The Temperature of Me and You, page 23
“No pressure,” she says, and takes a drink.
“None.”
“Do you know these people here?”
“None.”
“I know that girl doing a keg stand.” She points to a girl with bleach-blond hair upside down in the air. Two boys hold up her legs and beer spews from her mouth. “She goes to St. Helena’s. You should ask Jordan about her.”
“I’ll pass. How do you know her?”
“We had confirmation together in seventh grade. We both picked Saint Maria Goretti as our confirmation name, and she said I was a ‘dumb, copycat, public-school bitch.’”
“Cute.”
A tall, hot boy appears at the bottom of the basement steps. Keaton Cyrus has arrived. He’s wearing black jeans and a forest-green quarter-zip. His hair is perfectly coiffed. Perry’s face lights up, and it’s too obvious she still likes him. He makes eye contact with us and waves. He slinks through the crowd in our direction. His head stays above most of the other bobbing bodies.
“Hey, guys,” he says. He hugs Perry. He holds out a closed fist to me, and I pound it because we’re bros.
“Are you the bartender, Dylan?” he asks.
“Um, I’ve been standing here all night, so I guess I might be. What can I get you?” I pick up a towel and throw it over my shoulder.
He laughs. “What is there?”
“A keg.” We glance at the keg and it’s surrounded by drunken couples rubbing each other and people licking the nozzle. “Which you probably don’t want.”
He laughs again.
“Put vodka in Coke for us,” Perry says.
“Done!”
I line up the cups and pour. Keaton sings the Drake lyrics coming from the speaker under his breath. I slide Perry and Keaton their cups and grab my phone. I text Jordan that I miss him and ask if he is okay. The messages immediately bounce back with red exclamation points and say, Not delivered. I slurp my drink through a straw, and it’s truly awful. I pat my tongue against the roof of my mouth.
Keaton starts coughing. I look up from my phone.
“Whoa, Dylan. How many shots did you put in this?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Are you supposed to count?”
“Apparently not.”
I hang with Perry and Keaton for a little while, but I feel myself shrinking into irrelevance beside the bar as the night goes on. Most of the time they’re talking around me about memories that aren’t mine, and I kind of get the sense I’m intruding. I chug the rest of my drink and toss my cup into the bar sink.
“I’m going to go look for Kirsten,” I say. Which is partly a lie. I’m going to look for Jordan too. I know we just became boyfriends a couple days ago and I’m borderline obsessive tonight, but he told me I was dying, then left the state. That’s a different level of ghosting I never even thought about, let alone prepared for.
I put my hand on Perry’s back and take my first step of the night. My foot is so heavy.
Perry screams. “Ow, Dylan!” She lurches forward into Keaton’s chest and tries to rub her back. “What did you just put on me? That hurt.”
“Whoa,” I say, and sidestep into the wall. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? I didn’t do anything.” I inspect my hands. There’s an orange glow beneath my skin. I shove them in my pockets.
“Are you okay?” Keaton asks Perry.
“My back is on fire,” she says.
“I’m going to go look for Kirsten,” I repeat.
“Okay, well, text me when you find her,” Perry says with a grimace.
I walk to the center of the basement and my knees are wobbly. I want to grab a random person to keep myself from falling over, but I’m afraid I’m too hot. I look at my hands again. The tips of my fingers are shimmering. I’ve never been drunk with my new body. What have I done?
Bad decisions by me. That drink was too strong. There must’ve been at least three shots in my cup, which means I’ve had, like, six shots altogether tonight. Oh my gosh. Six. I hold up my hand in front of my face. That’s more than one shot for each finger. More than a hand’s worth of shots.
“Dylan!” Perry shouts.
I spin around. “What? I didn’t find her yet. Stop rushing me.”
She rolls her eyes and holds out my phone. “You forgot this.”
“Stop stealing my phone, girl. I need it.” I grab it from her fingers.
“You’re welcome,” she says and pushes back into the crowd.
“I’m going to look for Kirsten,” I say. I shove my phone in my pocket and rub my sweaty hands down my thighs. When I do, a small flame slowly grows along my finger from the friction.
“Ah!” I yell, and pat the flame out with my other hand. I spin my hands in front of my face and squint at the glowing layer of fire beneath my skin. I snap my fingers and another small flame shoots into the air.
“Whoa, man, sick trick,” a guy next to me says. “You use a lighter for that?”
I ignore his question. Then I laugh. I keep making my way through the basement. I snap again and another flame erupts. A flash of light illuminates my face in the dark basement. This is reckless, but if there’s one way to get Jordan’s attention, it’s by making my presence known.
With every snap of my fingers, a new set of faces looks at me. I’m waiting until one of them is Jordan’s beautiful face.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
I reach the other end of the basement and I’m still alone. My vision is blurry from the heat in my face and the booze in my body. I decide to head to the kitchen and look upstairs.
At the bottom of the steps, my eyes lock onto a pair of black combat boots. Darlene Houchowitz glares down at me with the disdain that a peasant like me deserves. The light from the kitchen glows behind her.
“Darlene! You’re here!”
She holds her chin in the air and her arms nonchalantly hang at her sides. “Yeah, who isn’t?” she grunts.
“I’m so happy you’re here. Like, so happy.” I can’t control my face. I’m beaming.
She rolls her eyes. “Save your fake sentiments for someone who cares. For the last time, I don’t care that you didn’t join the group.”
Brenton Riley rounds the corner to the basement steps and my jaw drops.
“Well, if it isn’t the whole GSA? Freshman at the party!” I shout. “Look at you.”
“I thought you didn’t know Brenton,” Darlene says. She turns to Brenton and whispers loud enough that I can hear, “I wouldn’t go near him. He’s been acting weird lately.”
I don’t know Brenton. I’ve never seen the kid in person. I stalked his Instagram after I learned of his involvement with the GSA and had to see what this little JFK was about. His bio literally says passionate about social change. He has shaggy brown hair and thick black-rimmed glasses, which I think make him look smarter than he actually is.
“Are you Dylan Highmark?” he asks.
“The one and only.” I poke his shoulder and he shudders.
“Don’t touch him!” Darlene yells at me. “Come on.” She grabs Brenton’s hand and ushers him down the stairs.
“Hey, have you guys seen Savanna?” I yell after them.
“Are you serious? Get a life, Dylan.”
Ugh. I run my hands through my hair. Probably not the best person to ask. I take a deep breath and collect myself at the top of the steps. I put my hands on my chest and try to sober up. I take another deep breath. Jordan is not here. Time to give up. I’m going to get a glass of water and then go sleep next to the sticker of Ariel.
There’s a few stragglers upstairs who aren’t supposed to be here, but it’s still so much quieter. I close the basement door behind me. My ears are ringing. I toss my phone on the kitchen island and pick up a glass from the sink. I fill it with water and chug.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a boy with a complexion similar to Jordan’s and dark brown hair. I turn and speedwalk to him. I grab his shoulder and spin him around. “Jordan?” I ask.
But it’s not him. The boy jumps from my grasp. “Dude, did you just burn me?” the guy asks. “Can I help you?” He looks at me like I am a freak—which I am. A floating, lonely freak with a body temperature of 110 degrees Fahrenheit who is going to die any second.
“I wish you could,” I say. “I really wish you could.” I don’t know what comes over me, but my throat thickens, and tears start streaming down my face. I wipe my mouth and cover my face with my arm.
“Hey, are you okay?” the boy asks me. His voice softens.
“Should we help him?” another girl mutters.
I wave my hand at them. “No, I’m fine.” I sniff. I reach for my glass of water, but I smack it off the counter and it shatters. It makes me cry even more, and then, without my usual warning from my body, I shoot to the kitchen ceiling. My back slams into the drywall and half of me goes through it. I fall back down through the air and land on the kitchen island. The countertop knocks the wind from my chest.
The others in the kitchen scream and run down to the basement and into other rooms. I slide off the counter and collapse on the floor. I stand and race upstairs before I can do anything else.
I get to Kirsten’s room and slam the door behind me. I pull off my shoes and my hoodie and dive onto the bed. Kirsten’s bedspread is a fluffy mess around me. The room is spinning, and my cheeks are hot.
My heart skips a few beats. I picture Jordan in the bed with me, positioned against my chest. I drape my arms over a pillow as if it’s his shoulders and put my chin on the corner as if it’s his curly brown hair. I cry again.
“Goodnight, Jordan. Wherever you are.”
I’m asleep for 1.2 seconds before I’m being jostled awake by someone. “Dylan, wake up!” Perry screams.
I blink rapidly. My mouth is dry. My throat is scratchy when I swallow. “What’s happening?” I ask. My head throbs. I think I’m already hungover. Keaton is next to her.
I look out the window. The sky is still black. I rub my eyes. The party music is off. There’s a man shouting downstairs, and someone pounding on the other doors upstairs. I grab my phone and it’s 1:48 a.m.
“The cops are here,” Perry says.
“What? Are you serious?”
I jump out of bed. As I head for the light switch, Kirsten’s bedroom door bursts open. A cop appears in the doorway and shines his flashlight back and forth among Perry, Keaton, and me. I freeze and hold up my hands.
“Out!” he yells, and thrusts his thumb over his shoulder, pointing back at the hall. “Mandatory evacuations.”
I turn to Perry and she shrugs.
“Now! Let’s go,” the cop says. He leaves the doorway and searches the rest of the hall.
I grab my hoodie from the floor and slide it back over my body. I hop on one foot as I try to put on my shoes as quickly as possible.
“We got busted?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I fell asleep too and just woke up when I heard the cops shouting,” Perry says.
I rush into the hall and look over the banister into the foyer. Everyone from the party files out the front door. Some people still have cups in their hands. Two cops stand at the bottom of the steps. Kirsten cries beside them.
I walk downstairs.
“Hey,” I say. My voice is raspy.
“Dylan!” Kirsten says. “Where have you been? Are you okay?” She hugs me.
“Of course I’m okay. What’s happening?” I glance at the cops watching everyone leave.
“Another fire got us busted.”
“What fire?” My body stiffens.
A few more kids shuffle through the front door. The last group includes the familiar ponytail of Savanna Blatt. We lock eyes. My mouth falls open a little. She made it after all. Her arms are folded, and her gaze doesn’t leave mine until she goes through the door.
The line of partygoers comes to an end. Two more cops emerge from the basement. “All clear,” one says.
The other cop walks down the stairs and pushes Keaton’s back. “You all have to leave too,” he says.
“Wait, Kirsten has to leave? This is her house,” I say.
“We didn’t get busted for the party, Dyl. They’re evacuating the whole neighborhood. Go look outside,” Kirsten says.
“What?”
“Miss, we’ll address this later,” a cop says to Kirsten. He’s scribbling some notes on a pad. “We have bigger things to take care of tonight and just need to make sure everyone’s safe. Let’s go.” He points out the door.
I run outside. Cop cars and fire trucks fill the street. Parents yell at their kids and push them into cars. Some people look at the sky with their hands over their mouths.
“Watch out!” a fireman yells, and runs past me pulling a long yellow hose. I spin to dodge him.
I turn around. The sky is bright orange. Flames billow among the woods behind Kirsten’s house. Tree trunks split in half as they crash to the ground. Dozens of firemen are at the edge of the woods, spreading a white powder across the ground. I swallow.
“But…but…Jordan isn’t here,” I say to myself out loud. The sirens and shouts from parents drown out my concern. Unless…he is. A thought strikes me. What if Jordan set this fire as a signal to let me know he’s back?
I take off down the street toward the burning site. But I only complete a few strides before grinding to a stop. My knees crack. HydroPro’s silver cars pull up to Kirsten’s house, skidding to a stop along the curb. I stare at the tall, slender man as he exits one of the vehicles and then close my eyes for a moment, hoping to make myself disappear.
When I open them, the tall man is power walking toward me and shows no sign of slowing.
“Dylan,” he says. “Give me five minutes to speak with you.” He reaches for my arm.
“Get away from me!” I yell. I turn and dart down the street.
Another fire truck drives past me. Its siren makes me cringe. Kirsten comes running outside, filming the scene with her phone. She dashes around from cop to firefighter and then to a different cop. She types notes as she speaks with them.
The commotion disappears behind me. The tall man stands still in the middle of the street, staring. His black eyes shrink in the distance.
If Jordan wanted to be at the party, he would have been here. But he chose to stay away for a reason. I’m not going to go after him and bring HydroPro with me. But if this fire wasn’t him, then who was it?
I clutch my wrist and watch the night go up in familiar flames.
I’m up extra early this morning to prove to my parents that I’m able to go to school. It’s torture. They’ve been off my back, and I need to keep it that way.
After the party, I was so hungover the next day that I only moved from my bed to pee or get water. I tried to play SimCity, but I couldn’t even do that because the screen was making me nauseous. I’ve mentally added worsens hangovers to the list of powers from my new body composition.
I could stay home today, but I need something to distract me from Jordan. When I am awake, I think about him. When I’m sleeping, I dream about him.
I shuffle through the hallway in an undershirt and shorts and plop into a seat at the kitchen table. I sigh. My eyes itch. My parents are already dressed in their work clothes. Dad is reading the news on his iPad, and Mom is cutting a cucumber at the kitchen counter.
“Feeling better?” Dad asks without looking up from his screen.
“Yeah, totally,” I lie.
I steal a piece of toast from his plate and bite it. It’s my favorite kind of toast, with butter and cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top.
“You should drink something, Dylan,” Mom says. She pulls orange juice from the fridge and pours me a glass. She walks it over to me and places it on the table.
I take a sip of juice.
“I just can’t even believe Kirsten would throw a party like that,” Mom says, shaking her head as she walks back to the counter. “She’s always been the most responsible one of your friends.”
Kirsten’s parents called my parents when they got home from their trip on Sunday to apologize for the party. I think they made it seem like we were all snorting drugs off one another’s stomachs or something.
Dad looks at me and closes the case on his iPad. “You’re all lucky you got away with warnings,” he says. “But I’m glad you can see this is not a good habit to get into. Look how it’s impacted your day.” He stands and packs his things into his messenger bag.
I stare at my orange juice. Lucky for me, apparently my parents don’t believe in grounding us. They trust me to reflect on my decisions, learn from my mistakes, and make better decisions in the future. And lucky for them, I’ve had time to reflect all yesterday. After much deep thought, my only mistake from the past weekend was putting too many shots into my mixed drink. If I’d only used one shot, I wouldn’t have been so drunk. I also should not have used my powers in the basement, or talked to Darlene, or burned Perry, or exploded through the kitchen ceiling. Other than that, the rest of my decisions that night were solid choices…if there were any other decisions I made.
Kirsten got grounded with no end date, and Perry’s mom asked her how she could handle college, let alone cheering while in college. They were both allowed to go to Nationals, but with no phones. I haven’t talked to them since Saturday. With our group chat dead and Jordan gone, I’ve only received one text the past few days, and it was from Cody.
“Was your friend at the party?” Mom asks. “How has he been feeling?”
I take another bite of toast. “He wasn’t there.”
“That’s a shame. When will we get to meet him?” She wipes her hands on the kitchen towel.
“Never,” I say, swallowing.
My parents exchange a glance.
“All right, I’m off,” Dad announces. He pats me on the back and kisses Mom good-bye. “Have a good day, Dyl.”
“Bye,” I grunt.
“Remember, I’ll be back late tonight. I’m finally having dinner with the CEO at my new company.”
“Oh, yeah. How is that going?” I ask. With everything going on, I haven’t paid the slightest bit of attention to Dad’s career moves. He could be working at my school as the lunch guy for all I know.
