People crowd in the kitchen, giving away Owen’s location. I’m too scared to go inside. I fiddle with the abacus beads, sliding them back and forth.

“Have you seen the front porch? It’s got this really comfortable rocking chair,” Aimee says. She tries to lead Diane that way, but my sister refuses.

“What’s going on?”

Marian’s eyes bulge, and she looks down at her drink. Aimee, as usual, is the composed one. “The chair’s nice. We want to catch up.”

“Bullshit,” I blurt out, without even realizing that my mouth had opened, startling all three women. I expected smugness today, but not nastiness. Yeah, Diane may be single, but why does that deserve rubbernecking?

“Diane.”

I know that voice. Diane knows it better than anyone in this house.

My throat tightens as if my tongue fell backward. The abacus slips from my slick hands, and I grab it at the last second. Diane may appear totally fine to her former friends and acquaintances, but I notice her trembling hands. She shoves them into her pockets.

She turns around at a glacial pace, trying to delay the humiliation as long as possible. “Hi,” she says.

Sankresh stands in the kitchen doorway. He strokes Priya’s hand. The sunlight hits her ring just right. It’s bigger than Diane’s was.

The room is quiet. Owen’s crying fills the empty space.

Memories and feelings from that day crash through the mental barrier I had erected. I want to go over there and strangle Sankresh. For taking four years of Diane’s life. For being a coward. For using the “I’ve fallen out of love” excuse.

I make eye contact with Erin. She cradles Owen against her shoulder, and her husband cradles her. She looks down, nestling herself farther into her husband’s arms.

Sankresh takes a step forward. “I didn’t—”

“Know I was coming,” Diane says.

Aimee rubs Diane’s arm, but my sister shrugs her off.

Owen won’t shut up. He’s screaming no matter how much Erin bounces him.

“Let’s go,” Diane says to me, but I’m frozen. All the relationship zombies stare at her, except for her supposed friends. Maybe later I’ll appreciate the irony.

“Becca! C’mon.” She rips the abacus from my grasp and tosses it on the coffee table, where it clanks jarringly against the glass. The sound bellows in the silent room.

I keep my head down, focused on the heels of Diane’s shoes. I don’t shut the front door behind me. The street has a creepy vibe I didn’t notice before. It’s like the houses are watching us, waiting for us to leave.

“Diane! Wait!” Erin scurries onto the front lawn babyless.

“Let’s go.” Diane doesn’t turn around.

Erin’s heel gets caught on something—a piece of gum?—and she falls face-first onto the lawn. I want to help her. She’s going to get grass stains on her white pants, and for some reason, that hits me in the gut. But I keep walking.

The car’s raring to go. Diane peers over the steering wheel at Erin, her face softening with concern. I swear she’s about to open her car door when Erin’s husband races outside and scoops her up. Diane peels away from the curb.

I close my passenger door while we’re halfway down the street. Diane seems ready and willing to crash through the front gate, but it opens automatically. After the first traffic light, Diane pulls off to the side of the road.

“Are you okay?” I ask. The answer’s obvious.

Diane stares out the windshield. Then, out of nowhere, she punches the steering wheel. Over and over. Gasping for breath. Grunts and indecipherable phrases sputter out of her mouth like a blender without the lid. The punching gets faster, more frantic. I feel like I’m the one getting pummeled and now tears form in my eyes.

Finally, she stops.

Without saying a word, she turns the car back on, and we drive away.

19

I shouldn’t be in school today. I’m in the cafeteria before homeroom trying to do some homework, but it’s no use. There’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate. Owen’s birthday debacle plays on a loop in my mind, and no lesson plan can steal away my interest.

Ezra and Jeff find me sitting here, but I’m not in the mood for human contact, especially from Mr. Romantic.

“Studying for homeroom?” Jeff says, adjusting his baggy sweater under his backpack. “Now that is dedication.”

“So last night I found this article about the ending of Casablanca, and I hate to say it, but it actually gives your theory some credence.” Ezra beams with excitement. He raises his eyebrows at me, awaiting my response.

I shrug my shoulders and go back to studying my history notes.

“I’ll email you the article.”

I nod, not taking my eyes off my notebook. I’m trying my best to stay nice, but I just want the whole world to disappear right now.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

Diane stayed in her room all night with the door locked watching old sitcoms. I stood outside her door listening for sounds of crying, but all I could hear was a laugh track. I wonder what Sankresh and Priya were up to last night. The guests at Owen’s party were probably in stitches about the incident; Diane is probably their new favorite punch line.

“You sure?”

I nod. “I just have a test later.”

“Isn’t that always how it goes? I guess that explains why you’re here so early.”

“Yeah.” The banging of her fists against the steering wheel still pierces my eardrums. Sankresh wouldn’t know what that’s like. Ezra wouldn’t.

“I gotta jet,” Jeff says. “I told Carrie I’d help decorate her friend’s locker for her birthday.”

“She needs to loosen that leash,” Ezra says.

“Tell me about it!” Jeff waves and runs backward out into the hall. He would never do what Sankresh did to Diane. He’s too scared of his girlfriend. Or maybe he would and just slink away. Maybe it’s easier for guys to be weasels than actual human beings.

Ezra strums his fingers against the top of a chair. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He readjusts his hemp necklace, waiting for me to say goodbye. His eyes do the up-and-to-the-left thing, like he’s perpetually having a stroke. “Well, then. See you later.”

I can’t let him go like this. Guys like him have been let off the hook enough times. Monica had to nurse a broken heart while Ezra lived it up with Isabelle; now somewhere Isabelle is crying while he and Val bicker about who should stop staring. Why do people want to be in love when they know its side effects? Some really are that selfish.

“Ezra,” I say. He stops at a neighboring table. “Did you even care when you dumped Isabelle and Monica? Or were you ‘whatever’ about it since you already had another girl lined up?”

All friendliness fades from his face. He goes into defense mode. “No.”

“Are you sure? It seems like you follow a pattern and Val’s next.”

He digs his hands farther into his hoodie. A sign of guilt?

“Why don’t you go back to studying?” he says.

“Just answer the question, Ezra. Val’s my best friend. I want to prepare her if she’s going to get blown off. Is there a time limit or do you just get bored?”

“What is up with you?”

“Do you even care about the people you hurt?” I shake my head in disgust. “You’re all the same.”

Sadness creases his face. I look at his drooping eyes and get a flash of the guy who helped me ice-skate. Ezra storms out of the cafeteria.

I chase after him, catching him halfway down the hall.

“What?” he asks, not wanting to know the answer.

I don’t say anything at first, then, as if the words were waiting in the wings, I launch into the story about Diane and Sankresh and Owen’s party.

“Whoa,” he says. “That sucks.”

“It’s just... What happened with those other girls?”

He shrugs, his smooth, witty self in hiding. “Things just didn’t work out.”

“What does that even mean?”

He softens. His warm, hazel eyes laser into me like I’m learning to skate, although this time, he wants to show me something else. “We weren’t in love.”

“Not the love excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“It totally is. Whenever somebody wants to get out of a relationship, but they don’t want to say the real reason, they use the love excuse. How can such a strong feeling just go away? It’s not a cold.”

“You’re not in love with someone when you start dating them,” Ezra says. His face lights up. “You feel something for them, something different and special. It might be love. It might not. You hope that what you have develops into love, but sometimes it doesn’t. It’s all about taking a chance. Love isn’t a mathematical formula.”

“You’re just giving people an excuse to do whatever they want. I love you...now I don’t. I’m so tired of people using that to be completely shitty to each other.”

“So you think I was shitty to Isabelle? We were both miserable by the end. We would hang out after school and not say a word to each other. I tried talking to her about how things weren’t working, but she wouldn’t listen. She wanted to stay in a relationship.” Ezra licks his lips, making them stand out even more against his light skin. “Break-ups are never clean, never easy. Just because I wasn’t crying in the bathroom doesn’t mean I didn’t care. No offense to your sister, but you only know her side of the story.”

That last line stings, even though it may be true. Maybe Sankresh went through his own silent hell. I’ll never know. It’s an interesting thought. I only hear about one side of relationships from my sister and my clients.

The warning bell for homeroom rings.