SIMON
It’s hot, way too hot, and it stinks of chlorine and smoke and booze and bodies. Screams, shouts, and splashes echo against the tiles and the windows and the high ceiling, drowning out the music from the speakers. I recognize one of Tilda’s playlists. It was her idea to have the party here. She still has the keys.
School was supposed to start today. That’s why we’re partying. We’re pretending that it’s something to celebrate. If things had been normal, I’d be a junior now.
I look at the large clock at the end of the swimming pool. Realize that I’ve spent an hour passed out in the bathroom. Wasted a huge chunk of time that’s already getting shorter. The seconds relentlessly rush past.
Four weeks and five days left.
Our days are numbered. Today, our final, tiny bit of hope was taken from us. Goodbye, cruel world.
I take a sip of moonshine; it tastes awful, not matter what you mix it with, but it’s the only thing available these days.
I search for Tilda among the heads bobbing in the turquoise water. This is her world, her place, her friends. I don’t know where I fit in anymore. I only know that I don’t want to stay. But I can’t go home, either.
Everywhere around me, people are slipping across the wet floor. There’s going to be an accident; it’s in the air. Hampus flips into the water, and his neck grazes the concrete edge of the pool. When I dived in a little while ago, I had to struggle back to the surface.
There were arms and legs everywhere.
I empty the plastic bottle, and someone pounds me on the back. Ali. He laughs and says something I can’t make out.
“Huh?”
“I said, Where have you been?”
“Have you seen Tilda?”
I can hear myself slurring: Hseetllda?
“Who gives a shit about Tilda?” Ali shouts, and runs toward the pool, gathering his legs up in the air to land in the water with an explosive splash.
I stumble on, past the bleachers where I’ve sat countless times to watch Tilda compete.
There are droves of bodies—some have fallen asleep, alone or curled up together. Others are having sex. A girl has wrapped a towel around herself and is riding a guy on the first row. I bump into his knee when I walk past them.
Johannes walks toward me from the short end of the pool. His curly hair is dripping, and his shoulders are up as if he’s cold. He says hi to someone who passes him but doesn’t take his eyes off me. My best friend. I can tell he’s worried about me. His girlfriend, Amanda, is sitting with a group of people in front of the low, tiled wall. Elin says something that makes them all laugh, but Amanda sneaks a look at me as she gathers her hair and wrings it out.
Johannes puts his cold hands on my shoulder. His fingertips are wrinkled with water.
“What’s up?” he says.
“Have you seen Tilda?”
This time, I manage not to slur. Johannes tries to smile. “I think she went home.”
“Johannes,” I say. “I love you, but you’re a terrible liar.”
He brushes aside the wet hair sticking to his forehead.
“Come on,” he says. “You’re wasted. Let’s go somewhere and talk.”
That would be a much better idea. I know that. But then I hear Tilda’s laughter. Behind the low wall is the kids’ pool with its red plastic slide. Johannes follows my gaze toward it. “Simon, come with me instead. We can get out of here if you want.”
I don’t say anything. It’s too late. I have to know.
Johannes calls my name as I round the wall.
This side isn’t as crowded. I spot her immediately. Tilda is on her belly on a float in the middle of the pool. Even from this distance, I can tell that she’s high. Her pupils are wide and dark. She’s in a swimsuit she used to wear during her competitions. The swim club’s logo on the chest, Tilda in cursive on her ass.
Sait is on his knees next to her; the water only reaches halfway up his six-pack. He drags Tilda off the float. She shrieks with laughter. Their teeth glow in the underwater lights. I still love you, Tilda told me at the beginning of June. It was just days after we first heard about the comet.
She loves me, but it’s not enough.
I just want to live life to the fullest in the time we have left, she’d said.
So do I. But I want to do it with her. To me, Tilda is life. She’s the one I want to be with when the sky turns white.
Sait pulls her close in the water. I barely know him; he’s a few years older than us. His hand is inside Tilda’s swimsuit. His knuckles are clearly visible beneath the thin fabric. She closes her eyes when he kisses the side of her neck.
I should go, but I feel paralyzed.
I don’t want to see more, but I can’t look away, either.
Someone screams behind me. Tilda looks up. Our eyes meet. Sait brushes drops of water from his eyes and spots me, too.
I can finally move. I walk as quickly as I can without slipping, vaguely aware that some girls lounging by the pool’s edge are watching me. I jog past the dark café and into the locker room. When the door slides shut behind me, the music and the voices are muffled. I can hear my own breathing, heavy and panting.
It stinks in here. Someone vomited in one of the showers. Partly digested food is stuck in the drain grate. I continue between the rows of lockers, barely able to stay upright. It’s as though all the strength has left my body. My skin is tingling, my head spinning.
I collapse on one of the benches. Think to myself that I should have gone with Johannes. I can’t go back and look for him, but I just want to leave , and I don’t think I can make it alone.
The door to the locker room opens and closes. Wet footsteps sound against the tile, then against the plastic carpet.
When I look up, she’s standing there. Tilda has wrapped her arms around herself. Her dark hair is pushed back, dripping onto the floor by her feet. Her eyes are as glassy as a doll’s. A few months ago, I would have laughed if anyone had told me Tilda would ever do drugs. A lot has changed since then.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she says. “I didn’t think you were still here.”
“Can’t we leave?” I say. “Just go? I miss you so fucking much.”
Tilda shakes her head. I should shut up, but what do I have to lose?
“I don’t want to be alone,” I say, and realize I’m slurring again.
“That’s not a good reason to stay together.”
“It’s not the only reason.”
I pull on the rubber band around my wrist. My locker key jangles against the numbered badge. I let go of the band, letting it snap against my skin over and over again, to clear my head. But I barely feel it.
“I love you,” I say. “Why don’t you want to be with me?”
“I don’t want to be with anyone in the time we have left. You know that. I want to be able to do whatever I want.”
“We can have an open relationship,” I try.
A crooked smile. She doesn’t believe me. I don’t even believe myself.
“We can try it out,” I insist. “We belong together.”
Tilda sits down next to me. She looks sad, but I don’t know in what way. Maybe she misses me, too. Maybe she just feels sorry for me.