The Night of Your Life

by Lydia Sharp

  “What is your problem?” I say to his back.

  He stops. Turns only his head. “She seems to like you, Johnson.”

  For a moment I’m stumped. I didn’t think Blair even knew my name—he’s the popular guy who everyone knows, not me—let alone knew that Jenna and I had any kind of anything between us. Maybe he saw us dancing tonight? But she was dancing with everyone. And he didn’t put up any defenses at me getting confrontational. Confused, I ask, “Is that why you’re being such a jerk to her?”

  He turns the rest of his body to face me, then lowers his voice. “I didn’t cheat.”

  Sure he didn’t. “Even if that’s true, what about the rest of it? I saw her texts you didn’t answer. I heard about the story posted to the message board. I see you avoiding her tonight with Farah Justice hanging on you like an orangutan. And I literally just saw you manage to fully enrage a girl whose default mode is to give people the benefit of the doubt. You’re not innocent, Blair, not even close.”

  He sighs. Yeah, being that much of a butt-maggot must be so exhausting. “She needs to hate me,” he says. “I needed her to break up with me now, so it wouldn’t be harder for her later.”

  The more he talks, the less I understand.

  “Why? What happens ‘later’?”

  “Not that it’s rightly your business, but my father and I are flying back to London after graduation. That very same afternoon. I knew my time in the States wouldn’t be permanent. I wasn’t supposed to … get attached to anything, or anyone.” He shakes his head as if clearing away a nasty thought. “It’s better this way. She’ll move on quickly rather than trying to make a long-distance relationship work, only to watch it fall apart slowly.”

  We should cut this off now, not drag it out, if this is where it’s leading eventually anyway.

  I wince at the memory. Physically flinch. But Blair’s still talking, so I shake those thoughts out of my head.

  “I saw that destroy my parents,” he says. “I won’t put her through it, too.”

  “But you’ll put her through this? That’s just as bad. No—it’s worse.”

  “I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” he says. “It slipped out of my control.”

  “Then you should have thought it through a little more and come up with a better plan.”

  Wait … did I really just say that? Me, Mr. Go-with-the-Flow, is suggesting a plan? This night has been full of surprises. Every night has been full of surprises.

  Prom was supposed to be a night of harmless fun, and no matter how many times I relive it, someone is getting hurt. On night one, Lucy. Night two, me—and almost Lucy again. Then tonight, Jenna. I turn and walk down the hall toward her, leaving Blair to do whatever. I hear his steps continue across the tile, too many for too long to be going anywhere but the exit at the end of the hall. I don’t care where he’s going or what he does there, as long as he does it far from Jenna.

  Unease coils in my gut. Last night ended too early to know what happened between them, but the first night, Jenna ended up back with Blair, on seemingly good terms. He’s leaving now, so that isn’t going to happen. Because I changed the outcome of prom by actually being here this time? As fast as the feeling washed over me, though, it slides off and away. This is for the best. It has to be. He hurt and humiliated her. She deserves better than that. Even if his intentions were good, he went about this horribly wrong.

  I trip on my next step, just enough to stub my toe with a little squeak. Good intentions, horrible outcomes—that sounds a lot like me. But the comparison stops there. I would never do what he did.

  The chatter quiets as soon as I round the corner. Jenna’s leaning back against a locker with her arms crossed. Her eyes are dry, her makeup still perfect, but her mouth is twisted in a scowl. When she sees me, she straightens.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  She makes a face at the others. It must be some silent code language they have, because without a word, her friends leave us. “I’m okay,” she says. “I’m not going to let him get to me.”

  And I believe that, to a point. She didn’t come out here to cry and complain, but she’s definitely upset.

  “I’m done with this night,” she continues. “Me and my friends are gonna leave early, go have our own little after-prom at my place. No stupid boys allowed.” Her brows shoot up and her mouth drops open. “Oh! JJ, I swear, I didn’t mean you! You’re not a stupid boy. I just meant we’re going to make it a girls-only thing. I’m sorry if you were expecting to keep hanging out tonight. I mean, we had fun dancing and I like you, but …”

  “But not like that,” I finish for her. Story of my life.

  “Honestly, I think I’m done with all guys for a while. I need some me time.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Good plan. That’ll be good for you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you did a good job with this,” I say, not knowing how to end this conversation. “With prom. The decorations. Everything was good.” Stop saying that word.

  “Except the food.”

  “Except the food,” I agree.

  “And being crowned next to that twit,” she adds, snatching the flimsy tiara off her head. “And … the disaster right after.”

  “Yeah.” Sigh. “You’re right, it’s time to go. Don’t look back, Jenna, just run. But maybe, you know, take those heels off first? None of this is worth a broken ankle. You gotta be safe.”

  She smiles at that. “Says the guy with a black eye.”

  We laugh together for a minute, then just sort of peter out and sigh in tandem. This is one of those good moments you never forget, something that stays fixed in your memories because there’s nothing really special about what happened except how it made you feel. Like someone filled my chest with helium and I could just … float away forever and not care.

  “The night wasn’t a total loss,” she says. “Now I know who my real friends are.”

  That’s so Jenna. Able to find the silver lining, no matter how faintly it shines.

  She gives me a very sister-like peck on the cheek before making her exit.

  Now I remember why I wanted to try with Jenna in the first place. It’s hard to not absorb her positive attitude about everything. I was wrong before. I didn’t just lose an opportunity with her. I lost a chance to find happiness with someone. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.

  As I head back to the gym, I try to keep smiling, keep my chin up, but the farther I move outside of Jenna’s orbit, the more impossible that simple action becomes.

  The rest of prom crawls at glacial speed. From my table, I watch everyone else making general fools of themselves on the dance floor—blackmail material, for sure, the longer the night goes on—checking in with Chaz every fifteen minutes or so. The last text he sent me said Lucy is okay, not to worry, she’s just trying to sort out some things in her head. Whatever that even means, it could be anything. I’ve helped her deal with all kinds of garbage over the years, stuff that even Chaz might not know about, and she’s done the same for me. That’s what best friends do. Why did she push me away, right after she’d been holding me tight?

  Marcos sits at the table, hands me a glass of punch. “Last call.”

  “Thanks.” I take a sip, but it’s way too sweet. Never mind.

  “What’s the matter?” he says after reapplying his lipstick. “Aren’t you having fun?”

  I force a grin. “I am. This is senior prom. It’s our reward for surviving four years of high school. I’m having the time of my life.” My voice couldn’t sound more uninspired.

  “That is not the face of someone”—air quotes—“having the time of his life. Is it Lucy? Because Chaz just told me she’s okay.”

  “I know. I’m not worried about Lucy.” Well. Not only that. “I just … I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Why is it so hard to find someone who wants me?”

  Marcos gets that scholarly look on his face he always has when he recites one of his poems. “Maybe y
ou’ve been looking in all the wrong places. Maybe, fam, it’s time for you to step into new spaces. Maybe—ever think that you’re just trying too hard? Because maybe, just maybe, she’s closer than she is far.”

  “That’s very rhythmic advice. But it doesn’t make any sense.”

  Marcos shakes his head. “You really don’t get it.”

  “No, you don’t get it. You have Chaz. You fell head over heels for each other, like, instantly, and you’ve been in this … perfect relationship ever since. You don’t know what it’s like to not be able to get past a first date, after you waited months to even feel the urge to go on one.”

  “Our relationship isn’t perfect,” he says. “But we have different challenges than you do, so why are you comparing yourself to us? We’re not wired the same way you are. Things happened the way they happened with us because we’re us. Not you. And being you isn’t wrong. It’s just different.”

  “And makes me completely incompatible.” Sigh. “I want what you guys have. Is that too much to ask?”

  “No. You deserve to be happy, JJ. I’m sure you’ll find the right girl—or maybe she’ll find you. You never know what might happen on prom night.” He grins. “All I’m saying is keep your options open.”

  “When did you get so old and wise, Grandpa?” I tease.

  Marcos opens his mouth, probably to jar me right back, but then something over my shoulder snatches his attention. I turn to see Chaz walking toward us, with Lucy a few paces behind. I whisper “thank you” to Chaz as he passes me on his way to Marcos. “Don’t thank me just yet,” he whispers back. “The night’s not over.”

  I don’t have time to ask what he means before Lucy gets close. Normalcy and energy have returned to her demeanor. She hones in on me like a missile on target. “You ready to go watch the meteors now?”

  No explanation as to why she was outside for so long or why she got so upset in the first place. She’s just on to the next part of our night—only Lucy and me and the stars falling down around us.

  Not one argument comes to mind. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Getting here was worth the hike up a rocky incline in the dark, carrying a heavy professional-grade telescope strapped to my back. Lucy had the forethought—of course she did—to bring a pair of shoes she could climb in without breaking or twisting any body parts. Now, at the top of Whip’s Ledge, with Beaver Creek, our not-city’s namesake, winding through the trees below us, I’m lying back on a thick quilt, staring up at the unobstructed night sky sprinkled with stars.

  Lucy is kneeling behind the telescope with the bottoms of her bare feet facing upward next to my head. I’m not generally a foot person, but Lucy has perfect toes. Not too dainty and not too stubby. Is it weird that I think that?

  When it’s quiet, my thoughts go places they usually wouldn’t. Like toe analysis. We’re in complete isolation here. Not a sound except for the critters in the woods below.

  “Wow,” Lucy says, one eye squinted and the other pressed against the scope. She turns one of the dials. “I can see individual pebbles on Pluto with this thing.”

  “No you can’t. It’s not that strong.”

  “It’s called hyperbole, JJ.”

  “And you hyperbolizing anything is called unheard of, Miss Logic.”

  She shrugs one bare shoulder, still looking through the scope. “Maybe I’m not feeling logical right now.”

  “Let me mark this historic day on the calendar.”

  “Shut up,” she says, but I catch the side of her mouth upturning.

  Teasing each other is just as fun as watching the Eta Aquarids fall. I’ve heard other people call what we have a “flirtationship.” Because from an outside view it sometimes looks and sounds like we’re flirting with each other, only claiming to be friends.

  But we’re not. That’s just us. Other people don’t understand it, and they don’t have to. Like Mama says, you are your own measuring stick. Meaning I’m the one who determines what is true about myself and what isn’t. Part of my truth is I don’t really know how to flirt, let alone build a whole relationship with someone around the illusion of flirting with them. What would even be the point, anyway? And I’m very lucky to have a friend who understands my truth. I’m lucky to have Lucy. I’ve known that since the day we met.

  Everything feels right finally, and we’re alone. We can be us without any pressure to curb it. A sudden urge to be more playful comes over me. I turn and drag a fingertip lightly down the bottom of her foot.

  She squeals, wriggling away from me. “Stop. I hate being tickled.”

  Liar. “Then why are you smiling?”

  “Because tickling makes me laugh, and laughing, even involuntarily, makes me smile. It’s not a good smile.”

  Any smile of hers is a good smile, and she really is lying about the tickling, but maybe she’s just not in the mood. “All right,” I say. “I’ll stop.”

  She eyes me cautiously for a moment before deciding it’s safe to turn her back on me and look through the telescope again.

  “Castor,” she says.

  Okay, I guess we’re playing the game. Totally unfair, though, because she can see a million more stars through that telescope. At least a million, since we’re hyperbolizing.

  As I look up, I yawn so wide my jaw aches. The caffeine is wearing off and the nights are catching up with me, but I can’t quit this one yet. Things are finally going well. A new streak of white dashes toward the horizon. That’s the tenth one since we got here, though many more have fallen that I can’t see, swallowed by the moonglow. The cosmos is the closest thing to magic we’ll ever get in this world.

  I pick out a star. “Vega.”

  A few beats of silence pass. Then, “Is anything going on with you and Jenna now? Since you kind of … connected tonight. You gonna ask her out?”

  “No. Nothing’s going on. I mean nothing more than what’s already been going on. We’re friends. Well, no, even that’s not the right word. We’re more like friendly acquaintances.” When she doesn’t respond, I say, “Polaris.”

  “Bellatrix.”

  We’re out of sync, looking at two different sections of the sky. I shift my gaze to line up with hers.

  But then she pulls away from the telescope and sits cross-legged next to me, her galaxy dress flowing out all around her. In the moonlight, the stars on her dress seem luminescent. “You wanted to be something other than friends with her?”

  I push up so we’re sitting facing each other. “Yeah,” I admit. “I did. But it’s definitely not going to happen. Why does it matter now?”

  “Because …” She starts fidgeting her hands, clasping them together and breaking them apart, opening and closing her fingers. “I—” she tries again, and her breath hitches. Then she looks up, throwing her head back, showing me her neck, and says, “Capella.”

  Something’s clearly making her nervous. Is she going to break us up again? Does she think I think pursuing Jenna is more important than our friendship?

  “Jenna’s a great person,” I hurry to explain. “That’s it. We had fun together, but she isn’t lasting. I might not even keep in touch with her after high school. Not like you and Chaz and Marcos. You guys are … What’s that saying? Mia cuora, mia anima, mia vita.”

  She lowers her head from stargazing, and the reflection of a meteor flashes in her dark eyes. “Mio cuore,” she corrects. “But the rest of it—perfetto.”

  “Then you know what I meant.” My heart, my soul, my life.

  “Yeah, I …” Twibble. “I know what you meant.” She closes her eyes for a second and mutters something under her breath in Italian, low enough that I can’t understand any of it. When she opens her eyes, she lifts her gaze toward the sky again.

  “No more stars, game over.” I take her hand and squeeze, place my other hand on top, sandwiching it. “I’m here. There’s no one else around. You don’t have to hold this in, whatever it is. Talk to me.”

  “Okay.” She nods but then shu
dders. I grab my tux jacket, which was lying on our blanket, and hand it to her. She slips her arms into it and tries to tug it closed. The sleeves are too long and the rest of it doesn’t fit over her chest. But she takes a deep breath in, then out, and another. She’s relaxing a little.

  “Take your time, Lucy. We got all night.”

  “No, I’m ready now. I’m sorry. This is just really hard.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

  “I know, I know, I’m doing this all wrong.”

  “You’re not—”

  “If you want me to talk, JJ, then let me talk.”

  Right. Be patient. And for this, for Lucy, being patient means being quiet. I mime zipping my lips, locking them, and throwing away the key.

  She shakes her head like I’m so annoying, but she does it with a smile that says thank you, then lets out a sigh. “I had this all planned out, everything I would say and when, but now that we’re here, I can’t get it out. Probably because I’ve been holding it in for so long.”

  My throat goes dry. I squeeze her hand harder to keep my own from trembling.

  I’m no good for you, JJ. We’re no good for each other.

  That isn’t true.

  It’s something that’s been true for a while.

  She’s ending our friendship again. That’s the only thing this could be. Should I stop her?

  “Wait—” I start at the same time she blurts, “I want to be something other than friends.”

  “You … what?”

  She curses. “That isn’t how I planned to say it at all.”

  My brain fails to connect anything. I’m unable to move, unable to think. “With who?”

  She gives me an incredulous look. “With you!”

  “Oh.” It takes another second before it sinks in. Before I realize she’s not pushing me away this time; she’s pulling me closer. Closer in a way that we’ve never been. This is completely new territory for us, so I’m … confused. I’ve never gotten that vibe from her before, that she wanted me as a boyfriend. “Really?”