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“I didn’t stop being your friend. You were always so busy. You fit in so easily. Everyone just loved you. And yeah, I had friends, but eventheyseemed to like you more. And don’t get me started on Mom and Dad...” I look up at her, but she’s turned her face to the wall. “It’s all soeasyfor you—school, making friends, meeting expectations. It felt like whenever you came around, I was suddenly not good enough. It happened in high school, and then the same thing happened in college. And I just wanted something to bemine. God, it sounds so stupid, but I just wanted to be someone’s favorite for once.”
Clara laughs. Tears slip down her cheeks, and when she turns to me, there’s anger in her face. “You wanted to be someone’s favorite? You weremyfavorite.”
Clara scoots out of the booth, and when she stands beside the table, I feel impossibly small. “Do youseriouslythink everything is easy for me? I did summer school and internships and alternative spring breaks because I had to if I wanted to keep up. Just because Mom and Dad were always comparing us doesn’t mean everyone else was.Youwere the only person I could let my guard down around, and then you just...leftme. And I needed you. I need you right now. But you know what? I don’t want to step on your toes. I don’t want to take anything away from you.”
When Clara turns and heads for the door, I shoo Sebastian out of the way and follow after her. “Where are you going?”
“I’m grabbing my suitcase and going to find some gold body paint so I can be a human statue all by myself!” She reaches the door on the last word and pushes through it. It swings shut behind her like some kind of mic drop.
I stand there for a moment, stunned. I feel everyone’s eyes on me. It’s so quiet that the only sounds are Jack asking me what happened and my own stupid song playing overhead.
—
When I catch up to Clara, she’s sitting beside the door to the flat.
“Forgot I don’t have a key,” she says.
I don’t say anything as I pull the key from my pocket. Clara gets to her feet and rushes past me when I open the door. I step in behind her, trying to figure out what to say as I watch her make a beeline for the bedroom. While I watch at the door, she tosses the few things she unpacked back into her suitcase.
She zips her suitcase with finality and sets it upright, pulling up the handle with a snap.
“Can we talk? Please?”
Clara looks away from me. “You haven’t seemed very interested in talking to me lately, so I don’t know, you tell me.”
“I want to talk.” I cross the room, and she doesn’t resist when I take the suitcase from her and set it back down. I sit on the end of the bed and rest my feet on top of the suitcase so she’ll be less inclined to pick it up and flee. “Let’s talk,” I say, and pat the bed.
Clara looks at the spot on the bed beside me but doesn’t sit down. Instead she leans against the wall opposite me and stares at a strand of hair that’s come loose from her bun. “You go first.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
Clara winds that loose strand of hair between her fingers. If she won’t look at me, maybe this conversation will be easier if I don’t look at her either. Eye contact can be so... distracting, especially when I’m going to have to say things I’m not sure I want to say. I lie back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “For hurting you. For pulling away. I had no idea you felt that way. I didn’t think you really cared.”
“Of course I cared. And you would’ve known that if you ever bothered to have a real conversation with me.”
“You’re right.” My heart feels tender and raw, like my fingers often do after I’ve played guitar for too long. It’s probably just as callused too. “I’m sorry. It’s just... it was already hard feeling like I couldn’t live up to expectations without being compared to you, and you just always seemed to fit in better than me. And I know that’s not your fault, but telling myself that you were the problem was less painful than having to look at myself.”
I try to blink back tears, but it’s no use. “If you’re the problem, then I don’t have to ask myself what I’m doing wrong. Why I’m such a mess. Why I can’t just get my life together. I mean, look at me!” I spread my arms out on the bed. “I’m twenty-eight! I don’t feel twenty-eight. I’m voluntarily homeless. I’ve never had a real job. I’ve never been in a real relationship. Not a good one, anyway. And I’m just... deluding myself thinking I can make a career out of this music thing. I’m too scared to put out my own music. I can’t even stick to a regular posting schedule! Not that I’ve evenhadanything good to post since my guitar got stolen.”
“Wait... what?”
Crap.I forgot I hadn’t told her. Though what does it really matter now? She’s been here less than twenty-four hours and I’ve already had two public meltdowns. “The real reason I’m in Cobh is because all my stuff got stolen. I met Jack. He offered me a job. And that’s the only reason I didn’t have to go home.”
“Raine, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve helped you. I would’ve sent you money.”
I sit up on my elbows. “I didn’t want you to know. You were so upset when I dropped out of med school. I didn’t want anyone knowing what a fuckup I am.”
Clara drops the strand of hair between her fingers and sits beside me. “You’re not a fuckup, Raine.”
I laugh. “Really? Come on, Miss Perfect.”
She shakes her head. “I’m really not. I...” She pauses to let out a puff of breath. “I’m a fraud.”
“What do you mean?”
“I missed a quiz for anatomy because I was finishing my term paper for histology. And then I flaked out on a group project for bio-chem because I got my weeks mixed up and...” She closes her eyes. “You said you hit a wall. Well, I hit a wall. You at least made it through two years. Congrats, you’re better than me, because I can’t even make it through one. I’m not cut out for medicine.”
