“Lights out, lie back!” someone ordered. Across the roof screens were darkened, and devices were stowed away. Tessa made her way back to the sleeping bag by the red light of her plastic-wrapped phone. EJ fished a travel pillow from her duffel and lay back. Tessa gestured for Will to do the same.
“This is easier on your neck,” Tessa explained.
“And you won’t accidentally block anyone else’s view,” EJ added.
Will did as he was told; everyone around him was already lying on the hard cement roof.
This is how cults are formed, he thought as he lay back. Conversation on the roof dropped to a murmur. EJ and Tessa were silent. Everyone was looking up. Then, one by one, they each started to see the sky, really see it. Tessa gasped happily as EJ breathed an awed “Hot damn!”
Will was agog. The night sky wasn’t black at all. It was purple, and blue, and crowded—and the stars . . . they were so much more than distant diamonds; they were a glittering snowstorm frozen in midair. Points of light were scattered across every bit of the sky: some pulsed, some winked. It was all so much more than he’d expected.
“This is here, all the time?” Will surprised himself by asking.
“Incredible, right?” EJ confirmed. “This is how people saw the sky hundreds of years ago.”
“And this is still with a fair bit of light pollution,” Tessa added. “I got a chance to visit Bryce Canyon. It’s what’s called a Dark Sky Park, no light pollution—like nothing you’ve ever seen. I’m gonna try and get a job there next summer.”
“I’m jealous,” EJ replied. “Can’t imagine a better summer than one under the stars.” She sighed. “If everything goes right, I’ll have a new grown-up job and new grown-up life. Which is not at all terrifying.”
Will was silent, still taking it all in. He turned to EJ, who was searching the sky with binoculars. Happy and unguarded, she was radiant in the darkness.
EJ
EJ turned and looked at Will briefly, then looked back to the sky. She was thinking about supernovas: how they burned brighter than whole galaxies. How the remnants of long-dead stars hung in the universe like glowing ghosts. She thought of how cultures, long ago, had looked to the stars and seen gods. Mostly she thought of the hugeness, the vastness of it all. It gave a scale to her many plans and decisions. Even if she fucked everything up, the stars would be the stars. In that, she found a peace that generally eluded her.
“Isn’t it wonderful,” she said quietly, “how little we matter?” Almost simultaneously, the roof gave a collective gasp.
“Showtime,” EJ whispered happily, as the first streak of light crossed the sky.
HALLOWEEN AND AFTER
Jamie
I’m on the pooch, Jamie texted Lee drowsily; white wine made her more sleepy than tipsy. She went outside to avoid falling asleep on a stranger’s couch. Inside, the party was ending the way a cappella parties always ended: with the arrangers arguing over music like it was life or death.
*porch
“I’m not disrespecting Beyoncé; I just question her importance,” insisted one voice.
“She’s our generation’s Michael Jackson!” That was Lee.
“She can’t be! Michael Jackson is still Michael Jackson,” the other voice was shouting. “That’s what makes him Michael Jackson!”
It was the party of Halloween weekend, the BournTones Masquerade—an ostentatious way to say costumes required. Most people didn’t wear masks. Jamie and Lee had gone as Raggedy Ann and Andy—his idea, of course. He showed up at her single with a rented costume, a yarn wig, and a huge, persuasive smile.
“We both have freckles! This will be great!”
Even though her soul cried out against putting so much gingham on her body, she couldn’t say no to her first couple’s costume. Well, romantic couple’s costume. She and EJ had besties costumes every year. As for EJ, she’d had enough enthusiasm about their costume for everyone involved.
“A couple’s costume?” Jamie had smiled at EJ’s gasp. “That’s like a proposal!” she squealed. EJ was helping Jamie get her hair under the red yarn wig. Even though Jamie had naturally red hair that would have suited the costume, Lee was really fixated on the idea of them wearing the yarn wigs that came with the rental. He got weirdly stubborn about his artistic vision. EJ was confident that she could get Jamie’s long and wavy hair tucked away, something about a wig workshop during her dance academy days. She sectioned Jamie’s hair into two parts and started braiding the left side.
“So . . . are you and Lee on the road to being official? I mean, have you talked about it? Should I get Tessa to bring it up?”
Their younger friend was putting zigzag cornrows into Lee’s hair in the main common room. They both knew Tessa would and could get all the dirt, if deputized. Jamie shook her head.
“Eej, it’s been under a month. No guy wants a girl pressuring him this early.” Jamie gave a half shrug. “We’re seeing each other plenty. We’re having a good time. I don’t want to wreck things by getting too serious too fast.”
The world of heterosexual dating was very new and terrifying, but Jamie had one star to guide her: prior experience as the “gay best friend.” Over the years, kissing turned into making out, which turned into sex, but things always fell apart the same way: with the dishonest “He thought we were just having fun,” the infuriating “He said he felt too pressured,” the annoying “He doesn’t want to put a label on things.” She was determined not to make the same mistakes, even if that meant taking things slow.
EJ paused in the middle of the second braid; the look on her face said Jamie’s bestie was slightly skeptical of this approach. “You do want to be his girlfriend, though, right?” she asked, talking to Jamie’s reflection.
“Definitely. Lee is amazing! He’s really caring. He’s a feminist. He only got hot recently so he doesn’t have a huge ego.” Jamie stilled EJ’s hands and turned to face her. “I know how great he is; that’s why I’m being so careful.”
EJ started to speak, broke off briefly, then started again. “Look, my momma would say, ‘A closed mouth doesn’t get fed.’ That’s all.”
It clearly wasn’t “all” as EJ squeezed her hands and went back to braiding. She’d wrapped the hair ties about both ends of Jamie’s braids and caught her eyes in the mirror.
“This is going to sound crazy, but,” EJ began, “the moment you met Lee, I felt something in the air. It was this crackle, this feeling of electricity. Like the air right before a thunderstorm. I felt like I was witnessing the start of something great.”
Jamie felt her eyes widen slightly.
EJ went back to braiding. She tried to continue, a little nervously. “And yes, I know I am way too invested in your relationship, but I would hate to see you two fall apart before you begin because Lee thinks you’re dragging your feet. He strikes me as someone who needs a bit of reassurance.”
Jamie turned and looked at her friend, not sure what to feel. It was nice that her budding relationship had at least one cheerleader, but it upped the pressure. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I will think on that, okay?”
EJ nodded and reached for the extra-long hairpins.
And now Lee was here. He had taken off his wig and now ran a hand over his hair. “This is so weird. Cool, but weird. No one’s ever braided my hair before. I kept it short for most of my life, so I never had the chance.”
That was for the best, TBH. Lee looked like the least stylish member of a boy band, or Lil Wayne’s accountant trying to be down. The patchwork overalls didn’t help. Lee seemed to read her thoughts. He gave her his best model pose.
“On the hot, light-skinned dude scale of Drake to Jesse Williams, how attractive am I right now?”
Jamie laughed. “Your sexual energy is too strong. I can’t stand up, I’m so overwhelmed.”
He gave her a squeeze in response. “You seem done, wanna go back to my place?” Lee patted Jamie’s wig. Her head lolled slightly. “I don’t think you�
�re up to four flights of stairs.”
“I am definitely tipsy,” Jamie agreed. If she’d been sober, she’d probably be flustered or panicking now. (She hadn’t spent the night before!) Instead she said an easy, “Let’s get out of here.”
They drifted out of the party arm in arm and walked to Lee’s car in pleasant silence. Another nice thing about him was that he didn’t drink, so she always had a sober ride home. They got in the car and started toward his apartment. Jamie’s nerves suddenly sobered up.
I’m going to sleep over! Am I even wearing cute underwear? Jamie wasn’t sure. She skimmed her IG to calm down.
“Oh cute! EJ got a photo with Jonathan Coulton. She loves him.” While the rest of the campus got dressed up to dance in each other’s living rooms, EJ had spent the biggest party day of Halloween weekend in Northampton at a live taping of Ask Me Another.
“That’s cool,” Lee replied. “Was that the NPR thing? I think Will was there, too. Maybe they met up?”
Jamie couldn’t help her snort. There was no way EJ would hang out with Will by choice.
“Okay, that’s pretty unlikely,” Lee admitted. “But they could be such good friends.”
She snorted again.
“You scoff, but Will lived with my fam in Cali—”
“Wait, what?” Jamie’s eyebrows shot up. She knew Will and Lee were very close, but she didn’t realize that they’d lived together. “When was this?”
Lee tilted his head back. “It was right after my birthday, so he was fourteen or fifteen.”
This helped explain quite a bit of their dynamic; they were pretty much brothers. Once she’d processed that part of the story, she let her mind absorb the rest.
“Why’d he move in with you?” Jamie asked.
Another thoughtful pause. “Mostly to start his career. If you live anywhere near Hollywood, you’ve probably hosted at least one friend or family member trying to get their break. My mom’s place was practically a hostel. It’s more common than you think.”
“Hmm.” There was definitely a story behind that “mostly,” but it couldn’t explain everything. Will’s past demons didn’t talk shit about Jamie’s bestie behind her back—or insult EJ to her face.
Lee seemed to tap into his psychic powers. “Look, I know Will hasn’t been his best self at Longbourn, but I think he’s just intimidated. Will’s used to being the smartest guy in the room and on a movie set or a back lot. He usually is. Here, he’s just one pretty smart guy.”
“Every Longbourn student goes through that. It’s a competitive school.” Jamie glanced out the window at the narrow houses. “He didn’t strike me as someone easily made insecure.”
They were stopped at a red light. Lee turned to her. “He isn’t usually. This whole thing with Carrie Dean just put him through the wringer.”
Jamie usually admired Lee’s desire to see the good in everyone, especially Will, but right now, she was annoyed with how easily he let his friend off the hook. He was still making the case for why Will and EJ should be friends, something about how they’re both film snobs, and music snobs, and have twentieth-century habits like talking on the phone and sending long emails.
“And I think he’s going to get a telescope because of that meteor shower. He brought up EJ’s stargazing story like three times.” He shrugged faux casually, the way her mom would shrug when introducing her to a “very progressive Jewish young man.”
“Who knows what could happen?” Lee said with a small smile.
Uncanny—he sounds just like my mother, too. For many reasons, Jamie had to nip this in the bud.
“I know you like EJ and you like Will, but trust me: they will never be friends. EJ’s good at being polite. Her mom is from the South.”
“But—”
“And if you think your boy has a crush on Eej, you couldn’t be more wrong. From what I heard, he thinks she dresses like a ‘lady pimp.’”
Lee winced as the light changed. “You heard him say that?” They turned onto his street.
“Worse. EJ did.”
Lee parked and sat back in the driver’s seat. His hand gripped his chin. “That explains so much.”
They got out of the car and walked to his place, the bottom floor of a two-story house that had been divided into apartments. “That’s not who he is, though. That was one bad night.”
He dug out his key and opened the door.
Jamie shrugged. She was thoroughly unpersuaded by this argument. “I can see he’s good to you, but neither EJ nor I have had the benefit of years of friendship. If Will is better than that night, I’d like to see the guy you know show up, all the time.”
Lee led Jamie into his apartment. They hung up their coats and gulped down tumblers of water before heading to his room. Once inside Lee sighed heavily. “Can I trust you, like seriously?”
Jamie sat on the edge of the bed and nodded, puzzled at the change in Lee’s demeanor. Did he and Will kill someone together?
Lee sat next to her and began rapidly typing on his phone. She watched him, noting the tightness of his shoulders, his jaw. Eventually, she placed a comforting hand on his back, which he leaned into with a sigh. After what felt like an eternity, he finally stopped typing and looked at her. “I don’t want Will to get between us, so I think you have to know what I know—but you can’t tell anyone. Even EJ. If this got out, I’d be wrecking his life and losing my best friend.”
Jamie looked down and saw that Lee’s hands were trembling. She squeezed one in her own. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” she assured him. Jamie wasn’t certain she wanted to see what was on Lee’s phone if it was so life altering.
“I know. It’s just . . . it would be easier for us if you had the whole story.” With that Lee slid his phone into her hands. “It’s Will’s side of the whole Carrie drama. Once you read it, you’ll understand. And you won’t think ill of me where he’s concerned.”
Lee looked so sad that Jamie had to hug him. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll read it.” She picked up Lee’s phone and began.
Will met Carrie (America’s newest ingenue superstar) when she had a three-episode arc on FT: Hawaii. The actress / singer / lifestyle blogger played an actress / singer / lifestyle blogger with a crazy stalker who took a shine to the forensic team’s sarcastic medical examiner. Their on-screen kiss for the winter finale episode blew up Twitter and sparked enough of something for the pair to start dating in real life.
Carrie was clearly in love with love. She had a reputation for brief serial monogamy and perpetual heartbreak. (Her exes were the subjects of her songs. Will wasn’t concerned about this because he wasn’t a cheater like the guy her first single was about, or emotionally abusive, like the subject of her second album.) Carrie took Will on ultraromantic excursions that seemed to be planned by the producers of The Bachelor. Will, who typically dated sarcastic intellectual women who mocked these sorts of Hallmark displays, was charmed. After a whirlwind romance with hot-air balloons, horseback rides, and romantic declarations on the beach, they became exclusive. Carrie made Will love California. Carrie made Will learn to drive. Carrie made Will try new things. Carrie made Will happy. (Especially since his favorite people on the West Coast tended to be on location or away at school.)
Soon Will and Carrie were an official Hollywood Couple, so Carrie’s people started helping to raise Will’s profile. His agent, Katerina, was suddenly inundated with requests. He introduced Carrie and her band on the Today show. He charmed on Hollywood Game Night; he got listed as one of the nonwhite, sexiest men alive. Will, who’d never been terribly ambitious in his career, now found himself wanting more, and Carrie had shown him it was possible. He gave up his gig with FT: Hawaii and shot a pilot where he’d be a romantic lead. Will was excited to help break a barrier for Asian American actors. He could do it—and all because of Carrie. He looked into moving to LA. He thought, more seriously, about proposing.
One day, Carrie asked him to come over. At her manse in the Hills, Will did
not find Carrie. He instead found her agent, momager, and several bodyguards. On top of a pile of nondisclosure agreements and other legal forms was a note from Carrie that simply said “I’m sorry.” Carrie’s people called his agent, Katerina, and threatened to use their considerable abilities to make Will unhirable should he refuse to go quietly. Carrie’s people threw a sizable, but still insulting, pile of money at Will for his trouble. He and his agent kicked the furniture in her office, and Katerina admitted to being “no match for these sharks.”
Carrie then presented a crying face to the world and implied that Will dumped her. Implied that he’s cold, snobbish, and a little boring—a romantic heartthrob no longer. His pilot (which sounded so good) went nowhere. Cast and crew blamed him. All other offers disappeared. Will was no longer interesting. Carrie’s fans turned on him. There were jokes about his driving, his penis size, and his ability to speak English. Will was angry. He was also very, very sad, but no one seemed sympathetic—or they were afraid of catching his bad press. Either way, he felt very alone. Katerina told Will to take three months in Belize or Saint-Tropez, but Will felt too raw for the sun. It was his sister who suggested he go back to school: “You’ll look busy and intellectual.” A month later, Carrie was on the arm of a Minnesota quarterback called Johnny Storm. He’s the whitest white man. She had an editorial in W go to print where she is dressed like a geisha. People debated if the spread is about Will rather than whether the spread is racist. Others pointed out that Will isn’t Japanese. Still other people wrote think pieces about whether Will was a bad Asian for having a problematic girlfriend. Will knew the shoot was done before they met, and he started wondering if their entire relationship was PR cover. Will refused to admit that his heart was broken, but he did have the distinct sense of being played. This was close enough. He applied to Longbourn knowing that his best friend was there, and it is far from everything else.
The Bennet Women Page 9