Chemistry

by Jodi Lamm

  The blind poet. How appropriate.

  “Here’s yours.” He throws a shopping bag at me, and I open it to see the brown, cottony material inside.

  “What is it?”

  He pulls his beard down and grins. “Ambrosio, the villain monk.”

  Of course. I should have known Peter’s costumes would be brilliant. He has a knack for irony.

  “It’s a shapeless robe, a cowl, and a mask. You won’t stand out and you’ll be completely anonymous.”

  “And Valentine?”

  He throws me a second bag. “Phantom of the Opera. Saved you time and money. Since Val already has a tux, he just needed the mask.”

  “Perfect.” I thank him and head inside.

  Tonight, Peter will pick Esmeralda up at the church and take her to the ship. Valentine and I will go separately and meet them there. If all goes well, the Court of Miracles and the soccer team will keep Valentine busy, Esmeralda’s trust in Peter will extend to his anonymous friend, and my life will never be the same again.

  V

  I wish I could accurately paint this picture for you, but it’s half experience and half perspective, and there’s just no way I can give you my perspective. The ship, the lights, the crowd, and the costumes. I have never seen anything like it in my life. If you blindfolded me and brought me aboard, I would swear to you I was not even on a ship. That’s how unreal this is. That’s how enormous. This is not just a prom. This is what it means to have money, security, and powerful people who love you.

  The Valentine’s Day Dance was amateur and cheap compared to this. Every metal surface is gleaming and tinted with gold. Instead of the strings of little white lights I have come to expect, real chandeliers glitter above us. The carpet is crimson. The curtains are satin. The tables are ornamented with gold-embellished wine glasses and red rose petals. Our senior class wanted the best prom the school has ever put on, and thanks to people like Phoebus’ parents, it looks like they got it.

  From behind my mask, I stare out into a fantastic world peopled with fantastic creatures. Everyone has gone all out. Even though my costume is the best I’ve ever worn, it still looks drab in the midst of this. I’m standing in a sea of shifting fairy tales—mermaids, vampires, elves, and pixies—wearing a brown hooded cowl, a plain flesh-colored mask, and a big bronze cross around my neck. I feel stupid and ghoulish, but I suppose that’s the point. I don’t want anyone to talk to me.

  I lean against a pillar of mirrors and watch the spectacle unfold. Valentine can’t sit still. He keeps circling the ballroom, looking for Esmeralda. Every once in a while, he comes back to me, and I have to remind him that she and Peter probably stopped for dinner. It’s difficult to calm him when I am every bit as anxious as he is. In another venue on this same ship, my secret, insane plan is unfolding. I haven’t gone to see it because I don’t want to miss anything here, but I’m sure it’s beautiful. I hope it’s beautiful. It has to be.

  The longer it takes Esmeralda to show, the more concerned I get. I know I’m early. I know it could be another ten minutes before she even arrives, twenty until departure. Still I worry. But now, the eyes of everyone in the room are drawn to the door, and I can’t help holding my breath as I wait for my angel to emerge.

  The figure that stalks into the ballroom is an angel, no doubt about that, but not one of mercy and not Esmeralda. No, this is a tall figure, cloaked in black—a shadow with the face of a skull and a scythe, which it uses as casually as an ordinary walking stick. I wonder how it got in with the scythe because, to me, that thing looks far from fake. In fact, the whole costume is unnervingly real.

  The last thing I want to do is meet this character, but it’s headed right for me, and I see no sign that it plans to deviate from its path. It moves like a snake. I think about getting out of its way, but that would only draw its attention. I can’t possibly express how glad I am that my mask covers my whole face. I take shallow breaths and wait to laugh at myself as soon as the figure walks past. But it never does. It steadily, purposefully glides right to me, and stops only when we are standing toe-to-toe. Then it leans in. And its scythe leans with it, tilting over my head, shimmering in the soft light.

  The figure examines me and says in a breathy voice, “Who are you?”

  I have no answer. Even if I wanted to tell it who I was, I couldn’t. I don’t really know any more.

  “Syd!” someone calls, and the shadow turns its head. “Syd, over here!”

  So the specter is Sydney Clopin. It’s only Sydney. I feel like a complete ass. Of course, that bastard would wear a terrifying costume to the prom. I ought to have known. This means the Court of Miracles has arrived. I see a group of them huddled together at the back of the ballroom. I don’t know what they’re doing, and I don’t care. Then another one of them strides toward me. This time, it’s a knight in full armor carrying a wine glass full of something bubbly.

  “Hey you,” he says, and I recognize Gene’s voice immediately. So he really did it. He joined the Court of Miracles. “Don’t mind my friend. He’s kind of a douche sometimes.”

  I nod. I don’t want to speak to him. I don’t want him to know me.

  Gene grins. “He’s just here to protect an angel, you know. We all are. You in?”

  Again, I nod.

  “Awesome!” He pats my shoulder. “Hey, you need to loosen up. Feel the love and all that.” He passes his drink to me.

  I stare at it, smell it.

  Gene laughs. “It’s cider. I just got it from the table. Thought I’d bring it over as a peace offering. You did say you were with us, didn’t you?”

  I’m beginning to wonder whether following Peter’s advice was as good an idea as I originally thought. I slowly lift my mask, just enough to allow me to drink. The cider tastes good, sweet and bubbly.

  Gene laughs and pats me on the shoulder again. “Great! You’re in. Welcome to the family.” He seems brighter than usual. Open. Happy. And he used the word family, which troubles me when I realize how deeply he probably meant it. This is what he’s been craving all along: a family he could show his true self to that wouldn’t judge or try to change him. It’s something I’ve never been able to give him, and I shudder to think he’s finally found it in the Court of Miracles.

  I finish my drink as Gene heads back to his crowd, singing and swaying to the music in his head. He’s probably already drunk.

  Another fifteen minutes pass. We’re given a boarding call. Instructions. The lights dim. I still don’t see her. And then, suddenly, she’s there.

  I am newly taken. I am newly destroyed. I am newly thrust into the flames of my own heart. Esmeralda.

  Peter chose her costume well. No one can miss seeing her in it. She’s wearing a short, white tunic with long bell sleeves and a half mask covered in white down. From her shoulder blades sprout two huge wings made of real feathers. They’re jointed and folded against her back, but whenever she lifts her arms, she expands an enormous M behind her. It looks as though Peter, rather than go out and buy an angel costume, has somehow grafted real wings to her back. I almost believe she could fly with them if she wanted to. Her feet are bare—of course, they are—and her hair is long, rolling over her shoulders, collecting around her throat, mingling with her wings.

  I can’t look away from her. I can’t bear the thought that if I do, she will suddenly be gone. The beauty of her costume is perfectly complemented by her wide-eyed amazement, her innocence and energy. She bounces in place and grips Peter’s hand with an unbelievable smile on her face. She’s never seen anything like this ballroom before, and it shows.

  She runs over to Sydney Clopin and throws her arms around his neck. “You came!” she says to him. “I missed you so much!” It’s the strangest juxtaposition I’ve ever seen: an angel of mercy being lifted into the arms of the Angel of Death, his skull tilting down at her in brotherly affection. Then the rest of the Court gathers around her, hugging her in turns, loving her like she’s the only family left to each and every
one of them. The sight of it could soften any villain’s heart. For me, though, it means unbearable envy.

  I take my seat at a table and wait while Esmeralda greets her precious Lost Boys. She even gives a kiss to Gene, the newcomer, and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. My charmed little brother could be touched by God Himself and not even know it.

  The ship’s whistle blasts a low, melancholy signal, and the captain announces our departure. I feel so alone, like I’m the only person on a vessel full of ghosts. Or maybe I am the ghost.

  Esmeralda makes her way to me and sits down beside me. She’s smiling, happy. She’s in her element. “You’re Peter’s friend, right?” she says.

  I nod.

  “I’m supposed to tell you he decided to leave. Someone had to feed Djali, he said. Honestly, I think it’s just because he’s afraid to dance, don’t you? He’s such a dork. I tried to tell him Djali would be fine, but you know Peter. He never believes anything you say.”

  That hasn’t been my experience with Peter at all. And I doubt it’s dancing that scared him away, but I don’t bother to correct her. I don’t want her to hear my voice just yet. I don’t want her to know who I am. Right now, she trusts me, even though she thinks I’m a stranger, just because I’m a friend of Peter’s. Her naiveté astounds me, but I wouldn’t change her for all the world. I would never, ever change her.

  Her energy is contagious. “Anyway, Peter said I should stick with you. So you’re my new date. Are you afraid to dance?”

  Sweet Jesus, let this last forever.

  The MC makes his announcements and, I swear, not one single person is shocked to see Phoebus and Lily accept the honor of Prom King and Queen. Phoebus is Apollo. Lily is a nymph. They’re both so ridiculous in their costumes, I don’t know whether to laugh at them or empathize.

  Esmeralda watches the happy couple, her eyes filled with so much hurt I can hardly stand it. There must be some hope in her, though, because she hasn’t let her tears fall. Probably she attributes Phoebus’ coldness to his assumption that she’s the one who stabbed him. She thinks if she tells him the truth, he’ll take her back. She has no idea he would have dumped her regardless. To Phoebus, Esmeralda was just an easy lay, a tidbit to hold him over until he could finally get at Lily Darling. But Esmeralda won’t allow herself to see that. That’s just who she is—seeing the very best in people, even though it doesn’t exist.

  I wish she saw something great in me. I feel like if she did, I might be able to transform into whatever she saw. Then again, maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. Maybe Esmeralda thinks I’m a monster, and her power over me is so strong, I’m becoming the thing she sees in me. Well, even if that’s the case, I’m determined to change that course tonight.

  The music starts and the lights dim, leaving the swirling colors of a disco ball in their place. People start to dance, and I get my first indication that something is more than a little off. I feel strange. My spine tingles, sending a wave of warmth to each of my limbs. My whole body seems to have just woken up from a lifelong hibernation. I shake my head to try and snap out of it, but it only makes the colors run together. And they are incredible.

  “Hey, angel, dance with me!” I hear Gene’s voice and see him shortly after. He’s standing over Esmeralda, with his helmet in his hands, red-faced and ready to take on the world. “You too, man.” He turns to me. “Get up and dance. Aren’t you rolling yet?”

  I want to ask him what he’s talking about, but I can’t. Esmeralda is still sitting beside me, and if she hears my voice, it’s all over. But there’s definitely something different about my perception. Gene’s voice, for example, is fantastic—like a humming, cosmic light. And the music. And the colors. Suddenly, everything is unspeakably beautiful. I wonder why I haven’t noticed it before.

  I try to stand, but topple to one side instead.

  Gene catches me and laughs. “One pill and you’re gone. Come on. You’ve got to get moving. You can thank me later.”

  That answers that question. Gene spiked my drink—as a favor, it seems. I wonder if he would have done this to me had he known who I was. Probably not. I want to be angry with him. I want to be furious. But looking at him now, I think about how easy it could be between us, how much I really love and miss him, and how I regret not being able to adopt him like I promised. He’s my brother.

  He laughs and beckons me to follow him as he disappears into the crowd. I cling to the table and try to focus on breathing. I know what I’m feeling is the result of a drug. I know that, so I try to fight it. But it’s so new, so gorgeous and energetic and full of family. This whole ballroom is full of family.

  I feel a hand on my back, and that sensation all on its own is the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. Esmeralda speaks into my ear. “Did he slip you E?”

  I don’t answer her. I don’t think she needs an answer. My situation is obvious, and I should feel like a fool. Funny thing, I don’t.

  “You’ve never taken it before, have you?”

  I shake my head.

  “You poor thing.” She takes both my hands, and I am tangled in her fingers. “There’s nothing for it now but to ride the wave until it wears off.” Her smile puts me more at ease than the drug itself, I swear. And I follow her because, really, there’s nothing else to be done. Nothing. She turns back as she pulls me along. “You’ll feel better if you’re dancing. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

  I’ll take care of you.

  She says this to me, but it’s my line. It’s been my line my whole life. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you have a place to live. I’ll make sure you pass your classes. I’ll make sure you never have to be alone again. Valentine. Peter. Gene. I love all three of them, but they have drained me. I’ve lost myself to them. Maybe that’s why Esmeralda is so important to me. Maybe she’s the one and only thing I’ve ever tried to keep for myself. And maybe, because of that, she’s the last part of me I have left.

  People are grouped together, clinging to each other, bouncing and laughing and swaying. I probably don’t have to tell you I’ve never danced before. It’s an activity that just never found a way into my life. I never thought I had the talent for it. But right now, I couldn’t care less.

  Esmeralda puts her arms around me, and I let go of every worry that ever weighted me down. Her smile and her touch are so unbelievably warm. Everything. Life is warm. I realize all these dancing fools are just like me. They only want to be happy, to find little moments of joy, little pinpricks of light in the darkness. Little stars.

  I have so much energy. I want to jump up and down for no reason at all. Just for the joy of moving, sweating, being with people. Esmeralda reaches up to my mask, and reality comes flying back for a moment. I stop her.

  “It’s got to be hot under there.” She laughs. “You shouldn’t have worn a full mask.”

  “I didn’t plan on dancing,” I say over the music, and I wince. I shouldn’t have spoken. I wait. The music is too loud, and I had to shout to be heard. Maybe that’s why… I don’t know, but for whatever reason, she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t recognize my voice.

  She laughs and jumps into my arms. I forget to embrace her at first. I’m too stunned by the ease of it all, of being someone else. Esmeralda is treating me the way she treats all strangers: with trust and warmth, like the whole world is filled with people who love her. It’s no wonder they do. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her against me for a moment. Not too long. Just enough to let her stay off her feet a couple seconds longer. She’s so light, so small in my arms. I find I have an even greater desire to protect her, now that I can feel how fragile she is. I let her drop to the ground, and she kisses the side of my mask.

  “You’re adorable,” she says. “Let’s get you some water.” She takes my hand, and the skin-to-skin contact sends shivers up and down my body. “Sit here and drink this.” She hands me a bottle of water. “You’ll get dehydrated if you don’t.”

  I don’t want t
o sit down. I want to keep dancing, but I do as she says, and I swear I can feel myself melt into the chair. “You seem to know a lot about this… what I’m on,” I say over the music, hoping her inability to recognize my voice lasts. “Have you done it before?”

  She shakes her head. “But I’ve been around enough people who do.” She pats my arm like I’m a kid and she’s a parent. “I’ll make sure you get home safe and help you through the comedown. Gene shouldn’t have slipped you anything without your permission, but what’s done is done. All you can do is make every second count.” She glances over her shoulder at Phoebus, who has replaced his golden lyre with a drink. Lily isn’t with him. “I’ll be right back.”

  I leap to my feet and call after her.

  She turns.

  “You’re an angel!” I say.

  She spreads her wings playfully as if to say, of course I am. But that’s not what I meant. Her costume is beside the point.

  “No, I mean…” I fidget. “I mean I love you!”

  She throws back her head and laughs, but she isn’t laughing at me. She’s laughing because she’s happy for me. I know this. I can sense it. She’s laughing because the joy I feel right now is utterly infectious.

  She’s on her way to talk to Phoebus, and I realize this doesn’t bother me. Not at all. What kind of a threat is he anyway? He doesn’t love her and never will. She’s a smart girl. She’ll get over her crush in time and move on. I only want her to be happy.

  I take a couple more gulps of water and make my way back to the dance floor. I have so much energy. I just want to move. The music is loud, and I love it that way. I push right into the middle of the Court of Miracles and dance with them until we’re not even a group of individuals any more, but one entity, moving together. We’re shouting and singing with the music. The feeling of all these bodies bumping up against mine is surreal. I want it to last forever, and somehow, in an instant, forever happens.

  I see Gene grinning at me like a proud provocateur, and I’m far from angry with him. In fact, I think I get him. His whole way of living makes so much sense to me now. It isn’t that he has no values; he just values different things. He values experience, life, and happiness. He seeks after these things like other people seek after scholastic and financial success. All this time I thought I had to teach him how to live, but in reality, he already knew. And I was the one who needed to learn.