At the Edge of the Universe

by Shaun David Hutchinson

  Lua and I endured about an hour of Ms. Novak taking pictures and forcing us to pose in front of different parts of the house. I played along because, in a way, it was her special night too. In this new history, she’d watched us fumble through the world as toddlers, seen us struggle to escape our awkward phases, and now we were getting ready to move to the next stages of our lives. To journey out into the real world—though there wasn’t much world left—and become adults, whatever that actually meant. As angry as I’d been at my parents over the last few months for acting like idiot children over their divorce, I hated that they’d been cheated out of these moments.

  “You both look so handsome!”

  “Come on, Dinah,” Lua said. “The limo’s going to be here soon.”

  Ms. Novak lowered the camera. “But it’s not here yet, and you’re mine to do with as I please until it arrives.” She peered through the viewfinder again. “Now, give me old Hollywood glamour.”

  We posed with silly faces; as spies; I held Lua across my arms; he tried to lift me in his; and we even managed to get serious long enough to give Ms. Novak a photo she could print, frame, and hang on the wall.

  Finally—finally!—our limo arrived, but the moment Dustin climbed out in a hideous plaid tux with matching Chucks, Ms. Novak bullied him into pictures with me and Lua, and it took us another half hour to extricate ourselves from photography hell and crowd into the limo.

  Dustin passed around flutes of sparkling apple juice—in addition to the scrutiny of metal detectors at the dance, we could be subjected to breathalyzer tests if any of the teachers suspected we’d been drinking—and held them aloft to toast.

  “To the last best night of our lives,” Dustin said.

  Lua shook his head. “I’m not drinking to that. If this is going to be the best night of our lives, we’re in serious fucking trouble.”

  Dustin rolled his eyes. “Shut up and toast!”

  So we did.

  I hadn’t heard from Calvin, so Lua, Dustin, and I had pooled our resources to go as a group. Maybe that was how it was always meant to be. They were my people, after all.

  While most of the seniors we knew had planned expensive dinners at fancy restaurants on their parents’ dime, we opted for a pizza joint near Cloud Lake High, and I was willing to bet we had more fun than any of them. We spent dinner telling stories about old times. About who we were and who we hoped to become. About the time Dustin had tripped and fallen onstage while accepting an award for perfect attendance. About the time in tenth grade Lua had played Robin Hood in Cloud Lake High’s production of Robin Hood, and had slipped on an ill-placed plant during a fight scene and given himself a concussion, but had still managed to finish the show. Even though his memory of that night remained hazy, I remembered every detail for him.

  I wondered if these last four years really had been the best of my life. It wasn’t fair Tommy wasn’t with us, able to share his own stories, or that I’d only gotten to know Calvin over these last few months. None of it seemed fair, and I couldn’t guess what life would throw at me after graduation. The universe was shrinking so quickly, I didn’t know if we’d make it through the end of the year, and I was equally terrified and relieved. Terrified for obvious reasons, but relieved because if the universe collapsed completely I would never have to know whether the choices I’d made had been the wrong ones.

  I pushed my plate away and said, “I want you all to know that I’m really glad we’re friends. I wouldn’t have survived high school without you.”

  Lua stuck his finger in his mouth and mimed puking.

  “When’d you get all sentimental, Pinks?” Dustin said.

  “I didn’t. I just love you guys, all right? Is that okay?”

  Dustin shrugged. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

  “Lua is,” I said. “Tour starts at the end of the summer.”

  Lua frowned. “I wouldn’t really call it a tour. Sure, the band’s booked at just about every club and bar in Cloud Lake, but that’s not saying much.”

  I knew if I checked my phone, I’d see that the world had shrunk to the size of Cloud Lake, but I left my phone in my pocket, because knowing wouldn’t make any difference. I couldn’t change it. I’d spent months trying to figure out the whys and hows of the universe shrinking, and had absolutely nothing to show for it. Maybe it’d never been in my power to find Tommy and stop the universe from collapsing. Maybe all I could do was enjoy the time I had left.

  “Too bad Calvin isn’t here,” Dustin said.

  Lua kicked him under the table. “Topics of conversation explicitly excluded tonight are: Calvin Frye, Trent Williams, Jaime Trevino, and graduation. Tonight is all about the dancing. Right?”

  “It’s cool,” I said. “I wish Calvin were here too, but I’m not going to spend the night crying into my cummerbund.”

  Dustin, who’d managed to put away an entire pizza on his own, stifled a burp behind his napkin. “The cops finally charged Coach Reevey.”

  “About time,” Lua said. “I hope they lock him up and some prison dude makes Reevey his bitch.” When I glared at Lua, he said, “What?”

  “Prison rape: not funny.”

  Dustin wasn’t usually the sort to gossip, but I think he jumped in to keep me and Lua from brawling. “I heard police raided his house and found pictures on his computer of some of the boys. I heard they also found pills. Lots of them. Valium, Rohypnol, MDMA.”

  Lua lowered his eyes. “Trent told me.”

  “I thought we weren’t talking about Trent tonight,” I said.

  “We’re not,” Lua said. “But he did tell me a little of what Reevey did to him, and if you knew what he’d told me, prison rape is the nicest thing you’d wish on that asshole.”

  Calvin may not have divulged the specifics, but I’d seen their effect on him. Reevey had stolen his life. I doubted Calvin would look back on high school as the best years of his life. I still believed the things that had happened to me since Tommy had vanished weren’t coincidences, but now that thought made me sick to my stomach. No message could’ve been important enough to kill a plane full of people. Nothing in the whole universe was so crucial for me to know that it necessitated ruining Calvin’s life. In the end Calvin was probably right to hate me, even if he didn’t know the real reasons he should.

  “Now that we’re all depressed,” I said, “who’s ready to dance?”

  • • •

  The prom committee had spent the first half of the year locked in a contentious debate about whether to hold the dance at the school and spring for a band or to hold it at a fancy hotel and hire a cheap DJ. When they’d decided to go with a live band, few believed any decorations could transform the dank building into something other than a gym. I’d counted myself among the nonbelievers, and it was nice to be proven wrong.

  “A Night to Remember” was still stupid, but after I’d been patted down by Mr. Purdue—an ancient math teacher whose eyesight was so bad, he called everyone “son” regardless of gender—because I’d set off the metal detector, passed my breathalyzer test, and walked into the gym, I couldn’t believe it was the same place I’d been forced to play basketball and dodgeball and volleyball in. They’d even managed to mostly eliminate the scent of accumulated sweat and humiliation.

  Violet and silver balloons crowded the ceiling, and gauzy fabric decorated with lilies hung from the walls. The lights were dim and atmospheric, and the committee had set up tables draped with violet tablecloths. The centerpieces were plastic bouquets that held various pictures of our class taken throughout the year. A stage had been erected where one of the basketball hoops once stood—though I had no idea how they’d managed to remove it—and the band played a cover of an eighties song I only recognized because Lua had forced me to listen to it on repeat over the summer between eighth and ninth grade, when she’d gone through her emo eighties phase.

  “D’Arcy’s still a narcissistic sociopath,” Lua said. “But she throws a mean prom.”


  I couldn’t disagree with either statement. But what amazed me more than the gym’s conversion was that D’Arcy and her friends cared so much about prom that they’d expended the effort required to transform it so completely. If I’d been in charge of decorations, I might have hung a couple of banners, hooked up Lua’s phone to a speaker, and called it a night. Which was probably why no one had asked me to help.

  The moment we got inside the gym, Priya found us and dragged Dustin toward the dance floor. We’d arrived respectfully late, partly because Dinah had held us up with pictures, but also because we hadn’t wanted to be the first to arrive.

  “Sit?” I said. Lua nodded. I took one step toward an empty table before Lua took a detour to where Jaime and Birdie were hanging out with a couple of their friends. Lua didn’t even ask if we could sit with them before plopping down in a chair.

  “What’s up?” I said to Jaime, and he held out his fist for me to bump.

  “Band’s kind of lame.” Jaime’s voice trembled slightly, and Birdie scooted her chair closer to his.

  “They’re not bad,” Lua grudgingly admitted.

  “You should go up there,” Jaime said. “Show ’em how it’s done.”

  Lua nodded, but his hand operation wasn’t for two more days, and even then it would take a few weeks of physical therapy before he could play. He glanced at Birdie, who was wearing a low-cut, skin-tight black dress, her hair piled atop of her head in crispy curls. “You look really beautiful, Birdie.”

  Birdie pursed her lips. “What’re you playing at?”

  “Retract the claws,” Lua said. “I’m not after Jaime. Actually, I think you two are better together than he and I ever were.”

  I shared Birdie’s suspicions. Lua was not a graceful loser, and for all I knew, this was Step One of Lua’s nefarious plan to break Birdie and Jaime up by drowning them in compliments.

  “Uh, yeah,” Birdie said. “Thanks?” We sat at the table enduring one of the most awkward silences in the history of awkward silences until Birdie grabbed Jaime’s hand and said, “I wanna dance, babe.”

  Jaime, Birdie, and their friends meandered to the dance floor. Jaime glanced back once and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  “What was that all about?” I asked as soon as they’d gone.

  Lua shrugged. “He looked happy, didn’t he?”

  “I guess.” I was honestly shocked Lua hadn’t grabbed one of the picture-holder centerpieces and beaten Jaime or Birdie or both with it.

  “I gotta say: This new mature Lua is freaking me out.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Lua said. “I still want to yank out Birdie’s weave and dump a bucket of pig’s blood all over her pretty dress, but she makes Jaime happy, and after the train wreck formerly known as our relationship, he deserves it.”

  Lua was right, I’d just never expected that brand of rational, self-sacrificing logic from him. I wondered if he’d finally looked in the mirror and recognized who he saw. I’d always found it odd that Lua possessed so much confidence when it came to his music and his gender identity, but still seemed so uncomfortable in his own skin. Apparently, that had changed. Lua was still my Lua—I still recognized him—but he was also different.

  “Hey,” Lua said. “I really am sorry Calvin’s not here.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I tried to call him a couple of times. He didn’t answer, but I may have left some long, rambling messages explaining why he should forgive you and come to the dance.”

  My eyes shot open. “You didn’t.”

  “I really did.”

  “Lua . . .”

  “You’re my brother and my best friend, Ozzie.” Lua turned to face me, so close our knees touched. “If you think there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you, you obviously don’t know me well.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I hugged him until he pushed me away.

  “Gross! No PDA. I have a rock star reputation to protect.”

  “I love you, Lu.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I love you, too, Ozzie.”

  Eventually we joined the dancers tearing up the floor even though Lua wouldn’t stop complaining about how terrible the band was, and we caught Dustin and Priya dancing intimately during an odd slow cover of “Happiness Is a Warm Gun.” I wondered how it was possible the universe was only the size of Cloud Lake but that the Beatles still existed. If there was no England, where had they been born? I could’ve gotten my phone out and searched, but I suspected the answers would simply lead to more questions, like how we had phones and where they were manufactured.

  I left Lua, Dustin, and Priya shaking their asses on the dance floor and went to use the restroom. When I returned, the band was playing another slow song. Dustin was standing against the wall holding Priya’s purse.

  “So . . . Priya?”

  Dustin shrugged. “What can I say? She’s a champion cuddler.”

  I couldn’t help laughing at the mental image of Priya and Dustin all snuggled up together. “You seen Lua?”

  “Yeah . . . about Lua . . .” Dustin pointed at the dance floor. I followed his finger, searching the crowd.

  And then I found Lua. Dancing. With Trent Williams. Trent’s arms were wrapped around Lua’s waist; Lua’s head leaned against Trent’s chest. I stood there with my mouth hanging open until Lua caught me staring and shot me an I-will-kill-you-if-you-say-one-damn-word look. I smiled in return.

  I danced a couple of songs with Priya, a couple more with Lua. Dustin even forced me to dance one with him, and we cracked up the whole time.

  I kept hoping Calvin would surprise me. I imagined him walking through the doors in a black hoodie tux, catching my eye from across the room, his smile all the forgiveness I needed. I imagined us dancing until we were the only two people left on the floor, dancing long after the band had played its last cheesy song. I imagined kissing him.

  If my life had been a movie or a book, the night might have ended that way—I might have gotten my happily ever after—but my life was neither of those things. No one’s life is. Life is life. It happens, it goes on. Eventually, it ends, but other lives continue, new ones begin. That’s just the way of it. My life would keep going on until the day it didn’t, and I could either make the best of it or waste it wishing for what I didn’t and might never have.

  TOMMY

  TOMMY DIGS THROUGH THE BAG of candy, picking out the banana Runts for himself, before passing it to me. We walk through the mall with no particular destination. He’s been quiet since I picked him up, but I can tell by the way he breathes shallowly and winces that he must’ve gotten into a fight with his father.

  “You still up for fireworks on Dustin’s boat Tuesday?” I cheek a couple of strawberry candies. Tommy chews his candy, but I suck on mine until they disintegrate. “Dustin said he managed to get a bunch of illegal shit—M-80s and stuff.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy says. “Sure. Sounds fun.”

  I’m dying to ask Tommy what happened, to make sure he’s not seriously hurt, but he won’t talk about it until he’s ready.

  Tommy veers toward a tux rental shop. He stands at the window, so close his nose touches the glass.

  “Are we shopping for formal wear?”

  “Just looking,” Tommy says.

  The mannequins in the window—rigid and frozen in time—masquerade in various getups. Everything from classic penguin suits to flashy, brightly colored tuxes only Dustin or Lua would wear.

  “Just a few months and we’ll be picking ours out for prom.” I nudge Tommy with my shoulder. “You’re going to look so hot I’ll probably jump you before the dance.”

  Tommy nods. “I guess.”

  I’m pretty certain his father is the source of his mood, but I’m worried. I’ve spent so many nights considering calling the police or child protective services to get Tommy’s father out of their house, but I never make those calls because Tommy would never forgive me.

  “Come on.” I grab Tommy’s hand and pull him into the store. I tell
the salesperson a lie about attending a ritzy fundraiser for my father’s imaginary company, and before I know it, I’m standing in the middle of the store in a slim-fitting black tuxedo. The salesperson goes on and on about how handsome I look and how it fits like a latex glove. I’m not paying attention because I’m waiting for Tommy.

  “I’m not coming out in this,” Tommy calls from his fitting room.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I look dumb, Oz.”

  The salesperson tries to coax Tommy out of the fitting room, but I shoot the guy a look that shuts him up.

  “Don’t make me bust down that door and drag you out, Thomas Ross.”

  I hold my breath to see if Tommy’s going to call my bluff. The lock slides back, the handle turns. Tommy walks out of the fitting room. He’s wearing a midnight-blue tux with a traditional black bow tie. My mouth falls open.

  “Forget it,” Tommy says. “This is silly.”

  “You look . . . wow.”

  Tommy steps toward me. “For real?” He plucks at the shawl collar and examines himself in the mirror.

  I nod because I’m tongue-tied. I can’t imagine how anyone—how Tommy—could look at himself and not see how beautiful he is. I drag him to the floor-length mirrors and stand beside him. Thankfully, the salesperson has the decency to give us some space.

  “You know what I see when I look at you?” I ask.

  “A goof in a suit he can’t afford?”

  “The most handsome man in the universe, who also happens to be the guy I love.” I lean into him. “And next year, when we go to prom and you’re wearing this tux, I’ll know everyone hates me because you’re mine.”

  Tommy stares at our reflections for a while. Then he says, “Are you really set on doing this prom thing?”

  “Don’t you want to go?”

  “Maybe.” Tommy pulls away from me. “I thought you hated all that school shit.”

  “I do, I guess, but it’s prom. We’ve been talking about going together since freshman year.”

  “That’s the thing,” he says. “Haven’t you ever thought of going with anyone else?”