The Guest

by Emma Cline

people could tell when you needed things, had an animal nose for failure.

“Our art needs more technology and our technology needs more art,”

There were many ways to keep knowledge from yourself, to not think too hard about things you didn’t want to confirm.

The girl smiled reflexively; girls were so polite, so ready to make others comfortable.

Alex was a sort of inert piece of social furniture—only her presence was required, the general size and shape of a young woman. Anything beyond the fact of her sitting in her chair and nodding along was a distraction.

Alex had the sick sense that she was a ghost. Wandering the land of the living. But that was dumb, a dumb thought. It was just when the day was hot like this, hot and gray, anxiety moved closer to the surface.

Maybe. Or maybe Alex saw hatred everywhere, imagined it where it didn’t exist, and that was her problem, not theirs.

He doesn’t actually care but he cares about seeming like he cares.

like all of them, the boy could be instantly and impeccably polite.

Certain hours of the night where doom made a terrible sense, where it seemed like the only possible outcome.