What If

It’s on the other side of town, away from campus.

I know it exists, because I hear the guys talk about it.

I’ve just never been… tempted.

The small, black building doesn’t look like much.

I wouldn’t even know this was the place except for Starlight painted across the side in some sort of script, the “i” dotted with a star.

There aren’t a lot of cars in the icy dirt parking lot when we pull in.

Nyelle strides through the entrance, immune to the surroundings, heading directly to the bar.

I pause inside the heavy metal door, taking in the dark club, which pulses with light as a strobe light flashes onstage.

A pole extends to the ceiling in the center of a runway off the main stage.

And upside down on that pole are legs… long legs.

Nyelle pulls my jacket before I can follow those legs down to a face.

I blink out of the fog-induced haze and sit on a stool at the bar.

“Hey, Jimmy,” Nyelle says with a smile, sliding out of her jacket and setting it on the stool.

“How are ya, Nyelle?” Jimmy is a muscled guy in a tight black T-shirt, his black hair slicked back.

And he’s way too tan for winter in upstate New York.

“Your regular?”

“Yes, please.

Can you make it two?” Nyelle nods toward me.

“How do you want it cooked?” he asks, staring me down.

“Uh, medium-rare, thanks,” I say, trying not to look around, but it’s fricken hard.

“Cal?” Nyelle and I slowly turn on our stools.

There’s a blonde with big, wavy hair down her back, wearing a ton of glittery makeup and not much else.

It takes me a minute to place her.

She doesn’t look like anyone I know, dressed in a sparkling black string bikini top and supershort cutoffs.

Then I see the butterfly tattoo above her hip bone.

“Micha?” Her glossy, pink lips widen into a smile.

“How are you? Omigod, I never would have thought I’d see you here.”

“Uh, I’m getting dinner?” It sounds more like a question, because I know it’s a strange thing to say at a strip club.

“You know Micha?” Nyelle says with an amused laugh.

“Of course you do.”

“Yeah, we dated for like… three weeks?” Micha says, looking to me for affirmation.

I nod with a quick shrug.

“Oh, so you’re here with Nyelle?” She sounds surprised.

“Hey, Nyelle.

I’ll let Jasmine know you’re here,” she says, setting her tray on the bar next to me.

“I’ll be back for those drinks in a second, Jimmy.” Then she saunters off in the tallest heels I’ve ever seen.

“How does she walk in those?” I ask.

“Are you looking at her shoes or her shorts?” Nyelle asks.

I glance up, and the side of my mouth quirks up, because the shorts cover less than most bathing suits.

“That too,” I say.

Nyelle swats my arm.

“What? I hadn’t even noticed until you mentioned them.”

“You dated Micha,” Nyelle says with a shake of her head.

“I didn’t know she was a stripper,” I tell her.

“She’s not.

She’s a cocktail waitress,” Nyelle explains.

“And would it have mattered if she was?” I pause for a second, scanning the scattered crowd sitting in the dark, focused on the bodies being flaunted in front of them.

There’s no way I would be comfortable letting these guys watch a girl I was dating dance naked.

“Yeah, it would.”

“How many girls have you walked away from, Cal?” Nyelle asks me.

“Uh… What?” If the lights were on, my face would be bright red.

“Twenty?”

“No! Not that many,” I say, wiping the sweat off my palms.

“Why does it matter?”

“Just curious,” Nyelle says with a tilted smile.

“And you walked away from all of them?’ “Sometimes they’re the ones walking away,” I tell her, uncomfortable with the judgment.

“And you let them?” When I don’t answer, she asks, “Why?” I look behind Nyelle at a tall black woman with flowing dark hair hanging to her waist.

She’s slender but with the definition of an athlete.

Nyelle turns to see who has my attention.

“Hey, Jasmine,” Nyelle greets her happily.

“This is Cal.”

“Hi,” I say, now understanding how she makes enough money here to put herself through school.

She looks me up and down without a word, and just nods.

“Cute boy-next-door type,” she says to Nyelle, handing her a hundred-dollar bill.

“Rusty wanted me to tell you the offer still stands.

I told him you were leaving town, but he’s stubborn.”

“That’s so nice of him,” Nyelle says with a small laugh.

“But it would be embarrassing for everyone involved if I got on that stage.”

“Had to ask.” Jasmine returns her attention to me.

Her tone is low and almost threatening.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Cal’s not the strip club kind of guy,” Micha says with a wink, appearing beside me.

She picks up the tray of drinks, and I almost jump off the stool when I feel something slide into my back pocket as she passes behind me.

I watch her walk away, unable to move.

What was that about? Whatever it was, I’m not about to reach into my pocket to find out, especially when I look back at Jasmine, who has her arms folded in front of her and her eyebrow cocked.

“Nyelle, what are you doing with this guy? Do you trust him?” Jasmine’s accusatory tone instills instant guilt—even though I haven’t done anything wrong.

Nyelle examines me like she needs to think it over.

I’m suddenly afraid that if she doesn’t say yes, Jasmine’s going to kick my ass.

“I’m living with him,” Nyelle answers.

I blink, hard.

“And yes, I trust him.” I don’t hear what Jasmine says before she struts away.

I don’t hear what Nyelle says in response.

I don’t even notice when the burgers are set in front of us.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Nyelle asks, about to pick up her burger.

I tuck my hand around the back of her neck and pull her to me, kissing her.

She presses her hands on my chest, kissing me back.

When we part, she’s breathless and flushed.

“What was that for?” she asks.

“You trust me,” I reply, grinning.
NICOLE August—Before Eighth Grade “What do you mean you’re moving?” I say, hoping I didn’t hear her right.

“We’re moving to San Francisco,” Richelle says, sitting on my bed.

Her eyes are red from crying.

“When?” I ask.

My throat tightens and tears flood my eyes.

“Tomorrow.”

“No!” I shoot back, shaking my head.

“No.

You can’t.

You can’t leave, Richelle.” Tears are leaking out of her eyes.

“Why tomorrow? I don’t understand.

Why so fast?” Richelle shrugs.

“My dad has a new job.

And… my mom wants to move now.

She says… we have to.” This doesn’t feel right.

It’s too fast.

“Did you tell Cal? Or Rae?” Her face twists, and she’s crying into her hands, shaking her head.

“I can’t.”

“Why? You have to tell them.

They’re our best friends.”

“It hurts so much just telling you.

I can’t say good-bye to them.

Especially Cal.

I just… can’t.”

“You’re just going to leave?”

“I wrote him a letter.

I was hoping you could give it to him after I’m gone.”

Chapter Fourteen

I have no idea how I’ve restrained myself the past four days, waking up next to her.

Nyelle insists that I sleep in my bed… with her.

She says she trusts me.

“I trust you.” The same words I wanted her say are now the worst words in existence.

Those words are a concrete wall dividing my bed in half, with me on one side, balled up tight to keep from busting it down.

And Nyelle on the other, rolling around, occasionally flopping an arm or leg on my side so our skin touches.

She doesn’t seem to give a shit about the wall.

But I do.

“I trust you.” She might as well have castrated me.

And then every day I receive a call or a text from Rae, demanding progress.

Like now that Nyelle is staying with me, she’ll suddenly open up and tell me all her secrets.

If anything, she’s even more evasive.

Speaking in her cryptic sentences with their unknown meanings.

Having conversations with her about anything that pertains to her life is like playing dyslexic Scrabble.

When she kisses me, I’m not concerned with who she used to be.

Only that she’s the one kissing me now.

I live to feel those lips.

I’d like to feel more, but I’m letting her pace us.

I don’t want to move faster than she’s willing.

Each time we connect, I’m combustible.

The fire from the touch of her burns up every inch of my body.

Whenever I think we’re about to take it further, she stops.

Without warning.

She gets up and walks away.

I have no time to calm down.

She should just go ahead and dump a tray of ice cubes down the front of my pants.

I refuse to believe she’s torturing me on purpose.

The right thing to do would be to talk to her about us.

Where this is going.

What we want out of this.

But when it comes to girls, I have yet to do the right thing.

Just because I’m actually invested doesn’t make communicating easier.

There’s a reason Rae’s my best friend.

She talks through her drums.

I just… don’t talk.

“Where are you going today?” I ask Nyelle as she slides on her jacket.

She’s about to disappear, as she does every so often without notice.

Even though she’s staying with me, it’s hard to watch her walk out that door.

“Want to come with me?” Jumping off the couch, I grab my jacket.

“Sure.” I always say yes whenever she invites me.

I never know what I’m agreeing to, but whatever it is, it’s always unexpected.

Sunday, Nyelle said she wanted to play pinball.

So we played pinball… all afternoon at an arcade that only the local gamers seem to know about.

It’s old, dark, and smells like stale fries and mildew.

Not the best combination.

But the place houses every old-school video game in existence.

I had blisters on my fingers when we left.

Yesterday, she bought thirty latex balloons filled with helium and tied the message “You are loved” to each string.

Then we drove out to the abandoned farm and stood in the middle of the snowy field to release them.

Just before we set them loose into the world, I asked, “Is this on your list?”

“Sorta.” I waited, knowing there was more.

“What’s actually written on the list is: Relive the happiest day of your life.” I looked up at the cloud of colorful balloons.

“You’ve done this before?”

“No.” She smiled brightly and shook her head.

Then she let them float away into the overcast winter sky, blasting color where there wasn’t any before.