The Night of Your Life

by Lydia Sharp

  It’s just us.

  “Whatever happened,” she says, “I’m sure you thought you were doing the right thing.”

  “Good intentions don’t matter. I did everything wrong. And I think I know how to fix it, but I don’t know if—if I can.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know.” I push myself as close to her as I possibly can in this awkward position, nuzzling against the warm dip between her neck and shoulder, snaking an arm across her soft waist, seeking out every cozy spot on her I can find. This is my safe place. Anywhere with her. “Why do I always screw everything up?”

  Her chest heaves and she sighs. “You don’t. Not always. Not even a lot.”

  “You’re too good to me. I don’t deserve you giving me the benefit of the doubt. I don’t deserve you, period.”

  Oddly, she laughs at that. “Considering how much you put up with from me, I’d say it’s the other way around. I don’t deserve a friend as good as you.”

  I lift my head to get a better look at her. Her dark red lips twibble, and this time I know why. I know exactly what she’s thinking, with me practically curled up in her lap and my face only an inch from hers—all the things she plans to tell me later. But we might not have a “later” tonight. And even if we survive past this night, we might not have a “later” of that kind at all.

  “Ti amo, Lucilla.” More and more each day. Night. Whichever. Both.

  “Anch’io,” she says.

  That means “me too.”

  “Le parole non possono descrivere il mio amore per te.”

  I can’t even attempt to translate that one. All I know is amore means “love” and mio means “my.” My love?

  She must read the confusion on my face. “You’re my best friend in the whole world. Of course I love you.”

  Oh. I draw back a little. “I didn’t mean—”

  Lucy’s phone starts ringing from her purse, playing our song. We both have that set as our ring tone. The only way I know it’s her phone and not mine, other than the fact mine is shut off and locked in the glove box, is that my phone plays the chorus of our song and her phone plays the verse. They complement each other, just like she and I do. She fishes her phone out, forcing me all the way back into my own seat, and answers it.

  “No, Chaz, we’re here,” she says, then huffs. “What, did you forget how to text?” She pauses, listening to his response. “Weird. Yeah, we’re fine. We’re coming.” She ends the call and gives me an exasperated look. “Chaz’s phone is acting up. He couldn’t get a text through and said he had a bad feeling, like we were in an accident or something.”

  Glitch. I bite my lip. “Weird.”

  “That’s what I said.” Her face is distorted from the glitches. She’s still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. “Okay,” she says, her tone suddenly lighter, “time to forget your troubles and focus on where we are and what’s happening right now. This is prom! This is what we’ve been waiting for! All we have to do for the rest of the night? Is have fun.”

  Did she really just use my words from a previous night? Lucy doesn’t talk so cheery like that. Lucy doesn’t usually have to convince me to have fun. This loop is officially out of control.

  Dinner is gross, as it has been every night before this, but I savor every bite. It’s the best worst dry, rubbery chicken cordon bleu I’ll ever eat.

  “Taco Bell would have been better than this,” Lucy says when we’re done.

  “Agreed.” I toss back the last of my coffee.

  The music starts up, and Chaz and Marcos slip away onto the dance floor. With the glitches, prom looks even more magical this time, everything blinking in and out, all the colors twisting and swirling together. Whatever song is playing is unrecognizable, completely garbled. Jenna gets up from her table beside ours, and I instinctively look up at her movement. She gives me a cheesy grin as she steps out to the dance floor.

  “You wanna dance?” I say to Lucy, knowing her answer already.

  “No, I need to let my food settle first. You go ahead, though. Have fun. Don’t worry about me.”

  Yeah, right. “It’s fine, I’ll wait with you. There’s actually, um … something I wanted to talk to you about while we have a minute here, alone.” Though it’s not exactly private and it’s not exactly quiet, with the music blasting so loud I have to practically shout to hear myself.

  “Is this about whatever upset you before? Your screwup?”

  Yes. One hundred percent. “No, it’s about you.”

  “Oh?”

  “The other night—I mean, last night, when we made those wishes on the moon … I have to confess something. My wish was about you. About us. I wished that we would never have to be apart. I’m … you know, I’m not looking forward to you going to Italy. I’m happy for you—ecstatic for you, honest—but I don’t ever want to be without you close, as a … as a friend. So it’s just hard. To think about. Not knowing what’s going to happen or not happen. Or whatever.” I try to pass it off as something lighter than it is, but her face doesn’t soften. She’s not stopping me, either. I should have made a wish to be able to read her mind. “Anyway I know your wish was to reverse the one you wished about your mom on the falling star, so I thought you should know mine. It’s only fair.”

  Her mouth twists. “I have to confess something, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I didn’t wish for a reversal. My wish was about us, too. I wished—” She presses her lips together and a furious blush blooms on her cheeks. “Well, I don’t want to jinx it by saying it out loud. Then it won’t come true.”

  She doesn’t have to tell me what it was. She already told me on a different night. But: “Since when do you believe in things like jinxes and wishes?”

  “I don’t,” she insists. “It’s just a saying. A figure of speech.”

  “You mean like all those other ‘figures of speech’ that you ‘just say’? Like, ‘don’t push your luck,’ or ‘fingers crossed’?”

  Her nostrils flare as she presses her lips together for a moment, processing. Then, “It doesn’t mean I believe in them.”

  “Why shouldn’t you?”

  “Did you really just ask me that?” Now she laughs. She thinks I’m joking. I can’t blame her, though. Before this loop started, I would think I was joking, too. But now I know better.

  “I bet if you made another wish tonight,” I tell her, “on a regular star this time, it would come true.”

  She starts to laugh again, then stops herself short, staring at me as her eyes go a little wider. “Wait, you’re serious. Why are you serious?”

  “Because I finally realized the truth—that some of the best things in life aren’t logical. They can’t be explained, except maybe by magic. Things like … love.” I heard her admit it once before already; the way she feels about me isn’t logical, but she strongly believes in it. And it’s the same with how I feel about her. Nothing about it makes sense, and yet, it exists. It’s real. Is believing her wish on a star will come true that much of a leap?

  “Magic,” she deadpans. Her eyes dart to my empty paper cup. “What was in that coffee?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” I get up from my chair, shaking my head. “I’m gonna go dance. Will you be ready in a few?”

  “Yeah,” she says, her gaze calculating. “I’ll be right here.”

  I meet Jenna on the dance floor.

  “JJ!” she exclaims, the glitches flapping her hair around like it’s caught in a tornado. “You made it.” She laughs for no reason and continues her energetic moves, facing me.

  But I’m not in the mood for this. I think I just need to say, “Goodbye, Jenna. It’s been a trip. Every night with you has been great— Well, no, except for the slaps. But the rest … Actually, no, mostly not. What I mean is I don’t … This isn’t … We’re not …”

  With every word her brows pull closer together. “What are you talking about?”

  “Blair’s not cheating on you,
” I blurt, and that stops her dance moves. I go on, “This is the last night, but it might end before he can tell you. So you need to know. It’s all an act, the same as you’re acting right now, pretending everything is okay. When it’s not. You’re hurting. And I know you’re hurting because of him, but he’s got some things to tell you, so just … listen, if you think you can stand it. You don’t have to do anything but listen. And then see what you think. Okay?”

  “I …” She swallows. “I took myself out of the equation. That solved the problem.”

  “It didn’t, though. Not permanently. Splitting up was only—”

  Everything stops. Oh … my God …

  “Only what?” she presses.

  “Temporary.” My head spins. “It’s all temporary …”

  As long as time keeps moving forward, anything that happens is temporary. Even the things that have happened within each repeat have changed from night to night, because time was still moving forward until it looped back to the start. Circumstances can always shift again, at any time, back to what they were, or into something completely different. Maybe even something better that I never would have imagined …

  The best nights of my life might still be ahead of me. Maybe the best nights of our life are still ahead of us, Lucy and me both, even if we’re apart. Maybe hanging on to something good is preventing something better from coming along. I’ll never know unless I get there.

  And the only way to get there is to stop this loop.

  “I’m sorry, Jenna,” I say, turning away from her, “I have to go. I have to do something. Now.”

  I weave past people off the dance floor, quickly deciding against taking Lucy outside with me. If I’m right, and I get this night to stop, I’ll see her soon enough. Tomorrow. I head for the exit far from our table where Lucy is still sitting, obliviously checking her phone.

  But someone stops me before I can open the door. “JJ, wait.”

  It’s Jenna. She followed me? I turn to face her, and the glitches have turned her mouth into a blur of fire-engine red.

  “What’s going on?” she says.

  “Nothing, it’s fine. Don’t worry. Everything is finally right. I figured it out. I have to make a wish on a star.”

  “Oh.” She pauses. “Okay …”

  “I have to make a wish on a falling star,” I clarify. “There are a ton of them out there tonight, so it shouldn’t be hard.” My throat tightens and I try to swallow past it. “The hard part is the wish itself.”

  “There are falling stars out tonight?” she says with this odd sort of excitement in her tone. “How magical! We should all go out and make wishes on them, all together. Our one final act as seniors before graduation. We could wish for whatever we want to come true after high school!”

  “It doesn’t work the same with falling stars, though,” I try to explain, but she’s already trotting off toward the stage.

  Within a few seconds, the music cuts out and Jenna’s voice replaces it through the speakers. “Attention, everyone! Can I have your attention? We’re going to do something very special tonight, all of us. Listen carefully!”

  Oh no. What is she doing?

  She’s doing what Jenna does best. Spreading her optimism. She wants everyone to get a magical wish tonight. It’s so Jenna. But what if it messes up what I need to do to stop the loop? What if all the wishes get tangled up with one another and confused?

  “All right,” Jenna says through the microphone, “is everyone clear on what we’re doing? Any questions?” She pauses for a response, and the room is quiet. “Okie dokie, let’s go!”

  She steps off the stage and heads to the exit. The crowd follows her, though it’s so jumbled and glitchy I can’t tell if people are going along with it because they want to or because they think they have to. Everyone has become an amorphous blob rather than individuals. I can’t pick out Marcos and Chaz, or anyone who’s at a distance anymore.

  Suddenly, Lucy is right by me. That dress, even though it’s glitching, gives her away. “Where is everyone going?” she says.

  “Out to wish on a star, and I’m doing the same thing.”

  I can’t see her expression clearly, but her tone is rife with shock. “You’re kidding, right? You have to be kidding.”

  “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” I start walking, and reluctantly, she keeps step with me.

  “This is ridiculous,” she says.

  “No, this is all part of the fun. The magic of prom night.” I playfully nudge her with an elbow, calm and carefree on the outside while my insides tighten into knots. “Just go with it. Carpe noctem.”

  She sighs a sigh that in Lucy Language means “fine, but you owe me for this.”

  I already owe her, for this and everything else. More than I could ever repay.

  Thank you for showing me that every new day is a gift. No matter where it leads us.

  She’ll be fine without me.

  And I’ll be fine without her.

  I have to be, for both our sakes.

  I can do this. I can let her go. All the way to the moon if that’s what she wants.

  The room starts falling apart around us. Streamers flutter to the floor. Light fixtures drop and explode into shards and sparks. The speakers on the stage crumble into dust. But no one is fazed. I’m the only one who can see it. Once Lucy and I are out of the building, weaving through cars across the parking lot, we follow the blob-crowd toward the football field. Lucy shudders. Goose bumps have popped up all over her bare arms.

  I remove my tux jacket and hold it behind her so she can slip into it.

  “Thanks,” she says. “So … what are you going to wish for? What do you want to come true more than anything?”

  What I want is her, always. What I want doesn’t matter.

  “Come on, Mr. Spontaneous,” she presses.

  “That whatever you wish comes true.” How’s that for improvising?

  “Nice try.” She smirks.

  We step onto the clay track that surrounds the football field. Everyone is spreading out. Meteors streak across the sky, too many at once, jumping and skipping and lighting up the night. Some of them land on the ground, then fizzle out. The sky is literally falling.

  Lucy squeezes my hand as we find an empty spot on the grass and plant our feet.

  “What about you?” I ask her.

  She hesitates. Then, “I wish—”

  “Wait, don’t make the actual wish yet!”

  “What— I wasn’t, but … Why?”

  “Not on a falling star,” I say. “Remember? Or the opposite will come true.”

  She laughs. “You don’t really believe that.”

  “Right now I do.” I believe all of that. I will never not believe that again.

  After another expected sigh, she says, “Okay, I guess we’re doing this,” and she looks up. Everyone is looking up. But I keep looking at her.

  Stars fall all around her, blazing. Her hair glows red in the light like fire. She’s tilted her head far back, searching the sky. And to my left, movement catches my eye, a dark figure standing out starkly against the brightness. I turn my face in that direction. The groundhog is back, the only thing free of glitches and staring at me, expressionless.

  Time’s up.

  “I wish …” Lucy starts, and finishes it silently like a proper wish.

  In my head I think it—feel it, believe it: We’ll be fine without each other. We can move forward. We can live separate lives. We don’t always have to be together.

  And I voice the opposite on every falling star in my vision, still gripping her hand tight.

  “I wish we could stay like this forever—”

  The Eta Aquarids ignite the world. Everything goes blinding white, then angry red, then just … disappears.

  A familiar weightlessness lifts me up and away, and this time, the void isn’t cold, dark, and empty. It’s warm and glittering with stars.

  White flashes behind my eyes,
and then I’m moving—really fast. Instead of Lucy’s hand, I’m gripping a steering wheel.

  I’m in my car. I’m driving.

  And I’m about to hit a groundhog running across the road, desperately trying to save its life. Acting the way a normal groundhog would. This can’t be the same one as before.

  I swerve around it and slam on my brakes, tires squealing, heart pounding, and the car comes to a crooked stop, dangerously close to a ditch. This isn’t a repeat. I’m not back in my bedroom an hour before sunset. It’s dark, a heavy mist hovering above the asphalt and the fields on either side of me.

  Maybe the night didn’t repeat—dare I hope? But the world didn’t end, either.

  Where am I? And what day is it? What just happened?

  The clock on my dashboard reads 5:22. Every repeat started right after Lucy texted me at 7:30 p.m. What’s going on? I pull my phone out of my pocket—and notice the taco stain on my shirt. Not only is it there, and obviously so, but it’s crusty and stiff. The display on my phone … this better not be a glitch.

  It’s Sunday, 5:23 a.m., the morning after prom.

  I immediately open up my text messages to see what carried over, if anything, and the elation I felt a second ago turns into dread so quickly and fiercely that I actually gag. No picture of me and Lucy dancing at prom, with a black eye or otherwise. And all the messages from the first prom night are back. Every single one of them, from Chaz, from Jenna, from Lucy … all in order, playing out the worst night of my life down to the last minute.

  Don’t worry about me.

  Where are you? Prom’s almost over and I lost Lucy

  Everyone is looking for her and for you and I hear sirens.

  PICK UP YOUR PHONE