Girl, Unframed

by Deb Caletti

  “Aw, come on,” Jake said. He put his meaty hands on her hips.

  “Ugh. For the absolutely last time, then,” she said.

  * * *

  I couldn’t do it, even if it was supposed to be some part of the celebration we were having. I didn’t want to sit there being the third wheel, plus a hundred other reasons.

  In my room, I got a text from Nicco. I was surprised because he wasn’t supposed to use his phone at work. Tomorrow night, it said. I sent one back: Tomorrow night… I let the dot-dot-dot say the stuff I didn’t: how much I missed him. How badly I wanted to see him. And then I FaceTimed Meredith.

  She was supposed to be coming to see me in about four weeks, but right then, she was getting ready to go on a camping trip with her family. They did stuff like that, camping trips, with aunts and uncles and cousins, fishing and boating and being together. It was like witnessing life on an alien planet, but a really nice planet.

  She was in the kitchen, and there were big coolers on the counter, ready to be filled the next morning with stuff like the potato salad Ellen was making in the background. Meredith was trying to look at me and I was trying to look at her, which meant we weren’t looking in the camera and could see only each other’s eyelids.

  “Smell that?” Meredith said. “Brownies.”

  “You’re so mean. Chocolate cruel is the worst cruel.”

  “Bo said he’s going to teach me to water-ski, and that I’m going to get up if it kills him.” Bo was her older cousin, who she worshipped. “Don’t laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing! You can totally do it.” On crew, Meredith was one of the bow pair, a position where you had to be technically perfect, and she was. But Meredith always made fun of herself in small ways, as if she weren’t a good athlete, or weren’t smart enough for all the AP classes she was already taking. She was really athletic and hugely smart, but she did those little subtractions to make other people comfortable.

  “He said I should go off the dock at first, which sounds terrifying. Hey, my mom’s already worrying about getting to the airport on time when I come see you.”

  “Never mind!” Ellen shouted from the back.

  “She bought a box of travel-size hand sanitizer at Costco.”

  “Hey, you won’t have to buy more until you’re eighty.”

  “She thinks I’m going to fall off one of those cliffs you sent pictures of.”

  “No way,” I said. “Tell her I’ll guard you with my life.”

  “I hear you, Sydney, and I appreciate it!” Ellen yelled in the background.

  Meredith told me that Hoodean broke his wrist playing beach volleyball, and then Ellen reminded Meredith about the brownies. Meredith said, “Oh, shit,” and then Ellen told her not to say “Oh, shit,” and then Meredith had to say, “You just said it yourself,” which resulted in some playful shoving. It was like the mother-daughter dream life that maybe 10 percent of the population really had but that you always saw on TV.

  “Syd, I better go. I still have to pack for tomorrow.”

  We said good-bye. I didn’t tell her about Nicco or the paintings or the car parked in front of the house. I didn’t tell her about the construction guy or Lila’s new film deal or about trying to be friendly with Jake even though he sometimes made me feel weird. I didn’t tell her that every night when I shut my eyes, I could still feel the anxiety and the icy breath of those ghost whispers. What would she think if she knew?

  When I hung up, my chest ached. Hiding makes you so lonely. My throat got tight, and tears welled up, and one dropped off my nose, but I hate to cry, so I forced myself to stop.

  Lately, I felt like the part of the cliff that had broken off from the large, solid land. Separate. Sliding, and maybe the waters would be deliciously cold, but wow, they were deep and far down. I’d never really been part of large, solid land, but still.

  * * *

  Max abandoned me to trot downstairs, because we smelled popcorn. He loved popcorn. He could catch it in his mouth if you aimed well. I was double lonely then. Full-on 9-1-1 lonely. I wanted the Mom-and-me moment Meredith was having. I wanted the dad loading the camping cooler into the back of the car. I followed Max to the media room.

  “Popcorn!” I yelled to warn Jake and Lila that I was coming so I didn’t catch them doing anything I didn’t want to see.

  Too late. Jake’s hand was up the hem of Lila’s robe. He moved it quickly when I came in. A half-empty glass of brown liquid and ice sat next to the bowl of popcorn.

  “Baby!” Lila said. “Sit down. Come watch.”

  I looked at the enormous screen. A younger Lila/Alexa was getting ready in the tiny bathroom of her apartment. Putting on lipstick, pulling up stockings. Wiggling into a skirt with nothing underneath. In a minute, she’d be driving over to Brandon Searing/Leo Garfield’s house, where she’d climb that ladder in his library.

  “We’re almost at the best part,” Jake said.

  What was I thinking? Loneliness was way better than that. Way. Stick me out on an ice floe for a hundred years. “Never mind,” I said.

  “Baby! Where’re you going? You can stay! Come back.”

  “Never mind!” I yelled.

  “Push pause, would you?” Lila said to Jake. “Syd-Syd!” she called.

  “Leave me alone.” I was halfway up the stairs, but I could still hear it.

  “Leave her alone,” Jake said.

  * * *

  Jesus, that house. You could hear everything. Including Lila and Jake going at it that night. Having sex, not fighting. Ugh! I don’t even want to think about it. I mean, come on! I just wanted out of there. I felt like I was in one of Lila’s movies, the trapped daughter of a seductress mother. This was another premonition, only I didn’t know it yet.

  I pulled on the shorts and tank top that I’d worn that morning, plus a hoodie. It would be cold out there in the dark, up high without any walls for shelter.

  No one was parked outside that night. The street was empty, except for a neighbor’s cat, who scurried off to hide under a car when he saw me. It was creepy. Shivery, eerie. But, strangely, I wanted that right then—the nervous thrill you feel in the pit of your stomach. Danger could seem like an answer to loneliness and boredom and restlessness. It could maybe fill hungers that didn’t have names.

  Every day, new fragments had been added to the house next door. More skeleton bones; additional rooms growing skyward. The streetlamp cast freaky shadows in there. I walked around in the empty spaces. Here was the living room; here was the kitchen; this was a guest room, probably. On the third floor, up that staircase with no rails, I sat at the edge of what was likely the master bedroom. I hung my legs over, a story higher than last time.

  That view was killer. Oh, shit—pardon the word. But the point is, I looked at all of the twinkly lights. I pulled my sweatshirt over my arms against the cold and the darkness. And I wanted IT, IT, IT again—everything, the safety of those rooms, the danger of that exposed height. Like Lila, I wanted to feel protected, but also like Lila, I wanted danger, too. I wanted that as I stood with my toes at the edge of that high-up place and let the sea air swallow me. I wanted to feel alive. To be dangerous. To do dangerous things. Couldn’t I have that?

  I sat down. I stared at the moon.

  And it sucked, you know. I was angry.

  Because only a guy like Shane, with his physical power, knew he could have both. I didn’t have arms like his, and arms like that could be used against me, so I had to be careful. I couldn’t be dangerous whenever I wanted. I would never feel as safe as Shane, or Jake, or even my father likely did. And I understood it then, why we sometimes pick guys like that—to have a set of ruthless arms, even if they aren’t our own.

  Sometimes, it seems like your whole world is made for someone else.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Exhibit 43: Photo of master bedroom from doorway, 716 Sea Cliff Drive

  “So who is this boy?” Lila asked.

  “Just a boy. Don’t make
a big deal about it.”

  They were about to meet. Nicco was picking me up to take me to that all-ages music club, Slim’s, in South of Market. He’d gotten us tickets to see Armor Class Zero, a new band I’d never heard of. “Who is this boy?” didn’t mean his name, which she already knew. It meant, Tell me everything about him before he hits the buzzer for the gate.

  She had her full makeup on, with her hair loose, and she wore a white tank top, with fitted jeans and a big belt. Bare feet. You know, famous-person casual. Of course, she looked stunning. Her voice was bright, like she was already getting into character. We were in the kitchen and she was fussing, straightening the coffee maker, wiping a smudge on the counter with her fingertip, as if these were the things a regular mother did.

  I know all of this sounds like I’m being critical. I am being critical, but of course I’m saying this now. After. Right then, I was just anxious. I wanted her to like Nicco, but I also wanted him to like her. I felt worried and protective of her. I wanted him to see all of the good, loving parts she had.

  The gate buzzed and Max lost his mind. I let Nicco in. It was funny to see him in my house. Two parts of my life were smashing together, and it looked wrong. But there he was, with his sweet face and tousled hair. Wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, an outfit very similar to Lila’s, whereas I was in an orange sundress. When Max realized who was there, he went crazy. He bumped against Nicco, and wound through his legs, and tried to jump up with his big body. Two parts of Max’s life were smashing together.

  And then Lila breezed in. Clichéd word, but really, she moved like wind past a curtain.

  “Nicco! Is that right? Do I have that right?” She held out her hand.

  He held out his, and Lila gave her famous two-handed shake, swallowing his hand in hers. “Yeah. That’s right. Great to meet you, Ms. Shore.”

  “Lila! Call me Lila! And look at us.” She lined herself up next to him. “Twins.”

  “I guess so.” He smiled but kept one hand on Max, scruffing his neck. Nicco’s eyes jetted around the White Room and out at the view. “Wow. Beautiful.”

  “Hey, I’m old enough to be your mother,” Lila said, and then she laughed her twinkly laugh at her own joke. “So, you’re going to Slim’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who’re you seeing?”

  “Armor Class Zero?” He sounded unsure.

  “Oh, yeah!” Lila said, like she was remembering an old favorite. Lila rarely listened to music, let alone a punk band that had just started playing together, like, a year ago.

  “You’ve heard of them?”

  “ ‘Barbarian.’ Crazy guitar riff after the second bridge.”

  “You do know them,” he said, and she winked.

  She looped her arm around me then. Sometimes she tried to act like we were sisters, but we weren’t sisters.

  “We better get going,” I said. I inched away. Zipped my bag so my phone wouldn’t fall out.

  “Have a great time! Have her back by… well, you guys are old enough to decide.”

  There was more awkward hand shaking. Outside, Nicco said, “Oh, man. I just froze.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You did great.”

  But he didn’t do great. That sounds awful, but I’m trying to describe how it was. He didn’t do great because he didn’t do all the stuff he should have. He should have said he was honored to meet her, or that he loved her work, or something. He should have laughed at her joke and made one back. I felt a slide of worry. She wouldn’t like him. I should have told him the rules. I should have told him how to be.

  Then again, maybe he knew the rules. Maybe he knew them and had broken them anyway. Maybe he’d just acted the way he always did.

  When we got in the car, the awkwardness came with us. It sat there as he started the van and pulled away from the curb. As we drove down our block, the Lamborghini rounded the corner.

  “Whoa,” Nicco said. “I’m pretending I see those all the time.”

  “That’s Jake.”

  “That’s Jake? Should we stop?”

  “No. You can meet him another time.”

  But he saw me. Jake did. He caught my eyes. I saw it in two seconds: bewilderment, concern. Curiosity. Eyes, eyes, eyes.

  “No biggie. My moms drive those. Leslie, blue. Amy, red.”

  I looked over at him. I’d lost track of the conversation.

  “Leslie, shit-brown Honda. Amy, one-hundred-thousand-mile Hyundai that runs on twenty bucks of gas money at a time.”

  He took my hand, and he was Nicco again. It was us. The us at the labyrinth and Camera Obscura, the us in our photos. It occurred to me that if he’d broken those rules, he might break others. He might, oh God, disagree with Lila. He might say what he really meant. He might be entirely himself. The thought gave me a sick pit in my stomach. It would be bad then. The clash would be awful.

  But the thought gave me something else, too. A thrill. A quiet, underground tremor of hope. He might be entirely himself, and it would be good then. The clash would be magnificent.

  * * *

  At Slim’s, the line stretched to the corner. Night was falling and there was that excited energy of anticipation. Little clumps of friends were pushing each other and laughing. The smell of weed wafted past.

  It was already crowded by the time Nicco and I got in there. A few people sat at a couple of tables by the stage, but aside from them, everyone stood, all packed in. The opening band started. I forget their name. They seemed to play forever. We edged our way to the bar. Nicco got us a couple of Cokes. I was surprised he didn’t have a fake ID or something. It seemed like everyone there was drinking, even people our age. Maybe they’d snuck it in.

  Nicco was reading my mind, because when he handed the cup to me, he said, “This okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “Of course.” I was glad. I mean, I’d just turned sixteen. My group of friends didn’t drink a lot, not yet, or maybe never. Meredith hated that kind of thing. Hoodean thought his brother already had a problem with it.

  “I don’t know,” Nicco said, leaning in so I could hear him with all that noise. “My moms are always…” He mimed inhaling a joint. “Hazy. It bugs me. I don’t want to miss the—”

  “Dragon belt buckle.” I pointed.

  “Twin haircuts of love.” He nodded toward the two girls with the same short hair moussed high up, holding hands. “I want to be here.”

  I hooked my fingers in his belt loop and gave it a shake. “I want to be here, too.” We met eyes. It happened. That crazy electric thing. Even with that smooshing crowd of people, we held our gaze, and damn it, that would have been the time for him to kiss me.

  We edged through the crowd to get closer to the stage. The place was really packed. Someone grabbed my butt, but when I looked around, I couldn’t tell who. It was like a party for ass grabbers. A free-for-all. Hey, you’re welcome, because yeah, an actual body could be treated like a dish of candy.

  Finally, the opening band stopped and gathered their stuff, and Armor Class Zero came out one by one. The crowd whooped and yelled and whistled. I didn’t know what to expect, but I liked it. It was fun punk, not angry punk, and Nicco settled in behind me and we danced until we were sweaty, and occasionally he’d bend and say something in my ear, and his breath was hot, and it made me shiver.

  They played “Barbarian,” and yeah, it was the song everyone knew, but it wasn’t the best song.

  The bass player struck a few opening chords of another piece the crowd recognized. There were a few catcalls of “Yeah!” The flashing lights slowed. The room seemed to settle. Nicco put his arms around me from behind. I loved that. I loved it so much.

  And then they played this song, “Divine Spell.” Slow. Smoky.

  God. Even in that room, which was growing almost unbearably hot and steamy, the song did what music can do, what the energy of a concert can do, and I turned to face Nicco and we danced close. And, Jesus, we still didn’t kiss, but things were charged bet
ween us. The energy was.

  It stayed that way, the energy. The crackle of electricity. Different tremors underground, but definitely felt. Strong enough to rumble, to tell you that something much larger was coming.

  We got out into the night air. It was so cool after that steamy room, it was almost like diving into a pool.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and we ran. We wanted to get out of that parking lot before it got jammed.

  We reached his van. Suddenly we weren’t in a hurry anymore. We were up against that van. He put his hands on either side of my face and leaned in and kissed me hard. It got hot fast. Oh, wow. Our hands… all over, and the door handle dug into my back and I couldn’t care less. This was nothing like Samuel Crane. Nothing.

  Nicco felt it too. He pulled away. “Whoa,” he said.

  We got in the car. It was still there, that heat. He put his hand on my leg as he drove, and God, even that.

  When we got back to the Sea Cliff house, Nicco pulled up in front. He kept the engine running. We said good night, but he was being careful. It was like we both held a burning torch just a few inches away from what was there between us.

  I was glad that no one was awake when I got in. I was stricken.

  So that’s what desire was.

  No wonder it caused such trouble.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Exhibit 44: Photo of master bedroom, bed, 716 Sea Cliff Drive

  The next morning, I got a text.

  You, it said.

  You, I texted back.

  Nicco was working at his moms’ shop that day, and at the restaurant that night. I wouldn’t see him. Damn, you know, he worked a lot. I felt a yearning, an empty, endless cave, but a nice cave that could lead to another, enchanted land. It was a delicious not-having. All of me felt awake. A giant barrier to how the world worked had been rolled away, and now I saw past it, and I understood so much more, like all those words in the songs, and maybe even why people did stupid things for love. Or crazy things for love. You didn’t feel just hungry, but hungryhungryhungry.