She stared at me, and I gathered my books and stormed past her. My breathing felt off, as if not enough air was reaching my lungs. I paused at the bottom of the staircase, chest tight. I heard Beth’s footsteps, and I hurried up the stairs.
CHAPTER 13
SOMETHING IS ON TOP OF ME, squishing me, and I jerk away so violently that I roll off the bed and onto the floor. I open my eyes and I see the bed above me, the covers sliding off in a tangled heap. But something’s not right. The sheets, why are they orange? And why are they so fuzzy?
“Wait,” I tell myself. “Just wait. It’s because you’re dreaming.” Omigod, I’m dreaming!
I lift myself off the floor—easily, like a puff of air.
I float out of my bedroom and into the hall, past Beth’s cracked-open door and down the staircase. I can see every grain of wood on the handrail, every fleck of paint on the walls. I propel myself toward the wide kitchen window above the sink, but I bump against the pane and bounce back. I back up and try again, focusing my concentration, and this time I push through—ZIP—like pushing through steam.
In front of the house, I see a girl walking down the street. My spine tingles, because it’s late. She shouldn’t be out by herself.
“Hey,” I say, but the girl doesn’t look up. “Excuse me,” I say louder.
I float closer and I see the girl’s face: it’s Kate. She doesn’t notice that I’m hovering in front of her. She doesn’t hear me when I call her name.
“Kate!” I cry. I wave my hand in front of her face.
I don’t like this. I want to wake up . . .
I’m in the bathroom, flossing my teeth. The light on the tiles is harsh and yellow. I put down the floss and lean forward, peering at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes—there’s something different about my eyes. They’re brown, but underneath the brown is a luminous gold that pulses as I breathe.
I hear a noise. I turn my head, and SNAP! I have returned.
I sat up, flipping on the lamp on my bedside table. At first I was too confused to think straight. Why was I in bed? Why wasn’t I on the floor? And then I realized—omigod! I did it! I had another lucid dream, and this time I stayed in it long enough to actually make things happen!
I looked down at my sheets, grabbing handfuls of the smooth fabric. How weird to dream of fuzzy orange sheets. But before that—it was coming back—I’d been dreaming something upsetting, something about being smothered. And in my dream, I pulled away so hard that I rolled off the bed. Although obviously I didn’t really roll off the bed, because here I was still in bed. But in the dream I looked up and saw those crazy sheets, which were so clearly not my sheets that I was jarred out of my “normal” dream into a lucid dream.
I wiggled my feet under the covers. This was huge!
Okay. So after I realized I was dreaming, I lifted myself up and floated around the house. God, was that wild.
Then I’d drifted downstairs and out the kitchen window.
And then—what next?
Oh.
I drew my knees to my chest, remembering the part about Kate and the deserted street. How she couldn’t see me even though I was right there in front of her. God. I spent most of my waking life trying not to think about her. Why did she have to show up in my dreams?
And then there was that weird part about my eyes, when I thought I woke up but was actually still dreaming. A false awakening—that was the term my book used. The author said it was a good thing, a way to prolong lucidity. Maybe so, but it was eerie.
I shivered. My closet door was open a crack, and I had the old urge to cross the room and shut it. As a kid, I had to check under the bed and in the closet at least two times before turning out my bedside light. Jerry thought I was crazy.
I padded down the hall to Beth’s room. She was curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek and the other in a loose fist under her chin. Her lips were open and a tiny bit of spit glistened at the corner of her mouth. I loved her all the time, but I especially loved her when she was sleeping. She looked so innocent.
I brushed a piece of hair off her face. She didn’t move. I shook her shoulder, and this time she stirred under the covers. I stepped away and stole back to my room.
A minute later she tiptoed across my floor and swayed by the side of my bed. “Lissa?” she mumbled. “Can I sleep with you?”
“Beth,” I chided, although this was why I woke her up.
“Please?”
“Oh, all right.” I scooted over to make room for her, and she climbed in beside me.
“Want me to scratch your back?” she said.
“That’s okay. Just go back to sleep.”
Her breathing grew steady, and her small body warmed her side of the bed. I pulled the quilt around the two of us and tried to recapture my earlier excitement. I did it, I told myself again. I had a lucid dream.
It didn’t have quite the same punch.
Still, the knowledge of what I’d done stayed with me. Like an underground stream. A promise.
CHAPTER 14
CALL ME, KATE HAD SAID. And I wanted to. I dialed the first six digits of her number, then clutched the phone for what seemed like forever, finger hovering above the 2 until the system disconnected.
We need to talk.
I was desperate to talk. Didn’t she know that? Didn’t she know how much I missed her, how much I missed just hanging out with her? Didn’t she miss it, too?
She used to say I was the only person she really trusted, that she could tell me things she had never told another soul. Like the fact that she peed in her pants when she laughed too hard, or that she hated to wear sandals because she thought her toes were too hairy. Hobbit feet, she called them. And once she told me how she could hear her parents having sex from her bedroom, even with the door shut and the stereo on. “It’s just wrong,” she said, lowering her voice even though no one was near.
I’d laughed and said she should be glad her parents had sex, period. And I reassured her about the other stuff, too, reminding her that everybody had some weird body thing they were embarrassed about. “Anyway, your toes are perfect,” I told her.
She leaned against me. “You’re so full of it, Lissa. You know that, don’t you?”
But now Kate had Ben, who, to tell the truth, was pretty full of himself. Like that night at Rob’s house when he stood on top of the pool table and proclaimed that he was the ruler of the universe. Yeah, he was drunk, and yeah, he was kidding, but still, it takes a certain arrogance to say something like that in the first place. And the cigar. God. High school guys should not smoke cigars, just as high school guys should not attempt to grow facial hair. Give it a rest.
That was the night Kate and Ben first hooked up, after the guys started smoking cigars and after Kate and I fled to the gazebo, laughing, to escape. We made fun of how cool they thought they were, and how Rob, the first time he inhaled, practically coughed up his entire lung. “And Ben,” Kate scoffed. “I’m sorry, but lose the ponytail, okay, guy? He looks like one of those investment bankers who wears his hair long to make a ridiculous stab at being hip. You know he’s going to grow up to be some suit-wearing asshole who talks on his cell phone all the time.”
“While smoking a cigar,” I added.
By the end of the night, Kate and Ben were falling all over each other on the sofa while the others played quarters and I stood by myself at the door. She didn’t notice when I left. And even though almost a month had passed, it still made me feel alone.
Wednesday night, Ariel and I met at Darlin’s for our big date. Our group date. Jesus. I felt resentful despite my resolve to make the best of it, and Ariel’s enthusiasm only made matters worse.
“Excited?” she asked as she rapped on Darlin’s door. She wore a pale blue dress that probably came from a thrift store, and her hair was held back with sparkly butterfly clips. She actually looked good in a hippie-chick kind of way, and I wondered if I should have worn something besides jeans and my gray sweatshirt.
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“I hope she’s not too nervous,” she went on, her fingers flitting down the front of her dress. “I mean, not that there’s anything to be nervous about, but . . . you know. It’s always hard meeting new people.”
Her eyes widened as if she’d said more than she meant to. An awkward silence hovered between us, and finally she knocked again on the door. “Darlin? You there?”
Darlin opened the door. She wore a flowing orange dress and orange sandals, and her face was heavily made up. “Well, ladies?” she said. She picked up her skirt with one hand and twirled around.
“You look great,” I said.
“Yeah,” Ariel said. “I love your dress.”
“Well, I aim to please,” Darlin said. “Orange is the color of communication, you know. Lets people know you’re feeling social.”
“Really?” Ariel said. She fingered her own dress. “What about blue? What does blue mean?”
“Navy blue hints at mystery, but a light blue like yours indicates playfulness.” Darlin brushed a speck off Ariel’s shoulder. “You look delightful, my dear.”
“Why, thank you,” Ariel replied. As we got into Ariel’s car—Darlin in the front with Ariel, me in the back—she asked, “What do you wear if you’re not feeling social? Black?”
“Heavens, yes. Just think of those dreadful New Yorkers.”
“Yeah?” She kept her tone innocent. “What about gray?”
“Well, now. Someone wears gray when she’s not sure what she’s feeling—isn’t that right, Lissa?” She caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Only I suspect that most people who wear gray have a secret spot of orange hidden within.”
“Oh, definitely,” I said. I said it sarcastically, and Ariel and Darlin laughed.
At the Lone Star Steakhouse and Saloon, where the singles’ group was meeting, Darlin’s bravado disappeared. She drummed her fingers on the car door and said, “Now, girls, really, I am so honored to be out with you. Why not make it a girls’ night out—my treat? The Cheesecake Factory’s not five blocks down the road.”
“It’s just a bunch of people having dinner,” Ariel said, releasing her seat belt. “If it helps, imagine them all in their underwear.”
Darlin snorted. “Gracious, Ariel, I most certainly will not. What if they imagined me in my underwear?”
At which point I couldn’t help but do exactly that. Ariel must have, too, because she looked at me and giggled.
“Girls,” Darlin said. She burst out laughing and leaned back against her seat. “What in heaven’s name have you two gotten me into?”
Inside, it was cool and dim. Bowls of peanuts sat on every table, and empty shells crunched under our shoes as we followed the hostess through the restaurant. From a silver jukebox blared the chorus of “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places.” The hostess led us to a table in the corner, and Ariel stepped forward.
“Hi,” she said. “Is this the Supper Club?”
Six heads turned toward us, and six voices rose in greeting. Everyone seemed to be middle-aged, if not older, and everyone seemed alarmingly friendly, calling out “Sure is,” and “Hey there,” and “Sit down. Take a load off!”
Other customers looked our way, and the muscles at the back of my neck bunched up. The ride over had been more fun than I’d expected, and for a brief moment I’d wondered if this outing might not be so bad after all. But as everyone introduced themselves, I had to fight not to bolt. I knew it was wrong of me, but I felt embarrassed to be here. I did not want to grow up to be an over-the-hill lonelyheart.
“We’re real glad to have you,” said the man at the end of the table. Phil, I think his name was. “Starr, if you scoot over a tad, these fine people can get situated.”
Darlin squeezed past Starr and dropped into the one empty seat. “Whew,” she said, smiling and fanning herself with a menu.
Ariel pulled up a chair from a nearby table. “So,” she said, plunking her forearms on the table and addressing the entire group. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you all here tonight.”
Everyone laughed, Darlin the loudest of all and, in fact, too loudly. I pulled up a chair for myself and forced a smile.
“Just kidding,” Ariel said. “But really, I think it’s so cool that y’all do this, that you meet for dinner at all these different restaurants. You should ask Darlin for recommendations. She knows every single restaurant in Atlanta.”
“Ariel—” Darlin protested.
Ariel waved her off. “She does. It’s her job.”
“That right?” Phil asked. “What do you do?”
A woman wearing huge round glasses leaned forward. “Are you a food critic? I think it would be so fun to be a food critic.”
Darlin blushed. “It’s nothing, really. I run a delivery service for upscale Atlanta restaurants. Entrées on Trays?”
“Entrées on Trays!” said the man sitting across from me. “I’ve seen your menus. I’ve been meaning to call.”
“Well, please do,” Darlin said. She explained to the others how it worked, and they nodded and asked questions, splintering off into discussions of this or that restaurant.
As they chatted, I studied them from under my bangs. Phil, the man sitting closest to Darlin, was a big guy with a receding hairline and smooth, soft skin. On Darlin’s other side was Starr, who had bottle-blond hair and clumpy black eyelashes. Starr modeled for car ads; I knew because at one point she mentioned that Hooters had the best wings in the state and that her “boys” took her there whenever they finished a shoot. It wasn’t hard to imagine her in a bikini and high heels, draped across a glossy red Mustang.
Next to Starr was Shawanna, an older black woman wearing navy slacks and a white blouse. She held herself properly—chin up, spine straight—and I got the feeling that she didn’t quite approve of Starr, although she tried not to let it show.
And then there was a man who sold computers—Dave—and next to him a quiet man with tired eyes. I think his name was Scott. And finally the woman with the glasses. Her name was Gloria, and I could smell her perfume from across the table.
All of the members of the group seemed nice enough, but if so, then why were they here? What was wrong with them that they couldn’t find a date on their own?
I was ashamed of myself for being so judgmental, but still, I wanted to leave. Especially since Darlin, full into the swing of a lively sushi-versus-sashimi debate, seemed oblivious to my presence. Sure, she’d been nervous at first, but anyone seeing her now would assume she was one of the gang.
And that was as disturbing as anything else. I didn’t want to think of Darlin as part of this gang. I didn’t want to think of myself as part of this gang, yet here I was as well. I pressed my heels into the floor and edged my chair away from the table.
“Phil, you devil,” Darlin said, leaning forward in a way that revealed the tops of her freckled breasts. “Raw fish is not in the same category as oysters, thank you very much. Just because I enjoy my sushi does not make me the queen of love.”
Phil laughed, a broad guffaw that brought more stares from the other customers. “If you say so, Darlin. But I’ve eaten plenty of sushi myself, and it sets my fin a’spinnin’, if you get my drift.”
“Oh, you are bad,” Darlin said. She gave him a playful shove, and I winced. I glanced at Ariel, but she giggled along with Phil as if he were the funniest man on the planet.
“Y’all ready to order?” asked a waitress, stopping next to my chair and flipping open a leather pad.
No one responded. The waitress shifted her gaze to a neighboring table, where four college guys flirted with another server. She turned back and sighed. “Excuse me. Excuse me?”
“You guys,” I said.
“Oh,” Ariel said. She raised her voice over the din of the conversation. “Hey, is everyone ready to order?”
The waitress stood there as the others discussed drinks and appetizers, salads versus soups. I could read her thoughts by the way she held her mouth, and I smiled apologe
tically. I’m not really with them, I wanted to say. She stared right through me. I mumbled my order and handed over my menu.
Later, after Darlin downed two Peach Fizzies and everyone else had drunk their fair share of wine, beer, and, in Starr’s case, tequila shooters with slices of lime, Phil suggested a line dance.
“We’ll cut the rug with the Boot Scoot Boogie,” he said, slapping the table and standing up. “What do you say, Darlin?”
Darlin tilted her glass and drank the slushy remains of her drink. “Oh, why not,” she said. “Come on, girls!”
Ariel pushed back her chair, along with Gloria and a giggling Starr.
“What the hell,” said Dave, lumbering to his feet. Scott shrugged and followed.
Shawanna and I were the only ones who stayed seated.
“I never have been good at those things,” Shawanna said, fidgeting with her necklace. “You and me—we can just watch, right?”
Darlin sashayed to our end of the table. “Lissa, honey,” she sang. She beckoned me with her finger.
“Come on, you two,” Ariel said.
“You go ahead,” I said.
Ariel clasped her palms. “Please?”
I waved her on, and Shawanna gave me a grateful smile. Together, we looked out at the dance floor. Dave was surprisingly graceful as he sauntered forward and stomped his foot, and Starr had this thing going with her hips that was an absolute riot, as Darlin would say. And Darlin herself was having a blast, swishing her skirt and shimmying when she did her quarter-turn. My chest loosened. From twenty feet away, I found it easier to feel tolerant of them all.
Burl, eat your heart out, I thought.
And then there was Ariel, who knew every step perfectly. She and Scott grinned as they moved in sync: heel to toe, heel to toe. I watched with grudging respect, realizing that she didn’t have to work at acting natural, she just was. Or maybe it was just that she was as much of a misfit as the rest of them, so of course she felt right at home.