Free I Was Here by Gayle Forman Page B

you?
    Tacoma
.
    There’s a lag before the next text. Then,
Come visit them? They grow up so fast.
    I’m not entirely sure why my stomach does a little tumble except that the thought
     of seeing Ben McCallister is both repulsive and the opposite of that. Before I’ve
     had a chance to think too much about it, I text back:
Okay
.
    Three seconds later:
Need a lift?
    I’m covered
.
    He sends me his address and tells me to text him when I’m on the road.
    x x x
    There’s a whole vanload from Harry’s church group going to Seattle, and I’m a little
     shocked to find Stoner Richard crammed into the back.
    “Hey, Cody,” he says.
    “Hey, Richard,” I reply. “Didn’t take you for a—”
    “A Christian?” He laughs. “I’m just in it for the paint fumes. I’m all out of weed.”
    One of the girls in the middle seat throws a paint roller at him. “Shut up, Richard.
     You are so full of shit.”
    Cursing, stoner, do-gooding Christians. Okaayy.
    She turns to me. “His father is a minister in Boise. Do you go to church?”
    “Only because memorial services are so often held in them.”
    She and Richard and Harry exchange a look, and even though I don’t think she goes
     to Cascades, it’s clear she knows what—and who—I’m talking about.
    Someone blasts Sufjan Stevens, and Richard and Harry and the rest of the van sing
     along all the way to the outskirts of Seattle. I text Ben that I’m nearby.
    Repeat just hit the litter box,
he texts back.
I’ll save it for you
.
    I allow a smile at that.
    “Careful.” This from Stoner Richard. We’re pulling onto the off-ramp now, and he is
     climbing over the back row.
    “You’re the one surfing in a moving vehicle.”
    He squeezes next to me. “I know how guys like that are. Saw how he was with Meg. Charming
     on the outside, but inside, total douche.”
    And here’s the crazy awful horrible thing. For one second, I almost defend Ben. But
     then I catch myself and I’m appalled, because Richard is right. Ben is a dick. He
     slept with Meg and then he blew her off, and now that she’s dead, he feels bad about
     it and he’s trying to be nice to me to make up for it.
    I’m not sure why I’m here, why I’m in Tacoma picking at scabs that need to scar. Or
     why I’m in Seattle, being dropped off in front of a shabby Craftsman bungalow in Lower
     Queen Anne. But it’s like I’m being pushed along by a momentum stronger than me, because
     before I have a chance to change my mind, to tell the do-gooders that I’ll come with
     them for the afternoon and paint, Harry is telling me they’ll be back around five,
     and Richard is eyeing me with an expression that I can only describe as paternal,
     though I’m the last person in the world who would know what that actually looks like,
     and the van is roaring off.
    I stand in front of the fading blue house, beer cans and cigarette butts out front.
     I try to summon some of that anger, that hatred for Ben, to somehow propel me inside.
    The door cracks open and out comes a little gray blur. I watch it go by. Pete. Ben
     was right. He’s gotten bigger.
    Then the door swings wider, and Ben runs after him in bare feet, his hair wet. “Shit!”
    “What?”
    “We don’t let them out in the front.” He dives under a bush and comes back holding
     Pete by the scruff of his neck. “Too much traffic.”
    “Oh.”
    Ben holds out the now-compliant kitten for me to take. So I kiss him on his fuzzy
     head and he proceeds to claw me right under my ear.
    “Ouch!” I yell.
    “He gets a little rambunctious.”
    “I can see that.” I hand him back to Ben.
    “Let’s go inside,” he says.
    He opens the door to the house. The hardwood floors are scuffed, but there are nice
     new built-in wooden shelves everywhere, full of books, record albums, and flickering
     novena candles. Ben turns on a light and leans in, and for a second I think he’s going
     to kiss me or something, and my fists tighten. But he pulls back my