Arrows

by Melissa Gorzelanczyk

  School would be my best bet for securing the most Danny-Karma face time. Where did they spend their days? School. It was time for Aaryn Jones to get a real job, arrows not included.

  “So you wanted to leave the big city and move to a small town?” she said, helping me out.

  I nodded. “Too much noise. I was lonely there.”

  “Well.” She slid her sunglasses back on, like she didn’t want me to catch the sadness in her eyes. Too late. “Sometimes we all need to start over and connect with who we really are.” She cupped her hands over her knees. “I know a guy—he has a studio apartment above his bar, nothing fancy, but it’s furnished. I’ll take you to town. He’s an old friend of mine.”

  “Wow. Thanks.” I felt a little bit like hugging her. I knew Diorthosis was behind the scenes, making her help me—but her kindness felt real. I’d take it.

  “Lakefield’s a small town full of good people. You’ll see.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you have enough cash for a security deposit?”

  “A what?”

  “Money for the apartment?” she said.

  “No, I, uh, need to get some.”

  “We can swing by an ATM.”

  No idea what she was talking about, so I just smiled.

  “Is there anything else you need?” she asked.

  “Yes. There is.” I cleared my throat. “How can I get this guy I know to fall in love with someone?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The air left me. Stupid. “Never mind.”

  Karma drove up just as we were going to leave.

  Juliette waved at her, the keys rattling, then followed Karma’s gaze to me, the person she was staring at through the windshield. Me, standing there shirtless, the sun going down, the privacy of the woods, four girls probably spying from the house—nothing could have prepared me for that.

  The shock of meeting her eyes.

  The clenching, my entire body registering that she could see me. It had been more than a year. My arrow had changed her life, yet she had no idea that I had once possessed the power to derail everything about her future.

  Karma’s eyes tightened at the edges, and she was the one who smiled first. Obligatory. Her face, that familiar face from the photograph—one side of her hair curved over her eyebrow. The memories came fast—the way the arrow had felt, the way she’d looked at Danny after the kiss. Her following him into the truck.

  “Mom’s babysitting,” Karma told Juliette. Guilt weighed on me, right in my chest. She could see me. She didn’t know who I was, couldn’t know, and yet—there was a chance to make things right. She could still be part of my first match.

  “Glad she’s helping,” Juliette said. “This is Aaryn, by the way. I’m taking him to town. Aaryn, my niece Karma.”

  Karma and I said hi to each other at the same time.

  Juliette ducked into the car, which sent me fumbling for the door handle. “Start class without me,” she called.

  Again Karma was giving me a curious look. It wasn’t long before the rest of the girls came out to greet her, which seemed more like an excuse to stare and gossip about the weird guy they’d found in the back of the school.

  Juliette buzzed the windows down, blasted country music, and hit the gas. Once on the road, the trees sped by, shadowed trunks, lots of green. I let them blur past.

  All right.

  Day one and I’d already found her. Next up was Danny. Somehow I had to get close to him. Match them. The music was loud with twang guitar, the scenery speeding, but my head felt clear.

  I had to get home.

  “Why is she giving him a ride?” I asked. Dust rose from where Juliette had gunned it down the road, a soft haze between the trees.

  “She said she knows him from somewhere,” Monique said. Her hair was shiny, slicked against her head and wound into a bun. “We found him outside the school just lying in the grass. He didn’t have a phone, or a car, or anything.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Juliette’s acting weird,” Peyton said. “Did she start smoking weed?”

  “Peyton,” I said.

  “Well, then what is her deal?”

  “Who cares if she knows him?” Monique said. “He’s hot.”

  “Very,” Svetlana said.

  “So I guess the real question is—who’s going to date him first?” Monique said in a singsong voice.

  “Not me,” I said, then immediately wondered why. They knew I had a boyfriend. Of course she didn’t mean me.

  “I call dibs,” Svetlana said.

  “Dream on,” Monique said.

  “What should we do until she gets back?” Sofia said. She didn’t like fighting over boys. I wasn’t even sure she liked boys.

  “Let’s watch a movie,” Monique said.

  I smiled, feeling tired and old. It would be nice to relax for once. “I’m going to rehearse.”

  The girls wandered back toward Kindred, the house with their bedrooms on the second floor, kitchen and living room beneath. Juliette had named the house in honor of her favorite book, Anne of Green Gables. Shining Waters, the studio, was another reference to the story. Peyton stayed with me. Stones skidded across the driveway as we crossed to the studio. She was quieter than usual and seemed to be studying me to find out what I was hiding. I wanted to tell her about last night, Louisiana, the whole thing.

  And a big part of me didn’t.

  If I never told her, she wouldn’t know how hurt I was, or how confused, or how pissed off I felt that Danny could ditch us without a second thought. He knew we belonged together. We had what every girl dreamed of—each other. A family. Love. We didn’t call dibs on other people, because we had already called dibs on us.

  “Danny accepted a scholarship to a school in Louisiana.”

  There. I said it.

  “What?”

  See, that’s why I hadn’t said anything: that look. That look she was giving me, her red hair all crazy in the setting sun, her mouth wide open like she’d just heard the most appalling news in the world. That look only deepened the hollowness inside.

  I squared my shoulders. “And I’m going with him.”

  “Oh, Karma.” The way she said it, like my mother had just died. The worst part was, it felt like losing someone. My dream was dying and I was at its bedside, helpless.

  “What would you do?” I said. I wasn’t really asking her advice as much as I was asking her to see the situation from my side. “Could you honestly be that far away from Nick for four years?”

  We stood in the entrance, that big, empty floor glaring white in the center. Peyton seemed really shocked. “No. I mean, I know you want to be with him. But, Karma. New York.” She pleaded the words New York as if she longed for the city as much as I did. “You won’t have the same opportunities in Louisiana.”

  “But I’ll have Danny. That’s something.”

  “Did he…?” She pressed her lips together.

  “Did he what?” I fit my dance bag in one of the open spots under the bench, moving it around more than necessary. “You can say it, whatever it is.” We sat on the inspirational cushions, my butt on Dream big, hers covering Be happy.

  “Did he talk to you about this? Make plans with you? Anything?”

  A flutter of panic shot across the top of my chest. “Yes. We talked last night, but I didn’t want to say anything. You’re the only one who knows.”

  “You had to drive over to his house just to get him to talk about it?”

  “You said so yourself, it’s better to talk about things face to face.”

  “I just don’t want you to throw everything away if it’s not going to work out.”

  “What do you mean?” My question echoed in the room. “Do you think we’re going to break up?”

  Peyton decided to lie. I’d known her too long, which really sucked at the moment, because she did the thing she always did when she lied and studied her knuckles. “No.” The word was drawn out as when she did
n’t believe something. “I mean, I don’t think so. Anything can happen. We’re only in high school.”

  “I’m in love. You know how it feels to be in love.”

  Peyton shot me a desperate, understanding glance. “I know.” She did know. She, of all people, did know. We were the friends who gushed about our guys and how much we loved them, and how awesome they were, and how we’d be together forever.

  “Danny’s a good guy.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to defend him all the time. “He really is. Please don’t tell anyone else about this. I have to figure things out first.”

  Peyton sighed and we sat there in silence, each of us picking at our nails, our shared nervous habit. “Do you think I shouldn’t go?” I held my breath. I’d still go, of course—I loved him—but if Peyton could honestly say that I should go to New York instead of follow Danny? That would be something.

  “I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

  “Do you think I’m being stupid?”

  Peyton gaped and smacked me with the Inspire others pillow. “I never think you’re stupid.”

  We shared a small smile, two friends who had fallen in love with our guys on the same night. We were the friends who would lie as needed and sit next to each other on Dream big and Be happy. Why couldn’t Danny be more like Nick? I squinted.

  “Do you think there’s a way Nick could coach Danny on how to be a better boyfriend?”

  Peyton lit up. She loved talking about Nick. “Oh, Nick’s too much of a guy. Do you really think Danny would go for that? Boyfriend lessons?”

  “I was joking.”

  “Right.” Peyton stood and snapped her fingers. She dragged her feet into a few familiar dance moves, then circled around and grabbed both of my hands. “We need to get out of this funk. I know just the thing.”

  “Hmm.”

  She plugged her phone into the sound system. A song from our favorite movie, Dirty Dancing, began to play.

  “Ha!” I grinned, shaking my head.

  “Come on,” she urged.

  I pretended to hate it but swung into the center of the room, mimicking Baby, the character from the movie with swingy hips. God, to be her, stuck on some ritzy vacation where the guy of her dreams sweeps her off her feet. Thanks to Juliette and her love of classic movies, we knew the scenes by heart.

  Peyton laughed and tossed her hair just like Johnny Castle, the hot dancer guy, the love of Baby’s life. She dropped to her knees playing air guitar.

  “What did I tell you?” she said. “No funk allowed. Now dance for me, you sexy thing.”

  “Oh my God,” I protested.

  We met in the center, just like in the movie, and made a horrible mess imitating the parts we remembered.

  Juliette walked in. “Wow.” She clapped as we stopped. “I officially regret ever showing you girls that movie.” She was smiling.

  “You’re proud we know all the parts,” I said. It felt good to mess around, like we were little kids again, best friends and dancer buds for life.

  “We need to plan another Auntie Night soon,” Peyton said. Her tone implied that I needed one more than usual. Auntie Night was sacred, a ritual we’d started last year that included the three of us and, after she was born, Nell. Requirements: all the big blankets spread out in Juliette’s chill space, pillows, yoga pants, total comfort. We ate pepperoni pizza and watched classic movies and drank too much soda. We took turns snuggling Nell. We stayed up late.

  Auntie Night did sound good.

  “Why don’t we talk about Auntie Night after your dance pieces are in better shape?”

  I already felt exhausted, but there was no point in dwelling on the fact. The sounds of the forest, a rhythmic crick and creak, drifted through the screens. I forced a stage smile.

  “Here.” Juliette reached into her bag and held a photo toward me. “Look what I found. A little inspiration for you.”

  “Oh my God, my bangs!” The image of me at age fourteen, beaming. The memories flooded back. No one in Chicago had expected a country girl from Lakefield to advance to the New York City finals. I took the photo gently and held it toward the light. Peyton came to see, too.

  “You were good that day,” Juliette said. For some reason my stomach felt twisty and unsettled. She tapped the photo with a manicured nail. “This was the day I knew you were meant for big things.”

  I could feel Peyton looking at me, could feel that she was thinking about New York, but I didn’t acknowledge it. “I can’t believe it’s been so long.” Three years since I’d earned a scholarship to American Ballet Theatre in New York. Two years since I came back to Lakefield after my year in the city, high on New York, high on ballet. I’d been so desperate to get back. My break wasn’t supposed to last long. Just enough time for Mom to save money so I could reenroll. Then I got the scholarship to go back. I’d just turned seventeen.

  Then homecoming happened.

  Juliette nodded slightly, a slow nod. A sad one. She remembered, too, and so did Peyton. We stood there, seeing it all in that photo, each of us remembering why I’d changed my mind about becoming a ballerina to focus on a modern dance career, which was better suited for my age. I had a baby. I had to heal. I wasn’t getting any younger.

  “Put on your pointe shoes,” Juliette said. “For old times’ sake.”

  A little thrill shot through me as I dug the pair of pink satin shoes from my bag. I tested the construction, which creaked in my hands, the satin frayed along the toe.

  “I should order a few new pairs before the competition,” I said. I wasn’t practicing pointe nearly as much anymore, but I didn’t want to injure myself.

  Juliette propped herself against the wall. I rose into position, testing the boxes beneath my toes. Hopefully they could last a little longer.

  She pressed play on the music. The sultry sounds of Lana Del Rey moaned from the speakers, violins reverberating in long chords, the sandpaper trot of drums.

  I closed my eyes and sank into a deep stretch.

  The floor was cool to the touch, my legs across it. My breasts smashed against my kneecaps, a tiny choke rising in my throat at the idea of going back to New York. God, I’d loved it there.

  I gasped to compose myself and stood.

  The desire to perform was a force pulling the tips of my fingers and strengthening my feet. My toes began to feel hot as I rolled through my pointe shoes, slow movements first, followed by fast ones that spanned the length of the room as Lana’s voice murmured from the speakers.

  I became completely lost in the moment, onstage, on display, and for the next hour my dance was all that mattered. My dance was me—a girl turning into a woman, a lifetime of work turning into something amazing. My dance—graceful, fluid, perfect, on point.

  Day 2

  The room Juliette had helped me rent was stuffy and dark. I stood, lifting the edge of the curtain that covered the window, a hint of stale smoke in its fibers.

  A car drove by, the sedan hazy through the room’s old glass. I used to envy humans with their dark homes and ceilings, so different from the endless clouds of Mount Olympus.

  I pushed the curtain aside, flooding the room with light, and dressed quickly in jeans and the T-shirt Juliette’s friend had lent me. The Nutty Pine Bar logo had a pine tree with crossed eyes and a mouth.

  Yeah.

  I left my apartment with the keys in my pocket and ran down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell I glanced up. I’d forgotten to lock my door, though it probably didn’t matter. Standing with my hand on the exit, the stairwell felt like the only thing protecting me from reality. There was a softness to the space—the narrow hall and twenty-nine evenly spaced steps. The passage felt symbolic. To reach the bottom of those stairs was me taking action. Me fixing the past.

  The grocery store was two blocks away, across the railroad tracks. Five cars were parked in the lot, and I, Son of Eros, passed through the double doors with no codes to stop me, just another guy in a store that smelled like
fried chicken and doughnuts.

  Food. Soap. Deodorant. A black can of body spray described as spicy, masculine, and exciting, to paraphrase the label. I tossed it into the cart and paid for it all by sliding Aaryn Jones’s bank card into the machine, first the wrong way, so I had to fumble around and slide it again.

  Card accepted.

  “Have a nice day,” the cashier said. She was the kind of girl who looked obsessed with being different: early twenties, piercings everywhere, and spiked hair dyed two bright colors. She seemed sad, though, like she wasn’t getting the attention she wanted in life. I offered a smile and she smiled back, surprised almost, like she hadn’t expected me to do that.

  I wished there was a way to tell her I did see her. That we weren’t so different, and that I knew what it was like to feel invisible. Knew the need to control something, even if it was just your hair color.

  But remembering my purpose now on Earth, I walked out.

  —

  Lakefield was small. Most of the houses I ambled past on the way to the high school were run-down in some way, not terribly, but there were little things: grass that had grown too long, flower beds mixed with too many weeds, sidewalks that were cracked and uneven. The few homes whose owners obviously took pride in them were the ones that stood out.

  The high school doors were locked. I pressed the white button next to the Visitors must report to the main office sign for three seconds. Cupped my hands to the glass. Groups of students filled the hallway. Somewhere inside, Karma and Danny were waiting for me.

  I straightened when I spotted Karma. The buzz of the door seemed much louder than necessary.

  I was in.

  Karma and the other girls from Shining Waters were there, along with a few faces I didn’t recognize.

  “Hey,” I said. The group fell silent. The girls switched between looking me over and looking at each other with silent questions. The scent of someone’s body spray, strawberry, maybe, was strong and sort of delicious.

  “You keep showing up,” Karma said. She was smiling a little.

  “Yeah, well, you can just call me Hermes,” I joked. None of the girls laughed.