The Tension of Opposites (18 page)

Before I could pull up a stool and think of something to say, Nickelback's “If Today Was Your Last Day” blasted through the speakers. Elle plunked the bottle on the bar and reached for an open can of beer, grabbing the hand of the guy standing closest to her. He looked at his friends with wide eyes and a slow smirk, then turned and followed Elle to the center of the crowd without a word, some beer sloshing out of the can gripped in his free hand. Without missing a beat, he lowered himself toward Elle's body and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her eyes closed as she pressed herself against him, pushing her hands into the air and shaking her head slowly from side to side.

I took a step forward, past the rack holding the pool cues, and envisioned myself thrusting one between their grinding hips. Just as I was about to push through the mass of bodies undulating to the beat of the music in the center of the room, I felt a hand grasp my arm, pulling me back.

“Don't,” Max said, the word a rock pelting me in the back.

I spun around. “What do you mean, ‘don't'?”

People crowded the basement by that point. The air was smoky, and someone had dimmed the lights.

“You have to stop, Tessa. Let her live her life.” He nodded in Elle's direction. “She has to figure this out for herself.”

“Let go of me, Max.” I hated myself, but I couldn't stop.

“No. This is supposed to be our night, Tessa.” Max tried to tug me toward the staircase, gently at first, then with more force.

“I'm not going anywhere without Elle.” I snapped my hand from his grasp, and he turned and shook his head.

“I don't get it,” he said, enunciating the
t
sounds in a way that made me feel as if I'd been slapped. “I really don't understand why you feel like she's your responsibility. Why we can't just—”

“This isn't about me, Max!” I felt this hot wave wash through me as my voice competed with the volume of the music. He had no idea what it had been like, all that time, wondering what had happened to Elle. And now that she needed my help, following him up those steps was the last thing I would do. “And it sure as hell has nothing to do with us!”

Three girls waving their hands in the air sashayed between us, breaking whatever it was that connected Max to me.

He shook his head, saying something so soft I couldn't hear the words. Then he turned and walked away, without looking back once.

I was so angry, I didn't recognize it at first. The tightness in my chest starting off as an innocent shortness of breath. But then it began to spread. By the time I pushed into the circle of dancing bodies, my heart was pumping fast against what felt like the constriction of a clenching fist.

Then I saw the phone swaying in the air. On the little LCD screen, Elle danced, her body pumping slowly against the guy she had chosen, her eyes fluttering open and closed every few beats.

“Wonder how much
Dateline
'll pay for this footage,” a guy said to his friend. He moved in my direction as he tried to keep Elle centered.

I jumped up and snatched the phone from his hand.

“How about
nothing
, you creep?” I shouted, spitting a little in his face. I turned and ran for the bathroom near the pool table, slamming the door shut and locking it just before the guy's shoulder pounded into the wood.

“Give me my phone, bitch,” he screamed through the door.

I scrambled around, pressing buttons until I found the menu that led me to his videos. When given the choice, I selected Delete All.

And then I pressed the phone to my chest and allowed myself to sink to the ground. As I slid down the side of the cabinet, I bumped into a knee-high silver trash can.

When the phone rang, I jumped, and my heart raced even faster. I couldn't catch a deep breath and thought I might pass out. As my hearing swam in and out, I chose a focal point, a technique my old therapist had taught me, and started to count to ten. On seven, I realized the scrap of paper in the trash can that was serving as my focus held a familiar pink script that flowed from one edge to the next. My breathing started to become more even, and I was able to take in deep gulps of air just thinking of what that little piece of paper could mean.

“Slow down,” I told myself. “Slow down, slow down, slow down.”

When the phone rang again, I sat forward, pulled the paper from the trash, and smoothed it on the knee of my jeans.

I looked at the LCD screen and saw that some guy named River was calling.

“What?” I asked.

“What? What? I want my phone, you totally freaked-out psycho. If it's not in my hand in one minute, I'm going to break down that door and take it. Do you hear me?”

“It's not smart to call the girl who's got your phone a totally freaked-out psycho. But I guess I shouldn't expect more from a complete loser.”

“I can't believe this—she called me a loser. Is this really happening to—”

“Hey! Look around.”

I read the little piece of paper.

Strawberry Splash Strawberry Splash Strawberry Splash
.

“What?”

“Look. Around. Do you see Darcy Granger anywhere?”

“Darcy Granger? What does she have to do with anything?”

“You find her and bring her to me. Then you can have your stupid phone back.”

I snapped the phone shut and stood slowly. When I looked in the mirror, I saw streaks running down my cheeks and realized for the first time that I'd been crying. I swiped my face and looked into my eyes.

“Pull it together, Tessa.”

I stood there for a few minutes calculating the chances that more than one girl at this party had an obsession with Darcy's favorite flavor of gum.

“Who's in there?” a voice asked from the other side of the door. “Is someone in there?”

I almost started crying again when I heard her. Instead, I swung the door open and pulled Darcy inside the bathroom. She looked at me with wide eyes.

“You look awful,” she said.

“Thank God you're here.” I felt like hugging her, but I kept my hands, and the phone, tucked behind my body.

“My phone?” With his arm outstretched, the guy stepped into the bathroom behind Darcy, his eyes wild with anger.

Darcy cut him off with a thrust of her hip. “Step back, Steven. Why'd she take it in the first place?”

“He was taking video of Elle,” I said. “I heard him say something about sending the footage to
Dateline
.”

Darcy turned around and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don't think your mother would like to hear about that.”

“Give me a break, Darcy. There are probably thirty people out there doing exactly—”

“I'm going to watch you delete that footage. And then you're going to apologize to Tessa for acting like a stupid ape.”

“I already deleted it.” I held the phone in the air. Steven snatched it from my hand and then started to turn away.

Darcy grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “Apologize.”

“Jesus. I'm sorry, okay?” He looked from me to Darcy. “You're not gonna tell my mom, are you? I'd be grounded for, like, the rest of high school.”

“Just stop being such a dumb ass, Steve.” Darcy pushed him out the door. “God,” she said. “I'm sorry. Now, what's going on? Where's Max?”

“He left. Look, I'll tell you everything later, okay?” I pulled Darcy through the crowd of people that had gathered by the bathroom door. “We have to get Elle out of here.”

I found her dancing in the middle of the crowd with the sloshy-beer guy's hands swimming all over her body. When I reached them, I pushed him away and watched as he stumbled into a couple behind him.

“Go away, Tessa!” Elle yelled.

I grabbed her arm and hauled her through the mass of sweaty bodies. She tried to pull free, but the alcohol in her system made her unsteady.

“Let me go!”

When we made it past the bar stools, I spun around and pulled her face close to mine.

“Some guy was videotaping you, Elle.”

Her eyes focused on mine, and then she shook her head. “I don't care anymore.”

“Well, I do. And your parents and Coop sure as hell do. That means you're getting out of here right now.”

Elle didn't resist as I dragged her up the steps and through the garage. Darcy trailed behind us, her fingernails clicking a text message to whomever she was leaving behind. When we got to Darcy's car, I folded Elle into the backseat and pressed my hand to my forehead. As I looked down the street, I thought I saw the taillights of the Mustang pull away and turn the corner up ahead.

And I felt something inside me rip wide open.

I probably hadn't talked to Drew Silver since the summer night before eighth grade when a bunch of us kids in the neighborhood had a kickball tournament. We'd been at the park, in the field between the fountain and the woods, and I remember the purplish sky taking forever to fold over us. That night, the moon was full, spilling down on our game as crickets and frogs cheered from the shadows. Elle scored the winning run, and fireflies sparked about her body as she flew, arms spread wide, from one base to the next, until finally, her feet hopped home. She'd been excited, hoping that Drew, who was about to start his sophomore year, might actually notice her. He did. She made sure of it. And they'd ended up making out until her curfew. That was just a few weeks before we lost her.

So when Drew turned around in the middle of our study hall and slid a piece of paper off his table, fluttering it in the air between us, I wasn't sure if he was looking at me or past me.

“You freshmen eat these popularity contests up, don't you?” he asked.

I looked at him, totally confused. I guess my face was easy to read, because he plopped the paper on the table in front of me and snapped a pencil on top of it.

“Superlatives,” he said. “You know: Best Looking, Athlete of the Year, Most Likely to Succeed.”

“I don't get it,” I said. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Because I have more important things to do with my life than rate the self-absorbed narcissists who strut around this school like they own it.” Then he turned around, balled a sweatshirt on the table in front of him, and laid his head down. Within about three minutes, his heavy breathing turned into soft snores.

“I'm a sophomore,” I said quietly, looking down at the paper. There were at least twenty categories, for which I could list the name of one male and one female senior. And I wasn't going to do it. What did I care, anyway? I was about a millisecond from wadding the paper up and taking it to the nearest trash can. Until I read the third line from the top.

Best Couple.

I sat there wondering how many times I'd heard the lecture that every vote counts. My father had taken me to the polls each year of my life so that I would appreciate how this great democratic system of ours works.

So I had to vote against them. I just had to.

“Okay, Tessa.” Mr. Hollon stood over my desk. “You have stretched this about as far as it will go.”

I glanced at Max. He seemed to be concentrating deeply on some detail of the picture on his desk, the curls on his forehead blocking my view of his eyes. Or he was trying quite hard to ignore me. Maybe it wasn't even difficult anymore—the ignoring me, I mean. After a week of not speaking to me, maybe he just didn't care anymore.

Mr. Hollon's large hand smacked a piece of yellow paper onto my desktop.

“This is due by the end of the period,” he said before turning and walking away.

I looked down and wanted to scream.

Darcy turned in her chair and leaned toward me. “Have you thought about your theme?” Her silver earrings tinkled softly.

Max stood and grabbed a thumb drive sitting on top of his desk. Not that I looked at him. I only knew because I glanced from the corner of my eye. I didn't think he caught me. He certainly wasn't looking my way.

“Harsh,” Darcy said under her breath as she followed him with her eyes, watching him get settled at a computer in the back of the room.

I stared at the entry form and wished I had some kind of superpower that would strike the paper into a shrieking flame. Or even better, a power that would erase someone's memory so they couldn't be angry with you anymore.

“What's your theme?” I asked Darcy. “I mean, besides the whole fashion thing.”

“Cycles.” She pointed to the haphazard circle of her photographs on the floor. “I'm thinking of hanging them like this.”

I pulled the cap off my pen and plopped it on my desk, watching as it rolled over the side and fell to the floor.

“How about you?” she asked.

I shrugged, looking down at my desk, running my fingers along the words that I should have paid attention to that first day of school.

Run, baby, run.

As I stared at the words, the letters blurred together, reminding me of a reflected image. Like my face looking back at me from a flat plane of water. Or the cool glass of a mirror. Only backward.

I scribbled two words on the entry form. Darcy looked over my shoulder and gave a little snort.

“Mirror Mirror?” she asked. “How does that make sense?”

“I dunno,” I said. “But I had to think of something, right?”

“I hope you can make it work.”

“Me, too, Darcy.”

She knelt on the floor and folded her arms across my desktop. “What about with Max?”

I felt like pushing her, watching her fall flat on her butt. “That's different.”

“How?”

“It's just not going to happen. The Elle stuff is too much for him and—”

“It's not too much for him.” Darcy shook her head, and those earrings jangled even louder. “You let Elle's life eat into yours, Tessa. Max just had enough. And I don't blame him.”

I looked into Darcy's brown eyes and tried to blink back tears.

“Oh, Tessa. Don't get all blubbery about it. Just do something.”

“It's too late,” I whispered.

“No,” she said with another shake of her head, her lips parting in a soft smile. “It might be really awkward right now. But it's not too late. Trust me.” Darcy patted my desktop with one hand and blew the most colossal bubble I had ever seen. Then she sucked the pink wad into her mouth, the pop reverberating through the whole room, and giggled like a little girl.

Everyone turned to stare. Even Max. And for a second, when he met my eyes, it seemed like he might wave me over or stand and walk to my side. But then he turned away. So I slumped forward in my seat and stared at the entry form for the art show, wondering how I would make my theme work. And if I would ever be able to fix things with Max.