carefully everywhere descending (8 page)

“Terrific. She's got a hold on me, and on Carolina Murphy as well.”

I had been familiar with Carolina before, but vaguely. I could recognize her by face (she was a beautiful redhead with wide hazel eyes), and I'd had a few insignificant encounters with her. But after I learned that she was dating Scarlett, I started paying her more attention.

To my disgruntlement, she seems like a perfectly nice girl. Still, I can't help but feel a prickle of jealousy now when I see her, and a small part of my brain examines her for comparison to me. (She is a stylish dresser. She has movie-star perfect teeth. I have more brains.) It was one of her friends that Scarlett had laughed with the night I picked up pizza, and now I was dying to know what she had said. Or the friend had said. Would Scarlett have remembered if I had asked her?

Amber looks at me sympathetically.

“You never know how these things will end up,” she says. She's always been an optimist. She suggests we watch funny Internet videos to take my mind off things and pulls up a browser at my consent. After a handful of videos, she drives me home.

I'm walking through the hall on my way to Spanish the next day when Mr. Welsh flags me down.

“How are you, Anderson?” he asks. He's a goateed, heavy black man shaped like a ball, and I've always gotten along well with him. He agreed last year to be my reference if a job somewhere opened up.

I reply that I'm fine and don't add that my heart currently feels like a black hole, though I think he'd appreciate the poetry of such a statement.

“West said you helped her revise those papers of hers,” he says, and my heart jumps a little at Scarlett's name.

“That's right, I did.”

“I have to tell you, I'm amazed. They far exceeded my expectations for West. You did great work with her, Anderson. Have you ever considered teaching? I mean this seriously. Not everyone could turn something like that around in the time you had. You've got a gift.”

“I'm flattered, especially having that come from you, Mr. Welsh,” I say. “But I've… I've been thinking about a career as a pilot, actually.”

He shrugs philosophically. “Hm, well. Even pilots need instructors, I suppose. Keep it in mind, won't you?”

I tell him I will and go to Spanish with a warm feeling all over from the praise.

Amber invites me to her house Friday evening. She's got a video game that plays popular songs, shows you dance moves, and then releases you into a dance-off against each other. I do slightly better than Amber, but she knows more of the songs than I do. It's actually a lot of fun, especially when she pulls out some old feather boas from a past Halloween and we glam up a little by putting on heavy makeup and seeing who can be the most dramatic dancing lip-syncher. It makes me think of middle school sleepovers, though I'm not sure why. I never went to any.

Later, when we're watching the critically acclaimed feature film,
Voices Heard from a Distant Room
, I ask, striving for ubercasual, “So… have you ever kissed anyone?”

Amber doesn't laugh at me, for which I'm eternally grateful. She does blush and say, “Yes, two boys. One at my old school, and Ben Stutzman, who I dated for a very, very short period last year after I moved.”

“What's it like?”

“I found it a little gross the first time, to be honest,” she says, making a face. “It was wet and messy. Ben wasn't so bad. I didn't feel like he was trying to eat my face. I dunno. I keep hoping it will be perfect when I find the right guy, but it may be something you just put up with.”

“That sounds sad,” I say. “Also, I'm skeptical. If everyone was just putting up with it, it wouldn't be such a draw in romantic movies. Or any movie,” I add as the artistically made-up couple on-screen, who were torn apart by war and circumstances, embrace and kiss passionately. I gesture to them. “Look at that. They don't seem to be just enduring.”

“No,” Amber agrees. “And that's why I've got my fingers crossed I just had two duds. Keep me posted on how
your
experience goes,” she finishes mischievously. She mouths,
With Scarlett
.

I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”

But her teasing actually cheers me up a little.

The momentary boost crashes back down when Sam, who improved a little later in the week, relapses on Saturday. He develops a bad cough and can't stop shaking with chills and harsh breaths. Dad talks about staying home from work, and he and Mom monitor Sam with concerned looks and hushed confidences between each other. It's after six when Mom convinces Dad to take Sam to the hospital for difficulty breathing.

I try to watch TV but can't concentrate for worrying. I switch to the news, and finally catch the story my mom had referred to. Apparently our state senator had been caught by his wife using campaign donations to engage in “activities” with other women. When she confronted him, he ran off. A short while later, he was pronounced dead. It seems he drowned in a cold nearby river. The whole thing led to a lot of people shouting at each other—about marriage, about adultery, about prostitution, about campaign finance laws, about using someone's life for political gain, about everything basically.

It has both the benefit and detraction of not fully engaging my thoughts when my phone rings. It's Mom. I put it to my ear, hand shaking.

“Mom? What is it?”

Oh, God. Please, don't let Sam be seriously sick….

“He's all right,” she says immediately. “The doctor thinks it's just pneumonia. He probably caught it when he went back to school with his immune system down from his cold. They're going to x-ray his chest in a little bit. In the meantime, I need you to run to the store to pick up some stuff. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” I say. My parents have an emergency twenty dollars in their bedroom that she directs me to (hidden in a sock drawer, taped to the top). I write down the list of items she tells me, and consider my light coat before leaving without it. The weather is turning warmer and warmer.

There's a grocery store that's within walking distance, but only just. I have a free music app downloaded on my phone, and I listen to it as I hike along the side streets and deserted paths.

My parents got phones for us all, even Sam, after Jimmy's car broke down on his way back from our cousin's in Portano City and he had to hike to a gas station at night to call for help. It's a bite out of our budget, but my parents insist that it's worth it. With all the extra things I get—Internet, music, a built-in notepad, chess—I can't help but agree. Luckily, I haven't had to use mine for dire circumstances yet.

When I get to the grocery store, I smooth out the list my mom recited and start looking for the medicine aisle. I find the cough syrups and start comparing brands. Distantly, I'm aware of an uptick in noise as the doors whoosh open and what sounds like a small army clomps in, talking loudly, but I'm too focused on reading labels to look around. After hemming and hawing, I finally opt for the generic store brand and drop it in the basket over my arm. My mom also wanted tea, lemon juice, and honey for a homemade remedy, so I turn for the tea aisle.

Scarlett West is standing at the end of the row, looking like she just stepped out of a
Vogue
magazine spread. She's wearing a perfectly tailored gown, a dazzling studded blue bodice with sheer straps that makes her chest appear rounder and her eyes appear even brighter. The sapphire skirt flares out in expensive-looking sheer ruffles and is underset with a shimmering sheath.

My breath catches, and I'm dumbfounded at her appearance until it hits me. Duh, prom is tonight. Amber is going with Steven Chaffee. I helped her dress shop.

“Hey,” I say. “I think you need to be about nine miles in that direction.” I point east, where the school is.

She grins. “Fancy seeing you here.” She eyes the cough syrup. “You're pre-gaming for a big night too, huh?”

“It's for my brother,” I say as Carolina appears in a stunning green dress that looks like it cost a fortune. It's strapless with glittering beads along the front right side that bunch into an intricate design over her right hip.

“We can't find the thing,” she says to Scarlett before she spots me. “Oh, hi, Audrey.”

“Hi, Carolina. I like your dress,” I say sincerely.

“Aw, thank you! That's so sweet!” She spreads the skirt, looking down at it with proud satisfaction. She inspects me with a quick up-and-down. Apparently nothing I'm wearing is up to returning the compliment, so she says instead, “I've always loved your cheekbones. I would kill for a facial structure like you've got.”

“Oh. Er, thanks,” I say. I've never given particular thought to my cheekbones, but it's nice, if a little weird, to be commended on something I can't control and had no involvement in creating. “Have fun at prom.”

“Thanks! You aren't going?” she asks.

“Oh, not this year,” I say, though I probably won't go next year either, unless something radical happens.

“Aww. You know, you can come even if you don't have a date.”

“Oh, I know that, it's not that, I was just… busy,” I say as someone's voice crackles over the store's speaker system, calling an employee to the back room to pick up a call.

“So… what are you both doing here?” I ask after a moment of uncomfortable silence. I wish Scarlett would jump in and say something, even if it's one of her hit-or-miss jokes.

Carolina glances over her shoulder. “We're here as a group. First, Irina wanted to stop to pick up some more bobby pins. Her hair is a
nightmare
, she ended up with a
terrible
stylist. Then Serhan thought it would be hysterical to buy a toy or something to leave around the room and film people's reactions. He's trying to find something right now. Then Chad had the bright idea to see if he could find a mask to photobomb people in. Here he is— Did you find anything?”

Chad, a budding frat boy, is already obviously drunk. He's tall and bulky (football and soccer) and not particularly bright, judging by the comments he's made in class. His answer “The Romans” in response to who invented the cotton gin will live in infamy to me. It was for US History.

His eyebrows wing upward when he sees me.

“Heeey. Where's your dress?”

“I don't have one,” I say.

“She's not going to prom, Chad,” says Carolina helpfully. He looks me over.

“Ohhh. Why not? Come on, you can come with me.” Before I know what's happening, he's slipped to my side and pinned me to him with a heavy arm around my shoulders. His suit is stiff and feels strange through the light fabric of my henley shirt.

“See?” he asks Carolina and Scarlett, and a newly appeared girl; Irina, I guess. “Don't we make a great couple?” He barks out a laugh, swaying a little on his feet. His head turns toward me and lowers, and I realize he's about to kiss me. My heart kicks into overdrive, and I shove the shopping basket up between us, spilling the cough syrup box from it and knocking him off balance. Startled, he falls back against the shelf, sending other medications cascading to the floor. My basket is knocked from my hands and skitters away. But he doesn't release his hold on me, and I'm pulled to his chest, struggling to free myself.

“Let me go,” I say, high-pitched and muffled. Instead, his grip tightens around my neck and pulls me closer. My feet slide behind me on the glossy floor, and my knees are weak. I'm almost fully supported by him when another slim, strong arm winds around my waist and steadies me.

“Let her go, Chad,” says Scarlett, right in my ear, voice angry. “Come on. This isn't funny.”

“Aw, yes it is, come on,” replies Chad, blinking blearily up at Scarlett. “I'm—see, I'm gonna show up with
two
dates. Isn't that awesome?”

“No,” says Scarlett shortly. Her free hand grips the wrist Chad has around me and works me out. As soon as the pressure around my neck and head loosen, I duck under his arm and together Scarlett and I stagger back. Chad struggles to get his feet under him, still splayed against the shelf.

“It would show Dana a thing or two,” he continues petulantly, to himself, it seems. A store manager has appeared on the scene, looking serious. We've also gathered a crowd of gawking shoppers. The costumed drama is too good to pass by, I suppose.

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” the manager says loudly.

Chad struggles to focus on him. “Huh? Oh, okay.” He almost overbalances righting himself. Once he gets fully vertical, he takes a moment to stop swaying and orient himself. Then, seemingly perfectly normal, sets in a nearly straight line for the glowing Exit sign and sliding doors.

After they swish shut behind him, I realize I'm still pressed tightly against Scarlett's side and quickly step away, even more embarrassed. Right in front of her girlfriend!

Carolina doesn't seem to have noticed. She's bending down to locate and pick up my fallen cough syrup in the carnage on the floor, which she then hands to me.

“Sorry about him,” she says sympathetically. I take the box with a badly shaking hand. My heart is still pounding and my knees are trembling. It seems like too much of a reaction for such a little thing, but I feel violated from the rough treatment and unwanted almost-kiss. Carolina reaches for another box and so does Irina. I realize they mean to pick up the mess.

“Oh, no, no,” I say. “I'll do that. Your nice dresses….”

“It's all right, ladies,” says the manager, gesturing toward an employee behind the checkout counter. “We've got it.”

A few people in the onlooking crowd also stoop to help gather up medicine, shooing us back. A young woman hands me my basket with a sympathetic smile.