Page 48 of Fade into You
“Emmanuel, you’re shit at small talk, what the hell do you want?”
I follow his eyes to where Bird and Kayla sit and for once I’m happy he’s burning a hole in Kayla’s figure. Somehow I think I’d be more irked if that gaze was on Bird.
“So, I kinda heard that Kayla might still be into me and I thought she was with Dade. I know y’all are friends and all….”
“Really? You see me hanging out with him at school?”
“Come on, Jessa, everyone knows you two are together. I mean, nottogether, but close. Shit, I just guess…” He trails off, runs what looks like a sweaty hand through his over-gelled spiky hair, and looks back at me.
“Spit it out, Billie Joe.” He definitely stole his look from Green Day.
“Well, I wanted to know if Kayla was… interested?”
I pop a fry into my mouth to hide my smile—shit, this is actually working! “Yeah, she and Dade have something going on… but to be honest, I think she’s looking for something more.”
He smiles, then shifts his feet. Dude’s acting like he’s about to askmeout.
“Look, man, Dade’s grounded tonight for his dumbass coat. But I’ll get her and Bird out to Six Roots. You can meet up there and I’ll draw her friend off. Rest is up to you.”
He smiles a big, white, straight orthodontic smile and then gives me an awkward thumbs-up. “Sweet, thanks!”
I roll my eyes and start to put my headphones back on. “You owe me one, Emmanuel.”
He nods and walks away, and I think that having a semi-popular alt-rock boy owing me one is the kinda clout I’ve needed at this godforsaken school for the past three years.
Lunch ends and I find myself in journalism with Bird, both of us finally paying attention to our schoolwork, trying to figure out what the hell to do about our zine.
“I feel like poetry and music reviews aren’t really cohesive,” Bird says, chewing on the end of her gel pen. It’s adorable.
“Maybe if we have a common theme?” I suggest. “Like, something you write poems about, and I pair music selections to images or something. Or is that dumb as shit?”
She brightens up and I’m suddenly proud of my idea, the usual self-consciousness falling to the wayside. “I like that! Hey, what if our theme was something like liminal spaces?”
Liminal spaces. The new phrase she taught me. The places I feel most comfortable in. Where others are meant to walk through and I stay. Safe places, empty and not yet full. I like it.
She’s searching my face, her excitement over the concept draining as I think it over. I realize she must assume I hate it ’cause I’m making that scowly face I do when I think. “I love it, Bird, I think it’s a great idea.”
“Really?” The relief and smile she responds with warm my cheeks.
“Yeah,” I say, considering the concept. “I could go out and take some Polaroids of liminal spaces, then we photocopy them and cut them up all guerrilla-style.”
“I love it!” she says, placing a hand on my forearm. It feels like some kind of happy lightning running up my arm. But we’re in public and I can see her old friends looking our way, and the rest of the class could notice too. She doesn’t realize the kinda shit that could come her way if people thought we were… if her damned sister thought we were… I pull my arm away and try to ignore the flash of hurt in her eyes.
“So, um, Emmanuel wants to see about getting with Kayla,” I say, changing the topic. Her hand sits on the desktop, abandoned. I feel bad, but I’d feel worse if rumors turned the hate in her direction.
“Yeah?” she murmurs, pulling her hand back into her lap. “What’s the next move?”
“You get her to Six Roots after school, I meet up with y’all, and he happens to drop by our table…” I smile, she reflects it.
“Smooth,” she says. “I think Kayla wanted to do a sleepover too, so I’ll crash at her place and play up howhotandawesomeEmmanuel is.”
“Nice follow-through, Bird,” I say, and for a second it seems like she’s forgotten how I snatched my arm back.
Six Roots is packed, and the first person I run into is Natalie. She’s definitely having a good afternoon thanks to some kind of illicit substance. She plops onto the dilapidated couch I’ve claimed and drapes her arm over me. “Wasssssuuuup?” she slurs into my ear, and then lays her head on my shoulder. “Wow, you are soft.”
I surprise myself by edging back from her. “My flannel is soft. I am a hard, indecent bitch. Don’t you read the papers?”
She laughs a little and then digs in an old Care Bears lunch box she’s using as a purse. She pulls out some pills in a tiny plastic bag and waves them at me. “Wanna trip with me? This X is primo.”
