Wish You Weren't Here, page 19
Priya steps back to fluff up the skirt, and I distantly register Etan’s solo coming to an end. She plucks at the dress. Her smile turns shy, knowing. “I never did finish this.”
I breathe out a laugh. “Good.”
She wears all black. Everything, from her head scarf to her chunky shoes, is black. Raven feathers, queen of spades black. I knew she wouldn’t be backstage in stark, noticeable white, but it still feels weirdly like a miracle to see her like this.
I’m transfixed. Etan’s syrupy baritone and my adrenaline were already mixing to form a drug in my veins. And then I saw Priya, dressed like a starless sky.
Before I step out with a flourish, I look back at her and say the first thing that comes to mind, “You look gorgeous. Wear black to your wedding.”
All the color drains from her face.
It’s the last thing I see when I take the stage in her dress, to thunderous applause.
32
The Gift of the Magi
After I give my final bow, my blood is thrumming in my veins. For the last few hours, everything has been so loud: the music, the microphone-amplified voices, the crowd. Now silence ricochets around in my skull, setting off a massive headache.
People pull me into hugs, with whispered congratulations, even though we don’t have to whisper backstage anymore. The core cast does one last group cheer of Twee’s name. Tonight, there will be a camp-sanctioned party for the cast and crew, but, while I’ve developed friendships with them, I would trade one hundred wrap parties for Senior Twilight.
I catch sight of the clock while removing my ten billionth bobby pin. The Senior Twilighters are probably gathering their supplies and meeting with Pat right about now.
This will be the first time I don’t watch the seniors leave camp. I can’t face ten years of wanting, hoping. I’d imagined it so clearly. My eyes blindfolded by the stiff fabric of a black bandana with Senior Twilight printed on the front. The weight of my backpack clutched on my lap. The crunch and rumble of Pat’s Jeep off-roading on the forest trails, bouncing me against my seat belt. The woods, the night sky. Me, finally breaking the tree line as Pat announces my name.
Now, I’ll never know what it’s like.
I’ll. Never. Know.
A handful of bobby pins slips from my fist and clatters to the floor. The few cast members still milling about backstage don’t seem to notice me careening into the hallway.
When I cry, it’s not pretty or subtle. Full, body-racking sobs weaken my knees and drop me to the floor, where I curl up and weep into the neckline of Priya’s unfinished ball gown.
I cry for all the past selves I’ve let down. I grieve the things I’ll never have. The Senior Twilight bandana that’ll never hang on my corkboard. The story I never get to tell. The proof that I could’ve done it.
I cry for the person I’ve become that I don’t even recognize, the one who does plays and gave up Senior Twilight to help Priya goddamn Pendley. I cry for the person who cares that Priya Pendley missed three-fourths of the play we both worked so hard on. I cry for all of it.
A joyful voice bursts through the curtain. “Juliette! Are you—Holy shit!”
Lucy trips over my body and lands hard on top of me, rolling so we’re face-to-face. Swiping her ginger hair out of her eyes, she props herself up on an elbow and grins. “Didn’t see you there.”
I duck, sure the makeup on my face has become an unflattering Jackson Pollock painting.
Lucy falters, registering the state I’m in. “Who did this? I’ll kill them.”
That wrenches a watery laugh from me. “I, I—” Choking on the words, I cover my face.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Lucy pulls me into a horizontal hug.
“Everything—” I shudder. “It’s—”
She shushes me, smoothing down my hair. Instead of being comforting, it tugs at the bobby pins still stuck there, causing sharp twinges of pain with each stroke.
“I screwed everything up,” I whisper into her shoulder.
Gently, she pushes my hands aside so she can see my face. “What are you talking about?”
Shrugging helplessly, I cover my face again. Waves of tears break against my palms.
“Breathe,” Lucy commands. “Slow breaths.” She demonstrates loudly. I struggle at first, but slowly gain control of myself.
I lean my forehead against hers and repeat, “I screwed everything up.”
She pulls back in disbelief. “What? You did fine. I mean, you fumbled that one line, but Etan covered it well. I wouldn’t have even noticed if I didn’t rehearse with you!”
I swipe at my face with my sleeve, staining it with mascara. “Not that. Life. Camp. I think I—Priya—” I whine, my voice turning up at the edges, “I want to do Senior Twilight.”
Lucy throws her head back and laughs. “Oh my God. Problem solved. Pat sent me to get you. He said if Nurse Mari approves it, he’ll let you go tonight.”
The shock stops me cold. “What?”
She nods. “He’ll explain. We should head over.” Her gaze travels my body. “After we get you into different clothes. Although, a ball gown would be a badass look tomorrow morning.”
“Wait. Wait, he just…? What did he say exactly?”
“Let me think.” Climbing to her feet, Lucy offers me a hand and scrubs at my face with the cuff of her gray Henley. It comes away covered in black blotches. “He said”—she drops her voice into a lower register—“ ‘Miss Swentek, if you cause any trouble tonight, I’m pre-firing you.’ And I said, ‘Patty, if I don’t cause trouble tonight, it’s because a panther got me.’ And he said, ‘Miss Swentek, there are no panthers in California.’ And I said—”
“Luce,” I say, following her onto the stage and up the aisle. The seats, which had been empty for so long, are now covered in playbills and forgotten water bottles. Contraband gum wrappers litter the space between rows.
She sighs. “For someone who was just the lead in a play, you have no patience for drama. He should be the one to tell you. I don’t know exactly what happened. But apparently, if Mari says you’re good to do Twilight, you’re good.”
We push through the doors of the theater, and I’m startled by how bright it still is outside.
“Do you want my advice as Fogridge’s resident trickster god?” Lucy asks with a sidelong glance.
I sigh. “Probably not.”
“I love you, so I’ll say it anyway.” Lucy laughs before dropping her voice to a near-whisper. “If I were you, I would do whatever it took to make Mari say you’re good.”
* * *
—
“Welcome to Senior Twilight.”
About thirty of us gather at the base of the pavilion, looking up at Pat on the top step.
I cross my hiking-pants-clad legs, kicking the small bag sitting at my feet. I packed it while Lucy cleaned my face with the diligence of a mom whose toddler got into the chocolate fountain at a Golden Corral.
I haven’t visited Nurse Mari for assessment yet. The fact that I might see this send-off and still be denied the chance to participate is very close to sending me back into hysterics. And a bothersome voice in the back of my mind points out that nothing has changed about the promise I made to Galahad. I shouldn’t be here. If I get in that Jeep and walk back to camp tomorrow to Pat announcing my name, I’ll just be the exact person she thinks I am.
“I’m glad we have such a good turnout this year.” Despite his words, Pat’s mouth is set in a firm line. “Now, there may be rain tonight. We know that; we’ve been watching the radar. Rain is okay. I’ve camped in the rain many times. As have many of you, I’m sure.”
Some campers in the crowd groan-laugh knowingly, Lucy included.
“What isn’t okay is lightning.” He surveys us each in turn. “If I hear a hint of thunder—Lord, if a suspicious-sounding truck drives by too loudly—I am personally going into the forest and pulling each and every one of you out.”
There’s a soft murmur of objection from the group.
Pat holds up a steadying hand. “I know, I know. I get how important Senior Twilight is to you all. Some of you have been asking to do it for years.” He shoots a pointed look at Lucy. Unbothered, she finger-guns back at him. “But do you know what’s more important than Senior Twilight? My kids’ safety.”
I’m starting to get warm, fuzzy feelings. He’s never been the touchy-feely type, but Pat makes it clear that the campers at Fogridge, especially those of us who have been around for a while, are like children to him. And, unlike other adults who say that just to get us to shut up and follow instructions, I know that Pat truly means it.
He continues, “Plus, with what a summer camp makes in this day and age, I couldn’t afford that many hospital bills.”
Ah. Just like that, Pat goes from protective dad back to camp director.
“Like I said, though, I know that Senior Twilight means something. Not only to you, but to your siblings and friends. To your former counselors and peers who decided not to take part. I would never take that away from any of you. If we do end up having to evacuate tonight, you can camp in my garage, and I’ll drop you back off a few hundred feet up the trail in the morning. We’ll pretend it never happened. You’ll all still get to walk into camp in the morning having conquered the Senior Twilight.”
I don’t know who hugs him first, but soon we’re all squished together. TK, the only counselor among a handful of specialists, watches from beside a pile of sleeping bags. She beams proudly at her father.
At first, he resists our embrace, shouting, “Side hugs only! This is not camp appropriate!” Eventually he gives in, though he holds his hands straight up so as not to touch any of us.
Priya sidles up next to me, elbowing my ribs. She is wearing a crisp white jumpsuit. On a scale of Red-Carpet Event to Very Clean Car Mechanic, this outfit falls squarely in the middle. It’s an absurd choice for a night of camping, but she looks stunning. “Decided to show up, huh?”
My eyebrows draw together involuntarily. I’m caught off guard by her…accusing me of something? I don’t know, but it leaves me with a weird taste in my mouth.
Before I can answer, Pat escapes the fray. He catches my eyes, indicating an empty spot off the path. “Juliette, a word?”
I approach him slowly because I’ve never seen Pat looking so solemn. He leads me beneath a blooming jacaranda tree, away from the busy throng of campers moving bags. We’re still in view of everyone, but far enough away that they can’t hear us. The camp’s owner origamis his long limbs into a sitting position and gestures for me to join him.
“I won’t beat around the bush,” he starts, his voice low. “Priya spoke to me about what’s been going on with you and Galahad. You should’ve come to me, Juliette.”
I dart a glance over to the steps. Lucy sees me looking and waves enthusiastically. Priya glances away the second we make eye contact. I drop my gaze to the ground.
“No, no, no,” Pat protests quickly. “I’m not blaming you. The way Galahad has been acting, at least according to Priya, Lucy, and Gia, has been completely inappropriate. Completely inappropriate. Now, I’ve spoken to her and she’s packing her bags as we speak.”
My head shoots up. “I didn’t want to get her fired! Did she—” I stop myself, feeling both pathetic and disappointed that my first thought was to ask whether or not she watched the play.
He claps. “Juliette, you didn’t get her fired. It’s very important to me that you understand that. Her own actions got her fired. No matter her reasons, she’s the adult and you’re a child.”
I balk a little at being called a child, but I know what Pat means.
“She should’ve discussed her problems with a staff member. It wasn’t your responsibility to manage her emotions. It was your responsibility to enjoy your last year at camp.” He sighs, looking up at the periwinkle jacaranda flowers. “And now I’m afraid that you haven’t.”
My automatic reaction is to tell him that he’s wrong, but before I say it, I think—actually think—about whether it’s true. It hasn’t been a normal summer, but I’d be lying if I pretended that a few bad experiences ruined the entire thing. “Twilight would help make it better,” I hedge.
“Wonderful.” Pat slaps his hands on his lap and stands, offering me a hand. “I do want to make sure your ankle is properly healed before I send you off, but I think you and Miss Pendley are going to enjoy your Senior Twilight.”
I nod gratefully, then the words register. “Me and Miss Pendley?”
Pat’s long legs have already carried him a few feet away from me by the time he notices I’ve stopped. He backtracks to meet me. “Yes, you can thank her for this, actually. She came to see me just before the play and explained everything. She was the one who suggested I have Mari take a look at you, and she promised she would keep an eye on you for the night.”
Priya agreed to…babysit me?
“Miss Pendley is a born leader.” His tone is teasing, but his next words strike straight through me. “If she were here last year, you would’ve had stiff competition for North Star.”
33
If a Tree Falls in the Forest
Nurse Mari gave the official okay after I lied through my teeth in the med center, feigning indifference when she torqued my foot this way and that. I managed not to flinch when she asked me to jump up and down. It wasn’t my brightest idea, but once the hype of the Twilighters enveloped me, I knew the only thing that would stop me from going would be sudden death.
Pat clapped me on the back in congratulations, then set to organizing. Each Twilighter was assigned a number in case of an emergency head count. I’m five. Specialists shoved a makeshift bag together for me while Pat carted everyone else into the forest. Now I’m here.
It’s happening.
“It’ll take longer to drop you all off with one less seat available,” Pat explains as he loads the first packs into the trunk bed. “But nobody wants you kids blindfolded alone in the woods with an old man.”
“We trust you, Pat!” a senior named Nick yells.
“Why?” Pat responds, all seriousness. “I love all you kids like family, but that doesn’t mean you should trust me. It’s safer for everyone if Euphrates tags along as my lawsuit shield.”
Groans rise from the crowd. Pat telling us not to trust him—and sincerely meaning it—is precisely the reason we do trust him. He doesn’t react to the protestations, just watches us from his pedestal of paternal indulgence.
“Stop trying to teach us things and just murder us already,” Nick jeers half-heartedly.
In an obvious attempt to defuse tension, Euphrates peers at us through binoculars made from his hands. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me. I got y’all.”
“I wish,” Lucy says under her breath, slumping into my side.
“Engaged,” I remind her quietly.
“Hot,” she reminds me.
Even after the hiking specialist ties the Senior Twilight bandana around my eyes, checks my seat belt buckle, and confirms that I know how to use the emergency walkie-talkie, I still don’t believe this is happening. The car rocks, Euphrates climbing in shotgun.
The Jeep takes each bump of the upward slope with graceless speed. I breathe in the rich smell of dirt and ponderosa pines while the wind whips my hair around my face.
While Pat drops off a different senior, we sit in total silence. It’s a rule; once you set foot in the car, you are alone.
Except, I’m not alone, am I? Priya sits beside me, having saved the day yet again. Logically, I know I should praise her. Wasn’t I just crying on the floor over not doing this? I should be thankful that she told Pat about Galahad, that she read me like a book when I lied about being fine. I should be happy I’m spending the night with someone I like being around.
But the only emotion boiling inside me during the sensory-deprived trip up the mountain is anger, the kind I haven’t felt since I saw Priya Pendley emerge from Polaris’s bathroom on the first day of camp.
The vehicle slows to another stop and Pat taps our shoulders, the signal that it’s our turn to exit. He guides us by our arms away from the Jeep’s path. I don’t know how long we walk before he spins us a few times, releases us, and leaves without saying a word.
I wait until Pat’s footsteps are far enough that I can’t hear their crunch on the leaves anymore. Within seconds of taking my blindfold off, I am stalking away from Priya.
“I’m not staying with you,” I announce.
“Juliette—” Priya starts, ripping off her bandana.
I sigh loudly, cutting her off. My eyes follow the tree line. There isn’t a footpath, wherever we are, but a narrow animal trail branches away from the summit. “I’m so tired, dude.” I don’t clarify. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. The exhaustion I feel is too huge for words.
She wraps her arms around herself. “I wanted to help. You…wanted this.”
“I did,” I say, crumpling up the bandana, fist tightening around it. “But I didn’t give up Senior Twilight so you could miss the play.”
Yes, I wanted Senior Twilight, but I didn’t want it like this. I didn’t want to get Galahad fired, even if Pat says it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want the only people I cared about seeing my performance to miss it. I wanted to prove I was good for something, for sticking to my word, for committing. Not doing the Twilight was a crappy decision, but it was my crappy decision.
“I didn’t miss the whole play,” Priya protests. “I only missed half! It was worth it.”
“You can’t just choose! You don’t get to trade your thing in for mine.” I wring the bandana, nearly tearing it in half. “This isn’t…I didn’t want Galahad to get fired.”
