Stir Me Up

by Sabrina Elkins

  “I don’t have to borrow your clothes,” I protest.

  “Yes, you do. Come on, try it.”

  I put it on—and feel self-conscious. “Perfect,” she says with a grin. “Julian will lose his mind.”

  “It’s a little short.”

  “You’re wearing it.” She removes her clothes and puts on a tight red minidress. Black belt. “Here, try this with it.” She tosses a shirt at me.

  “It won’t fit.”

  “It will. It stretches.”

  I try it on. It does fit, but it’s definitely the smallest, tightest shirt I’ve ever worn in my life. “You know I don’t normally wear stuff like this.”

  “Neither do I, unless we go out. It drives Brandon wild. Totally worth it.” She grins.

  Hmm. Okay. That’s cool.

  “What shoes are you wearing?”

  “I just have sandals.”

  “Sandals are fine. Do they have heels?”

  “No.”

  Okay. Now I’m trying on shoes. Her feet are half a size larger than mine. This woman has a lot of shoes. “Oh my God, you look amazing.”

  “I feel like a dope.”

  “You definitely don’t look like one. Quick—into the bathroom.”

  Claire is really getting into this. We slip together into the bathroom for hair and makeup.

  By the time we emerge, I have on twice as much makeup and hair spray as I wore to the prom, but Claire says it’s fantastic. I think it looks a bit clownish. We come out from the bathroom to find the guys have both changed as well. Julian’s in jeans, a white undershirt, and a black leather biker jacket. His hair is kind of a mess.

  Slay me.

  “You, um,” he says, “you look...”

  “She looks hot,” Brandon chimes in. “You both do. Damn!”

  Julian moves in closer to me. “What happened to your freckles?”

  “They’re hiding under the makeup.”

  “Will they suffocate?”

  I smile and touch his arm. “Will tonight be too much for you?”

  “No, I’ll be careful.”

  “We don’t have to dance,” I say.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispers in my ear.

  Uhh...my insides are melting. “I like your jacket.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Ready you two?” Brandon says.

  I go for my purse, face warm, but then Claire says not to bring it and we head for the stairs.

  Julian touches my bare thigh in the backseat. “Short.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I do. I’m just not used to seeing you like this.”

  “I’ve never really dressed this way before,” I admit.

  “Just don’t bend over.” He touches the stretchy shirt.

  We wait in line with everyone, I have no ID, Brandon and Claire are both twenty-five, and Julian has a fake ID. “Don’t worry,” Claire says. “Just bat your eyes and leave it to me.”

  Julian rolls his.

  There’s a man at the door, and one just inside. The first man nods to us. Just like that. The second one asks to see our IDs. “She left her purse at home,” Claire says. She tilts her shoulder at the man and smiles. “Because it’s her birthday.”

  “Oh yeah? How old are you turning?” he asks me.

  “Twenty-one,” I say.

  Claire gives me a look. I give the guy a little shoulder wiggle. And I’m in. Julian doesn’t look happy about it.

  “Come on,” he says. “Let’s dance.”

  The place is massive, like a warehouse, and packed with people. A techno dance hall; rhythm is blasting from huge speakers; the smoky air is cut with flashing multicolored lasers; there’s an elevated DJ stand up front and above this a video screen shows a mix of people dancing at beaches, by pools, on boats, in clubs, on top of bars. Julian follows me out to the dance floor and we’re caught in a wave of noise and motion. He’s behind me with his hands on my hips. I move against him, getting swept up in the beat and the dancing is around us and up on the screen and the music is like a great pulse thrumming inside me, my hands drift down, over his and he starts kissing my neck, I push my rear harder against him, his grip on me tightens and the music squeezes through small spaces and lasers flash through the haze and the bodies around us give off heat and we’re filmed in sweat and surging sound and my head is thrown back on Julian’s shoulder, and still the music and lights and smoke and motion, the sounds flip and whirl together.

  By the time we reach the car, I’m hot and loose and my ears are ringing; the ride home is a blur of longing; finally, we stumble into Julian’s room. “I want you,” he says.

  “Yes.”

  “Now.”

  “Yes.”

  God yes. We rip at clothing and fall over each other. Later though, the panic strikes me about what I’m planning, what it will mean in terms of how much I can see him. Why won’t he let me tell him what I’m doing? If I promise to do it anyway, why can’t he know, and why can’t I know what he’s planning? I mean, great, we both get to do exactly what we want except be together?

  Julian’s breathing is labored beside me. His grip on me tightens and he starts whimpering. “Oh shit,” he mumbles in his sleep.

  “Julian...”

  “Oh God.”

  “Julian!” I shake him.

  He awakens roughly. “Huhh...”

  “It’s all right.” I rest my head against him and wait for his breathing to level off.

  “Sorry. Are you okay?” he asks.

  “I should be asking you that.”

  His fingers comb through my hair. “You sound upset.”

  “No.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the not telling each other about our plans,” I admit.

  He sighs.

  “I understand that it’s so I can follow my own dreams and not just follow you. And I’m trying to stay in the moment. But...”

  “If you told me your plans, you’d want to discuss it, or you’d be concerned about my reaction. Then you’d want to know what I’m doing, and the next thing you know you’d be saying, well, if you’re going to be in Virginia...”

  “Not Afghanistan?”

  He strokes my shoulder. “No, not Afghanistan.”

  Oh, thank God. “I’m so glad. I tried not to let you know how I felt about it.”

  “I think I figured it out,” he says dryly.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything else yet.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks for telling me about this though.”

  “Sure. Nut. Will you relax now?”

  “Okay.” I kiss him. “I should go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Home.”

  “Oh come on,” Julian says. “It’s, like, three a.m.”

  “I know. But Dad’s being great about helping me with my plans for next year. And he hates it when I sleep over. Especially without calling first.”

  “Oh brother.”

  “Sorry, I just don’t want to upset him now. If I leave, I can just tell him we went to a club and I got home really late.”

  “I’ll go with you and stay on the couch.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He yawns. “It’s okay. Let’s just get dressed.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A fairly large crowd of parents, friends and well-wishers floods the football field just moments after our graduation caps are sent airborne. I grab one and then go searching for my family. Finally, I see Estella hurrying over.

  “Cami! You did it! Congratulations!” She gives me a big hug.

  “Thank you!”

  Dad comes up and I run into his arms—Estella is obviously rubbing off on me. He holds on to me tightly for a surprised moment. “Félicitations,” he says gruffly. Congratulations. I look at him; his eyes are wet.

  “You didn’t fall,” he adds.

  I grin—I was worried I’d trip. “No, thankfully.”

  “Cami!” Claire cries
. “Congratulations!”

  “Yeah, congrats baby!” says Brandon.

  “Thanks, guys.”

  “Everyone together,” Dad says, holding up his camera.

  “No, let me take it,” Claire offers. “You get in there, too, Chris.”

  Everyone pulls their phones and cameras out after that. My photo’s taken dozens of times with different people—Dad, Estella, Brandon and Claire, friends who wander over. I’m teased about my goofy smile. It’s mortifying. In a fun way.

  “Where’s Julian?” I ask.

  “Cami!” Taryn cries. She rushes into my arms. “We did it!”

  Our paparazzi—her parents and mine—take shot after shot of us together. Then, at last, I see him.

  Julian is standing just in front of the bleachers, looking alternately at his feet and then at me. He’s in a pale green button-down shirt and gray jeans. His hair is a little longer now, barely blond at the ends. A few of my female classmates seem to have noticed him.

  “Excuse me,” I say.

  I walk through the crowd and head on over. His arms come around me and feel like a refuge, a shield protecting me from everything—the weight of this milestone, all the nerves leading up to it, the hugs from my favorite teachers, and the realization I won’t be with them or my friends anymore. I’ve been with most of my classmates since kindergarten, and all that’s ending. Suddenly, I have this deep new understanding of the word bittersweet.

  “Nice job,” he says.

  “Thanks.”

  He holds me and I rest my head there in the crook of his shoulder. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, why are you over here?”

  “I just wanted you all to myself.”

  I close my eyes and press my lips against that point at the base of his neck where his pulse is the strongest. It’s like a reassurance; it makes me feel better, helps me to move away, look at him and smile. “Yay!”

  He laughs and spins me around. The football field becomes a blur; it melts into a pool of green. His mouth moves next to my ear. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Very nice,” Brandon interrupts, coming over. “Now put her down before you rebreak something.”

  Julian sets me back on my feet and I catch him flinching slightly.

  “Ach...”

  “I’m fine. Are you hungry?”

  I nod. “I’m starved. I’ve been so nervous I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “Come on then,” says Dad.

  The plan is our family is all having dinner at the restaurant before Julian and I hit the grad parties. In all the years I’ve worked at étoile, I’ve never actually walked in the front door and sat down at a table like a guest, so this is fun for me but also kind of strange. I mean obviously I know everyone. Most of the wait staff comes over to congratulate me. Dad starts us all off with a little seared foie gras, then—to my great surprise—my midnight soup. Next, we’re each presented with a trio of Coho salmon prepared three ways—poached, seared and tartare—followed by a salad of mesclun greens and artichoke ravioli, and after that, a decadent cheese course. Too bad I wasn’t allowed to help prepare any of this. I’d have loved to, but Dad insisted he handle it all himself.

  “This one’s fantastic,” Estella says of one of the cheeses. “A bit smelly, though.”

  “Please,” Dad scoffs. “Brie de Meaux is nothing. Epoisses is so smelly, the French ban it from all forms of public transportation.”

  étoile’s desserts, thanks to Natalie, are like works of art. Ours is focused around my favorite among them—a dark chocolate coulant, or molten cake. Our pastry chef delivers mine personally and my name is written in chocolate on the plate: Félicitations, Camille!

  “Oh, mon dieu,” murmurs Brandon after his first bite. Oh my God.

  I laugh.

  “This meal is really something, Chris,” Julian says.

  Dad thanks him and smiles. This is Dad’s tribute to me, I think, him at his best.

  “Merci, Papa,” I tell him.

  His chin jerks a little. “De rien.”

  Eventually we head out and Dad tells Julian to stay with me. Surprisingly, he likes the idea of him going to all the grad parties with me. Actually, maybe not so surprising, considering Dad’s pegged Julian as my designated babysitter.

  The first party I want to stop at is located in a barn. It’s a very fancy new barn and there’s a hayloft, which is kind of fun. The family throwing the party hasn’t bought the horses yet, so the stalls are empty and set with folding chairs. Music is blasting. There are kegs of beer. Beer, to me, tastes terrible, but I have a few sips. Julian jokes around with the guys awhile. Some of my friends from school and I dance around to a bunch of mostly silly songs. Then Julian and I head to another party at someone’s house, where we’re supposed to meet up with Taryn.

  This party is more wild. These people are more drunk. There are bottles of hard alcohol everywhere and they’re going into a punch bowl Julian won’t let me touch. He gives me a soda instead.

  “CAMI!” Taryn shouts. She throws her arms around me. “You made it!”

  “I did! You’re drunk.”

  “I am! They’re playing strip poker in the basement.”

  “Sounds terrible.”

  “It is. Want to go?”

  “Um. No.”

  “Party pooper.”

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Ta-ta! I’m going.”

  “No, you’re not. Stay here. We’ll find other stuff to do.”

  “Okay.”

  We amble around.

  “This is crazy,” Julian says under his breath to me. “Everyone’s plastered.”

  “Should we go back to the barn party?” I ask.

  He nods. “What about Taryn?”

  “Let’s take her with us.”

  We round her up and head back to the barn party, but by the time we get there, this one’s out of control, too. People are shouting, making out, jumping from the hayloft. Taryn comes over to me. “I feel sick.”

  “Uh-oh. Are you going to throw up?”

  “No, but I think I’m going to head home.”

  “We’re your ride, remember? We’ll drive you.”

  “You sure? You don’t have to leave.”

  “No, leaving now’s fine.”

  We take Taryn home and get her inside—thankfully, without her getting sick. Then I drive us back to my place. It’s extremely late, like just a few hours until morning. “Want to go in?”

  I shake my head and walk down to the footbridge that sits over our little stream. Julian follows me there. This part of the garden is blocked by the high stone wall. It’s maybe six feet up with flowers growing against it and stone stairs. It’s very pretty and off to one side is a small tree, weeping-style but not a willow. Julian pulls me under its leafy branches, and I rest my head against him. “Taryn was so drunk.”

  “You took good care of her.”

  I’m quiet, there against him.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing...just...no more high school for me.”

  He wipes my tears. “Yeah, I know.”

  “I’m going to lose all this. And you.”

  “You won’t lose me.”

  “I’m afraid to do what I’m planning.”

  “Fear is good. It keeps you focused.”

  “I’ve taken on too much. I can’t...”

  He places a hand over my mouth. “Yes, you can.” He removes his hand and kisses me, pulls me down under the tree.

  “I have a blanket in the car.”

  “You want me to get it?”

  I nod and a few minutes later I’m tucked in the blanket against him. I look up at him and the stars blur my eyes; the moon seems impossibly bright.

  “So you’re leaving next Wednesday?” he asks. Though he’s known this for weeks.

  “Yeah.” I wish I didn’t have to go so soon, but I have no choice. The woman I’m going to work fo
r needs me through the summer. “It’s coming up fast.”

  “It is.”

  “Can I tell you my plans now?” I ask.

  “No, not yet. Now you can still change your mind.”

  “This idea of yours is driving me crazy, Julian! The not telling you thing is...it’s nuts to take it this far! What if I promise to go through with my plans regardless?”

  “You have to do this on your own. On your own, Cami.”

  “All right. Then you can’t kiss me goodbye when you see me off. If you do, I’ll never leave.”

  “Fine,” he says, turning my face up to his. “I’ll kiss you now instead.”

  Ach, this is miserable. It sucks. “I can’t do this!” I cry, turning away from him. “This is stupid! And crazy! You must want to break up with me!”

  He smiles. “No, of course not. Come on, you promised to stop worrying about this.”

  “Yeah.” Yeah right, I think to myself. I cling to him and figure he’s probably going to college somewhere. I’ll probably see him at Christmas and spring break and that’s about it. So, the way I figure it, I leave next Wednesday—and if I’m right about what he’s doing, I’ll most likely see him again in November or December. Five or six months from now. What the hell am I doing leaving him? What is he doing letting me? You follow your dream, I’ll follow mine? What nonsense. Bleh. “Stupid plan,” I mumble.

  “Good plan. We’ll call it The Plan of No Regrets.”

  “The Plan of Love Shoved by the Wayside.”

  He nuzzles my ear. “We’re not shoving it by the wayside. We’re bolstering it with Frequent Flyer miles.”

  I scowl and rub my ear. “You think you’re so cute.”

  “I think you are.”

  “Yeah, well too bad I’m leaving you soon. TO GO OFF SOMEWHERE. SORRY. CAN’T TELL YOU WHERE YET.”

  “So dramatic.” He kisses me. And it’s wonderful. Of course. Ugh.

  * * *

  The next night is grad night—take two. About twenty of us head to Spofford to mess around with a bunch of canoes out at this guy Zach Moore’s grandparents’ lake house. This party gets interesting when a bunch of guys decide, right at sunset, to go skinny-dipping off the sides of the canoes. They suddenly strip down and dive right in and start horsing around and splashing each other. Julian’s not with me, I’m here with Taryn, and she and I sit huddled alone in our recently-abandoned canoe. We’re getting drenched from the splashing and there are two other canoes, also with girls.