Up All Night

by Laura Silverman

  Michaela peeked back at Eleanor, but it didn’t seem like Eleanor had seen her. Which was absurd, because as two of the only Black kids in their high school, it seemed as if Eleanor had been the only one who seemed to really see her for years.

  The last time they’d hung out was the night before Michaela had left for the airport. Last summer. Michaela’s parents had wanted to host a proper farewell party for her, but Michaela refused. Wasn’t it already sort of embarrassing that she was leaving to travel throughout Europe for months while her friends were buying textbooks and bedding for their dorm rooms?

  So Eleanor had come over for dinner with Michaela and her parents, then the two of them sat on a blanket in her backyard like they often did throughout high school. Not saying much of anything, which was also normal for them. There was so much performing at school; on the cheer team, yes, but being two of the few Black students meant they were aware that everyone was always watching. Eleanor knew exactly how she felt and so when they sat in silence, it felt like comfort, not moments to be filled with needless chatter.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Eleanor had said, staring up at the dark night sky.

  “Only for a few months.” Michaela followed her gaze. There should have been stars, but the sky was almost impossibly black that night. Only a sliver of moon peeked out at them.

  “What if it’s worse than high school?”

  Michaela looked at her friend. “College?”

  “Yeah. I mean, what if it’s just us again, Micky? What if it’s four more years of the same bullshit?”

  They’d both chosen Brockert College because they wanted to go to a liberal arts school; it was only a few hours away by car or train, close to home but not too close. And the school promised a diverse student population with organizations that supported them. The school even had a Black Student Union.

  But Eleanor had looked genuinely worried, and Michaela understood in her own way. She wasn’t worried about the Black (or lack of) thing—they’d survived high school, after all. Michaela was worried about college in general.

  She knew it was expected of her, but she wasn’t all that excited about college. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, and she didn’t think sitting in classrooms with a bunch of people who were paying way too much for an “experience” was the way to find out.

  “It’ll be all right,” Michaela said, forcing comfort into her voice.

  Eleanor picked at a blade of grass. “I’m still kind of mad at you for leaving me. I thought we were going to do this together.”

  “I know. I just . . .” She’d shrugged, unsure how to finish. She’d wished Eleanor could go with her, but the truth was, she wasn’t sad about leaving. Her initial apathy about the trip had transformed into full-blown excitement since her parents had first presented the idea. Michaela felt guilty for leaving Eleanor—but not for leaving. “But I’ll be back with you next year, and if it sucks, we can be miserable together.”

  Eleanor had given her a brief smile, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that made Michaela think she would be okay.

  Now Eleanor was doing a complicated-looking dance routine with her teammates, and Michaela openly stared when it was clear they weren’t paying attention to anyone around them. She’d never seen Eleanor move like that, and they’d gone to every single high school dance and mixer.

  There was a confidence in her rhythm that hadn’t been there before. Not even in the years they’d spent cheerleading. Like Eleanor suddenly knew what to do with every part of her body, and how to make it look like she’d always known. The other girls on her team moved with similar swagger, and eventually a crowd of dancers gathered around, whooping and cheering them on, until Michaela couldn’t see them without getting closer.

  She danced around her other teammates, but she didn’t know them any better than Harper. One guy, Duncan, was in her world literature class, but they’d never spoken. When they made accidental eye contact, she sensed he didn’t recognize her at all.

  Michaela was beginning to see all the drawbacks she’d suspected about starting school in the spring. Maybe she should have just ridden out the semester at home, working in her old job at the grocery store and spending the rest of her time as far away from her parents as possible. She’d been working at the grocery since she was sixteen, and even though she didn’t really need the spending money with most of her friends away at college, it was a place to go, to keep her busy. Because ever since she’d cut her trip short, her parents were more attentive than ever. Annoyingly attentive, like they were worried she might just break one day.

  Eventually, Harper tapped her on the arm, signaling the beginning of their hourlong break. The rules allowed them to trade off with other teammates, as long as a certain number of people were still dancing. They were supposed to use the time to go to the bathroom, recharge, and rehydrate, but overall, Michaela was free to do what she wanted with the break: grab some food, join one of the games taking place on the perimeter of the gym, text people. Nap.

  The marathon lasted twenty-four hours. It had started at noon, and the big clock on the basketball scoreboard had just changed to 9:01 p.m.

  Michaela hadn’t imagined she’d last this long. She was out of shape now that she no longer had daily cheerleading practice. Before she joined the high school cheer team, she’d been at the gymnastic center several times a week. She couldn’t remember a time she had been so inactive—even during her trip abroad, she’d logged tens of thousands of steps a day, walking around to the different museums and landmarks—and she had to admit the marathon felt good. Pushing her body like she used to every day. It felt so good she had the urge to drop down where she was and stretch her muscles until she felt that familiar lengthening sensation.

  Instead she downed a cup of water, then started on another as her eyes scanned the center of the gym. She couldn’t see Eleanor or any of her teammates. Their T-shirts were a soft lavender—Eleanor’s favorite color, and Michaela wondered if she’d had something to do with choosing them.

  After she filled her water cup for the third time, Michaela wandered over to the food tables. Trucks serving all different kinds of cuisine were parked outside, but the dancers weren’t allowed to leave the gym; anything they needed from outside had to be brought in from a nondancer. Her stomach rumbled as someone walked by with a container of tacos. They were the best thing she’d ever smelled.

  “Michaela?”

  She spun around so quickly, water sloshed out of her cup and onto the chest of the person who’d tapped her shoulder.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sor—” she started, then stopped when she looked up.

  Eleanor.

  “Wow,” her old friend breathed, ignoring the water that now soaked the upper half of her shirt. Maybe it didn’t matter since she was already so sweaty. Or maybe she was so shocked to see Michaela, the spill hadn’t even registered. “I thought that was you.”

  Michaela tried to smile, but she was pretty sure it came out as more of a grimace. “It’s me. Surprise.”

  “What . . . what are you doing here?” Eleanor stepped closer to her, eyebrows pinched together. Not with anger. Hurt. Michaela still knew all her expressions. That wasn’t something you could just unlearn about a person. Especially not someone she’d known as well as Eleanor.

  “I go here,” Michaela said simply. Dumbly. Of course she went there. Only students were allowed to join a dance marathon team.

  Eleanor’s frown persisted. “Since when?”

  “Just last month. I started this semester.” Michaela tipped back her cup for a drink, but most of the water had already landed on Eleanor’s shirt.

  “Were you going to tell me?”

  Michaela cleared her throat. She was suddenly parched. She wanted one of those huge gallon water jugs the football players used to carry around back in high school.

  “I’m sorry,” Mich
aela said.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Eleanor tugged on one of the two French braids that framed the side of her head. “I thought you were still in Europe, Micky.”

  It warmed her to hear her old nickname. But Eleanor’s sharp intake of breath made it clear it wasn’t intentional. It had been a reflex, left over from years of spending so much time together.

  “I came home early,” Michaela said. “Before Christmas. It wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be.”

  Eleanor cocked her head to the side. “You didn’t love it?”

  That wasn’t true. She’d loved the food, all the crusty breads and fresh vegetables and cheeses. And how easy it was to get around to so many different cities by train. And how the older the building in Europe, the more respected it seemed rather than something to be torn down and replaced with new.

  But she’d missed so much about home: knowing how to get to and from places instinctually, waking up in the same bed every day, and her parents, who were supposed to meet her in the South of France for Christmas. She’d missed Eleanor, too, but she didn’t want to say it. Not after Eleanor had been the one who was worried about the new chapter in their lives and Michaela had been so confident that leaving was the right thing to do.

  And then there was the fact that she’d been terrible about texting Eleanor while she’d been gone. She was never able to keep the time difference straight, and she was so distracted by all the newness of her trip that sometimes she just . . . forgot. And once Eleanor stopped reaching out, Michaela had felt weird about telling her she’d come home early. So she hadn’t told her at all.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Eleanor nodded, but Michaela didn’t expand on that, and Eleanor didn’t ask her to. Michaela was glad. After all they’d gone through in school, both together and separately, she didn’t know how to tell Eleanor that one bigoted interaction had sent her off the rails.

  Eleanor’s dark brown skin was gleaming, and she wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. “Do you like it here?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.” Michaela shrugged. “It’s good.”

  “Honestly, Michaela, I’m pretty surprised to see you here.”

  “Why?” Michaela swallowed. “You knew I just deferred. We got our acceptance letters the same day.”

  Eleanor had actually called her that evening, something they rarely did, because if they weren’t texting, they were usually together. They’d been in their respective houses, still wearing their cheer team uniforms after a game, squealing about being accepted to Brockert, where they both wanted to go. That seemed like years ago, not months.

  “Yeah, but just because you said you were coming, that didn’t mean you actually seemed excited about it. Deep down, I mean. It seemed like . . .” Eleanor trailed off, shaking her head.

  Normally, Michaela would’ve asked what she meant. Pressed until her friend said what was on her mind. But they weren’t friends anymore, were they? It didn’t seem like the old rules applied, especially the way Eleanor had so quickly switched from calling her Micky.

  “How’s Owen?”

  Something passed through Eleanor’s gaze, then her expression quickly righted itself. “He’s good. Doing better. Daddy thinks he might be able to go back to school this year.”

  “Really?” Michaela broke out into a genuine grin for the first time since she’d arrived at the marathon.

  She’d always liked Eleanor’s little brother. Owen had been a surprise baby, born the year Michaela and Eleanor turned twelve. He was well aware that he could get away with murder; partly because he was the baby and his parents were tired, and partly because he’d been sick for most of his life.

  “Yeah, you know Daddy. Always the optimist.” Eleanor rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but Michaela knew she had to be happy about Owen.

  Apparently out of things to say, they turned to the food table to inspect the spread. One of Eleanor’s teammates walked by as they were loading up their plates. She nudged Eleanor in the side, whispered something that made them both crack up, and moved on practically before Michaela could register she’d been there. It was strange seeing Eleanor so comfortable with people Michaela had never met, and Michaela felt a jolt of—she wasn’t quite sure what. Annoyance? Jealousy?

  “I can’t believe you joined a sorority,” she said, looking at the Greek letters displayed on the back of Eleanor’s T-shirt.

  Eleanor shrugged, dropping a small bunch of green grapes onto her paper plate. “It’s more of a sisterhood, you know?”

  “A sisterhood you have to pay for,” Michaela mumbled under her breath.

  The words came out before she could stop them, but she hadn’t thought Eleanor would hear her. She’d thought the pulsing music and boisterous DJ and nonstop chatter around them would cover up the thought that had come tumbling out of her mouth at record speed.

  Eleanor whipped around to glare at her. “You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t know anything about, Michaela.”

  She should’ve stopped there. Apologized. But her mouth just kept moving. “I know that sororities pay dues, and you can’t go to meetings or parties, or like, take part in car washes or whatever if you don’t pay your dues.”

  “Car washes?” Eleanor’s light brown eyes were flashing. “You think that’s what we’re all about? Partying and soaping up cars? You should stop getting all your information from bad movies.”

  Michaela just looked at her. They’d talked about sororities when they were looking at school websites together. They’d laughed at them. Made fun of the groups of girls with their matching colors and identical haircuts and overdone smiles. They had been in agreement that they had no plans to pay for their friends.

  “We give back to the community. We have to complete a certain number of service projects each year or the national chapter will put us on probation.”

  “You could do community service on your own.”

  Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. “Are you doing community service, Michaela?”

  “That’s not the point. You’re still—”

  “You don’t have to like the Greek system,” Eleanor said, her voice lower. She was looking at Michaela’s chin. “It’s not for everyone. But don’t shame me for being part of it. It’s a Black sorority. Is it so bad that I wanted to make Black friends? That I didn’t want to go through the next four years repeating what we went through in high school? Being the only ones?”

  Her eyes met Michaela’s on this last sentence, and then Michaela looked away. But Eleanor wasn’t finished.

  “You left,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “And you stopped answering my texts. And my emails. The only reason I even knew you were still alive is because of your posts.”

  Michaela stared at the picked-over cheese plate on the table. She knew what she wanted to say to Eleanor, but she wasn’t sure how her throat would form the words. Or what if she did manage to get them out and Eleanor didn’t believe she could be so affected by something so seemingly tiny?

  “So, I don’t even get an explanation?” Eleanor shook her head. “Typical. You know, Michaela, I thought we were going to be friends forever. You . . . you came along exactly when I needed you. You were the only person who didn’t act like I was diseased when I told you Owen was sick.”

  Michaela swallowed, remembering how nervous Eleanor had been when she explained her little brother had been diagnosed with leukemia. She felt tears pricking at her eyes, so she shrugged, blinked them back, and said, “Well, nothing lasts forever.”

  Eleanor’s face changed from hurt to shock to pure anger. With each shift of her expression, Michaela thought about all the different ways she could explain:

  Actually, I wanted to call you every single day, but I worried you were too busy for me now.

  You’re the only person I wanted to talk to, but I was afraid you’d think
I got what I deserved for flitting off to Europe instead of starting college with you.

  I’m terrified that I can’t get through regular life without you, and I don’t know what to do about it.

  But her mouth remained closed. And Eleanor just stared at her, eyes shooting straight venom. “You’re being really shitty,” she huffed, then stalked away, leaving her plate on the table.

  Michaela bent at the waist, hands pressed to her knees.

  If the gym had been stifling before, with the thick, sweaty air and all the marathon’s rules and strangers brushing and bouncing against her every few seconds, the next few hours felt like being underwater.

  Michaela kept replaying her conversation with Eleanor. Wondering how she could be so mean to her old friend. Wondering how Eleanor couldn’t see that something in her had broken in a new way.

  She lost herself in the dancing. It was the only way she’d be able to make it through the night. Harper was still running point, but Michaela moved so quickly and constantly that she scooted away each time Harper tried to talk to her. She even gave up one of her breaks, not wanting to get caught in the same space as Eleanor.

  “Hey, all my Brockert College dancers! It’s midnight, which means you’re exactly halfway through this thing!” the DJ shouted from his booth, turning the music down for once. “How ya feeling?”

  The dancers let out a collectively halfhearted whooo, and the sadness of it made Michaela laugh. Their cheer captain would’ve reamed them out if they’d ever cheered for anything like that, on or off the field.

  “Awww, come on, dancers!” the DJ pleaded, his eyes moving wildly over the crowd. “That all you got for me?”

  Properly shamed, they ratcheted up their response, trying to match his exuberance.

  Tired as she was, as exhausted as she was from not just the dancing but her interaction with Eleanor, Michaela felt alive. In a way she hadn’t felt since she’d first set foot in London, her very first stop on the trip, when everything had been fresh and exciting.