The Sound of Us

by Julie Hammerle

  The long walk to Matt Carroll’s house transports me back to freshman year. Why did I ever start going to these parties in the first place? I don’t really enjoy them. I’m never part of the action. I used to watch Beth from the sidelines as she drank canned beer and tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to kiss guys from our math class. But at least she had a plan. All I had was the kitchen, a cup of lukewarm Diet Coke, and the pipe dream that one day a guy who never had anything to say to me by daylight would whisk me off into one of Matt Carroll’s many spare bedrooms and profess his undying love for me. I’ve been sitting in Matt Carroll’s kitchen for three years waiting for life to happen.

  Maybe I was lame back then. Check that. I was definitely lame back then. Sure, I didn’t drink and I didn’t kiss boys and I didn’t participate in shenanigans and tomfoolery, but I also didn’t know what it felt like to want someone so bad it takes over your whole life or to be floundering so horribly that you have no idea how you’re going to pull through it. For the first three years of high school I lived a safe, secure, solitary existence. I had a routine. I didn’t live with this pit in my stomach that never seemed to leave. Was I better off now or then?

  I hold my head up, channeling Brie before a performance, my eyes sweeping over the crowd gathered on Matt Carroll’s lawn. I brace myself for the inevitable—Beth—but she’s not on the lawn. When I get to the top of the stairs, I push the door open without knocking, because no one knocks at Matt Carroll’s house.

  The sparsely decorated living room is packed wall-to-wall like a rush-hour train car. Some hipster band warbles an eleventy-minute song from every speaker on the first floor. Vaguely familiar faces pop out at me from the crowd as if in a Whack-a-Mole game. I see the girl who didn’t shave her legs for the first two years of high school, the tall guy who stinks at basketball, and the girl who dances all the dance solos whenever there are solos to be danced. And then I see Beth.

  She’s perched on the living room couch with a bunch of girls we never used to have the guts to talk to, but now Beth has the guts. She has Davis. She’s one of them. She even looks like one of them, with her perfectly done makeup and her red hair that used to hang down almost to her waist, but now is cut in a fashionable long bob. She looks grown-up. She looks happy and content and like she doesn’t regret at all blowing up our friendship.

  I’m shocked at how little I feel, seeing her right now. The anger is gone and has been replaced by wistful nostalgia. I spent the summer making friends. I kissed two whole boys. I fell for someone who broke my heart. For most of my life, I was content in my friendship with Beth, just like I was content with my TV shows. They were excuses to stay stagnant. Beth was my safety net, and, apparently, I was hers.

  Beth never looks over at me, so I head into the dining room, catching sight of Tina standing next to a curio cabinet in the corner. I push my way over to her.

  “I want to go home,” I say.

  She ignores me. “Look at all these preppy young guys just begging to get involved with worldly older women. I thank you for bringing me here,” says Tina. “So who’s this Davis Blankenshaft person?”

  I scan the room. Davis is usually easy to spot. He’s one of those people, like Brie or Seth, who commands attention just by virtue of his existence. Almost on cue, the door to the back porch flies open and there he is, standing near the sliding glass doors talking to a third of our football team’s offensive line, an invisible wind machine rustling his hair. I feel absolutely nothing. Davis Blankenshaft the Third is officially out of my system. I take glee in noting that, if Seth’s a ten, Davis is only about a seven.

  “Total Garcia,” my sister says, winking. “He still dating Beth?”

  “I think so.”

  “You talk to her yet?”

  I shake my head.

  “You need to get her back, do something to make her feel as shitty as she made you feel for months.” She takes a sip of her beer. “It’s the only way you’re ever going to move past this.”

  I itch my arm under the polyester cap sleeve of my dress. “I am past it, I think,” I say.

  “No, you’re not. Stop being a doormat.”

  “I’m not being a doormat. I’m just…over it.” I lean in toward my sister. We haven’t really had a chance to talk since I got home. “I may have,” I say, rolling my eyes, “found my own Garcia in Indianapolis.”

  She stares at me, mouth wide open. “Details. Now.”

  I blush. “This baritone.”

  “Name?”

  “Seth Banks.” I push all thoughts of Jack out of my head. I won’t talk about him. He’s for me only.

  “Hot.”

  I shrug. “We kissed once, I guess, sort of.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. It was fun. We’re friends.”

  She gives me the once-over. “Let me get this straight. You guys…kissed, sort of…no strings, for either of you?”

  I nod.

  “Seriously? No strings.”

  “No strings.”

  She hugs me. “I’m so proud of you today. You just went up, like, a notch. My sister has a fuck buddy.”

  “Kissing,” I insist. “Just kissing.”

  “For now.” Letting go of me, she says, “To commemorate this, I’m going to do something for you.” She hikes up her boobs.

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just bring Beth upstairs in ten minutes.”

  I grab her arm. “No, Tina. It’s done. I’m over it.”

  “Well, I’m not.” She shakes me off and strolls through the French doors out to the back room.

  “Tina, come back,” I whisper-shout, but she doesn’t hear me.

  Davis and his friends notice her immediately. She pours herself a drink, licks her lips, and sidles up to them. Davis can’t take his eyes off her chest.

  “He’s not going to fall for this, though,” I mutter to myself. “He’s with Beth. He’s not that big a douchebag.”

  About ten seconds later, possibly less, my sister is leading Davis through the French doors, into the dining room, and up the stairs. She winks at me as she passes by. I try to grab her arm, but she shrugs me off. I check to see if Beth noticed. She didn’t. She’s still on the couch in the living room with her new friends.

  I have to stop this. It’s the right thing to do. Beth is happy now. I’m…moderately…happy, or at least I was happy. I have the capacity to be happy outside my friendship with Beth and all of this high school nonsense. Not five minutes ago, I was thinking Beth and I could make peace with each other, or at the very least coexist. If I let this happen, if I knowingly let my sister hookup with Davis, she’ll never forgive me and she’ll make my life even more miserable than it already is.

  Plus, I’ve simply had my fill of guys being dicks to their girlfriends this summer.

  I dash toward the stairs, determined to prevent whatever sexy shenanigans my sister is about to pursue with Davis, but I’m blocked by my brother and Natalie. “Kiki, oh my God.” His face is white. “You haven’t…looked at a phone lately…?”

  I have no time for this. I need to get upstairs. “I don’t have a phone. You know this.”

  He takes my forearm. “Come here.” He tries to drag me toward the living room. “You should sit down.”

  I cannot with this. “Tommy. Stop. Whatever it is, it’s gotta wait, like, two minutes.”

  “Okay,” he says, making prayer hands in front of his lips. Now he’s freaking me out. I consider taking a second to talk to him, but no. Tina first.

  “Two minutes,” I say, leaving him downstairs looking like a ghost.

  I tiptoe down Matt Carroll’s second floor hallway. Most of the doors are closed. I’d heard about the hooking up that happens here, but I’ve never personally experienced it, of course. At every door, I stop to listen for my sister’s voice, or Davis’s, trying not to let their mating sounds register in my ears.

  The door at the end of the hall is slightly ajar and a light creeps through the c
rack. I approach it with trepidation, listening for the sounds of Tina hooking up with Davis. About five feet from the door, I realize that the light is coming from a television screen.

  I knock. “Tina?” I push the door open and find Matt Carroll lying on his mom’s bed watching an episode of Project Earth.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “It’s all right.” He pauses the video. “Hey, you’re Kiki, right?”

  I nod.

  “I think we had social studies together once.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “maybe. Sorry to bug you.” I wave and tiptoe toward the door. I have to stop Tina and Davis. Time is of the essence.

  “Wait!” He holds up his hand. “Don’t go. You’re not bugging me.”

  “I have to,” I say, looking toward the door.

  “You’re a big Project Earth fan, right?” Matt Carroll is cute, like, mid-level popular cute. A little short, a little frumpy, but definitely adorable, even when he’s frowning, which is what he’s doing right now. The look on his face unsettles me. It’s the same face Tommy was giving me downstairs.

  “Yeah, I like Project Earth,” I say, wary.

  “Aren’t you just…?” He shakes his head, his eyes actually tearing up, I think. What the hell is going on tonight?

  “What’s the matter?” I groan, annoyed. Why is everyone acting so weird while I’m just trying to stop my sister from doing, well, Davis?

  “’What’s the matter?’” Matt Carroll repeats. “Are you kidding me? ‘What’s the matter?’ Dana’s dead!”

  All thoughts of Tina and Davis fly from my mind. My stomach plunges to my knees. “What?” I whisper.

  “Dana’s dead.” His face is so grave it’s borderline hilarious.

  I laugh, relieved, realizing what this is about. “Did you accidentally watch one of the alternative endings from last season? Total bullshit. Dana’s not dead. Oh my God, you had me worried.”

  He shakes his head, his face still serious and dark. He pats the bed beside him. “Sit down.” It’s the second time in five minutes someone’s told me to do to that. It can’t be a coincidence.

  I look toward the hallway. “My sister—”

  “Kiki, sit down.”

  I walk over to him, my heart beating a million times a minute. With shaking hands, I lift the strap of Tina’s purse over my head and drop the bag to the floor. It was strangling me. What could’ve happened to make Matt Carroll’s face get so serious? I perch next to him on the bed and hold my breath.

  He doesn’t look at me as he fiddles with the remote. “Dana, the actress who plays her—played her. She died.” And now he glances up, sideways, under heavy lids. He’s waiting for my reaction.

  “What?”

  “Calliope…what’s her name? Pfeiffer? She died. She’s dead.”

  I jump up and cover my mouth. I’m going to scream or vomit, one of the two. “What? Calliope Pfeiffer died? Calliope Pfeiffer?” I whisper it. “You’re lying.”

  Matt Carroll shakes his head like he just told me my grandfather didn’t make it through his quadruple bypass surgery or something.

  “Then somebody’s lying to you. This is impossible. It’s a hoax, probably. That’s totally it.” My breath slows; I’m feeling calmer. Internet death hoaxes happen all the time. This is just one of them.

  “It’s not a hoax. It’s all over everything. Her publicist confirmed it. She fell out a window during a family party. The police are still investigating. It could have been a suicide, but they haven’t ruled out foul play.” It sounds like he’s reciting a news report verbatim.

  “Holy…crap. Holy crap.” It’s all I can say. My knees are knocking together. This news is hitting me harder than when my parents told us kids they were going to have to put our family dog down.

  “I know.” Matt Carroll shakes his head. “And I only just started watching the show. My older brother’s into it, and he forced me to watch season one. I’m on the second season now, and I’m totally hooked.”

  “Oh my God.” My mind keeps picturing all of the tabloid photos I’ve seen of Calliope over the years, her on red carpets with Spencer Murphy, with her family, lying on the beach. And now she’s gone. I can’t believe it. “This is just…I’m not sure how to process this.”

  “It’s crazy.”

  “It really is.” My hand reaches for my purse. I need my phone. I need to get on Twitter. I need to text Norman. I need to discuss this with people who care as much as I do. My mind is already composing a tweet, attempting to fit all of my sorrow into one hundred and forty characters. I have to say more than just RIP, more than how sorry I am for her friends and family. It’s an impossible task. Words are simply not enough in this situation. I wonder how @Windry87 is handling this. She has to be crushed. And then I realize that I don’t have my phone. I can’t get on Twitter. I have no access to Norman’s phone number. Or Jack’s. Jack. How is he handling this?

  Matt Carroll still wants to talk. “Okay, so Lisa. Is she good or bad? I need to know.”

  I shake my head. “Dana just died.” I’m incapable of discussing anything else. I glance around the room. “I need…”

  He nods. “I get it. It was nice to finally meet you, Kiki. Wish it could’ve been under better circumstances.”

  “Yeah.” I’m like a sleepwalker.

  A piercing scream erupts down the hall. Without thinking, I run. Someone just found out about Dana, I think. But then I see a door fly open at the end of the hall, near the staircase, and something that looks suspiciously like a naked rear end emerges from the room. I refocus, positive that I couldn’t have seen what I just thought I saw. But sure enough, there’s Davis Blankenshaft’s bare bottom running down the stairs. Beth, her red hair a blur, follows him. And Tina’s standing outside one of the spare bedrooms, twirling a pair of boxers in her hand.

  “I meant to stop you,” I say, approaching my sister, shell-shocked.

  “My plan was a rousing success,” she says. “You’re welcome.” She tosses the boxers at me.

  I catch them. “Dana died,” I tell her. Nothing else matters.

  She puts her hand to her mouth in shock. “Dana who?”

  I groan. “Calliope Pfeiffer. From Project Earth.”

  “That geek show you like?”

  “Yes. That geek show I like.”

  Tina drapes her arm around my shoulders and rests her chin on my head. “I’m really sorry.”

  “No, ‘Who cares, it’s just a silly TV show’? No, ‘It’s not like you even knew her or anything’?”

  “You did know her, Kiki. In your own way, you did.”

  She pulls me in tighter as feet thunder up the stairs. And there’s Beth, eyes wild, pointing at us. She focuses her eyes on me, not Tina. “You,” she says, “you did this.”

  Tina pats my hair. “Beth, it was me. Leave Kiki out of this.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “Your sister’s always doing your dirty work. First you get her to weasel you into opera camp over me, and now you sic her on my boyfriend. You’re despicable.”

  “Shh,” Tina says. “Her favorite actress just died.”

  Beth laughs. “Ha, did you just find out or something? Hilarious. I should probably buy you flowers or a card or something. You must be in mourning.”

  “Beth, we need to talk, maybe not right now…” My eyes are welling up now. It’s all too much.

  “Yeah, I tried to talk to you all summer, but you never answered me. I freaking tweeted at you. I went to Twitter because I thought it was the only way I’d get you to respond.”

  “I wasn’t ready. I needed space.”

  “You never cared about me as much as your imaginary friends,” she says, shaking her head. “Here you are now, wrecked over the death of someone you never met.”

  “I was working so hard, I didn’t have the energy to fight with you again—”

  “You’re the asshole here, Beth,” interrupts Tina. “You were butt-hurt about not getting into Krause and you went after Davis
just to get back at Kiki.”

  “You stole my music. The piece in my acceptance packet, you took it. You sabotaged me.”

  Beth ignores me. “Speaking of Krause, what are you doing here anyway? Did you flunk out? I’m not surprised. You took my spot in the program and you wasted it. I knew that would happen.”

  “She hooked up with a super hot baritone,” says Tina.

  “Sure she did,” says Beth, “in her dreams. He’s probably some character from Project Earth. He’s probably some—”

  She doesn’t get to finish, because Tina steps in, fist raised, about to punch her. I push Tina out of the way and grab Beth into a big hug. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry it turns out your boyfriend is a jerk. I’m sorry you didn’t get into camp. Most of all, I’m sorry that twelve years of friendship has been reduced to this.” I squeeze her one last time before letting her go.

  She stares at me in shock, but something in her face has softened, if only slightly.

  “And now,” I say, “I’m going home to be sad about an actress I never met, but I won’t apologize for that.”

  *

  On the way home from Matt Carroll’s party, Tina surrenders her phone to me. In those twenty minutes, I read everything I can about Calliope Pfeiffer’s death. She fell out of a sixth story window during a family dinner. The police are looking into foul play. One minute she was alive, and the next she was dead. I put my hand to my mouth as I press play on a video. With Tommy’s girlfriend looking over my shoulder, we watch in silence for five whole minutes. There she is as Dana, walking her dog, dressed up for the Emmys with Spencer Murphy, looking alive, young, and happy.

  As we near our house, I hand the phone back to Tina. My eyes are heavy and my throat is tight. I’m scared to speak because I know it will open the floodgates. This is insane, I think. Beth is right. Calliope Pfeiffer was just a stupid actress and I didn’t know her. I have no right to mourn her. It’s not like she was family or anything.