Jules clipped her case shut. “All right,” she said, but she was looking at her phone instead of at Dia.
“Is it Autumn?” Hanna asked, teasing.
Jules stiffened. “No,” she snapped, shoving her phone away. “It’s nobody.”
“Jesus,” Hanna said. “What is wrong with you two today?”
“What’s with all the questions?” Jules said. “God.”
Dia held in a sigh. This was just frayed nerves, old ways rubbing up against new girls. Nothing to worry about. “All right, I gotta go.”
“See you later,” Hanna said, twirling a stick between two fingers.
Dia left and caught the bus over to work, stashing her guitar and amp in the back room before settling into her schedule for the day: three rainbow birthday cakes, six dozen frosted sugar cookies, and many, many chocolate fudge cupcakes.
While mixing ingredients, Dia felt her nerves calming a little. Sugar and butter. Eggs cracked. Flour sifted. She separated the batter into bowls and added coloring, drop by single drop. Too much and the intensity would be over the top, cartoonish instead of whimsical.
When she took her break, she checked her phone and looked at the last text she’d gotten from Jesse: Come by the skate park tomorrow, if you can. We’ll hang.
She hadn’t replied yet.
She hadn’t even seen him, not since Tuesday. Now that he knew about the band, it was easy for her to hide behind it, tell him she was so busy and so sorry and maybe tomorrow, always tomorrow. But she’d been texting him enough that he didn’t think anything was wrong, she was pretty sure. He didn’t know that she was freaking out.
That all she could think when she saw his name on the screen was that she had made a terrible mistake.
She had already lost one person. And she hadn’t even loved Elliot. It sounded awful, but it was true—she had liked him a lot, and she could have loved him, too, but she’d never even gotten the chance. And it had taken her months to put all of that feeling together, to recognize that she wasn’t a horrible person for thinking that, and that it didn’t make her missing him any more or any less, that she was allowed to be sad.
So what would she do if it was Jesse? A boy that she did love, that she had been in love with for so long now. People liked to talk about loving and losing—but Dia would rather not have him be hers and still have him be whole than be with him. Jesse was already getting hurt all the time; what more would it take for the worst to happen to him? What if being with her was the thing that made it happen?
She leaned against her locker, and all her breath left her as she realized the truth.
It’s me.
I’m toxic.
Dia destroyed good things. Elliot. The band. Hanna, too, in a way. People got close to her and became broken. So it was up to her, wasn’t it, to make sure she didn’t inflict all the damage she was apparently capable of. To take herself out of the picture and leave people alone, let them go on to goodness without her dragging them down.
A quiet part of her said: No, this isn’t real, this is not rational thought.
But the bigger, more afraid part of her overruled that logic, made her think about what more might happen if it was real and she tried to ignore it.
Dia slid down the metal, her hands on her knees. Think of all the pain she could have saved if she’d realized the truth of herself sooner.
But she knew it now. And she could still spare Jesse.
Back in the kitchen, she pulled her cakes out of the oven perfectly risen and started decorating her cookies—the initials ANW iced in pale pink on each one—and Dia’s hands were steady enough now to get it perfect.
When the cookies were done she finished off her rainbow cakes. Pipe a single stripe of red at the bottom, and orange above it, yellow, sky blue, grass green, lavender, deepest plum. Spin the cake and smooth the frosting out, blurring the edges between one color and the next. Fill the top with sugar-heart decorations and box it up ready for it to go to a loving, hungry home.
She barely noticed the afternoon passing as she worked, and when she was finished she stood away from her bench, watching the glitter on her hands shift in the bakery lights. “What’s up?” Stacey said, passing on her way to the ovens. “You need something?”
“No,” Dia said, shaking her head. Sometimes the hardest choices made for the easiest decisions.
What she’d done with Jesse had been wrong. She’d put her hand on his chest and her mouth almost on his and set into motion something that she couldn’t contain.
But she’d fix it. She’d leave him alone, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do.
She looked at Stacey and smiled. “I’m all good.”
Even though she was breaking her own heart.
After work Dia headed over to the skate park.
She walked, feeling the heat of the sun on the back of her neck but also smelling the trees and the flowers and that summer-asphalt scent. She climbed the hill that hid the skate park in its dip and looked out at the sun beginning to set, the kids below rolling back and forth on rattling boards and bikes. Two girls practiced tricks on dirt mounds, following each other at shocking speed, whipping perfect circles in the air. Dia watched with her heart in her mouth as they left the earth again and again, a flood of relief each time they landed and continued on, no damage, no pause.
Dia hitched up her shorts before she sat on the grass, scanning until she picked out Jesse on his bike, flying over a bench with the wind molding his shirt to his body. She knew she had to actually go to him, tell him that she’d lied, that what she’d started in the Gardens was, in fact, over. But she wanted to wait a little longer in the world where that was still a possibility, where he still thought things were changing.
He really was good, she realized as she watched him. More than that—he looked alive out there. He said he wasn’t good enough to go pro, and Dia had no way of judging, really, but he was beautiful in the air.
A group of girls with their boards under their arms crested the hill, their noise breaking Dia’s reverie, and planted themselves on the grass. A couple of them looked at Dia, nodding in recognition, and she gave a cautious smile back before standing.
She made her way down to the asphalt and hovered on the edge of everything, waiting for Jesse to notice her. It took a minute, but then he saw her; Dia saw him seeing her, the way he smiled and changed his direction. No, she thought. Don’t give me that smile. Save it. For a cowardly second she wanted to leave, put as much distance between her and this place, her and him, as possible.
And then Jesse skidded to a stop only inches away from her. “Hey,” Jesse said, and there was that smile. “There you are.”
Her stomach twisted almost violently, the longing that she usually kept so far down thudding into her chest. “Hi,” she said, and she couldn’t help smiling back at him. But then she remembered why she was there, and shook the smile away. “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Jesse said, sounding unconcerned. He even rolled his bike closer and did that looking-up-from-beneath-long-lashes thing that usually made Dia literally weak in the knees. “What’s up?”
It was easier with the park and all its people, the noise, behind them. She made herself look him in the eye as she told both the biggest lie and realest truth. “I made a mistake. The other day. With you.” She forced herself to keep looking at him, even as this confusion came over his face. “I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you. I—we should stay the way we are. Friends. It’s not a good time. I have a kid and a job, and now the band to think about, and college . . . I think it would be better if we . . .” She tried to find the right word and finally settled on “Didn’t.”
Jesse was silent for a minute, a painfully long minute. “If we didn’t,” Jesse said slowly, looking up at her. “But the other day, you—”
“I know,” Dia said.
“And now—”
“It was a mistake,” Dia said again, folding her arms across her stomach, protective.
“And I’m really sorry. But it’s for the best.”
“Okay,” he said again, flat now. “If that’s what you really want, Dee.”
“It is.” And it’s not.
He nodded, and the riders whipped past in the background, and Dia felt sick. Eventually Jesse spoke again. “Can I at least get the real reason?” he said, his eyes so serious. “Or do you want me to pretend I believe what you said was it?”
Dia swallowed. “That is it,” she said. “That’s the reason.”
Jesse shook his head. “I know you, Dee,” he said. “You don’t do anything you haven’t already decided you’re going to do. And Alexa didn’t appear between then and now. None of what you said is new. It’s the whole reason we’re not already together, right now.”
Dia blinked. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” No, she knew; she just couldn’t say it. How could she say I’m afraid that if I kiss you, you’ll die? If you touch me, you’ll be broken?
“The truth,” Jesse said. “Or should I tell you what I think it really is?”
Dia shifted. “What?”
He stood now, leaned over his handlebars. “I think you’re scared,” he said. “And you don’t ever want anyone to know that. I get it. I don’t know what you’re scared of. You think we won’t work out? Or maybe it has nothing to do with me really. Maybe it’s about Alexa. Maybe it’s Elliot.” He said the name carefully. “You tell me, Dee. I just know that sometimes I see this look on your face and then you cover it up so fast, and—you have this thing about you, where you know exactly what you’re doing and why, and sometimes I think I’m the one thing you can’t put in its place. The way you feel about me is the one thing you can’t put away somewhere.”
“You’re right,” Dia said, and Jesse started to look hopeful just as she said, “You don’t know. You don’t get it. I have to think about the future. I have a kid—”
“I know,” Jesse said, “and you’re a fucking awesome mom. And she’s the coolest kid I ever met. But is this what you’re going to do forever? Use her as your excuse?”
“She is not my excuse,” Dia snapped, and she felt her throat constricting. “She is my reason. I am her mother, the one parent she still has in the world, and I have to be everything for her.”
“I know,” Jesse said. “But what about the contest? What if you win? Are you going to give up on the band because of her? Give up on that again, too?”
“Don’t even,” Dia said. “You don’t know what it was like. You don’t know shit.” She heard her voice, and god, she hadn’t meant for it to be like this. But maybe this was what it would take to make him understand that he was better off without her. “You think you know me, but you don’t. You never will,” she said, digging her nails into her palms. “So think what you want about me, come up with whatever reason is enough for you, if you can’t accept that I don’t want to be with you.” She threw her hands up. “I’m not listening to this anymore.”
“Fine. Do what you want, Dee,” Jesse said, and he sounded so done with her. “Like you always do.”
She shook her head at him and swallowed the beginnings of the crying her body wanted to do. “Whatever, Jesse.”
She turned on her heel and stomped back up the hill.
The truth, he’d said. Like she could give him that—like he wouldn’t hear what she had to say and not think she was out of her mind. Even she wondered if she was crazy, but what was crazy, really? It was a word people used, Dia thought, to make others seem unimportant, not worthy of listening to. And maybe this fear of hers wasn’t “normal,” but that didn’t make it any less real.
It wouldn’t be real enough to Jesse, though. Not enough to make him stay away, the way she needed him to.
And it was done now, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t that what she’d wanted?
Dia got to the top of the hill and allowed herself to stop for a moment, long enough to breathe in dusk air and exhale sorrow. In her chest, her heart beat on, battered and bruised but still steady.
I did the right thing, she told herself. He’ll get over it. He’ll get over me.
Dia wiped her hands over her eyes and dragged a hand through her hair. She had to go home, take care of her kid, get ready for their final practice on Monday. Because if there was one thing Jesse was really wrong about, it was that she was going to give up on the band again. She had not come this far to let it go. Not this time.
Hanna
Monday was their last practice. They played “Bones” over and over, at Dia’s command: “Again, I messed up the second verse.” “Again. Hanna, that ending was sloppy.” “Again! Jules, you come in with vocals on the second chorus, can you please try to remember that?”
Hanna pounded her drums and ignored the burning in her shoulders. Dia was on fire today, pushing them so much. But that was what they needed: to play hard, loud, sweat it out and let everything out before tomorrow. Tomorrow, when three people who didn’t know about them were going to judge them, literally, and ask them questions, and maybe find them wanting.
But if they did, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. It wouldn’t be because they hadn’t put their all into trying to make this happen. Hanna was sure of that, if nothing else.
She kicked a little more energy where it was needed and pulled way back when it wasn’t, listening to Dia’s voice crack over Jules’s bass line. Sometimes Hanna had to focus in order to not hear the words, because they became a distraction. Lyrics she’d written in the dark quiet of her bedroom, not expecting to hear them set to any music but her own, if she’d even gotten around to it the way she’d always told herself she would. And now in Dia’s voice, over music the three of them had written together, the inner workings of Hanna’s mind laid bare—it was shocking, to her own ears. But she loved it, too. To finally have it out there and her words not festering any longer, it was good. Sometimes, when she let herself, she even felt proud.
They hit the end and came to a stop, shuddering cymbals and fading reverb. Hanna swiped strands of hair out of her face, hot with her sweat and exertion, and waited for Dia’s verdict. Dia turned around, glowing and breathing heavy. “All right,” she said. “That was better. Let’s take a break, and—”
The inner door flew open, taking them all by surprise, and Hanna whipped around. “Molly! What are you doing?”
Her sister held out her phone. “Mom’s coming home early!” she said. “I only just saw her text, but it was twenty minutes ago, so—”
“Shit.” Hanna sprung to her feet. “Shit. You need to leave.”
Jules widened her eyes. “Hanna. You still haven’t told them?”
“Now is not the time, Jules.” Hanna dragged a hand through her hair, spinning around. “Did you not hear me? We gotta go.”
“What’s the big deal?” Dia said, doing the opposite of leaving. “What do they think you’ve been doing, anyway? You have an entire drum kit set up in your garage.”
“They think I got it out for fun,” Hanna said, and the longer her friends looked at her, the higher she felt her pulse climbing. “They’re not here when we practice. It’s fine.”
“It’s clearly not fine,” Jules said, but at least she was lifting her bass over her head. “Why don’t you tell them? Is it us?” She pointed at Dia. “Are we the problem?”
Hanna glanced at Molly and then at them, wringing her hands together. “No,” she said. “I wanted to do this first and see if anything would happen before I made them all—”
She stopped, then, because her mom was pulling into the driveway, and even from where she was standing, Hanna could see the confused look on her face. She exhaled slowly, loudly. “Well, fuck.”
Hanna
“Hanna?” Her mom was standing in the open garage door now, this iciness to her words that froze Hanna. “What’s going on?”
For a minute Hanna thought about lying, but what was the point? It was pretty obvious what was going on. And it was fast becoming pretty obvious to her that her plan had been
a bad idea. But she could still explain, tell her mom exactly what and why and hope for some reprieve.
Her mom was looking at her expectantly, one penciled-in eyebrow raised, and Hanna took a deep breath. “Hi,” she said. “You remember Jules and Dia. Obviously.”
Her mom gave her friends half a glance before closing in on Hanna again. “Of course,” she said. “Hello, girls.”
Jules kind of coughed, looking down at her feet, and Dia said, “Hi, Mrs. Adler.”
“Hanna,” her mom said, ignoring Dia. “What is this?”
“We’re . . .” Hanna made herself stand up straight, look her mom right in the eye. “We’re practicing. Music. You know.”
“Right,” her mom said, and the facade cracked. “Inside, now. You too, Molly.”
Hanna shot a glance at Dia and Jules and lifted her shoulder apologetically as her mom swept through the garage and into the house. Sorry, she mouthed, and Jules looked confused while Dia looked tired, and then Hanna followed her mom into the house.
“Close the door,” Theresa said when she and Hanna and Molly were in the kitchen. She dropped her bag heavily on the floor and turned around, fists on her hips. “And start explaining, Hanna.”
“It’s not what you think,” she started. “It’s only—you know the Sun City contest? It’s a really big deal this year. So . . . we’ve kind of . . . entered it.”
“I don’t understand,” her mom said slowly, in a way that meant she understood perfectly but did not like what she was hearing. “You and those two are friends again, then? After all the trouble you caused?”
Hanna caught that you. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “And I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want to make you . . . worry for nothing.” Yeah; that was a good angle. “I knew you would think about what happened before and all that, and I didn’t want to bring it up to you if there wasn’t going to be anything for you to worry about.”
“So instead you lied?” Theresa leaned against the counter, her eyes sharp on Hanna. “How long has this been going on?”
This Is What It Feels Like Page 18