Jules leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of Lex’s curly hair. “Oh,” she said, remembering how this had started. Dia wanted to tell her something, too. “What was your thing?”
Dia pushed her fries toward Jules. “Eat first,” she said. “This is big.”
Jules did as Dia said, and then they left the food court, left the mall. They walked over to the nearby playground with Lex holding on to their hands, swinging up into the air between them.
At the playground Jules chased Lex around the jungle gym for a while, but before long a big kid on the slide scared Lex, and so Jules took her over to Dia in the shade. “I’m so sweaty,” she said, collapsing on the grass with a groan. “It’s so hot.”
“Summer,” Dia said, fishing a sippy cup from the back of the stroller. “Lex, c’mere. Have some water.”
Jules rolled onto her stomach and propped her head up on one hand, looking at Dia. “So are you going to tell me now?”
Dia handed the cup to her daughter and watched her while she spoke. “Okay. It’s about the Sun City contest.”
“That?” Jules plucked blades of withered grass from the ground with her other hand. Uh-oh. Dia had this tone that usually meant she had a plan. And they hadn’t talked about the contest since they were still playing. They barely talked about the band at all anymore, since Dia had ruled that it was too depressing.
Danger.
“What about it?”
Now Dia looked at her, her face set in this determined stare. “I want to enter it.”
“Why?” Jules sat up, her Autumn-induced good mood rapidly shifting. “Seriously. What’s the point?”
“The point is fifteen grand,” Dia said. “The point is an opening slot for Glory Alabama on their tour.”
Jules snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’s the dream.”
“It’s not a dream,” Dia said. “It’s for real. GA is sponsoring the contest this year, and those are the prizes. Jules, we could win all that.”
“Come on.” Jules tossed a handful of grass in Dia’s direction and it landed all over her own legs. “Be serious. Like they’re going to give fifteen thousand dollars to anybody.”
“It’s not a rumor,” Dia said, taking out her phone. She messed with it for a moment, then thrust it at Jules. “See?”
Jules found herself looking at a screenshot and she had to zoom in to read it, her stomach swooping as she did so, because every word reinforced what Dia was saying.
Round One: Submit an original track.
Okay.
Round Two: You’ll perform for our judging panel, one-on-one.
So maybe Dia wasn’t talking shit.
Round Three: The winners will be announced at the Revelry Room on 07/27 and they’ll receive $15,000 cash, the opportunity to open at one of Glory Alabama’s Sunset Revue Tour dates, and more.
Whoa.
Jules shook her head and handed Dia’s phone back. “So it’s real,” she said, dismissive, like it was no big deal, like her heart wasn’t pounding. “And what, you want to enter? Okay, whatever.”
Dia reached over and poked Jules’s calf. “Come on.”
“Come on what?”
“We should do it. Don’t you think we should do it?”
Jules widened her eyes. “I think you’re forgetting two years ago.”
“So what about two years ago?” Dia shielded her eyes as she looked at Jules. “We went through all that and came out with nothing. What do we have to lose now? It’s fifteen thousand dollars, Jules. And the chance to play with a band who came from here, who we have looked up to for years. Do you know what we could do with that?”
What did they have to lose? Time and energy. Each other, maybe—last time they’d lost Hanna, and Ciara, too, cut off in all the mess. And hope. Jules had learned that, to temper her hopes quickly, because life liked to squash them right when you least expected it. “News flash, Dia,” Jules said, managing to not roll her eyes. “We don’t have a band anymore.”
Dia smiled, this sharp grin. “We have you and me.”
“And Hanna?”
“What about her?”
“Well, she’s the band, too,” Jules said, and she meant it. They’d always made their music with Hanna; she couldn’t imagine what it would feel like without her. As frozen as things were between them all, Jules remembered the good times so vividly, the way things used to be. When she was bored in class or tagging clothes or bagging groceries, thinking about those days of practicing until their throats ached and her fingers were bleeding was the only thing that got her through.
We were good, Jules remembered. We were real. The three of us.
“We’ll find somebody else,” Dia said, and she looked skyward. “Be real, Jules. You think she cares about us?”
“Who knows?” Jules said honestly. If that moment of exchanged icy eye contact at the grad party had been any indication, then the answer was no. But that had only been one moment, and she knew better than to presume to know what went on in Hanna’s head. “But if—if—we were actually going to do this, we couldn’t do it without her.”
Dia hoisted a squirmy Lex into her lap, looking at Jules over Lex’s head. “You know she’d eff it all up.”
“Maybe not. I heard she’s sober now,” Jules said. Hard to believe, at first, but she’d heard it more and more. Seen Hanna at school, clear-eyed. Heard from Jesse that she no longer appeared at Saturday-night shows, or emerged from someone’s messy party remains on a Sunday morning. Maybe Jules was naive, but she wanted to believe it was true. Hanna deserved better than the life she’d been giving herself. If she was sober, then Jules was happy for her.
“Yeah, I heard that too,” Dia said, and her voice was hard but her eyes told a different story. “So?”
“It doesn’t even matter,” Jules said. “Because we’re not really going to do it.” Enter this contest after two years of not playing? Embarrass themselves all over again in front of the entire music crowd? In front of Glory Alabama?
But Dia looked determined still. “Okay,” she said. “Here.” She dug down in her pocket and emerged with a shiny coin. “Tails, we do it. Heads, we don’t.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jules said, and then she laughed. Of course Dia wasn’t kidding; when she decided on something, she made it happen. She’d make that coin land on her side, no doubt. And Jules could say no, or she could give in to her best friend’s magnetic control. “Fifteen thousand dollars? I could get a car.”
“I could get a new guitar.”
Jules tipped her head back and closed her eyes, the sunlight searing white and orange and gold inside her eyelids. Cracked voices. Frantically beating hearts. Nerves split open raw.
She opened her eyes. “One condition.”
“What?”
“I’ll do it,” Jules said. “But only if you agree that Hanna does it with us. And only if she says yes.”
“Oh, come on,” Dia said, exasperated. “Talk about an impossible condition!”
“You don’t have to convince her,” Jules said. “I’ll do that. I’ll do the hard part. All you have to do is say yes to this.”
“I . . .” Dia frowned in Jules’s direction. “Do you miss her?”
Jules raised her shoulders lazily. “Well, yeah,” she said. “I mean, the things she did weren’t great, but we weren’t perfect, either. She was our best friend.” She tipped her head to the side. “Do you?”
“No,” Dia said, her answer too immediate to be true. “Not really. Sometimes.”
Jules seized her opening. “So let me talk to her,” she said. “It’s been a while. We’re older now. Sometimes we’re smarter. Maybe it’s time to move on. Remember how much we always wanted to do Sun City? If we’re going to do it, it should be with Hanna.”
It took a long minute, but eventually Dia nodded. “Fine,” she said, sounding only half-convinced. “But you have to handle her. And if she says no, we’re still doing it.”
“Only if the coin says so,” Jules said.
“Flip it.”
It turned over twice, three times, before landing in the grass right by Lex’s foot. And the force of Dia’s smile could have powered the entire Golden Grove electricity grid for days.
“Tails.”
Hanna
This has to be a record, Hanna thought. Not even three weeks into summer break and I’m already bored out of my mind.
She tossed a quarter in the air, again and again. The line for ice cream was long—she’d clearly gotten a craving at peak time—and even though it was cold in the café, Hanna felt the back of her shirt sticking to her skin. So far today she’d already managed to piss off her parents; they’d done nothing but shower her with questions and instructions over her morning cereal.
“Put the trash out when you’re done,” her mom had said. “And hang the laundry out to dry, please.”
“What are you doing today?” her dad had asked. “Are you working? What time will you be home?”
“I have the morning shift.” Hanna had slurped blue milk from her spoon. “And I’m taking Molly to her drama thing.”
“Don’t forget to pick her up,” Theresa said, and Hanna raised one eyebrow.
“Why would I forget?” Hanna said. “Really?”
And then her parents had both stopped, giving her the exact same look which Hanna was pretty sure they practiced in the mirror at night. The Look meant Don’t test us. It meant Have you forgotten everything? It meant Come on, Hanna, we’re only doing this for your benefit. It was a look Hanna hated.
“Sorry,” she’d said. Keep Your Mouth Shut, Hanna.
After that she’d dropped Molly off, gone to work, and spent the morning reading in the corner of the furniture store, with the creaky portable fan aimed at her face and her hopes rising every time someone passed the store.
Hanna blew her cheeks out and shuffled forward as the line moved. Truthfully, sprinkles and chocolate sauce hadn’t been what she was craving at all. The longing that had risen in her in the early hours of the morning had been for the burn of whiskey, its soothing warmth, and that calm spreading through her bones. The quiet.
But whiskey was not an option, and she was out of cigarettes.
So here she was.
“Can I help you?”
Hanna looked at the girl behind the counter, ice cream scoop raised in the air like a weapon. She looked about as bored as Hanna felt, and like maybe she would use that scoop to cut someone’s head off if they said the wrong thing.
“Hello,” the girl said loudly, annoyed. “Can I help you?”
Hanna blinked. “Sorry,” she said. Wake up, Hanna. “Can I have two scoops of mint chocolate chip, please?”
After she paid, Hanna wandered outside. Most of the tables were occupied with middle schoolers or parents with sticky kids, and Hanna resigned herself to sitting on the tiny patch of grass by the parking lot. She was halfway over there when a mom at the next table turned slightly from her kid and Hanna realized, suddenly, that this mom wasn’t a middle-aged woman with a tired face like all the others. No, this mom was young, her curls spilling down to her shoulders and her smile shiny with lip gloss as she pulled funny faces at her kid. This mom was Dia.
Hanna stopped right where she was, and watched, because where Dia went, Jules followed. And sure enough, there she was—coming out of the café with ice cream and sodas, sitting down across from Dia, and both of them laughing. She watched Dia get up, ruffle her kid’s hair, and walk off in the direction of the bathrooms. She watched as the little girl, climbing into Jules’s lap now, noticed her staring and uncurled her hand to wave, beaming a big smile.
Without thinking, Hanna smiled back—it was impossible not to, with those cheeks and that happy grin—and then her mind caught up: Oh my god, she thought. That’s Alexa. Wait, when did she get so big? Hanna had seen Dia with the baby around town, of course, but always from a distance and usually hidden away in the stroller, not close enough for Hanna to notice her curls exactly like Dia’s and her scrunched-up nose. The last time she’d been close like this, Alexa had still been at the floppy, soft, sleep-scream-shit stage.
All of a sudden Hanna felt ancient.
When her eyes flicked to Jules, Hanna realized she wasn’t the only one watching. But Jules didn’t look pissed—actually, she was kind of smiling, and then she mimicked the baby’s movement, lifting her hand and waving.
Hanna did that thing she’d seen in so many movies—she turned and looked behind her, to check for the person that Jules was actually waving at. Because there was no way she’d meant Hanna, right?
But there was no one there, and when Hanna looked back at Jules she raised her eyebrows like, Me?
Jules’s smiled dimmed a little, but she nodded. And then she motioned Hanna over.
Mint chocolate chip dripped onto Hanna’s wrist, and she lifted her arm to her mouth, licking it off. It gave her a moment to consider exactly how ridiculous an idea this was—she didn’t even want to speak to Jules, she hated Jules the same way she hated Dia.
Except she loved them the same amount she hated them, and that was how she found herself walking over, gravel crunching beneath her feet, and then she was standing across from Jules. “Hi.” It felt like a foreign word in her mouth, like she had to work her tongue around noises she didn’t yet know how to make.
“Hey,” Jules said. “I—um, do you want to sit with us? It’s so busy today.”
The first words Jules had spoken to her in years, and she said them almost like there was nothing bitter between them at all.
Almost.
Hanna looked in the direction Dia had disappeared in and held back the laugh she wanted to unleash. “I’d better not,” was all she said.
Jules gave that smile again, cautious and amused. “How’s your summer going?”
I drive my sister around, and I go to work, and I talk to myself, and I want a drink, and I would kill to talk to someone interesting, or to do something. Hanna looked past Jules. “Fine,” she said. “Good. You know.”
“Juju, can I have juice?” Alexa spoke in a precocious, sparkling voice and it was almost unbelievable, that this tiny human had come from Dia and could speak entire sentences now. Utterly wild.
“Sure,” Jules said, and she pulled a sippy cup from the bag on the table. “Here you go.”
This silence started then, stretched out and stifling and as long as the distance that had built between them. Hanna licked her rapidly melting cone for something to do, and tried not to stare too hard at Alexa. God, she was the spitting image of Dia: same curls, same medium-brown skin. But Elliot’s eyes.
A cough from Jules broke the silence. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” She looked up at Hanna. “Lex, I mean. How big she is. Not us. I didn’t mean—it’s been a while, that’s all. And I saw you right there and I actually wanted to—”
“Yeah,” Hanna said flatly, cutting Jules off. “It has been a while.” She didn’t have to say what she really wanted to; Jules knew it already.
It’s been a while because Dia decreed that I couldn’t be around Alexa. “I have a kid now, Hanna,” Dia had said, on a day when the air crackled with humidity and the windows in Hanna’s bedroom were thrown open wide to the gray sky. “I’m sorry, but I don’t—I can’t have you around her. Not when you’re drinking like this. Do you see what I’m saying? I have to make sure she’s safe, Han. That’s all.”
Because she didn’t trust me, Hanna thought. And you picked her, Jules. Of course you did—why would you pick the drunk one over the smart one?
That had been the real end of them. Elliot dying, Dia being pregnant, Hanna’s first trip to the ER—all that had spelled doom for the band, she’d known that. But she’d thought they would still be friends, like they were before. Like they’d always be.
And then Dia had said those things. And at the beginning of junior year, Hanna stood in the back of the cafeteria watching Dia eat with Jules, so angry and so hurting at the same time, unable to make herself go over there, act like everyth
ing was normal after an entire summer of barely talking.
So they weren’t together at school, and Hanna wasn’t allowed to be with them and the baby outside of school, and before she knew it the silence between them was too loud to ignore.
And almost a year passed, and then Hanna went to rehab and began trying to become a person she could like. And who cared, right, about two people who didn’t even know her anymore?
Me, Hanna thought. I cared.
“So,” Jules said, and Hanna had to admire her perseverance. “What are you doing after summer? College?”
Hanna shook her head. “I have this job in Selaport. Admin. I need to earn money for now. I’m going to do the whole college application thing in a couple years, maybe. I want to major in psych and eventually become a counselor, but it takes forever, plus my grades weren’t great, so I need to do some volunteer stuff or—” Hanna clamped her mouth shut. Why was she telling Jules her entire life plan? “Yeah.”
“That’s cool,” Jules said. “Psych, huh? I can see that.”
Hanna frowned. What was that supposed to mean? “Right,” she said, and she could see Dia heading back over, close enough that Hanna needed to leave. She tossed the remains of her ice cream in the trash. “I have to go pick up my sister.”
“Sure,” Jules said. “Well, it was good to see you.” It almost sounded like she was telling the truth, but what did Hanna know? Jules cleared her throat again. “Hanna, can we—”
“I really have to go,” Hanna said, beginning to walk backward, and Jules nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Lex, say goodbye.”
“Buh-bye!” Alexa said, and Hanna felt this pang in the pit of her stomach.
“Bye, cutie,” she said, and then looked at Jules. “See you around.”
That evening Hanna shut herself in her bedroom. She plugged headphones into her phone and put on some Banks and then threw herself down on her bed.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Alexa. She wasn’t a baby anymore, she was a full-on little kid. Dia had a, what, almost two-year-old? And Hanna didn’t even know her. She could have watched her growing up; she could have been there today with Jules, on the other side of the divide.
This Is What It Feels Like Page 7