Up All Night

by Laura Silverman

  She bumped into her teammate Duncan, who, in a move that seemed to surprise both of them, reached for her hand and twirled her away from him and then back a couple of times, eventually releasing her into the crowd as they both laughed from exhilaration.

  Michaela hardly knew anyone at Brockert College, but she still felt like part of something. And that felt good.

  For a brief moment, she wondered if this was how Eleanor felt being part of the sorority. But then she pushed away the thought. This wasn’t the same thing.

  Michaela watched the DJ, wondering if he was on something stronger than the energy drinks he’d been pounding all night. Actually, as she looked around, she wondered if any of the teams were partaking. Drugs and alcohol were strictly forbidden, and Harper had reminded them of this ferociously in the lead-up to the big day. But someone was always sneaking something in where it wasn’t supposed to be, and Michaela couldn’t imagine an all-night fundraiser was any different.

  At one a.m., Harper finally made Michaela take a break. She fell asleep on the toilet, only waking when a loud group of girls came bounding into the bathroom, slamming stall doors and wondering loudly if anyone ever hooked up at these things.

  When she came out of the stall, two girls were standing by the sinks. They must have been Eleanor’s sorority sisters because they were wearing the same lavender shirts. They looked tired, but not unhappy.

  “Girl, stand still,” one of them said as she fussed with the other one’s bun.

  “I’m trying,” the other girl said, “but I’m afraid I’m going to fall asleep if I don’t keep moving.”

  “You know I won’t let you fall asleep,” her friend said, tucking stray strands of hair back into the bun. “I got you, girl.”

  Michaela felt a lump inexplicably rise in her throat. She quickly turned away from them and moved to another sink to wash her hands. Why did she feel on the verge of tears? The moment wasn’t that sentimental. She didn’t even know them.

  But deep down, she knew it was because they reminded her of how she used to be with Eleanor. And she missed that. She missed her. And she’d probably ruined things between them forever with the way she’d dismissed her earlier. Eleanor was right—she’d been shitty to her.

  An hour later, Michaela felt . . . Well, she didn’t know how she felt. Exhausted wasn’t the word. It was almost as if she were detached from her body. She kept looking down, and once, when she bumped into Duncan again, he asked what she was doing.

  “Making sure I’m still moving,” she shouted over the music.

  The sentence sounded weird when she said it aloud, but Duncan just nodded and gave her a thumbs-up as he bopped away.

  Michaela’s brain was fuzzy, probably wondering why she was still awake and why it had been tricked into making her body move like that for so many hours. She blinked a few times when she caught sight of Eleanor around three thirty in the morning. Had it only been a few hours since they’d talked?

  Eleanor gave her a hard look before she turned her back, trying to make her way as far from Michaela as possible. Michaela’s words came rushing back to her: Well, nothing lasts forever.

  God, she had been really shitty to her old friend.

  Michaela was trying to figure out how she was going to get Eleanor to talk to her again when the opening strains of the song made its way to her ears. The DJ had been on a tear of nineties rap, a definite crowd-pleaser, but recently switched it up to more current songs. And as soon as this one came on, Michaela was back in her high school gym, performing with the cheer team.

  The school had a dance team, and they’d sneered every time the cheerleaders used music in their routines. As if anything to do with rhythm belonged to them alone. It’s true, the cheer team would never be mistaken for dancers, but every year they learned a routine at camp that they performed at least once, even if only at an assembly. And this song—by Rihanna, their favorite—was the one they’d danced to last year.

  Her eyes automatically looked for Eleanor. She hadn’t moved too far away from Michaela, but her back was still turned. Michaela felt the routine in her bones, it was so deeply embedded in her from days of practice at camp and then weeks of rehearsal once they were back home. She could’ve done it in her sleep. And soon, she was doing it involuntarily.

  As if she sensed it, Eleanor turned at that moment. She locked eyes with Michaela and, from yards away, their bodies began to move in sync. They were executing the moves perfectly, without even counting out the beats before they began. Without even discussing it.

  Plenty of teams had line-danced together at the marathon, and Eleanor and her sorority sisters seemed to have some kind of routine they’d put together that they repeated throughout the night. But this was different. This was just Michaela and Eleanor—the only students in this room who knew this particular routine. Their hips swerved, their arms shooting out and up on the beat. And as they moved together, starting from the top, they danced closer to each other, parting the crowd surrounding them until they were face to face, as if they were dancing in a mirror.

  They didn’t stop, just performed the routine over and over again for the length of the song. People watched, and some tried to join in, but Michaela and Eleanor danced as if they were the only two people in the room. Michaela felt sweat dripping into her bra and down the small of her back. She knew it must be time to reapply deodorant, but she didn’t care. She was dancing with Eleanor, and they were in perfect rhythm, exactly as they’d been for the past five years. It felt better than familiar. It felt like home.

  When the song ended, so did their routine, and they just stepped from side to side, staring at each other. Eleanor glared at her, wiping sweat from her brow. Michaela tried to frown, if only so she wouldn’t cry. She wanted her friend back. But she was right here, and Michaela didn’t know what to say to her.

  Eleanor danced closer, and Michaela held her breath, wondering, for a moment, if she might be angry enough to punch her. But then her friend’s arms were reaching out, not in anger but acceptance. She wrapped her arms around Michaela, and Michaela leaned into her instantly.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured into Eleanor’s shoulder as they swayed on the dance floor. “I’m sorry I said that to you. And that I disappeared. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Eleanor.”

  “Shhhh,” Eleanor said, squeezing her tight.

  Five o’clock in the morning.

  Michaela wasn’t sure how she’d get through the next seven hours. Her body was busted. Energy completely zapped. She’d never run a marathon, but she wondered if it was better than this. She couldn’t imagine it would take anyone twenty-four hours to get through it, even with breaks.

  But a part of her felt energized. Truly alive. Because she was sitting next to Eleanor. And the tension that had been there before—well, it hadn’t totally evaporated. There was still something between them that hadn’t been there before Europe and Eleanor joining the sorority. But things were better between them. Almost normal.

  They’d found a corner of the gym that was relatively empty, with just a couple of napping people and others who might be dozing with their eyes open, they were so still. Up in the booth, the DJ was still going strong, and Michaela thought some of the participants must have broken the no-substances rule with the urgent way they were still gyrating on the dance floor, their bodies positively elastic.

  “So,” Eleanor said, a shy smile passing over her face. “My sisters will probably never let me live that down.”

  “Oh, please,” Michaela said, grinning. “Who doesn’t love an impromptu high school cheer routine? Weren’t sororities built for things like that?”

  Eleanor tugged at the shoelace on her right sneaker. “You know, it’s too late for this semester, but you could pledge in the fall. Everyone would love you.”

  Michaela’s grin faltered. “Oh. I . . . I don’t think so. I mean, thanks. But it’s
not really me. Greek life.”

  “I didn’t think it was for me, either, but I don’t know. It’s been nice. Being around so many other Black girls.”

  Michaela nodded, thinking of the girls she’d seen in the bathroom. Thinking of how she and Eleanor had always discussed what it would be like to not be the only ones. If Eleanor liked being in a sorority, maybe it wasn’t so bad. She wasn’t sure she’d ever find out, but she could be a little more open-minded if it made Eleanor happy.

  “I really am sorry for being so shitty about it earlier,” Michaela said. “It’s just that we’d talked about how we’d never do that, and then here you are doing it, and I knew that already from your posts, but it’s different seeing it in person.”

  “It is different,” Eleanor said, shrugging. “Or at least different from what I thought it was. I don’t love everyone in it or everything we do, but overall, it’s good for me. It was . . . It was really hard starting here without you, Micky. I was scared. Like, what if I couldn’t make it without you?”

  Michaela nodded. She took two deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. The more Eleanor talked, the more she thought she should just be honest with her about why she’d pulled away. Even if it seemed childish. Even if it didn’t quite make sense to her now.

  But just as she was about to open her mouth, Eleanor spoke.

  “Owen’s not okay.”

  Michaela’s lips parted. “What?”

  “What I said earlier, about him doing good and maybe going back to school soon . . . That’s what Daddy says when people ask. But I think he’s in denial. The cancer came back, and the doctor is trying to be optimistic, but I can tell he doesn’t think it looks so good. Owen . . . he doesn’t look so good.”

  “Oh, Eleanor.” Michaela touched her friend’s arm. She hated to think about it, but Owen had been so sick for so long, she’d been surprised to hear that he was getting better. “I’m so sorry. He’s . . . Owen is strong. If he’s held on this long—”

  “But what if this is the time he doesn’t?” Eleanor let out a long breath. “My sorority sisters don’t even know about him.”

  Michaela’s eyebrows shot up. “At all?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “They know I have a little brother, but they don’t know he’s sick. It was weird, listening to them talk about the marathon and raising money. Most of them haven’t even seen a sick kid in person, and I’ve probably spent more holidays at the children’s hospital than in my own home.”

  “You don’t think they’d understand?”

  “I just don’t think it’s their business.” Eleanor shrugged. “Not yet. I know, I know—how can I call them my sisters when I haven’t told them everything about my life? I can’t explain it, it’s just . . . different.”

  Michaela’s heart squeezed. Eleanor had always had trouble talking about Owen, but she’d never realized just how much her friend had trusted her with the pain her brother and family were going through. Until now.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Eleanor smiled at her, shaking her head. “This is perfect. Just you being here. Listening.”

  “Good.” Michaela smiled back at her. “I’m glad.”

  “So, are you going to tell me why Europe was complicated? I just can’t believe you’d come home so early. Were you lonely? Scared?”

  Michaela sighed. “It was great, mostly. Traveling alone, I felt so different. So . . . like a grown-up version of me, I guess.”

  “You look a little more grown-up,” Eleanor teased, tilting her head to peer at Michaela.

  “But then, it—god, this is so stupid.”

  “What?” Eleanor frowned. “Did something happen?”

  “No, no. I mean, not really. I mean.” Michaela took a deep breath. “You know how sometimes you’re minding your own business and then someone says or does something racist that just throws off your, like, whole day or week?”

  Eleanor rolled her eyes in commiseration. “You know I do.”

  “I was in Paris, really excited to try this new restaurant, and I walked in and . . . they wouldn’t seat me.”

  Eleanor’s eyes popped. “Wait, what?”

  Michaela looked down at the floor. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but she still felt embarrassed anytime she thought of what had happened.

  “Yeah. I thought it was a mistake at first. Like the hostess didn’t see me? But then she was talking to everyone else but me—seating people, answering questions. None of them were Black. She never once looked me in the eye. And it’s like I was invisible and I just—I know worse things have happened to me over here. To both of us. But the fact that I couldn’t sit down and get a meal because people didn’t want to look at me or didn’t think I was good enough or whatever was . . . It was mortifying.”

  Eleanor took Michaela’s hands in hers, her expression radiating fury. “What the fuck? They seriously refused to seat you?”

  Michaela nodded.

  “Micky, you have no reason to be embarrassed. This is on them. And fuck them! You should call them out online. Everywhere you can, post the name of the restaurant and all the details. They can’t get away with this!”

  “No,” Michaela said, shaking her head.

  She’d thought about doing that. As she’d finally turned away from the hostess stand after many minutes of being ignored and watching people who’d come in after her immediately being seated and served, her own anger had burned white-hot through her veins.

  “Why not? They deserve to be called out.”

  “I know, but I honestly don’t even remember the name of it now. And I didn’t do it then because I just felt so alone. Like no one would believe me. Or care. And then.” Michaela swallowed. “I kind of broke. I went back to my room and I didn’t leave for days and all I could think about was how maybe I deserved that. So I left. Came home.”

  “What?” Eleanor stared at her, mouth open. “You blamed yourself for some asshole’s racism?”

  “I blamed myself for taking a gap year, and for going to Europe and . . . for being so proud of myself for traveling. For getting life education instead of just starting school and being a college student like everyone else. And then breaking down the minute I ran into a real-life problem.”

  “Okay, but I still don’t get it,” Eleanor said, still grasping Michaela’s hands. “I mean, I do, but . . . Why are you mad at yourself for wanting something different? For getting out to see the world?”

  Michaela shrugged. “Because I feel guilty that my parents could afford to give me that? Or that I can even question not going to college when it wasn’t even an option for so many Black people not that long ago?”

  “Honestly, Micky, sometimes I feel weird that Owen’s medical care isn’t a bigger deal for us.” Eleanor paused. “That sounds horrible, I know. But so many people go bankrupt or, like, die because they can’t afford health care. And we’ve had some help, but we’re lucky my parents have good jobs and we’re not struggling and . . . I get it.”

  “Is it dumb that we feel this way?” Michaela said. “Shouldn’t we just be grateful for what we have?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s that simple. Not without history . . . and context.”

  “Yeah.” Michaela sighed, resting her head on Eleanor’s shoulder. They sat like that through a mix of soul-shaking songs, but even then, Michaela forgot where she was or what time it was. For a moment, it was just her and Eleanor, and everything was okay. Because even if it wasn’t okay in the broader sense, even if she knew she’d probably have to deal with what she’d faced in Paris for the rest of her life in some form, she felt better having confided in Eleanor. She felt better knowing that even if how she’d handled things with her friend wasn’t okay, that Eleanor understood her. And she was still right by her side, telling her that what had happened to her wasn’t okay. That she didn�
�t deserve it.

  “Hey, teammate!”

  Michaela groaned. She didn’t have to look up to know it was Harper.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she said, tossing back her cup of water. “It’s almost time to start up again. We’re practically in the home stretch!”

  Michaela didn’t consider almost six more hours the home stretch, but in her short experience with Harper, being agreeable seemed the best way to get rid of her. “I’ll meet you out there in a minute,” Michaela said.

  “Ten minutes,” Harper said, pointing toward the clock as she walked away.

  Eleanor yawned as Michaela lifted her head from her shoulder. She stretched her arms to the ceiling. “Can I just say something?” Eleanor said, staring at Michaela.

  “Um, yeah. Sure.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad we’re still the same, you know? You can be a real asshole when you want to be, but I missed the shit out of you, Micky.”

  Eleanor stood and brushed off her shorts. She held her hand out to help Michaela up.

  Michaela took her friend’s hand and stood. Looked into her eyes and felt that trusting, familiar warmth they’d shared for years now. The warmth that had always been there, even when she wasn’t willing to lean into it.

  “I missed you, too. And I’m sorry for being an asshole. Really.”

  “I know.” Eleanor began steering them in the direction of the bathroom. “Come on. Only six more hours.”

  Michaela followed, holding tightly to Eleanor’s hand.

  Under Our Masks

  by Julian Winters

  Reason number sixteen why being a vigilante sucks—you’re always late to everything.

  Three more flights. Twenty-four more stairs.

  I’m breathless. It’s nearly pitch-black in here. He would choose an abandoned building with thirteen floors, a broken elevator, and barely functional halogen lights flickering every three seconds, casting shadows against the walls of the stairwell like something out of a horror film.