by Amy McNamara
Chester eyes me sadly, then shuffles off.
“Sorry.” Theo crouches down to gather it up.
He hands me my bag.
“It’s okay.” I hold it on my lap like a shield. “He smells Marcel.”
Theo rubs his forehead and looks up at me out from under his hand. The angle of his eyes, apologetic, tentative, makes me feel like pleading with him not to do this, how can he not see he’s supposed to be mine?
“I need to do something that matters.”
I nod, even though I’m betraying myself.
He opens his laptop and a page pops up. A picture of a public square somewhere ruined-looking. Destroyed buildings alongside some ramshackle reconstruction.
“This is Haiti,” he says, following my gaze. “Port-au-Prince. Remember that earthquake a while ago?”
“Yeah,” I say, my throat tight. I hate him for this, for making me like him more even when he’s saying good-bye.
Theo pushes his hair out of his eyes.
“They’re still slammed. And now with the hurricane . . . ? There’s a school there, an orphanage, and a lot of work to do. Father Joe goes every year. I’m going too.”
“How long?”
Theo looks at me, then shrugs, like it doesn’t matter.
“Six months at least. The plan is for me to join a building crew, but I’ll probably also tutor in math and maybe a little boxing.” He cracks his knuckles, then looks at me. “Joe says love’s a verb. You know? Action.”
Haiti. I don’t know what to say. I can’t compete with that.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but this . . . this isn’t right for me. You took me by surprise, but I can’t be anyone’s hero right now.”
“Hero?” I jerk back like he’s hit me. The word sears.
“That came out wrong,” he says, trying to backtrack. “I broke up with Lindsay because . . .” Shakes his head. “I really like you, but you seem like you have some stuff to figure out, and we—I’m not the one for you to do that with. I don’t even—”
“Got it.” I’m dying from shame. He thinks I want him to take care of me. I push back from the table so fast the chair nearly topples over. “It’s okay, no problem. Sorry I showed up like this.” The words are rocks in my throat, and I hug my bag tighter. “Good luck in Haiti.”
Reach for more than you have coming and get your hand slapped.
“Evie . . .” Theo’s chair scrapes the floor as he comes after me.
But I’m already pretending he doesn’t exist. That I don’t even care. I’ve had practice. It’s what I do when people talk about their families, the future, vacations, their dads.
“Wait!” he calls out.
I run down the stairs, right past Em, right on out of there.
Map the Black
BEN’S HOUSE IS A GIANT PULSING HEART. At least, that’s what I chalked on the base of one of the slate-gray walls in the hall when I got here. Anatomical and throbbing. Hearts are on my mind since mine turned ghost at Theo’s. Or maybe it’s whatever’s in this red plastic cup. Emma gave it to me and I’ve been drinking it, and right now I swear the wall of windows is flexing and bowing with the bass thump of whatever EDM Devon’s playing through Ben’s dad’s powerful speakers. They’re built-in everywhere, so it feels like you’ve climbed right into the mouth of the sound and have become part of it. I’ve totally lost track of time, but people are starting to hook up with each other, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been here at least one lifetime.
I don’t need a hero. My cup’s almost empty. Here’s Evie breaking her own rules. I fumble for the chalk in my pocket again, but I’m too drunk to draw handcuffs, open or closed.
I’m wandering, weaving my way through hot bodies, smiling and nodding at people drunker than I am, red-faced girls who want to hug and say stupid stuff like, Why aren’t we friends? or guys who nod with their chins and try to press against me when I pass.
That was not love. It’s what I’m telling myself, but two dates with Theo and I’m wrecked. I get why my mom gave up. Curse love and hearts and stupid hope. Curse rooftops and kissable lips. Curse fox-eyed boys with straw-colored hair, boys who lift their fists. But most of all, curse me for reaching out so far and falling.
After Theo’s, Em took me home with her. We sat toe to toe on her window bench until I ran out of snot and tears. I totally get it—why she does what she does—I’d do anything to stop how this feels. I’m keeping the hero part to myself. It’s too humiliating. Theo saw right through me to the sloppy mess, a lost girl with a long way to go.
I’ll map the black. If you’re messed up, you may as well know where you are. I’ll need really big paper. Dark poster paint. Every shade of gray and black.
Emma parts the crowd with uncanny grace, sexy in her crop top and ruby lips. She’s making her way across the room to me, two more cups held high over her head like emergency flares.
I try to bring myself back. Who knew time was made of so many overlapping planes? I down the last of my drink. Whatever it is burns my throat, tastes pink.
Ben’s dad’s penthouse is a bad-dad castle in a hedge-fund kind of way. Lots of leather furniture, tall windows, black lacquer. Feels like the Death Star. The air’s all wet and sweaty from everyone dancing.
I lean against the wall in my corner and look down at the black hole I markered like a sucking funnel on my arm. A few silver stars float near the event horizon. Sorry, stars.
“Here.” Emma hands me another cup, her face flushed. “Roman’s over there.” She shoots an exasperated glance in his direction. “If he talks to you, ignore him. He won’t stop texting me.”
I glance to where Roman’s standing, staring at us, then sniff what she’s brought me. More pink. “What is this?”
She raises her dark brows, sticks her tongue in it, and laughs. “Who cares? Vodka and something sweet. I don’t know. Mandi poured. Drink it.”
Over her shoulder I watch Jack and Alice slip in the front door. I’m forgetting to forget her, thinking she looks pretty, when, as if on a magnetic trajectory, her eyes fly to mine. I look down at my cup.
“I’m so drunk,” I say to Emma, not even sure if the words are coming out right.
She snorts at me. “Lightweight. This is, what, your second glass?”
“Is it? I lost count.” I pull up the dress she made me wear. This is one of the reasons I hate parties. All the girls whip out credit cards and show up in something no one’s seen them in before. Not super dressy or anything, but new. That’s the key. Parties are for showing each other the new stuff they got. At least Em’s dress looks good on me, even if it’s a lower-cut V-neck than anything I’d ever buy. I drew looks when I first crossed the room, which I both loved and hated. Em’s always telling me to work my assets. I don’t really think of my body in terms of assets, and I usually never listen to her about dressing sexy, but since Theo cut me loose, it’s clear I’ve gotten everything about being a girl wrong. Might be time to try it Emma’s way awhile.
“Parties are easier when you’re drunk,” I say to Em, feeling philosophical.
She rolls her eyes. “Most people call that fun,” she says. “Come on, Heartbreak Hotel. Stop looking so glum.”
She downs her cup and pats my arm. Motions for me to do the same. I do. Some of it bubbles up my nose.
“We dance!” Her hand firm on my arm, she drags me back into the throng.
I don’t even like EDM, but somehow it becomes me. Or I become it. Pink. Trippy. Effervescent, like my drink. I am free from myself for a while, and it’s incredible. It’s like I’m seeing sound, my pulse in sync with everything around me, all of us one giant connected network, a human organism, everyone jumping and pulsing and whirling together.
Someone plants a wet kiss on my neck, but I don’t see who because Mandi pulls me over, and I dance in a small circle with her and Sonja and some girl from LaGuardia named Sage, who looks vaguely familiar, like I might have seen her in a movie. Next to Sage are two guys whose names I don’t ca
tch, but they’re part of the dream too, faces angular and sweaty, teeth overly white.
I move in and out of circles of people for so long, I feel like everything’s circular, and I start to wonder why we don’t just make maps on balls, then I remember we do, and they’re called globes. I get the giggles, and then I think of maps on balls, just the word balls, and laugh even harder.
“I have to pee!” I announce, midgiggle, to where I thought Emma was, but it’s actually Sage, who gives me a thumbs-up. I start to make my way through the crowd for the bathroom.
Em’s at the far edge of the room near the door to the kitchen. Roman’s standing at her side, kind of bent over her. His hand’s on the wall behind her head and he’s saying something super intense. Em looks trapped, or sad or something, her features staging a mutiny, abandoning party-face, threatening to slide down into their old territory of despair.
“Evie.” She breaks away from Roman when I near. “Can you talk?” Her fingertips press into my arm with a weird desperate strength.
I’m not sure if she means am I capable of speech or can I talk to her. I almost laugh at this distinction, which has never, before tonight, occurred to me.
“Yes, but if you keep squeezing me like that you’re going to make me pee my pants!” I laugh, working my arm loose from her grip. “Come on!” I say, trying to cheer her up. “This is what people call fun!” Her face falls further. “Oh! Don’t look like that! I pee fast. I’ll be right back,” I promise, bouncing on my toes a bit.
Roman makes some remark about Emma and her henchbitch, or at least that’s what I think I hear, but before I can laugh in his face or say anything back, Em puts an icy hand on my arm again, tight, like she’s drowning and I’m a buoy, but I’m seriously going to wet my pants if I don’t find a bathroom now. I look around a second, then do what she did for me earlier, grab a full-looking cup and stick it in her hand.
“If I don’t pee now, I’ll die. But I’ll be right back, I promise.”
I feel so weird, so sure, so emphatic, like everything is really intense and full of much, much deeper meaning. I sway down the back hall of the penthouse, which is a gauntlet of closed doors. It ends in a set of glass steps. I climb them to a lofted mezzanine, a see-through tree house high over the action, a weirdly quiet space with a love seat and bookshelves and best, best, best of all, a small bathroom in the back.
Cold water on my face snaps me back into myself. I sit cross-legged on the vanity and stare at my face in the mirrored wall. This is who I am, right now. Bright-cheeked and kind of sweaty. A rosy-faced girl in a dress. The wisps around my hairline that looked so carefree earlier are twisting into ringlets. More water on my face and I break away from the larger cosmic being. I lap water from the faucet like a cat and land back into myself. I’m not made of music. I’m bones and guts. Finite and brokenhearted. The party sounds far away. Probably time to head home.
“Hey.” Jack’s voice surprises me from the dark love seat when I step out of the bathroom.
I don’t know how long I was in there or if he was sitting here before I went in. Time is still a little slippery.
He pats a spot next to him. “Got a sec?”
“I guess.” I squint around the rest of the dark space for Alice. I’m totally not up for another surprise attack.
“Saw you dancing down there,” he says, standing when I don’t sit.
He comes close. God help me, he still smells so good.
“Didn’t know you danced.”
“Life’s full of surprises.”
“That’s, ah . . . nice dress,” he says, his eyes staying resolutely on my face. Then he steps back an inch and runs his hands through his hair. “God, Evie. Are you trying to kill me? What happened between us? Did I do something wrong that night . . . ?”
I open my mouth to say our near-miss kiss was me—my stupid worries, my fault for wanting it too much, for thinking too hard—but he lifts his hand close and touches my lips.
“Wait. Don’t tell me,” he says, green eyes wide. “I don’t wanna know.”
I stay there a second, his fingertips against my mouth. I fight the urge to kiss them. Kiss him. I could totally do it now. But everything’s already ruined. I pull my face back slightly and Jack lets his hand drop. I’m definitely still drunk. And what is this, happening here, now? Is this why Emma gets messed up all the time? Everything is so loose, blurry. Without worry, it’s all possibility, so few cares.
I lean close to him again. My head against his chest. Evie, stop overthinking.
Then Jack wrecks it. “I’m glad you’re done with Gray.”
“What?” I say, taking a big step back.
“Yeah. Emma told Alice he broke up with you? Uh, you guys broke up?”
Emma told Alice. Even though I asked her not to, begged her to keep it to herself. Alice probably loved it.
I stare at him with my mouth open.
“It wasn’t some big secret, was it?” Jack sounds tentative, like he’s just realizing he probably shouldn’t have said anything.
Just then a balled T-shirt flies over the glass loft railing. Lands near our feet. We both look down.
“Dude!” Ben shouts up from the center of a group of guys. “Come shoot baskets with us. My dad hung a sweet hoop on the roof.”
Behind him and off to the left, Alice is standing in a group of girls, staring up at us. When we see her, hurt breaks her face in pieces.
“Down in a sec,” Jack shouts back to Ben, eyeing Alice nervously.
“Hey, wait.” I grab his wrist, look him in the eye.
“What?”
“Why’d Theo ask if you’d confessed?”
Jack’s body lurches slightly, like he’s been hit. He bends down and grabs a cup on the floor near the couch. Downs whatever’s in it.
“It’s snowing,” he says quietly, pointing to the huge windows in front of us.
I look out. Papery white flakes flutter past the glass, like someone’s shredded a love letter, let the pieces fall.
Prickle
IT’S ALL THERE ON JACK’S FACE.
He turns and sits on the couch. I sit too. Everything is weirdly clear. As if in one heartbeat all the vodka I drank burned off, and I figure something out, something so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Theo was never a problem. Jack’s mad scramble to get me away from him was about protecting himself. He did something bad, and he was scared I’d find out.
I shoot him an I-know-what-you-did stare, feeling suddenly terrible with power, even if I don’t know, not really. Then I look away, back down at the crowd. Alice isn’t there anymore.
Jack stares straight ahead another minute, like he’s trying to figure out how to start. He shifts and his thigh brushes mine.
I angle my legs away, ever so slightly.
It doesn’t go unnoticed.
For a second, I feel righteous, badass. I never hold people in thrall like this.
Then I steal a glance at him. He’s sweating a little, and beneath the party-chill he’s cultivated to perfection, I can still see the real Jack, the one I’ve known forever, interested eyes taking everything in, stupidly open heart, his easy goofy smile. Something near the middle of me does a little turn, longs for him, but I shut it down.
He’s hiding something. I use Theo’s word.
“Confess.”
Jack lifts his chin, defensive. Looks at me through those dark lashes, his eyes twitching at the corners, mouth forming, then holding back words. His face is an evolution of dread, guilt, resignation.
“He told you.”
I keep my mouth shut.
He picks at a loose thread from a small hole in his jeans near his knee.
“Did he?”
“You know he didn’t. He has more class than that. I’m asking you.”
Another long minute. Jack stands a second and I think he’s going to split, go shoot hoops with Ben and those guys, but he sits again, shifting, uncomfortable.
Snow keeps falling. So
much for spring.
Jack plays with the loose thread, then snaps it off.
“Why’d he break up with you?”
I shift, uncomfortable.
“Maybe because of you. Because I have terrible friends.” I feel guilty the minute I say it.
Jack’s shoulders fall.
“I’ll break up with Alice.”
“What? Grow up.” I lean back against the love seat, queasy. It is way too easy for people to hurt each other.
He bends forward over his knees a second, arms around his waist, then he sits up, squares his shoulders.
“It’s not like I did it yesterday,” he says, looking at me, pleading. “Remember that, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Gray left camp in the middle of the night because we peed on him.”
If the death of a crush made a sound, it would be like the last guttering gasp of air from a balloon.
“What?”
“We thought it would be funny.”
I make a huff of disgust.
“He was asleep.” Jack’s voice is full of misery. “Jeb said we’d do it so it looked like he’d peed the bed.”
“He slept through it?”
Jack looks at his feet. His face gets redder than I’ve ever seen it. He shakes his head.
“They held him down.”
“They?”
He shakes his head, defensive. “They. It’s not like I wanted to. Christ, Eves, don’t look at me like that. I stopped as soon as he woke up. And for what it’s worth, I tried not to hit him. It wasn’t my idea. It was all of us.”
I’m screaming at him in my head but can’t seem to make any of it come out of my mouth.
“You know me. I’m not some asshole.”
“What you just said is, like, the definition of asshole.” My voice is so tight my throat hurts.
Jack shifts, faces me. “That kid was clueless. He acted so superior, totally unbelievable, like SciTech was beneath him, like we were, the rest of us were a waste of space. I was so sick of people like him. Looking at me like I wasn’t good enough. And that was the summer it was all changing. Then he came along. And he was this cocky little guy too, not like he is now. I mean, what the fuck did he have on me? He took a swing at us, started to fight back, so Jeb pissed on his face.”
