by Cat Jordan
Tell us about an experience that defines you.
I knew in my heart that Nate’s death in Honduras had been a defining moment for me, but now that he was back, did it still have the same impact?
I’d felt lost when he left, adrift when I thought he’d died. Every plan I’d had evaporated like morning mist at sunrise. I couldn’t eat or drink, let alone think straight. It should have been no surprise I’d fallen into Lee’s arms when it looked like I’d had no other choice.
No other choice, Middie? That’s a bit harsh.
I stared at the application on my computer. No college wanted to read about my love life. No admissions rep was going to appreciate an essay on why I believed it was okay to kiss another guy.
What was that SAT word—“extrapolate”? I had to extrapolate the meaning from this experience. I had to find the purpose of it and apply it to my life, my circumstances.
There had been a brief moment when I’d seen an alternate future for myself, one that wasn’t full of meaning someone else had applied to it. I’d been searching beyond my friends and family, beyond Haley and Emma and Allison, beyond Nate’s volunteer work and his morning runs, beyond Nate . . . and I’d liked it. It was scary and unknown and nothing I’d done before.
And it had included Lee.
When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.
Good god, that was flippant.
The world I’d known collapsed one day in September.
Oh no, the admissions department would definitely misunderstand that.
I scrolled up and down the application, lazily spun my finger on the mouse pad, but I still couldn’t get my mind around the essay question.
Maybe I had nothing to say.
If I was worried Nate would ask me about my essay, I shouldn’t have been: he was preoccupied with the speech he was writing for the study-abroad group. When he came to pick me up for the movies in his old truck, he was in midsentence as I opened the passenger-side door.
“Does it make sense to start with how I got involved in Global Outreach?” he asked me when I slid across the seat to kiss him hello.
“Um, yeah, I guess. Why not?”
He started the truck down the driveway, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s not boring?” The truck rumbled over the gravelly end of the driveway, where it met the street. Nate paused and looked both ways before pulling out.
“I hate to say it, but I really think they want to hear the horrible stuff.”
Nate’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter and his gaze hardened. “I know. I’m just . . . not ready to talk about those things.”
“Not even with me?”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Middie. I don’t want to burden you.”
“It’s not a burden,” I said quickly. “I want to listen to you.”
But he merely shook his head. I tried not to show my frustration, but I felt like he was shutting me out. If we were each other’s closest friend, why wouldn’t he want to tell me everything?
When we got to the theater, Nate parked in the back, near the Dumpster where Lee and I had sneaked in. I felt an odd sense of melancholy; it had been thrilling getting away with something.
The side door to the theater opened and a flash of pink caught my eye. The tiny girl with the big mouth was carrying out two bags of trash. Could we sneak in? I wondered suddenly. I tugged on Nate’s arm and whispered, “Come on!”
Nate stumbled forward as I dragged him. “Huh?”
“We’re going to sneak in,” I said quietly, pointing to the open door. The girl was steps from the trash container; if we didn’t move now, she would turn around and see us.
“Sneak? But why?” Nate wanted to know. “I already got tickets online.”
I pulled him along, but his bad leg tripped on the pavement and he had to stop and shake it out. I glanced over my shoulder—ten more seconds and that pink-haired girl would finish and we’d be sunk. “Nate, come on,” I said urgently. “It’ll be fun.”
“But the tickets,” he said. Confusion creased his forehead. “I don’t understand.”
I heard the whump of the Dumpster top closing and saw pink out of the corner of my eye. She was done. It was too late. As she walked past us, the girl aimed a sour look at me, an unspoken I’m watching you in her eyes.
Nate looked at me. “You want to go in? Like normal people?” I let him lead me toward the front of the theater. “Lee was always trying to get me to sneak in with him. That guy was just asking to get caught.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm. “That’s probably what would have happened.”
We queued up at a ticket kiosk and Nate held me from behind while we waited. “What are you wearing?” he asked, peering over my shoulder. I’d put together another of Allison’s boho outfits, a flowing layered skirt and a long-sleeved top that tied at the wrists and cinched under the bodice.
“You like?” I twirled the skirt for him, expecting him to grin, but he was impassive.
“Not what I expected, but you always look pretty,” he added, planting a kiss on the side of my cheek.
I stared down at the blouse and skirt and wondered if I’d made a mistake. Maybe Allison had given this up for a reason.
Once we were past the ticket taker, Nate handed me a stub. “I’ll get in line for popcorn. You get in line for seats.”
“You sure?”
“This is my treat, remember?” Then he pulled his phone out and handed it to me. “Here, you can play Fruit Ninja on my cell while you wait.”
I took the phone and ticket and looked around for our theater. Fruit Ninja wasn’t exactly my favorite game, but it was okay to pass the time. I swiped my finger across a few pineapples and coconuts, smashing them open with a whoosh, but just as quickly, I nailed some bombs and the game was over. I sighed and tapped the screen.
Nate’s contacts were right on top. His mother, his father, me . . . and Lee.
Almost instantly, my face flushed and my palms started to sweat. I felt naked, transparent, as if anyone looking at me could see my pulse pounding. Could Nate?
I glanced down at the other end of the lobby and saw him chatting with some guys from high school. He would probably be there for a while longer.
Call him.
Could I?
Call him.
Lee was my friend. We were all friends, weren’t we? That was what we’d agreed on New Year’s Eve. Lee and Nate and I. Friends could call friends.
I slipped out of line and took a few steps away from the crowd as I pressed the CALL symbol on Lee’s number. My fingers trembled and I shifted the phone from one hand to the other. There was a whooshing sound in my ear as if a sudden wind had blown through the theater. I could feel my heart thump three times for every ring.
“Yo, dude, where are you?”
My throat went dry; I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak.
“Nate?” Lee’s voice sounded anxious, bordering on panic. “You need help?”
“It’s . . . It’s me, it’s Meredith.” My voice cracked on my own name.
“Meredith?”
“Yeah, hi.”
“Where’s Nate? Is he all right?”
“Oh yeah, yeah, he’s fine.” My finger twisted a lock of my hair around and around. “He’s in line getting popcorn.”
There was a long pause. “You’re at the movies?”
“Um, yeah.”
“And you called me?”
“Well, yeah,” I said with a short laugh. “You’ll think this is really funny—”
“Meredith.”
“When we got here, that pink-haired girl was taking out the trash—”
“Meredith.”
“And she left the door open, right?” I started to talk faster, drowning him out. “So I told Nate we had to sneak in, you know, like you and I did that time and we were there, like right at the door, but then Nate stopped, you know, and the girl turned and came back and she looked right at me, like she totally knew what we were plannin
g, so, of course, we couldn’t do it.” I stopped, having run out of story, run out of steam. My pulse pounded and I felt faint. Did the people around me know I was calling Lee? That my boyfriend was down the hall? That I was talking to a guy I’d slept with who was not my boyfriend?
“Meredith.”
“No big deal, right? I was just calling you because it was funny.” I twirled my finger in my hair and felt it pull against my scalp. “I thought you’d think it was funny.”
“Meredith.”
“What? What! You keep saying my name.”
“Don’t call me.”
“Don’t . . .”
“Don’t call me.”
“But—”
“And don’t use Nate’s phone. Jesus.”
My mind spun. We were friends. He’d said we were friends, so it was okay that I called him. What was his problem? “It was funny,” I said for the hundredth time. “The girl with the pink hair . . . looking at me . . .”
I heard Lee breathing on the other end of the phone.
“Lee, I—”
“Don’t call me. Don’t.”
And then the call ended. I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the screen. It didn’t say Call Failed or Call Lost.
Call Ended. Lee had hung up on me.
I had only meant to share a joke between friends. He was wrong. I pressed call again on Lee’s number and waited. It went immediately to voice mail. “Yo, it’s Lee. Leave a message.”
Was that all I’d wanted from him? No. I wanted—no, needed—I needed to talk to him. About us. About what had happened between us.
But we weren’t friends. Lee and Nate were friends. Lee and I were not. I felt my cheeks grow hot and my eyes sting with tears. How stupid could I be? Calling Lee? And from Nate’s phone? God, what an idiot! I stared at the phone in my hand as if I’d never seen a cell before.
Bodies swarmed around me, jostling me out of my reverie; the previous showing’s audience emptied out of the theater, voices rising as they poured into the lobby. They laughed and cheered and whistled to each other. In groups and on dates, they checked their phones and took selfies in front of the movie posters.
At the other end of the theater, I saw Nate leave the concession stand, his arms filled with treats. I quickly erased the two calls from his phone’s recent history and shoved it in my pocket.
I felt so alone. Shut out by Nate, shut off by Lee. What did I have? What did I want?
CHAPTER twenty-three
Our school’s winter formal was more “semi” than “formal.” Girls wore calf-length dresses, rather than floor-length, and boys wore jackets and ties, not tuxes. It was held in a decorated gym, not off-site, which made it similar to the homecoming dance, but we did traditionally have a buffet table and a live band. This year’s formal had an ’80s theme, but there was no way any of us were going to wear frosted hair or dresses with giant shoulder pads.
Haley’s date was Brett Miller, a shy running back who had asked her out by text.
“Is that bad? That’s not bad, is it?” Haley had called me one night the week before the dance. It was a welcome interruption from my studies.
“He seems like a nice guy. You like him?”
“I do. He’s cute, and I like his blond crew cut and his freckles.” Haley giggled over the phone. “And he says he likes to dance. And you know how I like to dance.”
“Is he boyfriend material?”
I could sense her shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. Can we double with you and Nate?”
“Are you sure? It’s your first date.”
“I know! Maybe we should do a test run.”
I laughed. “You’ll be fine.”
“You know what you’re wearing?”
I stepped over to my closet and found the dress I’d worn last year, when Nate was a senior. It was a forest-green satin, just below the knee-length, with a scoop neck and cap sleeves. I’d paired it with green satin flats, although it had been raining that day so I’d ended up bringing the shoes with me in my purse and wearing boots in the car. Nate really liked the dress: simple and elegant. He probably wouldn’t mind if I wore it again this year.
But I would.
“. . . big fat curls with a curling iron,” Haley was saying. “Corey Sanchez said she would loan me hers.”
“I’m sure curls will look great on you.”
“I hope so.” Haley sounded worried, which was very unlike her. “I want to look good for my date,” she said with a nervous giggle. “Ack! Date!”
“You’ll be fine,” I told her again. “We’ll be there to help.”
“I need you to be good role models!” she said.
“For Brett?”
“For me!”
By seven o’clock on Saturday night, the gymnasium had been transformed into a winter wonderland, complete with disco ball and dance floor, live band on a raised stage, and buffet table under one of the basketball hoops.
As soon as we arrived, Nate was swarmed by fans and friends, students and teachers, and even a few of the chaperones. Everyone wanted his attention. They all wanted to hear his story.
I found seats at a table not far from the dance floor and then took Haley with me to get food and drinks for all of us.
“Isn’t this kind of cliché?” she asked me as we scooped pink punch from a bowl into paper cups. “The girls getting the guys food?”
“Nate’s really tired, so I thought he should sit for a while.”
“Ohh, you’re being nice, not submissive. That’s different.”
I glanced down at the plate in my hands. I’d filled it with Nate’s favorite foods: Doritos and cool ranch dip, BBQ spareribs, chicken nuggets and spicy mustard. That wasn’t being cliché, was it? That was being nice.
I finished filling the plate and turned to look for Haley to walk back with me, but she was at the gym entrance with Katrina and Debra. The three were comparing their dresses and shoes, taking photos and laughing. They spotted me and waved me over. I glanced at Nate, but he was deep in conversation with one of the chaperones. A few minutes with the girls wouldn’t be a big deal.
“Middie, get in the middle!” Haley said.
“Hey, that rhymes!” Debra said with a slightly tipsy giggle. She leaned into Katrina and the two began laughing.
“Get in, get in!” Haley held up her phone and we all squeezed our faces together, getting as close as possible. “Say cheese!”
“Naked cheese!” I said, and immediately the girls roared with laughter. I clapped a hand over my mouth. That was Lee’s, I remembered, from the skinny dip. I had no idea why it popped out, but—
“Feet selfie!” Debra said, and we all put our shoes next to each other so Haley could snap her phone over them.
“Lip selfie!” Katrina said, and we all mooshed our mouths side by side.
“Booty selfie!” Haley shouted. The four of us wiggled our butts next to one another and someone—not Haley—snapped a photo or ten.
By then, others had noticed us and had their phones out too, aimed at the four of us. Haley held her hand in front of her rear end. “Please, respect our butt privacy,” she said and began laughing hysterically.
I held my hands in front of her butt too. “No more pictures, please.” And then we were all trying to cover each other up, arms and shoulders and backs and legs bumping into one another and we couldn’t stop laughing. It was stupid silly, and maybe these pictures might end up on someone’s Instagram, but who cared? It was senior year and this was winter formal, and we only got one chance at it, so why not make it fun?
I looked up and caught Nate’s eye across the room. He was watching us intently, so I gave him a little wave and blew him a kiss, expecting he would at least grin back, but he frowned and went back to his conversation. I felt my enthusiasm flag a bit.
Well, okay, then.
“. . . must have been a nightmare,” the chaperone was saying to Nate when I got to the table with the plate of snacks. He had his foot on a chair
and was leaning in toward Nate. “Damn, son, you were lucky the Devil had one eye closed.”
“Yes, sir, it was pretty harrowing,” Nate said. As usual, he appeared confident and comfortable in the presence of his fans, old and young.
“Maybe I should hang out with—” I started to say, but Nate pulled me down into a chair.
“Sit, Middie. I just want to be with you tonight.”
Eventually the chaperones gave way to current basketball players, some of whom had played with Nate during his senior year. The conversation became a lot livelier and Nate loosened up.
“That play was not my idea,” he told a former teammate. “Do you think I would ever send Jake up the center—you remember the size of that point guard! He was huge!”
The group laughed, but I was restless and bored. I searched the room for Haley and found her on the dance floor with Brett. Not far from her were Debra and Katrina, both of whom were dancing with guys I didn’t know. The band was playing ’80s covers, everything from Madonna and Michael Jackson to Culture Club and The Police.
The girls’ skin glistened with sweat and their smiles lit up the small dance floor. I felt their energy and longed to join in. I turned to Nate, half rising from my chair. “Could you manage a dance?”
“Oh geez, I don’t think so, Mid,” he said to me. “Not my thing, you know that.”
I did know that, but that was the past, the way it had always been. Couldn’t we try something new, something a little more fun than sitting on the sidelines? “But you said you wanted to be with me tonight.”
Nate’s gaze flitted over my shoulder. “Maybe Lee will dance with you.”
“Lee?” I whipped my head around to see Lee approaching the table. Alone. What was he doing here? Alumni didn’t come to these dances, and Lee couldn’t have been invited by a current student. Could he? I searched the room behind him but didn’t see Liza anywhere either. I turned back to Nate. “I really don’t think so.”
“Lee? Hey, man, you want to dance with Middie?” Nate called to him.
I held my hand up, as if I could stop Lee in his tracks. I didn’t even want to make eye contact. “I’m good. I can dance by myself.”
He paused at the outer circle of the table. He was dressed completely inappropriately, as if he were headed for a concert instead of a formal: a powder-blue Captain America T-shirt under a slate-gray suit jacket, and, of course, jeans and his Converse low-tops.
