June, Sophomore Summer (Then) Ret started talking to me one day like we knew each other. I was wearing my new Nirvana Tshirt, which I’d just ordered online. “I like your shirt,” she’d said. “But it’s a knock-off. See?” Her finger traced a line across my back, and I wondered if she could feel me shiver. “Their slogan should be here, that stuff about being corporate rock whores? It was half celebration, half call-out after the band signed with Geffen in ninety.” I swiveled back to face her, turning red. This girl was the real thing, and I was an imposter. But the look she gave me was curious, kind. She didn’t see a fake. Beneath the knock-off Tshirt, the red cheeks, the lost look in my eyes, somehow she saw down to the real Ellory. The girl hidden beneath layers of ninth-grade insecurity, itching to be set free. “I’ll lend you mine, if you want. One hundred percent Kurt approved.” She’d said it like it was no big deal, like we were already friends. And then we were. Her taste was impeccable— personally tailored to what she knew I would like, who she knew I longed to be. She made me playlists: The Ramones. Dead Kennedys. Blondie. She encouraged my metalworking (it was hard core) and steered me clear of black-and-white photography (so passé). Little by little, she drew me to the surface. Soon Ret’s world was my world, her friends my friends. It was like it had always been that way. Everything Ret touched felt electric, exciting, a little bit dangerous. Including me. Before Ret, I was basically invisible. With Ret, I was somebody.
Ten minutes later, I maneuvered into a sloppy but passable parallel parking job across the street from Dave’s and killed the engine. Ret was right, as she was about most things. The whole Pine
Brook sophomore class did seem to be there, along with some enterprising freshmen and a few upperclassmen too. Technically, we still had three more days of school next week, but they were half days, finals. Classes were over and no one was studying. Everyone was crushing cans of Narragansett and PBR into the Franklin’s impeccably manicured lawn and testing out the first cannonballs of the season in the pool around back. The thought of making small talk over a clove and a Solo cup made my chest feel tight. I longed for the safe monotony of Jenni’s, the familiar circle of our friends. Ret could talk to literally anyone, but parties made me feel naked, exposed. All I wanted was Ret and me. The rest was just noise, and this party was sure to serve up an especially obnoxious roar. “We could still go back.” My voice came out loud and choked with nerves. I flinched, waiting for Ret to pounce. “Ellory May. You’re not serious.” Ret had a way of telling, not asking. She also had a way of invoking my middle name to make a point, an infuriating practice she’d picked up from my mother. “Margaret.” Her name rolled off my tongue in three fully enunciated syllables. Two could play at the mother game. “We are not friends with these people.” Ret screwed up her lips and glared at me. “I hate it when you call me Margaret.” In the moment I’d been looking away, she had applied a fresh coat of gloss, something called Three Alarm Fire she’d picked up at CVS. She was not about to turn back. “We will mingle. We will expand our nascent adolescent horizons. Tonight may even be Dave Franklin’s lucky night. Now come on.” She needed me, but she needed all this too. To make an appearance, to be seen. So I gave in, like I always gave in to Ret, and unlatched my seat belt.
“One hour. Tops.” “All right, Ellory. Don’t have a good time or anything.” Ret threw open the car door and stepped into the street. She looped her arm through mine, and just like that, we were fused again, two girls against the world. We took off toward Dave’s lawn and our bracelets—matching black enamel bands I’d made in shop earlier that year— flashed in the sun. We were night and day. Her firecracker to my liquid gold. As we walked, I could feel the flutter of my hair down my back, yellow waves against my blue dress. Next to me, Ret was fierce and petite, all sharp black bob and Ultra Violet streaks in her bangs. We were Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. Serena and Blair. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one with Ret. For a moment, I felt powerful. I took a deep breath.
Inside, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. The Franklins lived in one of the new developments, the West Shore’s own little enclave of wealth. Stainless steel appliances gleamed from the kitchen. A universal sound system blasted Tupac or maybe Dre into each room. Everything was expensive looking and probably breakable. Ret pulled off her shades and placed the red plastic frames on top of her head. We walked into the kitchen, where a few guys from the lacrosse team lingered around a keg. Everyone else was out front or out back, enjoying the late afternoon heat. One of the boys waved a cup in our direction, but Ret turned up her nose. She liked her guys edgy, older, and tragically flawed. Or maybe just rich and flawed, in Dave Franklin’s case. “Let’s check out the scene at the pool.”
“I’ll meet you out there in five,” I promised. I didn’t want to leave Ret’s side, but the thought of going anywhere near that pool—and possibly ending up in it, because isn’t that what happened at this kind of party?—was making my stomach churn. “I need to find a bathroom.” “You’d better not bail on me, Ellory May.” I watched her fingers close around her bracelet. Our bracelet. She needed me as much as I needed her. Or maybe she just wanted me to think so. “Scout’s honor, okay? I just need a few.” “If I’m not at the pool, check Dave’s room.” Ret grinned. A minute later, she had disappeared through the sliding glass doors that led onto the deck. Ret would be fine. Ret could handle herself. It was me that I needed to worry about. I turned away from the kitchen to check out the rest of the downstairs. Maybe I could find an empty room to hide out in for a while. I folded my arms across my chest and tried to look small, which is not so easy when you’re all arms and legs and sharp angles everywhere. I took my time walking down the hall, deeper into the house. The Franklins had a series of family portraits hanging on the wall, Dave and his little brother front and center in every one, flashing the same winning grins. Dave’s hair got longer and his face got gaunter frame by frame, the latter either a product of puberty or too much coke. If you believed Ret. I’d probably never exchanged more than ten words with Dave at school. I could hear the slurred shout of his voice from the pool, something about Kylie Jenner and Jägerbombs. It was weird being alone in his house, but it would be much weirder to go say hi. I’d let Ret take care of that for both of us. At the end of the hall, I stepped through a wide arch into a big, sunny room. It was nice in there. Peaceful. So far, my classmates had managed to leave the drapes untorn and the carpet stain free. The boy sitting on the couch was so quiet that at first, I almost didn’t notice him.
If I hadn’t, I might have kept walking. If I hadn’t, I might have turned back around, toward Ret. Somewhere, there’s an alternate reality version of Ellory. She never fell in love, or she met a different guy. She’s surrounded by friends, happy, naive. I think about that girl sometimes, until the wanting gets too big, and I have to stop. In my reality, there’s only the aftermath, the nights when all I can hear are the scraps of his voice. I’m sorry, Ellory, over and over. I’m so sorry, like a Jeff Buckley song forever snared on the same damaged note. In my reality, I noticed him. Against the wall, in front of the big window, Matthias Cole was sitting alone on the couch. He looked tousled and tired—and seriously beautiful.