Nineteen
Odette, Poppy, and I stand outside a massive brick house nestled deep in a polished neighborhood with old oaks, carefully manicured lawns, and signs urging us to drive like our children live here.
“I can’t believe I was worried we’d have trouble finding it,” I say. The house in front of us is doing its very best to mimic a Spirit Halloween.
“Aren’t they Catholic?” Poppy asks as a zombie butler draped in tattered rags shrieks at us.
“Sure, but isn’t that the most dramatic of all the Christian flavors?” Odette straightens her black turtleneck and knocks on the door.
“Is it?” Poppy asks. She opens an umbrella with dangling luminescent strands glued to the edges. “Aren’t there some that speak in tongues?”
“A fair point,” I say, hiding my smile as Odette checks her hair in the reflection of the door. Strobe lights on the lawn wash dancing black cats over us and I sigh. “Is it too late to remind y’all that I don’t love Halloween, or costumes, or things randomly shrieking at me?”
The door swings open, and “Monster Mash” leaks out onto the stoop. Hazel steps out in ripped fishnets and a red leather romper, looking every inch a rock star.
“Probably a little late,” Poppy murmurs.
Hazel grins, the slash of black lipstick stretching wide, as she obliterates any space between her and Odette. “Let me guess—Steve Jobs?”
“I even exerted some effort. Would you believe I didn’t own a black turtleneck?” Odette’s fingers trace the silver spiked cuff on Hazel’s wrist.
Poppy meets my eyes, and one of her eyebrows notches upward.
“Are you going to go around firing people?” Hazel asks, her voice teasing.
“Absolutely, especially if they’re not in costume. Rules are rules.”
Then Hazel’s pulling her inside, and her smile is warm enough to include us too.
I relax a fraction, but I’m wearing synthetic material that might burst into flames if I get too close to any real heat source, and the lace eroding the skin on my neck is making it impossible to focus on any conversation.
Not that many people are going to be trying to talk to me, I remind myself. This is Hazel’s birthday—her friends, her turf—and there are very few familiar faces in her foyer.
I walk around a lumberjack and a sexy dogwalker, gently pulling one of Poppy’s tentacles after me. We lose Odette about three steps in as Hazel sets about introducing her to everyone she knows. We push past the crowd, and don’t stop until we collapse on the couch in a dark corner of the living room.
I wiggle in place, yanking on the collar of my dress again.
“Stop fussing,” Poppy says, her lip twitching. “The dress is very pretty.”
I roll my eyes, because it’s easy for her to say while she’s sitting there in black overalls, but the deep bloodred color of my dress and its Empire waist did make me feel like a Victorian heroine for a moment. One with the guts to step into a ballroom—or a South Georgia rec room—full of strangers and dare them not to take her seriously.
“Clothes have power,” Momma always used to say with a secret smile, when me and Blue would pile into her bedroom and watch her get ready to go out. She’d curl her hair and drape herself in satin and silks while we’d stick footie pajamas into heels too big for us. The polyester material wrapped around me is not quite the same thing, but the full skirt has me standing up a little bit straighter.
“And you are an extremely accurate jellyfish,” I tell Poppy, brushing the curling silver ribbons that spill over her shoulders. “These are very pretty tentacles.”
“Oral arms, Lo, be serious.”
The laugh is startled out of me, and the Velcro breakaway dress is momentarily forgotten. “Not all of us are jellyfish experts, especially when there are a million other things to read about.”
“Like mushrooms?”
“Correct.” I look around, squinting in the dim light. I can’t even imagine what costume Ash would pick.
“Or that really spicy scene in the fourth Lady Jessica book? The one with Lord Arlo?”
My saliva goes down the wrong pipe. “That beats the jellyfish.”
She twirls the umbrella, silver slivers of material catching in the ropes of orange twinkle lights taped across the ceiling and the mantel next to us.
“I don’t know, the high-stakes world of jellyfish is extremely sexy. I could tell you a little bit about them if you like?” She shrugs, as if she’s not dying to sit me down and give me the entire TED talk.
“Or you could volunteer an analysis on the historical accuracy and legality of what Arlo and Vanessa get up to in that chapter.”
“Don’t tempt me.” She closes the umbrella with a snap. “How are the little monsters doing? Is engagement continuing to grow on the band’s platforms?”
“Get this.” I lean closer as the first bars of “Li’l Red Riding Hood” play overhead. “They’ve booked three gigs so far. Paying ones, and I’m seeing more and more traffic on their website every day.”
“Ash must be thrilled he agreed to help you. He gets to see his band blow up, and you get…”
“Josh.” His name hits me like a brick, and I produce a shaky smile. “Sure.”
What do you want, Marlowe?
I see Ash coming a mile away, and it’s both relief and execution. He fills the doorway—looming over knights, Red Riding Hoods, and one jarringly sexy Care Bear. He’s just himself. Same black jeans, boots, and black long-sleeved shirt shoved up over elbows. His head swivels, as if he’s looking for someone, and I shiver at the smile that tugs on his lips when he finds me in the corner and slips through the crowd toward us.
“Great look, Poppy, you should stick with this,” he says.
I’m grateful for the moment to pull myself together. The effort it’s taking to pretend that everything is normal has drained me. Sure, we’re still texting back and forth as we finish outlining our paper. I even sent him a breakdown on Hexes and Happily-Ever-Afters, thrilled to be able to recommend a book to him for once. But I can’t shake the sense that space continues to creep in, inch by inch, and letter by letter.
“Jellyfish eat and poop out of the same orifice,” she replies with a smile.
I blink and she shrugs.
“High-stakes, right?”
“You’re right, I was warned,” I say, eyes skating over Ash, looking for a sign that he didn’t just roll out of bed, throw on some clothes, and accidentally attend a Halloween party. He lets me look my fill, his attention heavy as hands on my shoulders. “Very disappointing,” I say eventually. “Hazel’s going to have you bounced from the party for not wearing a costume.”
He rolls his eyes, all-suffering, before peeling back his lips to reveal pointed teeth.
“A vampire? You’re just barely cosplaying yourself.”
“As opposed to Lady Jessica in the flesh?” He steps back to better see the dress.
I stand up, moving a step closer to him, and stuff my hands in the pockets. “It’s red, and it swishes when I walk.”
“Good to know.” The tiny points of his fangs peek out from his lips.
Poppy leans in and Ash jerks back before an umbrella prong skewers him in the eyeball. “Jellyfish have no brain or heart.” Her voice is low and conspiratorial.
“Relatable.” Ash clears his throat, and nods toward the kitchen. “I feel obligated to warn you that if you wanted one of the cupcakes Hazel made, there’s only three left. She will ask you if you tried one.”
That doesn’t mean anything, he’s probably asking everyone.I try to be sensible, but I can’t help feeling special. “I’d better grab one then, wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”
“They have candy fingers sticking out of them,” he says, smiling down on me.
“I want one less so now, but am still willing to consider it,” I say as Poppy wrinkles her nose.
“I’ll grab them,” he says quickly. He points at Poppy, shuffling back toward the door, until she nods.
“Whether or not I’m going to be able to eat this is still up in the air,” she says.
I flop back down next to her. “That was really nice of him.” Too nice? Normal friend nice? I sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions. This wasn’t one of the caveats of the contract: fill the hole in your heart and your brain (that apparently jellyfish don’t have to worry about) with a new guy who will sing you songs over the phone and bring you cupcakes until you’re completely turned around.
My phone meows loudly, and Poppy’s head whips toward me, her eyes wide.
I scramble for my dress pocket, and Poppy leans in.
“What are you up to tonight?” she reads.
I slump back. Just like that? Josh has decided we’re casually texting back and forth again and get to check in like everything’s regular-degular? He’s the one who wants to know what I’m up to tonight?
“Are you going to respond?” Poppy pulls her legs up onto the couch and under her.
I shouldn’t, but he’s opened a door, and curiosity is one of my fatal flaws. I would always rather know, even if the knowing kills the cat, me, and burns everything else to the ground.
At a party, I type back, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Look at me, being social without you.
The dots are immediate. Where? With who?
You wouldn’t know it, I text back with massive satisfaction. With Odette and Poppy.
It feels a little deceitful. Ash invited me, and is off fighting for cupcakes on my behalf, even if I did come with the girls. I should have added his name on the end there, but I wanted Josh to focus on me. On why he’s texting me, instead of pivoting to tell me all the reasons I shouldn’t hang out with Ash.
The dots appear slower this time.
“Cool have fun,” I read to Poppy, and look up. “That’s it?”
She shrugs. “Lo, we’ve proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that none of us have any idea what Josh is thinking.”
Her grin returns as Ash fills the doorway again, cupcakes in hand.
He holds one out, and I take it. The gummy severed finger sticking out of toxic green icing has my stomach doing backflips.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding.” I lick some of the icing off my finger, and only manners drilled into me over seventeen years of life prevent me from spitting it out. “What is that?”
Ash grins, and my stomach flips again. Poppy carefully sets her cupcake down on the coffee table.
“I believe she said it was licorice icing on a mango chili cake.”
“Why?” I wail, willing the taste to evaporate out of my mouth.
“It’s a Halloween party, and she wanted the taste to be scary too.” His delight is completely disarming.
“You could have warned me.”
His smile grows, the teeth ridiculous. “Nah, you’re cute when you sputter.”
My stomach moves beyond flips. It does a perfect dismount off the vault, and a 10/10 on its floor routine. It’s on its way to the Olympics, and I’m frozen until my phone meows again.
“What does he want now?” Poppy asks, rolling her eyes.
“Who?” Ash frowns at my phone.
I clear my throat, which is sticky from licorice and Ash casually throwing the word “cute” at me like a grenade. “Just Josh,” I say, reaching for nonchalant and failing miserably.
His eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth snaps shut. The points of his bulky teeth poke out a little. “I didn’t realize you were texting again,” he says eventually. “Congratulations.”
The words fall flatly between us. “It’s not very consistent,” I say weakly. I pull open the chat: See you at school. It’s a message that tells me nothing except that this conversation is over.
Ash takes a step back. “You’ll probably be back together in no time. Congratulations.”
Every congratulations is like a punch in the stomach. I shake my head, jumping to my feet. “No, it’s not like that—”
“And then this will all be over, huh?” He gestures between us.
“Say cheese!” Hazel runs up, a Polaroid camera in her hands. Odette’s face is pink, and her dimples and shining eyes hit me like another punch to the gut.
Hazel leans forward, grasping my shoulder, and the space between me and Ash disappears as we’re squished together.
“Close your mouth, Lo,” Odette says, laughing. “And Ash, put your arm around her. It’s a party, you’re supposed to look like you’re having fun.”
I should protest. I should say, No, he doesn’t need to do that, just take the picture.
But I don’t.
What do you want, Marlowe?
That question at the root of everything beats me in the head again.
And then his arm settles over me, like a weighted blanket draped across my shoulders. Warm, steady, and perfectly Ash.
“Take the picture.” The words rumble in his chest, and I can’t tell what my face is doing.
Hazel’s camera shoots up and she snaps. She pulls the picture out and hands it to Ash.
“Hold on to this for me, will you?” Her smile hints at insider secrets.
He slips it into his pocket, and the weight of his arm disappears. I feel impossibly light, like I could float up to the rafters.
“I’m going to go make sure the equipment is all set up for later,” Ash says, making space between us. I feel him slipping away, in every sense, and I hate it.
“I checked it earlier,” Hazel says, waving him off.
He acts like he doesn’t hear her. “I’ll see you all later,” he says, heading back toward the kitchen.
Hazel frowns at me, like this is somehow my fault, before following him.
“Try to have fun, Lo,” Odette says, stepping forward and giving my braid a tug. She waits for my small nod before going after Hazel.
Poppy moves in front of me, her eyes vaguely pitying. “Jellyfish are adapting well to climate change.”
“Excellent,” I manage.
She opens her umbrella and drags me away from the dark corner where I had planned to grow roots the rest of the night, surrounded by the dulcet tones of howling werewolves spilling out of a sound system that works a little too well. We find some Rice Krispies treats with witch hat sprinkles and no surprising flavors. We also find Odette clinging to Hazel by the patio doors, stretched up on her tiptoes and kissing her with the intensity of some of the older romance novels that Ash declares “potentially iffy.”
Not that it’s a surprise they’re kissing; I’ve seen the evidence across Odette’s neck and in a bra that was not her size in her backseat. The surprise is in the whites of her knuckles as they clasp Hazel to her. The oblivion of the audience they have, from the girl who notices everything.
I snap my eyes to the ceiling. “Well, we might not need to worry about giving Odette a ride home.” Poppy continues to stare until I elbow her in the kidney. “I don’t think we should be watching this.”
“She’s really crazy about her, huh?”
I spin her back toward the snacks. “Let’s pretend we don’t know until she does.”
We crowd back into the kitchen, and Poppy gives up on her umbrella, snapping it closed with a billow of tinsel and ribbons. We lean against quartz counters, neither one of us truly skilled in the art of small talk, and smile blandly at strangers. Poppy drops a few more jellyfish fun facts on a group of Minions, and two Greek goddesses who get a little too close.
I kill some time with a trip to a bathroom that has not held up well against a handful of teenagers, and when I get back to Poppy, her shoulders are set in determination.
“Hey, my mom’s outside, I’m going home.”
“What? Poppy, I drove, we could have just left if you wanted to go.”
“You didn’t say you wanted to go, how was I supposed to know?” She waves her hand. “I didn’t want to ruin your time, but I’ve hit my limit and I’ve run out of jellyfish facts.”
“Poppy!” I look around for Odette. “If I knew you were uncomfortable, of course we would have left.”
She shakes out her arms, like she’s trying to expel an excess of energy, or a demon. “My overstimulation shouldn’t impact your night. Plus, I thought you liked parties. You used to go to them all the time.”
Her comment completely deflates me. I can’t explain that I only liked them when they were easy, and there was someone holding my hand through it.
I smile instead, wanting to smooth out the worry lines that have prickled across her forehead. “You’re right! Tell your mom I said hi, and I’ll see you later.”
Her forehead smooths, and she grabs her umbrella full of arms. “Plus, it might be a good time to fix whatever weirdness is going on with you and Ash.”
“He’s always weird, Poppy.”
“You know what I mean. Even I felt awkward back there.”
My face flames hot, and I’m just a tower of different shades of red. Hair, face, dress, not an inch of me cool and collected. “I don’t know—”
“I think you should talk.” Her tone allows no room for disagreement. “Just think how all these books would wrap up one hundred pages sooner if these people just talked.”
“I guess that’s true,” I say, dazed.
She just smiles as if she’s finally enjoying herself and muscles her way to the front door.
I grip the cool stone of the countertop, and debate making a break for it. Giving Poppy a five-minute head start, ripping this dress off on the front lawn, and heading home to crawl under my comforter. I go so far as to text Odette we’re heading out, have so much funnnnn. I add an extra n until I’ve reached what I assume is a very sexy number of n’s, and that’s that.
But.
I release my grip on the counter.
But.
What if he does want to talk? What if the new weirdness is completely my fault, and I ruined everything, ruined us, by insisting on that kiss? A kiss he thinks I described to another boy. Maybe I can just say, Hey, what’s going on? I don’t understand and don’t like this. Maybe I can just stop pretending that I’m happy and easygoing and on the same page as everybody else? Wouldn’t it be worth it if I could fix something on my own this time?
I pull on the front of the dress, and the Velcro back splits open. I yank it off and shove it into the overflowing trash can under the sink. My black bike shorts and loose tank top settle against my skin in a way that doesn’t yell hey you, you have clothing on until I can’t think about anything else. All the sensors that were previously screaming WARNING: WEIRD MATERIAL over and over again fade away. Now it’s just me and a mission. A Lady Jessica–level mission. I may not be wearing a gown, but I have a tank top that says Y’ALL NEED SCIENCE, and I’m going to march through a ball (party) and demand something from someone.
I stalk through the living room, and the sunroom, before opening the door to a room with a washer, a dryer, and a half-dressed pirate tangled up with an astronaut.
“Mateo? What the hell!”
“Sorry, Lo,” he says, not sorry at all. “Mind locking that on your way out?”
“Laundry rooms do not typically need locking doors,” I say, eyes on the ceiling.
“That’s a pity.”
I backtrack, continuing my search into the backyard, until I finally find him. It shouldn’t have been hard. Even in his black not-costume, his outline stands out against the velvet night. He’s sitting alone by the pool, legs dangling off the diving board, and I make a beeline for him, trying to outrun my common sense.
I see the AirPods in his ears and realize bleating his name from dry land isn’t getting me anywhere. I step onto the board, and Ash dips a little more dramatically than I expected.
“Shit!” He lies flat, his hand grabbing behind him for extra purchase, and I drop to my knees as we continue to sway. “What the hell, Marlowe?”
“Sorry, sorry!” I babble, the fiberglass biting through my skin.
He scoots up to the middle of the board and eyes me warily. “Were you trying to dunk me?”
“No!” I say, all high ground lost. “You couldn’t hear me, and I really overestimated how sturdy this was.”
He spreads his arms out. “Well, I’m here, still miraculously dry. What can I help you with?”
I shift onto my butt, goose bumps spreading across my arms and legs. I settle in place, mind spinning. My pathological people pleasing wants to fix whatever is happening between us. I want to make him laugh with some stupid mushroom joke. I want to tell him that I’m being haunted (by my brain, or heart, and sometimes Meemaw’s ghost) by the question of what it is that I want, but I’m paralyzed by the fear of taking the wrong step. Most of all, I want to make him promise we’ll always be friends.
“Are you avoiding me?” I mean to sound casual, but I fail miserably. “I thought tonight was for fieldwork, but I’ve barely seen you since the cupcakes.”
He sighs, and the sound settles around us until everything is as still as the water below. “I know a lot of people here, I had to make some rounds.”
“Says the vampire alone on the diving board.”
“Vampires are solitary creatures.”
“Ash, be serious.”
He ignores my question. “And you ditched your ball gown for another weather-inappropriate outfit.” He moves to take off his jacket, but I hold my hand up. I don’t want it. I don’t want to ask him why he’s not spending time with me, and then have him explain it while I’m wearing his clothes.
He doesn’t say more, so I poke him back in the right direction. “You made your rounds with all the people you needed to check in with?”
He nods. “Yeah, we’re going to play a few songs later, and I needed to check the setup. Mateo was—”
“—a bit busy?”
“I guess, I haven’t been able to find him. I think he’s a pirate.”
I flush. “Yeah, I ran into him.”
“Are you having fun?” he asks finally. The silence settles between us again.
“No.” I think of Poppy, and the guilt slides between my ribs. “Wait. Yes. I learned a staggering amount about jellyfish, but I don’t really do well at parties like this.”
He’s silent for a moment, and I consider repeating myself, but he speaks first.
“I’m avoiding you.”
I flinch, but his tone is gentle, and it hurts a little less than I expect. A little less now that it’s out in the open.
“Why?” I don’t really want to know, because if he tells me I’m just not built for friendship I will toss myself into this saltwater pool and haunt it for the rest of time.
“You and Josh are talking again, and I figured you didn’t need my help anymore.” He laughs, but the sound is rough along the edges. “You must have really nailed the body letter.”
The memory of our kiss hangs between us for a moment.
“I heard you went to the store, and Sloane helped you pick some books out, so you don’t need me for that either.”
“And the fieldwork?” I ask, the words thick in my throat. “We were supposed to hang out tonight, and you were going to walk me through some romantic party montages. We haven’t even begun to discuss A Wicked Blade and—”
“Why are you pushing this, Marlowe? It was always going to be a temporary thing, right?” He sounds as tired as I feel.
I shift, weighing the likelihood of pitching into the pool while trying to crawl off this diving board. “I thought we were friends,” I say, when I can’t take the silence anymore.
“Sure, friends.” The word drops between us like an anchor.
I wiggle again and the board dips us low enough that Ash has to raise up his legs.
“At least until that dipshit comes crawling back and decides me being your friend isn’t going to work for him,” he murmurs.
I don’t even blink at the derogatory term anymore. Instead, I jump headfirst into the conversation we’ve been dancing around for weeks.
“I don’t care! Do you think I have so many friends that I won’t notice if one disappears?” Does he think I would leave him behind without a second glance? That I could do that knowing what I know about his parents? That I would do that to anyone after Josh did that to me?
“And if he insists?”
I shake my head. “I don’t even know why we’re discussing this. It was just a couple of text messages.”
“But you do still want to get back together with him?”
I open my mouth, but the words wedge at the back of my throat. I can’t pull them out or arrange them in any way that will slip off my tongue. I’m frozen. Terrified that my plan to win Josh back was a mistake, or that calling it off would be an even bigger one.
Do you still want to get back together with him?
I allow myself a teaspoon of honesty. A tiny whisper from the deepest wrinkles of my brain admits maybe not.
I stuff this thought inside a box and seal it up tight until I can organize it all in a way that makes sense. Not here, under moonlight, with this boy.
I smile tightly and scoot in closer. “What would you say if I told you that the real ship in It Happened One Evening is Felicity and Brandon?”
He stills, eyes narrowing as I sidestep around his question, but he doesn’t push it. The crushing vise around my heart loosens a smidge.
I swing my legs, all false bravado. “Sure, Roberto is hot and confident, and brings her orchids, but Brandon? Brandon understands her in a way nobody does.”
He shifts to face me, and I fall against him. “He’s not even on the table as a love interest! He’s just a random shop owner, and I’m pretty sure he only loves his cat.”
I grin, my goose bumps exploding (proliferating?) despite the heat coming off him. Why is it so satisfying to needle him?
“You’re joking,” he says, narrowing his eyes at what he sees on my face.
“I never joke about cat men. I trust them implicitly,” I say.
He turns his head, but I see the quirk of his lips that he’s trying to hide. I poke him in the side because I deserve to see the fruits of my labors, and when he looks at me it’s like the space between us has evaporated. The air is now our air. His thigh is pressed so tightly against mine, it’s practically my thigh. All the normal systems of stops and checks are no longer in place, and I belatedly realize that it’s becoming harder to not lean a fraction forward and press my lips against his.
I wonder if his lip ring is still cold.
What do you want, Marlowe?
I jerk back, the movement causing Ash to swear again as the board dips beneath us. I turn back on my knees and crawl to the lawn, each movement like knives against my skin. When I get up, he’s clutching the board with both hands.
“A little warning would be nice.”
“Say we’re still going to be friends.” The words burst out of me, pressure-cooked and determined for release.
He doesn’t respond, crawling to the middle of the board before pulling himself to his feet.
“Is it so awful to agree to?” I didn’t think it was that dire.
He sighs and steps down onto the lawn in front of me. “It isn’t.” I consider my previous plan of throwing myself in the pool, but his voice dips lower. “It isn’t. We’re friends.”
“Like before?” I’m suspicious, but I can’t tell if he’s lying.
“Like before.”
I hold up my pinkie finger. “Promise me.”
I want to see him agree to it, but I also want him to see that I’m serious.
He lifts his pinkie, but the challenge on his face tells me he doesn’t really believe me.
I squeeze until my knuckle blanches, and it’s almost painful, but this moment is carved into my brain.
“Deal,” he says, and I take a step back.
I take another step back. The effects of being out in the cold the past few minutes have my body feeling like a Mentos somebody dropped in a bottle of soda, and I’m minutes from rocketing into the stratosphere.
“Are you going to accept my jacket now?” His voice is dry, and we’re back on solid ground—where he’s exasperated at me but trying to pretend he’s not amused.
“No,” I say, but I smile so he knows I appreciate the offer. “I’m solving my own problems these days.”