by Anna Hecker
“Like you feel here?”
“Yes.” He sighs, deep and long. “You get it. I knew you would.” Then he stretches his arm across my shoulders, slow and languid, pulling me close.
My heart starts to pound. This was a date. I wasn’t imagining that moment in his bedroom. Something is going to happen. I can feel it all over my body, from the ends of my hair to the tips of my toes.
I rest my head on his shoulder and we stay that way for a moment, watching the lights on the water break apart, scatter, and come together again. I can feel his ribs move as he breathes, and my breath syncs to his, slow at first and then faster, shallow. He takes my other hand and pulls me around until we’re facing each other on the narrow stairs. I can’t stop looking at his hand in mine, at our legs stretched side by side down the stairs. The tension that’s been building inside me unravels, the place below my stomach turning liquid and sweet.
“Mira,” he whispers. “Look at me.”
I raise my eyes. He’s the same height as me, I realize, but I’ve never thought of him as short. He’s always been larger than life.
That’s the last thought I have before he kisses me, and every cell in my body turns to gold.
CHAPTER 18
Derek’s scent sticks to me as I drive home, Miles Davis on the stereo and my body still singing from his kisses. My parents are asleep when I tiptoe into the house, but Britt is home for once, curled up on the couch with the TV on low and her hand dangling in a bowl of popcorn. I’ve never been so glad to see her in my life. I feel like I’ll explode if I don’t share what just happened with someone, and it’s well past lights-out at Windham, so I can’t tell Nicky and Crow.
Britt grabs the remote and hits PAUSE as soon as I walk in. “Hey, you.” She gives me a devilish smile. “Mom said you were out on a date.”
“I guess you could call it that.” I try to keep my cool, but I can’t keep a grin from spreading across my face.
“Sit,” Britt commands, patting the spot next to her. “Tell me everything. Who is he? Mom didn’t remember his name, but she said he doesn’t go to your school.”
“Word travels fast, huh?” I climb onto the couch next to her and help myself to a handful of popcorn, secretly glad she already knows.
“Don’t pretend it wasn’t a big deal. You even let Mom do your makeup!” Britt tosses a piece of popcorn at my head. “You look nice, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I take my time chewing as Britt fidgets on the couch. All through high school it was the other way around: me draped across her bed begging her to tell me who she had a crush on, who she’d hooked up with, whether they were going out. Now the tables are turned, and I can’t say I’m not enjoying it.
“So who is he?” Britt insists, tossing more popcorn at my head.
“Stop!” I catch a piece and throw it back at her. “It was Derek, okay?”
“Derek?” She pauses, a kernel falling into her lap. “Like, Yelena’s friend?”
My face reddens as I nod. “We were kind of hanging out at that party on Saturday, and I sent him this mix, and then he texted me today and wanted to talk about it, and he got me a gig at Pax Summerfest but I guess it was also kind of a date, and … I mean, he’s really cute, right?”
I’m expecting Britt to shriek and throw her arms around me, to congratulate me for finally going out with someone who isn’t a giant dork. Instead she frowns. “Did you guys hook up?” she asks.
I bite back a smile. “A little, yeah.”
“Mira …” She stops, shakes her head.
“What?” I toss popcorn into my mouth. “You’re the one who’s always saying I need to get out more.”
“Yeah but … he’s older.”
I turn to her, my mouth hanging open. Judgment is the last thing I was expecting from Britt right now, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. “You dated a senior when you were a sophomore,” I point out.
“I know.” She tucks her leg under her and sighs. “But that was different.”
“Different how?” My golden mood is dissipating, replaced with irritation at Britt. Hooking up with Derek is the best thing that’s happened to me all summer. Why does she have to act like it’s some kind of crime?
“Fifteen-to-seventeen is different from seventeen-to-twenty-one,” she says, like that explains everything.
“Okay, whatever.” I toss the rest of my popcorn back in the bowl and stand. I wanted Britt to be excited for me—happy, even. I wanted to tell her everything and have her hug me and squeal like Crow and Nicky would if they were here. “You’re being weird. I’m going to bed.”
“Mira.” She reaches across the couch and rests her fingers on my arm. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I just want you to be careful, okay?”
“I am being careful,” I insist. I don’t understand why Britt is acting this way, and I don’t like it. I thought telling her about Derek would make us closer; that we could giggle and commiserate about our boy problems just like the kinds of sisters you see on TV. “You’re the one sneaking out to do drugs every night,” I add.
She recoils a little, hurt flashing across her face. I feel bad, even though I shouldn’t. All I did was tell the truth.
“Mir-Bear …” she tries again, a note of pleading in her voice. But I’m done with Britt. She has no right to judge my decisions, not with the way she’s been acting.
“It’s late,” I say, my voice cold. “I’m going to bed.”
“I love you,” she calls after me. And, even though I’m still mad at her and she’s acting completely weird, I find myself turning around and saying it back.
Big hookup news, I text Crow and Nicky first thing the next morning. They send back multiple exclamation points and FaceTime me from the lounge the second they have a free period, while I’m working the front desk at the gym. In the background I can see the blurry shapes of campers hanging around the lounge, dangly legs and musical instrument cases draped over the faded couches.
This time Nicky isn’t distracted. He gasps, whoops, blushes, and pretends to faint as I launch into a blow-by-blow of my date with Derek and our make-out session on the dock. His reaction is everything I didn’t get from Britt, and my smile stretches until my cheeks hurt.
“So you’re going to perform at a festival?” Crow says after we’ve fully analyzed every tongue-wrenching detail. “Like, as a DJ?”
“Um, actually.” I twist my hands in my lap. There’s one tiny detail I left out: the fact that Pax Summerfest happens to coincide with Visitors’ Weekend. “I wanted to ask you guys about that.”
“I think you should do it!” Nicky whoops.
“As long as you can still get enough practice time in for your audition,” Crow adds. “You don’t have to practice a lot to be a DJ, right? It’s just, like, playing other people’s tunes?”
I bristle at her words—even though, just a few short weeks ago, I would have said the same thing. “So, about this festival.” I take a deep breath. “It’s over Fourth of July weekend.”
I watch their smiles go from major to minor. “But that’s Visitors’ Weekend,” Crow says.
“I know.” I bite my lip.
“You’re coming here,” Nicky says. “Right?”
“Well.” I twist my hands until my fingertips start to tingle. “I mean—I want to, don’t get me wrong. But would you guys be really mad if I didn’t?”
They look from me to each other and then back again.
“What do you want to do?” Nicky asks slowly. His voice is measured, but I can sense disappointment behind his words.
“I mean, I really want to see you guys,” I say. “But this gig pays money, and you know how broke I am….”
“Sure.” Nicky says flatly.
“And the fact that Derek and all your cool new friends are going to be there has nothing to do with it?” Crow asks suspiciously.
“It’s not about who’s going to be there,” I try to explain. “It’s about getting paid, and playing in front of peo
ple, and …”
“Is this because we’re not playing your piece?” Nicky asks suddenly. “Like, if we got your piece into the recital you’d definitely be coming here, right?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. “I guess so. But you didn’t, so …”
“So you’re ditching us because something better came along,” Crow finishes for me.
“You guys ditched me to go to camp,” I blurt out.
I regret it as soon as it’s out of my mouth. My hands fly to my lips, like I can push the words back in. But it’s too late.
“Oh, now you’re going to bring that up?” Nicky shakes his head. “We did everything we could to help you. Sorry I wasn’t going to give up my whole summer just because your folks couldn’t get their shit together.”
His words tear into me, making me burn. He doesn’t have to bring my parents into it. That’s hitting below the belt.
“Yeah, well, sorry I’m not going to give up an actual paying gig to spare your feelings,” I bite back.
“But it’s not even a real gig,” Crow points out. “You’re not even playing an instrument.”
“It is a real gig!” I yell. An elderly woman on a nearby elliptical looks up, the loose flesh of her arms jiggling in shock. I lower my voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, and I don’t want to.” Crow’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. “The Mira I know would never choose techno over jazz.”
The way she calls it techno makes my blood boil.
“I don’t play techno,” I hiss.
“Whatever.” Crow rolls her eyes. “All I know is, it’s not real music.”
“God, Crow.” My voice comes out thin and venomous. “I was still trying to figure out what I should do about Visitors’ Weekend, but if you’re going to be like this I guess I have my answer.”
I slam my laptop shut, silencing them before they can reply. Then I pick up my phone.
“Mira!” Derek’s voice on the other end is the opposite of Crow’s. It’s like raw honey, thick and grainy and sweet. “What’s up?”
“I’ll do it,” I tell him, and even though my hands are still shaking my voice is firm and clear. “See you on the Fourth of July.”
CHAPTER 19
A bead of sweat rolls down my back as I raise the mallet, pounding the final tent stake into the ground. It connects with a perfect D-flat, blending into the mosaic of sound as the Dream campground goes up all around us. Through the woods we can hear the distant thump of music starting up from the stages. A Ferris wheel peeks out over the treetops, crowned with a banner reading Welcome to Pax Summerfest!
I check my watch for the gazillionth time since we left this morning, our parents shouting final warnings about tick checks and bug spray. Britt told them we were going on “a camping trip with friends,” which I guess is true as long as “a camping trip” means “staying in a tent at a music festival” and “friends” means “three thousand strangers.” My first real DJ set—my first-ever paying gig—starts in an hour, and I keep wishing time would either stop or fast-forward to the moment it’s over. The last week has been a whirlwind of downloading music, texting with Shay about tracks and tents, and practicing beat-matching. Derek called almost every day to see how my set was coming, which more often than not led to me driving down to Brooklyn after work to play him my new tracks, which then led to long, blissful make-out sessions on his bed. Each time our hands explored a little further, and I’m starting to think that after this weekend I won’t be a virgin anymore.
Between work, Derek, and prepping for my set I’ve barely had time to think about my Fulton audition, but I tell myself I’ll make up for it by practicing twice as hard once this weekend is over. I’ll still have six weeks to get ready, and it should be more than enough time—not just to get my jazz chops back up, but also to smooth things over with Nicky and Crow. We haven’t spoken since our argument last week and I need some time to cool down before I’m ready to talk it out.
“You remember how this goes?” Britt holds up a wrinkled rainfly. We haven’t used the tent since we were kids, back when our mom’s parents used to take us camping. It felt larger then, a flashlight-illuminated palace for two giggling little girls. Now it’s barely big enough for Britt, Yelena, Yelena’s two giant suitcases, and me.
A cell phone chimes inside the tent next to ours, which Shay is sharing with a half dozen of her friends.
“Crap!” Her voice cuts through the flimsy fabric.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
There’s the dull percussion of cell-phone typing, the whine of a zipper, and her pink-tipped head pokes through the flap. “One of the other DJs is running late.” Her voice is sour. “They want me to swap set times.”
“Is that bad?” I ask.
“It’s not good.” She squints up at me, blocking her eyes to shield the sun. “I wanted a later time so more people would be there. And I bet this guy did too, and that’s why he’s suddenly having ‘unavoidable delays.’” Her fingers make unhappy air quotes around the words.
“What time are you on now?” I ask. Shay is also booked in the Silent Disco.
“Five.” She wrinkles her nose. “This is so shitty. I told all my followers I’d be on at ten!”
I shake my head, nerves suddenly jangling. “That has to be wrong. I’m on at five.”
“Right.” Shay settles a pair of pink-framed sunglasses over her eyes. “We’re going head-to-head.”
The jangling intensifies. “What does that mean?”
“Derek didn’t tell you?” Shay rolls her eyes. “That’s so typical. We’re both on at the same time. People can choose who they want to listen to in the headphones.”
“So we’re competing?” I remember what Derek said about the headphones letting more than one DJ play at once, but he never mentioned that it would be a competition. The last thing I want is to compete with Shay.
“It’s not a big deal.” She runs a hand through her hair, fluffing it. “Most people bounce back and forth between channels anyway.”
“So they’ll hear both of us?” I ask.
“Sure. If there’s even anyone there.”
“People will be there.” Yelena pokes her head out of our tent, one false eyelash glued to her face and another in her hand. “You’re on at the same time as Mira now? I sent out an invite to like two hundred people.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously?”
“Of course.” Yelena waves the eyelash to dry it, then presses it to her bare lid.
“Two hundred?” I can’t imagine having two hundred friends. Until I met Shay, I only had two.
“What?” Yelena shrugs. “I’m popular.”
Tension spreads through me, making my muscles ache. Now my first-ever DJ gig will not only involve going up against Shay, but also performing for two hundred of Yelena’s closest friends.
“We should probably get going,” I say, trying to shake off my nerves. “I don’t want to be late.”
Yelena’s eyes widen behind her lashes. “You’re not going in that.” She eyes my plain black tank top and denim shorts and makes a face.
“I’m not?”
“Oh, no-no-no. You’re a DJ now. You have to think about your image!” Yelena dives backward into the tent, and I hear frantic rustling.
I blink in the sunlight. Over the past week I’ve spent hours looking for the perfect tracks, practicing my transitions, and trying out new effects. But in all the time I’ve put into this set, I never once thought about clothes.
“Here.” Yelena tosses me a bundle of green fabric.
“Uh-uh.” I toss it back. “We’re not playing this game again.”
“This is different.” Britt’s head appears next to Yelena’s. Even though it’s at least eighty degrees out, she’s wearing a knitted cap that looks like a panda head. “We got it just for you.”
Yelena unfolds the fabric and holds it up. It’s a dress made of soft green cotton, sprinkled with tiny silver stars.
> “Try it on!” Yelena urges.
I sneak another glance at my watch. I know how persuasive Yelena can be, and I don’t have time to argue. Sighing, I push past them into the tent and yank off my shorts and tank top, pulling the dress over my head. The fabric swirls around my knees, loose and comfy and buttery soft. I’ve never been much of a dress person, but if I were, this is what I’d wear.
“Okay, you guys win.” I emerge to a round of applause from Britt, Yelena, and Shay.
“I knew you’d like it.” Britt finishes lacing up her sneaker. In addition to the panda hat, she’s wearing a white crop top, black-and-white-striped knee socks, and a pair of black shorts so tiny they may as well be underwear. Her eyes soften as she looks me up and down. “You look so pretty,” she says.
“Like a princess,” Yelena adds.
“Totally dope,” Shay agrees.
Something inside me cracks, like an egg breaking and the gooey yolk spilling out. Britt and Yelena didn’t have to do anything for my first DJ gig, but they went out and spent time and money to find an outfit I’d actually like. And Shay … well, without her I wouldn’t even be here in the first place. This isn’t the summer I wanted, but maybe, in its own way, it’s just as good.
“Thank you.” My voice is muffled with emotion. I look from them to the dress, then back again, and I don’t know what else to say but they seem to get it.
“Come on.” Shay takes my arm. “Let’s go destroy this silent disco.”
I grab my headphones and we take a curving path through the woods. Two girls dressed as harlequins pass us on stilts, smiling down at me. My heart is racing again, willing my feet to move faster until we break through the other side of the forest and into the open fields where the stages have been set up.
“This way.” Shay leads us past a row of concessions and down a gentle slope to a blue-and-yellow circus tent with a revolving sign that says Silent Disco. I clutch my headphones closer, my palms going damp.
The only noise in the tent comes from a trio of whirring ceiling fans. A handful of people dance lazily in the center, their footfalls silent on foam flooring. They each wear a pair of wireless headphones with a small light by the right ear, some blue and some green. There’s a station at the entrance where visitors leave their IDs in exchange for borrowing the headphones, and a pair of DJ booths face each other from opposite ends of the tent.