by Lisa Super
A black hole in place of the Pacific Ocean amassed outside Oliver’s driver window. He was afraid that if he looked outside for too long, it would swallow him up. Penny had taken control of the radio, and EDM wasn’t his favorite. He appreciated the crescendo of composition, but he wanted lyrics, something to sing along with. As long as it wasn’t Elliott Smith.
“You dropped this.”
Penny was holding out her hand. He recognized the paper, its even folds and bent edges, from the corner of his eye. Shit.
“When we were doing all those funny poses for the group photo,” she said.
Bringing the list to prom had been stupid, reckless. It had been a last-minute decision, based on some half-baked rationalization that maybe Oliver could give Jason the chance to experience the prom, too. Ridiculous. Jason hadn’t been there, hadn’t experienced anything.
Oliver was driving to forget. Daphne Bowman and the numbers on the list were disappearing with each bend in the Pacific Coast Highway, and now Penny would have ten thousand questions. Clever of her to wait until he was trapped in the driver’s seat.
He took the list and dropped it into the cup holder, done with it for tonight. He wasn’t going to offer any information. She would have to ask.
“Daphne told me about the list. When we were in the bathroom.”
Something invisible punched Oliver in his Adam’s apple. “What did she say?”
“What do you think she said?”
Oliver smiled because he knew. He could bet his car, his parents’ house, his entire future on Daphne Bowman’s response. “Nothing.”
Penny smirked back, caught in her half-truth. “You both say you’re not hooking up—”
“We’re not.”
“Is that list why you were at Joshua Tree?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t want to talk about it. But if he said he didn’t want to talk about it, she’d want to talk about it even more.
“You’re finding closure?”
Closure. A word only used by people who weren’t searching for it.
“Something like that,” he said.
“I hope you find it. Both of you.” She looked out her window into the black hills dotted with house lights.
“Thanks.” Oliver kept his eyes on the road. Maybe Penny and Daphne had been close friends, once upon a time, odd as it seemed. He flipped on his blinker. “This is it.”
Mitch’s aunt was out of town and through a month-long onslaught of white lies, he’d been granted a key to her beachfront Malibu home. The plan was to camp on the beach because the whole Joe-beige-carpet ordeal still had everyone on guard against indoor spillage. The party was exclusive, so the volume could be controlled—Mitch, Joe, and the Ies. Penny and Oliver were the last to arrive.
“Can you imagine living here?” Penny asked as she took in the bonfire and three small tents set up on the beach. Music rolled in with the smell of burning wood and salt air.
“No, I can’t.” Oliver was well aware of his upper middle-class status. He’d been born to well-off parents who were hardworking and sensible with their money. He’d gotten every possession he’d ever asked for from them, yet they’d managed to keep him from feeling entitled. Even with all of his blessings, the idea of a house in Malibu felt unattainable. The luxury of the waves only the rich could afford.
As he surveyed the fire and three tents, the numbers popped into his head from the defunct list. Four and five—skydiving and the Sahara. Biking in Venice and finding the Sphinx. Dancing in the sand and making s’mores. Wishing up to the faint stars and the kiss. The kiss. Time stretched and compressed so the memories were near and distant at the same time.
“You guys made it!” Mitch greeted Oliver at the cooler.
Oliver landed back on Malibu at this campfire, these tents, Penny. “Thanks for having us. Mitch, you remember Penny.”
“Hi, Penny.” Mitch grinned at Oliver a little too widely.
Penny pretended not to notice and browsed the cooler. After surveying the impending damage, she became picky in the way only girls who know they’re pretty can. “Do you have any liquor? I’m not a beer fan.”
“Ask and you shall receive.” Mitch thrust his hand through the ice to the bottom of the cooler and surfaced with the cheapest bottle of vodka money could buy. She kissed him on the cheek, and he flushed the same shade of red as the label on the plastic bottle.
A quarter of a bottle and four beers later, Oliver and Penny sat on beach towels, facing the black roar of the ocean. The conversation when she’d given him back the list, vague as it was, hadn’t been terrible. Maybe he could talk to her like he did with Da—that other person he was trying not to think about. “Penny, what’s your bad?”
“What’s my bad? What do you mean?”
His words slurred, “My brother killed himself seven years ago and—”
She interrupted him, “I’m so sorry, Oly—”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. The sad part is that since he died I’ve been so angry at him, and I tried to be so unlike him that I don’t know who I am. That’s my bad.”
Penny debated for a moment. “I don’t have a bad. I’m all good.”
“Everyone has a bad.”
She spoke to the endless void in front of her. “I kissed someone I shouldn’t have. Messed up everything.”
“What?” This wasn’t the direction Oliver had anticipated, but he couldn’t judge confessions after requesting them. “I mean, who?”
“Is this Truth or Dare?”
“No.” He gritted his teeth. They were back to speaking different languages.
“Then I’m not telling,” she teased.
“Okay, that’s a good start. What else?”
“I like my skeletons in my closet.” She took a serious swig from the bottle.
“I’m not asking about skeletons.”
“I shoplifted once when I was seven. I never got caught.”
The hesitation in her words might have ceased the compassionate from pressing further, but the earlier events of the evening and the licking fire behind him fueled his curiosity.
“What are you most afraid of?” he asked.
“I’m afraid you’re not drinking enough.” She tilted the vodka bottle in his direction, a peace offering. The fire’s shadows highlighted the worry in her face.
If he disrupted the sediment lining her soul again she would ask for a ride home. Kicking up her inner dirt wouldn’t save him, anyway. He took the bottle and gulped, grateful for the burn in his throat.
Enough guzzles later that the questions about the meaning of life no longer seemed pressing, Oliver leaned into Penny’s waiting lips. He was reminded of the temporary greatness in the good-enough-for-now. The kiss was serenaded with the splashing of Mitch and Joe running naked into the ocean. After a flurry of profanities and speculation that their genitalia may never recover, they chanted at the Ies, trying to lure them into following.
“I think I could use another skeleton in my closet.” Penny unzipped her dress and it fell to the sand at her feet. “Are you coming?”
His eyes fell with the dress and stopped at her red undergarments. “Uh-huh,” he managed.
She ran into the water, screaming before the cold took her breath away. Oliver stripped down to his boxers and chased after her.
Where Penny harbored a skeleton, Oliver washed himself clean. In water over their heads, they wrapped their arms and legs around each other for warmth, skin prickled with goose bumps, kicking to stay afloat, kissing to breathe. The waves pushed them in and pulled them out. The current drifted them back to waist-high water. Mitch, Joe, and the Ies catcalled at Oliver and Penny’s exposed upper halves. Penny sank down into the water to hide her now sheer bra, and Oliver kneeled with her. They either needed to move out further or leave the water altogether.
“I’m cold.” Penny shivered with purple lips.
“Me, too.”
“Will you hide me?”
Oliver sashayed up the beac
h, using his body to screen Penny’s. Mitch and Joe booed across the beach, and the Ies smacked and punched their chest and arms.
In the tent, Oliver and Penny wrapped each other in towels. She took another hefty swig of vodka and poured a little glug on his neck. He jumped.
“What the…”
She attacked his neck with her tongue, giggling.
“Oh, okay. That’s kind of wasteful. But for a good cause. It would probably work better with tequila. You know, with the ocean salt.”
Penny drizzled a glug on her own neck.
“I get it. You’re trying to shut me up.” He licked her neck.
She eased to the ground and sat on the sleeping bag like a cheerleader, legs folded to the side in two triangles. All that was missing were the pom-poms. And her clothes. She reached up and took Oliver’s hands, pulling him down.
“I’m really drunk,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. However, he’d been drunker in previous social situations and never needed to announce it.
“Me, too.” Penny kissed him. Her fingers ran along the band on his boxers.
He envisioned the future. He could close his eyes and let it happen. It would feel so good, so warm, so close. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Daphne. He jerked his head when Penny’s almond eyes leveled with his. Maybe he was drunker than he thought.
“Are you okay?” Her real question was Did I do something wrong?
“No.” He’d answered the wrong question. “I mean, yes.”
Oliver read the impending conversation in the crystal balls of her heavy eyes.
Let’s not do this, he’d say.
Why? Is it me? she’d ask.
It’s the opposite of you, he’d reassure, unsuccessfully.
She kissed him, and he tried kiss Daphne away, but she wasn’t leaving. Visions of their adventures in Joshua Tree, and Venice Beach, and Chinatown swirled in his closed eyes. His best friend was gone, and for a terrifying five seconds he had a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow around. He couldn’t even move his tongue to keep kissing Penny. Tears weren’t far behind. He needed to end the Daphne montages by ending the night, and he had two options—have sex with Penny or keep his proverbial pants on and try to spoon away her insecurity until sleep put them both out of their misery. The easier, former option pulled at him with astounding force.
“Oly?” Penny had noticed that his jaw had stopped moving.
“Yeah, I feel kind of woozy.” It was more of a croak than a sentence. He reclined onto the sleeping bag.
“Oh.” Surprise, failure, annoyance, relief, so many emotions rolled off of one syllable, a single vowel.
“I think I need to sleep.” He closed his eyes.
“Look who can’t handle their liquor,” she scoffed.
Tonight, he wasn’t handling anything particularly well. The evening deserved to end with him sleeping in the cold puddle of a lie. “I’m a lightweight.”
“Can I get you anything? Water?”
“No, just lay your beautiful self next to me.”
She rested her head on his chest. “You better not puke on me.”
“Oh, you’re not into that?” he laughed.
“Ew!” She jabbed her fist into the fleshy part of his side.
He closed his eyes and pulled her close. Her breath tickled his cheeks, and he could feel her eyes, closer than her mouth, questioning everything. He relaxed his arms, turned his head, and pretended to be asleep. After a few minutes, she settled against his ribs and his breathing fell into sync with hers.
The next morning, they woke to the chorus of the surf. Penny leaned onto Oliver’s bare chest and propped up her chin with her elbows. “I had a great time last night.”
This was the moment when Oliver should have climbed through the hangover déjà vu and gotten out of the tent.
I can’t do this.
I’m sorry, I think we should just be friends.
It’s the opposite of you. Really.
But Oliver was still trying to piece together where the ocean ended and last night’s dreams started. Penny had one foot in each. “Me, too.”
• • •
The day at Disneyland was a blur, as intended. Joe had borrowed his mom’s SUV so they could ride together and save gas money. Oliver tried to drive separately, but Joe gave him a glare that threatened their friendship, and Joe didn’t bluff. Fortunately, the Ies and Penny slept the whole way, and Oliver made a playlist that would keep Joe awake. Upon arrival, the crew chugged the leftover cooler contents, loaded up on gum and mints, and made their way into the park. Penny marked her territory with Oliver on each ride, holding his hand in line, kissing him to celebrate each passing minute, pulling him behind a bush and sucking on his ear. It was claustrophobic and, appropriately, Oliver’s world felt small (after all). He hadn’t had the we should just be friends talk. It was a difficult conversation to strike up when constantly surrounded by Mitch and Joe and the Ies. Every moment they were alone Penny countered by attaching her face to him.
Oliver bought her cotton candy as a distraction. “If the roller coaster got stuck upside down, what would be your biggest regret?” He wanted her to respond by asking him the same question.
“Uh, nothing, because they would get us down and we’d be fine.” She tore from the blue cloud of woven sugar.
“What if they could only save one of us, and you had to sacrifice your life to save mine?” He chuckled to soften the hypothetical. “Not that you owe me your life or anything.”
She groaned off the question. “Why are you a sad drunk, Oly?”
“I’m this sad sober, too.” He flashed her a somber smile that she refused to believe.
She tapped the inside of his knee with hers. “No, that isn’t who you are.”
Her words summoned the wind. The fog of uncertainty that had been surrounding Oliver dissipated into the immaculately cultivated grounds in every direction. The answer was clear, probably always had been, but he was finally able to see it. He wanted to be seen, wanted someone who wasn’t afraid to lift up his dark corners and dance in the soot. “All the good and all the bad.”
“What?” Penny was losing patience.
He didn’t have time to explain. “I have to go.”
“To the bathroom?” Worry flooded her eyes.
“Home. I’ll take a cab. I’ll pay for it, if you want to come. Please, come.”
Penny’s face blistered at his proposition. “You’re going to ditch me here?”
The fury in her voice pinched the nerves in his neck. He took a deep breath. “Penny, I’m so sorry. I can’t date you right now.” I didn’t realize, but there’s someone else, edited for cruelty.
“What?” Penny wasn’t used to rejection. Her undeveloped skill of hiding hurt, anger, and dismay allowed her emotions to take over the landscapes of her face.
The pain in his neck doubled. “I’m a huge asshole, I know. I hope we can be friends.”
“Seriously?”
“You can beat me with your cotton candy if you want.” He hoped suggesting physical harm upon himself would prove his sincerity. He was not expecting the empty gesture to fill his eyes with blue fluff and the edge of the cardboard cone to dig into his nose.
“We’re in the happiest place on Earth!” Her exasperation cried up to the sky.
He scraped the sugary cobweb off his face. “Well played. But, I mean it, Penny. I think you’re a cool person, and I’d like to be your friend.” The top layer of fibers had already melted onto his skin, staining his face with sugar. When he opened his eyes, Penny was gone. All the children and adults in his vicinity stared at him, the unexpected attraction of the day. They were unsure whether to laugh or show concern.
Oliver took off and weaved through the horde of sweating, sunburnt people, joyful barriers between him and the future. Through her irony, perhaps Penny was right about this being the happiest place on Earth. It all depended on who was standing next to you.
During the long ride home, Oliver t
ried to doze to pass the time, but his heart was in his stomach. The stickiness coating his face wasn’t helping. The cab pulled up to the Bowman residence. As usual, the empty driveway and yard offered no clues as to who was inside. Oliver stepped up to the door and rang the bell. He waited for Daphne to answer. After that, he didn’t know, didn’t care.
Instead, Daphne’s dad opened the door and the excitement circulating in Oliver’s chest dissipated. Tim looked nothing like Oliver had imagined, appearing both older and younger than his preconception. His forehead was etched with lines, but his eyes held the same blue youth as Daphne’s.
Tim’s face lit up in recognition and dimmed in correction, knowing and not knowing the face before him.
“I’m Oliver…Pagano.” Oliver cleared his throat. “I’d like to date your daughter. Please. Sir.”
Tim nodded, affirming his own sanity. He did know this face. “Jason’s brother. You look like him.”
The inevitable resemblance romanticized by memory. Oliver tucked his chin, his reflex at the mention of this curse that time couldn’t break. His eyes and bone structure would always be a mirror for Jason. Oliver’s reflection was the living remains.
“Both good-looking boys,” Tim continued.
“Thank you. But, I’m not much like Jason.” The theme of the last seven years bore repeating.
“You want to date my daughter. That makes you more like him than anything can make you unlike him.”
Oliver’s shoulders sagged. The Bowmans sure knew how to prove him wrong when it came to Jason.
Tim picked up on Oliver’s body language. “But, I understand what you’re saying. Would you like to come in?”
“No, I’m going to loiter on your doorstep, if you don’t mind.”
“Her mother and I will have to talk about her dating. It’s a contentious matter. As I’m sure you’re aware.”
Oliver nodded.
“You gave Daphne that drawing, with the mask and the knife?”
“She showed you that?”
“Her mom looks through her stuff,” Tim admitted.
Daphne hadn’t exaggerated the police state of her household.