I can’t help watching Sharon. She wears more makeup than most, which might be her Texas roots showing, because most girls—even popular, pretty ones—don’t bother. They just walk around school, gorgeous in outfits they look like they slept in—yoga pants, tiny flannel shirts, shearling-lined slipper boots. Sharon tries to look casual, but can’t help color-coordinating her outfits and using a curling iron on the hair that she sweeps back into a ponytail.
I’m close enough to hear some of their conversation. No one talks about David. Maybe they’re all used to his being in the hospital, but still, it seems strange. Even after Ashwin, David’s vice president, gets up and does a horrible job with lunch announcements—reading from his phone, squinting at dates and mispronouncing names—no one says, “Where’s ‘Shine on, man’?” or “When’s David coming back?”
In life science, we’re learning that one criterion for life is the capacity to return to homeostasis, meaning that all living things work to heal injuries and eradicate illness. I wonder if this makes a student body a living organism, already working to eradicate illness? I also notice this: Eileen walks by Sharon and doesn’t say anything. Sharon even looks up and sees her. I would have thought they’d say hi to each other, but apparently I’m wrong.
Even though we’ve been to three dance classes, Eileen and I don’t talk at school beyond saying hi. I don’t want her to worry about some awkward moment at lunch where I try to sit near her table and hope for an invitation. Which is why I’m surprised when I get a text from her. I’m sitting all the way across the cafeteria, and somehow she knows that I’ve been watching David’s friends.
Eileen: Those people are all ridiculous.
I laugh and look around. When I see her, she doesn’t look up.
Me: Why?
Eileen: They’re just fake. All of them. They pretend to be big do-gooders, but they’re not really.
Me: What about Sharon? She’s okay, right?
I’ve been dying to ask her this question but haven’t because I don’t want Eileen to know how much I think about David. Part of me wants Eileen to say, Sharon’s the worst of them all, and part of me doesn’t want to hear that, because David is so obviously loyal to her. I don’t want to hear that she doesn’t deserve it. It’ll make me sad and furious at the same time.
At breakfast this morning my mom asked me, straight out, if I had a crush on David. Apparently, she’s not worried about David being too sick anymore, she’s worried about him being too appealing.
“No. God, Mom, why would you even say that?”
“Because I have to ask, and I also have to say that’s not a good idea.”
“Well, I don’t, okay? He’s a senior, and he’s got a girlfriend.”
“I’m just saying it would be natural on your part. He’s a very nice guy and good-looking, too. A girlfriend rules out dating him, but it doesn’t rule out you having a crush on him.”
Her words have been playing in the back of my mind all day. My mother is right. I can’t let myself have a crush on him. It’s too dangerous. I have no group to fall back on, no safety net to catch me when he gets well enough to come back to school, sit with his old friends, and barely acknowledge me.
Eileen: She used to be. Now, not so much.
Me: Why not?
Eileen: She’s changed. David doesn’t see it, but I do. He thinks they’re this important couple that everyone looks up to. I keep telling him, Hello? No one cares about you two.
I’m dying to ask more, but when lunch period is over, she disappears up the hall in a crowd of her friends. It’s strange—even though Eileen doesn’t talk to me at school, I get the feeling she kind of likes me. In dance class last week, while we were waiting for the lesson to start, she asked (out of nowhere) how far I’d ever gone with a guy. I gave her a one-eyebrow-raised look like maybe she’d forgotten who she was talking to.
“I’ve never gone anywhere with a guy. Remember—I was homeschooled and then I spent most of middle school being stupid and shy.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She smiled. “But what does that mean? Like—nothing? Ever?”
It’s fun to shock Eileen this way.
“Nothing. Ever. No dates. No spin the bottle.” I’m a novelty to her—like someone from Little House on the Prairie.
“So what do you do when you go to parties?”
“I’ve never been to one.” I shrugged. Too late, I remembered Missy’s party and realized this wasn’t technically true.
“Are you serious? Never?”
“Maybe one, but it had eight people total. I don’t think it counts.”
When I asked Eileen how many boyfriends she’d had, she had to use her fingers to count. “Four since sixth grade. I don’t count the ones before. That was all kid stuff.”
“Four? Really?” I didn’t add: And we’re only in tenth grade.
She rolled her eyes. “Some of them were stupid. My friends dared me, so I did.”
“How many did you really like?”
“I don’t know. One. Sometimes I think the chase is more fun than dating.” As she said this, her eyes drifted over to Nicolai, who looked up just as she was looking over. I watched both of them carefully. Neither one smiled or waved the way they did earlier. They just exchanged a knowing look that scared me.
Instead of saying anything about Nicolai, Eileen said, “It’s weird you’ve never gone out with anyone, because you’re pretty hot.”
I laughed. “No, I’m not.”
“Do you seriously not know that?”
“I’m not.”
“So why do all these boys line up to ask you to dance?”
The answer was easy: They didn’t. Or they were being nice. Or they wanted to ask Eileen, and she’d already been asked. It had nothing to do with me being hot, which I’m obviously not.
Four days later, on Monday, after our lunch texts, Eileen surprises me by waiting for me after life science. At first I worry that she knows I left the hospital with David and she’s going to tell me not to do it again. But no.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” she says. “But you have to meet me at my locker after school.”
“What kind of surprise?”
She smiles. “You’ll see.”
If this were Missy, the surprise would be something mean, like a complimentary makeover or a coupon for Weight Watchers. She’d give it to me with a hug and say, “I was talking with the others, and we decided you should get this.”
“Okay,” I say.
Eileen’s locker is on the art corridor, a hallway I haven’t walked down this whole year, right next to Mr. Standish’s room. Mr. Standish teaches painting and 3D sculpture. I know this from the tour I took at the end of eighth grade, not because I’ve ever taken these classes. On the tour, I memorized where these rooms were—four altogether, three more than we had in middle school, where we also had strict limits on supplies, including all paints except watercolor. Here, the closets bulged with expensive paints and supplies. I eyed the tubes of oils and raised my hand.
“What’s the limit on supplies?” I asked, and Mr. Standish looked surprised.
“None,” he said. “This is a painting class. We give you all the supplies you need.”
Since I’ve gotten to high school, I’ve been scared to come down here. I still don’t know if I can be around the smell of art supplies.
“It’s good to avoid triggers,” Rita once said. “But don’t be afraid to go back to things you loved. Even if they remind you of your dad.”
I have been afraid. Terrified, really.
When Eileen walks up, she seems a little nervous. “You don’t have to do anything with this,” she says, spinning the dial on her locker. “But you keep saying you have to borrow your mom’s clothes for class, so I thought, here, maybe you’d want to borrow mine.”
She pulls a white plastic bag out of her locker and hands it to me. I peek inside. It’s the dress she wore on the first day—formfitting, low-cut, and sexy. I blush a little a
t the idea of wearing it myself.
“I know it would look great on you, so I just thought why not?”
“Won’t everyone remember that it’s your dress?”
She narrows her eyes like she can’t tell if I’m kidding. “I don’t think they have any rule against borrowing your friend’s clothes.”
Missy never let anyone borrow her clothes. “Then they get stretched in all the wrong places,” she once said. Realizing how mean this might sound, she added, “Because some people’s boobs are so big, Bethany.”
“Is this really okay?” I say. “What if I stretch it?”
She laughs like I’m joking. “It’s spandex. You’re supposed to stretch it, then it goes back.”
“Okay.” I smile. I can’t get over it. Eileen doesn’t care about the things other girls care about. A minute later, she’s gone and I’m alone in the hallway. All the doors are open. By school policy, teachers must stay for an hour after school to help any student who needs it. The old me would have seen this as an extra hour every day with the bounty of art supplies no one was counting. I would have been in one corner every day after school, which is why I’m surprised when I lean in and no one is there. “Can I help you?” Mr. Standish says from his desk.
I recognize him from the tour, but he doesn’t recognize me. “I’m not in your class.”
“That’s okay.”
“Are people who aren’t in your class allowed to come after school?” I have no idea why I’m asking this. I certainly don’t intend to do it.
“Well, it’s better if you’re enrolled in a class. Current students have priority. But as you can see, I’m not swamped at this point. Usually I get old students asking if they can come back and finish up projects. I always say yes to them, so maybe, yeah, it’s something I’d consider.”
“I’m asking for someone else,” I say quickly.
“Okay. Well, tell your friend to come talk to me.”
On Wednesday I have to stand on the side of the bathtub to see what I look like in Eileen’s dress because this apartment didn’t come with a full-length mirror and it’s never occurred to us to buy one. It’s hard for me to judge. I look like a completely different person wearing this.
When I walk in the kitchen, Mom smiles at first and then frowns. “Wait—really? Is that what you’re wearing?”
At first, she was happy to have me taking dance classes with a friend. Now, I can tell she’s not so sure. “Eileen wore it the first day. She’s lending it to me. Do you think it’s too much?”
“You look great, but are you supposed to go to class looking like a sexy twenty-year-old?”
She’s trying to do her mom thing—I’m not judging, I’m just saying.
“No, but some people do.” Eileen does.
“Is there a boy there and you want him to notice you?”
“No.”
“Because he will, I promise you.”
“It was nice of Eileen to think of it. I want her to know I appreciate it.”
“Okay. Hopefully she won’t regret it when all the guys ask you to dance.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s hardly going to happen, Mom.”
Except it does in a way.
I feel a change the second we walk in the room together. Stenyak and Antonin stop talking to each other and stare as we walk past. It’s disorienting. I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s body. The attention isn’t all directed at me. I assume most of it is for Eileen, who’s wearing an even more attention-grabbing outfit—a bright red dress, with holes cut out in the shoulders and a scoop neck in the back—and heels I couldn’t walk in, much less dance.
Before we sit down, Eileen snaps a selfie of us. “I’m sending this to David so he knows how hot you look.”
I look at her. This whole time, we’ve hardly mentioned his name. Does she know about our lunch? Does she suspect something? Then I have the craziest thought: Is she trying to set us up?
“There,” she says, sending it. “Now he knows.”
After we sit down inside, she leans closer. “Did I tell you that Nicolai finally texted me back this week? He said he’s bringing a surprise for me tonight.”
“What kind of surprise?” I say nervously. I can’t forget the awful things David told me about Nicolai.
“I don’t know.” Eileen smiles. “But I can’t wait to see.”
“I overheard some girls talking about him last week. They said he was a jerk.” I sound nervous because I am. I don’t want her to know that I’m supposed to be curbing her riskier impulses.
Instead of being mad, she grins. “You think I don’t know that?”
The second Nicolai walks in the room, my worries double. He sits across the room and stares at Eileen the whole time, laughing and signaling in their secret language. Suddenly, these dresses feel like a huge mistake. Like Eileen wouldn’t have worn hers if I hadn’t worn this one. She knows what she’s doing, and she also knows she shouldn’t do it alone. It’s like I’m the life preserver on the side of a dangerous pool she’s about to jump into.
The first half of the night is a blur of attention. It’s a heady and completely new feeling. Two younger boys come over to ask us to dance before the music even starts. One wears braces with rubber bands that make him hard to understand.
He says, “Those guys over there are daring each other to ask you. I told them no one needs to dare me. I’m just doing it.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking his elbow. “My name is Jamie.”
“I know,” he says, as we walk out onto the dance floor.
It’s hard to enjoy the attention I’m getting when I can’t stop worrying about Eileen and Nicolai. I keep wondering if I should just come right out and tell her he was cruel to David.
At break, Eileen goes with me to the bathroom and shows me a text she’s just gotten from David.
David: You guys look great! Tell Jamie hi and have fun!
My chest squeezes seeing my name typed out by his thumbs. I haven’t seen much of him since our lunch date. Today, I’d stopped by quickly to give him a movie he’d asked for a while ago.
“Stay, stay,” he’d said, patting the chair next to his bed.
“I can’t,” I had to say. “I’ve got dance class tonight.”
“Dancing, dancing, dancing. It’s all you really care about.”
I didn’t want to tell him about the dress Eileen lent me. I didn’t want him to think she was having a bigger influence on me than I was having on her. Now, he’s seen the picture, and apparently he doesn’t care.
When I come out of the bathroom, Eileen isn’t there anymore.
I walk out in the hall. “Eileen?”
She’s not in the main room, either. I check all the other places we’re allowed to go on break: the lobby, the coatroom, the front vestibule outside, where some kids secretly check their phones. She’s nowhere.
I pull my phone out and text her: Where’d you go?
In the main room I hear the music signaling that class is about to start. I text again: Class is starting. You need to come back.
I go back inside and realize my worst fear is true: Nicolai isn’t here, either. I check my phone before class starts up. Nothing.
For the next half hour, I dance with whoever asks me to dance. I don’t know what else to do. If Eileen is in Nicolai’s car in the parking lot, or worse, if they left together, there’s nothing I can do now. Even as I think this, though, I remember what David said. Eileen doesn’t have great judgment. She doesn’t even realize the dangerous situations she puts herself in.
We start learning the Viennese waltz the way they always introduce a new dance: with leaders on one side, followers on the other, and a demonstration couple in the middle. Each group watches the impossible-looking steps we’ll be doing in a minute. Instead of watching the steps, though, I watch the door.
The longer they’re gone, the more scared I get. What if they don’t come back at all? What if Eileen is in real danger now and I haven’t said any
thing because I’m scared to make waves or get her in trouble? I keep expecting the teachers to notice their absence and say something, but they don’t.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. I slip out of my seat and walk over to Tonya, our teacher, who is standing with one of the owners of the studio. “I’m worried about my friend, Eileen Sheinman.”
“Why? Where is she?” Tonya asks.
“She never came back from break. I think she might have gone somewhere with Nicolai. He’s not here, either.”
The older woman takes a moment to consider this. “They’re not allowed to leave during class.”
“Right, but I think they have.”
“They’ll be in trouble then.”
“Who’s in trouble?” a voice says behind us. I spin around. It’s Eileen, standing near the door to the coatroom with her phone in her hand.
“Here she is!” I say lamely. “Never mind! She’s fine! Everything’s fine.”
“No it isn’t, unfortunately. I’m going to have to speak to your parents about this, Ms. Eileen.”
“Because I’m late coming back to class?”
“Forty-five minutes late.”
“I got a text I had to deal with. I went into the coatroom to answer it. It was kind of an emergency.”
I feel terrible. It’s possible she went outside with Nicolai for a while, but it’s also possible she’s telling the truth and didn’t go anywhere.
“There’s a reason we ask you not to bring phones to dance class. For two hours, we say you can live without emergency updates.”
Does she not remember who Eileen’s brother is? Doesn’t she not realize this isn’t true?
I say, “This was my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything. I got worried, and it was stupid. Please don’t blame Eileen. If she had an emergency to deal with, she shouldn’t get punished.”
It’s too late. She tells us to go back to class. “I’m sorry,” I whisper frantically to Eileen.
“Whatever.” She shrugs.
For the rest of class, Eileen doesn’t speak to me. She stays silent the whole ride home. It’s the first time my mother has driven us, so it’s the first time I’ve seen Eileen and David’s house, which is enormous. Even at night I can see that it’s beautifully landscaped, by the carefully angled floodlights crisscrossing the garden. Judging by the rotation of fresh flowers and the steady supply of expensive organic food David has in his hospital room, I’ve suspected they had plenty of money, but this house is more lavish than I ever imagined.
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