by Abby Sher
Tonight was more crowded than usual. The rain was keeping everyone pressed together inside. Amelia was directing people to the middle of the room while James struggled to move the couch back. (There were a few people who sat there on the couch as he drove his shoulder into it, but James was too humble to ask them to scoot over or get up.)
“You guys. Listen up!” Amelia stood on the pool table and explained that this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for her dear friend Zoe. We were all going to learn a few moves that Zoe had gotten from her professional choreographer, Bernardo. There were also multiple cameras set up around the room to capture it all. But the most important thing was for us to act natural.
As if anyone our age in a sweaty basement with confusing emotions and desires knew what acting natural meant.
“This is serious!” Amelia continued. “Zoe’s agent said that if this video is good enough, he can get her on season three of Dance for Me Now! And next week she’s flying out to LA to meet like everyone. So let’s give it up for … Zoe!”
I felt my breath get shallow and uneven. I had never heard about this plan to go to LA next week, nor had I heard anything about Dance for Me Now! I needed to pull Zoe into a corner so I could check in and make sure this was just another Amelia Hartwick embellishment. Only that was impossible now. The party had taken on a fierce, new momentum. Everyone around me was scrambling to hug Zoe or grab a can of beer from one of the coolers before our dance instruction began. I wanted to tell them all not to be fooled by her glitter and glam. I knew for a fact that underneath the makeup and cat ears she was all sharp angles and knobby joints.
There was just too much shoving and squealing. A few beefy guys from our big-on-pep-rallies-low-on-actual-scoring school lacrosse team lifted Zoe on top of the couch so she could teach everyone Bernardo’s seductive moves.
“Oh yeah!”
“Work it, girl!”
“Look how tiny she is!”
“Wait, where’s Hank?” I heard Zoe say. “Has anyone seen Hank?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I pushed farther out through the crowd so I could lean against one of the basement walls and just observe. The room was teeming with Zoe admirers, oohing and aahing at her moves. Catcalling and purring. Yes, I was the only one who knew she continued to sleep with a nightlight on and that she believed in Santa Claus until she was twelve. I knew she still had to do most math problems by counting on her fingers and was terrified of cockroaches. I knew Zoe better than anyone else here. And yet I had no idea how long she had been lying to me and trying to cover it up with powder that was two shades too dark for her sallow skin. I wanted it to be just this past summer that she’d changed so much, but really, hadn’t she been “too busy for lunch” most of our high school career and didn’t she disappear into the bathroom for long periods of time and always come out reeking of aspartame, chomping on a fresh stick of gum?
I had nobody but myself to blame for being this blind—or really, for strapping on my own blinders. Even a topless stranger in the gym could name the glaring reality better than me.
“Hank! I need you,” I heard Zoe call again, but I kept snaking my way toward the side door. I needed to put some distance between myself and this whiskered stick figure and see that we were separate entities. I’d been attached to that teeny hip bone for so many years. I had considered it my honor and privilege to be at Zoe’s beck and call like this—to achingly anticipate her every need. To live inside her dreams and become an extension of her.
No longer. I just couldn’t anymore.
When I stepped outside, the rain was still emptying itself in sheets from the sky, so I tucked myself into a little corner of the driveway, sheltered by the roof’s overhang. I closed my eyes and took in a long drink of night sky as I weighed my options:
1. I could call Gus and Uncle Ricky and force myself into their plans. They were probably grabbing dinner by now and of course I hadn’t eaten with Zoe.
2. I could drive myself home and hide under the covers and file a missing person report for myself.
3. I could just pretend I was a puddle and go to sleep.
The woman from the gym with the unapologetically sagging boobs kept glaring at me in my head. Telling me this wasn’t pretty. That something needed to be done.
“No,” I told the rain. “Fuck no!”
“Excuse me?” said a squeaky voice with a British accent.
“Oh, sorry. James, is that you?”
I could just make out his blurred profile against the rainy background. He was standing a few feet away under the next corner’s overhang, taking a drag on a cigarette. He quickly snuffed it out on the ground and said, “Yes. Yup. It’s me, James. Are you enjoying yourself, I hope?”
“Sure,” I lied. “I mean, it’s a great party.”
“Is it? Oh, I’m so glad.” He moved closer to the gutter light, so I could see him put on a polite smile for me. Only, he looked so weary and waterlogged. I thought about the last time Amelia had conned James into hosting a party and he had retreated to the laundry room because Amelia threatened to play truth or dare.
“James, did you have any idea this was going to be a whole … thing tonight?” I asked.
“No,” he admitted. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m just a bit nervous that my parents are going to catch wind.”
The pain in his voice undid me. I wanted to scoot over and give him a hug just for being so earnest and concerned. But that would probably make both of us shudder with embarrassment. So instead I made him a promise.
“Listen. I’ll make sure this doesn’t get out on social media, okay? Would that help?”
“Oh yes! Immensely! But is that possible?”
“Sure. Yes,” I told him. Though I had no idea how.
Just then the Hartwicks’ door slammed open. A flare of colored lights and steamy beer stink cut through the night.
“Ooh, there you are! Hanky-Pank! Yay!” Zoe shot through the doorway and into my arms. I didn’t know if she was drunk or just overly excited. I heard the swish of her satiny shorts and the thonk of her boots crashing through the calm and landing on top of me.
“Didn’t you hear me? I need you on the dance floor! Ahh, this fresh air feels great. Oh, hey, James. Mind if I borrow Hank for a bit?”
“Of course not,” said James obediently.
“Hmmm,” Zoe said even before the door closed behind us. “Anything you want to tell me about you and James Hartwick III?” She snickered.
“No,” I told her. “Except that I don’t think Amelia told him about the whole dance thing and he’s worried that if people post videos of it, his parents will find out and then…”
“Ha! Is that what he told you?” Zoe steered me through the clusters of clammy bodies toward Amelia, who was taking in a long hit from a joint. “Amelia!” Zoe shouted in her face. “You need to talk to your brother. He’s freaking out!”
Amelia burst into a hyena-style cackle and Zoe squeezed my hand tight, navigating us toward the couch.
“Hanky!” Zoe yelled in my ear. “I got you!” The room was closing in on us again. Ten different people were clamoring for Zoe’s attention so they could make sure she approved of the dance moves they’d memorized. Zoe grinned graciously and gave lots of fist bumps. As if we were walking into a political rally and she’d just been announced the queen of everything. The hip-hop beat was being piped into the room so loudly, it sent tremors up through my empty gut.
There were three earsplitting meows from the speakers and then everyone in the room meowed back. People started rolling their hips in unison. Raising two fingers on either side of their heads to look like cat ears. Zoe pushed all the people ahead of us out of the way and got us to the center of the dance floor. It was so packed and steamy now, even the floor felt slick.
“Just follow me!” Zoe called over the music.
“Yup,” I whimpered.
That was the one skill set I actually knew I had. I could always imitate Zoe Hammer. I’d done it for mos
t of my life and had made it my undeclared mission statement. I matched each shimmy and hip grind perfectly. I found her rhythm and saw how seamlessly the rest just fell into place. After all, Zoe was my one constant in life. The vortex of the same storm she was creating. There was soon a circle of dancers around us, clapping and meowing. Cheering for us as we wound around each other, bopping in perfect sync.
Zoe hooked her skeletal arms around my neck and gazed at me with wide, glinting eyes. She wasn’t drunk at all. She was serious and sober.
“You can catch me, right?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. This was a test of my devotion and a calculation of how much she weighed, and it was all being caught on video, so if I didn’t do it, I’d ruin whatever we had left. I nodded, trying to bend my knees and clench my middle for inner support.
“Totally,” I added.
“I swear, Hank. I love you more than anyone in this whole stupid room.”
“I love you too,” I said.
“I mean it.” Her voice was low and rumbly now. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re so freaken smart and beautiful and real and kind. And I know I haven’t always been the friend you needed, and I just wish you knew how much you mean to me.”
“Thanks,” I said. If she didn’t jump soon, I was going to tip over from nervous anticipation.
“Do you love me?” Zoe whispered in my ear.
“Of course.”
“How much?” she insisted.
“So much,” I said. Which would always be true.
Zoe’s eyes crinkled as she pulled away from me. She shuffled backward for a running start and dove into my arms. I caught her easily, cradling her like a newborn. The crowd whooped.
“This much?” Zoe asked. She grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. A real kiss that took all the air out of the night and turned everything to now. Somewhere beyond us, there were hoots and growls of appreciation. Or maybe that was thunder. I had the feeling that everything and everyone was caught inside this moment and yet we were all alone. I felt the edge of her tongue poking at my lips. Salty and sweet and slippery with pink. As she pulled me into her tide of warm recklessness.
My legs were trembling. My left arm was sparking with pins and needles. But if I put her down, it would all be gone.
So I stayed there, clutching on to my little girl.
One last time.
TIME CAPSULE
We had to do this time capsule exercise the other day and it broke me in half. Because I realized that I had nothing from today that I wanted to keep. And all I wanted were a million parts of yesterday. Or really, from a lot of yesterdays ago. I want to go back to the way we were when we first got those kitty-cat costumes in ballet class. When we stuck our bellies out and colored them with lipstick and our biggest worry was getting caught eating chunks of butter or running out of crayons.
Do you remember the time we made a lemonade stand and used all the profits on glow-in-the-dark tattoos that never glowed in the dark?
Do you remember that game where we hid in your pantry and pretended we were police arresting the vacuum cleaner?
Sometimes these memories are so clear and bright in my head that my eyes sting and my chest caves in. Because we can’t go back. Time just doesn’t work that way. Even if you hurl your clock against the wall. Even if you scream at all your counselors and slap your inner child silly. Time will never slow down or even pause.
Silver lining: I guess we’re not stuck here anymore either.
CHAPTER 14
red dye #5
Travis was expecting us by 11:00 P.M., Which meant we needed to leave the Hartwicks’ by 10:40 at the latest, and I was hoping for better directions than Zoe’s “You get off Route 22 and then take that main road down until you see a Starbucks and I think a yarn store…?”
It was already 11:20 by the time we slinked out of the Hartwicks’ basement. I hadn’t touched a single sip of warm beer and I don’t think Zoe had either. But we were both tipsy from the rush of sudden, passionate fame. After our kiss on the dance floor, the party got a lot steamier. People piling onto one another and doing a lot of grinding and twerking. I had to admit, it was a relief to just get lost in the middle of this madness, sweating out my vicious fears and frustrations. But by eleven o’clock, the Hartwicks had two neighbors threatening to call the police because of the noise levels and James looked like he was going to have an aneurysm from anxiety.
He turned down the music and announced, “Thank you all so much for coming but I’m afraid we have to close up now.”
Amelia jumped onto a coffee table and screamed, “After- party in my bedroom!” Then lost her balance and crashed into a speaker.
I could hear her cackling as James shouted over her, “Please! We will have a party again. Just get home safe and thank you, this has been a wonderful time.”
Most everyone from the party started spilling out onto the wet driveway then. The rain wasn’t quite torrential anymore, but the wind was picking up and it was definitely still coming down. I tried to pull Zoe straight to my car, only she was surrounded by a tight posse of new fans trailing her toward the HOT RIC–mobile.
“Hey, I don’t mean to be a jerk, but isn’t your dad waiting for us?” I said.
“Boo!” said Zoe.
“Yeah, boo!” echoed Colette McNamara.
“Do we really have to go?” Zoe whined. She looked at me with wide, pleading eyes while Freyja whispered, “Don’t go! Don’t go!”
I tried to look really interested in the dripping gutters on the side of the house because I had nothing to say besides, Why are you making me the bad guy? Zoe must have sensed my discomfort. She took my hand in hers and put it on her heart.
“No, it’s not Hank’s fault,” she told the soggy crowd. “And have no fear! The Pussycat Warriors shall return!”
As we got into my car, a handful of people pounded on the trunk, like we were zooming off to a glorious honeymoon. I was sure I’d lose a muffler or at the very least get a few dents, but Zoe loved it. She climbed into the backseat and blew kisses as I drove away.
“So stupid, right?” she asked. “Seriously though, don’t you wish we could just dance all night?”
“Uh-huh.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zoe plop herself back into the passenger seat and start tracing spiky circles into the fog on her window. Or maybe it was a cat—I couldn’t tell. Then she swiped the design away and grunted. She was also digging her fingernails into her thighs now while she knocked her forehead against the window and audibly fumed.
“What’s … why are you doing that?” I asked.
She sniffed and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“It’s just—I hate this!” She kicked the glove compartment door and it flew open, spewing a stack of papers I was supposed to sign but never did. “Sorry,” Zoe said in a softer voice now.
“Sorry doesn’t…” I lost my nerve on that argument. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” I tried.
“Ha!” Zoe laughed bitterly. The vivacious ringleader I’d danced with just a few minutes ago was gone. In her place was a wretched ball of gloom. “I mean, was that not the most awesome party?” she moaned. “And now we have to leave it to hang out with fucken Travis in his beige bachelor pad of patheticness? It’s just not fair.” Her misery kept swelling as she sank lower into her seat.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought you wanted to go. Or at least you wanted me to come with you—”
“Yes!” Zoe cut me off. “Yes. I really want you to come with me. I’m very grateful you’re coming with me. I’m just having a hard time. I can’t explain it more than that, okay?” Her phone buzzed but she refused to answer it. “And, of course, now Travis is calling yet again to ask where we are.”
I thought it would actually be helpful to talk to Travis, considering we didn’t know which way to go after getting off the highway, but I wasn’t about to
suggest that to Zoe. Instead, I said, “Hey, how about this? I’m superthirsty and I’d love to look up exactly where Travis’s building is, so what if we pulled into ye olde Quicky Yum FoodMart and split a slushie?”
Zoe was silent.
“Or I’ll just get something and you … can try on sunglasses?”
I heard Zoe gulp, and took that as a yes.
We used to stop at Quicky Yum FoodMart for slushies on the way back from ballet class when we were in grade school. Or really, I think we did it once. Maybe twice. By third grade, Zoe had been moved up to the accelerated dance program and had started gymnastics on the other side of town, so we didn’t get to carpool anymore. But I wanted to stretch out that one memory as far as it would go without snapping.
As we walked into the mart, I felt Zoe’s pointy elbow dig into my rib.
“Be right back,” she said. “Gotta pee.”
There was nothing quick or yummy about this place. It looked like it had been updated since I’d last been there, but in a really haphazard way. A strip of wood paneling and a sign that said, YEEHAW! over the hall to the bathrooms. A shiny new incubator for the hot dogs to lazily roll upon under a heat lamp. Security cameras in every corner. (Their latest burglary was all over the Nightly News and involved people dressed as angry clowns.)
Tonight, the Quicky Yum FoodMart was completely empty except for the cashier. She was facing away from us as we came in, but even as she whipped her head around, I couldn’t tell if she was fifteen or forty. Her jet-black ponytail was pulled back tight and high, then cascaded down her back almost to her butt. Her olive skin and fuchsia lip liner were both glistening and hypnotic. She looked at me and Zoe, then at the clock above the cash register and back at us again. It was clear she had plans tonight after closing and she didn’t want us interfering with that.
“Hold on, I have to finish my job, you know!” she barked into her phone. “And you have to get here by midnight to pick me up!” Then she held up her phone to face me and said, “Am I right?”
