My mouth is sticky. Every part of me hollowed, scooped out. Sometime during the night I must’ve flung the Sadie clothes off, scrambled into regular pj’s. Flannel scrapes my leg hair as I slide out of bed. “Thrifting. I went thrifting with—” I stop myself. “In Queens.”
Lindsay sets the top down and resumes picking through her suitcase, laying out a pair of jeans and a pumpkin-colored sweater that only she could get away with. “Doesn’t it show your boobs, though?” she asks, almost as an afterthought. Then, before I can answer: “Women can go topless in public in New York, just like men, as long as they don’t do it for money. This toplessness equality group set up a booth at one of Pete—one of the band’s shows, so I found out all about it.”
Sadie? Peter? We’ve got to be even now.
“Maybe I’ll wear it today.” My voice prickles with daring.
She laughs. “Um, to the pool? I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Reset.
My mouth gets drier.
Reset.
I hold my hand out. “Watch me.”
* * *
The pool is gorgeous. One whiff and my eyes well up, which I do my best to hide from Lindsay as we file into the locker room and pull off our clothes. Unlike the school locker room, it’s heated. But my nipples still harden as Lindsay grins at me, tugging the delicate hem. “Okay, so, points, Koda. Major points. Now for the real question—does your mom know you own this?” I twist away giggling. Mariah? Not a proponent of mesh.
Quietly, Lindsay adds, “I haven’t been training much since you left.”
I nod without looking at her, filling the empty locker with my stare.
“Me neither.”
She snaps her Speedo strap. The suit is an old one of mine. Maroon, with a silver stripe down the side that I don’t think I’d buy today. When she turns away to finish getting ready, I do a quick crotch check, tuck away errant pubes.
The water is also heated. We dive straight in. My strokes are tentative at first, it’s been so long since I’ve done this, but gradually my muscles wake up, moving in ways I thought they’d forgotten. I part water, turn my head, breathe, outlasting the early-morning lappers until we have the pool practically to ourselves. My arms might fall off. Like, there’s a distinct possibility of the lifeguard having to fish me from the bottom of my lane. But I persist until Lindsay gives up, and signals for me to join her by the wall.
“How’re you doing?” she asks.
“Good,” I pant. I mean it. The pool’s sides are marble, hard to grasp beneath my bitten nails. Lindsay grins. Cheeks pink, nose dented by the goggles she’s pushed up onto her cap. “You looked great too, for not practicing much. At least you’ve still got Coach on your butt.”
Her eyes dart away. “Actually, I… I guess I should’ve told you this before… I mean, I’ve been meaning to, but… I… sort of quit the team.”
What? I blink. Almost glance at the lifeguard—is he hearing this? “When?”
“A while ago.” She shrugs. “I would’ve told you sooner, but you kept saying how busy you were, ignoring half my texts, and I just… it’s not that big of a deal anyway.”
“Of course it’s a big deal.” Swim team used to be all Lindsay cared about besides video games, and me. “Why did you—”
“Peter’s band played on Fridays. Those shows last until two, sometimes three in the morning. Swim meets are every Saturday. You do the math.” This little wave sloshes between us as she shrugs again.
But that’s a huge sacrifice. Enormous. To give something she loved up… for him… “But you’re not dating anymore. So you could ask Coach about letting you join again. He’d probably be open to that. You have the best butterfly—”
“I’m just over it,” she says fiercely. Then, quieter, “Believe it or not, Koda, I’m allowed to change too.”
A bead of water plunks off my nose.
She smiles, shadows wriggling across her face. “Your butterfly, though…”
My arms are too floppy and weak to splash her. I settle for twanging her bathing suit strap, the smack amplified by her wet skin. Then it’s on. We tussle, fighting to get our arms around each other’s necks until the lifeguard shrieks on his whistle—“NO DUNKING!” We roll our eyes. Lindsay discreetly twangs me back.
“Listen,” she says, once our laughter falls away. “I’m sorry—”
“Me too,” I rush to tell her, even though I’m a little lost about what I’m apologizing for, what went so wrong in the first place. It’s not my fault Lindsay can’t handle me making a new friend. Especially somebody as amazing as—gasping, I jerk my hands up. “My calluses!” Lindsay ducks from the splash. “I have to keep my fingers as dry as possible to help the calluses form. Did I tell you Sadie’s teaching me guitar?”
Water licks the side of the pool.
Lindsay looks away. “Okay, Koda,” she says, “real talk… I know we sort of had it out on the train yesterday, and I don’t want to do that again, but… I also still don’t really understand why you’re spending all your time with her? More importantly…”—her eyes dip toward me, back down—“why she wants to hang out with you? I mean, it’s kind of weird, right? She’s so… old. No offense. Doesn’t she have any other friends? People her own age?”
“Um, yeah?” I don’t mean to sound so defensive. The pool is just too warm suddenly, my face too hot. “Of course she does. There’s Em, her songwriting partner, who you definitely could’ve met yesterday if we didn’t have to run off to dinner. Not to mention Quixote’s bassist, Teddy. And”—I muscle on, sensing another objection—“Sadie’s only thirty-eight. That’s two years younger than my mom. Do you think my mom’s old?”
“Okay—”
“Because you should tell her that when she comes home later. You should go right up to her and give her one of your hugs and say, ‘Mariah, you are fucking ancient.’ I’m sure she’ll really appreciate it.”
“You’re missing the point!”
Am not. You can’t miss a point that’s not there. I kick off from the wall, meaning to swim away, but Lindsay grabs my ankle.
“Let me tell you what I think is happening.”
“I don’t care.” I struggle. “Let go!”
Lindsay doesn’t let go. She paddles closer, forcing my back against the pool wall, one leg folded, pinned between our chests. My knee tingles, exposed to the air. Her heart thumps against it. “You’re all she has left of your dad, Koda. Did that ever occur to you? She doesn’t care about you. The real you, that I know. She cares about your face.”
I wrench away so violently she yelps. “Bullshit,” I tell her over the churning water. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. I don’t even resemble my dad.”
She stares. “Yeah you do.”
“No I…” I grind my palms into my eyes. How is she not understanding? “Maybe there are parts of me that are sort of like his, but they’re all wrong. Scrambled, or something. That’s all I am, okay? Scrambled. I’m a platypus, and you know it. Everybody knows it.” The ladder’s nearby. I heave myself from the water, dripping fury. “Also”—I whip around, almost eating it on the slippery marble—“what’s so wrong with that, huh? Who cares if she sees him in me? Nobody else ever has. My own mother’s never even pointed out the resemblance, has not for one second ever spoken about him like I’m an adult who can freaking handle knowing where half my genes come from. Do you know how weird that is? Because I didn’t, really. Not until Sadie. She sees the potential in me. She’s helping me become myself.” I head for the lockers, unaware of Lindsay slapping after me until her toe clips my ankle.
“Hey.” She darts in front of me.
“Go away.”
“Well, I’m kind of stuck here until Monday, so.” She sighs. “Just look at me.”
It takes a couple of tries. My eyes burn and I’d rather die than let her see it.
“Koda.” Her lips are white and taut from the chlorine. She presses them together, then says, “I’ve always thought you looked
like your dad. Always. Even when we were younger and you first came to school and everybody was trying to figure out who you were, I knew right away. But that’s not why I wanted to be your best friend. Okay? I wanted to be your best friend because you were awkward and kind of quiet like me, and I could tell that you were thinking incredible things, even if you didn’t always know how to come out and say them. What I’m getting at”—she squeezes my arm, and my flesh resists like cold putty beneath her fingers—“is I like you, for your own sake. I hope someday, you’ll understand there’s a difference.”
The catch in her throat makes mine sting. For a second, one blind, aching second, the truth feels within reach.
I pull away, ducking into the locker room.
Only an idiot wouldn’t know which like she means.
* * *
Lindsay and Peter are getting back together. She waits until Monday morning to tell me, on our way to the airport. Like I didn’t see this coming.
And they’re having sex. Penis-in-vagina sex—she feels the need to specify. “It didn’t hurt at all,” she whispers. We’re stuck on Grand Central Parkway, gray clouds clamped like a lid over the city, altogether the crappiest possible inverse of how our weekend began. I nod, listening. Because I am a good friend who listens. “They say it’s supposed to hurt the first time, but it seriously didn’t. It felt so good. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I…” Her gaze slides away. “I couldn’t find the right time.”
I crack my window. We’re gridlocked, and in one of the nearby cars somebody is smoking. Ash and cold air slice across my cheeks.
My silence is starting to feel conspicuous, even to me. “That’s awesome,” I manage. “I’m… I’m really happy for you, Linds.”
It’s not until we’re in the dropoff line, hugging goodbye, that I remember the box tucked in my coat pocket. At the last second, I shove it into her hand. “For Christmas,” I say as she looks up in surprise. “I forgot to mail it to you.”
She squeezes out one of the smiles we’ve been giving each other since yesterday. The same smile memorialized on her lock screen—a selfie taken yesterday, at the Top of the Rock Observation Deck.
I don’t have any left in me.
CHAPTER 23
MOM IS IN OUR BUILDING’S lobby when Driver drops me home, picking leaves off a ficus.
“That plant is alive,” I inform her.
“Sorry.” She looks at the leaf still in her hand. It’s nice. A glossy green fingernail. “I’m late for a meeting.”
She needs the car? I swing around, but Driver’s already pulled away.
“It’s fine, Koda. I ordered a cab fifteen minutes ago.” She arranges a tight smile. “Was it hard saying goodbye to Lindsay?”
The sky has this gray constipated look that may or may not mean rain. I turn back to Mom, wanting to sprint right past her, onto the elevator, to bed. But I don’t have the energy. I drop next to her on the lobby loveseat. “No.” It’s not exactly a lie.
Lindsay and Peter are getting back together. She still doesn’t know how I feel, which has to be the very definition of failure. Both your greatest fears coming true.
Mom’s frown deepens, and I turn away from her to stare at the loveseat armrest, ridiculous with its ivory silk and tassels. My chest tightens. A sob pushing up.
If she asked why.
If she tried comforting me with one of her stupid platitudes—Oh honey, you’ll find somebody better, a girl who deserves you—I might actually believe it. Might let myself be that desperate. Just this once.
Another restless second or two between us, and Mom signals to the guy at the front desk. “This building is lovely,” she calls. “The decor, these sofas—beautiful.” I make a little ficus leaf memorial on the marble by our feet.
When the cab arrives, Mom reels me into a hug. “Make sure you finish your homework, okay? And go to bed at a reasonable time? I’ll text when I’m getting ready to leave, but I don’t think it’ll be any sooner than nine, ten o’clock. There’s dinner involved.” She hesitates, hugs a little tighter. “Miss you.” As we part, she presses my face in her hands, and I really do almost lose it. That soft, freshly powdered smell.
Back in my room, I pull my hair into a bun, put on my black jeans, my eyes looking more bruised than that day at the photographer’s studio, irrepressibly blue. Grady blue, that shade should be called. Like all the want in the world.
* * *
Sadie seems startled, almost dismayed, to see me, the zigzag blanket flung over her shoulders as she peeks through her apartment door. “Hi,” I say. She gives me this confused smile. I rush to explain. “My mom’s going to be busy all day, and I was wondering if… you didn’t answer your texts, but… can I stay?” All my excitement on my way over here, I never realized this might be a bad surprise. That she wouldn’t want me.
She nibbles a thumbnail, deliberating. “Afraid I’m not too interesting today. Just working.”
“That’s fine.” I should’ve brought homework, some books or something. God knows Sadie doesn’t have TV. Or Wi-Fi. “When you’re finished,” I add boldly, “maybe we could go to dinner? Order in? You choose. I don’t care.” It earns me a crackling laugh. Sadie leans her temple against the doorframe, watching me.
“Where’s your friend?”
The question unbalances me. I swore on the ride over I’d stop thinking about Lindsay. “Home. Or… not home yet. On her flight.”
Sadie’s already stepping back from the door. “Too bad,” she says, in the tone of somebody who doesn’t think something is bad at all.
I spend the afternoon sitting quietly while she scribbles into her notebook, and fields calls from Em, who’s stuck home with bronchitis but still making Sadie miserable, basically haunting her from her bed. Two hours have passed before she smacks her songbook onto the coffee table, pushing her glasses up to rub her eyes. They’re the opposite of mine. Pink and swollen.
“Fuck,” she says.
“Done?” I’m cross-legged on the couch, beneath the zigzag blanket.
“Well, kiddo, ‘done’ is a debatable concept. A real relative term. ‘Done’ for now, sure, but that’s exactly the problem, these fucking contracts… Soon as you meet one deadline, you’re staring down the barrel of another, X many songs within X number of months, which I guess is all right if you’re a normal, organized person, but being neither of these things, I’ve been taking the demands very personally lately. Usually I don’t. I’m good at faking normal. You know? Been a faker my whole life, but now I just… this winter has been…” She rubs her eyes again, and this little wrinkle that’s wormed between them. “Damn Em.”
Sadie wipes her nose. She hasn’t asked at all about how Lindsay’s visit went, but that’s my fault for not bringing it up. Sadie has impeccable instincts. She must have sensed what a shit show the whole thing was, and didn’t want to make me feel any worse. But… I drop my head, poking fingers through the blanket’s weave.
When I finish explaining about Lindsay getting back with Peter, I’m not crying exactly. “I don’t care,” I sniffle, wiping roughly at my eyes. “It’s a good thing, because there’s no way Lindsay likes me. Likes me, likes me.” I like you for you, she says, but I push that away. It doesn’t matter. Not when Sadie’s halfway across the room, frowning, concerned. “I would’ve just humiliated myself, ruined our friendship on top of it. Not that we’re really friends anymore anyway. Or maybe we are. It’s hard to—she hasn’t texted me at all since she got to the airport, and honestly, this whole weekend has been awful, I’m…” My voice cracks, full of static. I’m so lonely, Sadie. That’s all I was about to say. I’m so lonely except for when I’m with you.
Sadie approaches swiftly, plants her hands on my knees. “Listen,” she says into my face.
Our noses are inches apart. I hold my breath. Listening.
“Sure, losing somebody hurts, hurts like hell, but all that is, Koda, is growing pains. You’ll be better off for them later, trust me. Leave before you get le
ft. That’s my motto.”
My eyes flood. She is so wise. Even if I can’t realistically afford more growing. “I wish you could’ve been there,” I say pitifully.
She curls beside me, and I fork over some blanket, both of us huddled together as whirling, mutant flakes thunk against the windows. That’s what the gray sky meant. Snow, not rain. Except snow is supposed to be silent, isn’t it? Silent like a bad feeling. Like the stomachache nobody knows you have.
There’s no way Lindsay’s right. No way Sadie is using me. And I can prove it. I can make her do something painful. Something she would only do for me.
“The photo albums,” I say, once I trust my voice not to shake. “Show me now?”
Sadie slips her thumb ring off and on, off and on, studying it in the grayish light. Then she helps me up and brings me to her bedroom.
She slides the closet open with her foot, but the clothes that were hung so neatly the last time I looked are torn from their hangers, spilling onto the floor like the closet’s been ransacked, practically disemboweled. “What happened?” I ask, but Sadie doesn’t answer. She jerks her chin at a couple of gray milk crates, shoved toward the back. I stoop to examine them. “Whoa.” Records. Motionless, Sadie watches me flip through them. She doesn’t have her own work—or anything from this century—but some stuff I recognize. Let’s Dance, Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac… Knowing her, they’re organized by frequency and length of guitar solos. Sadie logic. Classic. She crouches beside me. “Peter”—I glance at her freckly cheek, the industrial—“he never let us play music on our phones or anything when we hung out. He insisted you couldn’t experience a song in its full glory until you heard it on vinyl. I thought that was so annoying.”
The Mythic Koda Rose Page 18