The Girl in the Picture

by Alexandra Monir

  It’s hard for people to refuse me, even teachers, and Mrs. Wakely is quickly swept up in my enthusiasm and making arrangements with Headmaster Higgins. After that I’m the hero of the day, getting high fives in the hallways and whispers in my ear of “I’ll sneak the vodka.” Mrs. Wakely will be chaperoning, which might have been a wet blanket on the night if I hadn’t remembered a key detail. “I could sleep through a tornado,” she once said mournfully, when recounting to the class a comet that blazed across the sky in the 2000s—something everyone in her life managed to stay awake to witness but her. I’m banking on history repeating itself, and Mrs. Wakely being a fabulously unobservant chaperone.

  Part of the deal was that I’d be in charge of setup, but I don’t even mind. I enlist Stephanie, Derek, and Brandon for the morning of the party, and of course Nicole offers to help as soon as she hears what we’re up to, so I have four other sets of hands pitching tents and stringing lights from the trees on the South Lawn. When Stephanie asks Nicole who she’s “tenting with,” I feel a momentary pang of worry that I’m expected to invite her to share our tent. I mean, don’t I deserve one night off from making small talk with this girl I have nothing in common with? Thankfully, Nicole replies that she’s sharing with Brianne and another chick from orchestra. It’s a relief to know she has actual friends besides that violin of hers.

  Friday night approaches, and dinner flashes by in an excited blur. Soon it’s time for Mrs. Wakely to lead our class out of the dining room, past the envious stares of the seniors, who never had the sense to come up with an idea like this when they took Astronomy. Moments later, we’re outside and hiking toward the South Lawn, adjacent to the soccer field. It looks like a summer dream after our decoration job.

  Twinkling lights and paper lanterns hang from the trees, patio chairs fill the spaces between tents, and a large patch of grass is kept clear for dancing. Three tables stand together on the outskirts of the tents, holding pitchers of ice water and lemonade, dessert platters, portable speakers, and, to placate our teacher, astronomy cards. From our classmates’ whoops as they enter, it’s clear that this outdoor slumber party I dreamed up is a winner.

  Stephanie cues up the playlist, and our favorite Rihanna track starts blaring. She shimmies over to me, and before Mrs. Wakely knows what hit her, the sedate little astronomy gathering I promised her turns into a dance-off. I bump hips with Stephanie, let Derek twirl me around, and then I dance alone in the center of a growing crowd, lifting my arms above my head and showing off my toned abs as I do my best Shakira moves. I scan the faces cheering me on, and my eyes find Chace’s. Knowing he’s watching sends a thrill tickling down my spine. I look away, pretending I didn’t see him—but he’s the one I’m dancing for.

  After starting with such a bang, I’m thrown when the rest of the night doesn’t go according to plan. I don’t know what I expected exactly, but it definitely wasn’t watching as my crush got chatted up by every other girl in our class. Two hours and three drinks later (yes, we spiked the lemonade, duh) he still hasn’t even approached me. Of course, it only makes me hunger for him more. So I do what any girl in my position should. I laugh harder and louder than everyone else. I dance with whichever guy bops over to me, regardless of whether or not I find them repulsive. I keep that “Happiest Girl in America” smile fixed on my face, ignoring Chace as steadfastly as he appears to be ignoring me. But when my eyes flick back over to him and find him deep in conversation with Nicole, of all people, I feel my energy deflate. Why is he wasting time with all these other jokers, when I’m practically offering myself up on a silver platter?

  After half an hour of pretending to pay attention to my friends’ chatter while secretly watching Chace and Nicole out of the corner of my eye, I finally stalk past the two of them, heading for the telescope. I don’t give a hoot about what’s going on in the sky, but at least it gives me something to do while I formulate my next move.

  I’m squinting into the lens, trying to figure out what’s so thrilling up there, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “Hey,” Chace says, his breath warm against my neck. “What’s up?”

  “Hey,” I reply, still looking into the telescope. I’m not about to turn around and drop everything just because he finally decided to pay attention to me.

  “Something tells me Mrs. Wakely is going to pull the plug on the music soon,” he says into my ear. “Want to get a dance in before she does?”

  Based on the panicked expression I saw on our teacher’s face while watching a group of us grind our hips and shimmy our shoulders to “Bitch Better Have My Money,” I have a feeling Chace might be right. But still. I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of a dance so easily.

  “I’m a little busy right now,” I tell him, nodding at the telescope.

  “Is anything happening up there yet?” he asks.

  “I can’t tell,” I admit grudgingly.

  He laughs, a warm and wonderful sound, and leans in so his shoulder is touching mine.

  “Let me look.”

  “So what were you and my roomie talking about?”

  The words just slip out, and my cheeks blaze in embarrassment. Why did I say that aloud? It must be because I’m just so baffled that he even has two words to say to her. They couldn’t be more different.

  “We were talking about you, actually.”

  Now I can’t even feign indifference. I step away from the telescope, eyeing him.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He gives me a teasing grin. “I think she might be hatching some sort of plan. Like trying to set us up.”

  “Oh?” My heartbeat picks up speed. What is Nicole doing?

  Chace turns to face me, neither of us bothering with the telescope anymore.

  “She asked me if I’m too chicken to ask you to dance, and if it’s because you look so good tonight.”

  “She did not say that.” I let out a nervous giggle.

  “Did too.”

  “So what did you say, then?” I’m fishing, I know, but I can’t help it.

  Chace looks at me thoughtfully.

  “I asked her what you’re really like. And she said you’re as nice and as cool as you are pretty.”

  For the first time in my entire life, I’m stumped for words. First of all, let’s be real, even I know I’m not as nice as I am pretty. But more importantly, why would Nicole do this for me? I’ve hardly been buddy-buddy with her since we became roommates—our interactions have mainly consisted of her making small talk and me muttering in reply—so she was clearly stretching the truth with her compliment. Why would she say it? What does she have to gain from me landing my crush?

  “Come on.” Chace reaches out his hand. “I love this song.”

  He leads the way to the makeshift dance floor and wraps his arms around my waist. A flock of butterflies sets off in my stomach, which feels so weird. What is it about this guy that makes me nervous when I’m normally so self-assured?

  “You know the night’s magic seems to whisper and hush…”

  He hums along as I drape my arms around his neck, and I can’t help relaxing into a laugh.

  “What is this song? Did Mrs. Wakely switch to her own old-person playlist or something?”

  “That’s an intriguing thought.” Chace pulls me in for a playful spin. “But if you don’t know who Van Morrison is, then I’ve got some educating to do.”

  “Okay. Just as long as I get to do some educating of my own.” I look pointedly down at my feet, which he’s now stepped on twice. We both laugh, and he draws me in closer.

  My arms are tingling. Something electric is in the air. I can’t keep up my hard shell in his embrace; I’m turning soft and mushy inside, like those girls I always made fun of. I feel myself becoming one of them now, melting into a romantic. Maybe I should try to fight it, but I don’t.

  It feels too good.

  —

  It’s five in the morning and I’m lying awake in the tent, too giddy to sleep, l
istening to Kara’s snores. The girl really needs to start taking a decongestant stat. If it were yesterday, I might have shaken her awake and snapped at her to shut up, but I’m feeling particularly gracious at the moment.

  He likes me. It’s such a middle-school phrase, yet it has the power to set off a small fireworks explosion in my chest. He likes me.

  A shadow approaches the tent and I sit up, curious as to who else would be awake at this ungodly hour. Then I see the outline of frizzy hair as she passes. I quickly climb out of my sleeping bag, throw on a sweater, and crawl out of the tent.

  “Nicole,” I call out in a stage whisper.

  She whirls around, her eyes wide.

  “You scared me,” she says with a giggle. “I thought no one was up. I can’t sleep.”

  “Me neither,” I tell her. “Where were you going?”

  “Just for a walk. I thought the post-meteor-shower sky would be something to see. I feel like I missed the main event last night.”

  “Me too. I don’t know if Mrs. Wakely built up the whole thing, or if we’re all blind as bats.”

  We fall into step together, passing the tents and moving onto the soccer field.

  “Nicole? Why did you say those nice things about me to Chace?” I blurt out.

  Two pink spots appear in her cheeks.

  “Because I knew you liked him. I could tell from the first time I asked you about him. And I don’t know, he was talking to me and I guess…I just thought I should give him a little push.”

  “So you wanted to help get us together? But why?” I’m still trying to process the idea of someone doing something for me without an ulterior motive.

  Nicole gives me a quizzical look.

  “Because I know you like him, and you’re my friend. I just thought it was right.”

  Her simple words leave me speechless for the second time in twenty-four hours. Here I’ve been complaining about this girl behind her back for two weeks, and meanwhile she thinks we’re friends. She wanted to do something nice for me and she did. She gave him a push.

  “Thank you,” I finally say. “You’re a good friend.”

  And in that moment I decide I’ll be a real friend to her, too.

  “Look!” Nicole cries, pointing upward. “Finally!”

  A spark races through the sky, followed by another and then another, like multiplying bolts of lightning.

  “There it is.” I look up at the sight of the meteor shower making its appearance at last. The sparks accelerate into a celestial rainfall, shooting closer, and I take a nervous step back.

  “Don’t worry,” Nicole says with a smile, slinging her arm across my shoulder. “They’re only stars.”

  “But, honey, it’s too late to regret

  What is gone will be no more.”

  Instead of taking the direct route to my dorm, something pulls me toward the South Lawn. I’m close enough to hear the mourners, to see the flickering candles from their vigil, but now I can breathe my own air.

  I turn slowly in the empty green space. If I close my eyes, I can see it as it looked that night last year, with the tents and the paper lanterns, Lana and her friends tearing up the patch of grass that passed for a dance floor. It’s hard to imagine that one meaningless party could alter the course of our lives, but it’s true. Everything stems from the decision I made that night.

  What if I’d made a different choice? The thought has haunted me for a year. What if I’d recognized Chace’s interest those first weeks of school, instead of finding it so unfathomable and pushing him toward Lana instead? In my mind, guys like him belonged with girls like her. I wanted to see them together, my stupid ego needed to prove my insecurities right. And yes, I wanted to be her friend, too. Those months of staying up late talking and sharing secrets like sisters, of being included in her innermost circle—they almost made my decision worth it.

  Some friends we turned out to be.

  With a shiver, I turn away from the lawn and the ghosts of last year, picking up the pace as I make my way back toward the dorms. But it isn’t long before the ghosts find me again.

  The wooden bridge is the midway point between the school’s sprawling fields and its main buildings. Underneath the bridge, in my and Chace’s sanctuary, you can’t see the forest it leads to. But from above, passing the bridge means I’m forced to see the moss-covered trees, their branches stretching toward me like mangled fingers, beckoning me back inside. I’ll never make that mistake again. But even without going near it, the forest still swallows me up in flashes of memory.

  “Lana?” I repeat as I move through the woods, struggling to keep my balance on the craggy path. “Where are you guys?”

  My palms grow clammy as I realize I really ought to be hearing the sounds of the party by now—but there’s nothing. No music, laughter, or clinking bottles, only the occasional hoot of an owl.

  I fish my phone out of my pocket, but the No Service warning flashes at the top of the screen. Shoot.

  I hear a flapping sound behind me and I cry out, whirling around in panic, but it’s only a harmless bird. Holding my flashlight in front of me like a weapon, I notice a sheet of paper taped to the tree in front of me. The words “Party Up Ahead!” are scrawled in Lana’s handwriting, above an arrow pointing north. I release the breath I’ve been holding and continue along the trail.

  But even as I keep walking, I’m no closer to the action. The woods are still dead silent, with no sign of anyone here but me. When I reach the low cliff that splits my path in two, a sick realization dawns on me.

  I shake my head violently to rid myself of the memory. I can’t bear to relive that night—even though I’m forced to face its aftermath whenever I look in the mirror.

  I step back into my dorm for the first time since this morning, before my world was shattered. It feels like someone else’s space now. My phone, plugged into the charger in the wall, beeps and flashes and I can only imagine how many messages are waiting for me. I have a brief fantasy of shoving my phone in the sink and letting it die, but then I imagine my mom’s panicked face. She’s probably been trying to reach me all day. There’s no way the news hasn’t gotten out yet—not when it’s the congressman’s son.

  I reach for my phone tentatively, as though it could burn my fingers. I have nine missed calls—five from Mom, one from Ryan, another from Brianne, and two from unfamiliar numbers that give me a sinking feeling. What if it’s the cop or the detective with more questions I can’t bear to answer?

  My text message inbox is flooded with the same names, and multiple variations of Are you okay? I’m worried, call me! from Mom and Where are you? from Brianne. I start to type a reply to Mom, but I can’t get past the word Sorry before my throat tightens and tears burn my eyes. I hurl my phone across the room, watching as it skids over the carpet and hits the leg of my desk. There’s only one person I want to speak to, whose name I ache to see in my message inbox. And I never will again. The thought is too much to stomach, and I grab my earbuds and iPod off my bedside table, desperate to drown out the noise in my head. I scroll down to a Brahms playlist and slip the buds into my ears.

  “However far away, I will always love you.

  However long I stay—”

  My heart leaps into my throat. I sit upright, giving my iPod a double take, but the screen still shows Brahms: The Symphonies as Now Playing—even though the Cure’s “Lovesong” is the melody filling my ears. Our song.

  And then I hear something else. His voice over my shoulder, singing along quietly, just like he used to. I rip off the earbuds and whirl around, holding my breath. Could it possibly be—?

  Of course not. The room is as empty as it was when I walked in. I sink back onto the bed, weakened with disappointment.

  Yet I could swear I still hear him humming.

  OCTOBER 25, 2016

  I wake up with my phone in my hand, waiting for a text that will never come. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I’m still wearing yesterday’s school uniform, a
nd my contact lenses feel like glue in my eyes from sleeping in them.

  “Nicole!” There’s a pounding at my door. It’s Brianne, her voice sounding flustered.

  As I heave myself up to a sitting position, the horror of yesterday comes rushing back to me all at once. I cry out, gripping the bed frame. No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It’s a new reality I’ll be forced to get used to, morning after morning.

  “Nicole, let me in!”

  I push myself off the bed and make my way to the door, still in a daze. But when I open it, I’m in for a shock. Brianne isn’t alone. A crowd of girls is clustered in the hallway behind her, all of them watching me like I’m some kind of main attraction, their eyes probing and hawklike. Two of Lana’s minions, Kara and Jen, are among them, their arms folded aggressively as they stare me down. What the hell? I close the space in the doorway so that only Brianne can slip inside. She pushes past the voyeurs and slams the door behind her, then leans against it, catching her breath.

  “What’s going on? What are they doing out there?” I ask her.

  “Sit down,” she orders.

  I sink back onto the bed, staring at my friend in confusion. She grabs my laptop off the desk, types something into the search window, and then thrusts it in my lap. I take one look at the screen—and my heart stops. I jump up in panic, letting the laptop crash to my feet. No, no, no.

  It’s our photos. They’re on the front page of Google News, underneath the boldfaced headline, “The Case of Chace Porter and the Girl in the Picture.” I stare at the article in disbelief as the room begins to spin.

  Someone got their hands on our photo strip—and now anyone and everyone can see me sitting in Chace’s lap, his lips on my shoulder. It’s all there, in permanent color ink.

  “How did this happen?” I whisper. It hurts to see the photos again and remember what I’ve lost—as if I could forget—but it’s even harder to wrap my mind around the loss of our private moment, the broadcasting of our secret. My mind flashes through a series of imagined reactions to the pictures: my mom’s shock, his parents’ confusion and pain, Lana’s fury. She’s going to kill me over this, I realize, and then it hits me that it’s no exaggeration. She might actually kill me.