Survive the Night

by Danielle Vega

  “Does that make you my evil stepsister?” I say, once Sam’s too far away to hear.

  “Are you kidding? I’m your fairy godmother.” Shana winks and taps her cigarette, sending a shower of orange sparks to the ground.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “You’ll see.” She squeezes my shoulder, then hurries up to walk with Woody and Sam. I lag behind, turning the comment over in my head. Shana is like a firecracker: bright and sparkly and fun—but if you set her off in the wrong direction, she’ll light everything on fire.

  The platform stretches for another hundred feet before ending at a white-and-green-tiled wall. A staircase cuts through the middle of the concrete, leading deeper underground.

  “Where now?” I ask, peering down the stairs. Particleboard and two-by-fours seal off the door below, and caution tape winds around the handrails. This place is a freaking maze. I wonder how deep it goes.

  Woody hops off the platform, motioning for us to follow him down onto the tracks. Sam climbs down next. I hesitate, looking at Julie, Aya, and Shana.

  “Let’s do this,” Shana says, jumping into the tunnel. Three rusty train rails cut down the center, surrounded by red Solo cups, empty PBR cans, and Snickers wrappers. Rows of thick white candles line the walls. The steady bomp bomp bomp of techno music echoes toward us. I can’t help bouncing a little as I walk. I want to dance.

  “Is it true what they say about the third rail?” Aya asks, hopping down next to me.

  “You mean, is it electrified?” Woody picks up a plastic cup and tosses it at the far rail. It rolls away, unharmed.

  “They turned the power off, remember?” Julie says. “Because of the hurricane?”

  “Whatever.” Woody kicks another plastic cup at the rail.

  I wrap my arms around my chest, shivering. Party sounds seep up through the floor and ooze out of the walls, reverberating through the soles of my shoes. The ground trembles with music.

  We turn the corner, and the tunnel opens into an underground station with an arched ceiling and graffiti-covered walls. People crowd on top of a concrete platform, waving yellow and pink glow sticks that leave trails of light as they dance. Two lanes of subway tracks stretch past the platform on both sides before disappearing into dark tunnels just like the one we’ve come out of. Strobe lights flash from the ceiling, and hundreds of candles line the walls, dripping pools of white wax.

  “Whoa.” Julie runs a hand through her hair, sweeping the black curls off her face. “It’s like Christmas. But for ravers.”

  “Ravemas,” Aya adds, giggling. She tugs off her cardigan, revealing the plunging neckline on her fifties-style dress. She folds the sweater into a tiny square and forces it into her pink faux-fur clutch. She wobbles toward the party, once again balancing on her painful-looking heels.

  “How long before she finds the newest love of her life?” Julie asks, twisting the onyx ring on her finger.

  “Maybe she’ll find someone great tonight,” I say. Aya’s always looking for her next epic romance. Julie gives her shit, but I can’t help rooting for her. I steal a glance at Sam, heading down the tunnel.

  “You think there’s a VIP room in this place?” Shana asks, taking a puff from her cigarette.

  “Like where the celebs hang out?” I ask. Shana shrugs and leans her head back, trying to blow smoke circles.

  “This is New York,” she says, winking at me.

  I lean forward, peering down the tunnel that leads to the entrance. “Maybe it’s back this way?”

  I start down the tunnel, but a bouncer cuts me off before I can go any farther. He has the kind of face that looks like it doesn’t know how to smile.

  “No one leaves Survive the Night until the party’s over,” the bouncer says. He hooks his thumbs into his jeans pockets and stands up straighter. He must be more than six feet tall.

  I glance at Shana, “We’re just looking for . . .”

  “A bathroom,” she finishes for me.

  “Party’s not over till five,” the bouncer says.

  “Come on,” Shana says, pulling me back into the party.

  “That was weird,” I say. “We’re trapped down here until five in the morning. Don’t you think that’s—”

  “Cool?” Shana stomps out her cigarette.

  “I was going to say strange.” I check over my shoulder again. The bouncer leans against the wall next to the tunnel, waiting for anyone else who might try to slip back to the entrance. “Shana, we have to drive back before Madison’s sleepover gets out or my parents will know I bailed.”

  “It takes two hours to get back,” Shana says. “You’ll be fine.”

  “But if there’s traffic . . .”

  “At five in the morning?” Shana picks at the nail polish on her thumb. “I’m going to find us something to drink,” she says, letting a black flake flutter to the ground. “Think you can try to relax until I get back?”

  “Yeah, of course,” I say, a little embarrassed that I’m getting so worked up.

  Shana veers off to the drink line, while I scramble onto the platform to look for Julie and Aya. Narrow ledges jut out from the wall above me. A girl with pigtails sits on one of them, spray-painting a face on the concrete. I ease past a group of people playing Spin the Bottle and try to make my way toward the dancers on the far end. The platform’s so crowded I can barely move. I’m about to give up and follow Shana to the drink line when I stumble over a pair of Converse sneakers and balled-up socks.

  “Left foot, green!” someone shouts.

  I push past a line of people and see another, smaller group. It looks like they’re wrestling. Paint coats their hands and feet and drips from their clothes. Messy puddles of red, yellow, blue, and green cover the concrete and ooze together, making the floor look like a Jackson Pollock painting.

  “Right hand, blue!”

  Everyone scrambles around to find the blue paint puddles. Giggles erupt as their hands slip out from under them. A few people lose their balance and fall.

  I grin as I watch them play, thinking back to the party where I met Sam. I kept waiting for him to come inside so I could make an excuse to talk to him, but he spent most of the night in the yard with his lawn mower.

  Then, about halfway through the party, I saw him slip through the front door and sneak upstairs. I found him alone in an office on the second floor.

  “I was looking for an extra bathroom,” he told me. But when I promised I wouldn’t rat him out, he admitted he was actually snooping.

  “Check this out,” he’d said. He stepped aside, revealing a floor-to-ceiling bookcase completely stocked with old board games. They had everything: Jenga, Trivial Pursuit, Life, Monopoly, Sorry!—you name it. My mouth dropped open when I saw it—I didn’t realize people owned board games anymore. I hadn’t seen so many in one place in my entire life.

  I threw a hand over my eyes. “Whatever game I point to is the one we’re going to play,” I’d said. He laughed while I made a big show of waving my hand over the row of games before dropping it on an old Twister box.

  “I don’t think you can manage Twister,” Sam said, nodding at the bulky knee brace I had to wear after my accident.

  “Rain check,” I’d told him. He found a piece of paper and scribbled IOU one game of Twister on it, along with his phone number.

  I can’t help remembering that moment now, as I watch this much messier game of Twister. I swivel around, trying to find Sam in the crowd. I know things have been weird between us, but an IOU is an IOU. He owes me a game.

  “Right foot, blue,” the announcer shouts. I grin as the players weave and duck around one another and people lose their balance and tumble to the floor. I finally spot Sam a few feet away. He slides his bare foot onto a blue puddle, a streak of red paint smudged across his face.

  The smile freezes on my lips. He’s a
lready playing. Without me.

  The announcer shouts something else, but his voice sounds like static. A girl leans over and whispers something in Sam’s ear. She’s beautiful and blond, and wearing a shirt that’s so short and tight it’s practically nonexistent. Sam laughs and touches her bare shoulder. The hurt burns inside me, turning to fury.

  I push through the crowd to get to the game, shedding my shoes as I go. Sam freezes when he sees me, his hand hovering above a goopy blue pile of paint.

  “Oh, hey,” I say, flashing him my sexiest smile. “I didn’t see you playing.”

  The blond girl glares at me, and I very maturely stick out my tongue when Sam turns his head.

  “Right hand, green,” the announcer calls. Sam slides his hand onto the same green blob I’m aiming for, and his thumb brushes against mine. I glance up at him. A blush colors his cheeks, and he jerks his hand away.

  “Sorry,” he mutters. I grin, and flick a little red paint at him. It splatters across his hair.

  “Sorry!” I say, biting my lip to keep from laughing.

  Sam cocks an eyebrow. “You’re going down,” he says, wiping paint from his face.

  “Left food, red!” the announcer shouts. I plop my foot down, and red paint oozes between my toes. It feels cold and slimy. I try not to make a face, but I can’t help scrunching my nose up in disgust.

  “Ewww,” I say. Sam lowers his foot to a red puddle behind me.

  “Left hand, yellow!”

  The blond girl hip-checks me, nearly sending me down. My knee twists, and pain flutters through my leg. Sam grabs my shoulder to hold me up. I regain my balance, and he pulls his hand back.

  “Right foot, red!”

  This time, Sam starts to stumble. He grabs my shoulder for support, and suddenly, we’re practically nose-to-nose.

  “Hey,” he says. “You have a little . . .” He brushes something off my cheek. I hold my breath. A smile flickers onto his lips.

  “So, I was trying to wipe away a dot of yellow paint,” he explains, “and I accidentally smeared green paint all over your face.”

  “Loser!” I push my hand into his face, leaving a bright blue handprint on his cheek. He laughs and dunks his hand back down in the red paint. I dodge backward, but I lose my balance. I grab Sam’s sweatshirt, pulling him into the paint with me. I hit the ground with a thud, and Sam lands on top of me.

  “You and you!” the announcer calls, pointing to us. “You’re out.”

  “We’re out,” Sam says. He pushes himself onto his elbow, but doesn’t move right away. Instead, he stares down at me. My breath catches. He’s so close. He could kiss me. I want him to kiss me.

  Finally, he clears his throat and pushes himself away. He reaches for my hand to help me up.

  “Good game,” he says with a smile.

  SEVEN

  SAM PULLS ME TO MY FEET. “WE’RE A MESS,” HE SAYS.

  I try to laugh, but it sounds hollow. Blue paint drips from Sam’s T-shirt and stains his jeans. I lift my hand to wipe a smudge of yellow off his chin, but Sam clears his throat and looks over his shoulder before I can touch him. Frowning, I let my arm drop back to my side.

  I glance down at myself instead. Red and green handprints cover my black T-shirt and jeans, and there’s blue paint splattered over my feet.

  “Think there’s somewhere we can clean up?” Sam asks.

  “Don’t think you’re going to find a bathroom down here.” I wipe my paint-covered hands on my jeans, but there’s nothing I can do about my feet. I slip them into my flats, leaving blue smudges on the leather.

  “Come on,” Sam says, nodding at a keg sitting in the corner. “Let’s find something to drink.”

  I hesitate. “Beer’s probably not a good idea. For me, at least.”

  “Water, then.” A real smile crosses his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It’s enough to calm the butterflies in my gut.

  Sam grabs his sneakers and takes my hand, pulling me into the crowd. His skin feels chalky from the dried paint, and a little sweaty. I don’t want him to let go, but he releases his grip when we shuffle to the end of the drinks line.

  “Isn’t that Shana?” he says, nodding at a blond head in the crowd around the keg. I cup my hands around my mouth.

  “Shana!” I call, and she whips around, holding two bright red Solo cups.

  “Hey! I was looking for you two,” she says. She hands me a Solo cup. “It’s soda,” she says when I make a face. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

  “Yum,” I say, taking a sip. “This is perfect. Thanks.”

  Shana shifts her eyes to Sam. “Woody was looking for you,” she says. “He found some guys who want to jam. You in?”

  Sam glances at me. “I didn’t bring my guitar.”

  “They had stuff,” Shana says.

  “Uh, sure.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “You coming?” he asks. He stares at my chin instead of meeting my eyes.

  “Yeah.” I bite my lip to keep from frowning. Shana grabs Sam’s arm.

  “Here, let me show you where they’re all set up,” she says, and pulls him into the crowd.

  “Wait, didn’t you want a drink?” I shout. Sam turns and lifts a hand to his ear, frowning.

  “Didn’t you . . .” I start again, but he shakes his head to show that he can’t hear me over the music. “Never mind,” I mutter, tagging along after them.

  We hop off the platform and follow the tunnels deeper underground. Shana balances on one of the thick rails, holding her arms out to either side.

  “Why don’t people run off to join the circus anymore?” She wobbles but catches herself before she loses her balance. Beer sloshes over the rim of her Solo cup. “I’d be insane on the tightrope.”

  “You just want an excuse to wear a sparkly leotard.” I avert my eyes as we walk past a couple making out by the side of the tracks. Shana spins on her rail.

  “I’d look great in a leotard,” she says. She wobbles again. I grab for her arm, but Sam reaches her first. He holds her elbow until she regains her balance.

  I grit my teeth and kick an empty PBR can. It ricochets off a rusted rail and rolls to a stop in front of a silver subway car. Graffiti covers the windows, making it impossible to see inside. Woody’s voice echoes down the tunnel, screeching the words to a popular Feelings Are Enough song.

  Sam pulls himself onto the platform, then leans over to offer me a hand.

  “Thanks,” I say, hopping up next to him. A dull ache shoots through my knee. I wince and scramble to my feet, trying to stretch my leg as we walk.

  We join a line of people trying to push through the narrow subway car door. The car’s tiny, but a hundred people are jammed inside. Orange and pink glow-in-the-dark necklaces glimmer from their necks and wrists, and they wave glow sticks above their heads. A thick cloud of marijuana smoke gathers at the top of the subway car.

  “Are you ready for some music?” Woody yells. If I squint, I can see him standing on a cracked yellow seat in the middle of the car. A faded subway map stretches across the wall behind him.

  Woody’s gone full cow, with the costume zipped over his chest and a plastic nose strapped over his real one. A black-and-white tail swings between his legs, and he has fifteen glowy pink necklaces dangling from his neck.

  The crowd cheers. I spot Aya wrapped around a silver pole in the middle of the car, pumping her fists in the air. Wispy black strands of hair hang in front of her face. I search for Julie’s bushy curls, but I don’t see her.

  “Come on,” Shana shouts over the cheering.

  She and Sam duck through the wall of people and disappear into the smoky car. I try to follow, but another jab of pain shoots through my knee. Grimacing, I step out of the doorway and lean against a graffiti-covered window.

  I squint through the glass, watching Sam wade throu
gh the crowd and crawl onto the seat next to Woody. Someone hands him a guitar and he ducks his head to play.

  Disappointment rolls through me. I thought I felt something shift when we were playing Twister, but Sam doesn’t even scan the crowd to see if I’m watching.

  I sigh and make my way farther down the platform to look for Julie instead. I refuse to be the girl who hangs around her ex-boyfriend when he obviously doesn’t want her there. It’s better that I give him a chance to miss me.

  Julie’s thick curls usually make her pretty easy to find, but it’s so crowded down here that I can barely see two feet in front of me. I push my way through the partiers, wondering if she found a bathroom to hide in, like she did the night she came with Shana and me to the rave at the pool. She spent the entire night huddled in the back of the handicapped stall.

  “Learn the secrets of your future, only a nickel,” she had said when Shana and I finally came to find her. A lit joint was balanced on her knee.

  I dug a nickel out of my pocket and handed it to her.

  “Your aura’s yellow,” she said, sliding the nickel into her combat boot. “It means you’re cheerful and good-natured but easily led astray.”

  “That’s not the future,” I pointed out. Julie picked up her joint with two fingers.

  “Your good nature will lead you to love,” she said. “And love will lead you to danger.”

  A toilet flushed, and Shana threw open her stall door. The hard plastic slapped against the wall.

  “You’re cracked, Jules,” she said, switching on a faucet. “Sam’s a Boy Scout. No danger there.”

  Julie leveled her eyes at Shana. She took a puff off her joint, and smoke curled up toward the ceiling.

  “There are many different kinds of love,” she said.

  Techno music blasts from a set of wireless speakers, sending a deep oontz oontz trembling through the ground. I think I see someone with dark, bushy hair, and I grab her arm. But when she turns around I see that it’s really a he, and his hair is actually a fake-looking wig.

  “You’re pretty!” someone shouts. I turn, and a skeletally thin boy wearing Goth makeup grabs my hand and pulls me into the crowd.