Page 127 of You + Me – Against the World

“You’re lecturing me about who gets to date whom?”

“No… Look, I know he can be generous, reassuring, dependable… But he isn’t necessarily the perfect guy you think he is.”

“What are you talking about?” Clémentine demands indignantly. “He works with troubled youths. He’s dedicated his life to it! He spends his time running all over town, even in the middle of the night, to get guys like you out of deep shit!”

“Why are you saying that, Vadim?” I whisper softly. “I thought you admired him, that you owed him a lot…”

“Yes, there was a point in my life when he helped me. And Felix. And I’m grateful to him for that. But… he didn’t become a social worker by chance. He used to be one of those guys, before.”

“So what?” Clem shoots back angrily. “I must be dreaming… Arcadi is judging people based on their past! Are you okay? I’m starting to get the feeling that Edward Lancaster is a bad influence on you!”

That image makes me uncomfortable. And this conversation does, too.

“I’m just saying,” Vadim responds, trying to keep a lid on his emotions, “that Keith is a very smart guy who speaks eloquently, who doesn’t have any trouble influencing people, who is capable of making them do just about anything—and above all, making them believe that it’s for their own good. I’m telling you this because you’re Alma’s best friend: just be careful, that’s all. I don’t care about the rest!”

“And I’m telling you that I’ve never been so happy in my life! And, Alma,” she whispers to me, loud enough for Vadim to hear, “I reckon you should be wary of him. There’s something suspicious about a guy who changes his mind that quickly!”

I’m completely blindsided. First, I learn that my childhood friend is dating a 30-year-old, ripped bodybuilder who, apparently, has a very high sex drive. And second, I learn that my boyfriend does not have as much faith as I believed he did in the man who was supposed to be like a surrogate father to him. I know he finds Keith too strict sometimes, and that he resents him for distancing him from Felix, but I feel like there’s more to it than that. Like Vadim hasn’t told me everything. And judging by Clémentine’s radiant smile and the way she defended Keith tooth and nail, she really is in love.

How can I possibly argue with that?

43

Vadim’s warnings have done nothing to deter Clémentine, who is totally swept up in her new relationship. She dashes off as soon as classes end and returns in the early hours of the morning; her face tired but smiling, dark circles under her shining eyes. I don’t really have a best friend anymore, but I know she is happy, and that means everything to me—I was so afraid that she would one day blame me for our rushed departure to the United States. At least she is living her American dream. And she’s certainly not doing it by halves.

As for me, I no longer have any irritating admirers. I haven’t heard from Caleb in two weeks, and Tim makes a point to ignore me on campus. If I set aside Mr. Abrams, who no longer speaks to me except to viciously criticize my work, there is only one person left blocking my path.

The winding, rocky path, full of arduous hills, steep slopes, and insurmountable obstacles, that leads me to Vadim Arcadi.

***

The person in question has the longest, shiniest hair I have ever seen in my life. The darkest, hardest eyes that could possibly belong to a human being. The most defined muscles and the most perfectly proportioned curves I’ve ever seen on a woman’s body. This person also has the confidence I wish I had, the nerve I sometimes lack, and the cold detachment of a surgeon, plus she is capable of acting with the kind of easy familiarity guys have when they meet for the first time.

Her only flaw, if she has one, has got to be her lack of composure. I don’t think she controls her emotions as well as she would like.

At least, that’s the impression Cheyenne gives me when I gather all my courage and approach her one evening, without telling Vadim. I ask her for a one-on-one conversation, a private meeting whose time and place no one else can know. Looking me in the eye, she accepts without blinking once and without smiling.

When I see her the next day, at the entrance to the park she chose as our meeting place, the wind is ruffling her hair, and she appears to be even more beautiful than I remembered. The rolled hems on her denim shorts aren’t the same on each leg, and I wonder whether it’s an intentional style choice or just a detail she couldn’t care less about. Whatever the reason, it just makes me admire her more. Her loose, heather-gray tank top, worn without a bra, makes her look both casual and effortlessly charming. But what really stands out is how she looks me straight in the eyes with every step she takes, not caring for a second that she’s making me uncomfortable.

Cheyenne doesn’t care about social conventions. Or maybe she has simply chosen not to follow them.

“Hi, Emma.”

“It’s Alma.”

“I know. I just wanted to see if you’d correct me this time.”

She doesn’t smile, but her eyes sparkle.

“I respond better to people who are wearing clothes,” I retort.

“Ah, that’s right, you didn’t really find my little joke funny.”

“I still have a hard time believing it was a joke. That’s actually why I’m here.”

“Honest, direct: I like that. Should we sit?”

I head toward the nearest bench, but—clearly thinking she can get me to do whatever she wants—she chooses the lawn a few feet away instead. She drops down onto it with a “do whatever you want, but I’m not moving” attitude that forces me to follow.