by Lara Avery
“Nah, it was in Morocco, remember?”
“That’s right,” Gabby said. “But first, we were in Spain, standing on these ruins. And these weren’t the tourist ruins, these were ruins Greg and I had just found, because he gets these feelings sometimes. He just goes off…” Gabby put a cool hand on Bryce’s forearm. “You know, Bryce. He just goes off sometimes, forgetting anyone else is there, and you either follow him, or you don’t.”
Greg’s mouth twitched into a smile.
“Anyway, we were standing on these coastal ruins, and the wind was blowing off the water almost hard enough to knock us over, and Greg and I were just watching the Mediterranean crashing against the rocks, just staring out for a long time. It was the most raw feeling. It was like we could conquer the world.”
Gabby took a sip of beer. “And he turns to me and says, Gab, let’s go to Morocco. We’d both spent most of our graduation money by that point, but I had made friends with this fisherman on a pier over near the beach who was willing to take us for half the price. So that settled it. We just said, Screw it. Let’s go to Morocco.”
Greg was shaking his head, happily lost in the memory. “I felt like we could have gone anywhere in the world that day.”
“It sounds awesome,” Bryce said quietly. She had left the bowling alley for a moment, listening to Gabby talk about traveling. Growing up, she’d never been in a rush to get away; she wanted to go cliff-diving, sure, but she never put much thought into it because she always figured she’d have time, or that diving competitions would take her around the world. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“Yep, thank goodness we got that all out of our system.” Gabby took another sip of beer. Bryce looked up. “Now begins my journey through the exciting world of humanitarian law.”
“We can still travel on breaks and stuff,” Greg said, typing his name into the clunky bowling score computer.
Gabby pursed her lips. “I don’t know about that. Rent in D.C. is pretty high.”
“Glad we’re paying an arm and a leg for a box,” Greg responded curtly.
“It’s worth it,” Gabby said, taken aback.
“For you, it is,” Greg mumbled.
“Okay,” Gabby said softly, and reached out to put one of Greg’s strands of hair behind his ears. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Silence. Carter finally spoke up. “It’s Bryce’s turn.”
Bryce got up slowly and twisted her waist back and forth, loosening up. She chose one of the lighter balls, lifting it gingerly to her chest. Hopefully her daily rowing would serve her well.
As she swung back, momentum did its job. A clean shot, all but three.
Greg’s turn. He got a strike. Gabby kissed him long on the lips, holding his face.
Bryce pretended to go to the bathroom but really took a lap around the bowling alley. Sitting at the table across from the couple was like waiting for her scores at a diving meet and never, ever receiving them.
When she returned, Carter rubbed his hands together as he stood, feeling out for the right ball in the row. He chose a large green fifteen-pounder.
Carter was a little taller and lankier than Greg, but he controlled his limbs with surprising grace, shooting the ball straight down the center arrow, only veering suddenly at the end. Strike.
Gabby took her turn, grabbing whatever ball was closest and dropping it on the lane like she was tossing dirty laundry in a hamper.
Bryce took her turn to hurl the ball down the lane like a shot-putter. Strike.
“Miraculous,” Greg said as she sat down, taking a swig of his beer. He winked at Bryce, and her stomach flip-flopped.
“So miraculous,” Carter imitated him goofily. Bryce didn’t know whether to laugh or kick him under the table. He chugged his beer down to the bottom of the glass.
“Slow down, there, turbo,” she said, watching the amber liquid disappear down his throat.
Carter responded by looking at Greg and burping. Then he poured himself another. In reply, Greg chugged the rest of his own beer and slammed down his glass.
Two games and two more pitchers of beer later, Greg had won one game, Carter the other, and now they were on the edge of their seats, silently sipping their beer, waiting for their bowling balls to be ejected down the chute. When they spotted them come down the line, both guys shot up like they’d been electrocuted.
Gabby rolled her eyes and announced a girls’ bathroom break.
Greg locked eyes with Bryce, as Gabby took her hand to pull her away. Gabby led her fiercely toward the bathroom door, giving her that look. Her eyes were wide, her head tilted suggestively, as in, I know your secret. Bryce’s heart raced. She had been looking at Greg too much, she knew it.
Gabby closed the door of the dingy restroom and immediately began fixing her bun in the mirror. “So, tell me,” she said, retwisting her thick dark hair.
“Tell you what?” Bryce asked, her muscles clenched.
“Don’t play coy.” Gabby smiled devilishly. “What’s the deal with you and Carter?”
Oh. Bryce’s whole body sighed with relief. She felt like lying down on the dirty tile and going to sleep. “Nothing, really. We’re friends.”
Gabby tightened her ponytail, raising her eyebrows. “Well, there should be something.”
“What do you mean?” Bryce asked, leaning on the sink, catching Gabby’s dark eyes in the mirror.
“He can’t stop looking at you,” Gabby said in high, sing-song voice. “And he’s a doctor.”
“Please. He’s in medical school,” Bryce corrected, scrunching her hair.
“Well, whatever, I’m saying you should totally go for it.” She smiled at Bryce, her bun now perfectly in place. “We gotta get some love in your life. Something is missing, I can tell.”
“Well, we did kiss,” Bryce said coolly.
“What! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because it was on the same day I found out you were engaged to my boyfriend, Bryce thought, but instead she just shrugged.
“I knew it!” Gabby threw her hands up. She put her hands on Bryce’s cheeks. “I knew there was something. I know you, Bryce. I can always tell with you.”
Bryce removed Gabby’s hands from her cheeks with a pained smile. When they returned to the smoky room, the boys stood up from the table.
“I won!” Greg called. Sweat was starting to dampen his T-shirt. His beer-glazed eyes sparkled.
Greg threw his arms around Bryce in a celebratory embrace, and she let herself for just one moment enjoy the comfort of that place, to go back under the bridge with the train rushing above them.
But the train had passed, and Greg’s arms loosened as he moved away to walk with Gabby. Bryce put a hand to her chest, at the hole she felt when he was gone, almost as if the train had passed right through her.
he next weekend, Bryce folded clothes with her teeth digging into her lip. Though she hadn’t gone to bed until after one, she was up at eight, humming “Hey Jude” in the shower. The water was boiling hot, just like she liked it. She coated her skin with Sydney’s vanilla body cream. Her oatmeal was buttery, covered in blueberries and cinnamon, a taste of home to fortify her for the day ahead.
She had seen bachelorette parties in movies. The purpose was wild fun, she knew that. But underneath the wild fun was the fact running through everything, the fact that the bride needed this one last crazy night before she and her groom would be together forever. Greg and Gabby together forever.
She zipped her old AAU diving equipment bag, packing a few things for the weekend ahead. Her head hurt.
Bryce knew what was happening then. It didn’t come slowly, but it came in levels, like someone was turning up the knobs as the back of her skull was placed on the burner of a stove. Frostbite grew under her fingernails and across her toes. This time, when she was tipped on her head like a rain stick, she felt relief.
Hard dirt under bare feet.
The mute echoes of a place half full of water. It was dark, night. When
she reached out in front of her, there was nothing but blank space.
Her eyes adjusted. She confirmed the solidness of the edge on which she stood, and quickly, as the moon darted between clouds, the glint of water.
Then, as if it was what she intended to do all along, Bryce bent her legs. Toes pointed forward, hands crossed in front of her. Nothing fancy, she told herself, and sprung off.
Air held her, gentle and familiar like an old friend. She allowed the breeze to cradle her until the last minute, when she made herself an arrow. She pierced its center and broke the liquid line.
Bryce knew as she hit that water was lifting around her body in a circle of precious, clear pearls, but a diver never gets to see her own splash. It’s too bad, Bryce thought as she went under.
She came to on the ground, the carpet digging spots in her knees and palms as her head moved slowly out of fire.
She never used to fall over after the visions before. And her fingers still felt a little numb. Not now. She shook her sleeping hands, trying to wake them up. She wiped at her face and found a light streak of blood coming from her nose.
She let the throbbing subside. A knock on the door. Her mother’s voice. “Hi, sweetie.”
Bryce stood and wiped at her face again. She opened the door to her mother, who gave her a small smile.
“Carter’s upstairs; he wants to do a quick checkup before you go,” she said.
Carter was waiting for her in the kitchen as she carried her bag up the stairs into the cloudy morning. He turned around from where he was rearranging the Grahams’ spice rack by flavor combination.
When he finished taking her blood pressure, he picked a piece of lint off her cheek. Bryce blushed.
“You look a little peakish.”
“You sound like you’re from the Victorian era.”
He looked at his clipboard for no reason, clicking the clip at the top. “I care about you,” he said, a little too loudly.
“Well, thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. His eyes darted around, then back to her. They were so gray this morning. Like the sky.
“I mean, I woke up this morning and I remembered you were going away for the weekend, and I got so disappointed.”
Bryce couldn’t help but smile. “I’m just going downtown with a bunch of girls. So don’t worry, you’re not missing anything.” She squeezed his arm and began to turn away. It was time to get going.
He stopped her. “No, I mean I’ll miss you.”
Bryce met his gray eyes. No, silver. They were almost silver. His shoulders lifted under his T-shirt in a small shrug. He felt tall to her. Taller this morning. Bryce swallowed.
His lips pursed. “I got something for you.”
Carter pulled out what looked like a little silk package. He unfolded it and handed it to Bryce.
“A sleep mask,” she said, smiling. It was navy blue silk with a gray rose pattern.
“It keeps out the light,” he explained. “It’ll help you sleep. Help with headaches, if you get them.”
Bryce fingered the mask. I doubt anything could help this weekend, she thought, but she said, “Thank you.”
Bryce’s phone vibrated in her palm. Outside! Gabby texted. Bryce took a deep breath.
“I have to go,” she said.
“Okay,” he said. His smile was small, quiet.
Bryce turned with some mixture of calm and relief. She slipped the mask into her bag. She walked as quickly as she could down the empty driveway, feeling her damp, freshly showered hair.
A white hotel van idled on the other side of the street. Bryce climbed in and was immediately enveloped in a soft, fragrant group hug. All she could see was a tangle of Gabby’s midnight waves, a short afro with a green scarf, and straight strawberry-blond locks.
They broke apart.
“So this is the Bryce!” said the taller of the two girls, readjusting the scarf around her tight black curls. Her smile was sweet, and her brown, long-lashed eyes oozed sympathy.
The strawberry blonde laughed at her friend’s expression and extended a hand. Bryce took it and got a closer look at the girl. She had bright green eyes and freckles. “I’m Zen,” she said, “And that’s Mary.”
Mary pulled Bryce into another hug. “Yes, I’m Mary. I’m so sorry, you must be so sick of this, but your story is just…miraculous.”
Two more girls sat in the back row of the van—both brunettes, one with a bob, one with shoulder-length hair. They were just like Gabby. Pretty, enthusiastic, sweet. Bryce couldn’t remember their names, even though they had just said them seconds ago.
As someone handed Bryce a cup of coffee, the van started down River Drive. Their conversations bounced around her. Bryce felt the coffee run on a hot path from her throat to her stomach.
From the front seat, Gabby filled Bryce in about Mary’s soon-to-be gig as a middle school math teacher in Oregon. Then Zen, a dancer from Vermont, started in on college gossip. Bryce watched their conversation like a tennis match.
“Did you hear about Gillian and Fred? They moved to Columbus.”
“Columbus? Christ.”
“At least they’re not holed up in a closet in Bushwick. Madison looks emaciated, but not in a good way. She’s taking the starving New York artist thing way too seriously.”
“Madison is this wannabe fame-whore from the drama department,” one of the brunettes explained from the backseat. “You know the type. Acts like she’s still in high school.”
“Oh my god.” Zen’s face broke out in a devious smile. “Wait a minute. Bryce, you have to tell us how Gabby was in high school.”
“That’s right.” Mary cocked an eyebrow. “There’s only one photo of her on Facebook from back then, and she looks like one of those girls who goes to Renaissance fairs.”
“What? No way.” Gabby put her hands over her face. “Let’s not go back there.”
Bryce shrugged. Why was she so embarrassed?
“She’s a great diver,” Bryce said. She froze, realizing she was using the present tense. “She was that girl who would talk to anyone, no matter who it was. The smelly kid; or Rebecca, the bitchiest, most popular girl at Hilwood; or the principal; anyone. She didn’t care about what lunch table she sat at, or if her lab partner had just gotten out of juvie, or anything like that. She didn’t look down on anyone.”
“Wait, so Gabby wasn’t Miss Popular?” Mary looked at Gabby with mock surprise.
Gabby was widening her eyes at Bryce from the front seat, her mouth pursed. Bryce looked apologetically at her, wondering what she’d said wrong.
They dropped the subject as Mary dove into stories of her month building houses in Mexico this summer. Mary was a good storyteller, and her bright eyes flashed as she talked. She made huge hand motions and had a booming, clear voice. She’d spent most of her time down south helping to build a school in Oaxaca, perfecting her Spanish, checking out the scenery. The rest of her time, however, was spent in the best restaurants and tequila bars in Mexico City.
“I’m a sucker for good tequila,” Mary confided to Bryce. “And let’s just say this weekend we’ll be sampling a well-aged bottle I was able to get over the border.”
“I can’t drink,” Bryce said sadly.
“Oh. Well, water will do fine.” Zen lifted her water bottle to Bryce. “A toast! To a wonderful addition to our group!”
Zen, Mary, and the brunettes in the backseat lifted their water bottles, and Bryce had no choice but to join them.
Gabby smiled at the rest of them, and raised her own. “To great friends,” she modified.
“And to you, Gabs.” Mary beamed. “To you, and to Greg, and to love.”
um-dee-dee-dum-dum-DUM!”
“TEQUILA!” the rest of the girls in the car finished. Even Bryce roused herself from her thoughts. The tune reminded her of the pep band at a Hilwood football game.
Gabby let out a whoop and threw up her long, tanned arms. Her brunette friends followed suit. Bryce now knew their names were M
olly and Hannah, though she was still deliberating who was who as the van ride was ending. They were both in “marketing,” they said.
“Tequila at ten a.m.?” Bryce raised her eyebrows. They were pulling up to the enormous old Opryland Hotel, where they were being treated to a spa day.
Mary extracted a tall shiny bottle from her tote bag. “Bryce, darling, perhaps you’ve never heard of something called a Tequila Sunrise.”
“Trust me, Mary won’t be able to take off her clothes for the massage without it,” Zen said, leaning toward Bryce. Then, in a mock whisper, “She’s kind of a never-nude.”
“I heard that!” Mary shrieked. “Am not!”
As a bellhop in an old-fashioned uniform unloaded their bags, the girls rode the elevator to the top floor of the hotel. Inside the adjoining suites, enormous windows surrounded lush rugs on polished tile. Marble-topped tables held vases of fresh flowers. Bryce stepped up to one of the wall-length windows, Nashville spreading out below her.
When she turned back around, most of the girls had stepped out of their clothes and into large, white fluffy towels. One of the brunettes was lining up delicate glasses, portioning orange juice in each of them.
“Oh.” Bryce tucked her hair behind her ear. “Aren’t we…um, going to the spa?”
Gabby came over and draped a towel around Bryce’s shoulders. “No, dear,” she said, untucking Bryce’s hair. “The spa is coming to us!”
As Bryce stuffed her clothes in her bag, she came across the blue printed sleep mask, and smiled to herself, thinking of Carter’s gray eyes and his too-loud voice. I care about you, he’d said.
But she was distracted when white-outfitted people arrived and began moving furniture around to set up massage tables. Next came a row of three enormous leather chairs attached to tubs of steaming water.
“For pedicures,” Zen informed her as she set up a row of candles.
In a blur, the girls drew the shades, lit the candles, and gathered in the center of the room for a Tequila Sunrise toast (just orange juice for Bryce). Then they positioned themselves on the various relaxation mechanisms around the room.
