Between

by Jessica Warman

  Caroline blows a tiny bubble. It pops, leaving shreds of pink gum on her glossy lips. “I guess that makes sense.”

  He smiles. “It drives my parents crazy, too. My mom hates Nicole. She calls her a home wrecker, which I guess she kind of is. But that’s history. It wasn’t Josie’s fault.” He peers up at Caroline again. “It’s not awful, is it? My being with Josie, I mean? It feels okay. Josie’s nice enough. It almost feels natural.”

  Caroline leans over, scoops her shoes off of the floor, and lets them dangle from her hand. She doesn’t answer Richie’s question about Josie. “It’s only a rumor that they’re sisters. Nobody knows for sure. And you know Liz didn’t think it was true.”

  “My parents believe it. And Josie and Mr. Valchar sure do look alike.”

  Caroline starts to walk away. “I’ll see you in there, okay? The dance is almost over. I’m sure Josie’s looking for you.” She pauses. “And, Richie? Parents don’t know everything.”

  He lets out a deep breath. “Ain’t that the truth,” he murmurs.

  I watch my friend stroll toward the double doors to the gymnasium. She and Richie are still alone in the hallway. Just before she reaches out to open the door, Caroline pauses. She looks over her shoulder at my boyfriend. He’s picking up the pieces of his shredded boutonniere, collecting the wilted rose petals in his cupped hand.

  “Hey,” Caroline says, “can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Richie looks like he has no plans to get up and rejoin the dance anytime soon. He opens and closes his hand around the petals, watching as they shrivel from the heat of his palm.

  “When you voted for homecoming court, did you write in Liz’s name?”

  He leans his head against the wall. He closes his eyes. For just a second, I almost think he’s going to cry.

  But he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes shut. He tilts his head toward the ceiling. He smiles. I know he’s thinking about me.

  “Yeah,” he says, “I did.”

  Caroline’s hand is on the door. She pulls it open a few inches. Noise from the gymnasium spills into the hallway, a din of teenage voices and a loud Black Eyed Peas song blaring, the poor acoustics in the room making everything sound a little bit fuzzy.

  “Me, too,” she admits.

  Richie opens his eyes. He looks at Caroline. The two of them are almost grinning at each other.

  “She was something,” my boyfriend finally says. “Wasn’t she?”

  Caroline keeps smiling. But she doesn’t say anything. She kneels down and slips on her shoes. She stands in the open doorway, visibly adjusting her posture, smoothing her dress, patting her updo to make sure everything is in place. Then she steps into the dance, leaving Richie alone in the hallway.

  Only then, once there is nobody else around, does he allow himself to cry. He doesn’t make a sound.

  When the dance is over, my friends make their way back to the limo waiting outside. As soon as the driver sees them, he quickly tucks a bottle of liquor—poorly concealed in a paper bag—into his jacket pocket.

  “All riiiight,” Chad says, smirking. “Been having some fun while you’re waiting for us?”

  The driver leans against the limo, crosses his arms. “What else am I supposed to do?” He snorts. “Read a damn book?”

  “We’re ready to go,” Caroline says. She has taken off her shoes again, and has given them to Chad to hold. “Can you drive us to a party without wrecking the car?”

  “You want to go to a party?” The driver looks at his watch. “It’s eleven already. You’re only paid up until midnight.”

  “So we’ll pay you a little extra,” Topher says. “It’s not a problem.”

  “Wait.” Josie grabs Richie’s arm. “I’m not getting into that limo if he’s been drinking.”

  Richie looks bored and tired, his buzz from the schnapps long gone. “It’s like two miles to Chad’s house,” he says. I assume that’s where the party is. “It’s nothing. We’ll be fine.”

  Josie shakes her head. “No. I’m not doing it. I’ll walk before I get into a car with him.”

  “Josie, you’re overreacting.” Topher lights a cigarette, completely unfazed by the fact that there are faculty chaperones milling around in the parking lot. “He’ll go slow. It’s fine.”

  “It will take forever if we walk,” Richie tells her. “Besides, you’re in heels. Come on, Josie. Just get in the car.”

  “No!” She steps away from the group and looks around the parking lot, which is full of students getting ready to leave, most of them probably heading to after parties. “I’ll get a ride from someone else. I don’t care. I’m not riding with him. Richie, please. Stay with me?”

  Caroline stares at her. “It’s not like you’ve never been in a car with a drunk driver, Josie.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the driver interrupts. “Let’s get something straight. I’m not drunk. I’m buzzed. I had a few nips to keep myself from dying of boredom out here. This isn’t exactly the greatest gig in the world, kids.” But his words kind of slur together as he protests, which seems to make Josie even more determined to go nowhere near the limo.

  She looks at Richie. When she speaks, her voice is firm. “Are you staying? I see Shannon and James right over there.” She points across the parking lot. “They’ll give us a ride to Chad’s, I’m sure of it.”

  Richie looks from the limo to Josie. He seems puzzled by her adamant refusal to get into the car. Everyone does.

  Finally, he shrugs. “Okay. Let’s go ask Shannon.”

  Alex and I watch my friends pile into the limo and drive away. We watch Josie and Richie climb into the backseat of Shannon’s car. We stand together in the cool night air as the parking lot slowly empties, the party over, until we’re alone outside the school. The lights are now on in the gymnasium, the metal double doors leading to the outside are propped open, and I can see the school janitor beginning to clean up the mess from the evening.

  I look at Alex. “Well? What do you want to do? We could go to the party and watch everyone get sloppy drunk.”

  He doesn’t smile. “No. I have a different idea.”

  “What’s that?” The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees since the beginning of the evening. I’m beyond freezing.

  “There’s someplace I want to take you.”

  “Okay,” I say, smiling. “Let’s go.”

  But he only stands there, staring at me. His gaze is so steady and lasts for so long that I begin to feel uncomfortable, and my smile slips away. “Alex, what is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I just want to tell you,” he says, “that I had a really great time with you.”

  “Thanks.” I flash another, more tentative smile. “You’re a good dancer.”

  He shakes his head. “I wasn’t just talking about tonight. I was talking about everything. All of this.” He swallows. “And there’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you. It’s about the memory we saw together, the one of me at work.”

  I can’t believe he’s bringing it up. “Yeah?” I ask.

  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he says, “and I think I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have said those things to Chelsea. I should have taken her out. But it’s just—I just couldn’t. I was scared.” Suddenly, he seems embarrassed. He puts his head down. “I’m being dumb. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not being dumb. I think you’re right about Chelsea. You probably would have had a good time.” I pause. “Anyway, I’m glad we’ve had fun together. You deserve it.” I stare at the sky. It’s a cloudless night, the stars bright and fat. The moon is almost full. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll know when we get there.” He puts a hand on my arm. “Ready?”

  I close my eyes. When I open them, there is an immediate sense of disorientation. I am surrounded by dirt, in the woods somewhere.

  “Alex?” I can’t feel his hand anymore; I don’t see him anywhere. “Where are we?” I start to fee
l sick to my stomach.

  When he speaks, he sounds far away. “I want you to find a memory,” he says. “Whatever comes to you. Just close your eyes and let it in.”

  “Where are we?”

  “This is where I died.” It feels cold and desolate, the earth around me damp and littered with dead leaves and broken sticks. The tree branches all hang low. I have a horrible feeling in my gut. I’m afraid of what I might see.

  “Close your eyes,” he says, still sounding far away. “I’ll be right here, Liz. I’ll wait for you. Go.”

  Twenty-one

  I’m alone in the memory; Alex is nowhere to be seen. Immediately, I recognize that I look different. I’m younger, sure, but that isn’t all: I’m at least fifteen pounds heavier than I was in the weeks leading up to my death. My long blond hair is full of life and bounce. My cheeks are flushed.

  And I’m drunk. I’m standing in Caroline’s foyer with my palm pressed to my forehead, staring at the ceiling. When I follow my gaze, I see that I’m staring at an enormous, twinkling crystal chandelier. My eyes are tight; I’m trying to focus on the light despite the chaos surrounding me. The house is packed with bodies in motion, teenagers dancing and bumping against each other, everybody holding big red plastic cups with their names written on them in black ink.

  “Oh God,” I mouth, swaying slightly as I stand there, holding my cup so crookedly that it’s threatening to spill its contents. Nobody can hear me; nobody notices that I’m distressed. Sublime’s “40 Ounces to Freedom” blares from speakers in the living room, the sound infiltrating the entire downstairs. The music, which is upbeat rock, is such a contrast to Caroline’s otherwise stately house. The foyer’s wallpaper is patterned with dark green ivy. The floors are a deep, rich hardwood, covered with antique oriental rugs. On the wall next to the front door, there’s an actual fountain, a stone angel poised in silent watch over the party’s happenings, water flowing in a pool that surrounds her dainty bare feet.

  “There you are! Liz, I’ve been looking everywhere—oh no. What’s wrong?” It’s Josie. My stepsister is positively giddy, holding her own cup, looking at me with wide, curious eyes that have the glazed look of somebody who’s under the influence.

  “I don’t know. I feel sick,” I tell her, taking a step to my left, toward the dining room. We have to shout just to hear each other.

  “Liz, is the room spinning? Pick something to focus on. Don’t close your eyes.”

  She’s trying to be helpful, but I wave her away in annoyance as I take another step into the room. “The whole house is spinning,” I yell.

  “What?” she shouts back.

  “I said the whole house … never mind.”

  “Where are you going?” Josie is close behind me, her hand at my waist. “Do you need to throw up?”

  I nod. It’s much quieter in the dining room. There’s obvious relief in my expression as our surroundings shift, becoming palpably calmer.

  “Go to the bathroom.” And she points. “Down the hall.”

  “I know where the bathroom is,” I say, putting my hands on my knees. My cup tilts to the side, spilling foamy beer onto the oriental rug beneath me. “Why is it so far away? Where’s Richie? Josie, will you go get—”

  I’m wearing four-inch heels that make it almost impossible to walk straight. I take another staggered step, and then I throw up with force onto the rug.

  “Damn! Liz blew chunks!” It’s Chad Shubuck. Of course.

  I’m bent over, elbows on my knees now, and from the looks of it, I’m doing my absolute best not to collapse.

  Chad thumps me on the back. “Keep it coming, honey. Get it all out. I always feel better after I puke.”

  “Richie,” I mutter, wiping my mouth, my eyes bloodshot and watery. “Please find Richie.”

  “Oh my God. Liz, what the hell is the matter with you?” It’s Caroline. She rushes to my side, staring at the mess on the rug. “My parents are going to murder me,” she whispers, with genuine fear in her voice. “They’re really going to kill me. For God’s sake, couldn’t you make it to the bathroom?”

  I regain my footing, find a chair, and sit down. “I’m so sorry,” I tell her, wiping my mouth. But the words sound empty somehow; I’m obviously distracted by the puke on the floor, and the fact that I’ve just embarrassed myself in front of all my friends. “Oh my God. This is so humiliating.”

  Richie hurries into the room. “Liz, what happened?” He looks at the rug. “Oh. I see.”

  “Did I get any on my outfit?” I stare down at my clothes. With shaking hands, I touch the layers that I’m wearing: a white babydoll dress with pink detailing over pink leggings.

  “Was I right, or was I right?” Chad asks, edging his way between Richie and Josie. “You feel better, don’t you?”

  I smile at him. “Yeah, I do. I feel good.” And I grin at my friends. “Plus, I didn’t get anything on my clothes.”

  Josie beams. “Yeah, Liz! Give it up for projectile vomiting.”

  I beam back at her. She and I give each other a high five.

  Richie hands me a glass of water, which he seems to have produced from thin air. He’s like that, though: always looking out for me. “You feel better now?” He’s worried, but he’s also wasted. Like me, his eyes are fully bloodshot. But he also reeks of weed and cigarettes.

  I nod, wrinkling my nose at his smell. “Yes. What time is it?”

  “It’s time to go home.” Josie bites her lip, her gaze lingering on the grandfather clock that sits against the far wall of the dining room. “It’s almost ten. We have to get home, Liz.” To Richie, she says, “Our parents are leaving for Dad’s conference early tomorrow morning. They want to see us before they go.”

  My boyfriend narrows his eyes at her. “She shouldn’t drive, Josie. You two should spend the night here.”

  I stand up. I finish my water, shake my head, and pronounce, “I’m fine.” I take a deep breath. “I think I got all the alcohol out of my system,” I tell my friends. “I’m good.”

  Richie crosses his arms, frowning in disagreement. “No, Liz. You can’t drive. You’d still blow drunk on a Breathalyzer. You shouldn’t try to go home like this.”

  “Richie, it’s like three miles.” I give him my best, most reassuring smile. “What am I supposed to do? Call my parents and tell them I’m too drunk to drive home? We’ll go. Everything will be fine.”

  He glances at Josie. “Can you drive her car?”

  Josie shakes her head. “The Mustang’s a stick shift. I haven’t learned to drive it yet. Didn’t you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t. Then you should take my car.” He rubs his forehead with worry. “Jesus. I shouldn’t have let you drink so much. I should have been watching you closer. This is a bad idea.”

  Josie smirks. “Richie, don’t be such a mom. Liz, you’re good, right?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “But what about the rug?” Caroline pleads, looking frantic. “You promised me you’d help clean up in the morning! You didn’t tell me you had to go home!”

  “I’m really sorry. Look—just tell your parents the dog did it.”

  Josie hands me my keys. With Richie at our heels, we walk toward the front door. Just as I’m taking steps to follow us, I hear Caroline murmur under her breath—out of earshot of my alive self—“We don’t have a fucking dog, Elizabeth.”

  As the Mustang makes its way down Caroline’s long driveway, rain begins to hit the windshield, the droplets growing heavier by the second. But I don’t switch the wipers on. As I watch my living self, my hands gripping the wheel tightly, body leaning forward slightly to get a better view of the road (why don’t I turn on the wipers?), it is obvious to me that I should not have gotten behind the wheel. As soon as we’re on the main road, I can see that I’m having trouble staying to the right of the double yellow lines. I’ve only had my license for a little over a month and I’ve only had the Mustang for a few weeks; I’m not that great at driving in general, and I’m
definitely not very good at driving a stick yet. Twice, I almost stall out. Luckily, there’s next to no traffic. Noank is a sleepy town; not much happens after nine p.m.

  “Put your wipers on, Liz,” Josie instructs.

  “Ohhh … where are they? I can’t find them.”

  “To your right. Try to stay focused.”

  Finally, I find them. “Wow, that’s much better,” I tell her, giggling.

  She turns the radio up. “Good. You feel okay?”

  I nod. “Yes. I feel fine.”

  But I can tell that I’m lying. I’m not fine; I’m clearly still drunk.

  Regardless, with the music blaring, Josie and I start singing along with R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion.” The speed limit is twenty-five. I look past my living self at the dials on the Mustang’s dashboard, and am shocked to see that I’m going over fifty miles per hour. The rain grows steadily heavier. It’s becoming a downpour.

  “Slow down, Liz,” I murmur to my living self. Even though I know it’s only a memory, I feel a growing sense of dread. We’re going too fast, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  It comes out of nowhere. My focus is shaky, and at first, watching the scene unfold, I think I’ve hit a small animal, or maybe a rock, but I realize almost immediately that it was something else. Something bigger. As quickly as it appears in my line of vision, there’s a thick-sounding thump—and then it’s gone.

  “Shit,” I say, pulling over, looking around. There’s no other traffic in sight. “Shit. What was that? I think I hit something.”

  Josie turns the music down, but not off. “What did you say?”

  The sound of the rain falling all around us creates a thick din of noise. “I said, I think I hit something.” I pause. “It was probably a deer. Should we get out and look?”

  Josie stares out her window. “It’s pouring.”

  “I know.”

  And we both sit there, looking at each other. Watching us, I feel a heavy sense of disappointment that blossoms into disgust. We don’t want to get out of the car because we don’t want to get wet.