It's My Life

by Stacie Ramey

  Tell me what you’re wearing.

  A dress.

  Very funny. Give me a hint? Color?

  I gaze around the gym and see a few girls in navy blue dresses. None like mine but some navy blue-ers, for sure. But not enough; it would be a massive clue.

  That’s too easy.

  Then tell me something about you.

  Maybe you’ve already danced with me?

  I say a silent prayer that he doesn’t fall for this—that he’ll know that Audra is not his Elsa.

  Nah. I don’t think you’re wearing silver.

  What color do you think I’m wearing?

  Something less flashy.

  Do you like flashy?

  Nah. I like real.

  And suddenly I feel so close to the boy that it’s like my heart opens up and lets his words cradle my insides.

  Cybil Matthews is the next one to him to dance. I watch helplessly as Julian puts his hands around her waist. Ben’s hand goes on my shoulder. I reach for his bottle and drink a little more.

  “How am I going to even get him over here, much less get him to dance with me? Also, how am I actually going to dance?”

  “We talked about this. When you ask him, I’ll make sure they play a slow one. I’ve already set that up.”

  “Still. With this…” I pat my cast.

  “You can do it. You will.”

  I watch Julian extricate himself from his dance partner and pull out his cell.

  Come on, Elsa. Tell me where you are. Save me from another meaningless dance.

  My hand goes over my mouth to hide my smile. In the crowd, I spot Rena with a bunch of her friends. They each spread out and ask a boy to dance. Carla with Nate, Dara with Darren, and Rena ends with Chip, which seems to be happening more and more. Too much to be accidental or coincidental. My little sister is into a senior. This won’t go over well with Dad, Uncle Steve, or Eric, but they won’t hear about it from me. I’m no snitch.

  This time it’s a fast one. And I’m really glad that neither Carla or Dara ended up with Julian, because that would be another dance with another girl. When the song’s done, Chip hugs Rena, and I feel happy for her. She smiles, and I’m sure in her circle getting a senior to dance with her is serious cred.

  Julian texts again.

  Come on. Where are you? I’ll get on my knees if that’s what it takes.

  And he does it. He gets on his knees right in the middle of the dance floor.

  Is that what you want?

  I start to laugh and too late I realize I’m not safely hidden away, reading these texts. I’m here. In the gymnasium. And Julian is looking right at me. I blush and fumble with my phone. “Crap,” I say to Ben. “I’ve been spotted.”

  “Show me your cell.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it. He has no idea what you’re looking at. Could be a stupid cat meme.”

  Julian goes back to texting.

  Will you ever ask me to dance?

  “You can’t react,” Ben says. “He might be trying to see if it’s you.”

  “I thought we wanted him to find out it’s me,” I argue.

  “Yeah. Right. But not like that. You have to actually tell him.”

  I hand Ben my phone. “I can’t be trusted. The boy is too cute.”

  “You’re pathetic.”

  The unnerving sound of my cell vibrating in Ben’s hand and not being able to check it is almost too much to take.

  “He’s good,” Ben says. “Playing am I getting hot or cold?”

  “Crap! Turn my ringer off.” I gesture wildly like Rena does. “Oh my God. Put it on silent.”

  The guy I’ve crushed on forever is directly in front of me now, only two feet away and closing. He’s got his hockey jersey on, of course, but I’m sure it’s been sprayed with Febreze like he promised. And he’s got a bow tie around his neck. Not attached to the shirt, just around his neck like one of those male exotic dancers. I almost expect his clothes to be breakaway. I guess I’m staring at him, waiting for that miracle to happen, because he says, “Jenna?”

  Ben elbows me into saying, “Oh. Sorry. I can’t hear you.” I point around us. “It’s so loud…”

  Julian bends down a little, aims his words straight at me. “I said you look amazing.”

  I blush like mad, and there’s no stopping it.

  Ben nudges me again because apparently being around Julian like this is making me scared silent. For some reason, my hand goes to my hair and I realize I’m actually twirling one of my curls when I finally say, “Thanks.”

  Julian pulls up a chair. “Aren’t you going to tell me I look good?”

  I don’t know if it’s the dance or the rum and Coke or just Julian, but I’m having so much fun. “You look good,” I say.

  He smiles like he and I are in on a secret joke. Then he leans forward and shakes me off. “That’s a mercy compliment if I’ve ever heard one.”

  My turn to shake my head. “No. No. I mean it. You look…” I point to his neck. “And the bow tie is a really great touch.”

  “I like to keep things classy.”

  “Well…obviously.”

  A crowd of girls converge behind us. Allison Riley, Stephanie Johnson, LeeAnn Howlett. They’re all in similar dresses—silver, gold, hot pink. I’m glad that Rena talked me into wearing this one.

  Ben pinches my arm. It’s his signal for me to get this party started. I’m supposed to ask Julian to dance. Ben is supposed to slip the DJ a ten spot to put on something slow and sweet and long. The long part is essential, because I’m going to need more than the usual three minutes to get my courage up and my mouth working well enough to confess to the boy. I know this, but it’s so much harder than when we practiced it at home. Ben insisted that the key to a good presentation is practice, but he definitely didn’t factor in my stupid body, which freezes under pressure. Or my obvious performance anxiety. Ben clears his throat. I make myself say the first stupid thing that comes into my mind. An eloquent, “Are you having a good time?”

  “Sure,” Julian answers, “but I’m a little disappointed.”

  “What? The ice sculpture wasn’t enough for you?” I’m finally starting to feel slightly more like myself with him now.

  He smiles, his eyes skating to the floor. “Yeah. The ice sculpture is pretty cool.”

  “What more could you ask for?”

  He lays his palm flat on my wheelchair. “Well, I was sort of wondering if you—”

  Allison Riley taps Julian on the shoulder, apparently taking our body language and the fact that we are in deep conversation with each other as code for “please come up and disturb us.” She asks, “Hey, you want to dance?”

  My head is about to explode. I swear it’ll do that right this second. Except Julian replies, “I’m sorry, Jenna just asked me.”

  I nod. Ben slips away, ready to hand the dude the money to play a slow, sweet, long song.

  Allison backs up, slightly flustered, but that’s nothing compared with the range of emotions I’m feeling. Happy that he asked me, of course, especially since girls are supposed to ask the guys. So maybe even extra happy about that. Flustered, because I’m supposed to come clean with him. Worried about the logistics.

  Luckily, Julian takes charge while I’m pondering the exact number and order of movements I’d have to take to stand on my own.

  He inspects my chair. “Wow. This is pretty tricked out, huh?”

  “Rena did it.”

  “So are we going to…” He knows I don’t usually even use my wheelchair, even with the cast, except when I’m tired. I have it because I promised Mom I wouldn’t take any chances tonight—like dancing without my wheelchair. A promise I never intended to keep.

  “No,” I shake my head. “I don’t need it.”

  Julia
n’s hand lands on the armrest, and I swear my body heats up just from that closeness. He leans forward, his head near my chest, and searches for the brakes. They’re already locked in place but telling him that would involve speaking, which his close proximity has rendered impossible.

  “Oh. Okay. You’re all set, I guess.” He moves back sort of delicately, like he somehow just noticed that his face was practically in my chest, but he covers up with a sweet little smile. He extends his palm, all chivalrous. “Ready?”

  I place my hand in his. His free hand goes to my waist, and he helps me stand.

  “Do you need your crutches?”

  They are hanging in a bag on the wheelchair handle. I want to say no, but that’s not reality based. So I nod. He frees them from the bag and holds them out for me.

  “Can I help you?”

  I place my elbow in one of the crutches and Julian slips his arm around me, anchoring me to him as we walk toward the dance floor. He’s got his palm flat against my back like he’s guiding me and claiming me as his dance partner all at once. My heart warms at the thought that he’s letting everyone know that I’m with him.

  The music starts, and it’s a slow one just like Ben promised. Julian’s arms go around me, but I can’t put mine around him because of the crutch.

  “This isn’t our first dance,” Julian says.

  “I know. I remember. When we were skating.”

  “We danced just like this.” His attentiveness feels so sharp. “The skating part was fun. Until you fell.”

  “Right. That part wasn’t so fun.”

  For some reason the mention of that fall puts my muscles on guard. Tiny points of tightness threaten to blossom into full-blown spasm. Julian senses something because he pulls me a little closer, closer than he was dancing with those other girls. Being so close to Julian makes me forget about my spastic muscles. It actually makes them soften and stand down. I send a silent thank-you prayer into the universe. This is going really well.

  “I hope you don’t mind the jersey,” he says. “I had to do it right.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected anything else. Eric would be proud.”

  Julian does a self-conscious little laugh, and I want to kick myself for bringing up my brother at a time like this.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” he asks. His breath is warm against my ear in the nicest way and my body melts even closer against his.

  “Yes.” Even though the thought terrifies me.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you, Jenna.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I mean it. You are so fierce. So fun. When I knew we were moving back here, I was hoping I’d get to see you.”

  “We will always have The Great Gatsby.” Why can’t I stop making references to my alter ego? Am I insane?

  “Yes, we will.” His eyes sparkle. Actually sparkle. I feel like an idiot. He’s having fun with me.

  I swallow hard. My hands curl, gripping his jersey. I worry he’ll be annoyed, but instead he presses up against me so our bodies lock. He’s at least six inches taller than I am, but most of our parts align. I can feel my stomach against his. My chest against his. When he speaks, I feel his exhalations on my neck, tiny little pulses.

  “I like dancing with you. I really like dancing with you. Even better off the ice.” He pulls back so I can see his face. And that feels like such a sweet thing to do. Such an honest thing. Like he wants me to know how he really feels. “But I hate the way they this dance works. You know, if you don’t bring someone, then girls keep asking you to dance.”

  “And that’s a problem?” I ask.

  “I’m not really good at all of that.” And when I give him a questioning look he answers, “All the flirting and the playing games.”

  “You don’t like games, says the hockey player.”

  His smile spreads the full length of his face. “Yeah. I like the hockey kinds of games, sure…”

  “If you don’t like to dance, why did you come?” I ask, feeling a little brave.

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  This feels like an opening, a chance to tell him I’m the one who’s been texting him. But this moment is so perfect and fun, I don’t want to ruin it. And there’s also this fear brewing inside me. What if he doesn’t want to be with me like that? What if he laughs? What if he looks terrified when he finds out? Disgusted?

  “Would it surprise you that I’m falling for someone I’ve never met?” he asks.

  “You mean like a dating app or something?”

  He laughs, and man, do I love that sound. Me making him happy. “Nah. Nothing like that. When I moved back, someone started texting me. Out of the blue.”

  “Well, I guess you’ve got me stumped now. And curious.”

  “I think it would be hard to stump you, Jenna Cohen.”

  I have the uncontrollable urge to clear my throat. Repeatedly. Like all of my feelings are stuck in there. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you?” He tips his head. I respond by curling up to him more. He makes a soft sound, like he’s pulled in his breath and is holding it, and I feel like I could live an entire lifetime waiting for his breath to release. Can I measure my effect on the boy in how long it takes him to exhale? “Did you know I always wished I was as smart as you are?”

  “You’re smart.”

  “Not the kind of smart I’d like to be.”

  I push back so he can see my face. “Well, I always wished I was coordinated. Like you are.”

  “We are clichés…each wanting what the other one has. Like Daisy and Gatsby,” he says. I can’t help but smile. He does a little fist pump. “Score.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “I am, except for one thing. My mystery woman. The thing is,” his voice sounds as tight as his body gets when he’s about to hit the ice, “she’s here.”

  I pretend to look around, more bought into this game than into coming clean with Julian. Who knew I’d like to play coy? “Oh. That’s exciting, right?”

  He nods. Smiles. “It is. And I have a plan for finding her.”

  I blush again and put my head on his shoulder. It seems like a bold move, but the music and the sound of his voice mesmerize me. And if this is all going to end in a second, I want the seconds just before to be amazing. Perfect.

  “Is this okay?” I ask.

  “More than okay.” He moves his hand up higher on my back, his palm flat, but the tips of his fingers are curled into my back. When his fingers start moving in tiny circles, I get surprised and pull back.

  “I’m sorry,” Julian says.

  “No it’s fine, but aren’t we supposed to be looking for your mystery woman?”

  Julian puts his lips by my ear. “I almost forgot.”

  I pull back a little, trying to get hold of my emotions. “Tell me what you know about her, and maybe I can help you figure it out,” I say, surprising myself with how much I’m enjoying this part, too. Conspiring with Julian is fun.

  “Well, she’s very smart,” he says.

  “That certainly narrows down a whole bunch of the kids here.”

  As I’m saying this, two of the players whip out Super Soakers and fire them at the ice sculpture.

  Julian’s body tightens, like he wants to join them.

  “You want to go?” I ask, flicking my gaze over my shoulder in the general direction of the little hooligans.

  “Nah. Having more fun with you. Also, back to what we were talking about.”

  “Right. Your mystery girl. Tell me more about her.”

  “She’s funny. She’s sweet. She’s feisty.”

  “Wow. She’s a lot to compete with.”

  “Are you competing?” He tips his head to wait for my response.

  His question takes my breath away. I want to tell him:
“Hell yeah, I’m competing.” I’ve been competing with any girl who happens to enter his orbit. But that’s not the kind of thing I can force out of my windpipe and through my mouth. That’s the kind of admission that lodges in the back of my throat and stays stuck.

  “I was wondering…” Julian pulls me closer, and it’s amazing to me how soft my body can stay against him. How my body stops wanting to spasm or freak out or do anything harsh or stupid. It’s a little miracle.

  “What were you wondering?” I whisper.

  “I was wondering if you know what position I play in hockey?”

  “You know I do.”

  “That’s right. You do. I’m a center. You know that.”

  I inch away from him, look at his face. He’s amused, And I wonder what exactly he’s amused about.

  He pulls me right up against him so he can whisper in my ear. “So you know my line, me as center and Chip and Nate as my wingmen. Right?”

  “Right,” I whisper, although now my stomach contracts, and I feel the butterflies everyone always talks about. The butterflies I always thought were super clichéd, but here they are, inside me, making it hard to keep swaying. Or talking. Or breathing.

  “Tonight, at Hockey Homecoming, I was supposed to meet my mystery girl. So, you know what I did?”

  I shake my head.

  “I brought my wingmen.”

  The song ends. I pull away, but he holds on, one cupped hand on my hip. His face is so intent, so excited looking, so damned beautiful, but I get what he’s going to say.

  His wingmen were there when we were texting.

  And suddenly I know exactly how Cinderella felt when she was running down the stairs to escape the prince. Or more likely trying to keep the prince from finding out her true identity. That’s the thing isn’t it? That’s what I’m keeping from him. Because it would suck if he turns me down. It would be worse if it’s because I’m not perfectly built like he is. That’s what I’m afraid of. That he will see me, really see me, and not want me.