Loud Awake and Lost, page 8
“Look, I’m about to go,” she said. “This party’s a little bit, um.” We smiled. On that point, there was no need to elaborate. “But first I’m gonna go pick up Alice—she’s in the studio till last minute as usual. We’re heading over together. It’s supposed to be incredible tonight. Hey, idea.” Her smile was shy. “Wanna join up?”
She seemed to think I understood what she was talking about. I faltered, then confessed. “The thing is, I don’t know where you’re going.”
“Areacode.” But now something clicked in Maisie. She stared at me like I’d failed an easy quiz. “You can still get sweaty, look sexy, and dance freaky, right?”
I smiled in nonanswer. Areacode. Now the word just reminded me of Kai. Beautiful Kai. Stupid jerk who disappeared, who never called me—wrong number Kai.
But Areacode must have been a place I went to before, a routine from before Kai. And Maisie’s name was familiar—Facebook, right? I had over one thousand friends on Facebook, and most of them weren’t friends. And who was Alice?
“The other thing is,” I told her, “I’m here with other people.”
Maisie nodded, put her hands on her hips, and lifted one leg to stand like a sultry flamingo. She was a girl who wanted to be looked at. She was almost defiant about it. Now I saw her shoes— Doc Martens, covered with a rainbow of spray paint. She’d obviously done it herself. Now she was looking at the painting. Her gaze flicked back to me, as if she was deciding whether to ask me something. “Have you been in touch?” she asked. “With anyone else in his crew, anything like that?”
My throat closed up. Anthony. “Um, not so much,” I managed.
“Are you tight with any of them?”
“Actually, no. I mean, it’s not like I knew Anthony that well, either.” It had to be true, right? How does someone know anyone that well, in a space of six weeks?
“Okay, sure.” Maisie’s mask made it harder for me to tell what she was thinking. She glanced again at the painting. “At least they didn’t take it down. Anyway, it’s good to see you, Ember. Come by if you can. But I understand if…that’s too hard.” And then she was gone, floating out through the archway, her superhero cape paunched out behind her, just as Rachel cruised up on my side.
“Who was that?”
“Some girl I used to know. A dancer.” The heat in my skin seemed uncomfortably constricted under all my wrapped gauze.
Anthony must have been a regular at Areacode, too. There were reasons I’d been drawn to it. I shouldn’t have let Maisie slip away so quickly. “She gave me a tip. There’s a good party tonight, over at this club called Areacode.”
“Where’s that?”
“I’ve been there. It’s just a warehouse out in Bushwick.” I stared Rachel in the eye. “Might be better than here. We should go.”
“Go where?” asked Tom, joining up with us from behind, his cocktail napkin full of toothpicked shrimp.
“The good news is Ember sniffed out a party. The bad news is it’s way the hell out in Bushwick,” said Rachel. “Probably some crappy mosh pit.”
Tom rolled his eyes at me. “The day has come. I knew it was a matter of time before you’d go all club rat on us again. With the breakup boots and the attitude.”
“Shut up, Tom,” Rachel snapped. “This is a social emergency. Stay here and it’s your funeral.” But Tom was annoyed. I’d struck a nerve with him. Club rat. And what were breakup boots? I tingled with embarrassment, but I stood my ground.
“Even a mosh pit beats this party,” I said.
“Count me out,” Tom said. “I’ll freeze my nuts off outside. Meantime they’re letting us drink in here, and it’s not watered-down tap beer. And Lucia’s got some cute cousins. So, no, I’m not changing anything. I’ll tell Keiji and the others you’re both taking off.” And with a neutral shrug, he loped off.
“Buzzkill! Who needs him chaperoning us, anyway?” Rachel wriggled her eyebrows. “The painful truth is that Tom knows it’s too hard for high school guys to get into clubs. He’d have held us back. The night’s in our hands now.”
12
Manic Edge
It could be heard from the street, a tribal drumbeat that became a buzz saw of sound once we’d stumbled out of the freight elevator and into Areacode’s black-cave dance space. Five minutes later, I was pretty sure I’d gone half deaf from it.
“Now this is what I call a haunted house! Am I right?” a female voice blasted in my ear. Was she talking to me? I whipped around to stare into the face of a phantom. Her face was caked in white paint, her eyes were raccoon-smudged in eyeliner, and a black hag wig was perched like an actual raccoon on her head.
“What?” I asked. Do I know you?
The girl blinked and reared back. “Oops! Sorry! I totally thought you were someone else!”
“No problem.” A true stranger. Not a semi-stranger, like Maisie. It could make me crazy wondering who I knew, who I sort of knew. At least I had Rachel. Her lanky, poised presence was a buffer.
“You sure we never came here together?” I asked.
Rachel made a face. “No way. But since we are here, want to drop coats?”
We’d been holding on to them. But I gratefully tossed my pink-bubble-gum coat in with the others, in a huge corner pile. The nerdy LANDS’ END tag painfully visible. Obviously this had been another Mom purchase, for the version of me who hadn’t minded dressing like a Hello Kitty doll. I’d need to find a weekend job soon if I wanted to start saving for a cool winter coat.
“You see anyone you know?” shouted Rachel. “That friend of Anthony’s?”
I’d been squinting for Maisie since we’d come up. My body was on alert, waiting to be recognized. Wondering if any of Travolo’s people might approach. Their tentative smiles, my name spoken shyly—“Ember? Is that you?”
“I never, ever met that guy,” Rachel attested, though she’d told me this before. “It makes sense he was a club-scene kid. And I don’t know what kind of conversation you need about all this, Emb, but I’m not sure a nightclub Halloween party is the best time to go looking for it.”
She was probably right. But I hadn’t told her about the painting, and I couldn’t let Maisie glide off, either. On the freight elevator, I’d felt a spark of déjà vu. Something about the way the car had lurched and groaned, how the traction cables had stuck above the fourth floor, then bounced to the fifth, shuddering a moment before it fell plumb and was safe to manually unlock.
It was more of a sensation than full recall—and yet it stopped me from being scared. If I’d been here, it was because I’d wanted to be here.
“Be honest. Was I really a club rat last year?” I asked Rachel. “And what are breakup boots?”
“They were just motorcycle boots. Breakup boots is what Claude starting calling them. As in post-Holden. Hey, I thought they were badass, but you know guys like Claude. They always prefer girls in camis and ballet flats.” Like the prow of a thin ship, Rachel was guiding us into the overcrowded main space.
Two weeks ago, when I’d been on the outside peering in, Areacode had been an empty cave. But now it was painted in blacklight and Day-Glo from floor to ceiling, with dry-ice machines puffing fake fog to make it look like a Halloween graveyard. The corners were tangled with “webs,” dummy bodies dangled from the rafters, and rubber heads stared in anguish from their spikes along the bar. In the booth, a DJ in a grim reaper hood was spinning mash-ups.
Suddenly, for the first time in months, I wanted to dance. And yet I hung back, unsure. Ever since my kindergarten ballet class, my body had identified with dancing. Even after that uneasy blooming summer between sixth and seventh grades, when I’d gone from being tiny and twiggy to the weighted, curvy shape I lived in now.
It had been almost a year since I’d tried so much as a spin in place.
“This scene is on,” I commented softly.
“You think?” Rachel was coughing, waving at the air. “I say it’s too much!”
“At least we got in.” There’d been a huge line outside. Our zombie costumes, combined with the fact that we hadn’t arrived with guys, had definitely helped us past the ropes.
“Listen, Embie, if you can’t find those other people, I don’t want to be here forever.” Rachel pulled a face. “It’s all fun and games till my eardrums burst like crystal.” But she didn’t stop me when I moved in deeper.
“We’ll leave as soon as we find out it sucks,” I promised. The thumping bass line ricocheted off the walls through the marrow of my body. The dance floor was dark and writhing. The combination of mood and music excited me—even if I didn’t dance, I wanted to stay.
“Ooh, Lafayette alum sighting.” Rachel pointed. “I spy with my little eye Lissa Mandrup. Of course. This party was invented for Lissa Mandrup.”
I glanced over. Lissa had seen me first. Eyes shining, she threw out her arms wide, beckoning me to come join her.
Rachel tensed. “I’m not sure I want to dance right now. Do you?”
“Kind of I do, kind of I don’t know.”
“I should have had a nice drink at Lucia’s when I had the chance.” Rachel was turning, scanning the crowd. Suddenly she latched her fingers to my wrist. “Don’t look, don’t look. I’ve got a Jake Weinstock sighting!” She spun to face me; her eyes were huge and unblinking. “Okay, I’ve got to talk to him. I need to go pretend to read those fake tombstones, and see if he says something to me.”
“I think Lissa just saw me,” I said. “You go. Jake won’t want me third-wheeling.”
Rachel appeared doubtful. She stole another look across the room. “Okay. But keep a watch on me. And don’t get too into it with Lissa. She looks like she’s on drugs tonight.”
I mostly doubted that. Lissa Mandrup could find her natural dance high better than anyone. But Rachel’s warning niggled at me. Had I been friends with a druggie? It tapped my deepest fear, that I hadn’t been chemically myself that night that Anthony Travolo and I went over the bridge. No matter how clean Dr. P had promised the report had been, or how purely accidental my loss of control on the wheel, it couldn’t tell me about my general trending behavior, my influences, whatever darkness I might have been going through that dragged us to the deep Below.
But I let Rachel go find Jake, with assurances that I wouldn’t leave the club without her.
As if.
Lissa was still waving, beckoning me to join.
I checked around just one more time for Maisie. Nothing. Damn.
Okay. Breathing through it.
Lissa’s dance style was polished and pretty, with a manic edge. She was a magnet on the floor, pulling everyone’s attention toward her. Last year she’d been captain of Lafayette’s A-squad dance, and she’d been a lead dancer every year. I’d taken ballet, jazz, tap, and modern dance with her—both in and out of school—since sixth grade. And I’d been in awe of her in each and every class.
Tonight, Lissa looked like a fractured fairy tale in her shredded tutu and ripped tights, her raven braids pinned up in a messy, Swiss-doll style. Like Holden, she seemed older and more remote, now that she’d graduated from Lafayette.
I couldn’t dance yet. I wasn’t ready. But as soon as I’d crossed into her space, Lissa whooped and stopped, her planky arms hugging me long and damply.
“You’re back, finally!” she squealed. “But is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“That you’re not dancing anymore?” We moved together toward the edge of the floor, the better to talk and be heard.
I nodded. “Strictly sidelines. My afternoons are nothing but physical therapy. Which is as tough as dancing, except with none of the grace, and no gorgeous recital at the end.”
“I figured you’d quit sooner or later, once you didn’t get that part in Chicago. I mean, it was just a school show, not a community thing, but still.”
I’d lost out on a part in a show? Oh. I’d conveniently blocked that little failure. I decided not to pursue it, for now. “How’s school?”
“I never sleep! You need to come visit me; I’m in student housing—the Meredith Willson res uptown.” Lissa was squeezing my fingertips. “Did you get my email? I know, I know, I should have written way more; I’m the queen of procrastinating. And this year, holy cow. It’s nothing but rehearsals. Did I tell you Lafayette almost didn’t let me graduate because I flunked math? Can you imagine anything more wrong than doing another year at Laf? I was in such a pickle—I had to take summer school—and then I ran away to Russia! For all the rest of the summer!” Her laugh was more bark, as if she were still shocked by her nerve.
“Russia? That’s awesome! What’d you do there?” I was shouting over the music; I could feel my lungs working for the extra pumps of air.
“I studied with the Bolshoi, as part of their ballet exchange program. It was incredible. Anyway. Jeepers, Ember. I missed you.” Her eyes bored deep into mine.
“I missed you, too.” And it was true. I hadn’t felt the tug of not seeing her till this minute, all these months later. And here she was, long-leggity Lissa with those same black eyes glittering like mica, her cheeks blotted tea-rose pink in her vanilla skin, her inky threads of hair wisping from her braids. No Lissa, no dancing, no Areacode—none of these prized, wild moments had been in my life since February, and I hadn’t even remembered to yearn for them.
“And the mad scientists made you perfect again!” Now Lissa grabbed both of my hands and swung them out. “Jeez Louise, but I totally hate how your bangs hide your face!”
“Yeah, yeah.” I had to smile. Lissa’s bluntness could be as surprising as those quirky grandma expressions like “in a pickle” that she sometimes used. “I give up. What are you dressed as? Coppélia?”
“I’m dressed as myself—a crazy ballerina.” Now Lissa dropped my hands to hold my shoulders. “This place is almost as packed as New Year’s Eve! Remember last New Year’s Eve?”
I smiled so I didn’t have to lie.
“Hey, and I’d still buy that jacket off you, whenever you’re selling.”
What jacket? She couldn’t mean the pink-bubble-gum coat—a boho girl like Lissa wouldn’t be caught dead in that mess. But now something else was happening. Little bits of New Year’s Eve were beginning to flutter down on me like pieces of ticker tape. Sweet, tangled memory. Blowers and streamers. Gold, glittery top hats and oversized Happy New Year sunglasses. A crush of bodies—I’d been so warm that night. Claustrophobic—I could feel it again, the need for fresh air.
“Come dance.” She tugged my arm. “It’ll be like old times.”
“I can’t.” I could feel myself ready to bolt. Not yet, not me—no.
“Of course you can.”
“No, I can’t. And, um…I brought a friend, see…” I looked around till I found gauze-wrapped Rachel, bendy-noodly in a far corner, talking intensely to equally noodly Jake, who was immediately recognizable despite his Spider-Man mask. They were standing close, right by the fire-escape window.
That view. That was the same fire escape where Kai and I had sat outside.
“Oh, come on. Five minutes?” Lissa pleaded.
“Maybe later,” I apologized. “I have to hit the restroom. So good to see you, Lissa. But I gotta…go.… ” And I leapt away from her bewildered reaction before she could find the words to protest.
13
You In or Out?
The bathroom was over-lit and unisex and crowded. When I finally got my turn and emerged from the stall, I had to smile. I should have known Lissa would follow me in. She was standing inconveniently in front of the towel dispenser, not paying attention to the others—who even went so far as to apologize when they needed to duck around her to pull down a paper towel. Lissa’s outsized confidence was integral to her persona.
“You don’t think you can do it anymore, am I right?”
“What are you talking about?” But I couldn’t meet her eye. I unpeeled my forehead bandage to splash cold water on my face, wetting my bangs so that now they lay flat and dark, like some ceremonial costume hat.
“But you need to. You love this. I can’t bear to see you not do the thing you love.”
“You’re wrong. I’m just feeling tired is all.”
She stepped toward me suddenly, cupped my chin in her hands, and pulled me in to face her head-on—a Lissa gesture if there ever was one. “I’m right. But why am I right?” When she let me go, I stepped back and crossed my arms in front of my chest.
My dry eyes blinked. She stared back. She was not giving up on this. “My body used to be one thing and now it’s another,” I admitted. “I don’t know if this body even knows how to be out in public, dancing. And if I can’t, I might not be able to handle the disappointment.”
“My brother-in-law Charlie in AA would say fake it till you make it.”
“See, that’s the thing,” I told her. “I’m not even sure I can fake it. I have these images of falling and getting up and falling down again, like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz.”
“And if you do, so what? But you won’t know anything till you try.… ”
I wasn’t winning this one, and Lissa took my hand and pushed us out of the restroom and back into the heat and noise.
Desire had been overcoming my reluctance anyway, and the energy of the other bodies warmed me up. With Lissa’s close, upbeat presence shadowing me, I knew that, after a couple of minutes, I was okay. To the point where I stopped caring if others were watching me, or if I was dancing naturally, or if the accident had stolen my rhythm. And I wasn’t Scarecrow. My muscle memory was deep for this. Then Rachel and Jake joined us, and then a few of Lissa’s friends…and then I was lost in it.
Seeing Maisie pried me out again. I caught a glance from a distance. She’d pushed up her mask, and she was over by the drinks table, in a loose friend throng. I moved closer to see. One of the girls, long and dark-skinned, with that fluid, economical body that could wear anything—including the Cleopatra tunic and gladiator shoes she was in right now—seemed like a person who maybe I knew? When she noticed me, she waved, and I waved back, but it wasn’t an invitation on either side.
