Loud Awake and Lost

“You think?” Rachel was coughing, waving at the air. “I say it’s too much!”

“At least we got in.” There’d been a huge line outside. Our zombie costumes, combined with the fact that we hadn’t arrived with guys, had definitely helped us past the ropes.

“Listen, Embie, if you can’t find those other people, I don’t want to be here forever.” Rachel pulled a face. “It’s all fun and games till my eardrums burst like crystal.” But she didn’t stop me when I moved in deeper.

“We’ll leave as soon as we find out it sucks,” I promised. The thumping bass line ricocheted off the walls through the marrow of my body. The dance floor was dark and writhing. The combination of mood and music excited me—even if I didn’t dance, I wanted to stay.

“Ooh, Lafayette alum sighting.” Rachel pointed. “I spy with my little eye Lissa Mandrup. Of course. This party was invented for Lissa Mandrup.”

I glanced over. Lissa had seen me first. Eyes shining, she threw out her arms wide, beckoning me to come join her.

Rachel tensed. “I’m not sure I want to dance right now. Do you?”

“Kind of I do, kind of I don’t know.”

“I should have had a nice drink at Lucia’s when I had the chance.” Rachel was turning, scanning the crowd. Suddenly she latched her fingers to my wrist. “Don’t look, don’t look. I’ve got a Jake Weinstock sighting!” She spun to face me; her eyes were huge and unblinking. “Okay, I’ve got to talk to him. I need to go pretend to read those fake tombstones, and see if he says something to me.”

“I think Lissa just saw me,” I said. “You go. Jake won’t want me third-wheeling.”

Rachel appeared doubtful. She stole another look across the room. “Okay. But keep a watch on me. And don’t get too into it with Lissa. She looks like she’s on drugs tonight.”

I mostly doubted that. Lissa Mandrup could find her natural dance high better than anyone. But Rachel’s warning niggled at me. Had I been friends with a druggie? It tapped my deepest fear, that I hadn’t been chemically myself that night that Anthony Travolo and I went over the bridge. No matter how clean Dr. P had promised the report had been, or how purely accidental my loss of control on the wheel, it couldn’t tell me about my general trending behavior, my influences, whatever darkness I might have been going through that dragged us to the deep Below.

But I let Rachel go find Jake, with assurances that I wouldn’t leave the club without her.

As if.

Lissa was still waving, beckoning me to join.

I checked around just one more time for Maisie. Nothing. Damn.

Okay. Breathing through it.

Lissa’s dance style was polished and pretty, with a manic edge. She was a magnet on the floor, pulling everyone’s attention toward her. Last year she’d been captain of Lafayette’s A-squad dance, and she’d been a lead dancer every year. I’d taken ballet, jazz, tap, and modern dance with her—both in and out of school—since sixth grade. And I’d been in awe of her in each and every class.

Tonight, Lissa looked like a fractured fairy tale in her shredded tutu and ripped tights, her raven braids pinned up in a messy, Swiss-doll style. Like Holden, she seemed older and more remote, now that she’d graduated from Lafayette.

I couldn’t dance yet. I wasn’t ready. But as soon as I’d crossed into her space, Lissa whooped and stopped, her planky arms hugging me long and damply.

“You’re back, finally!” she squealed. “But is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That you’re not dancing anymore?” We moved together toward the edge of the floor, the better to talk and be heard.

I nodded. “Strictly sidelines. My afternoons are nothing but physical therapy. Which is as tough as dancing, except with none of the grace, and no gorgeous recital at the end.”

“I figured you’d quit sooner or later, once you didn’t get that part in Chicago. I mean, it was just a school show, not a community thing, but still.”

I’d lost out on a part in a show? Oh. I’d conveniently blocked that little failure. I decided not to pursue it, for now. “How’s school?”

“I never sleep! You need to come visit me; I’m in student housing—the Meredith Willson res uptown.” Lissa was squeezing my fingertips. “Did you get my email? I know, I know, I should have written way more; I’m the queen of procrastinating. And this year, holy cow. It’s nothing but rehearsals. Did I tell you Lafayette almost didn’t let me graduate because I flunked math? Can you imagine anything more wrong than doing another year at Laf? I was in such a pickle—I had to take summer school—and then I ran away to Russia! For all the rest of the summer!” Her laugh was more bark, as if she were still shocked by her nerve.

“Russia? That’s awesome! What’d you do there?” I was shouting over the music; I could feel my lungs working for the extra pumps of air.

“I studied with the Bolshoi, as part of their ballet exchange program. It was incredible. Anyway. Jeepers, Ember. I missed you.” Her eyes bored deep into mine.

“I missed you, too.” And it was true. I hadn’t felt the tug of not seeing her till this minute, all these months later. And here she was, long-leggity Lissa with those same black eyes glittering like mica, her cheeks blotted tea-rose pink in her vanilla skin, her inky threads of hair wisping from her braids. No Lissa, no dancing, no Areacode—none of these prized, wild moments had been in my life since February, and I hadn’t even remembered to yearn for them.

“And the mad scientists made you perfect again!” Now Lissa grabbed both of my hands and swung them out. “Jeez Louise, but I totally hate how your bangs hide your face!”

“Yeah, yeah.” I had to smile. Lissa’s bluntness could be as surprising as those quirky grandma expressions like “in a pickle” that she sometimes used. “I give up. What are you dressed as? Coppélia?”

“I’m dressed as myself—a crazy ballerina.” Now Lissa dropped my hands to hold my shoulders. “This place is almost as packed as New Year’s Eve! Remember last New Year’s Eve?”

I smiled so I didn’t have to lie.

“Hey, and I’d still buy that jacket off you, whenever you’re selling.”

What jacket? She couldn’t mean the pink-bubble-gum coat—a boho girl like Lissa wouldn’t be caught dead in that mess. But now something else was happening. Little bits of New Year’s Eve were beginning to flutter down on me like pieces of ticker tape. Sweet, tangled memory. Blowers and streamers. Gold, glittery top hats and oversized Happy New Year sunglasses. A crush of bodies—I’d been so warm that night. Claustrophobic—I could feel it again, the need for fresh air.