The Resolutions

by Mia Garcia

  “This is a great playlist . . .” Jess couldn’t help but smile, even as she recognized Nora’s favorite avoidance tactic. Like running was for Jess, Nora flushed her worries away with dance, though as she led them over to the dance floor, she wondered if that’s really what she needed.

  Nora found Beth immediately and her face transformed, a light taking over. Nora grabbed Jess’s hand tighter, pulling her along with her. Jess was not as transformed, but she followed her friend to the dance floor, passing Lee, who was talking to David, and she grabbed her hand as well. Lee followed, rolling her eyes but not as annoyed as she let on. The feel of her friends’ hands in hers made her stronger—like maybe the future she worried about was just a paranoid thought. The missed scholarship did not define her as much as her panic would like her to think. She was more than that. She had to be.

  Nora pulled out her phone, turning to Jess and Lee. “Okay, this one’s for Ryan. Show him what he is missing.” Lee pulled Jess in, and the three turned to the camera on the phone. Jess hoped her smile would be enough to hide everything she really felt.

  When she stepped off the dance floor, the world cracked just a bit, thoughts rushing in to remind her that the scholarship was the first of many mistakes. There was no room to breathe—how long was long enough to be considered a party? Would calling it off now be okay? Would it tick a box so she could move on to the ever-growing list of things to do?

  “Hey, Madam President!” Liz came running toward her, arms open to hug Jess.

  “Hey,” Jess said, trying her best to smile. “Vice President.”

  “I told you you were a shoo-in.”

  “Yeah, I kind of ran unopposed though.” Jess should’ve been happy for her win. Student Council president looked great on her transcript, according to Miss Anderson, and she might qualify for some leadership scholarships. Except for the one that you missed. Remember that one?

  “I think with both of us,” Liz continued, “this might actually be a year where we get shit done, you know? Like, actually make a difference.”

  “Right.” Was it wrong to hope for the exact opposite? Jess didn’t have time to make a difference; she didn’t have time to do anything. Why had no one else run for president?

  Because they are all smarter than you.

  Her head swam with the echoes of her worries, and all her body could think of doing was grabbing empty cups and cleaning every dirty space around her. She excused herself and headed to the kitchen.

  Her body was wound up so tightly she felt as if her spine would snap the next time someone tried to talk to her. But it would serve her right, wouldn’t it? You made your bed, her mind whispered. All around her people smiled and looked away. Were they talking about her, did they see how fake her smile was now? Could they tell she’d already failed a quiz her first week into senior year? That the thought of being Student Council president made her feel nauseated?

  Someone grabbed her ass, and she couldn’t turn to see who without smacking into a set of angel wings. A burst of laughter came from the right, shocking her nerves. Someone she didn’t know rolled his eyes at her as she passed. In dark corners people flushed against each other, giggling back into the throng. Smug, so smug.

  “Fucking move, asshole.” Another nameless face yelled at her, and all she wanted to do was push them away, scream at them to leave.

  Everything just needed to be silent so she could think—no, so she could not think. The beer tasted bitter down her throat—why do people even drink this? The next cup was a little less bitter and her brain dulled just a little, and the voice became just a buzz that she could silence, so she poured herself another, and she leaned against a wall to wait till she could close the curtain on this chapter.

  Ryan

  RYAN WAS SWEATING in spite of the cool fall evening. But of course he was, nothing would be more embarrassing than arriving at Jason’s party with two giant pit stains. Okay, maybe a few things would be, but still. He tugged at his shirt, fanning his body.

  “Just be cool,” he told himself. Nothing to worry about, except finally having that conversation with your ex that you’ve hinged everything on. Totally cool.

  The door opened.

  “Do I know you?” He was shorter than Ryan, which wasn’t saying a lot, with buff muscles pressing against his T-shirt, a tattoo along his neck that was hard to see in this light.

  “Uh—” Ryan was definitely sweating now. “I’m Jason’s . . .” Ex? Boyfriend? “Friend. Are you Jacob?”

  “Nope—just the guy closest to the door.” He stepped to the side to let Ryan pass. “Saw Jason by the kitchen all the way in the back.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ryan headed in, slipping around groups of people that acted like there wasn’t someone trying to shimmy past them. When he found Jason, his heart gave a wicked beat. We talked about this—no fluttering, no emotion whatsoever, just a clean existential-crisis conversation, that’s it.

  Jason had yet to see him. He was holding a drink in one hand, his head tilting back, a monster laugh taking over the room. The guy next to Jason spotted him first, nudging Jason, who leaned in. Oh God, he wasn’t ready. Not yet, he needed a good ten or fifteen minutes to pump himself up for the conversation. A quick shift and he could hide behind the group next to him.

  Too late.

  “Hey!” Jason shouted, waving him over. Ryan made his way through, stopping just short of him and his friend.

  “Hey,” Ryan replied, not knowing if he should lean in for a hug or not.

  “Okay, this is weird.” Jason laughed, stepping forward to engulf Ryan. God, he missed his smell—Jason always smelled like he’d just stepped out of the shower and a hint of cologne he didn’t wear. His stomach flipped. “Fuck, it’s so good to see you.”

  “Same.” He hadn’t seen Jason in forever, but standing with him now was almost like he’d always been there.

  Jason turned to his friend. “This is Dylan, he’s in my psych class—his boyfriend is throwing the party.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Ryan said.

  Dylan nodded, then looked him over. “So you’re the painter ex.”

  Was that all he was? “Uh, yeah,” he replied, not sure what else to say and suddenly wondering who else knew him as Jason’s painter ex.

  “Be nice!” Jason chided. Ryan hadn’t realized he was being insulted.

  “I am,” Dylan replied. “I love painters and art. It’s all about emotion and shit. I wish Jacob was a painter, but he’s studying statistics, which to be honest no matter how many times he explains it to me, I just have no idea what he’s talking about.”

  Jason laughed, so Ryan did as well, even though his body still ached for a quieter place. Hopefully they could find one before they talked. Ryan would absolutely not have that conversation in this crowd, or any crowd for that matter.

  The dreaded awkward pause of people who barely knew each other passed over them. Ryan cleared his throat. “So, um, what do you study?”

  Dylan finished off whatever was in his cup. “I am the clichéd undeclared freshman who will probably amount to nothing. Remember me when you’re a famous painter with all your fancy gallery shows.”

  “Right.”

  Ryan would be happy to get through one gallery show.

  “Oh.” Jason put down his cup and looped his arm around Ryan’s. “I’m a horrible not-host. I should introduce you to people, I’ve been talking you up all night.”

  “You have?” Something sparked in Ryan’s belly as Jason tugged him toward group after group of people. Would tonight bring more than just the closure Ryan needed? Would it be the start of something new between them?

  RYAN NURSED HIS drink as Jason took him around the party, introducing him to so many people his head spun. Each time it played out the same, he’d introduce Ryan—the ex—then drive into another conversation, making it almost impossible to join in. It wasn’t Jason’s fault. Ryan was the odd man out after all, and he wasn’t as good at talking about himself as
everyone else was.

  Plus, he had no idea how much of an asshole Professor Davidson was and how ridiculous the latest assignment from . . . someone he’d already forgotten. Then there were the inside jokes and lives that Ryan knew nothing about. He didn’t want to be that person who stopped a conversation just so he could get the backstory to what everyone was talking about. Staying quiet was easier, waiting for his moment was easier.

  Figuring out when that moment was, though, when Jason barely took a breath all evening, that was a bit harder.

  His phone buzzed with a photo of the ladies. He texted back:

  Beautiful!!

  Had this been a good idea? He thought he could come in and just talk with Jason, like there weren’t a whole bunch of people here. Like, please ignore your friends so I can talk to you alone.

  He should’ve insisted on another time.

  Jason had left him to snag more drinks and had yet to come back. From where Ryan could see, he was stuck with someone in the kitchen. He’s not stuck with someone in the kitchen; he’s stuck with you.

  “How’s it going?” Neck Tattoo sat next to him, a rank-smelling drink in his hand.

  “Uh—”

  “Curtis.” He pointed to himself, his drink splashing on his jeans.

  “Ryan. And, um, not bad I guess.”

  “You look like you’re having a ton of fun.”

  “I’m not really a party person.” Well, at least not without Nora, Jess, and Lee. They made everything better. So far this was not a good idea. He wondered how foolish he would look trying to signal Jason from here.

  “Jason talks a lot,” Curtis said, following Ryan’s line of sight.

  “He was always better at it than I am.” No matter what, Jason could always make himself at home in any situation. He probably didn’t skip a beat when they broke up. Meanwhile here was Ryan, a bundle of questions and self-doubt just trying to figure out one thing about himself.

  They really needed to talk. Ryan turned to Curtis, who had zoned out watching the people around him. “Is there somewhere here to have a quiet conversation?”

  “Parties are where I go to get lost and drunk. Not really an intimate-situation type of environment.”

  “I guess not.” Time to pack up and try another day?

  “Actually, there’s a terrace out back, might be useful,” Curtis said. “I can’t guarantee it’s empty, but it’s probably much less crowded than anywhere else in this place.”

  A terrace could work. Didn’t people have intimate conversations on terraces all the time? Ryan had seen at least five movies with terrace scenes, and couples always ended up having meaningful conversations on them. A terrace could totally work.

  Nora

  NORA WAS MUSIC. She was the beat. She was hips that swayed and hands that tangled through hair. She was the lowlights that gave permission to the night. She was the sweat that soaked into her clothes and the tongue that darted out onto Beth’s lips, coaxing them open to warm, welcoming love. She was all of this, and she was not her problems.

  “Nora,” her mother had cooed just yesterday, opening a blueprint on the kitchen table. “Mira. What do you think?”

  Everything was moving too fast, plans drawn, contractors contacted. Her mother looped her into every decision until Nora’s life was new tile choices and kitchen remodels.

  No. She would not remember the future that loomed so close, the days in a brand-new store shouting orders and putting in new purchase orders. She was not the branded shirt that itched against her skin or the automatic responses and “have a nice day” always at the tip of her tongue.

  “You know, I heard there’s some fancy environmentally friendly paint we could use,” her mother had offered.

  “That sounds great.” Nora had nodded and smiled because she knew that’s what her mother needed.

  “And look,” her mom’s finger traced the walls of the new kitchen, “this will be your area. You’ll have an oven all to yourself and a new display case.”

  She was the sugar, and the eggs, and the heat that bound and delighted, but she was that for herself and no one else. And she would not let it sink the night, she would not let it curl inside her, taking it from her. She was music. She was love. She was beat. And she would not think of the future that was to come. It was not welcome, so she banished it with a sway, and a twirl, and a hand on the hip of a beautiful girl. A girl who smiled just for her. And that was all she needed, all she wanted tonight for dance after dance until it hurt, and then even the pain would drive it away.

  “Do you want to take a break?” Beth spoke in her ear.

  “Not yet,” she begged. “One more song.”

  And one more and one more until it didn’t matter whether or not they were tired, it would be worse to stop. To stop and remember.

  Lee

  LEE WANTED TO make out, but it was hard to do with all the people around her. A part of her itched to do it anyway, and she wondered at what point her thoughts on PDA had shifted. Things had started to shift inside her; when once retreating and hiding behind a well-placed joke was second nature, now something else had emerged. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  “Solving a mystery?” David appeared next to her as if she’d conjured him, two drinks in his hand.

  “Huh?”

  “Your face looks like you’re trying to figure out which of our classmates is a notorious serial killer.”

  “I guess I was deep in thought.”

  He hovered next to her, shoulder lightly touching, reminding her of moments before, hidden in the corners at school, sneaking into the janitor’s closet, moments where he felt like hers and her body held no medical history and only the present.

  “Now you’re smiling.”

  “I am not.” She tested her face, realizing she had in fact been smiling. “Okay, maybe I was.”

  Was that so bad? A part of her wanted to smile again, to embrace the moment regardless of anyone who would see. Even Jess.

  What is this?

  More than his skin against hers, more than keeping her mind from wandering into the darkest thoughts. Was this what Nora felt when she was with Beth?

  “We can leave, escape if you want.” His voice held the promise of lips against lips and more.

  Despite whatever had changed, Lee would not pass up a steamy hidden encounter if there was a possibility of one, but she wouldn’t leave Jess alone, she’d promised. Just moments ago she’d removed a cleaning sponge from Jess’s hand and sent her out onto the dance floor again to forget the worries that came so quickly to mind.

  “I can’t, Jess is one hour away from driving everyone out of here.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Maybe we should?”

  “I tried—she said she was fine, but . . .”

  “But?” David was so deliciously close.

  “I don’t know if I believe her. She puts on a brave face way too often.” Lee hoped Jess wasn’t suffering through it because of the resolutions. The point was to get her to loosen up, have fun, say yes to spontaneity. Maybe they should give Jess an out for the rest of the year? Yeah, right. Like she’d accept that as anything but a failure.

  “Okay—you’re the boss.”

  “Right.” Lee scanned the crowd, spotting Jess talking to another classmate. No sponge in sight. That was good at least.

  “So how long do you think before we should call it?”

  “No more than an hour. Jess will want to clean up, and we can still hang after.”

  And maybe show her once again how fun the resolutions could be.

  David nodded, placing a hand on the small of her back. “So we have an hour.”

  Lee elbowed him, unable to keep a grin off her face. “I said I couldn’t leave, and I’m not making out in public, you know this.”

  He didn’t look so sure of that anymore, and neither was Lee. “You’re lucky I really like you, otherwise I would be hurt you’re keeping me a secret.”

  Lee turned to him, her brown ey
es locked with his. “Are you?”

  “Hurt?”

  She nodded.

  “No,” he said. “But I don’t want to be a secret forever. I would like to make it official.”

  “Official?”

  He smiled, keeping his eyes leveled. “I want to call you my girlfriend.”

  “You do?” She felt a thrill up her spine, a warmth in her belly, every part of her already on board with this plan and inching her way toward him.

  “I do.”

  So did she.

  “We’ll tell her. I know we have to . . . and I want to.”

  She wanted to shout it—a ridiculous thought, and one she would not do—but it was true. She wanted to close the gap between them and feel his lips on hers. And she wanted to sit and talk and hold hands and just be.

  “Good,” he said, touching his cup to hers as if they’d just made a toast. “Plus, I just happen to be the bearer of the keys to all the rooms in the house.” His eyes lingered on her lips, making them quirk on the sides. “We can go take advantage of the hour we have before I have to pretend I don’t want to kiss you every time I see you.”

  She felt his hands play with the skin on her back, fingers trailing the waist of her jeans.

  “You’re making it hard to think.” Lee’s thoughts clouded with memories of secret kisses and hurried touches on the way home.

  “Sorry,” David said, but not sorry at all. “My room is just a hallway away.”

  “How do we sneak in there without people seeing?”

  “You overestimate how much people care. You sneak in first, then I’ll follow.” He slipped the key into Lee’s hand. “Hurry up, we only have one hour, remember?”

  He blended into a group, finding someone to talk to while the keys jangled in her hand. She pressed the smile down, her body singing with the possibilities.

  David was right; no one was paying any attention, too involved in their own conversations or make-out sessions. Instead of going straight into David’s room, she went into Jess’s—figuring it was less conspicuous if someone did see. Jess’s and David’s rooms were connected through a shared bathroom you wouldn’t know about unless you’d been in the house and heard the twins fight about privacy.