That Night

by Amy Giles

  “What happened?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know.

  She sits up and fists her sweatshirt sleeves to wipe her face. “I went in to ask Reggie if she had any extra hours I could pick up.”

  “Shit.” Her head finally turns to look at me, and her eyes narrow into her “I’m suspicious” face. I’m not a very good liar, so I decide to confess just enough. “She told me that Enzo may have to let one of us go.”

  “Yeah. Me.” She points to her chest. “She wasn’t going to tell me until she knew for certain, but since I was looking for more hours, she felt she should let me know that it might be coming. In case I wanted to start looking for something else now. Ugh . . . I hate this.” She sniffles.

  I’m not sure if she means she hates crying, or hates the awful feeling that comes with crying. That’s what I hate. People say it’s cathartic, that it relieves that buildup inside of you, but for me it’s not. It just redirects all that pressure into my sinuses.

  “It’s not a done deal. Reggie told you that, right?”

  She sniffs and looks ahead. “I have to find a job with more hours though. Now.”

  “What’s the rush? You’re a junior. You should be focusing on SATs and going to look at colleges. You know, having fun!” I pep it up for comedic effect, but it’s clear I’ve failed epically.

  “Yeah, fun,” she repeats testily.

  “Sarcasm noted,” I say, still trying to keep it light.

  The A train rumbles by in the distance. Across the street, a guy walks out of the deli, smacking a pack of cigarettes against the back of his hand. He tears the pack open and lights a cigarette outside the Blarney Stone Pub.

  She shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m just . . . sometimes I think I don’t even remember how to have fun.”

  “Not even a little?” I pinch my index and thumb together.

  She laughs to herself, but it’s more like a sad exhale. “And college? I can’t even think about college right now.” She bites her lip, and looks away. “Maybe I’ll take one of those ‘gap years.’” She air quotes.

  “Maybe,” I say, nodding. “My brother took one.”

  She rests her hands on the edge of the ledge and sits up a little straighter. “Really? Why?”

  I thumb behind me, back toward Enzo’s. “Reggie.”

  “Ohhh.” Her eyes widen in understanding.

  “High school sweethearts. She was a year behind him. He turned down a pretty decent scholarship. My folks were not happy.”

  She bites her lip and winces. “I can imagine.”

  “Jason proposed to her. They had a plan, to go to school together a year later after she graduated. Things didn’t work out that way though.”

  Jess looks down at her sneakers. “I don’t think anything turned out the way we thought it would.” She glances up at me. “What about you? Where are you going next year?”

  “Queensborough,” I say. “It was decided that I should stay close to home for a year or two.”

  “What do you mean, ‘decided’? By who?”

  “My parents, me . . . just, you know . . . to make sure I can handle it. Things haven’t been entirely smooth sailing since Jason died.”

  Her lips press together in a grim line, but she nods like she gets it. I should’ve known she would.

  “You have time, you know,” I add. “About college. It’s not like that window closes just because you’re not ready for it now. A year, two years. It’ll still be there.”

  She picks at the skin around her thumbnail. “I tend to get caught in the day-to-day. Time feels stuck, you know?” she admits. “A year or two from now sounds like a life sentence.”

  “Sometimes a day feels like a life sentence,” I say, and she nods.

  “Exactly.” Then she lets out a sad groan-sigh. “God, I want to get out of here so bad.”

  I inch closer to her. “Then make a plan. Even if it’s to get out of here in two years, it’s something. It helps unstick time.”

  We’re silent for a few minutes. The bus comes and stops in front of us, its hydraulics hissing as it lowers to let passengers off. The driver looks at us, waiting to see if we’re planning on boarding. When we don’t budge, she shrugs, shuts the doors, and pulls away again, leaving us in the dark. Dim streetlamps cast shadows under Jess’s eyes, her cheekbones, making her sadness even more prominent.

  Under the scaffolding across the street, the red, green, and white neon sign for Gino’s flickers like an electric bug zapper. Naturally, this makes me hungry.

  “What’s the grossest pizza topping you’ve ever eaten?”

  “Pineapple,” she says with a shudder.

  “Really? Grosser than anchovies?”

  “I like anchovies,” she says, a smile rising to the surface.

  I shake my head. “This is almost weirder than ketchup with rice.”

  She laughs a little, nothing like her laugh from the other night. Still, it’s so much better than seeing her cry. “When I was a kid, my dad and I would sit down with a loaf of Italian bread and a tin of anchovies and . . . oh my God . . . sooooo good.” She closes her eyes and holds her stomach just remembering.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  I nod my head across the street. “Let’s get a slice.”

  She stands up and digs through her jean pockets, pulling out a ball of crumbled dollars. She flattens them and counts, three, before answering. “Okay.”

  She leads the way and I follow her.

  Jess

  I almost said no.

  But when I reached in my pocket, I discovered a clump of bills that must’ve gone through the wash. They appeared out of nowhere, unexpected, like a magic trick. They’re just what I need to give me a little boost of hope and optimism.

  I didn’t get fired. Reggie actually did me a favor by giving me that heads-up. Hopefully I can stick it out at Enzo’s until I find something with more hours. Or pick up a second job somewhere.

  I turn to Lucas with a huge grin. “Don’t you love finding money in your pocket?”

  His face lights up, brighter than all the flickering street signs combined. My stomach flutters with butterflies in response to his smile. I put a hand over them to still them, but now that they’re awake, there’s no quieting them.

  This is more than just checking out his cute butt at work. I’m starting to feel things with Lucas. For Lucas.

  We cross the street and walk inside Gino’s, straight to the counter.

  “How can I help you?” the guy working asks.

  “One slice for me,” I say.

  He points a stubby finger at Lucas. “What about you, big guy?”

  Lucas bends over to appraise the vast selections behind glass. “Uh . . . give me two slices of that . . . yeah, the one with the barbecue chicken . . . and one regular with cold mozz.”

  My eyes widen. “Barbecue chicken?”

  “Don’t knock it until you try it,” he says, straightening up.

  “I’ll try it when you try anchovies.”

  Lucas scouts the restaurant for an empty booth. “It’s pretty crowded.”

  I lean around Lucas to see if maybe someone’s close to finishing their meal and getting up. That’s when I see Marissa’s mother and little brother, Liam.

  “Jess!” Mrs. Connell calls my name. She stands up, arms open, big smile on her face. I walk over to her table.

  “How are you?” she asks, squeezing extra hard as if to make up for the amount of time it’s been since I last saw her.

  “Okay,” I say. I glance at Liam. He stares down at his DS, ignoring me, his lower jaw jutting out the way it does when he is supremely pissed off. “Hey, Nugget.” I reach over to ruffle his hair and he pulls away.

  I look over at Mrs. Connell and she grimaces. “He misses you,” she mouths.

  My heart shatters. Seeing Mrs. Connell and Liam reminds me of what else I’ve lost this year. Marissa slept over my house the night Mrs. Connell was in labor with Liam eleven yea
rs ago.

  “How’s Marissa?” I ask.

  Mrs. Connell’s nod is enthusiastic. “She’s doing well, Jess. The school is wonderful. She’s made friends. As part of the therapy, she’s working with shelter dogs. Isn’t that amazing?” She flips her hands outward, like, Oh that crazy universe, so full of surprises!

  But the words that claw at my heart are “She’s made friends.” Because I haven’t found anyone to replace Marissa.

  “I just . . . I haven’t heard from her.” I can’t hide the hurt in my voice.

  “Oh, Jess,” she says, as if she’s just understood the root of my pain. “None of the students are allowed to have access to emails or phones.”

  “Still?” I whine. I can’t help it. I thought this school was voluntary. Why are they treating her like she’s a prisoner?

  “Eventually, as she progresses through the program.”

  I feel a presence behind me. Turning around, I find Lucas holding all our food.

  Mrs. Connell makes a big show of pushing the plates and cups across the table to make room. She gestures across the booth to the empty seat next to Liam. “Sit! There’s plenty of room.”

  Sit down and eat pizza together, like we’ve done a million times before? I can’t. Because those million other times, Marissa was here. But now she’s not.

  “Oh, thanks, but . . . we were actually getting ours to go.”

  Lucas looks down at the three paper plates in his arms. “Oh, right.” He jerks his head toward the counter. “I’ll ask them for a box.” He leaves me alone to deal with this awkwardness.

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Connell presses.

  A ball of sadness the size of a garlic knot lodges in my throat. I love Mrs. Connell. I miss her and Liam. But I can’t do this.

  “She doesn’t want to sit with us, Mom,” Liam snaps, not even looking up from his game.

  “No, that’s not it.” I try to deny it, but there’s no point. “Uh . . . I better go. It was nice seeing you. You too, Liam.”

  I walk to the counter and tap Lucas on the shoulder. The guy behind the counter boxes our pizza and we walk outside together. The air is crisp and bracing against my hot cheeks. We stop at the corner.

  “You okay?” Lucas asks.

  “Yeah?” Then I shake my head. “Actually, no. That was awful.”

  “Is it okay if I ask why you didn’t want to sit with them?”

  I steeple my hands over my nose and shake my head. “Honestly? I don’t even know. She started talking about how great Marissa was doing and it bugged me. Most days, I’m happy for her. But right then, I was jealous. That she was able to get away from this. And angry at her, and everyone, for leaving me here alone.” I wave my hand around Mott Avenue. Then I groan and glance back behind me. “That sure as hell isn’t going down as my proudest moment.”

  Holding the pizza in his hands, he asks, “Want to find someplace else to eat this?”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “I just admitted I’m an awful human being. Why aren’t you running away? I wouldn’t blame you.”

  His smile is soft, gentle. “You’re being honest. My therapist would call that a breakthrough. I say we should celebrate.” He lifts the box. “With pizza.”

  A horn blares. A guy leans out his car window and hollers at the driver double-parked in front of him. Tires screech as he peels out around the parked car.

  “I’m not hungry anymore. You can have my slice.”

  He nods and bites the inside of his lip. “So, do you walk home every night from work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay if I walk you home?”

  “You don’t have to. And your pizza will get cold,” I say, in case he’s only offering to be nice.

  “No, I know,” he says, and shrugs. “I want to though. And I can always reheat it.”

  And just like that, this shitty night does a complete about-face. This cute, kind boy who I’m pretty sure stayed late at work to make sure I was okay wants to walk me home.

  I can practically hear what Marissa would say if she were here. Her shove from behind. Get it, girl!

  I take a step forward. “Okay.”

  We walk side by side toward my house.

  “Favorite fruit?”

  “You like to talk about food a lot, don’t you?” I note.

  “You’ve seen me eat. This shouldn’t come as a surprise. Answer the question.”

  “Mango.”

  “Mango? Can you believe I’ve never had a mango?”

  “We should do something about that.”

  “Definitely. Okay, favorite holiday.”

  “Halloween.”

  “Have you been practicing? You’ve gotten much better at this.”

  “Maybe you’re just finally asking interesting questions,” I say.

  “Ouch!” He pretends to reel back from my zinger. “Okay, now you’re asking for it. I’m done taking it easy on you. Bonus round: questions are worth fifty points each.”

  “What do I win?”

  “All-expenses-paid trip to Enzo’s Hardware. The category is Philosophy. First question: Which is more useful, knowledge or wisdom?”

  “Huh. Wow, these really are harder.”

  “Time’s up.”

  “No chance. Bonus round questions get extra time.” We wait at the intersection for the WALK sign while I come up with my final answer. “It’s a trick question. You need both.”

  “Is that your wisdom speaking?”

  “Probably.” I laugh. “I think wisdom comes from an emotional place and knowledge comes from the brain. The two balance each other.”

  We walk in step, our arms brushing every so often. Time feels unstuck with Lucas. Like I’m moving forward finally. I like where I’m heading.

  Lucas

  We stop outside Jess’s house. She doesn’t make a move to go inside yet.

  “Okay, no more bonus round questions. My brain hurts. Favorite movie?” I ask.

  Her face lights up like this is her favorite question so far. “Young Frankenstein.”

  “Oh my God. The best!” I holler. “Ovaltine!”

  She holds on to her gate and swings it back and forth. “Roll, roll, roll in the hay!” she sings in a German accent.

  The gate swings with more momentum than Jess was prepared for. Her feet stumble under her to catch herself. I grab her elbow.

  Jess rights herself and laughs. “Well, that was embarrassing! No more rolling in the hay for me!” She clamps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean it like that!” She drops her hand and throws her head back laughing. Under the streetlamp, her eyes and teeth sparkle.

  My hand that was holding her elbow lingers, then sneaks up her arm.

  God, I want to kiss her. The thought hits me fast and hard. And Jess is right there with me, tilting her head up to meet me.

  Then Mrs. Alvarez turns on her porch light and peeks at us through her window. Jess takes a step back, away from me.

  “Crap,” she mutters under her breath. “Well . . . I guess I better go,” Jess says, still grinning at me.

  “Okay.” I watch her until her front door shuts behind her.

  It’s not until she’s inside that an uneasy feeling elbows my good mood out of the way. My knees are shaky, my ears start to hum.

  Fucking adrenaline.

  I reach in my pocket for the “in case of emergency, break glass” prescription that I filled after my session with Dr. Engel yesterday. I wrap my fingers around the bottle and shake it. Just feeling it in my hand helps stem the surge from accelerating.

  Maybe the universe sent Mrs. Alvarez to interrupt us for a good reason. Like maybe I’m not really ready for this yet after all.

  Jess

  Next time you talk to your mom, tell her I’m sorry. She’ll know why.

  In infinitely more interesting news, Lucas walked me home tonight. I kept hearing the song from The Little Mermaid playing in my head. You know the one, “Kiss the Girl”! Sha la la la la la, my oh my!


  Pete stops at my locker just as I’m reading over the texts I sent Marissa when I got home last night, still feeling crappy about not sitting with Mrs. Connell and Liam combined with a new buzzy excitement over that near kiss with Lucas.

  “Who you texting?” He peers over at my phone.

  “Nosy much?” I stare him down, but Pete just grins, unfazed. I pocket my phone and feel around in my locker for my APUSH textbook.

  “You’re coming tonight, right?”

  “To where?”

  “The bonfire,” he says, like we’ve discussed it a gazillion times.

  An alarm rings in my head. Something tells me I should proceed with extreme caution because the answer to my next question is going to hurt.

  “Who’s going?”

  “All of us.” He ticks off names on his fingers, people from school, seniors mostly, some people who graduated last year, including Reggie. Even Joe, who graduated a few years ago. And Lucas. “I told you I was rallying the troops, remember?”

  “I remember,” I say. “But I didn’t hear anything definite until now.”

  “Fine, whatever. I’m telling you now. You’re coming.”

  “Maybe.”

  His head retreats back into his neck like a turtle’s. “Maybe? What’s this ‘maybe’ shit? You’re coming.”

  I want to go. I should go. They’re my friends now, right? So why am I stuck wondering why Lucas didn’t mention it to me?

  There were so many opportunities to mention the bonfire . . . at school, at work, outside the bank, walking home after Gino’s. And then there was that moment under the streetlamp as his hand inched up my arm . . .

  “So?” Pete asks.

  “I said maybe,” I snap at Pete, and immediately regret it. “Sorry.”

  His lips flatline. He leans closer, looking around to make sure no one’s listening. “Is this about Lucas?”

  “No,” I lie, trying to save at least a little face.

  “You sure? ’Cause I figured he would’ve told you last night.”

  I shake my head. “He didn’t. But it’s fine. Just text me where you guys will be. I’ll try to come, okay?”