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Twenty-Nine
“This documentary has no ending,” I say into the camera.
I take a deep breath. “The ending was supposed to be giving Trevor the VR headset we made,” I say, holding up the cheap goggles I bought for holding a smartphone in front of your eyes, “but then you found out that I manipulated your story and, rightfully, you’re pretty pissed off. So. This will have to do.”
I’m about to turn off the camera, but stop myself. I look into the lens, not feeling the scrutiny of the Temple admissions office, but of Holden. I’m not turning the documentary in. On the very unlikely chance that I got in with it, I couldn’t live with that. I’d be doing the thing Holden specifically told me not to by making Trevor a plot device—treating a suffering, sickfriendof mine as nothing more than the key to my own success. I’d be a terrible documentarian, having manipulated my subjects, having lied, having ignored their revoked consent. I’m more likely to be a reality TV producer at this rate.
“I like being able to filter the world to my liking, so peoplesee me or what I want them to see, the way I want them to see it. And that fear of being exposed as something imperfect is what got me into this mess. If I had just been honest... If I had let things unfold the way they were supposed to, I would have a lot less problems in my life.
“I’m always looking for a story, but I ignored my part in this one because, I don’t know, I’m not the hero. I’m the villain. And that’s hard to acknowledge until everything falls apart. I’m sorry, Holden. I was wrong. And I’ll try to make it up to you.”
I stop recording, transfer the footage to my computer, and add it to the end of the documentary. I don’t want to overthink it, so I just put it on a flash drive with the VR footage for Holden, and then close my laptop.
My mom just left for work, so the car is gone when I need to make my way to Holden’s through a gust of flurries. His beat-up minivan isn’t outside his house when I knock.
“He’s not here,” Mara says, trying to close the door in my face.
I slide my foot in to stop it and offer the flash drive. “Will you please just give him this? I finished.”
There’s hesitation clear in her eyes when she looks at my outstretched hand. “I shouldn’t. You should give it to him.” She gnaws at her bottom lip. “He’s with Taj right now.”
I sigh, a huff of cold air filling the space between us, and pocket the drive.
Mara frowns. “Why’d you do it?”
“I was selfish.”
The door opens a fraction more. “Are you guys going to befriends again in time for my date?”
A sharp pang attacks my heart. “I don’t think so. Ihopeso, but you’re probably going with just Holden.”
Her composure splits. “He was only invited because he has the car! I need you there.”
“Maybe Taylor can go?”
“She’s back at school.” Her bottom lip juts out. “When I told her to go back there, I didn’t really mean it. Now I don’t have her or you. And Holden’s a total mope. And I can’t hang out with Trevor because I can’t get to the hospital on my own and my parents are always busy.” She sniffs. “I’m lonely.”
I pull her into a tight hug and she exhales so deeply I think maybe I punctured her. “It’ll be okay.”
“You have to make this right,” she says into my embrace. “He was so happy lately and you’re, like, the coolest friend he has.”
“I’m going to do my best.”
“I don’t think I can stay friends with you if he’s not friends with you.”
I want to laugh at this, but she’s being serious, so I just squeeze her tighter and then release. “I’ll try. I can’t lose both of you.”
She wipes away a tear and nods. “At least he has a huge, big, monstrous crush on you, so he’ll probably be more inclined to forgive you. Don’t tell him I told you, though.”
I smile. “Good to know.”
Before the first bell rings the next day, I find Taj at his locker and politely threaten him into telling me where Holden is. Twominutes later, I walk into the computer lab—also known as Holden’s Fortress of Solitude—as he’s flitting through several yearbook photos in Photoshop.
He eyes me warily when I enter, but because there’s another kid in here, earbuds in his ears, I think maybe I’m safe from any outright yelling Holden’s reserved for me.
“I can’t tell you to leave because the lab is open to anyone right now, but you should leave,” he says, eyes back on his computer, the glow from the screen highlighting the dark circles under his eyes.
I sit down next to him, and it takes me an embarrassing amount of time to calm down. I watch as he tweaks the photos in minor ways, distractingly awed at his work. The photos are stunning to start with, but once he’s worked on them for one, two minutes, they come alive, like he knew exactly what he would do with them when he took the photos.
