Look Both Ways

by Alison Cherry

  “I think we need another—” my mom begins, but I cut her off.

  “Yes, I’ll have, um…” I haven’t even looked at the menu, but I order the first thing my eyes land on. “The baked polenta.”

  Mom looks puzzled. “Since when do you like polenta?”

  I’m not even completely sure what polenta is. “I thought I’d try it again,” I say.

  Mom starts peppering the waiter with questions about how the various dishes are prepared, and Zoe gives me a look like, What is up with you? I reach for my phone to text her, but Mom decides on an entree and starts paying attention again. The waiter takes Zoe’s order and leaves.

  My friend is clearly aware that I want her to do something, but she’s not sure what, so she just starts talking. “Birdie has been so much fun. Jim Krowalzka is directing—I don’t know if you know him—and I already feel like I’m learning so much. I don’t know if Brooklyn told you, but I’m playing Kim, which is a great part and everything, but she’s a little bit of a two-dimensional character, you know? But Jim’s helping me really round her out and figure out what her motivations are. And Brooklyn’s been helping me practice my songs. She’s such a talented pianist.” Even though she hasn’t guessed right about what I need from her, I love that she’s trying.

  “Brookie, that’s so nice of you, but I hope you’re spending plenty of time working on your own music,” Mom says. “You’re here to grow as a performer, not as an accompanist.”

  Zoe’s eyebrows crinkle. “Are there songs in Señor—”

  I cut her off before she can blow my cover. “Don’t worry. I’m concentrating on my own stuff, too. Zoe has a much bigger part than I do. The ensemble has a lot of downtime.”

  My friend looks thoroughly confused for a second, and then I see understanding click into place behind her eyes. “Right,” she says. “They all sound really good, though.”

  “Well, I’m bursting with excitement. Dad and I can’t wait to see you in your big Allerdale debut.”

  “Great,” I say. I reach for the bread basket and stuff a roll into my mouth so I’ll have an excuse not to talk for a minute.

  My mom leans in and lowers her voice. “So, tell me all the important gossip. Any budding romances in the works?”

  Zoe smiles. “I’m dating someone from home, actually. His name is Carlos.”

  “Ooh, what an excellent name. Is he an actor, too?”

  “No, but he does play the guitar, and he has a really nice voice. He’s going to Rhode Island School of Design in the fall to study animation.”

  “An artist! How delightful. Are you two serious?”

  “Sort of,” Zoe says. “It’s a little complicated. We won’t be in the same city next year, and we don’t want to hold each other back or anything. So we’re going to try to be flexible if we find ourselves wanting to date other people.” She catches my eye for the tiniest moment, then looks away.

  I try not to seem too interested, but this is the first I’ve heard of Zoe and Carlos having a flexible arrangement. I know it doesn’t change anything between her and me, but my illogical heart does a little skip anyway.

  My mom is nodding. “That’s very mature, Zoe. Most people your age don’t understand that love dies if you strangle it. I learned that the hard way a couple of times. Is he coming to visit at all this summer?”

  “Yeah, he’s actually coming in, like, two and a half weeks,” Zoe says. “Sorry, Brooklyn. I meant to tell you that yesterday. You don’t mind, do you?”

  There is absolutely nothing I want less than to have Zoe’s cute, guitar-playing, animator boyfriend staying in our room, but I force my expression not to change. “Of course I don’t mind,” I say. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  The waiter arrives with our food, and the plate he puts down in front of me contains a yellow square with some vegetables stacked on top. I take a tiny bite, and it’s not terrible, but the texture is kind of weird and gritty. I wish I’d taken two seconds to actually look at the menu; Zoe’s burger looks much more appetizing. As if she knows what I’m thinking, she turns her plate so the fries are toward me.

  “Speaking of liking people,” my mom says, “any summer sparks flying for you, Brookie?”

  I look down at my plate. “Not really. The only guys I ever hang out with are gay.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a guy. I was so in love with this girl the first summer I was at Allerdale. Her name was Madeline, and she had the sexiest legs you’ve ever seen.”

  “Mom,” I say. “God.”

  “What? Don’t get all uptight on me. I know there’s someone here for you if you look hard enough. Zoe, will you please encourage Brooklyn to find a nice boy or girl to date, even if it’s only a summer fling? She’s so picky.”

  Zoe glances at me sideways. “Don’t worry,” she says to my mom. “I’m sure there are plenty of people here who would fall head over heels for Brooklyn if they knew she was available.”

  Suddenly my polenta doesn’t taste nearly as disgusting.

  Zoe gets up to go to the bathroom a few minutes later, and I’m sure my mom is going to take the opportunity to grill me about Birdie. But instead, she leans over and grabs my arm so hard, it hurts. “I knew it!” she whispers.

  “You knew what?”

  “She’s totally into you.”

  “Mom,” I say. I glance toward the bathroom, but there’s no way Zoe could hear us from all the way over there. “She’s not. We’re just friends. She’s straight. Plus, she’s in a relationship.”

  “An open relationship,” my mom emphasizes. “And she definitely wants to be more than your friend. It’s blatantly obvious. There’s no reason to be embarrassed, Brookie. I think it would be wonderful if something happened between you two.”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” I say, even though my face is flaming. “It’s just…there’s nothing like that going on.” But now all I can think about is how Zoe’s lips felt pressed against mine, how her voice sounded when she whispered, There, now you’ve kissed a girl.

  My mom rolls her eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m not blind. I see the way she looks at you.”

  “What? How does she look at me?”

  “Like you’re the brightest thing in the room. Like she wants to swallow you whole and then lick up the crumbs.”

  I start to say, That’s insane, no she doesn’t. But what comes out of my mouth is, “Really?”

  “Absolutely. I couldn’t be happier for you. She’s a wonderful girl.”

  Zoe comes out of the bathroom and starts heading back toward the table, the silky skirt of her red dress swishing around her long legs. When she catches me watching her, she shoots me a brilliant smile.

  “I know,” I tell my mom. “She really is.”

  When Zoe switches off the light that night, I’m about to try to start a game of Love or Hate. But before I can come up with a question, she says, “So…your mom thinks you’re in the ensemble of Birdie.”

  I bury my face in my pillow. “Ugh. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “Why are you apologizing?”

  “Because I should’ve warned you that I wanted you to cover for me, and I totally forgot. And because it’s your show, and I, like, co-opted it. Are you mad?”

  “Of course not. Why do you always think I’m mad at you? I’m never mad at you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  She rolls over to face me. “Why don’t you tell your mom the truth?”

  “I can’t. She’d be so disappointed.”

  “Brooklyn, it’s obvious how much she loves you. She’s not going to love you less because you’re not in a main stage show.”

  “I didn’t really even plan to lie to her about it,” I say. “It came out of my mouth one day, and now it’s too late to take it back.”

  “But your parents are going to come up here next month to see you perform! What are you going to tell them when you’re not in the show?”

  “I’ll fake the flu or a sprained ankle or something. It’ll be f
ine.” I sigh. “My whole family is so proud of me for being here, Zoe. Believing I’m actually successful for once isn’t hurting them.”

  “They should be proud of you regardless,” she says. “You’re amazing.”

  “You know that’s not true. My mom didn’t even let me sing in the—”

  “I don’t mean at singing. I mean you. Like, as a person.”

  In my head, I burst into tears and laugh hysterically and set off fireworks and do a bunch of cartwheels, all at the same time. In real life, I somehow manage to say, “Thank you. So are you.”

  “Can I ask you something else?”

  “Okay.”

  “That thing your mom said at dinner. The thing about finding you a nice boy or girl?”

  I try to keep my voice light, like this conversation isn’t a big deal at all. “Yeah, she says stuff like that a lot. She’s really into me ‘experimenting.’ Sorry if it was weird.”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was cool. I can’t imagine my mom ever saying anything like that.”

  “But your parents are okay with that stuff, right? They wouldn’t be upset if you liked girls?”

  “No, they know I do,” Zoe says. “I dated this girl Carina for a while junior year, and we talked about it then. They weren’t thrilled at first, but they got used to it. Of course, then she decided she was straight and totally broke my heart.”

  Holy shit, my mom was right—Zoe really is bisexual. If I wanted something to happen between us, it’s possible she might be kind of, sort of available to me. It’s weird how everything suddenly looks a little softer and brighter when a “no” turns into a “maybe.”

  “Brooklyn?” she says, and I realize it’s been way too long since I’ve said anything. “You’re not freaked out, are you?”

  “God, no, of course not. You just never said you liked girls.”

  “I didn’t think it was important. Is it important?” Her voice is small.

  “No, it’s totally not. Like, half the people I know at home are bi.”

  “Right, okay.” She’s quiet for a minute, and then she says, “But…you don’t like girls, right? Even though your mom wants you to experiment?”

  My heart is beating so hard now that I’m sure she can hear it across the room. People can probably hear it all the way down the hall. “I mean, I don’t not like them,” I say. “I’ve never really been attracted to a girl before, like, in the past, but I’m not saying it couldn’t happen. If there were someone I, um, felt stuff for, I wouldn’t discount it. Like, on principle, or anything. You know?”

  It’s probably the most inarticulate string of words I’ve ever put together. I half expect Zoe to burst out laughing and say, I’m sorry, what? But instead she says, “Yeah. I think I know what you mean.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.”

  I can hear the smile in her voice, and even though we can’t see each other in the dark, I smile back.

  That Thursday is the closing night of Midsummer and my last day on the lighting crew, and on Friday morning, I switch to the scenic department. I don’t know any more about building sets than I do about lighting, but this time Russell is there with me, so everything is less scary. He introduces me to the other scenic interns, and it’s a relief to meet people who have no idea who Lana Blake Shepard is. The head of the scene shop gives me a bunch of huge Styrofoam balls and sets me to work covering them with blue and pink sequins for the Dreamgirls set. It’s unbelievably tedious, but I don’t actually mind—it’s not dangerous, it doesn’t involve any heavy lifting, and I can listen to music on my phone and think about Zoe all day. Whenever Olivier comes into the shop to check on our progress, I get to watch Russell light up and frolic in circles like a puppy. Since I’m too embarrassed to go to the dining hall and face the other apprentices, Russell and I walk into town every night and get sandwiches at Sammy’s, where everything on the menu is named after a celebrity. The Tina Fey is particularly tasty.

  The following Monday is the midpoint of the festival, and that means it’s time for Pandemonium, the legendary midseason party. We’ve all been working seven days a week for a month now, and this is the company’s chance to go crazy and forget about our responsibilities for one glorious night. All through the season—and for my whole life, really—I’ve heard stories about people getting injured, destroying property, and hooking up with ill-advised partners during Pandemonium. Douchebands claims to have hooked up with fourteen different girls in one evening last year, and I’m pretty sure I believe it. The party is all anyone talks about, but nobody’s more excited than me. On a night so centered around debauchery, it seems possible that something real could finally happen between Zoe and me.

  Our directors and shop heads let us out early so we have time to get ready for the party. When I get back to our room, Zoe’s blowing her hair dry in front of the mirror. She has on a tight white dress with a low back, which showcases the delicate branches and flowers inked onto her skin. I’ve never actually seen her whole tattoo, and I suddenly have an intense desire to know how far down it goes.

  Zoe clicks the blow-dryer off and spins around. The front of the dress is cut much higher, but somehow that makes it even sexier. “Hey!” she says. “I was wondering when they were going to let you out. Jessa and Livvy are coming to get us in half an hour.”

  I have no desire to go to the party with Jessa and Livvy, but I can’t very well say that; Zoe still doesn’t know I overheard their conversation in the bathroom. “You look really great,” I tell her instead.

  “Thanks; you’re sweet. What are you wearing?”

  I pull my favorite little black dress out of my closet and hold it up. It’s the only appropriate thing I own, so I hope Zoe likes it; it’s short and flirty and shows more leg than I’m used to. “Perfect,” she says. “That’s going to look gorgeous on you.” She offers to curl my hair, and I sit very still in her desk chair, soaking up the feeling of her cool, quick fingers brushing my neck and shoulders. She lines my eyes in gold pencil, leaning so close, I can feel her breath on my cheek, and lends me the bright red lipstick she’s wearing. When I’m thoroughly primped, painted, and dressed, and she pulls me over to the mirror.

  “Look at us,” she says. “We look spectacular.”

  “We really do.” I’m not used to wearing this much makeup, and I look like a stranger to myself. It’s weirdly freeing. I feel like I could do anything tonight and it would be totally fine, because it wouldn’t really be me doing it. I stare at our reflections and try to fix them in my mind. Even if I can’t be as brave as I’m hoping, I want to remember this moment, when we were sparkly and bright and alone together.

  Livvy and Jessa burst into our room without knocking, and I start feeling awkward all over again; I’ve barely spoken to either of them since my mom’s master class. They’re both giggling and tottering in their heels, and when Livvy reaches into the red corset she’s wearing and pulls out a flask, I see why. “You want?” she asks.

  “Sure,” Zoe says. She drinks, grimaces, and hands it to me. Based on the face she made, I’m not sure I want what’s inside, but I do want the courage that comes with it, so I take a swig. It tastes like lighter fluid that’s been touched with a match, and fire flies up my nose and down my throat as I cough and sputter. Everyone laughs, and Zoe rubs my back.

  “What is that?” I gasp when I can speak again.

  “Whiskey,” Jessa says. She’s wearing this slinky silver thing that’s more like a large handkerchief than a dress. “Little sips, Shepard.”

  I take another tiny sip to prove that I can, and it goes down better this time. “Good girl,” Jessa says, and her smile looks pretty genuine as she takes the flask from me. I wonder for a second if she’s gotten over all the stuff she said the other day, but I’m pretty sure she and Livvy are just caught up in the tipsy anticipation of the party. I smile back anyway. I’ll take what I can get.

  Pandemonium is already in full swing when we get there. The Dreamgirls set has been moved
into the wings, and the stage and loading dock of Haydu Hall look like a New York City club. Rows of moving lights swoop around in a synchronized dance and shoot their colorful beams through the haze produced by a bank of fog machines. In the center of the stage, raised up on a platform, is an eight-foot-tall cage with a girl and two guys inside. All three of them are dancing like they’re possessed, and for a second I think Allerdale has hired burlesque performers. But when the door swings open and the three of them spill out, laughing and whooping, I recognize them as non-eq company members. The music is so loud, I can feel the bass thundering through my chest.

  Zoe grabs my hand and screams something. I have no idea what she said, but her eyes are bright and she’s smiling at me like I’m the only person in the room, so I hold on tight and let her lead me. We snake through the writhing, sweaty crowd, dodging flailing limbs and flying hair, until we’re right in the middle of the stage. When we reach the base of the cage, Zoe throws her head back, closes her eyes, and starts to dance. Normally it takes me a couple of minutes to fall into the rhythm of a dance floor, but here, everyone is so caught up in their own ecstatic motion that it feels like nobody’s watching. I’m warm all the way through from the whiskey and the heat of the crowd. As the beat speeds up, I snake both arms up above my head, raise my face to the neon lights, and spin around and around. I feel free and fizzy and dangerous and lit up from the inside.

  One song fades into another and another, and I lose track of time completely. Somewhere in this crowd is Livvy in her corset and Jessa in her handkerchief and Kenji and Todd and Pandora and Russell, but all that exists for me is Zoe. The crowd presses her closer and closer to me as we dance, and I don’t back up to make room. Pretty soon she’s got her hands on my hips and her body right up against mine, and everything in me goes, Yes. My arms have nowhere else to go, so I loop them around her neck. Our knees scissor together, and for a minute it’s awkward, the movements of our bodies fumbling and unsynchronized. But Zoe looks straight into my eyes and smiles, and I find her rhythm and sink into it. I’ve seen girls dance like this before, rocking their hips back and forth like they’re one eight-limbed, two-hearted animal, and I know it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. But I’m sure I’ve never felt this kind of connection to another person, even when Jason used to push me up against a wall and kiss me until I lost my breath.