A Flicker in the Clarity

by Amy McNamara

  “I met Joe, learned to box. Got a job in the churchyard. You know?”

  I’m mulling this over when something he said earlier hits me.

  “Wait,” I say. “Earlier. You said confess, about Jack?”

  He walks a little faster. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

  My heart picks up a beat. Something about the tone of his voice.

  “He told me about the wasps.”

  “Wasps?” Confusion crosses Theo’s face, and for a second he looks younger. “Never mind,” he says, shaking it off. “It’s not worth it. You want coffee?”

  He stops on the corner across from the John Street Roasting Company.

  “Hang on,” I say, grabbing his arm. “You didn’t attack Jeb with wasps?” As I say it, I hear how stupid it sounds.

  Theo pulls his arm free and laughs, but it sounds full of disappointment.

  We stand there a second, staring at each other. He leans over me, pulls me close.

  “You are really very pretty,” he whispers, his breath on my face.

  I blink back into those fox eyes, pull away the tiniest bit, instinct, or fear or something, a retreat anyone would make under that gaze. He lifts my chin and closes the space between us. Theo kisses me so true the sky falls down around us, scattering stars at our feet.

  Kissing him is like losing myself in a map, only better.

  “All good?” he whispers into my lips.

  “All good,” I whisper back. Then I press my mouth against his, lick the small scar on his lip.

  Before I follow Theo into the coffee shop, I slip chalk from my pocket and draw stars on the curb.

  Place where I found what I wanted.

  I don’t know why I thought there were rules, why I’ve been dreading an ending. Obviously we’re making it up with each other as we go. Because right now I’m weightless, wild, flying free through blue-dark space.

  Need You

  MY PHONE BUZZES ON THE LEDGE next to me. It’s Em. At seven a.m.

  “Hey,” I answer, happy despite the time. She’s calling to hear how it went, and finally it’s my turn to have a night to report on. Every perfect detail—Theo walking me across the bridge, then all the way home. Sitting out front, shivering and kissing, until almost one in the morning.

  “I was going to call you in a bit. What are you doing up?” I rub the sleep out of my eyes and double-check the time.

  “Can you come?” Her voice is scratchy and raw, like she’s been up all night screaming lyrics into a mic and smoking hundreds of cigarettes.

  “What’s wrong?” I do a whole-body stretch that’s so thorough my feet twitch and wake Marcel at the end of my bed. He’s so fat he’s hard to hoist up here every night, but if I don’t he whimpers on the floor beneath me.

  “Nothing. Can you just come?”

  I kick off the covers and sit up.

  “I need you.”

  I scramble down with Marcel and start looking for clothes.

  “Sure, I’ll be right over,” I say, ready to hang up.

  “Wait!” she says. “I’m not home.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Tompkins Square Park.”

  When I hustle out of my room and into the hall, there’s a noise in the kitchen, like my mom’s already up. Maybe she never slept. Between my mom and Em, this is a bizarre Saturday. I hesitate by the kitchen door but don’t let her know I’m awake. She’ll be all questions if I do. I leave a note on my bed instead.

  Ran out to meet Em. She needs me.

  Lookout

  SHE’S ON A BENCH, EYES CLOSED, scarf wrapped high around her face.

  “Thank God,” she says when I run up to where she’s sitting. “Did you bring water?”

  “Was I supposed to?”

  She moans.

  “We can grab a bottle. Are you hungover?”

  She gives me a half smile and presses her hands to her temples. “I’ve been trying Alice, but her phone’s off or something.”

  Alice’s name hits me low and heavy.

  Emma’s wearing tons of eyeliner, most of it smudged, and her hair’s wound around the top of her head in an elaborate braid. What’s left of some really dark lipstick makes her face more pallid than ever. She draws her knees up into the big jacket she’s wearing. It’s someone else’s, a dark red plaid thing with a grubby-looking fleece lining.

  I shrug off the Alice gut-punch and drop to sit next to her on the bench.

  “What’s going on?”

  She puts her head on my shoulder. “Oh my God, I just really, really need to sleep. Can you sneak me into your house somehow? I’ll sleep in your closet if I have to. I was with Ryan. My parents think I’m at Alice’s.”

  I pull away from her a second to get a better look at her. I can’t bring her home. It’s obvious she’s been partying all night. She smells sour, like beer and cigarettes.

  “You were at Ryan’s place?”

  She gives me a slow smile, like she’s still living last night. Considering she hasn’t slept yet, I guess she kind of is.

  “He asked me to meet him when he got off work. Oh my God, Evie, it was insane. We went to this crazy basement music venue, Candy’s Dandy? All these bands were playing, then we met up with some people Ryan knows and followed them out to Bushwick to this party. But it was lame, so we left and walked everywhere, along the East River, for ages, until Ryan heard from this other friend, and we went to some weird empty office space downtown. There were all these cool people there—it was like being in the middle of some punk hacker dream or something. It was like this corporate construction site, a build-out in the middle of being built out? We snuck up to this really high floor that was just open! No walls or windows, just a layer of thin plastic whipping around in the wind.”

  She waves her arm like a wing and I can see the wide open space, the frightening edge. I open my mouth to say something, but she goes on.

  “I love this guy so much and I have tons to tell you, but I haven’t slept, and my temples feel like a zoo of caged dragons.” She lays her head on my shoulder. “I really, really need to go somewhere and sleep.”

  The whole way here I pictured telling her about kissing Theo. I sit there a minute and wait for her to remember, to ask me how my night went.

  But she doesn’t. She breathes heavily instead, like she might have drifted off.

  I turn my face away, disappointed. Sometimes I get this old/young feeling with Em. Compared to her wild night, my walk with Theo seems embarrassingly innocent. Immature. But at the same time, with her skinny shivering body against mine, her stinky head on my shoulder, I feel like I’m really old, weary from a thousand years of responsibility, from trying to steer Em clear of disasters in her path.

  “I can’t sneak you in,” I say, breaking the silence.

  “What? Why not?” Emma straightens up to look at me. “I was already dreaming about your closet.”

  “My mom’s up early.”

  “Your mom’s never up early.”

  “Well, she is today.”

  Emma eyes me to see if I’m making it up. Punishing her for her night out.

  “It’s the truth,” I say. “And she’s going to freak if she goes in my room and sees I’m gone.”

  Emma frowns. Pouts a second. Then, as if she’s only now remembering, she gets this sly smile on her face and says, “Oh my God! How was it? Last night, with Theo?”

  I hesitate a second to savor it, figure out what to tell her first, and I’m so happy she came through, but before I can answer, she moans, bending forward on the bench, burping and holding her head. “Wait,” she says, resting her head on her knees. “Don’t tell me now. Don’t tell me anything unless it’s where I can go sleep this shit off.”

  “Why didn’t you go back to Ryan’s?” I ask, trying to hide how hurt I feel.

  She sits up again, her hands in front of her for balance, eyes closed.

  “Hang on.” She takes a shaky breath. “I might be sick.” She kind of pants a second, th
en shakes her head and burps again. “Ugh, sorry.” She smiles. “Guess not. We didn’t go back to Ryan’s because his roommate is super studious and not at all fun and doesn’t like it when he brings people home.” She laughs, wobbly. “I told him he totally needs to move, find a better situation.” Her eyes light up. “I’d go apartment hunting with him. Can you imagine?” she says, squeezing my arm. “I could help him pick some incredible place and then I’d hang out over there all the time.”

  Her pocket dings, a different sound than her texts usually make.

  “That’s Alice,” she says, whipping out her phone. She stands and shakes it in front of me. “C’mon,” she says with a sigh of relief. “She says come over. Will you go with me? Be lookout? Make sure my parents aren’t out on the block?”

  My stomach flips. Maybe I’m the one who’s going to be sick.

  Emma slips out of the jacket she’s wearing. “Can you believe this?” she says, shaking her head and looking at it with disgust. “I left my coat somewhere last night.”

  “Your coat?”

  “Oh shit!” She widens her eyes at me, laughing. “Your coat! Oh my God. I’m sorry. I lost your coat last night! Good thing mine looks so great on you.”

  I liked my coat but don’t say anything. It’s done.

  She turns and walks out of the park, tossing the janky plaid jacket in a trash bin on her way.

  I follow her. That’s me, Emma’s lookout.

  Special Affection

  ADVISORY’S AN UNENDING BLUR OF INFO about test prep, mid-marking-period exams, and other deadlines. I’m looking up past recipients of TeenART on my phone under the table. I click on animated drawings by someone named Pippi Blackwood. The screen flickers, fills with a girl’s face, eyes closed. Her eyelids flutter up and birds fly out. It’s eerie and feels like a projection of a dream. I glance at Dr. Holmes every few seconds so I look like I’m paying attention. In her statement, Blackwood calls drawing “a manifestation of sight.” My heart sinks. Pippi Blackwood and her manifestations—my name’s not cool enough, and I don’t have words for what I do. Not like that.

  Emma whacks her knee into mine and I darken my phone.

  “Okay, people,” Dr. Holmes drones. “For those of you planning to go to Spain, the time has come to hand in your forms.” He checks a packet of information on the table in front of him, one old, wavering finger running down the page. “And your deposits are due today as well.” He taps the sheaf, a husky, dry sound.

  The room fills with rustling as people start digging through their bags, pulling out permission slips and doctor’s letters and, most important, envelopes with deposit checks in them. I sit still in my seat, rigid with embarrassment. I’ve completed all the forms, my mom’s signature’s easy to forge, and I’m not telling her about the trip until my deposit’s in and there’s no turning back, but Holmes is collecting them now, and I have no check.

  The radiators wheeze and fill the room with the heat of three suns. Or maybe it’s my face doing that.

  Eighteen hundred dollars per student, due today, the second eighteen hundred due four weeks before we leave.

  I raise a hand to my burning cheek. I can’t bring myself to look at Em. I knew this was coming, the deposit due date, but I haven’t been able to make myself ask her about it. Feels beggarly.

  Emma leans away from me and toward Alice to pull out her paperwork. She makes a big show of digging in her bag, pulling everything out in a giant pile on the table in front of her. Then she raises her hand.

  “Um, Dr. H?” she asks sweetly. No one else gets away with starting a sentence like that, much less abbreviating his name, but Holmes has special affection for Em.

  “Yes?” He surveys the mess on the table before her.

  “I don’t have my papers today. I forgot them at home. I’ll bring them in next week? I promise?”

  Dr. Holmes holds her steady in his gaze, blinking his watery fish-colored eyes from behind his enormously magnifying glasses.

  I hold my breath.

  He nods, once, solemn.

  “Very well, Miss Sullivan,” he says, straightening his vest. “See that you get them in first thing next week, or you may find yourself relinquishing your spot.”

  Emma nods and I deflate with anxious relief. Of course she forgot them. Deadlines aren’t her thing. She’s late for stuff all the time, and if anyone can get Bly to make an exception it’s Em. I just hope it’ll include me too.

  Bouquet of Hues

  THEO’S ON THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT of Bly after school when we spill out onto the steps.

  Em spots him first, grabs my hand in her cold one. Two sharp squeezes until I follow her gaze and see him standing in the sun, skateboard in one hand, a collection of what look like pencils in the other.

  “Hey,” he says with a sly smile when I come down. “Brought you something.”

  He offers me a clutch of Caran d’Ache watercolor pencils, a bouquet of hues, tied together with a vivid rose-colored ribbon.

  “The woman at the art shop said these ones are great for blending.” He looks kind of embarrassed.

  The pencils are Swiss, expensive. I have a few, not this many.

  I can feel Emma’s eyes wide on me, taking in this unprecedented male sweetness.

  “They are! I don’t know what to say.” I never know how to receive gifts. I can hardly look up at him. “This is so incredible, thank you.” I’m embarrassed, but then he takes me by the wrist, pulls me in to him, and gives me the softest kiss.

  I finally understand what people mean when they talk about swooning.

  When we part, Emma clears her throat and smiles at Theo.

  “Hey,” she says. “You’re the guy from the Roebling House, right? The one with the black eye?”

  Like I haven’t already told her every detail about him, described his face right down to the tiny freckle by the right corner of his lower lip. I’ve forgiven her for Saturday. She came over Sunday and we spent the day sort of working on our Investigations but really raking over every detail of my night with Theo.

  “Sorry.” I introduce them. “Theo, this is my friend Emma.”

  “Hey!” She grins huge, tossing her shoulders back and thrusting a pale hand his way.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Theo nods at her, keeping his hands on my waist.

  Emma pulls hers back, smile dimming slightly.

  Theo turns to me.

  “Thought I’d surprise you,” he says. “I only have a minute, but my family’s going upstate for the weekend and . . .” His focus shifts to something over my shoulder.

  I turn and look.

  Jack and Alice are behind us on the steps.

  Jack sees Theo, stops a second, then sprints the rest of the way down, brushing past us so close he almost shoulder-checks Theo. Alice hurries to catch up and slips her hand into his. She doesn’t look at me.

  “Um,” Theo says, looking back at me. “So, Saturday. They’re going and I’m not. Do you want to come over and watch a movie or something?”

  Emma’s acting really cool next to me, gazing at Theo almost like she’s bored, but I can feel her psychically telling me to say yes! yes! yes! Excitement is sparkling up from her like bubbles in a fresh glass of seltzer.

  “Yeah, that would be great,” I say. “I’ll have to clear it with my mom, but I’m sure it’s fine.”

  Emma steps lightly on my toes for the mom comment. I pull my foot back and look at the bundle of pencils in their rose-colored ribbon. Heat rushes to my cheeks.

  “For your maps,” Theo says. “Bring one when you come?”

  Emma leans toward him in an ever-so-slightly beguiling and knowing way, her hand landing delicately on his arm.

  “Good luck with that,” she says with a throaty laugh, like they’re already friends. “Evie and her maps . . .”

  There’s something in her tone. I sink inside for a second. I’m hearing her wrong, I have to be, but it sure feels like she’s flirting with him, and kind of mocking me.
<
br />   Theo looks at her, expressionless, then turns his face back toward mine.

  “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” he whispers, mouth at my ear.

  My limbs go liquid. “You have magic fox eyes,” I say without thinking.

  Theo laughs, and he kisses me again.

  “Take it easy,” he says to Em with a nod once we part. He drops his skateboard and stops it with his foot.

  She flashes him another flirty smile.

  Theo winks at me. “See you tomorrow, Evie.”

  He sails off.

  I turn to Em, my ears full of a blood-thunder rush.

  “What was that?” I demand.

  Muddy Well in the Center

  “WHAT WAS WHAT?” SHE ASKS, voice bright and tight even though she knows exactly what I’m talking about. She links her arm in mine and pulls me toward the subway. “Come on, let’s go scour some sale racks. You need clothes for this date!”

  I slip my arm loose from hers, follow her silently.

  When you’ve been friends as long as we have there are two conversations running most of the time. The one you’re saying and the other one, beneath the surface, the real deal. By the time we get to the subway I’m ready to cut through it all and say what I saw.

  “You were flirting with him.” I mean to sound resolute but my voice wavers instead.

  “Run! I hear the train!” Emma darts ahead and I follow her down to the platform.

  A woman rushes past us with grocery bags, then turns back to glare at Em. There’s no train. From the looks of it, people have been waiting for ages. The platform’s packed.

  “Guess not,” she says.

  I glare at her, my question still hanging.

  “What? Come on. No I wasn’t.” She juts her chin out. “God, you’re being paranoid. You finally get a boyfriend and you’re gonna act all jealous? Of me? Get over it.”

  She whips out her phone and turns away. A little kid on a scooter zips between us, close to the edge, his mother rushing right behind, yelling at him to get off that scooter and walk.