You Look Different in Real Life

truth and say, “Actually I wasn’t looking for anyone; I was just trying to avoid these guys,” it would be profoundly disappointing. So I just nod.
    “Yeah, I was. I was looking for you.”
    “My mom said you might,” says Rory, nodding back. “She said I should be careful.”
    I take a step into the room, then glance back to see Leslie, Lance, and Kenny gathered in the doorway. Kenny steps inside the door and to the side, holding out the boom mic so it’s above our heads but out of the camera’s frame.
    This is not how I wanted it to happen, with Rory. But I want to say the words. If I could just say them, it wouldn’t matter what happened next. They would be out and I could move forward with my life. The fact that the camera is here and they’re recording this suddenly doesn’t matter. It feels like a perfectly reasonable part of my punishment.
    “Your mom must have been pretty upset, when we stopped being friends.” Then I correct myself. “When I stopped being friends with you .” I correct myself a secondtime. “When I stopped, then started, then stopped again.”
    I think of how much her mother must have hated me while she was warning her daughter that I might pull the same crap again. I wonder if she counted all the carpools and outings and meals and sleepovers where I was part of her family. I know what I did ruined the friendship between her family and mine, but that’s something Mom and I never talked about.
    Rory looks at Lance and Leslie. “Is that why you came down here with them? So you could say all that to me on camera?”
    “These guys? No. They . . . just followed me. It’s my Follow Day.”
    Rory blinks slowly. Aimee is frozen in place on the other side of the room. It suddenly seems possible that we could all stand here silent forever. The world could end and they’d find us petrified like this, covered in ash. I still haven’t said the words. Why can’t I just say them? The camera watches me, knowing. Judging. I want to push farther into the room and grab Rory by the shoulders and just tell her. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Instead, I feel myself retreating.
    Before I know it, I’m in the hallway again and walking as fast as I can without actually running, because we’re not supposed to run in school and my body’s conditioned to obey this rule. Multiple footsteps are behind me, and together we all drum a rhythm on the floor. There’s lightover by the stairway, through the window of the door to outside, and I stop there. Let them catch up to me. Let them catch me.
    “Justine,” says Leslie, panting, her face filled with concern. “Are you okay?”
    It seems genuine and this makes me feel so ashamed. “I’m fine.” We’re silent.
    “You didn’t plan to run into Rory like that?”
    “No. That was an accident.”
    Lance and Leslie exchange a glance, one of those quick, wordless conversations they often have.
    “A fantastic accident,” says Lance. He’s still shooting, but he’s also grinning like he just got a surprise treat in his cereal box. “I can’t believe we got that.”
    “It’s the best thing we’ve shot since we started,” says Leslie, and for a second I feel really flattered. Like maybe I’ve got my groove back.
    “I’m sorry you didn’t get more. I wanted to say more.”
    “Oh, Justine,” says Leslie, putting her hand on my arm. “That’s real life. We almost never get to finish a conversation the way we want to.”
    “Next time you see Rory, maybe you can pick up where you left off,” says Lance.
    “But I’m confused,” says Leslie. “What were you talking about in there?”
    I sink down onto the second-to-bottom step. Leslie does the same, and it surprises me, how different this one littlegesture feels. She’s not standing near the camera, observing. She’s participating. Lance shifts a bit with the camera, and Kenny with him. But Leslie is right here, so I look at her face, which seems interested in what I might say.
    And I talk.
    I tell her about the new friends when I was eleven, and about my mother’s request, and being with Rory during the time they were shooting, and then about the ditching. I describe what it’s been like to see Rory alone every day at school, and how heavy five years’ worth of guilt can be. I even tell them about feeling jealous that Rory found some place where she belongs.
    When I’m done, they’re all quiet and I close my eyes to the feeling of relief. It’s all out. It’s messy and gross