Willow
The night of the dance arrived. My parents, thrilled I was making an effort at socializing, had a spread of hors d’oeuvres and sodas fit for twenty people instead of six. Our marble kitchen counters were laden with little sandwiches, chocolate covered hazelnuts and cherries. Even crackers and caviar.
“Caviar?” I said to Mom.
“Protein, darling.” She wore a frilly apron over her Chanel skirt and blouse, as if she cooked all this instead of ordering from a catering service.
“Are you serious?”
She sipped a glass of red wine. “I believe the words you’re looking for are thank you.”
I sighed, mumbled a thank you and went upstairs to put my dress on. I would’ve been more grateful if I knew she was doing this for my friends, not to keep up appearances.
Several hours later, Nash and Angie, Caroline and Jocelyn all arrived together.
“Safety in numbers,” Angie whispered as she hugged me. She gaped at the entry of our house. “Your foyer is bigger than my bedroom.”
As I predicted, she looked beautiful in her skating-style dress. Her hair fell in soft black curls around her shoulders and she’d affixed a choker around her neck with a red silk flower. Nash and Jocelyn both wore suits. Nash had a red bow tie and vest to match Angie’s flower. Jocelyn wore a pale blue tie and pocket square to match Caroline’s flowing blue dress.
Mom’s smile tightened when she swept into the foyer to greet my friends, her voice rising an octave as she demanded we huddle together to take a photo. My dad stood at the rear of the room, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his feet. His smile was stiffer than Mom’s.
“My parents are not evolved,” I said to Angie.
“A mixed-race couple and lesbians,” Angie whispered back with a giggle.
“It’s straining the limits of their tolerance.”
“They got to get woke, son.”
The doorbell rang. “Reinforcements,” I said.
As suspected, my parents were thrilled to meet Justin Baker. He arrived in the rented limousine and I had to admit, he looked pretty dashing in a black suit with a navy blue tie to match my dress. But his handsomeness was like that of a sleek car in a showroom. Nice to look at but I had zero interest in taking it for a spin.
Why am I doing this again?
Mom fawned all over him and Dad shook his hand as if they were closing a business deal. The contrast between how he treated Justin compared to my friends was like a flashy neon sign: straight white people only.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to Caroline.
She gave me a smile and a shrug. “Not the first. Won’t be the last.”
Justin came over, carrying a blue rose corsage in a plastic box. “You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said.
For someone who had a hard time looking in the mirror and feeling good about what she saw, I thought I’d done pretty well. My mother insisted on taking me to a salon and they put my hair in a high, spectacularly messy yet graceful bun. Tendrils fell down here and there to frame my face, a few trailing down my back. I’d brushed sparkling pink makeup lightly over my eyelids and a darker pink gloss stained my lips.
I felt pretty but Justin wasn’t who I wanted to be pretty for. I couldn’t help but wish the eyes gazing down at me were stormy gray-green seas, instead of flat blue pools. I wanted the arm offered to smell like gasoline and cigarettes, not Drakkar Noir and money.
Justin slid the corsage up my wrist where I’d spent an hour scrubbing little black X’s off my skin, but I felt as if they’d rise to the surface, like goosebumps, when he bent to give me a kiss on the cheek
What happened to just friends?
I took a step backward, into my own space again. Judging by Justin’s smug, knowing smile, he took my reaction as being swept off my feet by his charm. A cold lump settled in my stomach, spreading outward, freezing the progress I’d made so far.
I can do this I can do this I can do this…
My mother took a million photos of the two of us, a few thousand group shots, and then it was time to go. We filed out of the house and down the driveway. Mrs. Chambers, our nosy next-door neighbor, watched the procession from her front porch.
Naturally Dad made a fuss over the limo Justin hired. It wasn’t a stretch, but long enough to fit the six of us, with room to spare.
“Very nice,” Dad said, as we climbed in. “Very nice, indeed.”
“I’ll have her back by curfew, sir,” Justin said, shaking his hand.
“Take your time, take your time,” Dad said to Justin. “Have fun.” Again, to Justin.
I shot a look at Angie as we settled in, smoothing our dresses and making sure our hair didn’t bump the limo roof.
“This is really nice,” Jocelyn said, running her hand along the leather seat.
“Let us pitch in to cover it,” Nash said.
“Nah,” Justin said. “I got this.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “It’s a lot of money.”
He shrugged and smiled down at me. “You’re worth it.”
Another girl might have swooned, but I heard implications. Expectations.
You’re being paranoid. He’s being nice.
The weight of expectation fell on my bare shoulders and another shiver slipped down my back. Justin put his arm around my seat. I tried to relax. My thumb kept rubbing my wrist.
Angie leaned close and took my hand. “I feel like a damn broken record asking this, but are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said.
“Yeah? Because you don’t look fine. My man Nash looks fiiiine. You look like you just gave five pints of blood.”
“I’m just cold.”
“You don’t have a wrap?”
“No, I…”
My jaw worked but no more sound came out. The limo was pulling into the roundabout in front of the high school. The dance was over at ten, but I heard Justin tell Nash we had it until midnight, in case we wanted to go somewhere later.
As I climbed out of the limo, I knew this was a mistake. If Nash hadn’t pulled Angie aside for a romantic, private moment just then, I might’ve found the courage to tell her I had to go home. I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t be here.
“Let’s go inside,” Justin said. “It’ll be warmer there.” He put his hand at the small of my back, to gently steer me.
Inside the gym, a DJ was set up at one far end and a snack and drink table at the other. The rows of bleacher seats were folded back to make more space. The dance committee had strewn garlands of paper flowers with little LED lights around the perimeter, and three balloon arches stretched across in blue, green, pink and yellow.
As our group took a table, a few Plastics standing nearby turned to stare. I registered Tessa among them but then the dark, the music, the bodies…it all closed in. It was the party I’d thrown on a larger scale. A bigger stage and different actors, but my psyche was adding it all up and coming to the same conclusion.
Xavier…
Angie gave me a thumbs up. I nodded vaguely, but I no longer cared about this ridiculous ruse. I was already drowning in an icy black sea of memories.
The DJ played the throwback, “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me” by Culture Club. Angie and Nash hurried to the dance floor while Caroline and Jocelyn went to the snack table, leaving me alone at the table.
I stared around the dark, crowded gym and the crush of students dancing under sweeping lights. The Plastics and their dates stood at the edge of the dance floor. Justin stood with them, talking with some of his baseball buddies.
Plastics. I hated that name. I vowed never to use it again. With a low-grade panic attack humming in my veins and threatening to blow, the idea of hating on another girl felt like betrayal. I wasn’t alone. I knew many of the girls out there on that floor had experienced something like I had. Maybe treated like plastic: cheap and disposable. Something you used once and discarded. Or they were harassed. Made to feel less than their worth. Ugly. Fat. Tease. Slut. Plastic.
Tessa could talk about me all she wanted, but I couldn’t hate her. She’d been hurt too. Humiliated when her brother shared Isaac’s No thanks text.
Isaac. My heart thumped and a surge of heat warmed me, remembering his head in my lap, and his chin on my thigh and a smile…
“Want something to drink?” Xavier murmured in my ear.
I flinched so hard my purse hit the floor and I bit back a scream.
Justin Baker gave a jolt. “What the hell? I just wanted to know if you were thirsty.”
“No, I…I’m fine.”
I had to get out of here. I rose to my feet slowly and Justin took my hand.
“Right on,” he said. “Let’s dance.”
I let him take me to the floor. The crowd danced and laughed, their faces lit up by the sweeping lights. Angie and Nash were there, smiling and waving. Their mouths moved but I couldn’t hear what they said over the music.
Justin leaned down and put his mouth to my ear. “Having a good time?”
I managed a nod. “Great.”
“What?” he shouted.
“I said, great.” My stomach writhed and my breath came short. Sense memories lurked on all sides. Murderous and ready to pounce. Pillows in hand to snuff me out.
The DJ played “Best Friend” by Sofi Tukker and the crowd let out a collective woot. The energy in the room amped up and the dancing changed tenor. Couples moved closer. Girls rubbed their asses against the boys’ crotches. Even those dancing in groups huddled closer, as if the song granted them permission to grind.
Justin moved closer to me, his smile eager. As he invaded my space, the weight of the room settled over me. His cologne filled my nose. The heat of his body emanated through his dress shirt as he slung his arms around my waist. Instead of warming me, it made me more aware of my own chill.
I can do this I can do this I can do this.
I turned around—hoping and praying it would be better if we weren’t face to face. That I could dance and laugh and be sexy—if only on the dance floor— just like so many other kids in that gym.
Justin’s hands landed on my waist. His breath gusted over my shoulder and I felt his chest press to my back. I was hardly moving. I must’ve looked like a corpse, but he didn’t seem to notice or mind.
Inside, I’d begun to scream. I sucked in a breath but it wouldn’t go further than my throat. The night was crushing me, pressing me back against Justin. Tears sprang to my eyes. It was stupid to think I could do this.
No, please. I just want to be at a dance like a normal girl…
The dimness of the gym was swimming now. Murky. I stopped moving, frozen stiff and flattened by the invisible force of remembering. Dark memories that had no shape or definition, except for X’s crushing weight that stole my breath and left me paralyzed.
With a strangled cry, I broke free and shoved away from Justin to stagger through the gym. I had to get out. Escape. To save myself from nothing and everything.
I shoved open the bar on the side door and spilled out of the gym, stumbling and falling on my hands and knees. Cement scraped my skin and the pain brought me around like a slap to the face.
The weight lifted.
There was no shadow monster. Only me in the amber light above the door, sitting on the ground with blood trickling down my shins and my palms scraped raw. I inhaled sharply, then dissolved in wracking sobs.
I pulled my knees to my chest and hugged my legs, crying until I felt turned inside out. Any second the door would open and someone would see me, or Angie would follow me. Gasping for air, I got to my feet. My pretty blue dress was smudged with dirt and my knees were a mess. I was a mess. My purse was inside but there was no chance I was going back in looking like this.
I hauled myself off the ground and stumbled after one step in my heels.
“Fuck.”
I took off my shoes and walked to the girls’ room across from the gym. While the idea of walking barefoot in a bathroom didn’t exactly scream ‘dignified,’ I didn’t much care. I tore a few paper towels from the dispenser, ran them under cold water and cleaned up my knees.
When I straightened to wash my scraped palms, I let out a little gasp at the reflection in the mirror. My hair was falling out of the messy bun and my face looked as if I’d been driving at a hundred miles an hour with my head sticking out the window. Smeared makeup. Swollen, shining eyes. Ruddy cheeks.
“God,” I whispered.
When? I wanted to scream. When could I go back to being myself? When would this mess of a girl in the mirror get better? Ever?
Never?
I splashed cold water on my face and dabbed it dry. Smears of mascara still smudged my eyes, but it seemed like too much effort to clean up and try again. Impossible to go back and face concerned questions from Angie, or confused expectations from Justin. I was too tired to make something up. Pretending to be okay was fucking exhausting.
My house was a good two miles away. I could call an Uber, but my phone was in my purse and my purse was in the gym. With my heels dangling from one hand and my left knee still trickling blood, I began to walk.
I trudged along the quiet streets of northern Harmony. The school wasn’t ten minutes behind me when I realized the stupidity of my plan. My feet ached and were scratched by rocks and debris. I was on the verge of taking a seat on the side of the road to rest when headlights splashed in front of me.
A car pulled up. No, a pickup truck.
Isaac Pearce’s Dodge.
Oh God, not like this. Don’t let him see me like this.
I walked faster.
He drove slowly beside me and rolled down the passenger window.
“Hey, where are you go—”
His voice cut off as he took in my bloodied knees and dirt-streaked dress. He slammed on the brakes, killed the engine and jumped out of the truck.
“What happened?” He took my arm. “Willow…?”
I stared up at him, a thousand thoughts passing through me in a second. His hand on my arm didn’t sent icy shivers over my skin. His presence felt like a shield instead of danger and his face… God, he was so handsome. He would’ve looked so amazing in a suit, and I would’ve felt so proud arriving in his truck instead of a limo. With Isaac as my date, the dance would’ve been perfect because he didn’t make me feel like I was drowning in ice water…
“Willow, what happened?”
“Nothing,” I said, wrenching free. “I fell. I’m fine.”
Isaac’s gaze swept my face with its swollen eyes and smeared makeup. “You fell.”
“Yes, I fell,” I snapped. “On my way out of the gym. It’s not a big deal.” I turned away from his scrutiny and started walking again. Limping now, as a rock had punctured my heel, but I wasn’t about to let him see how bad it hurt.
“You went with Justin Baker, right?” Isaac said. “So where the fuck is he?”
I stopped and whirled to look at him. “What do you care?”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No and it’s none of your business anyway.”
“Willow…”
My anger rose, carried on a tide of frustrated tears. “Don’t say my name like that,” I said. “You had nothing to do with this. You don’t go to dances, remember? You’re done with high school. I’m not. And I was just trying to have a good time like any other normal girl and I…I had…”
“What?” Isaac asked softly, coming closer. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I said, fighting for control. “Nothing happened. I got…claustrophobic or something. A panic attack. It happens sometimes and it’s so…stupid. So fucking stupid. And unfair.” I wiped my eyes. “Never mind. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is it? To who? If you cared so goddamn much about what happened at the dance, then you should’ve…”
You should’ve told me on Saturday…
I bit the words back before they could escape and make things worse.
“You’re right.” Isaac’s deep voice was low and quiet. “I should have.”
My heart pounded and I stared, not knowing what to say or how to feel. I desperately wanted to recover one scrap of dignity. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.
“Well, it’s too late now.”
For an instant he looked through me, as if my words reminded him of something. Then he jerked his chin toward my knees. “You’re bleeding. Come on, I’ll take you home. And I’ll park where your dad can’t see.”
“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”
“You’ll what?”
“Walk. I’m going to walk.”
“Christ, Willow, will you get in the truck?”
“I’m fine. And what are you doing anyway? Driving around town, looking for damsels in distress?”
“No, I…happened to be driving.” He carved a hand through his hair. “Who gives a shit what I was doing? Get in the truck.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I said, and kept walking.
“Fine.”
I heard the crunch of his booted feet on gravel. The car door opened and slammed shut. The engine roared and then settled to a low purr. And then Isaac was driving beside me at all of three miles an hour, eyes straight ahead. A hand casually slung on the steering wheel, the other arm stretched over the passenger seat.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Driving.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
I fumed. “Great. Have fun with that.”
I kept limping for another few steps, until the utter stupidity of the situation became too much. I stopped and faced him, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I want to make sure you get home safe,” he said in a low voice. “That’s all.”
That’s all he wants.
Tears sprang to my eyes again. I blinked them away and climbed into the Dodge.
Immediately I was saturated by the essence of Isaac permeating the interior. Gasoline, cologne, cigarette smoke and something sweet and woodsy that was him. It defeated the lingering vestiges of my panic attack and stirred something new in its place.
I cleared my throat. “Thank you for the ride.”
“You’re welcome.”