She touches the side of his face and he flinches, pulling back and for a second relief floods my body. But then, she leans in and her lips are on his, her blond hair waterfalling around them. I gasp and Drew snaps back from Ray, rubbing his mouth on his jacket sleeve. He turns to the screen and notices me watching.
“Stevie,” he says, coming for me. I hear Dad’s voice warning me about Drew, and a wave of nausea hits me knowing he was right. Drew messes with the lock on the screen door, fumbling with a flimsy piece of plastic to get to me, but it’s stuck. I push my way out of the party, the screen door screeching as it’s thrust open.
“Stevie … It’s not what it…” Drew sounds panicked but I don’t hear the rest because I’m out the front door and on the lawn. Bile rises up to my throat. I stop for a moment at the end of the driveway and crouch down, certain I’m about to get sick. The image of them flashes at me. Did he kiss her back? I couldn’t see with her hair everywhere.
I slowly stand and walk down the block, hugging my arms against my body. Wind picks up and bites at my face, stinging my eyes. I squeeze my lids against the cold air, but I’m already crying. Trees sway, their branches bending low, away from the cloud-filled sky. A sob escapes my mouth as I walk through the empty street.
Drew’s Jeep slows behind me, and I want to scream until I can’t scream anymore. I walk faster.
“Stevie, wait,” he shouts at me, but I pick up my pace. He stops in the middle of the street and slams the door, metal echoing through the stillness.
“Stevie, come on.” His voice is strained. His boots thud against the pavement and I know he’s jogging, maybe even running.
“Leave me alone,” I choke out.
He touches my elbow and I spin around. He’s pale, like he’s running a fever, and his eyes are wild, darting across every inch of me. I want to slap him right across his perfect face.
“It’s not what you think it is.”
I stare at him and wipe tears off my cheek. Our shadows reflect in a puddle on the street, blurry and faceless.
“I was caught so off guard, Stevie. I was about to pull away when I heard you at the door,” he says, and I want so badly to believe him. “I’m so sorry. You have to believe me. I want nothing to do with her.”
“Well, I want nothing to do with you right now,” I scream at him in the puddle. I can’t look into his eyes. Drew’s hand trembles as he reaches for me. I back away as tiny drops of rain begin to fall from the sky.
“Let me drive you home.”
“No, I’ll walk.” The drizzle explodes into a downpour, soaking us both. Drew pushes wet strands of hair off his face as I stubbornly stand there, my entire outfit drenched through.
“You don’t have to talk to me. You don’t have to look at me,” he pleads. “But I can’t leave you out here alone.”
Drew’s car is the last place I want to be. But a bolt of lightning flashes overhead, and my jeans are sticking to my thighs. My hair is sopping wet, water sliding down my arms and legs, my insides beginning to shake.
“Fine,” I practically spit at him and get in the Jeep.
CHAPTER 12
Stevie
I stare into space, and my room goes fuzzy, flashes of last night’s party playing in my mind like an evil highlight reel. Morning light cuts through the blinds burning my eyes. The closet door blends into the dresser, which blends into the wood floor. One giant blob of a mess. I get up fast and slam my big toe into my antique yellow desk. It rattles, and my old shoe box falls to the ground. Postcards, key chains, and all sorts of junk I’ve collected over the years scatter across my wood floor. I sink down, my hands curling around my throbbing toe.
“Stevie?” Mom yells, the buttery smell of pancake batter wafting up from the kitchen.
“I’m fine,” I yell back through gritted teeth. My toe has a pulse.
I fill my lungs with air and breathe out the pain. A friendship bracelet, the one with neon lanyard stitched in box pattern, sits on top of an Indianapolis postcard. I pick it up and run my fingers over the uneven stitches. Krystal made it for me right before my family packed up and moved, promising to stay in touch. And we did, for a little while at least. That’s how it always goes. A few texts exchanged until a month goes by, then two, then a full year, until all I have left are memories and friendship bracelets that mean nothing.
I text Sarah, hoping she responds because I need to talk to her about last night. She always has a way of fixing things.
Me
Something happened. I need to talk to you.
But it’s six a.m. Seattle time and my phone stays silent as I pull the black and gold ponytail holder out of my hair. My throat catches, and I bet Sarah doesn’t wear hers anymore. It’s only a matter of time before this hair tie lands in the shoebox.
I get in the shower, and the water is so hot my skin turns pink. I make it even hotter, hoping to feel something other than the burning in my stomach. My hair is soapy with my favorite vanilla and lavender shampoo. I scrub and scrub, the suds dripping down my shoulders. Maybe I can wash last night away. There’s so much steam that it’s hard to breathe, but I don’t care. I can barely breathe anyway.
My hair hangs wet, strands coiling down my neck. I don’t have the energy to flat-iron it. A depressing playlist comes through my computer speakers, a soundtrack to my mood. Soft pajamas, the ones with the drawstring pants, hang from my hips, but they don’t help. I make my way back to my bed, but I trip over my bag and silently curse myself for leaving it in the middle of the floor. Books spill out and I crouch down to put them back. My hand touches something soft and smushy like a pillow. The genie. Shane gave him to me at the homecoming game yesterday, when I told him I could sew the loose stitching by his arm. I pull it out and grab for my phone.
Me
Are you there?
Shane
Always. Just messing around in the studio.
Me
I ended up going to Tom’s
Shane
Boring? Worst party ever?
Me
I saw Drew kissing Ray
The words make me sick all over again, written proof of what I wish was a lie. The light of my phone burns into my eyes and I need more than typed words. I need Shane’s voice, his steady timbre that always calms me down. But he’s still typing.
Shane
…
Me
Shane?
My phone rings and I fumble it before picking up and putting it on speaker. I rest it on my nightstand, falling back against my pillow and staring at the string of white lights that hang from my ceiling.
“What happened?” Shane asks.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” I say, my body relaxing for the first time since last night.
“Stevie,” he says, and then waits, the silence stretching out between our phones.
“They were kissing,” is all I can manage to get out before crying again, then choking out the details word by word, completely unloading on Shane. But he doesn’t say anything.
“Shane?” I wipe my face on my sweatshirt sleeve and breathe out the last of my tears.
“He’s such an idiot,” he practically whispers and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to himself. But before I can respond Shane says, “I’ll be right there,” and hangs up.
Three songs later, the doorbell rings. I shut off my music as Mom answers the door, her voice going up an octave. Shane’s hurried footsteps climb the staircase and he doesn’t even knock. My door flings open and Shane stands there, his eyes moving from my face, which is probably all red and splotchy, to my hair, which likely resembles a bird’s nest by now.
“Curly.”
“Yep,” I say, reaching for a hair tie.
“Pretty.”
I put the hair tie back on my nightstand as Shane taps on the doorframe and walks over to my bed.
“Can I sit?”
I hug my knees to my chest making room for him next to me. When he sits down the bed moves a little,
and the box spring makes an embarrassing creaking sound. He puts down his bag and folds his hands in his lap. He’s not wearing his EMT hat today and his hair is messy, like he forgot he owns a comb.
“He really is an idiot.” Shane leans back against the wall, never taking his eyes off me. “But he’s not an asshole. He would never be with another girl while he’s with you. That much I know.”
“Well, that’s not what it looked like.” I’m picking at the stitching of my comforter when Shane puts his hand over mine. His hand is warm and comforting, and for a second, I feel like this might all be okay.
“Here.” Shane reaches into his bag and pulls out six roses that are so red they look like they’re painted. I detach a small card from the bouquet and place the flowers on my nightstand. “They were on your front porch.”
Stevie, I’m so sorry. You’re right. She kissed me. But I didn’t kiss her back. The only girl I want to kiss is you. The only girl I can think about is you. The only girl I could ever picture myself with is you.
I crumple up the paper and chuck it next to the flowers. Shane watches me carefully. “Did you read it?”
“No,” Shane says quietly as he bites his bottom lip. “What is it about him? I mean he’s my best friend. But why are you into him?”
The truth is I don’t have an answer. Not a real answer, anyway. Drew is everything at once, and sometimes I think it might be too much.
“I,” is all I can manage to say.
“So then why…”
“Am I with him?” I look at Shane and he leans forward a little. Part of me wants to reach out and ruffle his messy hair. “It’s almost like being with him … is less like a choice and more like a bigger force propelling us together.”
Shane flinches at my words. His eyes shift to the stuffed genie, resting beside me on the bed.
“Glad to see you’re taking care of him.”
I smile and pull Genie in for a hug.
“Do you think you can stay a little?”
Shane kicks off his sneakers and they land across the room, right next to my shelf of old DVDs. Shane’s eyes flicker and he gets up and grabs one of the movies, holding it in front of my face.
“This is what we should do.”
“The Wizard of Oz?” I haven’t watched Dorothy since I was seven. I look at him skeptically.
“Wait for it…” He hurries around my room, opening my Mac.
“Um, Shane?”
“I bet you have it.” Shane’s finger glides over the mouse, scrolling through my music collection. “Got it!” He swivels my laptop and I see the familiar rainbow prism.
“Pink Floyd?”
“How do you not know about the Dark Side of the Moon/Wizard of Oz mashup? My parents were so into this in the nineties.”
Shane paces my room, holding The Wizard of Oz.
“Legend has it that if you play Dark Side while watching The Wizard of Oz on mute, the music and lyrics are exactly in sync with the movie. It’s supposed to be trippy. We’re doing this.”
He kneels in front of the old DVD player Dad gave me when he no longer needed it for work. Shane queues up the movie, like a wild maestro trying to get it just right.
“You’re supposed to press play after the third roar of the MGM lion,” he says to himself on the first roar. “Wait for it … and go!” He presses play on my computer and quickly jumps up to turn off the light. The opening credits flash across my TV as the first few notes of “Speak to Me” fill the room. Shane settles in next to me on the bed, and we both stare at the screen waiting for the magic to happen.
“You know, to really do this right we should’ve gotten high.”
My head snaps in his direction. “You smoke?”
“Not really. Sometimes with my sister. But for occasions such as this, I’ve been known to dabble,” he whispers. Shane always manages to surprise me. “Okay now, shhh. No talking.”
Shane’s right. The album is eerily in sync with the movie. He grabs my elbow every time the music lines up with an image. “On the Run” starts exactly as Dorothy falls off the fence. “Brain Damage” plays as the Scarecrow sings “If I Only Had a Brain.” When the heartbeat at the end of the album coincides with Dorothy listening to the Tin Man’s chest, I’m officially freaked out.
Shane’s closer to me now, my legs draped over his. We got into this position as my feet started to fall asleep about halfway through, but neither of us moved. And neither of us moves now, not even to turn on the lights. Yellows, greens, and blues from the movie credits light up Shane’s face.
“Well that was super cool,” he says, and it feels like we shared a big secret. Like we’re in on something that the rest of the world knows nothing about.
“Do you think Waters and Gilmour planned to do it?” I ask.
“You think they wrote Dark Side of The Moon, one of the most thematic, brilliant, and cohesive albums of all time, and synced it up with The Wizard of Oz intentionally?”
“Maybe?” I say, shrugging.
“No way. Not even remotely possible. It’s just random.”
“Yeah but it’s perfectly in sync, how is that all random?”
“The best things in life are,” Shane says. “That’s the good stuff.”
“I know,” I say. I lift my legs off his and scoot back toward the headboard, bringing my knees to my chest. “Like when you get a text just as you’re thinking about that person.”
“Like when the perfect song comes on the radio right when you need to hear it.”
“Like falling in love,” I say, rolling my eyes and sighing dramatically. “Not like I would know.”
Shane sits straight up and laughs.
“I’m hopeless in that department,” Shane says. He picks up the stuffed genie and tosses him around a little. He stops and looks him square in the face. “Maybe if this guy were real and could grant me three wishes, I would get a clue.”
“Oh yeah? What would you wish for?”
“First wish … to look a little more like a ripped superhero and a little less like Shane Murphy.”
“Superheroes are overrated. Plus they’re not real,” I say. Shane stuffs down a smile.
“Second wish … Ferrari.”
“These are the most shallow wishes ever.”
Shane holds up his index finger, smirking.
“Third wish … Unlimited wishes, obviously. So I can ask for world peace and all that.”
“Shane, you don’t need the wishes,” I say.
Shane opens his mouth to say something, but quickly closes it and smiles instead. I feel a yawn coming on and swallow it back, but Shane notices. He stands up, stretching his arms high above his head.
“Are you going to be okay?” He shoves his feet into his sneakers, not bothering to undo the laces.
“I think so,” I say.
“You know how you said Drew doesn’t feel like a choice?”
I nod as Shane takes a few steps to the door and opens it, letting in light from the hallway. His hair is really such a mess.
He taps his fingers on the door frame like he did when he got here. Like a punctuation at the end of a sentence.
“You always have a choice, Stevie.”
CHAPTER 13
Drew
NOVEMBER
The basketball banks off the rim and into my hands. I take another shot, this time sinking the ball through the net. I’ve been out here for at least an hour and it’s getting dark. But I can’t stop playing, even as my fingertips go numb. I flip the hood of my sweatshirt up to block out the cold. Should’ve worn a jacket. Then again, I didn’t think I’d be out here for this long.
I take another shot and dribble to stay warm, glancing at Shane’s front door. Not that I’m keeping track, but they’ve been practicing for All-State multiple times a week. And not that I’m counting, but Stevie’s been hanging out at Shane’s house for hours. Maybe I’m wasting my time. It’s been a few weeks since Homecoming and Stevie still won’t talk to me. Maybe she never
will. If I sink this next shot, I’m heading inside. But as the ball swishes through the net, the door swings open.
“Night, Stevie. Talk to you later,” Shane says as he hugs her. I blow hot air into my hands and rub them together. Fallen leaves rustle under light footsteps as I take another shot at the net. I miss and the ball rolls to the bottom of the driveway.
“Nice shot,” Stevie says with an edge to her voice as the ball bumps into her shin. She puts down her sax case and picks up the ball, chucking it at me. I quickly shift out of the way, narrowly missing a basketball to the gut. She picks up her sax case and starts down the sidewalk, a purple winter hat covering her ears and her hair falling over a black puffy coat.
“I deserved that,” I say, shoving my hands into the pocket of my hoodie and trailing after her. She doesn’t slow down.
“Can I talk to you?” I fall in step with her, but she keeps going, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “Stevie, please?” My voice cracks on her name, all of me breaking as she walks farther away from me.
Suddenly, Stevie stops and huffs out a sigh, her breath making a tiny cloud in the air. Her sax case dangles from her hand, her knuckles turning red. She places it on the sidewalk and fishes out two purple gloves from her coat pocket, sliding them on. Only then does she finally look at me.
“What?” she says, in a pissed-off way that makes me lose my train of thought and forget the speech I had planned.
“Um. How was your Thanksgiving?”
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