Lucid (29 page)

“Can we talk?” It’s more a demand than a question.

I don’t know what to say. She walks right up to my face.

“Look,” she says, in a voice so hard, so unlike a tone I’ve ever heard from her that I wonder if she is really there. Of course she is actually there; she’s from my world. “I really don’t appreciate you talking shit about me to James and making him come talk to me about clearing up your reputation.”

My mind is spinning. I never did any such thing.

“I mean,” she goes on, “everybody hates you anyway. Always so stuck up, so condescending; you think people don’t notice? You think people are stupid? Everyone’s just been waiting for you to pull something like this.”

“Pull something like what?”

“Whether or not James and I were together, you knew how much I liked him. And you and I were friends.”

“I called you. I told you.”

“You think that makes it okay? You told me. You didn’t ask me. You told me after you’d already gotten him to ask you out. So what was I supposed to say? You think everybody’s got the wrong idea? Everybody has exactly the right idea. They see who you are.”

“Whether you believe it or not, I had no idea he talked to you. What did he say?”

“He said that I was supposed to tell everyone that he and I were just friends when you got together. And he implied it was my fault everyone is mad at you. I’ve known James for years, and whatever it was you told him, it was the first time I’ve ever seen him angry with me. And that hurts, Sloane. More than you could ever know. Because when he’s through with you, and believe me it won’t be long, it’s completely unfair of you to ruin things for me.”

Without waiting for an answer, she pushes by me, grabs her bag from the desk, and is gone.

I sit down and start crying. My hands are shaking. I am losing my mind, and all of this high school drama with Amanda just makes me feel even more disoriented. Thomas isn’t real, but he grabbed me, I felt it. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t hit him? How far could he have gone? I have no Emma in my life. There is absolutely no one I can even tell this to.

I will just have to gut it out, pretend it isn’t happening. Because, of course, it isn’t. I’m fine. Really.

Later at home, I stand in front of the mirror, dressing for my big night out with James. I decide to wear a skirt so that if he puts
his hand on my thigh again, he will feel my skin. I try on three different tops. As if my choosing the perfect one will make him love me. Love me enough to not leave me over the summer. Love me enough to not leave me if he finds out what is happening to me. No. No one could love me that much. Which is why no one can ever know.

When I come downstairs, James is already there, schmoozing my parents, who obviously are eating him up with a spoon. Even my dad, who is a tough audience. I don’t know what it is, maybe the fact that he’s going to be performing onstage, but he looks the best I’ve ever seen anyone look.

Driving to New London, he tells me I look beautiful. He just says it once, very simply, but it makes my heart pound.

I have to sneak in the back with him through the stage door because, well, I’m well underage and my fake ID sucks. Gordy scored it for me in Providence. My name is Shamika Jones. My explanation to bouncers or bartenders is that my mom speaks Swahili, and it means “beautiful soul.” Maybe it does in some language.

He finds me a nice table and flirts with the waitress so that she won’t card me. I order a rum and Coke. The band is in the middle of their first set, so we have time to talk. Even though it’s a pretty ordinary bar, it’s dark, our table has a little votive candle, and it feels really romantic. He wants to talk about Maggie, of course. But I anticipated this and know exactly what to do. Which is to talk about him. Never, ever fails.

“Okay, I can tell you don’t want to talk about your dreams, or dream I should say; I just want you to know that whenever you do, I’m here.”

I don’t know what to start asking about him, so of course, I pick the very worst thing.

“Did your dad take you on a college tour? Mine did, but I was only looking at New York and Boston. And my heart is already set on Columbia.”

“You have a very original way of asking about me.”

I laugh. “Okay, enough about me; let’s talk about you. So tell me, what do you think about me?”

“I think I’m really going to miss you when I’m in Oxford.”

I never stopped to think that something like this could happen. He’s a top student; he could go to Harvard or Yale or, God willing, slum it at Columbia with me. But he is going to abandon me for real. Not just a few weeks, but forever. There is no way he’s going to Oxford and coming out the other end looking for me.

I keep my brightest smile shining. Maggie would be proud.

“Well, won’t you miss me?” he asks with a playful smile.

“I don’t know if I like you enough to miss you.”

He plays with his napkin, folding the edges. “Lucky for me I was only kidding.”

A wave of relief surges through me, and I try to maintain enough cool to hide it.

“I don’t know where I want to go to school,” he says, “or even what I want to study. Some days it’s architecture, or engineering, languages…”

I’m kind of listening to what comes out of his mouth but more looking at it. There is something about the way he shapes his words that makes me want to lean across the table and kiss him.

So I lean across the table and kiss him. It is very sweet and playful.
He reaches over and takes my hand as we’re kissing. I always kiss with my eyes closed. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because in all the movies I’ve seen, the actresses look funny, almost cross-eyed, if they don’t. But I want to see him, so I flutter one eye open, just a slit. His eyes are wide open; he is just staring at me. Like the length of my nose away. It seems funny, so I laugh. He isn’t offended. He just looks like he’d like to do some more kissing. So we do.

When we stop, our drinks have magically appeared. It’s nice of the waitress not to interrupt us. I’m beginning to feel, you know, all the world loves a lover, and everyone in the place and the entire universe thinks we’re adorable. And I am not a crazy girl, just a lucky girl in love.

The band finishes their set. The lead guitarist leans to the mike, gives James this half-assed introduction, as if he is only there to fill in during their break (because it turns out that’s the only reason he is there). And I applaud like crazy, even whistle as he makes his way to the stage. My enthusiasm encourages some copycat applause, which he finds highly amusing.

Once he’s onstage, the lights come down. They hit him with a spotlight, and he begins to play some transcendently exquisite and complicated piece. While I really like listening to the flamenco album I purchased, it is now my favorite art form ever. I have absolutely no talent, except a small one in photography, and animals like me if you can call that a talent. How long has he been doing this? How often does he practice? How cool is he to never have bragged about this? Almost the best part is that this is the kind of guitar-playing he’s chosen, not the I-want-to-rock-out-and-get-girls garage band type.

His playing is so physical, as if he were part of the instrument.
His arm muscles are flexed, but he’s cradling the guitar so lovingly. I am aware of the strength in his fingers as they move along the neck of the guitar and the unexpected, rhythmic slaps against the wood. And his face. The concentration, the almost devotion to strumming each phrase. None of the people in this place deserve to be hearing this. They are talking and slurping their American drafts. People are so inconsiderate.

Just as I’m wondering what I can do about it, someone puts a hand on my shoulder. I turn, irritated by the intrusion.

“I’ve been calling you for hours. You have to come with me right now.”

For a second, I don’t even recognize this crazy woman who clearly has me confused with someone else. I raise my finger to my lips to quiet her and suddenly realize.

It is Nicole.

“Jade is in the hospital. They think it was an aneurysm. She’s been in surgery. We have to get back.”

She stares at me, incredulous that I’m not reacting as she’d expect.

“Did you hear what I just said?” she asks angrily.

I nod dumbly. She shoots me a dirty look and takes off through the crowd toward the door, assuming I’ll follow. I can’t move, I can’t think. Suddenly, a hand is on my shoulder again, and I scream so loud half the place whips around.

“Are you okay?”

It’s James. He’d finished, everyone had applauded or not, and he is already at the table. How long was I hypnotized? There he is, smile, damn it. Keep it together.

“Yeah! You were so amazing!” I try to shout as loudly as I screamed.

He smiles back and leans to my ear. “I liked knowing you were watching.” He kisses my ear, which only one boy has ever done before. It is my spot. It makes me melt in a way that is so exciting I kind of squirm.

In the car ride home I try not to obsess on the hallucination. But I’m lost in my thoughts.

“I bet I know why you’re so quiet,” he says.

“Oh, I bet you don’t.”

“I could tell you were bummed that I’d made plans for the summer. So am I. So I’m thinking, how would you like to wander around Spain for a while? We could start in the south. Marbella has incredible beaches.” As he is talking, he reaches over and starts rubbing the back of my neck, as if he is playing it like his guitar. “We’ll skip the bullfights in Toledo, and hang out in Madrid, and finish in Barcelona. Because that’s the best.”

He’s clearly expecting me to be thrilled out of my mind. Unfortunately, I am. Apart from how difficult it would be to talk my parents into something like this, there’s the small matter that I will most likely be committed to a mental hospital long before.

“What? I’ll talk to your parents. I know I can sell it.”

This perfect, unattainable life is so near and will never really be mine. I guess there are tears standing in my eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say, blinking the tears away. “Everything is more perfect than I ever dreamed it could be.”

M
y eyes snap open. I fight the urge to jump out of bed and race down to Jade’s room. Obviously, that was just a dream, Jade is okay, and if I start chasing down every nightmare, I’ll have completely lost control. So I climb out of bed, and as slowly as I’m able to make myself walk, I go down the hall and peek in on my angelically sleeping baby sister.

She may be the most precious thing I stand to lose.

I can’t resist climbing into bed with her, spooning her little body, listening to that soft puppy breath she makes when she sleeps. Jade would literally keep snoring if a marching band stormed down the hall. She doesn’t stir as I kiss her head and sneak back out of her room. I wonder what she’s dreaming about.

I call Emma and leave a message asking if she can squeeze me in today for an extra session because I’m having an emergency.

I start to call Andrew and stop myself, panicked that if something
happens while I’m with him, something like what happened to Sloane at the bar, I could never hide it from Andrew. If he knew that I am finally unraveling, it would be over between us. Eventually, if not immediately. Of course that’s the inevitable. I’m only trying to buy a little bit of time.

He doesn’t pick up. He’s preparing for finals and has probably locked himself in the stacks or an editing bay. I wish him good luck and tell him to call me as soon as he needs a break.

I run cold water in the bathroom sink, splash my face, and when I look up into the mirror…

Sloane is staring back at me. I scream. The bathroom reflected in the mirror is hers and not mine. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. My hands grip the sink for support, and rather than smooth porcelain, I can feel the grooves of small tiles. I spin around, open my eyes, and…

Gasp. I am standing in her bathroom. The towels are blue, outside the window is her tree, her shampoo is on the tub ledge. I feel dizzy and reach back to brace myself on the sink. I stare at the drain. Just focus on the drain. I close my eyes and lift my head back to face the mirror.

I’m myself again. The bathroom is mine once more. My toothbrush is on the sink. I stand there gripping the sink with both hands, listening to my heart pounding. I’m afraid to take my eyes from the mirror. Afraid to lose myself in it again.

Jade drags herself sleepily through the door, sits on the toilet, and pees.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” I manage.

“Um. Either you’re acting or you’re trying to hypnotize yourself.”

“God, I wish I could do that.” I laugh weakly. “Can you show me how?”

“Sure,” she says. She wipes, flushes, and shoves me out of the way so she can wash her hands. Then she motions for me to get down to her level. She opens her eyes absurdly wide.

“Look deep into my eyes.” So I do. “You are getting sleepy. Very sleepy. When I clap, you will cluck like a chicken.” And she claps. I moo like a cow.

“Close enough,” she says proudly. “Now when I snap my fingers, you will make me silver dollar pancakes. Swimming in maple syrup.”

Try as she might, however, the Great Jadini cannot snap her fingers. But I make her pancakes anyway.

Even though it’s Nicole’s day to drop her, I walk Jade to school because I can’t bear to let her go, not knowing when I might break down completely and never see her again. She asks when Andrew is going to make her dinner again. I say I’ll ask him tonight. She rolls her eyes at me.

“I would hope that you and he are close enough that you’d know he’s studying for finals. And you should respect that. Schoolwork comes first, but when it’s over, he can make me spaghetti and butter sauce.”

“He and I are close enough that I kiss him.”

Her eyes get huge and she does this little jazz hand motion. After a moment’s reflection, she looks at me suspiciously. “Does he kiss back?”

I nod, yep.

“On the lips?”

“And on my neck and my ear.”

“Gross. Like a wet willy?”