
She grabs the dry ones. Measures them into a giant white bowl. "You have a look."
"It's craving for chocolate."
"No. It's something else. Contemplation."
"Is that different than normal?"
Emma laughs as she licks sugar from a spoon. "Good point."
I crack two eggs and start whisking. I am contemplative. I need to talk to someone. And I want to talk to her. She's my best friend. "You think I could tell you anything that would change your opinion of me?"
"Sure." She takes the eggs, pours them into the bowl, stirs. "If you killed someone. Or if you failed a class. Or if you fucked Dean." Her eyes light up as she turns to me. "Did you fuck Dean?"
"No."
"You're blushing."
I am?
"You did something!" The spoon drops with a splat. Her hand goes over her mouth. "Oh my God, Kay, you did!"
I try a coy shrug.
