by Kaela Coble
Finally, I give up. I take a deep breath and bang my way up the five flights again. By the time I reach the top, I’m huffing and puffing from the effort and the anger. Murphy has disappeared into his apartment, leaving the door open for me to storm through. I grab my keys from the counter where he’s tossed them. I should just leave. I know that. I should leave right now, and that would be the end of it. But I can’t help myself.
“You know,” I say. “You all think I’m some pretentious city snob, that I think I’m better than you. But it’s not true.” I’m so angry my voice breaks, and hot tears sting the corners of my eyes. “I miss this place. I miss the crew.” It’s true. I didn’t realize it until I came back, but I’ve spent the last ten years walking around with a hole in my heart, shaped like four little punk kids from Chatwick City.
“Well, you can really tell from this end,” he says, his voice rising even as it drips with sarcasm.
“What do you expect from me, Murphy? What do you want?”
“I want to know why it took Danny fucking killing himself to get you to set foot back in this town. I want to know why…”
“God, Murphy, are you really that stupid? Why do you think?”
He says nothing, continuing to glare at me.
“You want me to say it? Fine. The reason I haven’t been home, haven’t kept in touch, haven’t been here for friends who have needed me? It’s too hard, Murphy! It’s too hard because everything is associated with you.” His face changes then, understanding dawning on him. The thought actually hasn’t occurred to him before, the idiot, and it’s only in this emotionally collapsed state that I could ever admit it. He charges toward me, arms outstretched, and I know what he’s going to do, and I know I should stop him, but instead, I move to meet him halfway. We are like two freight trains about to collide. We know it will be messy, but there’s not much we can do to stop it now.
He plants his hands firmly on my face and kisses me. A jolt goes all the way through my body and back up again, and everything I’ve ever felt for or about Murphy Leblanc comes over me like a flash flood. I stop him from kissing me only long enough to lift his shirt off over his head, and he gives me the look I know well; he knows what’s going to happen but can’t quite believe how lucky he is.
He takes my shirt off, kisses my neck, and cups my breasts, and then he consumes me in a bear hug and lifts me so I can wrap my legs around him. He walks us to his bedroom, our lips never leaving each other, and we fall onto the bed, clumsily fumbling off the rest of our clothes until there’s no more to remove. His eyes, pools of black, stare into mine. I nod, and he reaches into his nightstand for a condom.
They’re both really good at ignoring problems.
9
RUBY
BACK THEN—SENIOR YEAR
Murphy fake gasps and clutches his heart dramatically when I emerge from my kitchen, freshly made up and styled by Shawna, the queen of all things girlie. From all the cheesy teen movies and TV shows in which prom is like the be-all and end-all of life, he knows a big reaction is expected of him. Of course, instead of doing the genuine jaw-dropping thing (that I well deserve, I might add, with three hundred bobby pins, a can of hair spray, a gallon of makeup, and four-inch heels), he makes it into a joke. Would a moment of stunned silence be too much to ask? I guess with Murphy, it would be.
It doesn’t matter anyway, because he’s somebody else’s boyfriend. It’s amazing how quickly Murphy and Taylor became a couple. All I did was point her out to him in the cafeteria, initiate a mutual wave, and pass along her number to him. It seemed like a nanosecond after that they were going out. It’s not really like Murphy to rush into things, so she must be one hell of a girl. I mean, she seemed to be completely fine with us sticking with our original pact to go to prom together, so she’s either awesome or a really good liar.
I gave him an out, told him if it made things awkward, he could take her and I would find someone else. But he insisted that we made plans long before Taylor was in the picture, and he wasn’t going to go back on his word. I was secretly relieved, because there’s no way I would have found an acceptable replacement on this short notice (even Eddie Rodowski has a date this late in the game), and after all the planning Shawna and Donna did, I would hate to disappoint them.
My parents take about a thousand pictures in the foyer, on the porch, in the driveway. They’re smiling and being all cheesy, and I go along with it because I know they so desperately want to forget that my father wasn’t here for junior prom, and my mother was sleeping off a depression crash inside and not even aware when Eddie picked me up on the back of his motorcycle. I’m sure neither of them would have approved, had either been present.
To be honest, I didn’t really approve either. I had to put a helmet over my updo, and by the time we got there, my hair was flat and I was covered in bugs that had met their death on my skin. To top it all off, Hardy Crane was the first person I saw before I got a chance to straighten myself out, and the way he smirked at me made my bug-splattered skin crawl. Later, he and Brandy McCallister were crowned prom king and queen, which Ally complained shouldn’t be allowed since Hardy was a second-year senior at the time.
Murphy opens the door of his truck for me, which is a welcome change. Normally if he’s driving, he’ll roll the car forward a little bit as I try to get in, laugh hysterically, promise he isn’t going to do it again, and then he does it again. One time he did it so many times that I went back in the house and refused to go anywhere with him. He’s as stubborn as I am, so instead of apologizing, he just left. When he called me later that night, we didn’t discuss it.
We go to Emmett’s house and take more pictures with the rest of the crew. It’s weird not going to Danny’s, where we always meet up, but he can’t come to prom because he was suspended for smoking on school grounds. Again. Even if he weren’t suspended, he probably wouldn’t have come. He and Jenny have been over since he caught her making out with Brad Lewis down by the tracks.
After the dance, we’ll all go to Nicki’s house, because her parents are in Michigan taking care of her stepfather’s mother who just broke her hip. We’re not allowed at Danny’s because Charlene is in one of her rare “putting my foot down” modes and is disgusted with Danny’s smoking—even though she herself smokes and half the time buys extra because she knows Danny will steal them. Charlene must have attended the same School of Sporadic and Hypocritical Parenting Nancy went to.
Emmett and I get in a fight over who gets to ride shotgun. Emmett thinks “the boys” should ride up front together and I should sit in the back with Nicki. I say it’s prom, and we should sit with our dates. Emmett says it’s not like Murphy and I are on a real date, and I blush as much with anger as embarrassment. To my surprise, Murphy tells Emmett to get his ass in the back or he’s going to have to beg a ride from Aaron and Ally, who have made it clear they want to have dinner alone for once.
We go to a restaurant in Burlington, for no other reason than it’s thirty minutes outside Chatwick and it gives us more time in the car, more distance and independence. It gives us a one up on the rest of our class, who are all congregating at one of the two restaurants in town, both of which have newsprint as place mats and coloring crayons as utensils. Our crew isn’t afraid to leave Chatwick. At least not for one meal.
While we’re waiting to be seated, an older woman on her husband’s arm leans in to Murphy and says, “Your girlfriend is stunning.” He doesn’t correct her about my title. He just nods, says “I know,” and then loops his arm around my waist. I can’t help but smile.
When we arrive at the school gym, we mingle a little, the girls all comparing dresses. Mine is royal blue, with little silver sparkles woven in the fabric. It looks like the sky just after the sun sets, and not to sound cocky, but I like it the best. I should, considering the length and intensity of the vetting process.
Murphy drifts over to Taylor and star
ts dancing with her not long after we arrive. We talked before about this, and I told him I didn’t mind, but he’s gone for so long that everyone else starts to couple off and I’m left standing alone. I try to appear totally comfortable standing in the corner and watching, but I’m not. I feel lonely and stupid. I should have just gotten another date or stayed home. He was the one who insisted we still go together. Now he’s probably going to be with her all night, and I’m just going to be the loser in the corner. Suddenly I have to get out of here. I rush into the bathroom and breathe deeply once I’m inside the stall. I’m careful to not let the tears in my eyes actually fall and ruin Shawna’s hard work in the process.
I wait in there a few minutes, but Ally doesn’t enter the bathroom, which means she didn’t see me getting upset. Good. She was supportive of the idea of Murphy and me keeping our date, but a little too supportive: “Ruby, who cares about Taylor? She’s a sophomore. She doesn’t even belong at prom.”
Ally is not so keen on Taylor yet. She doesn’t trust she’ll be around for the long haul. The idea that the goal of most high school relationships is not, in fact, to end up married is unfathomable to Ally. You wouldn’t sense the distrust based on how she and Taylor gossip together when Murphy actually brings her around. But if Ally saw me upset, it would lead to drama. She would give Murphy a talking-to, and then everyone would be talking about it.
As it is, I feel like a horrific cliché, the girl crying in the bathroom at the school dance. How pathetic. I leave the stall and stare myself down in the mirror, mentally giving myself a no-nonsense pep talk. I look pretty, and I should go out and find some other loser who doesn’t have a real date and dance with him. I wish Danny were here. He might not have danced with me, but he would have stood in the corner and mocked everyone with me, which is even better. And he would have snuck in a flask. That would make this whole thing more bearable.
When I finally come out of the bathroom, Taylor is lingering outside. I force myself to brighten, like nothing is bothering me, and ask her if she’s having a good time. She smiles, either faking her warmth or genuinely tolerant of her boyfriend being at prom with another girl. (For some reason I don’t understand, I really feel like it’s the latter.)
She says, “Murphy’s waiting for you by the stage. Sorry I’ve been hogging him!”
I immediately feel guilty and cover it by saying, “Of course not!” I am amazed at how good I’ve become at this fakey girl shit I’ve always hated, but if I don’t play along, I end up looking even more pathetic than I already do. “Hey, he’s your boyfriend,” I add, feeling a little kick in the gut as I say it.
I find Murphy waiting where Taylor said he would be. Wordlessly, we start dancing to a fast song, Murphy spinning me around and shaking his hips goofily. We dance to three fast songs in a row without stopping, laughing the whole time. I’m the one who taught him to dance, if that’s what you call this. It was back in eighth grade, the first time he was the only one to show up at my house after school. He confessed he didn’t know how to dance and that’s why he always sat on the bleachers at school dances. I turned on music and made him show me. It turned out he wasn’t a bad dancer, just a silly one, which made it all the more fun. When a slow song came on, I showed him where to put his hands for a slow dance. “No, not there, you perv,” I had said.
Like then, the music slows, and I shuffle backward to make my exit so he can dance with Taylor, but he grabs my elbow and pulls me close to him. His cologne, which he always wears just a touch too much of, fills my nose. He’s been wearing the same kind since we were freshmen—some uncle brought it down for him from Montreal. I got him a new bottle for Christmas this year, noticing the one in his bathroom was running low. His mouth right up against my ear, making me shiver, he says, “I’m sorry if I’ve been dancing with Taylor too much.”
“Oh, stop it,” I say to cover, pulling back slightly. “Don’t worry about it. She’s your girlfriend. You can’t just ignore her! I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m feeling a little stupid now that we’re here. It’s like you’re my big brother and our mom forced you to take me.”
Murphy slows his swaying almost to a halt. “That’s not what it’s like,” he says. “I brought you because I wanted to.” When our eyes lock, I feel something shift inside me.
Before I can put a name to it, the fire alarm goes off.
Our look lingers for another second before a couple bumps into us on their way to the exit. I glance around to see if anyone noticed our little moment, but all I see is the blur of my classmates making their way out of the gym. Murphy puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me through the crowd.
It’s raining when we get outside. Of course. I suppose I should be grateful it isn’t snowing; it wouldn’t be the first May snow shower in Vermont. The rain has warmed up in the last couple of weeks, officially launching Mud Season (which, Vermonters joke, is a more accurate name for the two weeks between winter and summer).
Mrs. Parizo, my AP English teacher, tells us the alarm was triggered by the fog machine, and we can’t go back inside until the air has cleared. I look around for our friends but don’t see anyone, even in the stilts I’m wearing for shoes. They must have gone out one of the other exits. All the girls around me are freaking out because their hair and makeup is getting ruined. I look at Murphy and say in a mocking tone, “Do I still look pretty?” knowing full well my updo is now both flat and frizzy and my makeup is smudged.
He shakes his head and pulls me in so his lips touch my ear again. “Beautiful,” he says. I shiver again, and he thinks it’s because of the rain, so he covers me in his tuxedo jacket.
When we’re given the all clear to go back in, we decide to go have our official prom picture taken before we forget. The photographer positions us in the classic cheesy couple pose—Murphy standing behind me with his arms around me, both of us facing the camera. I try to explain we’re not a couple, but he says this is the best way to show off the dress, so I comply. Murphy holds me a little tighter than is really necessary and cracks a joke about the photographer’s coffee breath, making me laugh just as the camera goes off.
After the king and queen are crowned and it’s not Ally and Aaron (which Ally refuses to admit she’s been expecting and waiting for), we all disperse. Danny picks up Emmett and Nicki, who are in charge of getting one of Emmett’s brothers to buy us beer for the night. Aaron and Ally go to pick up snacks for later. Murphy says good night to Taylor, who has curfew and isn’t allowed to come to Nicki’s for the after-party because she let it slip there wouldn’t be parents there. I wait patiently, but feel a weird twinge when he kisses her goodbye.
It’s just me and Murph as we walk down the sloping hill to the parking lot. The rain stopped at some point when we were inside, so the air smells like fresh, damp earth, and the clouds are clearing to show the stars. The moment is too quiet, something I’m not used to when I’m around my best friend, so I complain about my feet hurting. He scoops me up without a word and carries me in his arms until we get to the car. I force myself not to ask what’s gotten into him. The answer might ruin everything.
We’re the first ones to get to Nicki’s, so we use the Hide-A-Key under the frog statue as Nicki instructed. We head to separate rooms to change into the casual clothes we packed into overnight bags earlier. I feel sad changing out of my dress. It’s the prettiest I’ve ever felt, and I’m not ready for that to be over. I sit at Nicki’s vanity and stare at myself, then I lift a piece of the skirt to my nose. It still smells like Murphy’s cologne.
After a minute, I hear a soft knock on the door. I open it, and it’s Murphy. He’s in jeans and a T-shirt, and has two beers in his hand he must have stolen from Nicki’s fridge. I make a mental note to replace them when our beer gets here so Nicki’s parents are none the wiser.
“Just wanted to see what’s taking you so long,” he said, raising his eyebrows that my appearance hasn’t changed
at all.
“I couldn’t reach the zipper.” I’m too embarrassed to admit I’m already feeling nostalgic for this night, for senior year, for our crew as we know it, and it’s not even over yet. He crosses behind me and starts unzipping my dress. I close my eyes and feel his breath on my shoulder blades. Suddenly, I’m transported back to a few months ago at Danny’s house. With the rest of the crew in bed, Murphy and I had reminisced and even cried a little about the future, about separating and leading different lives.
We stared at each other for a minute, and I felt a different kind of connection than we’d ever felt. It wasn’t about getting over someone else; it was just about the two of us. When I pulled away, said it was time to get ready for bed, I thought the connection was broken, but then he snuck up behind me and whispered in my ear. I don’t even remember what he said; my brain was too fuzzy from Ally’s screwdrivers. Before I knew it, we were kissing, and we just barely closed the door to the spare room before we started stripping off each other’s clothes.
“What are you guys doing?”
Murphy and I spin around to find Danny in the doorway, and the strap of my dress falls down, revealing my strapless bra.
“Whoa!” Danny says.
“Get out!” I yell, hastening to cover back up.
“Why doesn’t he have to get out?” Danny protests as Murphy clamps a hand around the back of Danny’s neck and hustles him out of the room.
