You in Five Acts(10)

“It’s definitely over.” I crossed my arms and stared down at the Oriental rug, a dizzying blood-red pattern of interlocking vines. Liv and I had already gone over what had happened with Ms. Adair numerous times, and I knew she was desperate for me to move on and focus on the party. But I couldn’t shake the ache of humiliated anger I felt, not only at being body-shamed in front of the entire ballet program, but also at being so quick to talk back. “They’ll never give me a solo now,” I said morosely. “I’ll be lucky if I’m, like, a tree in the background.”

“You are not a tree!” Liv said. “You are a total badass. Everyone will be talking about how you shut down that bitch.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not really what I wanted everyone to focus on.” I sipped my water again, shifting uncomfortably in the fleece-lined boots I hadn’t thought to change out of. Compared to Liv, I felt like a lumberjack in my hoodie and cords.

“Fuck them,” Liv said dismissively, arranging stacks of cups on the dining table around the bottles she’d had her downstairs neighbor Kyle—a balding twenty-six-year-old who still lived with his parents—buy for her. “If they don’t think you’re perfect the way you are, they don’t deserve you. And I bet you danced the shit out of Don Coyote or whatever.”

That made me smile for the first time in hours. “I did dance the shit out of it,” I said. The looks on some of the girls’ faces had been priceless. It was like their features were confused, trying to figure out how to express slay but not having the cultural reference.

“See?” Liv smiled. “We’re celebrating. Now please have a drink with me so I don’t feel like an alchy.”

“Oh, hey, how was your audition, by the way?” I asked, trying to stall. “All day I’ve just been complaining about mine.” Aside from keeping myself Amaghetto-free for the time being, I really did want to know what had gone down at the Drama Showcase tryouts. I was sure Liv had sailed through—everyone knew Ethan had written the part for her—but there was someone else I was a little more curious about.

“It was fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You know how Ethan is. He made us do it like five thousand different ways with different ‘motivations.’”

I fanned out some cocktail napkins. “Which guy do you think will get it?”

Liv gave me a look. “Oh my God, you’re so obvious,” she said.

“What?”

“You’re fishing.” She wiggled her perfectly waxed eyebrows. “For a big, shiny Californian catch.”

“Nope.” I tried to swallow my smile, but it was pointless; my poker face didn’t work on Liv, who was the emotional equivalent of a card counter.

“It’s OK to like him.” She looked at me for a few seconds, narrowing her eyes a little like she was trying to read something on my face. Then she nodded, took a sip of her drink, and set it down dramatically. “That’s your party goal,” she said. “It’s decided.”

“No thanks,” I said. “I don’t want a goal for the party. I just want to have a good time.” (Look, would I have stopped him if he tried to kiss me? No. But I just thought he was beautiful and rare, like a hoodie-wearing peacock. Any feelings I thought I was catching weren’t real. And the last thing I had time for with the Showcase looming was a boy to distract me. Or so I thought.)

“And what would be your definition of a good time?” Liv pressed, smirking. “I know you won’t get drunk, or smoke, or even dance, which makes no sense.”

“I dance all day!” I protested. “And if I want to grind up against some wack people in a confined space I’ll just take the subway.”

Liv let out an exasperated sigh. “You know I love you, but you honestly make it so hard sometimes.”

“You forgot the Guatemalan nipple bowl,” I said, nodding at a piece of pottery covered in pink and brown concentric circles, which had been prominently displayed on the entry table since we were nine and had been making us laugh for just as long.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Liv said, grabbing the bowl and stalking off down the hallway to her room.

“I have fun!” I yelled.

“Standing in a corner with the Tostitos!” she called back.

I opened my mouth and then shut it again. She had a point—I generally liked to hang back with the snacks and avoid the foolishness, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy myself.

Liv reemerged, reaching into her neckline to adjust her bra. “When was the last time you even hooked up with anyone?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, like I couldn’t remember, even though of course I knew, since there had only been one person in the entire past year, Caleb Cooper, who I’d dated for a hot second after the junior semiformal. And even then, all it amounted to was some kissing and awkward fondling in the orchestra pit that had abruptly ended when I sat on Caleb’s clarinet. Not a euphemism.

“All I’m saying,” Liv said, reaching up to unhook a mask, revealing a perfect circle of emptiness three shades lighter than the rest of the wall, “Is that you could get Dave if you wanted him.”

“Yeah, looking a mess, like I just climbed Mount Everest,” I said, gesturing to my outfit. “And besides, how do you even know he’ll be here?”