Opposite of Always(31)

Only this isn’t my house. And these aren’t my stairs.

Certainly not the ones I kamikazed down.

But I know this house. This horrible wallpaper. These warped stairs. I’ve been here, in this exact spot. Once. Months ago. Except this is impossible. I hit my head harder than I thought. I must be in a coma.

Or maybe I got it wrong. Am I . . . the opposite of alive?

I touch my chest, my legs. Everything’s solid.

I slap my face. It stings.

But it doesn’t make sense. Maybe this house is a processing station, a place to hang out while God or whoever reviews my paperwork?

But if this place is even remotely associated with heaven—and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful if it is—it’s wholly underwhelming. The music and lights, how many curse words I’ve heard in the last forty seconds—doesn’t scream heavenly abode. Not that I’ve given much thought to heaven. Or dying, for that matter.

In fact, the only mention of God comes from a kid shouting at the TV across the room.

“Oh my God, get a damn rebound. They’re getting destroyed on the glass,” he says to the taller kid standing beside him.

The announcer has zero chill. “This would be the UPSET OF THE YEAR!”

The taller kid shakes his head. “They’re not going to have any momentum heading into the tourney.”

Wait, I know this game. I’ve seen this game. State goes on a frantic late run and wins with an off-balance three at the buzzer. I remember because Franny talked about it for days afterward.

I scan the room again. I’ve seen these people.

Plunging V-Neck Sweater Guy.

Hello Kitty Tat Girl.

It’s exactly the same as four months ago.

And even before I look into the kitchen, I know who’s there. Leaning against the counter, surrounded by a swarm of people, my best friend.

Jillian.

We meet eyes and she waves. Without thinking, I raise my cup to her, tilt my head. She smiles and I feel it, a thunderbolt to the brain, like always. She motions for me to join her. But before I can get my feet under me, I hear the one voice I was sure I’d never hear again. I look back, and the owner of the voice is shaking her head like every second that she’s forced to wait for me to move out of her way is another second of night-ruining agony, and she says those magical I’ll never forget them first words: “Excuse me, man, but you’re sort of damming up the steps.”

I officially understand the meaning of stunning.

This is stunning. I am stunned.

Except, surprisingly, my gross motor skills are largely functioning. I rocket to my feet.

“What are you doing here?” I exclaim. My body already leaning in for the World’s All-Time Tightest and Most Meaningful Embrace.

Only she jerks away, makes an eww gross face. The same face I’ve seen her make at twelve-legged, eight-eyed bugs. “What the hell, man?”

I laugh. “What, do I smell like death?” I raise my arms for a quick pit check.

Kate looks beyond confused. Bewildered, even. But she sniffs anyway. “Maybe, but in general, I don’t make it a practice to go around hugging strange boys.”

“Strange boys? I’m hardly—have you been drinking the punch, because I’m pretty sure it’s spi—”

But then it hits me.

Hello Kitty girl.

The basketball game.

You’re damming up the steps.

She’s not pretending. She genuinely has no clue who I am.

We haven’t exchanged emails.

She hasn’t stood me up for prom.

My parents’ party hasn’t happened.

We haven’t even shared a bowl of cereal.

We are, in every way, history-less.

This is the beginning beginning.

We are, once more, perfect strangers.

Well, not exactly perfect. I still know her. I still almost-love her.

But she doesn’t know me. And judging by the face she’s giving me, she’s a million miles from love, even the almost kind.

We stand there, awkwardly, until she clears her throat and I realize that the only reason she’s still in front of me is because I’m impeding her descent.

I squish myself against the grimy, floral wallpaper. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Nice to meet you, Sorry.”

“No, my name isn’t sorry. . . .”

She laughs. “Is this your first human-to-human interaction? Or are you always this uneasy?”

And I want to touch her. If only to be sure she’s real. “Only when the other human is special.”

She smiles. “So, I must be really special then?”

“The specialest.”

She bats her eyes. “I bet you say that to all the other humans.” She takes another step down. “Well, I’ll see you around, Sorry.”

“Cool,” I say. I wave inexplicably hard at her, like I’m her mom watching her climb onto the school bus for the first time. “It was nice to meet you.” Again, I think to myself.

“Yeah, you, too.” She grins. “I think.”

“Hey, wait,” I call after her. But my voice is swallowed by the festivities.

And then she’s gone, absorbed by the mass of partygoers.

As for me, I’m stationary on the stairs, which, incidentally, don’t smell so pissy anymore.