Before You

by Amber Hart

Eduardo gives me a look to say that he had nothing to do with it. Any dorm room plans are put on hold.

  “Okay,” I say.

  That way if it doesn’t work out with Anita, maybe I can find someone else. As long as I’m not thinking about Faith.

  We end up taking two cars. From the outside, the eighteen-and-up club doesn’t look like much. The inside is a different story. Multicolored lights flash everywhere, their luminance bouncing off shiny surfaces in the dark. The DJ plays dope music. There’s not much room to move. The place is packed. The best part is the dance floor.

  “Want to dance?” I yell to Anita over the music.

  “For sure,” she answers.

  We make our way to the dance floor. As soon as Anita sways her hips, I know she’s a good dancer.

  Perfecto.

  For once, with Anita’s body pressed against mine, I don’t think of Faith.

  19

  faith

  The hardest part about tonight will be telling Dad the truth.

  It’s probably easier to lie, to wedge falsehood into his mind like wood under a door, propping it open for my manipulation.

  But.

  Something has to give soon. Like a ticking time bomb, I feel ready to explode.

  “Dad,” I say, “I have something to tell you.”

  Cowardice is a nasty bug burrowing itself into my system, waging war within.

  Dad is sitting in the living room with Susan, watching television. Grace is in bed. Sleep, a sweet reprieve. One day, maybe, she’ll grow up. See the depth of my lies, understand that I’m damaged. On the inside.

  “Hey, honey,” Dad says, and glances at my clothes. He looks as though he’s trying to swallow a boulder lodged in his throat. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  I’m wearing black heels and a fitted dress the color of rubies. It falls to my knees and plunges down my back. For makeup I went with blush, gloss, and a smoky eye.

  To hide the circles. To hide the evidence of tears.

  I was hoping Dad wouldn’t freak out about my clothes, but judging by his look, I’d say there’s a good chance that he’ll make me change. My clothes are merely different color frames that I slip in and out of. The picture stays the same. I never try another pose. I wouldn’t dare.

  Until tonight.

  “Wow,” Susan says. “You look great.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks instantly warm.

  “I thought you were hanging out with Melissa,” Dad says. “You’re a little overdressed, don’t you think?”

  “That’s the thing,” I say, and take a deep breath. I falter. Try again. “We’re going dancing, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Dancing?” Dad repeats.

  I feel the sudden urge to run. I don’t care that I’m wearing heels. I pinch the soft inside of my arm hard enough to make my eyes water. Hard enough to bruise. Anything to anchor me in place.

  “Yes. I’ve been back four months now and I think it’s time I do something fun,” I say, locking my knees, commanding my feet to stay still.

  Dad pops his knuckles. Crack, crack, crack. I hold my breath. Crack. He’s bound to say no. Crack. I shouldn’t have asked. Crack. What was I thinking? Cra—

  “Are you sure you’re ready?” Dad asks.

  His words send a pang to my heart, a pierce from a shiv of ice. I feel terrible about what I’ve put Dad through. But I can’t take back the past. All I can do is make better decisions in the future.

  “I’m sure,” I answer. “I know it must be hard for you to trust me”—I swallow—“ but I’m okay now. And I know I could’ve lied to you, but I want to be truthful.”

  “I appreciate that,” Dad says. A few hairs fall across his eyes. He doesn’t bother to swipe them away. He turns to Susan, a silent plea for support. Dad is wavering. Susan’s vote will probably sway him in the direction of his final answer.

  That can’t be good. I’ve never done anything to deserve her support.

  “Well, Faith, can you promise us that you will not, under any circumstances, do drugs or drink alcohol?”

  “Yes,” I say. “You have my word.”

  I cross my fingers, uncross them, fidget.

  “And if you feel overwhelmed at all, you’ll call us?” Susan asks.

  “Of course,” I say.

  She sighs. “Listen, Faith, I was a teenager once. I know the game. The music, the boys, the atmosphere. Just don’t get carried away, okay? Remember who you are.”

  Her support weighs me down and lifts me up, both.

  “All right,” Susan says, and nods to my dad. “I think she deserves another chance, Carl.”

  In that moment, for the first time, I see that my stepmom is on my side. I smile. It feels forced. “Thank you,” I say.

  I give Dad a hug and run out the door as he’s telling me to be home at one. Generous.

  Melissa picks me up in the driveway. When she sees me, she drops a lit cigarette in her lap, curses, grabs it quickly. The loose embers float toward me like fireflies.

  “Good gracious!” Melissa looks shocked. “I must be imagining things, ’cause for a second, I thought I saw Faith in a tight red number with skin showing.”

  Melissa is beautiful tonight in a dress that looks as though someone painted her with gold.

  I laugh and crawl into the back. Melissa’s older sister, Monica, is in the passenger seat. “Hey, Monica,” I say.

  “Hey, beautiful,” she replies, turning to face me. She has wavy blond hair and blue eyes as big as the sky. “Long time, no see.”

  I haven’t gone out much, that’s why. Nearly ruined myself. Another pang.

  “Thanks for doing this for us,” I say.

  “No problem. Anytime.”

  When Melissa found out about my split with Jason, she called Monica. Monica arranged a night out.

  I buckle my seat belt. Melissa is staring at me. She laughs.

  “I cannot believe your father let you leave the house looking like that,” she says.

  “My outfit’s not bad,” I say defensively.

  “You’re right,” Melissa agrees. “But for you, it’s a huge jump.”

  I smack my best friend playfully on the arm. “Hurry up before I change my mind.”

  When we get to the club, it’s packed. Really packed. The line is out the door, a million bodies trying to scramble inside.

  “We’re never going to get in,” I groan.

  I need this. I need to breathe. I need to live, if only for one night.

  “No worries,” Monica says. “I know the doorman.”

  Monica walks to the front of the line. I follow her as though I belong, evil stares like arrows piercing my back. Some of the people look like they’ve been waiting for a while; they’ve taken seats on the ground and propped themselves against the wall. They make me think of a string of puppets.

  Monica smiles at the doorman and gives him a hug. She motions behind her to Melissa and me. The guy opens the door, waves us in.

  The inside of the club is busier than the outside. Lights flash everywhere to the beat of the music. Plush white love seats and chairs line the back wall like marshmallows. The alcoholic bar sits at the front of the club, but you need a special wristband to access that area. A nonalcoholic bar waits parallel to it. On the second floor are more tables and chairs and couches. The DJ’s booth is stuck above the dance floor.

  For a moment, I zone in to the DJ. I watch as his hands move bullet-fast, spinning the records. Headphones cover one of his ears.

  “Come on,” Melissa yells.

  It’s hard to move. I’m sandwiched between sweating, gyrating bodies. Must be near capacity.

  Melissa grabs one of my hands and Monica grabs the other so we don’t separate. My best friend pushes through the crowd. It takes longer than it should to get to the dance floor, but when we do, it feels amazing.

  Dancing is my thing, my release of life’s frustrations. When I dance, the world fades until nothing is left but the music and me. I don’t ha
ve to remember who I am, or who I try to be, or who I’m supposed to be. It’s just me. And in that moment, when the world stops, I’m free.

  At that moment, I’m ready to destroy the fake me, to tear her down until nothing but broken pieces remain. Later, when the night ends, I’ll pick them up and rebuild.

  Monica immediately finds a guy to dance with. I give my best friend a look, since it’s too hard to hear over the music, and mouth “it’s on” to her.

  I’m not worried about running into anyone from school. Even though it’s an eighteen-and-up club, it’s nearly impossible for under-twenty-ones to get in without a connection. And honestly, I can’t see many people from our school having connections to this place. If they did, they wouldn’t recognize me, anyway.

  Melissa and I dance. Within a few songs, I can no longer feel anything but the music thrumming in my veins. I’m in the zone. My body moves to the beat, pulsing, breathing the rhythm. Melissa is a good dancer; that’s why I like to dance with her. There is nothing worse than being in the zone and having someone approach you who looks spastic. Melissa and I stay close, so that we can rescue each other if the need arises, a flotation device in a tempest of bodies.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a guy watching me. He has a killer body, dark eyes, and dark hair. He looks like he’s around our age, maybe a year or two older. He’s dancing with a girl, not paying her much attention. When he sees me looking, he smiles.

  Melissa yells in my ear. “You should dance with him!”

  “I don’t know,” I say, unsure. I look away.

  “He’s good!” she says.

  I glance at him again. Maybe this is what I need to forget Jason. Diego, too.

  The guy approaches me, squeezing through the throbbing mass. He dips his head to my ear.

  “Want to dance?” he asks. His voice rolls into my ear, inviting.

  I should tell him no, but when I glance to Melissa for support, she attaches herself to another guy, dancing away.

  “All right,” I answer.

  We dance. The guy is better than I first thought. I like that he isn’t trying to talk to me the whole time. I know by the way his eyes close occasionally, by the way his body moves in harmony with the beat, that he enjoys the music.

  “You’re a great dancer,” he says when the song ends.

  “Thanks. You, too,” I reply.

  He smiles. “Another?”

  I nod. It feels strange because I think maybe I should be upset that Jason dumped me. The loss of a boyfriend would be enough to make most girls ache. I don’t ache. I don’t feel bad. Which is crazy, right? I don’t know what any of it means at this point. All I know is that I want to have fun, and this guy is fun.

  A new song starts and we dance again, the music sucking me down in its undertow. I don’t think about Jason anymore. I only feel the rhythm, thumping to the beat of my heart.

  We dance for a long time. Sweat pearls glisten against my skin. I don’t know how much time has passed. Hours, maybe.

  “Want to grab a drink?” I yell to the guy.

  “Sure,” he says.

  We make our way off the dance floor to the nonalcoholic bar. I order water. So does my dance partner. I take one of the ice cubes out of the drink and run it along my forehead and down my neck. When I look up, the guy’s staring. I realize how I must look to him, and my cheeks redden.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, grateful that the ice cube has melted.

  “Brad. Yours?”

  “Faith.” I realize once my name has left my lips that I didn’t fake-name him. Melissa and I are notorious for fake-naming people. We make up random names to give to guys—that way they won’t know the real us.

  Very few people know the real me.

  One day, if I try hard enough, maybe I’ll erase her completely.

  It’s quieter in this part of the club, though I still have to raise my voice to be heard. The guy doesn’t prod me for information, and that makes me want to know more about him.

  “How old are you?” I ask.

  “Nineteen,” he answers. A drop of sweat falls from his left sideburn.

  “Did you come here alone?” I ask.

  Do you plan to leave alone?

  “No. I came with one of my buddies.”

  I take several big sips from my glass. Water never tasted so good.

  “I saw you with your friends,” Brad says. “Looked exciting. Big occasion?”

  You mean, like the fact that my boyfriend paused our relationship and I finally feel a little free?

  “Nope,” I say. “Just happy to dance. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the club. I’m feeling rusty.”

  “Couldn’t tell,” Brad says. “You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks,” I reply.

  There is something refreshing about dancing in the club. It’s different from the team. Less organized. More from the heart.

  Brad leans in to say something else just as one of my favorite songs starts up.

  “We have to dance!” I set the glass back on the bar and grab his hand. I don’t think about what I’m doing. I’m just enjoying being me, for once.

  We hit the floor. Brad moves behind me, close, testing the waters.

  “Is this okay?” he asks.

  I nod, thinking it’s perfect, like taking a warm bath in musical notes. I’m covered, drenched in the beat.

  We’re on a different part of the dance floor now. I have a better view of the crowd. With an eagle eye, I take inventory. I see a guy who looks like someone I know. Familiar. Too familiar.

  And suddenly the atmosphere around me turns cold. Freezing.

  I am paralyzed.

  By fear.

  20

  diego

  “What’s wrong?”

  Anita yells to me over the music. I can’t answer her right away. My body has gone still in the middle of the dance floor. I’m dead weight. Seaweed in an ocean, anchored to the floor, swaying with the current.

  “Are you okay?” Anita asks.

  “What? Yeah. I just, um.” I can’t get my words right. I can’t concentrate.

  “You sure?” Anita asks. “ ’Cause you don’t look too hot.”

  What is Faith doing at the club? Should I go talk to her? And why is she dancing up on that guy?

  I start dancing again. I hear the music, but I no longer feel it. I don’t know when it happened exactly, but at some point Faith became more than a gringa to me.

  “You’re not as into it,” Anita says.

  That’s because Faith is looking right at me. A challenge, almost. She moves smoothly, like she is the music.

  Then she looks away. I don’t know why, but it angers me. Maybe if I close my eyes, I can rid my brain of her.

  Creamy skin. Stop. Coppery hair. Stop. Her.

  No matter how hard I try, it doesn’t work. I decide to dance nearer to Faith, bringing Anita with me.

  The guy Faith is with momentarily blocks my view. I don’t like how close he is to her. I thought she had a boyfriend. I also thought she was falling for me a little bit. When I leaned into her that day, she didn’t pull away. And there was the library thing. No matter what she says, I felt the race of her pulse.

  When Faith brushes hair off her shoulder and the guy leans further into her, I think I’m going to lose it.

  I pull Anita into me. My hands are on her hips, my pelvis moving against her.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Anita says.

  Too bad I’m not doing it for her. This is strictly for Faith. She’s going to act like she doesn’t know me? We’ll see about that.

  Though the lines are once again blurring, I don’t back down. I hate to lose. And more than that, I hate to see Faith with another guy.

  Faith looks up and winces. I can’t help grinning.

  That’s what I thought, mami.

  She feels something.

  Faith recovers from her slipup and tilts her head to one side, letting the guy place a kiss on her
neck.

  I’m thinking about punching him in his face. I know Faith is messing with me on purpose. She wants a reaction from me.

  When I glance back at Anita, she regards me strangely. She peers at Faith, and then at me again.

  “Oh,” she says, “I get it.”

  “Lo siento,” I say.

  Surprisingly, Anita places a finger on my mouth. “Been there. No worries.”

  So it’s like that? Competitive. Staking a claim.

  “What do you say we give her a taste of her own poison?”

  “You sure?” I ask.

  Anita wraps her arms around my neck and dances up on me. Over her shoulder, Faith watches. One way or another, I’m going to make Faith come to me.

  The song changes. The beat pounds faster. Faith smiles slyly and I think for a second that she might approach, but instead she presses the back of her body firmly against the front of the guy and wraps her arms behind his neck.

  I’m trying not to lose it. That should be me behind her. When his palms start a slow crawl up Faith’s stomach, I have to clench my hands on Anita’s hips. It’s the only way to control my fingers, which are itching to reach for her.

  What’s wrong with me?

  I should not be playing this dangerous game, but I can’t look away.

  My hands cascade down Anita’s body like a misting of rain. I make sure Faith sees.

  Faith’s eyes are hard, upset. Good, because I don’t think I can keep this up much longer. I need to go to her, but I wish she would come to me. I hate giving up control. I know that’s what Faith wants. And I’m pretty sure she knows I want her to do the same. So the question is: Who breaks first?

  Me, apparently, because when she turns around and the guy leans down like he might kiss her, I get in his face.

  “Mind if I cut in?” I say. It’s not a question. I will be cutting in whether he likes it or not.

  I don’t have time to worry about Anita. She’ll understand. Or not.

  “We were kind of in the middle of something,” the guy says.

  “Yeah? Not anymore.”

  “Look, dude—”

  I cut him off. “No, you look,” I say. “This is not an option.”

  He looks from me to Faith. I don’t have time for his indecision. I push him aside and pull Faith to me. He walks away. Smart move.