All Adults Here(91)

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Porter stood next to Nicky in front of Shear Beauty. Elliot and Wendy were on her other side, trying to keep the twins from disappearing into the crowd. Astrid and Birdie were inside, and Juliette was sneaking a cigarette around the corner. Being French was like being a teenager forever, gorgeous and immortal.

“Her float is first,” Porter said, tugging on Nicky’s sleeve. She regretted saying it right away—it must have been hard for Nicky and Juliette to come to town and see that she and her mother knew so much more about Cece’s life, that they knew her teachers and her friends. Her friend. They knew something, at least.

“I’m nervous,” Nicky said. “I don’t know why, but I’m nervous.”

Juliette came back and reached her hand across Porter’s lap like a seatbelt, and Nicky took it. Porter tried to make herself invisible, but it was hard, especially because the belly that Nicky’s and Juliette’s hands were clasped around was full and hard, a person-filled balloon. The baby kicked, as if on cue, and both Nicky and Juliette turned toward their hands, as if their touch had caused a tiny earthquake.

“Was that her?” Nicky asked.

Juliette nodded, because mothers know. Juliette held on to Nicky’s hand with her left hand, but shifted her body so that she could put her right hand flat against Porter’s belly. The baby pressed out, as if in response. “Bonjour,” Juliette said, her voice soft. Porter watched as Juliette looked up at Nicky. She watched them remember Juliette’s belly, with Cecelia inside, a miraculous, invisible fish. People touched her belly all the time—acquaintances at the grocery store, Dr. McConnell, people she barely knew, her mother, Jeremy—but everyone reacted like meeting a cute puppy on the sidewalk: charmed, sure, but not moved to tears. Everyone who touched her had been closer to other pregnancies before, ones that mattered more to them, and were just using Porter’s body as a time machine into their own memories. But Nicky and Juliette cared—this baby mattered to them, which meant that she mattered to them. She was already someone’s mother, Porter. It had happened. The baby was there, and growing. She was listening. She was paying attention.

There was applause down the block—the parade had started. Aidan and Zachary cheered, and Elliot and Wendy each hoisted one child into the air. Nicky spun around to knock on the window at Shear Beauty to let his mother know. Porter and Juliette were craning their necks to see the floats begin their slow journey. It was like watching manatees race.



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Cecelia and Robin left the bathroom holding hands. Their dresses were long, and they were wearing matching beaded sweaters, but still, the air was chilly and they were nervous. Cecelia thought she heard kids laughing, but the whole town was at the parade, and everyone was in a good mood—who was to say what anyone was laughing at. They forged through the crowd back to their float, where Ms. Skolnick was looking back and forth from her phone to the crowd, clearly searching for them.

“Oh thank god, you guys, come on! We’re up first. The queens are restless!” She pointed toward the shivering threesome atop the tiny roundabout. Megan was doing an interpretive dance that looked remarkably like Regina George’s Santa Claus dance in Mean Girls, and Cecelia couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be mocking Sidney and her posse or titillating James, but it seemed to be doing both. Sidney and Liesel scowled down at her while Bailey posed for photographs, pictures that the other two would no doubt veto before she posted them, rendering them all but useless. Then Ms. Skolnick noticed that they’d changed clothes. “Oh. Hi. You look fantastic, August. You, too, Cecelia. But August. Truly, gorgeous.”

“You can call me Robin. Call me Robin. Could you call me Robin?” She curtsied.

“Robin, yes, I sure can,” Ms. Skolnick said. “You know what?” The driver of the truck honked. It was their turn. The Parade Crew had gathered around, rubbing their hands together, waiting for instructions. The only person who didn’t look cold was the kid with the beard and the shorts, who never looked cold, not even in February. “How would you feel about riding up top, Robin?”

It would mean waving. It would mean smiling. It would mean standing close to Sidney and Liesel and Bailey, and taking photos. It would mean a picture in the yearbook, with all their names printed underneath. Robin Sullivan, eighth grade. It would mean an introduction, a debut, a thousand corrections, confusion, applause. Robin turned to Cecelia.

“You can do it,” said Cecelia. “I’m right here, we’re all right here. I’ll be your bodyguard. Not that you need one.”

“Okay, yes,” Robin said.

“Wonderful,” Ms. Skolnick said. “Sidney, make room!” The three girls already aboard the float scuttled backward. It wasn’t a lot of room, especially because the gazebo took up the whole center of the float, and so they had to circle the small white structure with their bodies, which made it harder to see, but nobody cared. Robin stepped up onto the float and smiled.

“Wow,” Bailey said. “You look, like, amazing.”

“Yeah,” Liesel said. She looked Robin up and down. “I love that dress.”

“Thanks,” Robin said. “I like yours too.” Her eyes flickered down to Cecelia’s, to let her know that she was just being kind, because it was a kind moment, that Cecelia’s vigilance was appreciated but unnecessary. That Cecelia could stand down, at least for now. Cecelia understood: They were Sidney’s henchmen, but really they were just stupid magpies, going toward whatever was most glittery. They didn’t have any real allegiance to Sidney; they were probably terrified of her. It was just that Sidney was the most beautiful girl in their class, and glamour had power. Bailey and Liesel just wanted a model to copy, to make themselves feel better about the miasma of junior high. And Robin was suddenly the most glamorous person in sight. It didn’t mean there wouldn’t be mean things said, or bumps along the way, but Cecelia saw that Robin herself was what would make it easy for girls like Liesel and Bailey, who could look at her and see themselves—pretty. Even the shallow could be accepting. It was oddly comforting.