They Wish They Were Us(72)

“Isn’t that kind of risky?” Nikki said softly in my ear.

I swallowed hard and nodded. But everything was risky at that point. A ball of terror had developed in my stomach after the sauna incident and it never really went away. There was always something else coming.

Shaila tilted her head toward the rafters. “His funeral,” she said. I assumed she was pissed at him for being pissed at her. Shaila then called out to Marla.

“Come on. Let’s have some fun.” Shaila tossed her hair behind her shoulder and walked ahead to the dance floor. None of us protested.

Shaila extended her hands and we all joined together, forming a circle in the middle of the gym. Her brow softened and she threw back her head, shaking her honey waves down her back. As the song peaked, she pulled us to her and hugged us hard.

“Look around. Look at everyone else,” Shaila whispered into the huddle. “They wish they were us.”

Marla giggled and Nikki beamed. I loved them all in that moment. I loved that Marla didn’t need so much. I loved that Nikki just wanted to have as much fun as humanly possible. I loved that Shaila was quick to forgive, and that she did so with her whole heart. I loved that she kept things so wildly interesting, that she kept us entertained, on guard. I loved that there were eyes burning holes into our backs. I loved that we were special. We were watched. We shouted out the chorus and Shaila twirled us around and around, one by one, like we were little ballerinas in a music box. And when I faced outward, toward the rest of our peers, I repeated Shaila’s words in my head. They wish they were us.

Until my gaze drifted to the corner of the room, where Graham shifted his balance from one foot to the other. The bottle was gone from his grasp. My chest tightened.

Mrs. Deckler then appeared at his side and grabbed him by the elbow. My jaw fell open as she whisked him away, down the hall.

I stopped dancing and turned to Shaila. “Did you see that? I think Graham just got kicked out.”

Shaila’s eyes followed mine to where Graham had just stood. “Jesus.”

“What happened?” Nikki said, breathless.

“Graham got caught,” Shaila said with little emotion. Her voice warbled for only a second.

Nikki’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’ll get suspended?”

Shaila rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dumb. He’s a Calloway. He’ll be fine.”

Nikki’s shoulders collapsed and she just nodded her head before turning back to find Marla near the bowls of chips.

“Let’s not let him ruin the night for us,” Shaila said. She looked worried, maybe even a little sad. “Come on.” We kept dancing until the overhead lights turned on, but it wasn’t the same. The electric joy had faded and soon we were in Mrs. Arnold’s Lexus heading back to Shaila’s for a sleepover. Shaila threw open her bedroom door. “I call the outside of the bed,” she said, tossing the covers back on her king-size mattress. She usually stuck to the wall, sandwiched between me and the cold plaster.

“But I want my side,” I whined.

“Nuh-uh. Mine for tonight. Just in case I need to get some water,” Shaila reasoned. Hours later, I turned over onto my stomach and awoke to a sliver of light shining from the bathroom, just off the side of her room. I sat up and saw Shaila’s hair through the slit. Her back was to me and she wore a ratty old T-shirt from the Beach Club. She was talking quietly, in muffled tones.

“No,” she said, exasperated. “I can’t just leave. Jill’s here. She’s sleeping.” She sighed and went quiet for a few seconds, listening to whoever was speaking on the other end. Graham, I figured.

“I want to see you, too, it’s just . . .”

Another quick silence.

“Okay.” Her voice softened. “You’re coming here?” She paused. “Fine. Meet me at the end of the driveway.”

She kept the phone to her face and turned to the mirror. I saw her then, pale and without makeup. She looked so young, like the Shaila I first met in sixth grade. She stared intently at her reflection, puckering her lips and smoothing her brow. “I love you, too,” she whispered into the phone.

I pretended to be asleep as Shaila tiptoed around the room, gathering a sweatshirt, her wallet, and a pair of flip-flops. I watched as she crept out of the room. I tried desperately to trace her faint footsteps as she made her way to the front door. I imagined her bounding down the driveway, away from me and toward something so much better, so much more alive.

At the time, I thought Graham had snuck over to make amends for getting kicked out of the dance, for being mad at her. They returned to normal when he got back to school after a two-day suspension. I thought, maybe this is just how relationships work. You fight in public, make up in private, and pretend like nothing ever happened.

But now it’s so painfully obvious: she was meeting someone else, someone she was hiding from us all along. Someone . . . like Beaumont. Maybe actually Beaumont.

I shiver thinking about his callused fingers and his unshaven face—all of it too close to Shaila.

But now that the truth could finally be coming out, I actually want to go to school for the first time in months. I want to catch whispers, hear the chatter of what people think could be true.

I take my time getting ready. I lather moisturizer on my face, take a tweezer to the middle of my brow, and make my bed with tight hospital corners. I tuck my thick white button-down into my plaid skirt and smooth it over my thighs.