They Wish They Were Us(9)

“Nope. No way,” she said back in seventh grade when I begged her to join me on the Ferris wheel at the annual Oyster Fest. It was always set up right at the mouth of Ocean Cliff, so when you reached the top you felt like you were falling into the abyss. “You know I don’t do heights.” She grimaced as her eyes scaled the metal monstrosity.

Otherwise, Shaila could make everything seem glamorous, mysterious, an adventure. Like if you stuck with her, you’d never be bored again.

She even looked special. Her eyes were a grassy shade of green that grew brighter when she was excited. Shaila was the first one in our class to wear a bra. Mrs. Arnold even bought her the ones with extra padding that pushed everything up and out. Her body always looked like it was morphing into itself at conflicting speeds. I was still terrified of myself and the power I did or didn’t have. But I must have had something Adam liked, something that kept him hanging around, even if he did have a girlfriend. My ability to listen, maybe. My willingness to say yes. For forever, I’d wanted to have something Shaila didn’t. Now I had access to Adam. It was a weird imbalance, one I could milk.

“Maybe I can come over one time,” she said quietly. “When he’s at the house?”

“Would that be weird with Rachel?” I said, trying not to let my annoyance show.

Shaila shrugged. “Nah. Rachel’s like my big sister. She’d be psyched. Plus, it could help us get into the Players. Rachel said she couldn’t guarantee anything.”

She knew I couldn’t fight her on that one but I made her promise not to tell Nikki. Three would feel like an ambush, I argued. We didn’t want to seem like we were fishing for invitations to parties. She agreed.

That Friday, when Shaila came home with me after school, I was anxious. Concerned he would like her more than he liked me. Worried there was only room for one of us in his freshman-girls-who-I’m-friends-with crew. I spent the nights he was here on stilts, trying not to fall over, to misstep. Adding another whole person to the event felt like narrowing the platform.

The doorbell rang and Shaila bolted for the stairs. I was a few steps behind her but she opened the door, pushing her body into the frame, between Adam and me.

“Shaila,” he said. A surprised smirk took over his face.

“I’m spending the night,” she said.

“Fun.” His eyebrows shot up at me, amused. “Graham out of town, too?” he asked.

She nodded. “One last weekend out east.”

“Rachel was pissed,” Adam said.

“Graham, too.” Shaila wrinkled her nose.

I tried to follow their chatter but it sounded like a different language. One spoken by people intimately in the know about a certain family’s quirks, the things they keep behind closed doors. But as my unease came to a boil, Adam moved past Shaila and brought me in for a bear hug, resting his head on top of mine.

“Hey, Newman,” he murmured into my hair. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his heat. That was the first night I knew for sure that Adam and I were friends. And Shaila saw it firsthand.

For the next hour, Shaila and I watched YouTube until Adam emerged from the kitchen and Jared rushed down to the basement to play video games.

“Deck?” Adam asked us. He didn’t wait for a response and instead headed for the door. By then he knew which wooden board was creaky, where to step to avoid the sticky patch of sap. He took his seat, the one under the apple tree that had never produced a single piece of fruit, and fumbled in his pocket.

Shaila and I sat on either side of him. She nibbled her fingers and tore her skin with her teeth.

“I’ve got a surprise,” Adam said, setting his hands on the table.

“Bourbon?” I said, trying to find the line between knowledgeable and desperate, hoping not to step over it.

He shook his head. “Better.” Opening his hands like a magician, he revealed something small and oblong, rolled up like a messy straw wrapper and pinched at one end.

Shaila giggled. “Yes!”

“You blaze before?” he asked her. I shot her a look. It was a line we hadn’t yet crossed.

“Once with Kara,” she said. “She had dank shit from the city.” Dank shit. Two words I’d never heard come out of Shaila’s mouth, especially not when referring to her chic family friend who also summered in the Hamptons.

Adam nodded and raised his eyebrows at her, impressed. “Et tu, Jill?” he asked, jabbing the little cigarette my way. I shook my head. “Well, then. Big day.” He gave my knee a squeeze and my stomach clenched. The joint dangled from his mouth, so pink and full, and he flicked on a lighter, inhaling deeply.

“Ah,” he breathed out. The air smelled of musk and dirt and faintly like Mom’s pottery studio, and I wondered if my parents had done the same back there, if I was the one who was slow, always catching up. I took the nub from Adam and followed his lead, inhaling until I thought my brain would combust. My lungs expanded and I wondered how long I was supposed to hold this odd air inside me. Adam nodded, and I let it go, releasing smoke. My limbs were heavy and I felt good. Another task completed. Another line crossed.

We passed the joint around and around, and when that one was finished, Adam revealed its twin. Soon, we polished that one off, too. We were starving and silly. Adam made nachos and we danced around the kitchen to Motown music. Shaila and I sandwiched Adam between us, holding hands as he jumped up and down. We collapsed onto the couch and Adam cackled furiously when I insisted we watch a clip of pandas rolling down a hill.