Loud Awake and Lost, page 9
I turned in, toward the center, where bodies pulsed together like a core of dark matter. Those weren’t my friends. That was a whole crew of strange kids, who seemed only circumspectly interested in my presence here. Still, Maisie was my Anthony Travolo link, and I’d come all the way out here to find her. Should I approach her, and talk to her? Pry her for more information about Anthony?
It seemed almost too awful, a dread obligation—go spend tonight learning everything you can about that guy you killed.
By now, I’d stopped dancing. My feet felt leaden and unable. I stood, chewing my bottom lip. But I wouldn’t go over. Rachel was right; this wasn’t the time or place.
“Hey!” Lissa twined her fingers through mine. “Loosen up!”
As if she knew. As if she was purposely trying to make me stop thinking about it. I stole another glance at Maisie. If I wanted to find out more from her, I could. I’d Facebook her tomorrow. Yes, that would be better.
Then the music changed. A downbeat. The floor seemed to absorb air-mass noise sweat into one clammy thud and pull of motion.
My eyelids drooped, but now I was too tired—my limbs kept losing tempo, my mind was suspended with strange thoughts of Maisie and Anthony, all of them—when I looked up, I saw that Smarty was actually getting into it, too, though her dance style hadn’t changed; she’d always moved as awkwardly as a baby foal. Her zombie bandages were, like mine, sticking to her T-shirt and leggings, and her bleached-white bangs were starfish-spiked off her head.
She was here because I was here.
Her quick, self-conscious smile nearly melted me. Smarty, at a dance club. She’d never have come if I hadn’t wanted to go. My bestie. Holden couldn’t have been right, that we’d been fighting. Even if so, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. No way.
When the music transitioned again, I signaled to the others for my much-needed break. We stumbled to a table in the back. Jake procured our paper cups of electric green punch. Then the DJ layered a Weregirl loop over the next track.
“Ooh, Weregirl…” I was so happy to hear them, like a stamp of approval on the club, and our presence in it.
Out on the floor, Lissa was twirling like a punk sylph. Maybe it was Lissa who’d loved this band?
“Think we’re gonna sit out a few.” Rachel was tucked under Jake’s arm. “Do not—I repeat—do not wear yourself out, Emb, okay? Your mom would have my head on one of these poles.”
“I won’t.”
I could feel Rachel’s gaze stay on me warningly. She could see how exhausted I was. She and Jake dragged a couple of folding chairs to a dark, far corner of the room that a few other couples had already staked out.
But I returned, relocated Lissa, tuned in Weregirl, found myself. I’d never heard their music pound so loud, so mesmerizingly surround-sound. Here I was, pre-accident. And my old self was emerging delicate as new skin. But this one song was all I had in me. I couldn’t keep pushing myself much longer.
“Embie, I need water.” Lissa bumped up close to talk in my ear. “You too?”
The song wasn’t over. I shook my head, but when she left, I felt unmoored.
Rachel and Jake were in the corner, out of sight. After another confused minute or so, I stepped backward until I’d moved off the floor altogether, sidling up to the back wall, fighting the impulse of my buckling knees before I lost the battle and slumped down to sit on the cold poured-cement floor. My blood was an electric blanket and my heartbeat drummed my skin. My muscles would feel pulverized tomorrow. I watched the other dancers; Maisie and her friends had pulled off the various masks and capes of their costumes, and now looked unknowable and anonymous, all in skinny tees and dark jeans.
And then out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glow of light like a firefly. I craned my neck to see.
He was lighting matches. Striking them against a matchbook and flicking them into the air, a spark of dangerous magic in the darkness. He’d been there awhile, behind the coat mountain.
Striking matches and watching me. I was sure of it.
Kai.
Oh my God.
My body was locked in the suspense of what he might do next. When he made his move, there was no shyness, no hiding, no explanation. I stood up, my spine bumping hard against the rough surface of the wall, as he approached—I didn’t care, I just didn’t care in this moment that Kai hadn’t called, that he’d been an asshole, that he’d hurt my feelings. All I wanted was this now, now. As he closed the last bit of space between us to create a solid shape of just us two, he reached out and gripped me at my sides.
“You shouldn’t play with matches,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck as if he’d held me just like this a hundred times before. His kiss made me know that I hadn’t imagined the interconnectivity of that first kiss.
“You’re right.” When he pulled back, he was smiling. He flipped me the matchbook. “Here. Don’t get burned.”
I caught it one-handed, easily. “Thanks.”
“I liked watching you dance,” he said. “It made me think something.”
“What?” I couldn’t remember the last time I had been more curious for an answer.
“Made me think that whatever you end up wanting to do with your life, you’re just going to attack it until you’re the best you can be. You’ve got so much to give. You’ve got so much…” He let the last word go; he meant a lot of different words. All of them good.
“Thanks.” I did the “whatever you say” shrug, though inwardly I was shining.
“Come with me?”
“I…” It seemed he’d tricked me out of the reactions I’d thought I’d have when I saw him next. The anger, the disappointment that he hadn’t called—none of it was clenched inside me anymore. My bones had softened to paraffin. Was this the correct reaction? Or was I “miscalibrating” again?
I wasn’t going anywhere with him. He’d hung me out to dry. I should hate him, right? We’d had no contact, nothing, after the fire escape. And besides, I didn’t chase guys. Especially guys who didn’t chase me back.
But it was as if I were in a trance, following him.
His hand, so warm, now reached to hold me behind my neck, before it dropped to the small of my back. I breathed him in. He was wearing the same shabby olive jacket and jeans. Not even the hint of a costume, plus, of course, he was an underage male—and he still got into this club.
“Ember,” he whispered in my ear. “Your name’s like this sign that’s been blinking in my head. Ember, Ember.” He smiled. “Don’t leave without me, okay? Don’t let me go.” His grasp was sure, no arguments. He led me out into the main room and to the dance floor like we’d made some secret, previous arrangement to do just exactly this.
We were dancing slowly, our bodies pressed, but I’d been exerting myself for so long that I had to push my muscles to make them work. He held me tight. My eyes closed as the room spun, spun, and kept on spinning.
And then Kai was leading me to the exit doors. And I wasn’t saying anything. No protest, no “I’ve got to find the others.” Who’d I come here with again? I couldn’t remember. It was happening and I was allowing him to do it, I was allowing myself to be pulled, crooked into the shield of Kai’s arm as he maneuvered us through the crowd. First to the coat pile, then the exit.
Just roll with it. For three weeks I’d been obsessed with him. And now here he was, shoulder-shoving us through a side exit door into a stairwell that was lit but empty, and down flight after flight of steps. Sequined light pinwheeled in my eyes; I toggled up my coat.
Kai turned and kissed me again. I was rapt, basking in him. He was so real, so right. As my hands twisted up the fabric of his jacket, I couldn’t stop from saying it. “Don’t let me go, either.”
“Never.” His voice was hoarse. Then his mouth was on mine. Was I awake?
When I’d had my wisdom teeth pulled in ninth grade, they’d put me in a twilight sleep—I’d been present and yet distractedly not; the sound of the drill had been as drowsy as a bumblebee. I kissed him and I had no idea what else was happening around me. I couldn’t hear the music, or the crowd on the dance floor. It was Kai and me and nothing else.
On the ground floor, we stopped to kiss again. I belted my arms around his narrow waist. His body was wiry, sinew and muscle. “Let’s take off for my place,” he murmured. “Hatch is there. I need to get back on the early side. I promised him spaghetti and old movies. He hates to be alone, especially on a wild night like this. We’ll get a cab—if we can.”
“Sure.” I reached for my cell phone. “Let me tell the others.”
I got Rachel’s voice mail immediately. “Waffles, waffles,” I said, and laughed uncertainly—was that our private joke? Actually, I had no idea why I said it; I felt sort of stupid, tipsy with adrenaline. “Hey, listen. Don’t worry about me. I’m leaving now, but I’m with a friend.”
Kai squeezed my hand. We pushed out the heavy door and into a bitter wind. I could feel myself wincing, shrinking—even my teeth hurt with cold. Traffic was brisk, but there weren’t many cabs, and the ones we saw were all off duty or occupied. Kai stepped into the road and raised an arm to flag one down.
“It’s freezing!” I called.
I should go back. I was doubtful now. I didn’t want to lose Kai, but maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all.
Another minute passed. My cell buzzed—Rachel, of course—but I didn’t want to look at it, to be dragged back to the party. I wanted to go go go. And yet I felt unequal to the night, as if I were close to passing out. I just didn’t want to let go of him again. My senses were looping like a hamster on a wheel.
A cab turned the corner, its roof light signaling that it was free. Kai whooped.
“Now, there’s a lucky break. Never thought we’d get one of these so quick tonight.” He opened the driver’s-side back door. “In, in!”
I ran over to meet him just as my cell phone buzzed again. And again and then again. Texts from Rachel, of course. Now my ringer started. She was panicked that I was leaving Areacode without her.
The cabbie cracked his window. “Are you in or are you out?” he shouted at me. “Make up your mind!”
Kai was in the cab. My hand was stuck on the door handle. It had happened so fast. I shouldn’t just leave the others like this. Should I? The building’s fire-exit door slammed open. I jumped, turning.
“Goddammit, Ember!” Rachel was sprinting toward me, her zombie bandages streaming, with Jake in a loose gallop behind her. “What the hell?”
“I’m fine,” I called.
“You can’t do this to people!” She was at me in the next bound. “You can’t do this to me!”
“I’m with Kai, we’re just…” I looked back to watch the cab squealing off, the driver cursing. Kai hadn’t gotten out. He’d left without me. No no no. My eyes teared and felt immediately icy.
“Have you totally lost your mind?” Rachel’s veins were standing out in her neck. “Just to up and leave us?”
I nodded, shy and shamed, and rubbed my hands together, trying to extract warmth. The cab’s red taillights were in full retreat. Now pinpoints, now gone. As quickly as Kai had appeared, he’d left me. “I’m…I’m…”
“You’re nuts. Let’s get you back inside.”
I let her put her arm around me and turn me, though I cast another look over my shoulder. Would he double back, maybe? It seemed like a feeble hope. He’d really needed to go home.
We returned to the building, me stumbling between the other two like a culprit. But I was grateful for the heated stairwell as we entered.
Above the fire-escape doors, the words jumped at me. NO REENTRY ON THIS FLOOR. It was like a warning of something not yet clear.
“I feel sick,” I said. Aware my voice was dry and toneless, as if I didn’t care what had happened, as if the crisis were nothing to me as my mind sank blank and black and quiet. I was shutting down—burying my mixed-up emotions rather than dealing with them. Dr. P even had a five-dollar phrase for it, “habitual inurement,” which I’d forgotten till now. Basically it meant that my brain couldn’t pick what it felt like, so it desensitized itself and picked nothing.
“You might be bombed,” Jake mentioned. “There’s a rumor they spiked one punch bowl but not the other. Like a cocktail version of Russian roulette.”
“And you most definitely got the wrong Kool-Aid,” said Rachel. “Why else would you be shouting about waffles? Are you hungry? That message you left me was insane! You were seriously leaving the party with a stranger? What’d you call him again? Cal? Where’s he from?”
“Kai,” I said.
“I don’t know any Kai,” muttered Jake.
“He’s not a stranger,” I answered flatly. “And no, I’m not hungry.” But Kai was gone, and my muscles were so cramped that it was hard to move. Pain was a burden in my body. I dropped to the bottom step, leaning so that my cheek pressed against the wall. Rachel took a seat beside me.
Jake offered a plastic bottle of water, nearly full. “Drink,” he commanded.
Which I did, in long, messy gulps.
“Who was he, then?” Rachel asked.
“Just this guy I met,” I managed, wiping my mouth.
“Do you realize how screwed up that sounds to me?” Rachel shook her head. “That you would have just taken off with some random dude who you hadn’t even bothered to introduce me to, who you’d only just met tonight?”
“Actually, I have met him before. Let’s talk about this later, ’kay?” I pushed back the damp tendrils of my hair.
“You’re acting really strange.”
“I’m feeling really strange.”
“Hey, Ember.” Jake knelt before me. His face doubled in my vision. “Your pupils look pretty dilated. I drove here, by the way. I’m parked about four blocks down. If you two wait, I’ll bring the car around.”
“That’d be awesome.” Rachel’s hand covered mine. “Oh, Embie,” she said with a sigh once Jake had gone. “You just can’t do that to me. If you’d left and all I’d had to go by was that crazy voice mail, I’d have had no way of knowing where you were heading or who with—or anything!”
“I’m sorry.” I tried to access the right tone so that Rachel would know that I was. Mostly I felt so incredibly tired. “I don’t know what got into me.” Kai. Kai had gotten to me. Again. I did such incredibly stupid things when I saw him. All common sense—pffft!—out the window.
“If that was grain alcohol you were drinking,” said Rachel, “then I’m just going to blame the rest of your bad judgment on accidental drunkenness. When’s the last time you even had a drink? It must be close to a year ago, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” I rested my head on her shoulder. I wanted to cry now, to break down in a flood of tears like a baby. My emotions were in whizzing orbit. I’d obviously gotten the spiked drink. There was no other reason I was feeling shaken. And Smarty was also right that I hadn’t had any alcohol since before the accident—my tolerance was probably zero.
“We’re going to get you all tucked in bed with tea and toast—sound good?”
“Sounds good.”
“Good. I just texted Jake to hurry.” Rachel rested her fingertips on my knee. A dragonfly’s weight. As if I were made of something less able, less capable than a regular person. Tonight, that was probably true.
14
An Easy Spin
The doorbell rang while I was on Facebook late that next morning, rubbing Bengay into my aching muscles and browsing Maisie Gantz’s profile. One album had a picture of Anthony Travolo in it. I’d zoomed it to pixels, but I still couldn’t tell what he looked like. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low, and was standing in a long-view group shot of maybe a dozen kids with paintbrushes who were all posed in front of a wall, celebrating a city mural that looked familiar.
He’d been tagged, too, but when I clicked his name, a message popped up that told me his profile did not exist. My skin went cold at the words.
Anthony Travolo didn’t exist in this world. But once upon a time, he absolutely, gloriously had. He’d been an artist; he’d helped create murals and a single, tiny, perfect painting that was good enough to hang in a sumptuous, multimillion-dollar Tribeca loft. I already knew such interesting things about him. What else had he been?
It wouldn’t take more than one painful conversation with Mom to get his parents’ email. I wanted to know about him, sort of. I wanted to step closer. I just wasn’t sure of the cost.
So much about last night felt vague and distant. After I’d gotten home, I’d checked in with Mom and Dad, who were pretending not to be awake until I was home safe, and then I’d crawled into bed, letting Rachel give me a stern tuck-in, before she and Jake took off.
In bed I’d tossed and turned for hours, unsure if I was suffering the effects of alcohol or exhaustion. First Claude and then Maisie, then Bushwick, Lissa, then, finally, when I’d been almost too tired to process him, I cleared my head to fill it with Kai. That part of the night was confusing. A thousand moments crystal clear, a thousand others as dark as storage closets.
Why was the interconnection such a snarl? Why, in the bleak patter of this morning’s rain, did last night at Areacode feel so immediate—and yet not part of any reliable whole?
Kai had said he had to get back to Hatch, who I’d revised in my imagination from thuggish wingman to somebody younger, more sensitive—maybe a brother or a cousin. So it made sense that he wouldn’t have jumped out of the cab when I didn’t jump in. But he could have called or messaged me anytime. Last night, or this morning—anytime. Though with every passing hour, my hope on that deflated.
As I glanced at my phone to see if someone was texting their arrival, the doorbell rang again, insistent. Mom and Dad were out doing errands, and I wasn’t expecting anyone.
I raced downstairs, then unlocked the door and threw it open. “Oh!”
“Hey.” The rain was a steady drizzle. I shaded my eyes. Holden stood on the mat, wearing the Driza-Bone that he’d bought years ago on a family vacation to Australia. I’d always loved that raincoat; it made him look edgy, like the bank robber hero in a spaghetti western.
