I’m trying.
• • •
“Sofia,” Margot said. “You are my girl crush. Like, I want to be you. Like, I seriously think you could make it on Broadway, and not just the Broadway of New York, but, like, the Broadway of life.”
“Rashan,” Sofia said. “There were times when no one understood what I was going through, and you would just come up and give me a hug . . . and you have no idea how much that meant to me. . . . You saved my life with those hugs.”
“Steph,” Rashan said. “Thank you for restoring my sense of play this year. I was missing it, and you brought it back. You made me feel like a kid again. You made me feel like I could fly again.”
“Margot . . . ,” Steph said. “You raised me, okay? My mom and dad, they put food on the table, they put clothes on my back . . . but you raised me, you know? You RAISED me. You’ll never know how much you mean to the individuals in this room. We are your children. You RAISED US.”
These were but a few of the choice snippets from last Friday’s theater class end-of-year praise circle. It’s the same thing every year. Person A compliments Person B for some inane reason, Person B reaches for the big box of tissues, and everyone else snaps their fingers in robotic agreement, heads nodding, smiles forced. Typically the tradition is referred to as the “cry circle,” because that’s all it really is. Speaking of Kleenex boxes, I call it the “circle jerk,” because that’s all it really is.
But you know what? Not this year.
This year had to be different. This time I had to be sincere. Even when my fellow actors refused to give me a single morsel of praise beyond “cool hair; I like your little Afro,” and “you’re good at portraying a jerk,” I had to keep my blood from boiling. I had to slap a grin on my face.
Phase one of my rebrand: initiated.
“Neil,” I said when it was my turn to speak. “It’s hard for me to have people, especially guys, who I can feel close to, feel myself around. The assholes growing up, they rejected me. My parents, they’re disappointed in me. But you, dude? You’re the one. The last two years, you’ve let me be fully me. And I love you for that. I just never found the right way to say it.
“I’ve always treated you like an orphan, like street scum. But you’re so much better than that. You’re better than me, Neil, that’s for damn sure. You’re the best guy I know, the best buddy a fool like me could ever ask for.
“I’m sorry about the thing that drove us apart. I regret cheating the system. I regret taking advantage of you. I respect that you put me in my place. I accept whatever happens to me moving forward. I am so sorry. I just want to be better. . . .
“Please forgive me.”
No one spoke. No one moved. It was like being out in the dead of night, in the middle of nature. It was that quiet on the stage, in our circle. And that’s because I was doing the right thing. Nature was taking its course.
Right then, Neil responded:
He yawned.
And everyone else, they did something too.
They snapped their fingers.
Snap, snap.
Snap, snap, snap, snap, snap.
Snap.
They snapped for Neil’s yawn.
Like they were all beatniks with berets and bongos. Like they all knew the meaning of life and wouldn’t let me in on the secret.
Like I wasn’t in the room at all.
Like I didn’t freaking exist.
Okay.
So be it.
Phase one: failure.
On to phase two.
• • •
I rolled in late to prom.
Normally I’m mad early to school dances. I show up first thing and I nab the latest goss, and I fashion police the shit out of uggos, and I get all Fosse-sexual on the dance floor. But not last night. Last night I was later than a God-fearing girl with an abstinence-only education and a suspicious craving for choco tacos. I said bye to my mom around ten, nicked a tux from my dad’s cobwebby closet, and got to the Hyatt ballroom during the last few songs, well after the drunkards and sex fiends had already left for their motels.
All I wanted was to talk. I just needed to find that one girl.
Well, actually two girls, but I couldn’t locate Nikki Foxworth no matter where I looked. Which makes sense. After the year she’s been through—after what I’ve put her through—I wouldn’t be surprised if she straight up ditched prom entirely. Poor thing.
Lucky for me, I was in fact able to track down the other chica whose vida I ruined this año. There she was, on the periphery of the dance floor, grooving and bopping and looking not that heinous, actually. Her hair was up in sort of a Greek goddess way, and from the looks of her magenta scoop neck, she must have finally discovered she has a bust. After all this time, Allegra seemed like she was at peace with herself, at last having a fun, carefree night with her date, her sneakily cute date with the clean shave, the handsome tan suit, and the duct-tape bow tie, and, what the—duct-tape bow tie—was that—was that really—Christ in a cat tree—was that Wiley?
“Damn, y’all,” I said, walking toward them, my arms outstretched. “And the award for Most Aesthetically Improved Couple goes to . . .”
Allegra stopped her dancing cold. “What,” she said, “are you doing here?”
I snapped my fingers. I grinned. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”
Her face didn’t move. I thought she hadn’t heard me, what with the loud music and all.
“Something I should have done a long—”
“I don’t care,” she shouted over the hip-hop. “Just go away.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “This is a new me—”
“I don’t care.”
“Come on,” I said. “Don’t Boy-Who-Cried-Wolf my ass. Give me a minute. Let me open my heart here.”
Wiley put a hand on Allegra’s shoulder. She jerked away.
“We’re set to graduate in a few weeks,” she said, enunciating clearly, letting me hear every word. “After which point I never have to lay eyes on you again. But I’d like to start early, if you don’t mind. So leave, Cole. Now.”
I took a step forward, into her bubble. Wiley stood and watched.
“That’s exactly why I’m here, girl! Graduation. And beyond. It’s fine if you want to stop speaking to me. I totally get it, and most of humanity agrees with you. But if that’s truly the case, then I’ve got to leave you with this:
“You must go to Stanford. For all of us, you have to.”
Allegra pointed sideways, at Wiley. “Did he put you up to this?”
“I’ve never spoken to that boy in my life,” I said. “And I’m sure he’s a good guy, but I’m sorry, dude, he doesn’t have the same prospects as you. And neither do I, not after what I did. So he and I, we’ll still be here next year, stuck in town, going to city college. We’ll be grinding, working our way toward the kind of opportunity that’s in front of you right now.”
“Stop it,” she said.
“I know I’m not the most credible source. But Allie baby, let bygones be bygones for a hot sec. Let me be your fairy godmother here.”
“Shut up,” she said. “Just shut up.”
“I know. I know. Your mom and all. And that’s a pretty good reason to stay. But guess what? There is no good reason to stay. Not your family, and not your fears, and not because I was a dick to you, and especially not—”
I glanced at Wiley. His hands were in his pockets. His head was down.
“No offense, but especially not Wiley. And again, I’m sure he’s a sweet boy, reminds you of your past and all that. But I’m also sure he’ll agree with me on this, because you really shouldn’t give up—”
“SHUT UP!!!” Allegra exploded. “SHUT UP, YOU ASSHOLE! GO AWAY! GO AWAY! FUCK OFF!!!”
Okay.
Fair enough.
At least I tried.
“Of course,” I said, spinning around, straight out of her life, just as she explicitly requested.
There is no stage three.
• • •
My hand reached up. It knocked my phone off the bedside table. It fell past the lamp and loose change. Eventually it grabbed ahold of the little cardboard box, my fresh pack of Parliaments.
Over the past few days, I seriously considered quitting. It struck me as the perfect way to cap off my big rebrand. I was going to right all my previous wrongs. I was going to become a trusted friend to Neil and Allegra and countless others in the process. As a result, I wouldn’t deserve to die of lung cancer anymore. Yay!
Obviously, my grand plan didn’t exactly work out.
So obviously, the first thing I needed this morning was a smoke.
I hadn’t even opened my eyes. I had the cigarette in one hand, my lighter in the other, and smoke alarm be damned, I was going to enjoy this thing in bed, even if it was the last thing I’d ever enjoy. My thumb was on the lighter when I blinked an eye open.
“Your mother told me you’d started with those. Terrible habit.”
My father was wearing one of his old ratty cardigans. His hair was more grown out than usual, but his mustache was completely shaved. His hands were folded in front of him, perfectly still, like some kind of wax figure.
“No,” I said.
“I am so happy to see you,” my dad said. “Just in time for graduation, eh?”
I flopped on my bed, squeezed my eyes shut, and yanked the comforter over my head. I buried my head in my pillow and prayed he would leave. I wished him dead like I did the night he first attempted. I wished him gone the way so many others have wished me gone over the years, wished I would just go away, just leave them be. I kept on wishing my dark violent dream for an eternity, for a lifetime, until he finally stopped saying my name, finally stopped trying to shake me out of it, until the moment when he mercifully gave up and left me alone in my room, when I finally relaxed and passed out again.
* * *
18. NIKKI FOXWORTH
* * *
My mother tucked some hair behind my ear. She refreshed her Texas-size smile.
“You have to go to, baby,” she said. “Prom is the best night you’ll ever have, at least until you get married.”
She rustled the back of my head like a mama bird, like someone who actually loves her daughter. That woman is faker than her lips and tits put together.
“Mom, just so you know, I can’t give anyone my ‘special gift’ on prom night. I already gave the milk away for free. You know. You saw.”
Her smile wavered just the tiniest bit when I said that.
“Well, it’s important to me that you go, Nicole. It’s the kind of night that can change your life.”
“Oh, you mean because I might use my demonic powers to murder everyone there?”
“No, because, well, you know . . . I met your father at my prom.”
“I know,” I said. “But you had the good decency to wait until God was ready before you let Daddy defile your secret lady place, and as a reward, your life turned out perfect. Well, perfect till I showed up.”
Without warning, my mother slammed her hands on my bed. She did it so hard the mattress shook. Her eyes lit on fire. I bounced.
“Look,” she said. “I regret how your dad and I have treated you this year. I truly do. We wanted to help put the past behind you. We wanted to let you forget. Instead, it’s like we’ve turned our backs on you. We’ve shut you out. We screwed up, and it breaks my heart.
“But we’re still your parents, and until the day you leave this house, it’s our job to parent you. Which means I can’t let you skip tonight. You did nothing wrong—absolutely nothing, sweetheart—so you shouldn’t have anything to hide.
“Please go. You know how important it is to me. Please try, if only for a few minutes. If I’m wrong, you can leave whenever you want. I’m sorry, Nicole. I am so sorry, sweets.
“Please don’t turn your back on life.”
• • •
Back in Dallas, I used to wear the most extravagant dresses to dances: this Marilyn Monroe white halter with a skirt that only just covered my bottom; a gold sequiny gown that gave me the glow of an Oscar statuette; an almost completely see-through dress with embroidered flowers that covered my pasties and my thong and nothing else, because I wanted them all to notice, because I wanted them to stare, because I wasn’t afraid of anybody. . . .
Those days, obviously, are long over.
So sure, after Mama Bird’s legitimately kind words, I decided to put in a token appearance at prom. But that didn’t mean I had to look the part. I refused to play a role in some Barbie Dream Girl Fantasy. I decided I’d rather be a homeless soccer mom.
Ripped-up, holey jeans. My hoodie I’ve worn six weeks straight. The least makeup I’ve put on since the day I turned eleven.
I didn’t want to run away from life or anything, but I didn’t exactly feel like standing out either. I wanted to blend into the walls. I wanted to be furniture. My plan was to arrive at the ballroom, stay for ten minutes or so, realize just how wrong my mother was, then go back home and tell her I tried, I tried, I really did.
It didn’t take ten minutes. Within about zero point zero seconds, I realized just how insane my plan actually was.
As I walked down the red carpet and into the dance itself, Scrotes made finger-fist sex motions at me. Still, I kept my head high.
Brooklyn and Channing strutted past me, very obviously checking their phones and maybe even watching a certain video. But I couldn’t let them win, so I waved all excitedly at them, like I was simply tickled to see my best bitches.
DeSean came into the ballroom wearing a magnificent white tux and a cheerleader on each arm. I wanted to hide from him, more than anything, but I didn’t. I ran up to D and said how strapping he looked. I told the girls how lucky they were.
But that wasn’t all.
Brian Mack came up behind me near the bathroom lines. At first I thought he was going to try to apologize like he did a few weeks ago, and I don’t know how I would have felt about that. Yet in that moment, I realized he wasn’t talking . . . just staring. Just standing by himself and staring at my ass. So I hurried away.
The chaperones, they stared too. All of my teachers, especially the men—Mr. Pargo, Mr. Aspell, Señor Gomez—they eyed me the entire night. I’m sure they had their so-called reasons. Of course, they could always claim to be protecting me, looking out for trouble. But how many times have I heard that excuse? How many times has my savior turned out to be my biggest shamer of all? So I had to avoid them, too. I disappeared into the masses.
Which is when I saw the happy couple.
They were on the edge of the dance floor, rocking back and forth to the night’s first slow song. They were holding hands, with fingers interlaced. They were together forever, like they were always meant to be.
Wiley and Allegra.
I just couldn’t.
Everyone was watching. Watching me, judging me, remembering. They all knew. They had to know. They knew in their bones, not just what I’d done on the video, but what I did in the basement, too, what I did with Wiley. They knew what I’d let myself become, even after I’d promised myself not this time, not again. They knew. They would never forget.
I had to get out. I zipped my sweatshirt all the way, I threw my hood up, and I booked it straight for the door. I was leaving the ballroom, leaving the dance, leaving these goddamn people, leaving this goddamn world forever—
When I saw her.
• • •
“Sweetheart?” I said. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
She was sitting alone, in the corner. She was at a table by the door, the last one I passed as I was about to flee the building. Her head was in her hands. Her entire body was shaking.
“Sweetheart? Talk to me, okay?”
I couldn’t believe no one was with this poor girl. I threw one last look at the exit, but I walked toward her
instead. I put my hand on her back. I sat down next to her.
“You’ve got to look at me. Look at me. Talk to me, sweets.”
She was darn near having an epileptic fit, what with all the shivers and tears. She stank of so much alcohol.
“Mona, what’s wrong?”
After minutes of sniffling and shaking, Mona Omidi finally took her head out of her hands, which were all covered in bleeding makeup. When she saw me, she did kind of a double take and frowned.
“Oh God . . . ,” she said in a slurry, growly voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I . . .”
I wanted to run again, right then. I wanted to get in the car and rush home and find Mom’s antidepressants and just . . .
But I had to help her first.
“Come on, girl,” I said, pointing to my hideous outfit. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m having the night of my life at prom!”
Mona didn’t laugh at that. She cried even harder.
“Shhh, honey,” I said, running my hand up and down her back and neck. “Shh, shh . . . Why don’t you tell me everything?”
Mona looked up at me, her eyes wide and wet and so, so drunk. “Really?”
“Really,” I said. “Tell me everything.”
She took some tablecloth and blew her nose with it. “Well . . . I’m here with Cody, right? And we’re in love, like, we’ve been dating all year, but, like . . . there were a couple weeks, way back in the fall, when we took a break, and I was with Liam—and yeah, like, it was so quick with Liam, and it’s been good with Cody, but I’m . . . I’m such a bad . . .”
She burst into tears again.
“No, you’re not,” I said. “Keep going.”
“And . . . with prom coming up, Cody and I were really excited, and he booked a hotel, and, you know, we’ve been keeping it slow on the physical side, first because of football season, and then because I wasn’t ready, and Cody thought I was . . . The other night he asked me . . .”
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t lie to him. I told him I wasn’t a virgin, that I’d slept with Liam during our autumn break, that that had been my first time, and Cody, well, he took it okay . . . or he pretended to.”
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