by Lydia Sharp
“Remember the rules!” Mom shouts to my back. As I take the stairs, her voice drifts farther and farther away until it disappears. I don’t need to hear what she said, though. I know the rules. No drugs, alcohol, speeding, getting anyone pregnant, or being a juvenile delinquent.
I hop into my car and buckle up, turn the key, and … pause for a second. That smell. What is that? It’s not unpleasant, and weirdly familiar. I sniff harder, leaning toward the passenger seat. Perfume. Very subtle, like someone who was wearing it sat in here. But the only other person usually in this car besides me is Lucy, and perfume makes her sick. It reminds me of the perfume Mel— No. She doesn’t exist, and therefore neither does her scent. I’m just remembering the fantasy of her so strongly that my brain thinks the smell is real.
The clock on the dashboard reads 7:36 p.m. I’m six minutes late and Lucy hasn’t sent another text to nag me. That’s really not like her. I check my phone, just in case I missed it.
Nope. Nada. Nothing. Her most recent message is still: Don’t worry about me.
Maybe she’s so mad she’s giving me the silent treatment, like she did the other day when I told her Jenna would be coming with us to prom. The other day? No, that was yesterday. Last night. We had ice cream sundaes and made a wish on the moon. She mentioned her mom for the first time in months. Normally that’s a topic she avoids …
I should ask her about that. Another day, though. Tonight is supposed to be fun.
Gravel spits out from under my tires as I tear down the driveway—
Wait, no speeding. And shut off the phone, a little voice reminds me. Done and done.
Once I turn onto the asphalt road, I progress at grandma level. Even if it was just a dream, I remember my almost accident as clearly as if it happened only minutes ago in real time. Imagination or not, that was one of the scariest moments of my life. It started with a text, getting distracted, not paying attention. In a word, preventable. Lucy will just have to be mad at me for being late—wouldn’t be the first time. But like Mama says, better late than dead.
Dead Man’s Curve lies ahead, a steep, sharp, downhill turn on Huffman Road between my house and Lucy’s. Aptly nicknamed, since there are numerous stories of people dying in magnificent crashes here. I’ve driven this curve countless times before, usually without a second thought as I ease off the gas and gently but firmly apply the brake, but today I’m extra cautious. I slow to a crawl. Images flash in my head—a billowing orange dress that glows in the setting sun; leaning over a roadside ditch, feeling acid rise in my throat; a classy little VW Bug, cream-colored with a black convertible top, the hood propped up …
No way.
No freaking way.
I pass the Bug at the same turtle speed I used on the curve, even though the road is straight and flat now. But I’m not looking at the road anymore. My head is turned, staring out the passenger window, as the person behind the open hood comes into view.
A gorgeous Black girl in a Creamsicle-orange prom dress that glitters in the waning sunlight. Her spiral curls are swept up in the same elegant twist, and when the breeze catches her skirt, pulling up the hem, I see those same high heels that prompted me to hold her hand so she wouldn’t fall on the gravel driveway … after I pushed her car into the woods …
I think?
She lifts her head from the car and locks her gaze onto me, her eyes narrowing when I hit the brakes, bringing my car to a whisper-soft stop. I was barely moving.
“Can I help you?” she says.
I don’t hear it as much as read her lips, with the window closed. Her full lips painted the same fuchsia as before. I push the button on the driver’s side door that drops the passenger-side window open. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I got this.”
She grabs for something under the hood, juggling a few other items, and just as I’m reaching for my door handle to get out and offer a hand, a yellow plastic funnel goes flying out in front of my car. It bounces on the road and then rolls all the way into the ditch on the other side. With a growl of frustration, she sets down the other stuff and marches across the road, her dress billowing like a parachute in the breeze. She didn’t even check to see if any cars were coming. She could have been hit by someone coming from the other direction.
Or from this direction … from me … if I’d been moving when she crossed.
That’s exactly what happened. In my dream? In my future memory of yesterday? No, that makes even less sense. A different version of today? Maybe. I got here sooner this time. Think. I got here sooner because I left earlier so I wouldn’t be late. But then I drove slower, losing some of the time I wanted to save, so when I got here it was a minute before she crossed instead of right when she crossed.
Am I really analyzing this like it’s even plausible?
After picking up the now-dirt-covered funnel, Melody walks behind my car to get back to hers. She crossed the road again without looking, but she’s safe. No screaming. She’s safe because I’m not speeding out of control off that curve this time. This time. I’m starting to doubt this is déjà vu or a memory of a dream, though I have no logical explanation for it, either. My imagination gets far-fetched sometimes, but conjuring up a girl with that much detail and similarity to someone who really exists? Who I’ve never met before? No. Impossible.
But so is reliving the same day.
A retching sensation hits me out of nowhere. For no reason whatsoever I feel like I’m going to throw up. What the hecking heck? I pull my car up alongside the ditch in front of hers and stumble out, getting to the ditch just in time to lean over and spit out bile. I’ve been here before, staring at this same ditch and at the scuffed white toes of my Converse, feeling this same burn in my throat. My stomach is empty because I skipped dinner. I skipped dinner because I’m supposed to eat at prom—
The world goes silent, and my mind is suddenly crystal clear.
I am going to eat at prom. I’ll be there. With Lucy. With Jenna. With everyone. I can make sure of it now.
There are no second chances, but somehow, miraculously, I have one. And I will not screw up the night this time. I’ll figure out what caused this phenomenon later—Lucy is going to have a field day trying to explain this through science. I’ll tell her all about it tomorrow. For right now, though, I have a disaster prom night to make sure never happens.
“Are you okay?” Melody says beside me.
I straighten too quickly, too eager. “Yes!” I blurt, and she flinches. “Yes, sorry, I’m okay. Everything is okay now. It’s all good. We’re good. Really good.” I smile wide and watch her closely, searching for any sign she remembers me.
“Ooh-kayy.” She gives me a funny look, then turns away. Heads back to her car.
“Mel, wait—”
She stops and spins to face me. “What did you call me?”
“N-Nothing.” She has no idea. Why? Why is it just me who remembers? “I said, No, wait. Are you sure you don’t need help with this? It feels wrong to just leave you stranded.”
“That’s very nice of you.” Her shoulders relax. “But I won’t be stranded. I’m about to call a tow.”
“I know, but—”
“How do you know?”
Oops. “Lucky guess. It doesn’t look like your Bug is going anywhere without one. What happened, you blow the engine? Those older models are notorious for that.”
Her mouth drops open a little and it’s a struggle not to smile. Everything I know about her car I learned from her, but she doesn’t remember telling me any of it. This is ludicrous.
“Look,” I say, “I can see you’re on your way to prom. Right? So am I, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at my school. I go to Beaver Creek High.”
“Yeah, no,” she says. “Whitman Academy. What’s your point?”
“My point is: What if the tow never shows up? It’ll be dark soon.”
“If by soon you mean a half hour. Plenty of time for the tow to get
here.” She raises a brow. “Anyway, I’m still not following. Why does this concern you, exactly?”
“Because I can give you a ride.”
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Thanks, but you’re not my type.”
Mel, no, it’s not like that. But how can I make her see …
“Too male?” I try.
She opens her mouth to retort, then snaps it shut. Studies me for a second. I’ve completely baffled her with that one. “Maybe,” she says. “What of it?”
“Nothing. I wasn’t flirting with you, anyway.” I wouldn’t this soon after meeting someone. Not to mention: “I know you’re gay. And before you ask—both my parents are lesbians, so I have really good gaydar. It’s not a big deal.”
Actually, it is the biggest of deals. Because this whole situation is so impossible it’s sick. Also, I’m lying. My gaydar is the absolute worst, even Lucy has said so.
Lucy.
Why hasn’t she— Oh, for the love of— I forgot I turned my phone off to drive. Again.
I yank my phone out of my pocket and turn it on. Three new messages since I left home, from three different people. Lucy, Jenna, and Chaz. But Chaz didn’t text me yesterday—I mean the other today—until prom was almost over, when Lucy was … no. That’s not going to happen again.
“If you need to get going,” Melody says, “it’s okay. I appreciate the offer for a ride and the … extremely weird conversation”—she smiles at that and I almost relax, almost—“but you can go. Really. Have fun at your prom. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, but hang on, I just need to …” I tap open the message from Lucy first.
Lucy: On your way yet?
That was only a few minutes ago. But a lot can happen in a few minutes.
Me: Yes. Do you need something?
Please reply, please reply, please—
Lucy: Just for you to get here. Are you texting and driving?
Lucy: Don’t answer that if you are!
I lean back against my car, and a whoosh of air escapes me. She’s okay.
Me: Not driving. Had to stop. Will explain later. Be there soon
I’m vaguely aware of Melody talking on her phone, calling the tow, while I open the message from Jenna.
Jenna: Lucy said you’re running late? I can get a ride from Autumn Mitchell. She rented a limo.
Right, I remember her saying that before. If she got a ride from Autumn that would be one less stop for me to make.
Me: Do you mind? Sorry. I got held up
Jenna: No problem! I’ll just meet you there. Is everything okay?
Don’t mention a car accident.
Me: Yeah I’ll explain later
Jenna: Okie dokie
So far, so good. I tap open the final message.
Chaz: You OK?
Hunh. So his message wasn’t about Lucy, then. But Chaz never checks on me out of the blue like that, not without a reason.
Me: Fine. Why?
His reply is immediate.
Chaz: OK bub never mind.
Me: No what’s wrong? Talk to me
Chaz: Had a bad vibe. It’s gone now. Forget it. See you at prom?
Me: Yeah see you soon
Just another weird thing to add to the weirdness list for tonight. I pocket my phone and walk over to Melody, who is now sitting inside her car with the driver’s side door hanging open and her legs dangling out, as if that isn’t a fantastic way to get the door knocked off by a passing car and a double leg amputation. If Lucy saw her, she’d have no qualms about telling Melody exactly that, as bluntly as possible for maximum effect. That’s how Lucy shows she cares.
The sun is lower in the sky now. It’ll be completely set in half an hour. It’ll take me about ten minutes to get to Lucy’s house from here, then another ten minutes to snap a few pictures and get back on the road again, ten minutes back here … that’s about a half hour. Perfect.
“Something wrong?” Melody says, looking up at me. I catch the scent of her floral perfume when the wind blows. The same perfume I smelled in my car, because she was there. If that’s still there with me, and all the memories … maybe something about me is still with her.
Instead of answering her question, I say, “My name’s JJ.”
You know this. You know me. I know you, too. Your name is Melody, but you go by Mel, and oh by the way, we spent a whole night together. We went to Taco Bell instead of prom and you were excited to meet my parents. You’re amazing, intelligent, creative, and bold. You made me think in ways I’ve never thought before. Just remember me, Mel, please. I need to know I haven’t lost our friendship to this, whatever it is.
But even hearing my name doesn’t spark any recognition in her eyes. The same as with everything else, it’s like yesterday—the other today—never happened. In some ways that’s good. A blessing, even. A miracle I don’t deserve. But with this … with Melody … it feels damning.
“Okay,” she says. “JJ. Why are you still here?”
Because we’re friends, even though she thinks I’m a stranger, and friends help each other. “I’ll leave in a second, but I just want to make sure you’ll be okay.”
“That’s very nice of you,” she says again. “You seem … genuinely nice. Honest. But what about your prom? Whoever you were texting … girlfriend? Boyfriend? Partner? Are they waiting on you?”
“Yes, I’m going to pick up my friend for prom. She lives about ten minutes from here. So how about if, after I get her, I come back this way and see if you’re still waiting on the tow,and if you are, I can call Triple-A—they never not show up—and give you a ride to your prom. If you’re okay with that? It’s up to you, but my car’s gotta be better than a tow truck, right? And I’ll have someone else with me, another girl, so you don’t have to worry about me kidnapping you or anything like that. I just … I don’t feel right leaving you on the side of the road. In the dark. Alone. It’s against my upbringing. My parents would seriously kill me.”
“Your lesbian parents,” she says with a smirk, like I made all this up.
I pull my phone out and find a picture of them and me and Shayla all together, then show it to her. Then, just to cover all my bases, I show her the veritable millions of pictures of me and Lucy on my phone, too. “My best friend in the whole world. Her name’s Lucy. She’ll vouch.”
“Okay, I believe you.” She sighs. “But it’s fine. The tow will be here any minute.”
“Then you’ll be gone when I get back and it won’t matter.”
“True,” she says.
“Everything happens for a reason, right?” That perks her up. I knew it would—I heard that line from her. “So let’s just see what happens.”
What happens is I’m going to call AAA as soon as I get to Lucy’s house, to save us some time, because when I get back here, Melody will still be waiting for her tow. Unless I’m totally wrong about this. And if I am, I’ll just keep improvising. But I’m pretty sure that if I can help get Melody on her way, then Lucy and I can be on ours, and the rest of the night will be fine. For everyone.
“Okay, JJ,” Melody says. “Now go. Never make a girl wait on you. Get out of here.”
“About time you got here,” Lucy’s brother says in greeting, stepping aside to let me in their house. No ciao or how you been? The feeling is mutual.
“Hey, Nico.” I hardly give him a passing glance. “Is Lucy—”
I stop dead in my tracks and my jaw stretches toward the floor. She’s standing in the middle of the living room, right in front of me, in that dress. That dress she refused to show me. That dress I’m finally seeing and finally understanding what the big deal was. That dress I can’t take my eyes off of.
“That dress is … Lucy, it’s …” My brain fails me and there are no words, only the biggest smile I’ve ever felt on my face in my entire existence of almost eighteen years.
The same black strap I saw on her at the hospital wraps up from the front and around the back of her neck,
no other straps, leaving her shoulders bare except where her dark auburn curls brush over them. The rest of the dress is a black night sky speckled with stars and splashes of colorful nebulas. Pinks, purples, blues, oranges, yellows, and reds. It flows loosely over her curves, all the way down to her midnight-blue pumps with the sturdy heels.
It’s a galaxy. It’s a galaxy in the shape of Lucy. That dress, on her, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
And then I get it. I get why she didn’t want me to see it until now. Lucy is a science geek, but not in the same way I’m a science geek. She’s much more grounded, her favorite field being geophysics, while my focus is always up in the stars. I’m the one who’s into astronomy, not her.
So that galaxy dress … is for me. She picked it out because she knew I’d love it. She wore it because she knew I’d love it. And she told me it didn’t matter what color accents I chose for my tux—because anything would match that dress with every color on it—so I chose blue … for her. Blue is her favorite color. This shade of blue, especially, blue as a robin’s egg. She says it’s her favorite color on me because it’s the same color as my eyes. She says wearing this color makes my eyes glow even brighter blue than usual.
Everything we did, we did for each other, without knowing what the other was doing.
If that doesn’t make us the best of best friends, I don’t know what else would.
“You like it?” she says, her tone hesitant and unsure even though my smile is still stretching so far my cheeks ache.
Miraculously, I find my voice again. “It’s perfect, Lucy. You just look … perfect.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Perfection is an unreachable standard.” She’s blushing. Lucy never blushes. “But grazie. And you look good, too,” she adds. “Good color choice. I like it.” Her gaze stays on my glasses for a beat and her lips twibble.
I was right. She was hoping I wouldn’t wear them tonight. God only knows why. How can I know a person for almost four years and still be mystified by them?