Together at Midnight

by Jennifer Castle

  “We’re going to what?” asks Camden after I go back inside and tell them my idea.

  “Go to Brooklyn. Bring this bag to its owner. Her name is Shelby.”

  “That’s a long way for a good deed,” says Ari. “Can’t we just leave it here for her to pick up?”

  I don’t know how to explain to them that I need to do this. I believe in the universe poking us in the ribs, and I believe in the way Shelby Dearden’s voice cracked out Thank you when I told her I’d bring the bag to her apartment. If he were here, Max would be totally on board and in fact, he might have suggested it, if I hadn’t thought of it myself. I can see him, already on his phone looking at a subway map, navigating our route.

  I can see him, and totally wish he were here, and wish I didn’t wish that.

  “Is this important to you?” Jamie asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll go with you.” He turns to Camden. “We’ll meet you guys at Kendall’s brother’s place.”

  “Sounds good,” says Camden, and I give him the address.

  I gather up Shelby’s things and put them back in the bag, arranging them the way they were when we found it. When Jamie and I step out onto the sidewalk, it really does feel different, being on our own without Ari and Camden. I can’t decide if it’s a good different or an awkward different.

  “Shelby gave me directions,” I tell him. “We head that way to the F train.”

  He takes my hand. I let that slight tug pull me closer to him, and then I kiss him on the cheek. It’s quick, on purpose, because I don’t want it to last long enough to take on meaning.

  “What was that for?” he asks.

  “For getting it,” I say, and he lights up with a smile.

  We eventually find the F train station but a train has just left. I lean against a stanchion and Jamie’s phone rings.

  “Hey, Max,” he says as he answers, his voice suddenly serious. Then he takes a few steps away. I can still hear him perfectly. “Can we talk another time? . . . Yeah, of course I’m concerned. What do you want me to do about it?”

  There’s a pause.

  “Me? Why don’t you do it?”

  Another pause.

  “Yeah, but we have, like, five months left of school together. I don’t want that kind of drama.”

  Jamie listens, then holds the phone away from his ear. Then he touches the screen to hang up and puts it in his pocket, walks back to me.

  “That was Max, but we got disconnected.”

  “Uh, yeah, I just saw you hang up on him.”

  Jamie smiles. Shrugs. “Exactly.”

  The train thunders in.

  It takes a while. After we leave Manhattan, I don’t recognize the stations’ names anymore. I open my notebook and start writing down names for the people, as if they were cats. Precious. Tiger Fluff. Misty.

  Finally, we’re off the train and climbing stairs into sunlight again, then we walk to Shelby’s block. She said she lived in a basement apartment, which means one of those doors tucked underneath a brownstone’s steps. All the windows on street level are barred, and I wonder if there was ever a time when they didn’t have to be.

  “Must be the next one,” I say, pointing to the numbers on the buildings.

  I step up to the door and touch my finger to the brass lion’s head knocker. Fancy.

  The door opens before I can use it, and there’s Shelby Dearden. She’s tall and blond and thin and striking. The kind of person who turns heads on the street, even in New York City. She’s wearing a black cocktail dress and knee-high boots, and looks so fabulous a part of me instantly hates her.

  “My heroes!” she says, smiling wide. “You must be Kendall. Come on in.”

  “Thanks. This is Jamie.”

  “Nice to meet you. Happy New Year.”

  Jamie and I step inside. The apartment looks like something out of a home furnishings catalog. A nice couch, a beautiful rug, puffed-up throw pillows, plus neatly framed photographs and art prints on the wall. The most unnerving thing is that Shelby Dearden seems familiar. Like, really familiar.

  “I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” she says.

  “Have we met before?” I ask. “I have a bunch of older brothers and I feel like maybe you know one of them.”

  Shelby laughs. “I certainly might. But I get that a lot, because of the commercial.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Tangy Ranch Crispo-Chips,” she says, like that’s a normal thing to just state, unattached to other things.

  “Yes!” exclaims Jamie. “That ad is hilarious!”

  In an instant, I can picture Shelby Dearden on a bus stop bench, a bag of Tangy Ranch Crispo-Chips in her hand. She’s scarfing them down, getting crumbs all over her chin and clothes, and she’s not wearing a black cocktail dress but a dingy sweat suit. A series of young, good-looking guys take turns trying to hit on her, clearly turned on by her chip-scarfing. That ad’s been running for years and some people even quote it. No wonder she can afford a nice apartment in Park Slope.

  “So you’re an actress?” I ask.

  “Trying to be. My career’s sort of on hold at the moment.”

  Shelby tucks her long, shiny hair behind one ear and eyes the tote bag in my hand.

  This is the horrible thing: Suddenly, I don’t want to give it to her. Suddenly, I wish someone else had found the bag and stolen the eleven dollars out of it, then thrown the rest in the trash. Because women like her are used to others doing things for them, scrambling for their approval. That’s the power attractive people have in the world. I bet she’s had guys fighting over her in real life.

  But I hold out the bag and she takes it.

  “Again, I’m so grateful,” says Shelby. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you came all the way here.”

  “No problem,” I say, keeping my voice flat. Letting her know her powers don’t work on me. “We should probably be going now.”

  Shelby nods, but looks sad and her lower lip pouts. “You’re welcome to stay for a bit. My upstairs neighbor’s coming over for dinner. There’s more than enough food for more guests.”

  Jamie’s face lights up. “That would be . . .”

  I grab his arm. “. . . Lovely, but we’re supposed to meet up with some friends at a party.”

  Jamie shoots me a look. “We can go over whenever. There’s plenty of time to hang here for a bit.”

  “I’d really like to thank you for what you did,” says Shelby.

  But I don’t want to give up time on New Year’s Eve so I can make Shelby Dearden feel better.

  “I hope someday, someone does the same for me,” I say, and rewrap my scarf around my neck. I’m hoping this is a polite, final no.

  Jamie shoots me a look, then glances at Shelby, who does appear disappointed. Whatever.

  “Can I take a selfie with you?” he asks her. “I’m a big fan of your commercial. And your chips.”

  Shelby laughs and nods. Jamie steps up to her and she puts her arm around him. They pose for a shot with Jamie’s phone.

  I’ll ask Jamie to send the picture to me, so I have proof: one more kindness, right under the wire. He doesn’t have to know I wish I hadn’t done it.

  He doesn’t have to know it was a waste.

  Shelby Dearden

  TAKING THE TRAIN INTO DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN and back meant walking three blocks, standing on a train platform, sitting on a subway, walking a few more blocks, then repeating in the other direction.

  That completely destroyed me.

  When I got home, I actually had to get into bed and take a nap. I thought about staying there for the rest of the day, but then I thought about Alma. I invited Alma down for dinner specifically so I had a reason to be up, doing things. A reason to travel to Little Italy to get dessert from her favorite bakery.

  I’ve just been so tired.

  For months and months, I’ve been so tired. The kind of tired where every part of your body is heavy, and slow, and
requires effort.

  I went on a raw foods diet to see if that helped. That was basically starvation. I lost weight. In the mirror, I saw someone wasting away, trapped by my own body in more ways than one. Everyone else raved about how great I looked.

  The doctors are doing tests. Tests, tests, and more tests. In the meantime, I put on all my favorite clothes and a lot of makeup and good-smelling hair product.

  My mother developed lupus when she was in her twenties and I’m pretty sure this is my inheritance.

  I can’t work until I’m better, but I can’t feel better if I’m not working.

  I’m ashamed to tell anyone what’s going on, but then I get mad when they don’t help. It’s really messed up.

  But those kids. They offered help and I took it and the world didn’t end.

  Maybe I can teach myself to ask for more.

  Max

  WHEN ELIZA SAID IT WAS A COSPLAY BAND, THAT was no joke.

  Her friend is the lead guitarist of an all-female band that dresses as male Marvel superheroes. She’s tricked out her guitar so it has a Captain America shield on it. It’s pretty impressive. Eliza watches the set from the front of the crowd, center stage. I stand in the corner and watch her, glad to be doing at least one really cool thing on New Year’s Eve. That was part of what I loved about being with Eliza. She gave me experiences I never would have found on my own, because I’m me.

  We’ve struck a deal: we’ll stay for one set, then meet up with our friends at Emerson’s party. That’s another cool place I want to be, at the stroke of midnight. This feels important.

  The other reason to join them, which I didn’t share with Eliza: I have to talk to Camden and Jamie. In person. To figure out what to do about this thirty-year-old guy. Camden will know what to do. He volunteers at a teen crisis helpline, for fuck’s sake.

  Problem is, I already know what to do. I don’t need someone with Camden’s training. It’s really very simple.

  We tell her parents.

  That’s it.

  Four words. It shouldn’t be complicated. Except it totally is.

  Making these four words happen means possibly saying good-bye to my relationship with Eliza.

  When the first set ends, I find Eliza in the crowd and tap her on the shoulder. She turns, sees me, then vigorously shakes her head.

  “No!” she says, like a little kid. She actually stamps her foot.

  “We had a deal,” I remind her.

  “How about halfway through the second set?”

  I give her a long look. She thinks I’m giving in. I can tell because she’s smiling. Then I just say, “Bye and Happy New Year,” and turn away. Walk toward the exit. She thinks I’m bluffing.

  I’m not bluffing. I absolutely refuse to be bluffing.

  Now I’m out on the street and the cold hits me like a wave of relief. I’m surprised by how glad I am to feel it. How pure and clean it is.

  Thirty seconds pass. I’ll give her thirty more.

  I take a few deep breaths, watching the fog I make with them appear, then dissolve. When the door to the club opens and slams shut, I don’t turn toward it.

  “Fine,” says Eliza as she steps up beside me.

  No, nothing is fine. But I’m happy to let her believe otherwise for now.

  As we walk toward Kendall’s brother’s new address, I play out a sequence of events in my head:

  I call her parents. Eliza hates me. She never speaks to me again. I am free.

  I’m okay with how that plays out. I’ll call tomorrow.

  But wait. What if I chicken out tomorrow? That sounds like something I would do.

  So I’ll call them tonight and ask them not to talk to her about it until tomorrow. After we’ve both come home. That buys me some time and doesn’t ruin tonight.

  I look at her now. She already seems over the fact that I made her leave the show. That’s because I didn’t.

  Eliza is never anywhere she doesn’t want to be.

  At the warehouse-looking building that matches the address Kendall gave me, someone buzzes us up without even asking who we are.

  “Let me guess,” says the young guy who opens the apartment door. “Max and Eliza?”

  “Let me guess,” says Eliza. “Someone described us as a really tall guy and tiny girl.”

  The guy laughs. “Well, yeah. I’m Taj. Come on in.”

  He leads us into a space with brick walls and posts and beams. Huge windows line one side of the room. The wooden floors are dark and ruddy, like someone singed them with a flame. Aside from one huge sectional sofa, there’s nothing else in the apartment.

  “I just moved in,” explains Taj. “Furniture delivery got held up by the blizzard. More room for partying, I guess.”

  A handful of people are gathered in the kitchen, eating food from takeout containers. There’s Jamie, showing some guy his Holga.

  And there’s Kendall, leaning against the kitchen counter, writing in her notebook.

  I’m trying to figure out what to say to her when she looks up at me. For a moment, I can’t read her expression. I wonder if she’s still disappointed and disgusted. Then she smiles wide and her eyes change shape and it’s possible that her skin lights up, too. I feel like I’ve come home.

  “Hey!” she says.

  Before I can react, Jamie calls, “Max!” and comes over. “Sorry I couldn’t talk earlier. Kendall and I were in the subway. We schlepped out to Brooklyn to return some woman’s lost bag and you know who it turned out to be? The Tangy Ranch Crispo-Chips girl, from that commercial!”

  I know exactly what commercial he’s talking about. But I’m more interested in the rest of the story.

  “You returned a lost bag?”

  “Yeah, with a wallet. We found it in a bakery and Kendall insisted on bringing it to the owner in person.”

  I can’t help but smile.

  So, she scored one. I scored one. We have one final kindness left.

  I look at Kendall again. She’s writing furiously in her notebook. I think it’s awesome that she can do this here. At an unfamiliar loft in New York City on New Year’s Eve.

  I really want to talk to Kendall about Brooklyn. And about Kerstin. And about Eliza. And everything, really, beginning with the dawn of creation and ending with the second that just passed.

  But I have a bigger issue to deal with first. I pull Jamie into a corner.

  “We didn’t get to finish our conversation from earlier,” I say.

  Jamie glances at Eliza, who’s already chatting up a bunch of strangers.

  “Now?” asks Jamie. “Can’t we figure it out tomorrow or any of the other days that aren’t New Year’s Eve?”

  “Figure what out?” says Kendall, appearing out of nowhere.

  “Nothing,” says Jamie curtly. Dismissively. I find myself enraged by this.

  Kendall looks hard at me with those eyes of hers that are always so, so clear. The rush of what we discovered together comes over me.

  I take her hand and lead her away from the others. To where, I’m not sure. Are there any rooms in this loft?

  I find a door, open it, pull her in. The only thing in here is a mattress on the floor, and a sleeping bag on the mattress. I close the door before Jamie or anyone else can follow.

  “What the F is going on?” asks Kendall.

  “It’s Eliza.”

  She sighs. “Oh my God. It’s always Eliza.”

  “She’s dating a thirty-year-old guy.”

  Kendall raises her eyebrows, but then scrutinizes my face.

  “That sounds like you just being jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous. I’m concerned.”

  “Don’t you think Eliza can take care of herself? I’ll bet she’s capable of bossing around a boyfriend twice her age.”

  “It’s not okay, Kendall. She’s not even eighteen. He wants to get her a fake ID and sounds like a total creep.” Then I pause. “And it makes me think of Luna and that dude.”

  “That’s not fair
,” says Kendall. “Playing the Luna card.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “But I have a bad gut feeling about this. Right now I’m standing on that street corner and everyone else is afraid to do something.”

  I hope Kendall gets it. She must. She’s the only one who can.

  And she does. I watch her face change.

  “Jamie doesn’t want to deal with it right now,” I continue. “Camden would, but I can’t get ahold of him and I’m not sure when he’s going to show up. I need to do this before midnight. I can’t explain it, it’s just important to me.”

  Kendall simply nods. “We do need one more, for the dare.”

  “Forget the dare! Besides, Eliza’s not a stranger.”

  “Okay,” she says. “So call her parents right now. I’ll stay here and make sure you do it.”

  I didn’t realize I wanted her to offer exactly that, until she did.

  There’s a knock on the door.

  “Hello?” says Kendall.

  “Oh, good.” It’s Jamie’s voice. “I was wondering where you went. You okay?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Just have to make a call.”

  “Do you know where Max is?”

  She pauses. “I think he went looking for the bathroom.”

  Footsteps move away.

  “Take out your phone,” Kendall says with a chin-nudge. “Call them.”

  I do as I’m told.

  Dial Eliza’s home number.

  It rings once.

  I hang up.

  “What was that?” asks Kendall.

  “I don’t know. My fingers panicked.”

  “Your fingers.”

  “I need a moment.”

  “I’m not getting this. You desperately need to call, but you desperately need more time, too.”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “Explain.”