by Lisa Super
“You and I are very different people.”
“Yes, and I’m coming out on the better end of the school stick.”
“True.”
He dropped his bookbag from his shoulder and searched inside. “Well, since you’re here, I’ll give you your present.”
Jason clasps a silver heart locket around Emily’s neck. She spins around and kisses him.
“Merry Christmas, Em.”
“Merry Christmas, Jason.”
Oliver sat down, putting his bookbag between them and leaving space for an additional body. He pulled out a 5x7 cardstock. Similar to a comic book, it was bagged with a cardboard back to keep it flat. “I had an idea, so I ran with it.”
Daphne knew even before accepting it that it was the best gift she’d ever received. But when she saw it she found that it was even better than she’d expected—a drawing of herself, dressed in a black catsuit, wielding the white knife from The Great Wall Company. Her figure stood in a dark alley under a full, cratered moon.
“Did you draw this?”
Oliver shrugged. “It won’t get me a job at Pixar, but I think it turned out okay.”
It was so much of everything that she couldn’t speak for three seconds. She covered by studying the details of her alter ego portrait. The black mask. The shine in the blue eyes. The concentrated purse of the lips. The red lanterns in the background. “I love it. You were even respectful to female anatomy.” In the drawing, the proportion of Daphne’s breasts was depressingly accurate.
“I hate how comic books do that with the boobs.”
“Oh, you’re a feminist?”
“Yes, I believe in a full range of arm motion for everyone.” Oliver swung and crisscrossed his arms in front and behind him. The blur of his fingertips almost touched her shoulder.
“Seems fair. Thank you, Oliver. This is awesome.”
She had a present for him, too, which was now humiliatingly inferior. She’d debated giving it to him for weeks, treating it like a school project and making a pro/con list. In the end, she’d decided to gift it only if he gave her something. She never believed the something would happen, much less be a custom work of art. But, here she was, digging in her bag, presenting him with a crudely wrapped, slightly torn rectangular object. It was better than nothing. She hoped.
He accepted the package, pleased. “You even wrapped it. Impressive.”
Oliver tore off the reindeer wrapping paper and held up the half-filled cologne bottle. “Are you trying to tell me that I smell bad?”
“I found it under the floorboard with the list. It was Jason’s.”
“Oh.” Oliver scrutinized the bottle, trying to concoct words.
“I thought you should have it. I’m sorry, it’s kind of a lame gift.”
“No, it’s not. I’m glad to have this.” The clunkiness of his words highlighted their truth. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The sick feeling in Daphne’s gut battled the jubilation rising in her chest.
Oliver tucked the bottle in his bookbag. “So, New Year’s plans?”
“Hanging out with Janine. Maybe The Drama Crew.”
“Sounds fun.”
It sounded weak, but New Year’s with Janine was always fun, filled with board games and dumb romantic movies that they both made fun of, yet secretly swooned over. Since July, as she had the past two years, Janine had been siphoning small amounts of booze from the bottles in her parents’ liquor cabinet. Five water bottles nearly half-filled with various alcohols lined the wall of Janine’s closet, concealed behind her shoes, waiting for the year to tick up. Explaining this to Oliver would make their grand evening sound even less cool. “What about you?”
He expelled a bored sigh. “A party. I think it’s a girl that goes to your school who’s throwing it. Penny Layton?”
The breath in Daphne’s lungs turned cold and icicles crackled along her windpipe. Words started tumbling out in an attempt to warm herself. “Oh, yeah. That’s the party I was going to. I mean, Janine and I are going to.”
“You’re friends with Penny?” He lifted his forehead in surprise.
“Yes.” She contemplated explaining that she and Penny weren’t as close as they once were, deciding against it because her lying skills needed work. Suddenly, she threw everything into her bookbag. Oliver jumped at the unexpected movement.
“Maybe I’ll see you there. Happy holidays! Thanks for the drawing.” She slung her bookbag over her shoulder, raced out of the chapel, and only turned around when she was through her front door.
• • •
Daphne stood at the end of the Laytons’ driveway. A labyrinth of candy canes, glowing reindeer, and a Santa Claus decorated the lawn. Every tree and bush in the yard was bound tightly with twinkle lights, as if to keep the trunks from escaping the holiday spirit.
She strolled past Penny’s bright red Mini Cooper parked in front of the garage. The car’s ownership wasn’t a mystery due to the license plate: CH33RZ with a heart. Those stupid hearts on license plates, who decided that could be a thing, anyway? It was bad enough that you could cheat words with numbers. Penny’s license plate made Daphne want to take a shower.
She shook it off and rang the doorbell. She hoped the approaching footsteps belonged to Penny, but luck was never on her side.
Mrs. Layton opened the door. Her black hair was flat ironed into submission and lay stiffly against her scalp. Some of the wavy kinks at the roots weren’t going down quietly. The smooth skin on her bronze face startled with minimal resistance, and Daphne deemed the Botox job above average. Mrs. Layton’s jaw relaxed, and her eyes twinkled with nostalgia. Daphne was a beloved childhood toy that had stuck its head out of a storage box.
“Daphne! It’s been a long time. You look…Cute haircut! Come on in.” Mrs. Layton had been born and raised in Bangkok, and she took great pride in her American accent. It was especially flawless when delivering backhanded compliments.
“Thanks.”
Daphne had always appreciated Mrs. Layton’s half-honesty. The woman spoke lies, but her intentions could always be read on her face. Not even cosmetic injections could change that. When Penny went to college and the contact with her mother turned into a phone relationship, Daphne worried that Penny wouldn’t have the mental strength to blindly play that mind game. But that was Penny’s problem. Daphne was here for her own problems.
“Penny!” Mrs. Layton called down the hallway.
Penny stepped out of her room, creating her own wind just like she did in the school hallways. Beachy waves of hair framed a full face of makeup. She didn’t take the weekends off.
“Daphne’s here. Do you guys want some lemonade? Freshly made. It has mint.”
Reminded by the suspicion on Penny’s face, Daphne remembered her plan to make this visit as short as possible. “No, thanks. I have to go soon.”
“Okay. Well, good to see you again, Daphne.”
“You, too.”
Mrs. Layton disappeared into the kitchen.
“Um, hello?” In the past few years, Penny had mastered the uppity tone that demanded an explanation without asking.
“Hi, Penny.” Daphne nodded toward the door and Penny followed her outside. In front of a jury of candy canes, Daphne pled her case. “I heard you’re having a New Year’s Eve party and I want to come.”
Penny laughed. Not a You’ve got to be joking laugh, but a You are so clueless and I pity the ground you walk on laugh, which was a slight upgrade. “It’s a party, and I won’t have a bouncer, so you do what you have to do.”
“I didn’t want it to be weird for me to show up.”
“Well, it won’t be weird for me, but it will probably be weird for you being in a place where you have no friends.” Penny swept her hair over one shoulder.
Daphne wanted to ask Penny if people who sounded bitchy all the time were oblivious to it, or if they could hear it in their own voice and chose to ignore it. Since their conversation, a gymnastics tournament o
f subtlety, was going better than she’d anticipated, she stuck to the New Year’s party. “So, I’m invited?”
“Oh my god, it’s not like I sent out invitations. Yes, you’re invited.”
“I want to bring Janine.”
Penny huffed and rolled her eyes. “Attached at the hip, as always.”
“I thought there wasn’t a bouncer. Why do you care if she comes?”
Something twitched on Penny’s face. It happened so fast, Daphne couldn’t tell if it was her eye or forehead, but some nerve had failed her.
“Janine is…” Penny pondered way too long to come up empty. “She hates me, and I hate her. It’s traumatic to be in the same room with her. I’m sure she feels the same way.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure she’s over it.”
Penny’s face twitched again. This time it was definitely her eye. “Why do you guys want to come to my party?”
Daphne debated confessing the truth: a boy. But there would be the who, what, when, where, and why follow-ups. She stuck with flattery. “Everyone is talking about it at school.”
The compliment worked, and Penny grew another inch. “Who’s everyone?”
“I didn’t take down names, but I’ve been hearing murmurs in the hallway and locker room.”
Penny bounced with glee. Daphne worried she might burst into a choreographed dance.
“This is going to be epic!” Penny squealed.
“Yeah, I’m not doing that with you.”
Daphne’s unwillingness couldn’t keep Penny’s feet planted on the ground.
• • •
Her nose an inch away from her bedroom mirror, Daphne patted glitter eyeshadow on her inner eyelids. Janine sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, peering up at the ceiling with winged eyeliner and a touch of metallic sheen at the corners of her eyes. Although Janine was beautiful barefaced or made-up, Daphne hoped that she was secretly enjoying her brief transformation.
Janine sipped from a water bottle and screwed on the cap, a “V” scrawled in black permanent marker on the top. She handed the bottle to Daphne. “We don’t even need fireworks, you have them on your face.”
“Compliment or criticism?” Daphne asked.
“Please. You know you look like a rock star.”
Daphne winked and drowned her humble-brag with a sip from the bottle. Janine stood and hovered over Daphne’s dresser.
“Still no movement?” Janine asked.
From the mirror, Daphne saw the nickel in Janine’s fingers. “Nope.” Daphne continued dusting her cheeks and temples with bronzer. The brush kicked up that Tuesday in March seven years ago along with the pigment.
The snap of the seatbelt. The screaming of names. Daphne’s forced to remain in the car, a helpless spectator to her parents’ frantic despair in the garage. A glint catches the lower corner of her eye and proves a useful distraction. She digs out the nickel jammed between the seat and backrest. Her fingers trace around the smooth rim and across the slight waves of Jefferson’s forehead, hair, and jowl. 2006. She would’ve been six. Or five. Kindergarten or first grade. Back when her favorite color was purple. She closes her eyes and wills the sounds of the garage away, drifting off to a place that’s warm and dark and quiet. She falls asleep before the ambulance shows up.
After Emily’s death, Daphne held onto the 2006 nickel. She carefully monitored its placement in her bedroom. She waited, hoping Emily would visit and move it an inch to the left or right. A ghost was better than nothing, and she wanted something to believe in. The nickel never moved.
“Way to be a happy drunk, Janine.” Daphne patted highlighter on the tops of her cheekbones.
“Sorry. New Year’s fail.” Janine placed the nickel where she found it, Monticello at the same angle. “Probably going to be a lot of those tonight.”
“Again with the happy drunk. I think we have your New Year’s resolution.”
Janine groaned. “Are you sure you want to go to this thing to stalk some guy? We could just stay here. I have all the water bottles labeled this year, so there’s no mystery mix.”
“But mystery mix gives the best hangovers.” She applied another layer of red lipstick. “I think it’ll be good to try something new. Plus, you look hot. Someone other than me should enjoy that.”
“I’m your ugly duckling turned swan. You know, my eyes kind of look like a swan’s, don’t they? Maybe I should speak to you in quacks all night or whatever noise swans make.”
Janine made a series of guttural squawking noises trying to sound like a swan. It mostly sounded like terminal pain and led to Daphne collapsing against the wall in laughter, barely able to eke out her words. “How can something so beautiful sound so ugly?”
“Don’t judge a swan by its honk!” More honking ensued.
Daphne and Janine collected themselves, coaching each other on how to pass the sobriety test if they ran into Daphne’s dad on the way out. Focus, focus, focus, eye contact, breathe through your nose, always through the nose.
“Okay.” Daphne raised her arm.
Janine high-wristed her. “We got this.”
Nine times out of ten, no matter where her dad lurked within the house, Daphne could breeze past without question or remark. Sometimes he would call out a goodbye that she could ignore, and she was hoping for that option. But New Year’s wasn’t a holiday to be ignored, especially by the drunks.
Daphne and Janine filed quietly down the hall. In the living room, her dad filled a garbage bag with empty cans and bottles. Some of the bottles were half full, though Daphne saw them as half empty.
“Hi, Dad. Winter cleaning?”
“I’m quitting. I’m done, Daph. Done.”
He’d made halfhearted attempts at going cold turkey before. One time it had lasted for almost two months. Daphne had marked the days on her calendar, all fifty-four of them, each one crossed off in strokes of pride and hope. After that relapse, all faith in her father had been shaken and crumbled at her feet. But she had never heard these words before. He’d never had the courage to say it out loud, admit there was a problem. That had to mean something, didn’t it?
“Well…good.” After years of strife, she’d been rendered defenseless. She felt guilty that good was all she could come up with, which led to her being pissed that she felt guilty. The clank of glass and aluminum rustling against the plastic bag heightened her confliction. “I’m staying at Janine’s tonight.”
“Okay, be safe out there.” He’d put on his Dad cap.
In an attempt to prove her sobriety, Janine said a little too loudly, “We will, Mr. Bowman.”
Daphne nudged Janine out the front door. “Bye, Dad.”
Daphne closed the door behind them. She paused for a moment, pushed it back open, and stuck her head inside. “I’m proud of you.”
His eye contact contained the clarity that she so often longed for. “I’m doing this for you.”
“Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year, honey.”
She closed the door and joined Janine walking down the sidewalk.
“Do you believe him?” Janine asked.
“I want to. Maybe he’ll break his record.”
“I hope so. He owes you that.”
Daphne agreed with Janine, but she also knew that the people who owed her the most had no idea how much they’d borrowed.
• • •
Janine tossed the empty water bottle into a recycling bin as they approached Penny’s driveway. Even from the outside, a party was evident. A low bass thumped into the windows. Shadows danced against the closed curtains.
“Ready?” Daphne’s voice shook.
“We could still go back to my place and make a mystery mix. I’ll let you do the shaking.”
Daphne looped her arm through Janine’s and led her up the driveway. “Nope. Come on.”
No one questioned their entrance. No one noticed at all except for a couple nervous glances from two people on the swim team who were insecure about their o
wn presence at such a party.
“He’s here.” Daphne nodded across the room to the kitchen doorway before conducting a full evaluation of the scene. Once she did, her stomach fell to her knees. Oliver was surrounded by five dancers showing considerably more skin than Daphne. His laugh rolled across the room.
“Seriously, Daphne? You fell for a lady killer,” Janine said.
Between laughs, he leaned against the counter, sketching something on a paper napkin. Probably a late Christmas present customized for every girl in the room.
Daphne felt stupid. She’d seen Oliver with Katrina, but they’d broken up. She had envisioned him standing by himself at this party, alone and open. That’s the only way she knew him, when she had him all to herself. The captive audience made complete sense. He was a charmer. And funny. And gorgeous. Of course he didn’t need Daphne Bowman to be entertained. She wasn’t even supposed to be here. “Maybe we should do the mystery mix.”
“Oh no. We’ve crossed the threshold. Now you can see his true colors,” Janine said.
“I know his true colors.”
“Then go talk to him. Or wait and see if he’ll talk to you.”
“Why do you hate him? He’s a good guy.”
“I’ve barely met him. You’re projecting your fear onto me.”
A seismic shift occurred in Daphne’s core. If Oliver ignored her tonight, could she ever push the resentment far enough away? Could she resume the Daphne-Oliver-alone bubble and be fulfilled? Why couldn’t she muster the courage to walk up to him? The whole thing was disgusting and there was a simple solution.
“Let’s find the liquor,” Daphne said. It was a demand more than a suggestion.
Three Jell-O shots and one beer later, Daphne graced the dance floor with alcohol-fueled confidence. Janine swayed near her, but Daphne danced with whoever was closest to her. Some cute guys even brushed up against her, moving to her over all the other girls on the floor. She exuded power, magnetism.
Suddenly, the music switched off and a booming voice yelled.
Ten.
Nine.
Everyone joined in. Daphne thought of the Top Ten list. How they had only completed numbers one, two, and three. She tried to push Oliver out of her mind, forget that they were in the same room ignoring each other. Or, at least, she was ignoring him.