Page 2 of Backslide
It takes her a moment to realize she’s being talked to. Yanked on. By someone else.
“What?” she asks, distracted, loath to tear her eyes away.
“Let’s go get a drink!” Sabrina is demanding. And Nellie shifts her gaze back to her friends, suddenly conscious that she has been staring. At a full stranger.
Still, she misses the lovely view.
But Sabrina is bopping in front of her, ready for takeoff. Tugging on Nellie’s arm.
Cara—dark skin aglow in the strobes above her more demure striped tank top and baggy jeans—nods likelet’s go. She is the shy one. She is also the wild one. But she needs a minute—and probably a drink—to get her sea legs.
That tall blond boy from Sabrina’s school comes up behind her now, apparently all smiles once his friends aren’t looking. Mocks her dance moves with a hand at her waist, and she leans back into him, swats him and laughs.
He has light eyes and light lashes. He is a clown. And he is trouble. Anyone who bothers to look can see that.
Nellie touches Sabrina’s arm to get her attention.
“Who’s that?” she asks, gesturing with her chin toward the other boy, the suddenly deeply important one, still sitting on the platform. She’s surprised at herself for asking out loud. But shemustknow.
Sabrina shrugs, looks up at her blond friend, points at the mystery man and then at Nellie. “What’s his name again? My friend wants to know.”
Sabrina mostly ignores the social scene at her school, opting to hang with Cara and Nellie instead. It tracks that she doesn’t recall.
The tall boy can’t hear her question above the music. Or at least he acts that way, gesturing toward his ear in confusion as he takes the opportunity to step closer to Nellie. He lays a large hand on her shoulder and leans in. “What did you want to know?”
She stands on her tiptoes to reach his ear. “Who isthat?” she asks. “In the white T-shirt. Sitting on the stage.”
“Oh, that?” He shrugs, his breath—almost his lips—brushing her ear. On another night his proximity might have affected Nellie, raised her curiosity and even interest, but she is single-minded in her focus now. “That’s just Noah,” he says. “I told him not to wear that wack hat.”
“Totally,” Nellie says. She must save face.
Noah.
Mercifully, the tall boy doesn’t ask why she wants to know. Maybe girls are always asking about Noah. She wouldn’t be surprised. Instead, he grabs her hand and pulls her in the other direction toward the bar. And, since she can’t just stand there staring all night, she surrenders to the velocity. But, as they begin to weave through the room of partygoers, she allows herself a single glance back.
He is still there. That boy.Noah.
And that’s when he looks up and, from a distance, their eyes lock. His mouth drops open. He tilts his head, like she’s a question. Like maybe he knows her. But does he?
Their chests rise and fall together, pulses quickening, pupils swelling. And then, just as quickly as they each came into view, they are blocked by a mass of other teens. She thinks maybe she sees him crane his head, trying to look beyond the crowd. But no luck.
For the rest of the night, as they each navigate the room, dancing and shout-talking and blurring edges, they glance around periodically for a glimpse of each other. But Noah and Nellie don’t see each other at the party again.
Tonight, they never speak. But still the world teeters—and then tilts on its axis.
1NELLIETODAY
I text Cara, checking my corners.
Nellie
Even the airport is nice. Too nice.
And it’s true. Except for the part where I pretend to resent the loveliness.
Though I have always blamed Northern California for stealing my best friend away from me, in this moment, my grudge is wavering.
I have to admit, this is a delightful change. I have traded unspeakably repulsive subway cars—full of New Yorkers beaten into near submission by winter and left with resting frowns—for manicured cheer. Clean lines, clean floors!
