The Beauty That Remains

by Ashley Woodfolk

  “Cool?” she says, like she’s not sure it is, and she brushes by me. Deedee is right behind her.

  “Oh, that’s awesome, Shay,” she says with a smile, but I see her eyes flick ahead to Callie, who keeps walking.

  “What’s up with her?” I ask as I start toward my locker. Deedee turns and follows me, even though hers is in the opposite direction.

  “She’s mad you missed the show.”

  I sigh. “I knew she’d make this into a big deal. That’s why I sent Rohan. I had to study,” I say.

  Deedee nods. “Yeah, but you didn’t tell us that.”

  She leans against the wall as I pop open my locker. Her glasses are dirty, so I take them off and clean them with my shirt before I do anything else. I actually need to put books into my bag, and Deedee looks surprised by how long it’s taking me to swap things in and out.

  “Callie begged her cousin for a couple of backstage passes to the show last night. You remember Ryan, right? He’s a total—”

  “Dick?” I fill in for her.

  “Yeah,” Deedee says, though she’d never call anyone that. “Cal had to, like, promise to work coat check at some shows all night for him for a few weekends in a row to get the passes. She wanted to surprise you.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  Deedee looks at her feet. “She thought it would be easier for you to watch from backstage, since crowds have been bugging you so much lately. I told her it was probably a good idea.”

  “Crap,” I mutter, wondering if my friends are worrying about me too, which is a horrible feeling. I look over at Deedee. “That was really nice.”

  Deedee nods again. “She was really upset you didn’t come, after all that, even though I told her you couldn’t have known. She let Rohan have the passes, so the good thing is he got to talk to the band a bit, and I got some really awesome photos, too, even though Revenge kind of sucked.”

  She pulls out her phone and starts thumbing through her photos. “Which one should we post? I have some more on my DSLR if you don’t like any of these.”

  I glance back at where Callie was a minute ago, but the hall is filling up fast as kids are dismissed from last period.

  “I’m not sure, Dee. Can we talk about it later?”

  She pockets her phone and hikes her backpack up higher on her shoulders. “Sure. Um, is it okay if I come to your track meet?”

  I’d almost forgotten I had one today. I smile. “Duh. You know I love it when you guys come.”

  “Oh, I meant, is it okay if it’s just me? Callie has a thing after school, and Rohan got detention. He said he’d drive us home after, but he wasn’t sure what time he was getting out.”

  I look at Deedee, and I feel the nervous, scary feelings flickering inside me. I don’t want Callie to miss my meet if it’s because she’s mad at me, and I want Rohan to be there, too, and my mom still hasn’t texted me back. Maybe my missing the show made things worse instead of better. I wish Sasha were here to sit with Deedee, at least.

  I just wish Sasha were here.

  “You don’t have to come and sit there all by yourself. It’s an invitational, Dee, so it could go on for hours.”

  “No, it’s okay. I really want to be there.” She smiles, her glasses flashing in the hallway’s bright lights.

  I reach out and wrap her in the biggest hug, wrinkling my test, which was, a second ago, my crowning achievement, and not caring at all. Her bushy ponytail tickles my face and I wonder if my thick hair is doing the same to her.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  * * *

  —

  For a few minutes today, I was happy. I was proud that I’d studied and it had paid off. I’ve been home before curfew every night this week, and I haven’t been late to track practice once. Mom hasn’t cried in the morning in days, and I’d like to think that has something to do with me. But when I step into the gym to start warming up, I see a set of twins from one of the visiting teams, and now that they’re both standing right in front of me, I’m not happy anymore.

  I know Deedee is here, and I should be grateful. But Callie isn’t, and Rohan isn’t, and Mom hasn’t come to a meet in forever. And seeing those girls, feeling twinless all over again, makes it impossible to ignore how not here Sasha is too.

  I start scanning the bleachers, looking for Deedee, but I can’t find her. I’m supposed to be stretching, hyping myself up, talking smack with my teammates about all the other teams. But after I can’t find Deedee, I just keep staring at the twins, and their matching faces and long, dark ponytails are making it hard for me to stay calm.

  I shake out my hands because they’re getting tingly, like they’re about to go numb. And I know if that happens, I might lose feeling in my feet too. I can’t run—not like this, because track is all about control, discipline, and focus. I stare at my sister’s hospital bracelet, but I can’t even focus on that. I jog over to Coach.

  “I can’t run,” I tell him, feeling like a failure, a flake.

  “What do you mean ‘can’t’?” Coach asks.

  I feel tears fill my eyes because I don’t know how to describe it. I need to run, but not in here.

  Away.

  “I just…It’s hard to explain,” I say, but it’s not just hard. It’s impossible.

  “Okay, Malone,” Coach says, softening because he can’t take it when anyone on the team cries, and he can probably tell I’m right on the edge. “Go sit on the bench. Drink some water. See if it gets any better. There are three other events before yours, so you have some time.”

  I go to the bench, but it doesn’t get better. Those twins are still there, and they fist bump before one of them lines up for the first event. I twist around, scanning the sea of faces more carefully, desperately, but I still don’t see Deedee. The thought that she could have decided not to come too crosses my mind. I’ve never felt so alone in a room this full.

  One of the girls on the team passes me a water bottle. She says, “You don’t look so good,” and I’m tempted to tell her to shut up, but I hold back. If I look anything like I feel, I probably look like I’m about to puke.

  “Hey,” I hear a familiar voice say, right behind me. I turn around, and it’s Jerome, wearing a big ugly sweater and grinning. I’ve never been so happy to see him and his weird clothes.

  “J,” I say. “I have to get the hell out of here.” I start crying for real then.

  He nods. “Okay, it’s okay. I think I see Deedee. Let me go get her, then we’ll take you home, okay?”

  I nod. I lean forward and put my head between my knees when he tells me to. It helps a little. And then Deedee is there grabbing my arm and explaining to Coach that I’m not feeling well, and then we’re in the locker room getting my stuff. Deedee’s voice is in my ear, and it helps too, and now it’s a little easier for me to do what I’m supposed to be doing. After I change, we go out into the hall, and Jerome is talking to Rohan, who I guess got out of detention and has been waiting for us. We pile into the Band Wagon and pull out of the parking lot a few minutes later.

  As we merge onto the freeway, I roll down my window, even though it’s cold, because I’m trying hard to keep it together in Rohan’s van. I’m hoping the wind in my face will remind me of running. I’m hoping I’ll be able to zone out instead of freaking out. Deedee reaches forward and turns on some music, and Jerome puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “You good?” he asks, and I nod again. “I think so,” I say, but the truth is, I’m so grateful for these amazing people all around me that I’m fighting off happy tears as much as I am the other kind.

  I’m still too hot, so I push up my sleeves, and just like that, Sasha’s hospital bracelet pops off my arm and flies out the window.

  I twist around to look behind us, but it’s hopeless. It’s already gone, and I get upset all over again. My friends are laughing
, making fun of how bad the Revenge show was. But I can’t breathe.

  “Stop the car,” I say.

  Rohan doesn’t hear me. “So SOUND/WAVE/LENGTH is playing down in Merrick.”

  “Oh, I love them!” Deedee cuts in. “Should we swing by and pick up Callie?”

  “Where would she even sit?” says Jerome.

  “You’d think in a van this big there would be more room.” Deedee laughs.

  “We can’t. If we don’t hurry—”

  “Ro, I’m serious. Stop the car!”

  They all look at me then, and notice that I am not okay. Rohan says, “Shay, I can’t. There’s no shoulder on this part of the highway. But I’ll take the next exit, just give me a minute.”

  I look ahead, and there’s a sign that says the next exit isn’t for three miles. I’m not sure if I’ll make it that long. Deedee takes my hand, and I close my eyes when Jerome tells me to try to breathe deeply.

  “Talk to me,” Rohan says as soon as we’ve pulled into the parking lot of a Dunkin’ Donuts. I fling the passenger door open and start pacing. Jerome stretches out across the middle seat and lights a joint that he passes around. Everyone takes a hit but me, and when I refuse, no one says anything, even though I feel like they’re all thinking it: I’m the main one who needs to chill out.

  “The hospital bracelet,” I say, feeling like I’m choking on the words. “It flew out the window.”

  “Oh shit,” Rohan says. “Are you sure?” He walks over to the passenger side of the car and opens the door. He kicks around the trash on the floor but doesn’t find anything. When he slides the back door wide, Deedee gets out of his way and sits on the curb with her arms wrapped around her shins. Ro keeps looking, a little frantically, and Jerome lifts his long legs so Rohan can run his fingers over the middle seat next. Rohan opens the back of the van, but it’s not there, either. His eyes are glassy and fierce when he looks back at me.

  “I’m sure,” I say, because it looks like he’s about to ask me if I am again. “I saw it.” I feel tears spill over my cheeks. I start pacing and squeezing my hands. “Did you know that people who don’t have twins anymore are called twinless? Have you ever heard something so horrible?” This is what I do when it gets bad. I make it worse. Sasha called it spiraling. And it’s dizzying, the speed at which dark thoughts are filling up my head.

  Jerome hits the joint and passes it through the open door to Deedee, who has come over and put her hands on my shoulders to stop me from moving. Deedee tries to hand it off to me, but I shake my head. Jerome says, “You could always get a tattoo.”

  For the first time since we pulled over I stand completely still. I shove my hands into my pockets and frown. “What are you talking about?”

  “You can’t lose a tattoo,” he reasons. “Plus, it would be badass.” He grins, and his coppery brown eyes sparkle in the dying evening light.

  “Hell, yeah,” Rohan says. “I could get one with you.” He looks relieved—like it was his fault I lost the bracelet and now he can make it up to me or something.

  “How about the fact that we can’t legally get a tattoo? We’re not old enough. Plus, we don’t have that kind of money, and Mom would kill me.”

  Rohan lifts his eyebrows and grins, and he looks a little devilish whenever he makes that face. He pops open the glove compartment and pulls out something small and plastic.

  “I still have Sasha’s fake ID.”

  Deedee perks up at this. “No way! Sasha had a fake ID? For what?”

  “Shows, mostly. Getting into the ones that were eighteen plus.”

  “Wait,” I say. “When did Sasha ever go to eighteen-plus shows?” I’m thinking of Sasha, always reading books, watching documentaries, and drinking tea. I know she loved music as much as me, but I’ve never been to a show that wasn’t teens only.

  I guess I’m a little surprised that there’s something I didn’t know about her.

  Rohan grins again. “Whenever she could,” he says.

  * * *

  —

  “There’s no way in hell you’re getting a ‘Fucking Luke’ tattoo.”

  This was my first idea, but everyone thinks it’s a bad one. Rohan had some cash from the last couple of shows he played still in his wallet. He and his band split whatever they make at the door and on merch. Jerome and Deedee donated to the cause, and now we have just enough to get two small tattoos if the place doesn’t try to rip us off. The only problem with pooling funds is that my friends think they get to tell me what I can and can’t get inked.

  “You can’t actually stop me,” I say to them. We’ve just picked up Callie because I couldn’t very well get a tattoo without all of my best friends there. She’s still mad, and not really talking to me, but I’m still glad she’s here. I point to the inside of my wrist, at the part that pulses; the part that, on a lighter-skinned person, the soft green of tiny veins would be visible right through it.

  “I’m getting it right here,” I tell Rohan.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should get it done here,” Deedee says, pointing around Callie, who is on her lap, in the backseat. Her pudgy finger pokes my shoulder. “That would be easier to hide from your mom.”

  “Truuue.” I nod, considering.

  “Actually, I can stop you,” Rohan says. He holds the ID between his thumb and forefinger and bends it until it starts to look like it might snap in half.

  “No!” I shout, and everyone, even Callie, laughs.

  I reach for it, but he shakes his head and puts it behind his back. Like we’re freaking five-year-olds.

  “Seriously, Ro? Are you going to make me beg for it?”

  “Nope,” he says. He grins, and his dimples appear in his cheeks. “But I am going to make you pinkie promise you won’t get a ‘Fucking Luke’ tattoo.”

  “Fine, fine, I’ll figure something else out,” I say, offering my hooked pinkie finger. “Promise.”

  When he hands it over, I see that the ID says I’m a woman named Lacy Pantese, from a town in Colorado that’s probably more than a thousand miles away. The picture, which actually is a photo of Sasha in heavy makeup, is the most believable part of the whole thing.

  “Seriously?” I say again. But he just shrugs.

  Jerome takes the ID from me and uses the flashlight from his phone so the whole backseat can read it.

  “This actually works?” he asks.

  Rohan says “Yup” and tells us about the last show he and Sasha went to.

  “When you guys moved her into the downstairs room, it just made it easier for her to sneak out,” he says. “She told me she didn’t want to worry your mom since she was working all the time. I think she thought it would stress you out too, if you knew. So it was something just the two of us did.” He has a small smile on his face, but then he looks over at me, probably because I’m quiet. “Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not,” I say. “Just surprised.”

  It’s weird to find out that Sasha had secrets, even from Mom—even from me. But as I look in the rearview mirror at Callie, who’s twisting her brown hair around her finger and looking through the window, I think maybe there are unknown parts of everyone. Callie’s so intense, and a lot of people think she’s mean. But then she’ll do things like beg someone she hates for a favor, just to help out a friend. I look at Deedee next, with her honest eyes and big smile, and at Jerome, with his pretty lips and furrowed brow. I never know what he’s thinking. And Ro, who looks at me like I’m an apparition half the time and teases me the rest.

  We’re all so much more than we seem.

  When we get to the tattoo place, I hand the ID to a big bearded guy leaning on the glass case near the entrance; then I start fidgeting—sticking my fingers into my pockets and then pulling them out, wringing Sasha’s beanie (I’m wearing a purple one today) in my hands. Rohan pokes me in the
back with his keys and mouths Relax, so I stop moving so much and try not to look as guilty as I feel.

  The guy looks at the ID, then up at me, then down at the ID again. Then he scans the room, looking at everyone else. Callie has her arms crossed, but I can see a brightness in her eyes that wasn’t there in the car, so I know she’s excited to be here. Deedee is walking around looking at the photos on the walls. Jerome has his legs kicked up in one of the waiting room chairs, and Ro is looking at the body jewelry. They are all playing it so cool. The guy smirks a little and tugs at his earlobe, which is pierced half a dozen times, but then he hands the ID back to me.

  “So, Lacy, what can I do for you?”

  Rohan looks at me with a warning in his eyes. But I’d decided in the car what to get instead of “Fucking Luke.”

  “My sister’s name,” I say, pointing to the inside of my wrist. Once I get the tattoo, every time I go running and need to check my heart rate, every time I’m waiting for my pulse to slow, I’ll have to touch “Sasha.” My heart will beat for the both of us now. “I just want my sister’s name right here.” We all hold our breath as Rohan shows his fake ID, but it goes much more smoothly than it did with me.

  While we wait for the guy to reappear from behind a velvety red curtain, I flip through a binder, trying to find a font to use for the tattoo.

  “How often does that happen?” Rohan asks.

  “How often does what happen?” I echo. I point to a fancy script on the third page of the book, but Deedee quickly shakes her head.

  “That’s too adult-looking, like it could be on a wedding invitation or something,” she says.

  Rohan clears his throat and tucks part of his too-long bangs behind his ear. “The panic attacks. How often do they happen?”

  I look up at him. “Oh God, Ro. Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not a panic attack. I know I’m not, like, dying.” But I look away when I say that, because pretty much the opposite is true. Sometimes, when it’s really bad, it feels exactly like dying.