Missing Pieces

by Meredith Tate

  I pick at my black nail polish. “And you and Piren…You make a great Partnership.”

  “Thank you, Tracy.” She sticks out her smug chin. “We really do, don’t we?”

  I wring my hands. “Go easy on him, okay?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I…I mean, take care of him.”

  She clenches handfuls of her princess dress in fists.

  “That didn’t come out right, I just meant—”

  “You listen right now.” She narrows her eyes. “You are never, ever to comment on me or my relationship, so stay the hell out. Piren doesn’t need you, and God knows I don’t.”

  “I just—”

  “Maybe instead of remarking on my relationship, you should focus more on improving your own—which, from the looks of it, is abysmal.”

  “Lara, I didn’t mean—”

  “I did.”

  She strides out the door without another glance.

  I take a deep breath and follow after her, back into the ballroom where she disappears into the crowd. Toni runs up with a drink and grabs my hand, gyrating to the music.

  “This party rocks.” She yells over the bass. Her tipping red Solo cup of spiked punch nearly spills down my front. “I love this song!”

  “What?” I shout back, leaning closer.

  Piren, Alan, and Travis stand nearby, talking and laughing.

  The music dies to silence.

  “—but you must have boned Toni by now. Look at her slutty dress!” Travis’s deep voice rings out over the silence.

  My jaw drops. All eyes in the gym settle on the wide-eyed guys—and Toni.

  “Shit,” Alan mutters.

  Toni’s cheeks flush as red as her candy-apple lipstick. But her deer-in-the-headlights face quickly morphs into a tight-lipped glower of pure rage.

  Eyes blazing with fury, she rips her arm from my grasp and plows toward the boys. Everyone parts like a retreating tidal wave to let her pass.

  “This what you talk about in your spare time, Alan?” Toni snaps. Her Partner frantically shakes his head as she stomps toward him.

  “I—”

  “And you, jackass!” Toni whirls on Travis. “I know what you say about me. Not that it’s any of your business—” she turns to face the spectators “—or anyone else’s here—” and back to Travis “—but I am, in fact, a law-abiding virgin. I am not a slut.”

  With one flick of her wrist, she douses Travis in her drink.

  “Get a life!” she roars before storming outside.

  I clap my hands together in applause that no one joins, and follow her out of the gym.

  Piren Allston

  When I arrived home last night, it was after midnight. I could hardly keep my eyes open. After Toni’s display, a bunch of people filtered out. On one hand, her freak out was super awkward, but on the other, it cleared out the masses and left plenty of room on the dance floor. Lara and I danced the entire night together, to almost every song. She’s an amazing dancer, way better than me. Before I knew it, prom was over. By the last song, only a few Partnerships remained, including us. Lara immortalized the evening in over a hundred pictures.

  Today’s our First Kiss Ceremony. Lara’s so giddy, I don’t think she slept last night. She called me at three in the morning. In a groggy haze of sleep, I only half remember the conversation.

  My ringtone jerked me out of a REM cycle. I fumbled my hand on my side table in the dark until I found my phone. “Hey…Lara?” My tired voice croaked over the phone.

  “Piren. Hi…Did I wake you? I love you, Piren Allston.”

  “Yeah…it’s all right. I love you, Lara Goodren.” I scrubbed my hand through my hair, eyelids still heavy with exhaustion. “You okay?”

  “I just…Sorry, I shouldn’t keep you up. Go back to bed.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I sat up, propping my back against my pillow. “What’s up?”

  “I was just thinking a lot about prom.”

  Even in a sleepy trance, a smile crept across my face. “Me too. It was a good time.”

  I could almost hear her smiling through the phone. “You…You’re a great dancer.”

  “Not as good as you.”

  Silence.

  “Are you nervous for tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Not really. I’m more excited than nervous.”

  “Me too.” I imagined her blushing, moving a strand of hair behind her ear the way she usually does when she’s embarrassed. It’s cute.

  “I love you, Lara. We should get some sleep.”

  “Okay…I love you too.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

  “Wait…Piren?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m really glad it’s you. I’m really glad you’re my Partner.”

  “Me too.”

  After we hung up, I drifted back to sleep. Images of Lara looking dazzling in her dress pranced through my mind. But soon the happy thoughts became weird dreams.

  In the dream, I leaned in to kiss my Partner at the Ceremony. I closed my eyes, but when I opened them again, it wasn’t Lara beside me; it was Trace. Her eyes simultaneously held passion and reservation, reminiscent of our kiss three years ago. I pulled away but couldn’t avert my gaze; my eyes saw nothing but hers.

  My eyelids popped open seconds before my wailing morning alarm. The dream sucked the oxygen from my lungs.

  Maybe Trace was my first kiss, but I can’t think of it that way; the memories screw with my emotions. Lara is my Partner, and in six years, she’ll be my wife. She’s the one I love. My kiss with Trace was the kiss of a friend. She sought comfort that night, and she expressed it physically. End of story.

  Lara wears a yellow sundress for the Ceremony. She runs up behind me and squeezes me in a hug.

  “I love you, Lara Goodren.”

  “I love you, Piren Allston.”

  Her crooked tooth pokes from her mouth as she smiles. We take our assigned seats in the group of yawning high school seniors, still recovering from last night.

  The Ceremony commences on time. A woman from the Assignment Lab takes the stage.

  “Good morning, participants, and good morning, family and friends,” she says into the microphone. “I’m so honored to be your Master of Ceremonies for this beautiful, momentous occasion. How lovely you all look, dressed and ready to begin down a road of physical intimacy. This is, unquestionably, a big step for all of you.”

  Beside me in the second row, Lara squeezes my hand.

  The Master of Ceremonies rambles for fifteen minutes on the importance of cultivating our Partnered relationships and producing healthy kids. Several rows down, Alan’s heavy eyelids flutter as he nods off. Toni pokes him in the side, and his head jerks up. She folds her arms back across her chest and doesn’t meet her Partner’s eyes. Following their argument, Alan ran outside after Toni and Trace, and none of them returned to prom. Lara and I had the fancy car all to ourselves on the ride home. Apparently, Toni is getting suspended for a week for dumping her drink on Travis, which turned out to be spiked. I feel bad for her—that sucks.

  The Mayor joins the speaker on stage and starts calling couples. My last name puts us alphabetically fourth in line.

  “Piren Allston and Lara Goodren.”

  We approach the Mayor on stage.

  “What do you say?” he asks.

  “I love you, Piren Allston.”

  “I love you, Lara Goodren.”

  “Good. Go on.”

  I freeze. Hundreds of spectator stares bear down on us. Cameras flash from all angles, blinding me. My hands quiver at my sides.

  Who’s supposed to make the first move? What if I miss? What if I look stupid? What if I’m really bad at it?

  Lara teeters on her feet for a moment, then leans toward me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  Our lips touch, and the crowd disappears.

  I could fly. Warmth spreads through my body, all the way down to my toes. My heart speeds ahead, and
we soar above the stage. I’m lost in Lara’s kiss.

  After a few seconds, she pulls away. Cheers erupt from the crowd. A toothy smile spreads across my burning face, elevated to an invincible high.

  I open my eyes to scan the audience. Cameras and joyful hollers unfurl at our milestone. Trace catches my eye, her hands entwined with Sam’s in the crowd.

  Inhale.

  I’m plunged into our secret memory. Trace tumbles through my door on Christmas Eve. She’s in my arms, shivering and soaked. She’s kissing me, and my heart leaps in a way I’ve only felt once. The world is perfect.

  Exhale.

  I’m alone on stage with Lara.

  In a flash, the memory evaporates, sucking the energy from my body.

  Don’t go.

  But all the happy feelings die with it.

  Tracy Bailey

  Our First Kiss was a joke. The Mayor called our names, and Sam practically salivated. I slogged up to the stage, still annoyed with my Partner for his clinginess at prom. Sam’s eyes sparkled with a sickening hunger that made me nauseous.

  Not wanting his tongue rammed down my throat, I showed him up; I pecked him quick on the mouth and pulled away before he could slip in his slimy appendage. The befuddled audience gaped, wide-eyed and open-mouthed—the world’s largest frigging goldfish tank. The crowd broke into feeble applause. I cackled with delight inside as I marched back to my seat.

  Ha! I showed them! Force me to kiss this lowlife? I’ll give you a show you won’t soon forget: not much of a show at all.

  Sam drives me home from the Ceremony. He hasn’t said a word since we left. Facing the window, I nibble off the remains of my chipping black nail polish.

  “Why’d you do that?” he asks, a slight wobble in his voice.

  I tighten. “Do what?”

  “You didn’t…kiss me.”

  “Yeah I did.”

  “You know what I mean.” He twiddles his thumbs against the steering wheel.

  I bite my lip. “Oh, uh…stage fright, I suppose. Sorry.”

  “Well, it hurt. I felt like you didn’t…want to kiss me.”

  Well, that’s the first smart thing he’s said all day.

  “That’s not true at all.” I force a smile.

  But his fallen face bears a look of sheer defeat. Trampled. Crushed. His eyes glimmer with pain, and it wrecks me with guilt. My smile fades.

  Nice going, Tracy.

  He’s stuck with a crappy Partner forever who won’t kiss or touch him. Maybe he’s not the best guy, but he’s not the worst.

  It isn’t his fault I’m the way I am.

  “Look, Sam, I…” I close my eyes. “Pull over the car.”

  He does. I take a deep breath.

  And then I kiss him. On the side of the road. Full on, tongue in mouth.

  Part Four: Twenty Years Old

  Piren Allston

  Lara’s a good cook. We have a routine where she cooks and I do the dishes. Evenly distributing housework was an early topic in our Marriage Prep class, and we exceled. I’ve heard most Partnerships face a major transition cohabitating after high school. For us, it’s gone smooth.

  Every day after our vocational classes, we come back to our apartment together. It’s cozy, which I guess is another word for small. We have two bedrooms until we’re married, a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room, and two closets.

  Lara perches on one end of the couch, and I collapse on the other. She brandishes her knitting needles to work on her nightly project. I whip out my sketchbook and charcoal, and we sit together in silence. The muted television casts a bluish glow over the room. My Partner clears her throat. Her needles click together, funneling out a stretchy purple scarf.

  “Looks good.”

  “Thanks.” She sips a glass of pinot grigio.

  After a few hours, Lara dismisses herself to bed, and I do the same.

  I brush up against her at the bathroom sink. She shifts a few steps to make room for me. We brush our teeth simultaneously and take our separate rooms.

  “I love you, Lara Goodren.”

  “I love you, Piren Allston.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Tracy Bailey

  I step out of my “Preparation, Accountability, and Organization” vocational classroom for the last time. After two years of post-high-school vocational classes, I’m free. My mind is fried from the excruciating four-hour final exam on the qualities of good employees. Five life-sucking essays. Sixty multiple-choice questions. My hand is still shaking; I wouldn’t be surprised if the damn thing fell off my arm.

  Toni jumps on me in the hallway. “Dinner party!” Her sing-song voice makes me cringe.

  “What dinner party?”

  “You, me, Alan, and Amanda. Downtown.” She shakes my shoulders. “Class is done, time to party!”

  I knock her hands off me. “I don’t know. I’m not really in a partying mood. That exam sucked.”

  “All the more reason to celebrate. Come on, it’ll be like old times.”

  Since high school graduation, I’ve avoided their company and vapid conversation. But I guess it’d be nice to do something besides studying, for the first time in forever.

  I shrug. “Okay, sounds cool.”

  “Wheee!”

  We choose an upscale diner downtown for our celebration. I’ve been there before with my parents. The food is mediocre, but the atmosphere is retro and awesome.

  I slide into a sparkly, red booth beside Amanda. Alan and Toni take the other side. They whisper and flirt with each other behind a wall of their own hands.

  “What’d you think of the exam?” Amanda asks.

  I tear a chunk off a piece of bread. “It blew.”

  “Yeah, but do you think you did well, or—”

  “I don’t know. Can we talk about something else?”

  Seriously. Mention the effing exam again, and I’ll punch you in the face.

  “Yeah, but what did you put for question five?”

  Gritting my teeth, I look to Toni for help. She’s sitting on Alan’s lap, giggling. He kisses the nape of her neck, right there at the frigging dinner table. Toni rests her hands on her Partner’s legs, crawling her fingers further up his thigh.

  Oh, gross! Get a room!

  “I don’t know if I got question forty-four right either.” Amanda wrings her hands in her lap. “I mean—”

  The waiter arrives with my steaming soup. I practically scorch my mouth guzzling it down. Between Amanda’s nervous rambling, and Alan and Toni’s disgusting PDA, I need a distraction. Why not pain? It burns my throat, but I gulp it anyway.

  “Where’s Josh tonight?” I ask Amanda.

  “Oh, he wasn’t feeling great. He’s got the stomach bug.”

  “That’s too bad.” I slurp another spoonful.

  Damn you, Josh. You should share my burden of your Partner’s frigging yammering.

  “Question eleven, what did you put for question eleven? I mean, I answered B, but then I changed it. I know they tell you to go with your gut and pick your first choice…”

  Alan and Toni have progressed to full on making out.

  “…but I mean, that was such a hard question, and I just can’t—”

  I slam my hand on the table.

  “Amanda, I have no fucking idea. I can’t remember anything about that exam, and frankly, I don’t want to.”

  Amanda falls silent. Toni detaches herself from Alan’s lips.

  Oops. I need a muzzle.

  Cheeks burning, I shove another spoonful of French onion down the hatch.

  “What’s your problem?” Alan snaps.

  “Nothing, sorry…Just tired.”

  Amanda fiddles with her fork, staring at her plate. She’s sensitive, and I have no ability to deal with sensitive. I guess that makes me a horrible person.

  Toni taps my arm. “You okay?” she mouths.

  “Help,” I mouth back.

  She takes the hint and grabs Ama
nda’s hand. “So, how’s your wedding planning going?”

  I scarf my meal in silence. Amanda avoids my gaze, facing her body toward Toni and Alan. Two terse hours later, we pay our bill and leave. I’m guessing I won’t be invited to future dinner parties.

  I arrive home to a pitch-black apartment. I flick on the light.

  “Sam?”

  He perches in his armchair like a statue, feet planted firmly on the carpet.

  Did he sit here in the dark for hours, waiting for me?

  “Hi, Sa—”

  “Where were you?” He leaps up and charges toward me.

  “Excuse me?” I scoff. “Why the hell is that your business?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “So did I!”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was at dinner, for God’s sake!” I throw my hands above my head.

  “With who?”

  “Oh my gosh, no one!” I shove past him. “People from school. Keep your voice down, quit bellowing like an animal.”

  “Don’t turn your back on me, Tracy.”

  I rip open my bedroom door. “Good night, Sam.”

  He slams it shut with his fist, blocking my exit.

  “Who. Were. You. With?” he seethes.

  I don’t know why he’s pissed. I should be the one pissed that he’s so pissed about something so effing menial.

  “Alan, Toni, and Amanda. Okay? Can I go to bed now?”

  He balls his fists at his sides, face inches from mine. “I was waiting for you for dinner.”

  “Well, maybe next time you can order in. Chill the fuck out.”

  “No. There won’t be a next time.” His voice is cold as ice. “’Cause I’ll either be with you at a restaurant, or you’ll be here, eating dinner with me. Got it?”

  I cross my arms. “You don’t tell me who to eat with, Sam.”

  “I am your Partner.”

  “Sure, whatever. I’m going to bed.”

  “I love you, Tracy Bailey.”

  I spin around. “Do you, Sam? Do you really love Tracy Bailey? ’Cause Tracy Bailey goes out sometimes, Tracy Bailey does things on her own sometimes, and you certainly don’t love—”

  He yanks my arm back and slaps me across the face.