by Lydia Sharp
I got to meet someone new, a great new someone who I don’t regret meeting, but I also lost a lot—more than just time. Melody was right about that much. I lost a once-in-a-lifetime experience tonight. You only get one senior prom.
I start the car and check my phone. Nothing new. Lucy’s most recent text is still the same: Don’t worry about me.
Okay. I’m not worrying. I’m not. If she needed something she would let me know, just like she always has for years. She must be fine. Everything’s fine. I’ll get something to eat, then drop off Melody and pick up Lucy and we’ll go to the bluffs. Just like she planned. Sort of. But with a detour along the way. It’s only 10:17, the night isn’t even close to over yet.
Melody’s stomach gurgles again, and so does mine. “They’re gonna start fighting each other if we don’t feed them soon,” she says. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” Carpe noctem, JJ, just go with it. I will … after I send this one text to Chaz.
Me: Sorry I’m missing everything. Is Lucy OK?
If I can’t check on her directly, then I’ll check on her indirectly. But I don’t expect Chaz to text back right away, so I turn off the sound on my phone for now—not driving with it on ever again—and then we’re on our way to a formal Taco Bell dinner.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I assure Melody. “Just trying to decide whether I want a taco, a burrito, or nachos.”
“You should have gotten the nachos,” Melody says, handing me a napkin across the sticky table.
“Thanks.” I take the napkin to wipe the blob of sour cream, hot sauce, and guac that squirted out the end of my taco like bird poop, right down the middle of my white shirt, miraculously avoiding my blue satin vest. I was doing great until the last bite. Why does the last bite always end up on my shirt—and only when I’m wearing white? “But I don’t think I would have fared better with anything else on the menu,” I tell Melody. Because it’s sadly true.
A fitting end to this unexpected night with her. I don’t even care that I’m a mess, though. Having Melody as a friend now is worth the extra cleaning fee I’m going to be charged for this taco stain.
We finish eating, then talk for a while longer—Melody goes on a little too long about the compatibility of our star signs and I go on a little too long about the chemical reactions inside actual stars—before heading back out to the parking lot. Melody shivers, and I notice her bare arms are covered in goose bumps. I pull my tux jacket out of the back seat of my car, the only part of my wardrobe that’s still clean because I haven’t worn it, and drape it over her. She slips her arms through and thanks me, tugs it tight around herself.
“Such a gentleman,” she says.
“Don’t go spreading it around,” I tease. “I’ve got this reputation as a loser to uphold. Took me years of carefully ignoring the needs of others to curate.”
“If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you let me freeze— No, no, better yet! You completely ignored me from the beginning, just left me on the side of the road and kept right on driving.”
“That means we never even met. Excuse me, person getting into my car, who are you?”
We continue bantering like this on the ride to her house, until she says, “Turn right up there,” and suddenly, just like that, our time together is up. Where did the night go?
She lives in a new development full of houses twice the size of mine, built on what was a working cow farm for centuries until about ten years ago. It’s just after eleven o’clock now, and I’ve officially missed my senior prom, spent the whole night with this wonderful girl instead. Really, though, I shouldn’t have expected anything to go according to plan tonight—nothing ever does if I’m involved. Especially without Lucy to make corrections when things veer off course. After I park in Melody’s driveway, she takes off my jacket and hands it over to me.
“This was fun,” she says.
“Yeah. It was.” And now it’s over.
“I like you, JJ.”
“I like you, too.” I turn in my seat to face her. “I thought we established that already.”
She smiles and it’s like I’m staring at the sun. But then it dims. “I mean I like you as a friend. Just to be clear. I didn’t want you to think it might be something else.”
“Oh. No. No, I’m not—I wasn’t thinking that. Sorry if I gave that impression. Sometimes I don’t realize …”
My words trail off because I don’t have an explanation. It’s different for me than most people. I am usually only thinking “friends” and believe I’m doing “friend things”—like being nice to people stranded on the side of the road, or joking around, or offering a girl my jacket if she’s cold—and they mistake it for something else. For a lot of people, it means something else. It means you’re flirting. I know this. I just don’t know why it’s different for me, why I don’t see it that way and why I need so much more time before taking one step down that path with someone. Everyone around me seems to have it all figured out. Dating looks easy for them. They meet someone they like, they do stuff together, they fall in love. Sometimes immediately. That’s how quick it was for Marcos and Chaz.
“It wasn’t anything you did,” Melody says. “I just never know how people are going to react. I know I should be up front to prevent … well, exactly this conversation we’re having right now.” She laughs a little. Like she’s nervous. Why would she be nervous? “But this is hard for me,” she goes on, “especially with new people. I’m not totally out yet. And I shouldn’t assume you would even be interested, but most guys I’ve met—” She shakes her head. “Let’s just say they’re not like you.”
She’s not … out … “You’re gay.”
“Lesbian. Yeah.” She looks away, toward the window at her side. Fidgets, like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. “You still okay with being friends now that you know?”
“One hundred percent okay with it.”
Her laugh is breathy, laced through a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“My moms are lesbians,” I mutter. “You’d think I would have inherited better gaydar.”
She stares at me blankly, like she’s waiting for me to say more.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh my God … you aren’t kidding? You have two gay moms?”
“I do.”
“You’re so lucky!”
That tugs a smile out of me. “This isn’t the reaction I usually get when people find out.”
She laughs louder this time. “I told you it was fate that we met, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Yes, you did.” Doesn’t mean I believe in fate, but she did say that.
“There’s no one in my family like me who I can talk to about … certain things. I wish I had someone like your moms …”
“I’m sure they’d be happy to meet you, if you wanted.”
“Really? Do you think they’d mind?”
“They wouldn’t mind. Talking is one of their favorite things to do. So is being gay. And talking about being gay, especially with other gay people. Yeah, it’s … definitely okay.”
She snatches her silky ivory clutch purse from off the dashboard and pulls out her phone. “Give me your number?”
“Sure.” I grab my phone from my pocket, swipe it to life—
And I’m greeted with a bunch of new text notifications. Oops. I forgot I turned everything off for distraction-free driving. That’s what I get for trying to learn from my mistakes. I quickly exchange numbers with Melody and we say goodbye. Once she’s in her house, I scroll through the texts. Most are from Chaz. One from Jenna. None from Lucy.
Wait a minute. None? I double-check my ongoing text conversation with her.
Lucy: Don’t worry about me.
Chaz is Lucy’s cousin and one of my closest friends besides her. If Chaz sent the most, but Lucy sent nothing …
My stomach churns, and I can’t blame it on Taco Bell. I tap open the first text.
Me: Sorry I’m missing everything. Is Lucy OK?
Chaz: Where are you? Prom’s almost over and I lost Lucy
He lost her? How … ? What does that even mean?
Chaz: Found her. GET HERE
Chaz: She’s convinced you’re dead. Are you?
Why would she— Jenna. I flip to Jenna’s new message, a sickening dread coiling in my gut.
Jenna: Lucy disappeared. She asked if I heard from you and I said no not since you texted me that you were in an accident and then she was like not breathing normal? She said she needed to get some air and now no one can find her. Everyone is looking for her and for you and I hear sirens. Gotta go.
No, no, no, no, sirens might mean an ambulance. I hope I’m wrong. But she said she wasn’t breathing normal … What if that means— Please let me be wrong.
Chaz: PICK UP YOUR PHONE
I put my car in drive and peel out onto the road, my phone still in one hand, scrolling through more texts until I see one that brings my worst fears to life.
Chaz: If you get this they took her to—
“No!” The word erupts from me with volcanic force, sounding equal parts roar and plea. Lucy was taken away in an ambulance. That text was sent ten minutes ago. A lot can go wrong in ten minutes. Earlier tonight, a lot went wrong in only ten seconds. I toss my phone onto the passenger seat, do a sharp U-turn, tires squealing, and floor it, speeding in the opposite direction of Beaver Creek High.
Inside the emergency room, the waiting room isn’t very full—a woman with a coughing toddler, an elderly guy who seems to be sleeping with his eyes open, a kid holding their head back with a bloody tissue pressed against their nose—so it’s easy to spot among them a couple of very out-of-place-looking teenagers in a vintage prom dress and sporty tuxedo.
It’s Jenna, in her sparkly white dress and platinum-blond hair that’s been styled in long loose curls. The tall guy standing next to her isn’t unfamiliar, either. Her ex, Blair Bedford. She turns toward him, and he pulls her into an embrace. Are they … back together now?
“Jenna,” I say through panting breaths. “What happened, is Lucy okay?”
She and Blair both turn to face me. Jenna’s makeup is smudged all around her eyes and Blair’s tan chiseled jaw ticks. “Look who finally decided to show up,” he says, and just hearing that British accent makes every muscle in my body coil tight. What right does he have to judge anyone after what he did to Jenna?
She steps away from him, then right up to me, staring hard with watery blue eyes, her glossy red lips trembling. “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” she says. “I thought she was going to die and it was my fault. I was the last one she talked to before she—” Her breath hitches like she might cry. “Where have you been all night?”
“With a girl from another school,” I start.
“What?”
I hold my palms out in surrender. “It’s not what it sounds like, I swear. I only just met her and she was alone and it was getting dark, so we—”
“What is wrong with you!” she shouts. That gets Blair stepping toward us, and I’m not positive he won’t kill me with his bare hands, right here in front of all these witnesses.
“I’m sorry, Jenna, and I promise I’ll explain after I see Lucy—”
She smacks me so hard across the cheek my head whips to the side. For a moment, I actually see stars and my ears ring. Jenna may be willowy and graceful, but she’s not weak. I’ve taken punches that hurt less. Blair isn’t the one I should have been worried about.
And maybe I deserved that, but I don’t have time for this drama. I bend over and push my palms against my thighs, willing the sting on my cheek to fade. The carpet is gray, I notice, as if it matters, and the whole room just got eerily quiet. Not even a cough or a sniffle.
“Let’s go,” Blair says, his voice sounding distant even though I can see his shiny black shoes near my Cons and Jenna’s strappy heels and polished red toes. “I’ll take you home.”
Good. I can’t deal with them right now. Once I can see straight again and get my bearings, I bolt to the check-in desk. “I’m here to see Lucy Bellini, can I see her, is she okay?”
“Are you family?” the receptionist says.
Family. I glance around the waiting room, but I don’t see Chaz or anyone else from Lucy’s family. Are they already back there with her? “No,” I say. “We’re friends.”
“Then you’ll have to wait until the patient is ready for visitors. Have a seat, Mr….”
“Johnson. James Johnson. Tell her it’s JJ. Tell her I’m not dead.”
She doesn’t even nod or blink. “Have a seat, Mr. Johnson, and turn off your phone while you’re in here.”
“Gladly,” I mutter, and actually consider tossing it in the trash can. That thing has been the root of all evil tonight. Worse than Marty yesterday.
As if I could just sit and wait, though, not knowing what’s happening with my best friend. I pace along a wall away from the chairs full of people staring at me.
After a few minutes, the main entrance to the ER slides open, and Lucy’s dad walks in briskly, his thick salt-and-pepper hair disheveled and his bushy brows set in the deepest furrow I’ve ever seen.
“Papà.” I trot over then keep pace with him as he steps up to the check-in desk. “Thank God you’re here. They won’t let me see her. Tell them I’m family.”
“Family?” he says, and shakes his head. “Family doesn’t do what you did.”
Oh no, not him, too. “I can explain—”
“No. Chaz tell me everything.” With a shake of his head, he talks to the receptionist for a minute, then turns back to me while she’s checking his ID. “Wait out here and be good, JJ. You cause enough trouble already.”
He might as well have just kicked me in the face. I’m losing everything tonight—prom, my best friend, my potential girlfriend, the man I think of as a father—it’s all slipping through my fingers.
The receptionist gives Signore Bellini his ID, then leads him out of the waiting room. My hands curl into fists, and I slam one down on the check-in desk. That did nothing but hurt me, and now someone’s baby is crying. Fantastic. Even babies hate me. I’m still full of frustrated anger and need some kind of release. And my eyes are dry and itchy from these contacts—wearing them was just another bad decision I made tonight—but I don’t want to leave even for the minute it would take me to get my glasses or eye drops from my car. I go back to pacing along the wall and thinking about what a horrible friend I was tonight.
But what could I have done differently? What was I supposed to do, just leave Melody on the side of the road in the dark? No, it’s a good thing I stayed with her, because the tow truck never showed. And we had to eat; we missed dinner. None of those texts came through until late, anyway. Up until then, I have to assume Lucy was fine. Maybe. So if I had just remembered to turn my phone back on when we got to Taco Bell, this wouldn’t have happened. I could have texted Lucy—or better yet, I could have called her, let her hear my voice—and none of this would have happened. We’d be at the bluffs right now, watching the meteor shower, just the two of us … comfortable. Happy. Safe.
If ever I needed a second chance at something, this night is it. I’d go back to the beginning, to before I even left my house, and do this whole thing over. But that’s more impossible than Melody’s theory about time not actually existing outside our heads.
“JJ,” Chaz says, stopping me in place as he appears right next to me. I didn’t even notice him walk across the room. His tux is the same style as mine, except it’s clean, and his vest and bow tie are wine red, I assume to match Marcos’s outfit, but … Marcos isn’t with him. Odd. Those two are practically inseparable. They’ve been dating for as long as Lucy and I have been friends. Since freshman year. Since before Chaz came out as a trans boy, changed his name and corrected his pronoun, stopped wearing makeup and started wearing a binder. Their relationship is so sweet and pure it’s almost unreal, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of that.
“Where�
�s Marcos—” I start, but Chaz says at the same time, “Lucy’s gonna be okay. They’re pretty sure she had an anxiety attack. She blacked out for a bit, but she’s okay.”
I sigh so heavily I nearly collapse. Chaz puts an arm across my shoulders, steadying me. “Glad you’re not dead, bub. I was seriously starting to wonder. What happened to you?”
“I will tell you everything—later.” I glance at the wall clock. It’s pushing midnight. How long was I pacing in here? “Can I see her now?”
He steps back, shaking his head, and a section of his floppy brown hair falls over his eyes. He sweeps the bangs across his forehead, his white skin with the same warm undertone as Lucy’s, and tucks it behind his ear. “Uncle G’s talking to her. Letting her know he just saw you, so you can’t possibly be dead.”
“Good.”
“No, not good. None of this is good, JJ. Why didn’t you just send her a text?”
“She told me not to.” Kind of.
“Why didn’t you reply to me, then?”
“I had to turn my phone off. But as soon as I got the messages, I dropped everything. I didn’t— If I’d known she was …” Sigh. “I didn’t ignore anyone on purpose.”
“I believe you. Okay? It’s all gonna be okay. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. And how could you have known it would escalate like that? I’ve just never seen her so bad before … except that time when we were twelve, before we all moved out of the city, when her mom—” He looks away for a second, and everything Lucy told me about the worst moment of her life before I met her comes rushing back. Then Chaz locks his blue-green eyes onto me, pulling me into the here and now. “It was just … scary. She looked like death. They want to keep her under observation and run more tests to make sure it wasn’t something more serious. I guess it’s standard when you have chest pain and then, you know, you don’t breathe for so long that you pass out.” He pauses, studying me. “JJ, you look terrible. Uncle G’s here. She’ll be okay. You should go, get some sleep, and come back tomorrow.”