How did she know I’d never gone to prom? I didn’t have time to ponder her musings, because she blurted, “The theme is 1980s Retro. It’s Grand Rapids High’s annual Sadie Hawkins Dance!” Bossy Boots directed her attention to me. “That means girl asks the boy.”
Everyone in the booth stared at me as I stood next to James, and to say that the situation was uncomfortable would be a colossal understatement. Suddenly, dying seemed like a minor predicament. “You’re funny, Cal,” I said, letting out an anxious chuckle and gesturing to the bartender to send us another round of drinks. Fast.
“We’re going, Suze. Don’t be a buzz kill.” Calliope looked at James. “Was she always this uptight?”
He smiled at me and said, “She was great, actually,” then placed his hand in the small of my back.
Calliope wasn’t convinced. “Well, we’re trying to teach her the beauty of livin’ in the moment. Aren’t we, Will?”
Will ignored Calliope and concentrated on the location of James’ hand. He scooted over, making room for James and me. “Grab a seat, guys.” He stared at how close the two of us were standing. “Pleeeease.”
We sat down and our waitress brought our next round. “So whatcha been up to the last fifteen years, James?” I said. “I remember you got an A in chemistry … science was your thing. Been looking for a cure for cancer?” I crossed my fingers under the table.
He grinned and shrugged. “Been producing cures for the blues, I hope.”
Leo perked up. “You a shrink?” He was serious. “Cuz I need my Zanax refilled,” he whispered, tapping his nervous fingers on the table.
James took a drink of his beer. “No,” he said. “I’m in the music industry.”
“You’re kidding. Me too,” I said. “Well, I was. I’m kind of on hiatus now.”
It was obvious Will resented James and me for having music in common, so he decided to join the club. He leaned back and matter-of-factly said, “Susan, have I told you I play the sitar? Broke this guy jammin’ out on it.” He held his pinky finger in the air.
I glared at him, but when he smiled back at me, I started laughing. James, catching a glimpse of Will’s competitive streak, looked him in the eye. “I’m a record producer.”
Calliope said, “Cool! Who do you know that’s famous?”
“Uh, let’s see. I just finished a project with Coldplay,” James said, apparently trying not to brag.
Will wasn’t impressed. “Didn’t that lead singer name his kid something really ridiculous? Fig, wasn’t it?”
“Apple,” James said, agitated, putting his hand on top of mine. “Speaking of kids, do you have any?”
I shook my head.
“Me neither,” he said. “I’d like kids, but probably should get married first.” He laughed. “Still looking for a nice, smart girl with Midwestern sensibilities. Been thinkin’ about that a lot, actually. Don’t meet many of those in New York.” He stared off into the smoky air. “Manhattan feels like an island.”
Will stared at him with jealous, hateful resolve. “It’s only an island if you look at it from the water,” he said.
I smiled, trying to break the tension. “So you didn’t marry Jessica and have perfectly beautiful babies?”
“Who?”
“Jessica Graves.” I raised my eyebrows. “Remember? Your prom date? You had such a crush on her. You even talked to me about it first, to make sure you didn’t get turned down.”
He began gulping his beer and didn’t stop until the glass was empty, then looked at me and sighed when he delivered the bombshell. “I talked to you first, because I was hoping you’d … let me know you wanted to go with me. But you … didn’t respond.” He lifted his glass and proposed a toast. “Here’s to the always cool and collected Susan Spector.”
The booth was silent and the tension palpable. I was stunned. In the instant James said it, clarity about my life flooded my pickled brain. Everything that was wrong with me—not the cancer, but my penchant for giving up on things before they even started—could be traced back to James Andrews and my foolish pride. His confession made me think about all of my past failures and misfortunes, and my habit of excluding people I loved by pushing them away.
And then suddenly—and I know this is going to sound bizarre—a young Michael J. Fox appeared in my margarita glass, sitting on the rim juggling salt crystals. He wore jeans and the official coat of 1983—the bomber jacket. I tried blinking to make him go away, but when I opened my eyes, Huey Lewis was trapped inside one of my ice cubes singing “The Power of Love.” Where were the News, you ask? Helping me into the De-Lorean Time Machine, of course.
While they doo-wopped, I flickered through my past, watching flashing images of pivotal moments in my life: risks I should’ve taken, relationships I should’ve nurtured. Then, in an explosive burst of plutonium and emotion, I saw the future. And there was Will, one hand on his heart, the other waving a sad goodbye as he floated down a river of tequila.
When I returned to the present, James, Leo, and Calliope were playing a drinking game—Inebriated Truth or Dare. “Okay, Leo,” James said, slightly slurred, “I dare you to be half the man I am.”
Silence.
“Too late!” All three of them howled with laughter.
“Where’s Will?” I said in a panic.
“In the bathroom,” Calliope said. “He mumbled, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a fuck’ when I asked him where he was going. He’s cranky.” Calliope gave me a big-sister look. “And jealous.” When she looked up at me, there was a surreal twinkle in her eyes that separated her from everyone else. She leaned in close to me, like she was ready to tell a secret.
“If fools rush in, a fool you ought to be,
For love is hard to find and never free.
Abandon pride to find the truth you seek—
Step up, crouch down, drive forward, take the leap.”
“Love is always a leap of faith,” she said, looking in the direction Will had gone.
Within seconds, I left the booth and walked toward the restrooms. On the way there, I realized why I felt so desperate to get to him. Something about him felt like the perfect fit. Call it what you want—the other puzzle piece, or the warm and protective blanket. When he wasn’t by my side, it was as if he took a little piece of me with him. Which meant that, at this very moment, part of me was standing with him in front of a urinal. Ew. All right, that wasn’t so romantic, but what happened next was.
Feeling frantic and reckless, I quickened my pace but caught the heel of my pump on the carpeted bar floor. Because I’d been in such a damn hurry, my shoe, stuck in the commercial-grade shag, acted as a catapult and aimed me straight down the stretch of hallway leading to the bathrooms. I was a flailing mess of tiered ruffles and teased hair, and landed facedown in front of the men’s room.
I don’t think Calliope had meant leap in a literal sense, but as I laid on the floor, arms stretched out in front of me and legs spread out behind me, I felt I’d jumped headfirst into vulnerability, and it felt … like a horrible rug burn.
“Safe!” Will yelled with the vigor of an umpire, as he came out of the bathroom and saw me sprawled out and breathless at home plate.
I raised my head as far as it would go, and far enough to see him enjoying my helplessness. He crouched down and offered his hand. When I took it, he said, “I prefer my princesses naked, but this dress is really your color.”
I smiled. “I wouldn’t know.”
He smiled back. “Right,” he said as I stood up. “What do you know, Spector?”
Don’t think. Do it.
Leap.
I placed my hand on his chest and slowly pressed into him until his back was firm against the wall. “I know that I’ve wanted to do this for the last eight hundred miles.”
When I pushed my hips into him, my knees went weak, and I kissed him like my life depended on it.
TWENTY-FIVE
When I walked into my old high school gym, I felt like a
teenage girl again. Maybe it was because my new boyfriend was standing by my side.
My hand was gently linked with Will’s. “Oh, I almost forgot. Wanna go to the dance with me?” I said as we walked through the double doors.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Can you moonwalk?”
The gym glowed with candlelight and the images from movie scenes of yesteryear were projected on the cement brick walls. With the Go-Gos acting as the audio, the silent movies relied on their larger-than-life presence. In the front of the gym, where it said, “Welcome to Tiger Country,” was a thirty-foot tall Judd Nelson talking to Molly Ringwald. Toward the back where the DJ was set up, Maverick and Ice Man battled it out for best smiles in Top Gun.
I slipped my shoes off and moonwalked until I bumped into a timid woman with a piece of paper in her hand.
“Name, please.” It was a parent volunteer with the dance guest list—a guest list that did not have our names on it. I looked at Calliope, and she shrugged, knowing she’d forgotten to consider this roadblock in our adventure.
Will came to my rescue. He put his arm around the middle-aged mom. “Ma’am? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your first name.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled. “Miriam.”
“Miriam, I’m afraid my people forgot to tell your people we were coming. We’re with the new Teacher Exchange Program. We’re here to get ideas for how to conduct our own retro-themed 80s dances.” He pointed to a giant disco ball spinning in the center of the gym’s ceiling. “More late seventies, really, but still a nice touch.”
She laughed politely and said, “The kids have worked really hard.”
“Yes, I know, that’s why we’re here—to find inspiration in their ideas.” He shook her hand. “I’m Mr. Hudson—tenth-grade teacher. World history and sex ed. And this is my wife, Mrs. Hudson—music teacher extraordinaire. Sings like an angel.”
I shook her hand and smiled.
Will pointed to Calliope and Leo as they offered their hands. “Ms. Lott teaches dance and is an expert in exotic … plants.” Calliope glared at him but disguised it as a smirk. “And Mr. Mayne coaches track and field. World-class pole-vaulter in college, weren’t you, Leo?” He winked at Leo. “Also teaches advanced dog training.”
Everyone looked at James, who had tagged along for the escapade. Will folded his arms, unenthused. “This is Mr. Andrews. First-year home economics teacher.” In a quiet voice, Will said, “We’ll keep an eye on him. He’s still probationary.” Will grinned.
The woman observed the motley crew before her and looked suspicious. “Well, I’m not really supposed to let anyone in who’s not on the list, but I guess if you’re teachers …” she stammered. “What school are you all from again?”
Will sounded confident. “Trojan High.”
We all walked together under a plastic archway and into another time. Hundreds of streamers stretched between basketball rims, creating an intimate crepe ceiling for us as we strolled over to an empty table. Having slipped in under the radar just as the Go-Go’s were singing “Our Lips Are Sealed,” I secretly thanked Calliope for writing this dream into my life for me, although I didn’t tell her.
As I sat next to Will, my very own maverick, I watched the retro-clad high-schoolers flit about in their misguided outfits—vintage 80s, but not quite. They hadn’t actually lived through the decade, only seen highlights of the best and worst, so they sported reproductions of the most recognizable VH1 regulars. And though they were all costumed, they still fit into all the cliques. The popular cheerleader-types all dressed in Cyndi Lauper’s inspired legging-and-oversized-shirt look. The football jocks looked like a cross between John Cougar Mellencamp and Sammy Hagar. The cool, artsy types were brave and smart enough to tackle bands like the Clash or the Ramones. And God bless the effeminate choir boys. They hadn’t yet discovered who they were. Without knowing it, they were emulating Wham!’s George Michael.
All of a sudden, I heard one of the frantic Cyndi Laupers soliciting help from a nearby teacher. “Mrs. Graves? Do you have any, like, eye drops or anything? I think I’m, like, allergic to this stupid blue eye shadow.” She let out an exasperated teenage sigh. “God, I hate the eighties!”
“Calm down, Sarah. Go wash your face and I’ll see what I can do.” When the teacher turned around, I looked directly at James.
“Is that who I think it is?” James said, quite enamored of the pretty teacher who resembled every blonde and beautiful wife Rod Stewart’s ever had. She was dressed in hideous Olivia Newton John workout wear, but she was still stunning. And as she dealt with the kids around her, she proved to be as nurturing as she was attractive.
I nodded. What were the odds of Jessica Graves teaching at the very high school she’d attended?
Calliope turned into an instant matchmaker. “Oh my God, that’s your old prom date? She’s hot, James. Go talk to her!” Calliope grabbed a passing student who looked like Debbie Gibson with acne and braces. “Hey, is Mrs. Graves married?”
“Nuh-uh. She was engaged to Mr. McCabe for a while, but they broke up. She told me in tutoring—said he wasn’t the one.” The girl was whisked away by a gaggle of girls claiming to be Bananarama.
Will was excited to get rid of James, so he agreed with Calliope. “Yeah, go ask her to dance,” he said. “I’ll request a song for you two.”
Leo, Calliope, and I watched the magic happen as James approached Jessica. There was a hug, then another hug, and finally a look between them that we all acknowledged as love at second sight.
“Love is in the air,” I said. And when I said it, I looked right at Calliope, hoping she wouldn’t say “I told you so.” I watched James and Jessica gaze into each other’s eyes. “All right, all right. It’s an interesting coincidence.”
“Coincidence?” Calliope raised her eyebrows at me.
Damn her, she made me falter. It was weird that I had visited home the same weekend as James, and it was weird that Jessica Graves just happened to be teaching at our old high school, and it was weird we all ended up here together.
“Don’t underestimate destiny, Susan,” Leo said. “Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, you’re whoring yourself out in a bad costume for minimum wage, and wondering what the hell happened to your dignity.”
I looked at an empathetic Calliope, who cringed when she heard him say “minimum wage,” and wondered just how much money a G-string could hold. A lot, I gathered.
Will came back to the table just as Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” screamed through the speakers. Waving in the direction of the dance floor, Will motioned to James that the song was dedicated to him and his teacher lady.
Calliope and Will headed over to the food table, which featured a giant cake shaped like Pac Man, while Leo and I sat at our table and watched a crowd form on the dance floor.
“Look at those guys … Why does everyone else get the cool costumes?” said Leo, smiling in adoration. “Party on, dudes!”
A swarm of kids surrounded two grown men trying to break dance. They were so bad, I heard one of the kids ask if they’d been hired by the Student Council as a comedy act.
But then I stared in disbelief.
It was Mono and Clyde dressed as the dynamic duo from Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, but for me, their sudden appearance was anything but excellent.
Clyde was obviously Ted because he wore a T-shirt, vest, and Converse sneakers, and exhibited the understated demeanor Keanu made famous. Mono did his best to imitate Bill, but his oversized shirt and backwards ball cap swallowed him, and he kept tripping over his pants as he attempted spin moves. Clyde racked his balls when he flopped down on the gym floor to perform the worm.
As the crowd cheered them on to the styling of Run-DMC, they waved to me.
“Do you know those guys?” Leo asked.
My margarita buzz had worn off, and the thought of dealing with this situation sober made me panic. “Be right back … Gotta use the bathroom.”
As I splashed water on my face I thought of Abigail Westergaard, the woman hell-bent on cleansing me of my sins. When I looked into the same mirror that hundreds of adolescent girls had seen their imperfections in, I focused on mine. But my flaws weren’t skin-deep. They were soul-deep. My passion for life had been switched off for such a long time, and now that it was starting to come back on, the irony of its bad timing was making me sick.
I coughed until I started to gag, and after I drank some water from my cupped hands, I looked in the mirror and saw an unlikely sight behind me.
“G’deevning, Mees Spector,” Clyde said.
Until then, I’d never heard a language incorporate both an Italian accent and a surfer-dude inflection, but Clyde was doing his best. I stared at the two of them, performing a little Bill and Ted act for me right there in the bathroom.
Clyde grabbed the front edges of his vest à la Keanu. “Uh, Bill, does not Mees Spector look, how you say, super rad thees evning?”
Mono stroked his mullet peeking out from under his cap. “Totally, Ted. She berry bella. She ees a babe!” The two of them were enjoying themselves, like they were the stars of their very own buddy movie.
“I’m glad you’re having a good time, gentlemen,” I said, adjusting one of my mega bows. “But if you’re going to kill me and hack me into little pieces, please let me change first. I am not dying in this dress.”
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