Something Happened to Ali Greenleaf

by Hayley Krischer

Blanche doesn’t even blink.

  “I’m kidding. I’m not anorexic.”

  But Blanche doesn’t care. She just wants me to be the best teenage dream I can be. She shoves a pair of red strappy heels in my hands. Tells me that I will not be wearing any accessories. No necklace. No bracelets. A little rose blush. That’s all. I love how Blanche is taking care of me. It’s like she knows my mother can’t do it, so she’s taking charge. I stare in the mirror; it’s been so long since I felt this pretty, this soft. Not so harsh. I smile at my mother even. She was right. This is so much better than the mall.

  And then I see him.

  Well, I see his hair. That unmistakable, shoulder-length blond hair.

  Like combing his fingers through silk. Sean. And his art collector grandmother with her white hair and oversize glasses and black caftan.

  “Someone get mascara on me quick,” I say.

  There are so many things I want to say to you.

  I can’t take my eyes off him. How do you explain something like this? This draw to another person? But why now? Why now am I shaking? Why now that rush? Because of this dress? These red heels? He’s seen me in dresses before. Nothing like this, sure. But now it’s different. It’s the way he needs me.

  Look at him standing there. With his grandmother! His stylish grandmother. Does anyone have a grandmother who looks like her? And there he is, between the gowns. Scanning the store for me. His eyes everywhere. He’s here. He came.

  “Ooh, darling, she sees someone.” Blanche snaps two fingers at the makeup artist who pulls out black mascara and smears my cheeks with pink blush.

  I’m staring at him hard in the mirror. Turn around and notice my reflection, Sean. Turn around, Sean. My heart races. Pounds. Look at me. My pink cheeks popping. My blue eyes screaming through this mascara. The dress, a soft porn, a Victorian dream. And I throw everything away that I know about Sean. Everything that everyone’s said. Donnie. Suki. Ali. Dev. Throw everything away that I’ve seen him do. Because it doesn’t make sense, even to me. I want him to see me in this dress, and not just see me. I want him to fall deep into me. I want to drown inside the way he’s been looking at me lately. I do. I want to drown in it. None of it makes sense.

  “Toss me my phone, Mom,” I say, demanding.

  “Where is it? What’s going on?”

  “Just toss me my phone.”

  She slides it across the floor.

  I look in the mirror and see Sean’s reflection. He’s holding up hats for his grandmother. Modeling them like a court jester.

  I text him: Turn around.

  A text comes back. B? Where u at?

  I text again: Just turn around.

  “Sean Nessel?” my mother says. “Is this for real?” But I tune her out.

  Sean turns to me from across the store. I lock eyes with him.

  He sees me. My pale, bare shoulders. He sees the dress. The corset. The bodice. The everything. His face lights up. He smiles. Lifts his hands in slow motion above his head, then nervously down his face.

  I close my eyes. Hand on hip. Swing my hair to the side because I don’t know what to do with myself. Drape my body across a gold-mirrored table? My fingers drip over my mouth. I smile, stick out my tongue. Twirl.

  He whispers in his grandmother’s ear. Points over to me.

  “Who is that, doll? Your boyfriend?” Blanche says.

  “My daughter’s boyfriend wouldn’t know how to find New York City,” my mother says, and though it infuriates me that she’s pissing on Dev, she’s not altogether wrong. “That’s her boyfriend’s best friend.”

  “Scandalous,” Blanche says.

  I ignore them. Float over to Sean. Buzzing through the gowns. Past a table of pastel scarves. The pinks and blues and purples blending into each other.

  He’s still staring through me. Right into me. I can’t say anything. I give him a push on his chest. He takes a step backward. Eyes light up. Saying nothing.

  “What. What?”

  “You.”

  I look down at my dress. My whole body flushed. “Aww, it’s nothing. I got it out of the garbage dump.”

  He smiles. Shakes his head, still staring. His face so intent.

  It rushes in. That we’re somewhere else. A shine of light under a moving shadow somewhere.

  He takes my hand and his hand feels sweaty and big in mine. And it feels perfectly normal. Yet I don’t think I’ve ever held Sean’s hand. And there we are, standing right in front of his nana.

  “This is not a dress you wear to a school dance, my dear,” she says. Multi-colored bangles clink halfway up her arm. She gives me an air kiss.

  “Earlier I couldn’t get Sean to go anywhere with me. But then you texted him. And all of a sudden he wants to go shopping. Isn’t it funny how that works?” She caresses his cheek. The way she dreamily stares at him. The pride she has.

  “When we’re out together, I tell people I’m her boyfriend,” he says. “Her young stud.”

  “Oh, Sean. Such a flirt. Just like your father,” his grandmother says. “Always talking about the ladies. He’s my only grandson who will do this, you know. Come in and visit me and spend one-on-one time like this. And I have eight grandsons. He’ll make a wonderful husband one day.” She strokes his cheek. I blush. I’m not sure if she’s saying this directly to me, or if she’s just entertaining herself.

  “Blythe.” I hear my mother hissing from the other side of the room. Ignored, left in the corner with a sales associate. Not a good look for her. How could I leave her behind like that, I’m sure she’s thinking.

  “I have to get back to my mother,” I say. The embarrassment rolling through my words.

  “Here, I’ll take you,” he says, and leads me between the large black-tie gowns, under a massive black chandelier. I want him to push me up against the chartreuse velvet couch. Kiss my neck. Imagine his hands all over me.

  “This is too crazy,” I say to him, breathless.

  “Nothing’s crazy. It actually all makes complete sense. Finally something makes complete sense.” His face closer to mine. “I’m not scared, B.”

  But I can barely speak.

  I whisper that I have to go, and spin around, leaving him there between the gowns.

  * * *

  * * *

  I run back to where my mother is standing. “We need to get out of here,” I say, because I’m flushed, too excited. I squeeze her hand. But this is my first mistake, trusting her. She shakes me off.

  “Sean Nessel? Are you kidding me?” My mother does her thing with her eyebrows. Her array of faces. “You look like a tart, Blythe. A crush on your boyfriend’s best friend? I saw the way he was looking at you in that dress. You don’t think that was apparent to everyone, except for maybe his grandmother who is ninety-five years old? Did you make out with him behind those dresses too?”

  “Mom—Jesus. What are you doing? Stalking me from the corner of the store?”

  “You just left me alone here—standing here like a fool. What was I supposed to do? Talk to the sales girl the whole time?”

  Here we go. Leaving her alone. It’s always about her being left alone.

  “This was our shopping trip. Our time together,” she says. “The only thing we barely have. That I barely have. And you what? You had Sean Nessel meet you here? Because don’t tell me this was a coincidence.”

  The anger in her face. The envy. That I have everything and she has nothing. It’s the way Sean looked at me; she saw that. And what does she have? My father who spends his time running away from her. Dumping her with me. Therapists and doctors. Running off to live his own life.

  I slip into the dressing room to take off the dress.

  “I heard his grandmother has a Chagall or maybe it’s a Cézanne,” my mother says outside the dressing room, her tone changing. “At the very least, ma
ybe we can get an invitation? Maybe she’ll invite us up. Show us her art collection. We can catch a breeze on the terrace.”

  “This is not the time for your mania to kick in, Mother.”

  She swipes open the dressing room curtain. Squeezes my arm. “Don’t be a shit, my darling daughter, because I know exactly what is going on here. I can see it in your face, and especially your nipples.”

  I look down. My nipples are headlights, charging through the chiffon. I conceal my chest with my arm. Whip shut the curtain.

  My mother’s seething explosion is not unfamiliar to me. Half of it mumbled and garbled in mania. This is how we converse when she’s not so heavily medicated. She flips out, says nasty things. I say nasty things back. She cries. She holes herself up in her bedroom for days. I apologize. Start again.

  I walk out of the dressing room and hand the dress to Blanche. Kiss her on both cheeks.

  “Are you taking it, my dear?”

  “Of course we are,” I say. “Is there any other choice?”

  24

  BLYTHE

  Sean calls me around nine o’clock.

  I see his name and I’m scared to pick it up. What his voice will sound like. What I want to say to him after today at the store. That we got swept up in something. Me in that dress. Him with his grandmother. The way he held my hand.

  “Where are you?” I say.

  “Out for a late jog. I like running at night. It helps me think,” he says.

  “Where?”

  I don’t hear his voice. For a few seconds I think maybe he just hung up. That this is it. That it’ll stop here.

  “On your street.”

  My body jolts for a second. All of it, falling to my tummy. And further. Like I can’t breathe.

  “I’ll be at the back fence. I’ll let you in. But don’t open the fence.”

  “Why?”

  “It squeaks.”

  * * *

  * * *

  We crouch down behind my shed, our backs up against it. Our thighs touching. He’s out of breath still, sweaty and dank. I don’t care. I don’t care at all.

  “You have cute knees, B,” Sean says, and touches my knee. Just a flicker. With his fingers. His hand stays there. “How come you don’t wear many skirts? Or dresses like the one you wore today?”

  I lean back more, really sinking into the cold grass.

  “You looked beautiful today, B.”

  “It’s sweet that you shop with your grandmother.”

  “She’s a trip, my grandmother. People take pictures of her on the street. Did you know that? They think she’s famous. She loves it.”

  “She looks famous.”

  “Do you feel nervous right now, B?”

  “Yes.”

  He slides his hand farther up my leg and turns to me. His soft lips on mine.

  He presses his lips into me harder, kissing me stronger. His hands at the back of my head, around my neck, pulling me in, pulling me in so hard that I want to pull back. I’m just trying to catch my breath. The two of us, our foreheads touching. All of that wanting. I don’t know what to do with it. “I’ve been thinking about you all day since we left. . . . It’s why I’m running now. To get it out of my system. To get you out of my system,” he says. “What are we going to do, B?”

  * * *

  * * *

  I go to bed that night feeling guilty. I kissed Sean. I feel so close to him. So much closer than I’ve ever felt, and it’s not just the kiss I’m thinking about now. My body shuddering from today. His words in my head. The way he tilted his head against mine. I tug down my underwear and touch myself between my thighs because it’s all too much and I have to release it and let it go. I imagine him here with me.

  But then I see Ali’s face. Those little bangs. Ali, who looks up at me with those glowing eyes. And Dev. Who trusts me and is loyal to me. I cringe. I’m a terrible, hateful person and I don’t deserve anyone. I pull up my underwear. I have to shut it all off. What am I doing anyway?

  I text Donnie because I don’t know where to go with all this and I hate myself.

  I kissed Sean

  Of course you did B

  What does that mean?

  It means everyone saw it coming but you

  Not everyone

  No not everyone . . . just me

  * * *

  * * *

  On Monday in school, I don’t know how to look at Dev. He’s got his arm wrapped around me like everything is the same, but it’s not. It’ll never be the same. Sean and I pretend like nothing happened. I can’t even look at him in the hall.

  * * *

  * * *

  C-wing. Just me and Donnie. Smoke all around us. We’re going to choke in here one day. That or set off the smoke alarm.

  “How does it feel?” she says.

  “How does what feel?” I exhale.

  “Betrayal?” She laughs, rolling her eyes. “You are an awful person, B. But this is nothing new.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong, Donnie. It was just a kiss.”

  “I didn’t say you did anything wrong. In fact, I think I’ve been the one to encourage you to get out of that monogamous box you’re in with Dev.”

  Donnie flicks her cigarette onto the floor. The ashes go flying. An ember bleeds off the paper.

  “He’s different with me. He’s softer.”

  “Of course he is, baby. Of course he is.”

  25

  ALI

  Sammi shows up first. Her mom drops her off, and I see them hug in the front seat of the car. She’s wearing the dress from the store. With the cape. It flies behind her when she runs down the driveway. Here she comes to save the day. My eyes swollen. Welling up.

  “You’re crying?” she says. “You’re supposed to be glad I’m here.”

  “I am glad.”

  “Then what?”

  “You just look cute,” I say. “Really cute.” I hug her, so tightly.

  * * *

  * * *

  Raj rides up in his parents’ station wagon. Black button-down shirt. Black tie. Black jeans. His hair swept up in a pompadour.

  “That’s quite a limo,” Sammi says.

  “My parents are out for dinner. They took the Mini Cooper.”

  “Nice hair,” I say. “How’d you get it that way?”

  “Hair spray,” he says, proud of himself.

  Raj is smiling nervously, kind of looking away. He edges closer to me, on the porch, still not talking. He’s not used to me wearing a dress. He’s not used to me wearing black eyeliner. Silver glitter freckled over my eyelids. I can see it in his face, the way he keeps looking away.

  “Why do you keep looking the other way?” I say.

  “You look really pretty.”

  I laugh. It’s nice. I like the attention. It’s the first time in a while that I actually feel safe. Like a taste of something normal. After all those weeks of pain, maybe for a second I could feel something good.

  A text from Blythe.

  On my way to Cates. U coming?

  I make something up.

  Pops won’t let me go. Too strict.

  Wonder what that’s like?

  “Who’s that?” Sammi says. “Your girlfriend?”

  “She wants us to come to Cate’s party.”

  “I’d rather eat glass,” Sammi says.

  “Is that what you want, Ali? To go there?” Raj says.

  “We can drop her off there on the way to the dance and she can punish herself,” Sammi says.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Oh, why don’t you tell us what it’s like, then?”

  “I don’t even want to go, so why don’t you both relax.”

  But if I don’t go, what’s the alternative? Texts from Blythe? Sean Nessel
, thinking he got the best of me. Not that he’s even thinking of me.

  Not that he’s ever thought of me.

  Not that he ever thought of me more than as this cute girl who he could mess with.

  “We don’t have to go,” Raj says. That concerned look on his face. His voice real low and calm. “And that’s it. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We don’t have to do anything. We don’t have to go to this dance.”

  “No. That’s not it. I want to go,” I say. “I want to go with the two of you.”

  Sammi needed to hear this. I see it in her eyes.

  “Then let’s go,” Sammi says, her voice lighter than before. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “We’re gonna go. And it’s going to be great.”

  I kiss her hand. It’s deserved. What I’ve been putting her through, I should be kissing her toes.

  She dashes into the house to pee.

  I think about what Raj said too. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. It sends me away from this moment. I feel like I smell dirty. I feel like he’s going to smell it on me.

  I inch closer to him and smack him in the arm. And then I hit him again—it sends him a step back. I want to push him so much farther back. I want to repel him. Get him away from me. He should run from me. Escape me. I’m filled with awful things, things he can’t imagine.

  “What was that for?” he says, holding his arm.

  I look away because I don’t want to cry.

  “That’s for being such a nice guy.”

  26

  BLYTHE

  Lights twinkle through the trees at Cate’s house. Dev kisses me, and we walk in. Cate’s mother passes out champagne on trays in the back under a tent. Everyone’s here. Dev. Sean. Suki. Plus Ray Pilcher, Chase Goldberg, and Harrison Cohen. I jump up and down in the grass, fist pumping. The guys follow because who can deny fist pumping. Me in my blush-pink, practically see-through dress and the boys in jackets and ties.