by Susan Oloier
She lifts her lashes to meet his eyes, and they smile at one another. “Yeah, it does.” They’ve shared a moment. They have an interesting story that’s theirs and theirs alone: a lame first date where they ate a below-average dinner at a Long John Silver’s while being stuffed into a garbage-strewn back seat.
I kick at an empty soda can near my feet. I’m filled with envy all over again.
The car rolls down the street toward a house alive with electricity. It’s lit up like a luminaria. Cars ahead of ours are parked crooked—a clear sign of a teenage party.
“Here we are,” says Nate as he wrenches open the driver’s door and steps out.
Hailey remains motionless. “A house party?” she asks.
“Yeah,” says Eli. “Is that all right?”
“No.”
“You okay, Hailey?” Stella asks from the front seat of the car. Her foot steps on to the pavement, ready to get the night underway.
Hailey gapes wide-eyed at the party noises and energy spilling out of the nearby house.
I know what she’s thinking, possibly how she feels. It’s reminiscent of my final house party. Loads of cars and teens. The place rife with alcohol and intoxication, including my own. It’s too new, too painful. I know it’s why she refuses to open the door, why her stare is fueled with fear.
I wait to see what she does. I’m guessing she’ll ask to be taken home. She still loves me and continues to be haunted by our last night together. I feel the sharp stick of tenderness, too. I’d do anything to turn back the hands of time so we could start over again and make the night have a totally different ending. But that’s not the reality. I lay my hand over hers as a sign of solidarity and love.
“What’s the hold up?” asks Nate as he lights a cigarette.
“You coming, Hailey?” Stella asks, now fully out of the vehicle with her head tipped back inside.
“What is it?” asks Eli—the only one other than Hailey who has not made a move to get out of the car.
“You don’t have to go,” I tell Hailey, gripping more tightly to her hand.
“I just feel a little lightheaded,” she finally speaks. “Probably the nutritious dinner,” she says, her tone instantly lighter. She exchanges a look with Eli, already sharing an inside joke. “I’ll be right there.”
“See ya inside,” Nate says, grabbing Stella’s hand while sucking in a lungful of smoke.
Eli stays behind. The trashy car suddenly grows more intimate now that it’s just the two of them.
“We don’t have to go inside. We could…” he looks around the neighborhood, “go for a walk or something.”
Hailey assesses him. Her expression is unreadable. I’m not sure if she’s humoring him or growing attracted to him. But I panic at the thought it could be the latter. “Let’s go inside.”
“Sure.”
Both she and Eli slide out of the car. He holds his hand out for her, and she takes it.
I feel tightness everywhere. I simply sit in my token seat and wonder what to do. I need to show her a sign. Nothing has worked so far. Not the handholding or the whispers. I spy her purse, which she has left behind. There has to be something I can do with its contents. Something I can do to show her. I stop myself when I remember. I reach inside my pocket and pull my hand back out. Clutched inside it is the red feather. The scarlet tanager’s. It’s light, easy to manipulate. It doesn’t take too much out of me to finger it, and then lay it just inside the folds of her purse. She’s bound to see it soon.
I hear her voice returning. “Let me grab my purse,” she says.
I want to witness her reaction, but I’m growing sleepy, completely taxed by the night of shadowing her and manipulating tangible objects. By the time she reaches the car, I’m fast asleep.
Eli
After such a nightmarish start to the evening, I cannot believe I’m holding hands with Hailey. Touching her sends electric jolts throughout my entire body. For a moment I wonder what it would feel like to kiss her, but I dislodge the thought. She and I seem so far away from something as innocent as a kiss. And this evening doesn’t help. I mean, Long John Silver’s? What a horrid first impression. Nate. I will totally get his business class later.
A bass booms from inside the house, intermixed with laughter and voices. A few people linger outside in the chilly, autumn air. Cigarette smoke curls, and smoldering tobacco wafts in our direction.
I’d rather be inside where it’s warm and smoke-free. But Hailey is apprehensive about going in. Not sure why, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about it. Got to respect that. I will be the last person to push her to disclose issues. I have my own to deal with.
I ask her with a look if she’s ready to head indoors. A smile touches the corners of her mouth, but no more. As I push through the front door, holding it open for Hailey, I see my issue number one staring right at me. Madeline. Her eyes blaze a trail to my hand, which is still looped through Hailey’s. I freeze. Why does she have to be here?
Her gaze briefly brushes across mine, but I look away.
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” I suggest to Hailey. I can hear the dread in my voice and wonder if she notices it, too.
She raises an eyebrow.
“Like a movie. Or an actual meal,” I explain. I don’t want her thinking I’m only after one thing, which I’m not.
“It’s okay,” she says, her hand still inside mine.
I want to fully appreciate being with her like this, but Madeline’s presence interrupts the Zen of the moment.
“Want something to drink?” I ask. I rarely drink, but I sure as hell need something strong to calm my nerves. I’ve done such an excellent job of maintaining my composure around Madeline for the entire start of the school year. But now…now she has me frazzled, concerned for what she might say or do now that she knows I’m with someone else.
“No. Thanks,” she says.
“I’m going to grab a beer. Want to come?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll wait for you here.”
It would be best if Hailey agreed to go with me. I comb the room for Madeline, afraid she might sneak over to Hailey at any moment and sabotage my good thing. Hailey leans against the wall and studies the room. I head for the beer keg. Nate meets me there.
“Did you see?” he asks. “The bitch?”
I shoot him a look. I don’t lecture him this time about his slur because maybe he’s right. Who knows what Madeline has in mind for me tonight?
“What’s she doing here?” I ask, finding her on the living room couch with her eyes flitting between me and her conversation. I lift the plastic cup to my lips and take a huge gulp.
Nate watches Madeline skeptically, too, “Does Hailey know?”
“About Madeline and me? I don’t think so. I mean, I sure as hell didn’t tell her.”
“Then you better watch your back.”
“What about you? Won’t you have my back?” I ask a little more nervously than I intend.
“Dude,” Nate gestures with his head to Stella who stands across the room all smiles and confetti. “Stella and I are ready to hit it.”
“Seriously?” I look straight at him. “She’s your stalker. This is your first date.”
Nate slaps me on the back. “Settle down, dad. Come to find out, she’s not so bad.” He whispers in my ear and laughs, “We’ll use a condom. Unlike you.”
My demeanor slides. “Shut the fuck up,” I seethe beneath my breath.
“I knew I’d be able to get you to give up that pansy-ass, anger management, replacement shit.”
Nate gestures toward Hailey who’s being chatted up by one of the football players. “Better get back to your girl before Russo gets his claws in her—if he hasn’t already.”
I start off in Hailey’s direction.
“Who knows,” Nate calls after me, “she may be the football-player type.”
I shoot him a look. I make my way to Hailey as quickly as I can, but am stopped cold in my tracks by an old, familiar
face.
“Hey, Eli.” Madeline flicks her red hair behind her back. “You ignoring me?”
I divide my attention between her and Hailey; I had so wanted to avoid this moment altogether. “Actually, yes,” I say with brutal honesty.
“Well, whatever you do, don’t hold back,” Madeline says, taken slightly aback.
My eyes stretch over her shoulder to Russo whose hand rests on Hailey’s arm. Her expression reaches out to me, pleading for some help, but I can’t manage to get out from under Madeline’s thumb. She feels like the shadow always looming whether she’s physically there or not.
Madeline follows my stare. “New girlfriend?” she asks. I detect a tinge of jealousy in her voice.
“Is there something you want?” I ask, finally glaring directly at her.
“Yeah. I want to put the past behind us. I hate all the tension between us.” She runs a finger along my right forearm, studying the unfamiliar tattoo. “This new, too?”
My stare is steady and unfeeling. “Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s the second time tonight I’ve broken my anger management rule about swearing. Madeline brings it out in me. “After the fire and brimstone hell you put me through, you have the nerve to, what? Ask for forgiveness or something?”
“We made a mistake, all right?” She tries to stay calm, her attention shifting at times to Hailey. “But,” she lets her fingers dance on my arm, “I miss you.”
I’m beyond flabbergasted. Misses me? Is she kidding? The woman has put me through utter hell, ruined my rep in the school, and made me look like a completely soulless piece of shit in front of practically everyone I know, and she misses me? I’m definitely riding in Twilight Zone territory now because this can in no possible or comprehensible way be real.
I down the rest of my beer in one gulp and search for the closest exit.
Hailey
After listening to what felt like hours upon hours of wide receiver this and touchdown that while being seemingly groped by those meaty hands, I was done with the whole party. I should have been used to the football-player type, having been a cheerleader in my previous life. But the guy made me sick. Luckily, Stella arrived before I reached my boiling point. I truly was ready to clock this guy with the jersey and entitlement-to-women attitude. I had even let slip I was with Eli, but this guy, this Hank Russo, didn’t care.
“Russo?” Stella says, “Leave her alone. She’s here with Eli.”
“Yeah?” Russo answers, nodding toward Eli who’s intensely involved in a conversation with a redhead. “Well, it looks like Carter is trying to wiggle his way back into Wiest’s panties.”
“Shut up!” Stella pushes at him. As big as he is, Russo doesn’t move an inch. “Get the hell out of here.”
“Yeah, fine,” he says with a smirk on his face.
“I’ll be right back,” Stella says, pointing toward the back of the house. “Little girls’ room.”
I nod an okay. I sit down in the remotest corner of the sofa and watch. My eyes comb the room and land on Eli with the redhead. Madeline slides her finger over Eli’s forearm and stands close enough to be his girlfriend. I have no reason to feel jealous. It’s not like Eli and I are anything to each other. Sure, he held my hand on the way in. But that was more of a security-blanket thing. There was no innuendo or meaning behind it. Watching him with her, the intensity of their conversation, proves I mean absolutely nothing to him. We’re just classmates. Hamlet partners. The way we should be. Even if there is any feeling for him—and there isn’t—I’m still grieving my boyfriend. It’s what I need to do, what’s expected of me.
I watch the redhead reach for Eli’s face, but he swats it away. Yes, Hamlet indeed can love Ophelia, I think, even if he seems to disdain her.
I don’t know why the whole scene affects me. It’s not like I expected or even wanted anything between Eli and me. Sure, he’s a nice guy and all. So different from the others—others like Russo. But the last thing I want is a relationship. I need to be alone anyway, holding tightly to my memories of Jeremy. Showing him how much he still means to me; how much I still love him even in death.
But then here I am, sitting all by myself at the furthest corner of the couch, the deepest place in the room, and I suddenly know what it feels like to be Virginia Huntington, one of the least popular girls at Wheaton. Here I am with no one while Eli and Madeline chat and flirt and touch one another across the room. They look like the prom king and queen of Bloomfield High while I’m the wallflower, wishing to be Madeline—the one who wears the tiara and holds the hand of Mr. Most Likely to End Up with a Supermodel. Instead, I’m all by myself, and it hurts.
Stella creeps up on me, slips into the space beside me.
“What was he talking about?” I finally ask about Russo’s comment. Because even though I don’t give a damn about Eli Carter, I want to know his story.
She gives me a look. “About them?” she asks, flicking her head toward Eli and Madeline who act as though they’re the only ones in the room. She knows but, like she told me before, she’s not going to tell me. She’s so not like Layla I want to cry.
I don’t wait for Stella to spit out statements about loyalty and not telling rumors. “Just forget it,” I spew at her and storm off.
I head straight for the front door and keep going. I don’t care how far into the night my legs take me, I just want to get as far away as possible from this whole scene: from the new school, the football players, Stella, and—most especially—Eli. I’m through dealing with all of them.
I speed walk down the sidewalk into the witching hour of the night. The intermittent streetlights, stars of fire, shine down on me between the shadows. I think I hear Stella’s voice call out my name, but I pretend not to hear and certainly no longer care. I go and go until I’m out of breath, far from the reaches of the party’s music and alcohol and cigarette-tainted air. Free of Eli and Madeline who, sure as the night is black and the sky star-pocked, will wind up together by evening’s end.
I went against Dr. Wheeler’s advice. I now know I should have listened to him. I shouldn’t have fled from Wheaton, from the security of friends who knew me even if it was as half of Jeremy. I may be spending my senior year at Bloomfield, but it doesn’t mean I have to hang out with the people there. Maybe it isn’t too late to recoup my friendships with Layla and Cal.
I fish my cell phone from my bag. As I do, a red feather floats to the ground from the innards of my purse. The same one I left at Jeremy’s grave. My heart clenches and I look around. Is he here? Did he send me this sign?
“Jeremy?” I breathe. I wait for something. Anything. But nothing comes. I run my fingers over the feather as if it’s a substitute for touching Jeremy again.
If I’m unsure in even a remote way about calling Layla before, there’s no question I should dial her number now.
I find Layla’s contact and let the number ring. No doubt about it. I look upward toward the brush strokes of clouds across a sky of India ink. A sign from Jeremy.
Eli
“What do you mean she took off?” I practically shout at Stella.
I had finally managed to extricate myself from Madeline in order to find my way back to Hailey. By the time I reached the spot where she said she’d wait for me, she was gone.
“Hey, man,” Nate says, draping his arms around Stella in a protective way. Wow! How quickly things can take a turn in so many ways. “No need to jump down Stella’s throat. She wasn’t the one with her hands roaming all over an ex-girlfriend.”
Stella pinches her eyebrows together at me, clearly ticked.
The three of us stand outside in the front yard. A crescent moon hangs itself by an invisible rope in the night sky. There’s a definite chill, which my anger seems to be keeping at bay for the moment.
“Roaming hands?” I say defensively. “My hands were not roaming!”
“Could have fooled me,” Stella says.
“What the h-e-double hockey sticks is that supposed to mean?”
“See, if you’re going to do the whole anger management thing,” Nate jests, “you need to take it all the way. You can’t get angry and use replacement words. You’re definitely sending mixed signals.”
“Shut. Up!” I demand.
Stella remains on topic and addresses my question. “It just looked like…”
“Yeah?” I urge her on with a gesticulating hand.
“…like she wanted to get back together with you, and you weren’t doing a whole lot to stop her.”
“Are you effing kidding me?”
“Eli, she was touching your face,” Stella says.
“I slapped her hand away.” My blood pressure and voice rise simultaneously.
“It looked like foreplay to me. And obviously to Hailey, too.” She winces a bit, afraid of what I might say or do.
Instead, I run my hands over my face and through my hair. “This is a nightmare.”
“Dude,” Nate smiles. “You are so in love with her.”
If Nate weren’t holding onto Stella like a life preserver, I’d shove him. Hard. Even take a sucker punch at him.
“You think I love that bitch?” I ask.
“So you admit it?” Nate fist pumps the sky. “She is a bitch.”
I clench my fingernails into the palm of my hand, ready to haul off on him. He is so making my night that much harder to deal with.
“But seriously, dude,” Nate continues, “I’m not talking about Madeline. I’m talking about Hailey. You are totally, head-over-heels in love with her.”
“I am not.” But my tone comes out far more defensive than it should, which implicates me immediately.
“Seriously?” Stella looks up and back at Nate who still has his arms encircling her. “Because it looked like he wanted to get with Madeline. Even Russo thought so.”
“Russo,” I say with a sneer. “What does he know?”
Stella shrugs.
“No,” Nate interrupts. “I know my man here. Fuck Russo, fuck Hailey—no offense, man…” he says in my direction. He unloops himself from Stella and sidles up beside me. “…he has it bad for your little friend.” His words are for Stella even though he’s draped his arms around my shoulder. “And he fucked up something bad tonight. The question is…” he’s back to me now, “…how is he going to make it right?”