by Nicola Yoon
The lead judge begins her welcome announcement, but to be honest, I don’t really hear what she’s saying. X’s eyes roam over my forehead and across my cheeks, settle on my lips and repeat the circuit. Forehead, cheeks, lips. He lingers on the lips. I can’t help but lick them. He makes a sound I want to hear him make again.
The judge finishes her announcement.
The lights dim.
And finally, it’s time.
We’re just as good as we were yesterday. Maybe even a little better, now that we have more room on the floor to dance, and two other dances under our belts. We’re breathing hard by the time we finish the Hustle. I know what’s next, but fortunately there’s not enough time for panic.
The judge makes the announcement. “And now, couples, for your final dance, Argentine tango.”
Fifi says Argentine tango is a dance of passion and release. I know exactly what she means.
The music begins.
We start to dance. Except it doesn’t feel like we’re dancing. It feels like we’re flying across the floor.
We do ochos and reverse ochos. Barrida. Media luna.
His fingers spread across my back between my shoulder blades. I dip down, then arch back up into him. I don’t have to think about what steps come next.
We’ve been dancing this dance for a while now.
We’re moving fast, and all I can think is don’t let me go, don’t let me go, don’t let me go.
Finally, the song winds down. We stay with it, giving ourselves to each other, until the music ends.
For a second, there’s no sound. Our eyes meet and a kind of certainty settles inside me. This thing between us could last. The way I feel about him—the way I think he feels about me—has only gotten bigger and wider and deeper every day, the way a stream becomes a river becomes a sea.
“I love you,” I say.
He smiles, and I’ve never seen a smile this enormous on anyone for any reason.
“I love you too,” he says.
We lean into each other and kiss. I don’t hold anything back.
And I see.
CHAPTER 48
X and Me
OVERHEAD LIGHTS FLICKER on, lighting up a mirrored room. In the room’s center, there’s a boy. He’s frowning and riding slow circles on a bike much too small for him. His frown vanishes when he notices the girl in the doorway staring at him.
The girl at the doorway has a wide-open face she often wishes weren’t quite so wide-open. It never hides much of what she’s feeling: confusion, then curiosity, then interest, then an attempt to hide her interest.
“Umm,” says the girl. She says it to disguise the sudden speed of her surprised heart.
“I’m guessing this is yours,” says the boy, startled by the way it feels like he knew her once and now will again.
* * *
—
X and me on a double-decker bus touring the city.
When he looks out, he sees his future dancing out just before him, almost close enough to touch.
When she looks out, she sees the city she already knows, and the places she’s already been and everything she’s already lost.
* * *
—
X and me at Surf City Waffle, unexpected candlelight flickering all around us. We’re trading a pen back and forth, writing and rewriting words to his song. It feels like learning to dance, the way we stop and start again until the words match the feeling we’re trying to capture. It feels like discovery, the way I’m learning not just about him, but about myself too.
* * *
—
X and me kissing for the first time on the beach with the ocean so loud and all around us, it feels like it’s inside us too.
* * *
—
X and me right now, so in love and kissing in a brightly tinseled ballroom.
* * *
—
X and me in a car driving east down a long empty highway lit only by our headlights and the moon. Tomorrow we’ll be in Bryce Canyon, but for now we’re just on our way. The radio is on and the windows are open and the night air is warm and close. Sometimes the world is full of such abounding joy, it’s hard to know what to do with it all.
* * *
—
X and me in a mostly dark hotel room. Moonlight sneaks in through the curtains that don’t quite close.
There’s only one bed. He kisses me and my hand slips under his shirt. His lips are on my neck.
“Are you sure?” he asks me before we go on.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say. “Yes.”
Then we are nothing but hands and lips and wanting and having.
The world changes after that, the way colors surprise you after a rain.
Has the grass ever before been this green? Or that tree branch so black?
* * *
—
X and me in my small, dim dorm room. I’m holding my own guitar—the one he bought for me—in my hands.
“Show me what you’ve been practicing,” he says.
I play the song I’ve been working on, “Miss the Future.”
He kisses me after I’m done. “That was beautiful, and I’m not just saying that because I’m in love with you.”
“I dunno,” I say. “You do love me an awful lot.”
“Come sing it onstage at our next show,” he says.
At first I hesitate, but then I say yes. I wonder if being with him will always feel like discovery.
* * *
—
Me, alone, in a bedroom. It’s nighttime and the lights are off.
My face and my chest and my ribs hurt. They hurt the way muscles do when you use them far too much for far too long.
I’ve been crying. I’m crying still.
I try to take a deep breath to calm myself, but it’s painful. I try for a shallow one, but any amount of air is too much. A small breeze sighs across my face. I turn my head toward it. Streetlight through the open window paints a shadow on the floor. The edges are clear and they are sharp.
I look down at my hands and the thing I’m clutching between them.
It’s a funeral program. There’s a photograph of X’s face. The caption reads In loving memory: Xavier Darius Woods.
The date on it is ten months from now.
CHAPTER 49
Gone, Part 1
APPLAUSE ROARS AROUND us. Because of our kiss, there are hoots and hollers too.
I rip myself away from X.
He reaches for me. “Evie, what’s wrong?”
I back away and close my eyes against the confused hurt on his face when he realizes I’m running away from him.
Everything hurts. The air around me hurts.
I run and run until I’m gone from here. I run until I’m gone.
CHAPTER 50
Love and Its Opposite
I DON’T FEEL the wind through the open window of the cab. Or the soreness of my feet from my heels as I climb the stairs to my room. Or the throbbing of my scalp where my hair is pinned too tight. Or the scalding of the too-hot water against my skin. Or the slippery coolness of my sheets as I slide into bed. Or the warm tears on my face as I cry myself to sleep.
I don’t feel anything at all.
The opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s death.
CHAPTER 51
Gone, Part 2
X: Hey, where are you?
X: They’re about to announce the winner
X: Where are you?
X: Holy shit we won
< 4:05 PM>
X: Hey, been calling and calling
X: Why’d you take off like that?
X: You ok?
< 6:08 PM>
X: Give me a call
/>
X: Please
X: Let me know you’re ok
Me: I’m here
Me: I’m fine
X: Just tried calling you
Me: I know
Me: I’m sorry. I can’t explain
X: What’s going on? Did I do something? Going too fast again?
X: I can slow down
Me: It’s not that
Me: I just don’t think this is going to work out
X: What’s not going to work out?
Me: Us
X: I don’t understand
X: You changed your mind about being together? About NY?
Me: Don’t change your life for me
X: I want to change my life for you
X: I know the thing with your parents messed up how you feel about love
X: But what we have between us is going to work out
Me: No it won’t
Me: I’m sorry
X: I don’t understand. Are we breaking up right now?
Me: I’m sorry
CHAPTER 52
Forgiveness
THE NEXT MORNING, Mom comes to my room and asks me for twenty minutes straight if I’m okay. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her that I am.
Of course, she’s right not to believe me. But I have no truth to tell her.
She says she tried to talk to me last night, but I was already asleep. She has a lot of questions: Why did I run away from the dance floor after X and I kissed? Did X hurt me?
I tell her he hasn’t hurt me.
I tell her it was a goodbye kiss, but she says it didn’t look like that to her. She says that to her, that kiss looked like hello.
I roll away from her and face the wall, wishing I were a stranger to her, to everyone. Right now, I don’t want to be known. I don’t want anyone to know anything about me at all.
I ask her to leave. Not in a mean way. But in a way that lets her know I need to be alone. She says okay, but not before making sure I know that she loves me.
Sometime later—maybe an hour, or maybe two, or maybe ten—I check my phone. Everyone has texted. Everyone has called.
Except X. Not that I expect him to. Not after I ran away from him. Not after I broke up with him over text. He doesn’t call, and I don’t want him to. It’s better for both of us this way.
Over our group chat I tell Martin, Sophie and Cassidy that I’m fine and I’ll see them at school.
When Martin texts separately, I tell him about my vision. I tell him X will die in ten months. I tell him I’m not ready to talk about it and I never will be.
I thank Maggie for her congratulations. I tell Dad I’m fine, totally fine.
Of all the texts, Fifi’s is the one that almost gets me to feel something: today I’m so proud of you. finally you dance with your heart.
* * *
——
Mom lets me stay home from school for two days. By Tuesday night, she tells me I need to go back and face whatever it is I’m avoiding. She promises me it’ll be better than staying home.
She turns out to be right. Going back to school keeps me busy. I tell Sophie and Cassidy that X and I had a fight and that we aren’t together anymore. They want to know the details, but they understand that I’m not ready to talk about it yet.
Martin lets me call him and cry whenever I need to.
The rest of the week passes. The hardest time is just before I fall asleep, when the vision tries to slither its way into me. It tries, but I slam my mind shut. It’s easier than I expected. According to Mom, the human body can do all sorts of amazing things, including pass out, to protect itself from pain.
The first Saturday after the competition, Mom comes to see me in my room before leaving for another date with Dr. Bob.
“Your father is on his way,” she says.
I groan. “Why’s he coming over here?”
She frowns and sits down on my bed. “I thought things were getting better between you two,” she says.
I don’t say anything. Things were getting better, but that was before. That was when I was starting to trust the world again. When I wanted to trust the world again.
“Besides,” she says. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
She narrows her eyes at me and set her arms akimbo. “Have you showered today?”
I shake my head.
“Eaten?”
Another shake.
“Left the house?”
Her point is made.
She sighs. “I asked him to come over. He was always better at cheering you up when you were little.”
It’s true. Mom was always good for hugs and kisses after I hurt myself. But Dad was the one who made me laugh. And if I was laughing, then I wasn’t thinking about the pain.
“I don’t want to see him,” I say.
“Too bad. He’ll be here any minute now.”
After she leaves, I go out to the patio. The sun has already set, and the air is slipping from warm to cool.
I don’t want to remember X and me dancing to Indian music in this very spot, but that’s not how memory works. Was that laughing, dancing girl really me? I don’t recognize her. Just like I don’t recognize the girl who used to read all the romance books and knew all the subgenres and believed in all the acronyms: One True Pairing (OTP) and HEA (Happily Ever After) and HFN (Happy for Now). Just like I don’t recognize the girl who thought her dad could do no wrong. How many versions of me will there be in this one lifetime?
Dad rings the bell ten minutes later.
“I’m fine,” I say to him, instead of hello.
He’s wearing another pair of glasses I don’t recognize. His goatee is now a full beard.
“I don’t doubt you’re fine,” he says. “But let me check on you anyway.” He shakes a take-out bag of Mariscos Chente at me.
“Thanks,” I say, and lead him back out to the patio.
“This is nice,” he says, taking a few steps out into the courtyard.
It takes me a moment to realize that he’s never been out here before. He’s never seen so much of this place where I live. How can our lives be so separate now?
I sit down in the armchair, tilt my head back and close my eyes. I can feel him studying me, deciding where to begin.
“Mom thought you could use some guffaw therapy,” he says.
“I’m fine,” I say without opening my eyes.
The chair across from me scrapes against the concrete as he sits down. “Sweet pea, you know you can tell me anything.”
I open my eyes. “Why do you still call me sweet pea? You know I don’t like it.” I’m not angry. I’m just tired.
He rests his elbows on his knees and looks down at the ground. “You used to love it when you were little. There was a drawing you made of a pea that fell into a bowl of sugar.” He shakes his head, but I think he’s shaking it at himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll remember not to call you that anymore.”
He hands me a burrito. I’m not hungry, but I still eat half of it.
When he’s done with his food, he leans back and wipes his hands. “So—” he begins.
But I stop him and ask the thing I’ve wanted to ask him for a year. “Why did you cheat on Mom?” I ask it so quietly I almost don’t hear myself.
Watching his face is like watching clouds race across the sky. Guilt chasing sadness chasing shame.
For a long time he doesn’t say anything, but then he does. “Your mother was the first woman I ever loved. We had you girls and we were happy for a long time.” He covers his eyes with his hands. “But the last few years, things changed.”
I almost wish I’d seen their vision. I’d love to know what they were like in the beginning. It’d be
nice to have those memories.
He goes on. “Your mom and I weren’t happy anymore.”
“No,” I say, “Mom was happy.”
He closes his eyes but doesn’t tell me I’m wrong. “Yes, your mother was happy. But I wasn’t.”
“But then why didn’t you just tell her?” I ask, frustrated. “You could’ve gone to counseling or on more dates or something. Danica and I could’ve helped you.”
“I made a lot of mistakes, Evie. You’re right. I should’ve told her. I should’ve tried harder.” He looks up at me for this next part. “And when Shirley came into my life, I should’ve walked away. But I didn’t. And then it was too late. I couldn’t come back from what I was feeling.”
I’ve imagined having this conversation with him so many times, but I never expected him to admit that he made a mistake.
I’m more angry than frustrated now. He’s my dad. He’s not supposed to make these kinds of mistakes. “But you made vows to Mom. You promised her you’d love her forever.”
“Evie, sweetheart, sometimes things change.”
I’m so angry now, I’m incandescent with it.
“You promised her forever. You promised us, but you chose Shirley instead. You love her more.” I know I’m not being fair and that I’m not making sense. All I want to do is smash things. I want to make it so no one and nothing can hurt me ever again. I want to get rid of every nice, kind, sweet, soft feeling inside myself until there’s nothing at all. No joy, but no pain either.
“No, you’re not allowed to think that. I love you and Danica more than I love anything else in the world,” he says. “I’m sorry for what I did, but the thing I’m most sorry about is losing you.”
Tears slip from my eyes. I don’t try to wipe them away. There’s so much more to come.