Elevated

  I burned everything.

  In Trav’s kitchen my phone buzzed,

  Brought me out of my fantasies,

  Grounded me in reality.

  A text from Honesty

  Welcomed sudden guilt to the tiny kitchen.

  Her boyfriend sat ten feet away on the couch,

  Her boyfriend was my best friend,

  Her boyfriend turned and smiled at me.

  “Hey, what are you doing later?” he asked,

  His voice light.

  “Sleeping?” I said, like I wasn’t quite sure

  What normal people did in the middle of the night.

  Trav joined me at the kitchen counter,

  His eyes holding a wicked gleam.

  “Meet me on the roof at eleven thirty.”

  When he said things like this,

  He reminded me that he needed someone.

  Someone more than Jesse,

  Someone more than Honesty,

  Someone who knew,

  Who understood.

  I looked at him,

  Peeled back the layers of defense,

  Found the little boy within.

  He missed his mom,

  Though she probably didn’t miss him,

  Or her job,

  Or her apartment.

  Just the drugs.

  He liked Jesse living here,

  But Jesse wasn’t always here.

  He needed me to be his anchor,

  His safe place.

  That’s what the roof was for us.

  A safe place,

  Where only good things happened,

  Where he could admit to the missing,

  The loneliness,

  The fear,

  Without admitting anything.

  Meet me on the roof at eleven thirty.

  Trav wasn’t really asking.

  I ducked my head,

  Said, “Eleven thirty.”

  IT WOULD’VE BEEN SO EASY TO TURN BACK,

  Tilt my head,

  Press my lips to his.

  I almost did it.

  “Elly, you’re making pizza?”

  I flinched away from Travis,

  Found Jesse leaning against the wall,

  Found a knowing grin curving his lips.

  “You hittin’ on my date, T?”

  Travis laughed,

  Actually laughed.

  I forced myself to do the same.

  But Jesse, who’s no rocket scientist,

  Noticed the heat blazing in my face,

  The hurt pouring from my eyes.

  He looked away;

  I did too.

  Travis put his arm around me.

  “Eeenie-meenie-Elly is impossible to hit on.”

  Jesse stayed for dinner,

  Ate between Trav and me,

  Smiled more than usual.

  He asked me about myself,

  My mom,

  My dad,

  My brothers.

  All of it,

  His way of apologizing,

  Of saying, I’m sorry for calling you out.

  I’m sorry for my lame-brain cousin,

  And what he said.

  Instead of waving good-bye from the couch like he usually did,

  Jesse opened the apartment door for me,

  Said, “See you tomorrow,”

  Handed me my backpack.

  “Can’t wait for prom,” he said,

  Sounding a bit surprised,

  And suddenly I thought the dance might actually be fun.

  “Blue tie?” I asked again,

  My way of saying

  It’s okay.

  I’ll be all right.

  He grinned,

  Nodded,

  Closed the door.

  I PLAYED ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS

  To decide if I should stay in bed,

  Or go to the roof.

  After Travis’s comment,

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him that badly.

  Best four out of seven:

  The roof won.

  The game had decided:

  I got dressed.

  That’s your problem ,

  A voice in my head said.

  Dr. Tickson.

  He was forever telling me what my problems were.

  Why do you let childhood games make decisions for you?

  I’d never answered his question.

  I couldn’t decide if I should or not.

  TRAV STOOD AT THE FAR WALL

  Looking north into the city.

  I admired his profile against the midnight glow,

  The way his jacket fell in diagonal lines to his waist,

  Held back by his hands resting loosely in his pockets.

  “Hey,” he said without turning.

  He wore sunglasses as usual,

  And I pulled mine out of my pocket,

  Put them on.

  “What’s the deal, Trav?”

  “Nothin’.”

  I fingered a coin in my pocket.

  Heads—I had to talk.

  “Sure, because we come up on the roof every night,

  Stare at the city with sunglasses on.”

  “I just… my apartment suffocates me.”

  “And we don’t want the paparazzi to know you’re here.”

  He chuckled,

  Caused my heart to quiver with happiness and guilt,

  Looked at me,

  Somehow right at me even with the sunnies on,

  Said, “Thanks.”

  We breathed easier together.

  He didn’t have to voice his concerns about his mom going to work,

  But not coming home afterward.

  I didn’t have to say anything about my dad living half a world away,

  Fighting in a war.

  He didn’t have to tell me about his girlfriend.

  I didn’t have to tell him about my crush.

  We just stood,

  Breathed,

  Existed,

  Together.

  IN THE ELEVATOR HE’S MAKING EYE CONTACT,

  Even though the darkness is so thick I could cut it.

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?” He sounds half confused,

  Half amused.

  “Looking at me.”

  “Elly, it’s darker than—”

  “Just shut up, okay?” I hug myself,

  Will my stomach to play nice.

  He steps forward,

  Moves into my personal space.

  I have nowhere to go,

  No escape.

  He won’t hurt me,

  Not on purpose anyway.

  Most of what Trav does to me,

  He doesn’t mean to do.

  Like make my heart pound in my throat,

  Or touch me like I’m made of glass,

  Like I might shatter if he presses too hard.

  Or say exactly what I need to hear,

  Like he knows I need to hear it.

  Just as I inhale his orangey scent,

  He retreats to his corner.

  With his absence, the darkness lightens,

  But the air becomes heavier.

  I wish he wasn’t my source of oxygen,

  Wish I could tell him that,

  Wish I could make my voice work like his.

  Instead I say, “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “You know. Backing up.”

  “Can we talk now?”

  “We are talking.”

  “Prove it,” he mutters,

  Exhales in that way that says,

  I want to kill you right now.

  He wants me to prove it?

  “You went and told her about us,

  And didn’t tell me.”

  He should’ve told me he’d already confessed to Honesty.

  I would’ve never gone over there that day,

  Never said—

  Breathe in, I coach myself,

  Draw one,

&nbs
p; Long

  Breath.

  Don’t think about that day.

  He takes one step forward,

  Then another,

  Stalking closer, closer, closer.

  “I had to, Elly.

  I wanted you to kiss me

  The way you used to.”

  I have no idea what that means.

  I don’t ask.

  ON PROM NIGHT,

  I stared at myself in the mirror,

  Tried to find the girl inside,

  Strained to see past the makeup,

  The hairpins,

  The swishy fabric of my dress.

  But she was hiding behind layers of cloth,

  Concealer,

  Lip gloss.

  Honesty had left in a hurry;

  No time to instruct me in color coordination.

  She’d given me three tubes of lip gloss:

  Cranberry,

  Pink Lemonade,

  Sunset.

  My dress was blue,

  Though Honesty had called it something fancy,

  Like cerulean.

  I had no idea which shade to wear on my lips to match my dress.

  Did it really matter?

  Honesty insisted it did.

  I SMEARED ON CRANBERRY,

  Pursed my lips.

  How would I know if one was better than another until I tried them all?

  I slicked on Pink Lemonade.

  Too pink.

  Maybe it’s fine…

  Sunset went on radioactive,

  The way my mother acted when I didn’t put my breakfast dishes in the sink.

  I held the tubes of lip gloss in my palm,

  The pieces of an impossible puzzle.

  To decide, I muttered,

  “Bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish…”

  Sunset won just as the doorbell sang.

  BACK THEN,

  I answered the door myself since Mom was off saving lives,

  Since the twins were sleeping at a neighbor’s,

  Since Dad was fighting a war.

  Back then,

  Mom wouldn’t buy me a cell,

  Said, “Trav has a phone. Use it if you need to call me.”

  Back then,

  I told myself having her at work before my date was easier.

  Who wants all that embarrassing parental stuff, anyway?

  You do ,

  Dr. Tickson boomed in my head.

  You just want someone to notice you.

  I’d looked out the window when he’d said that,

  Put on a good show of ignoring him.

  But the words looped over,

  And over,

  Whenever I tried to fall asleep.

  If I didn’t make a choice,

  Someone would have to talk to me,

  Ask me.

  Notice me.

  BOTH JESSE AND TRAVIS STOOD IN THE HALL,

  Grinning,

  Salivating,

  Ogling.

  Jesse whistled. “Damn, girl.

  Are you sure this is the body you’ve always had?”

  He looked at his cousin.

  “She’s hot.”

  “Shut up,” I said.

  The words came out too harsh,

  Too unyielding.

  But middle-girls aren’t hot.

  I glanced at Travis,

  Who punched Jesse on the shoulder in some sort of familial cousinhood display,

  But didn’t say anything.

  “Sorry,” Jesse mumbled,

  His eyes lingering on my chest.

  I didn’t want him to look at me like that,

  But Honesty said that was why we wore dresses like this,

  So our dates would look.

  I just had the wrong date.

  They wore black suits,

  Starched white shirts,

  Pale blue tie for Jesse,

  Blood red for Trav.

  Jesse smiled and looked good doing it,

  Exuded charm and proper manners,

  Pinned a pink rose on my cerulean dress,

  Both of which I was suddenly sure clashed horribly with my lip gloss.

  ON THE RIDE TO HONESTY’S BUILDING,

  I battled with what to say.

  Red light—say something.

  Green light—keep your yapper shut.

  Travis hit every freaking green light until the one right before Honesty’s street.

  “So where are we going for dinner?” I asked.

  Trav looked in the rearview mirror. “What?”

  The sound of garbage cans crashing together emanated from the speakers,

  Made my teeth rattle.

  I repeated my question.

  Again,

  And then again.

  “Turn the damn radio down!” Jesse shouted.

  “I WAS TOLD NOT TO SCREW ANYTHING UP WITH YOU.”

  Jesse watched Trav enter Honesty’s building.

  I watched him blink,

  And blink,

  And blink.

  Without a coin,

  I couldn’t decide how to respond.

  Three blinks seemed like a good cue.

  “What do you mean?”

  He threw his hands up,

  Found my eyes,

  Held on.

  “I have no idea.

  Trav thinks you belong to him or something.

  He just kept saying it. ‘Don’t screw anything up with her, dude.’

  I don’t know what his deal is.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said,

  Because I didn’t know what else there was.

  “He’s sort of protective, that’s all.”

  Jesse’s mouth folded into a frown,

  His hands tightened and then relaxed.

  I swept my fingers across his,

  Real quick.

  “Did his mom come home?”

  Jess ground his teeth together,

  Shook his head,

  Asked, “Is that why he sneaks to the roof with you?”

  “He needs a friend,” I said,

  Worried I might be implying that Jesse wasn’t a friend.

  But he just nodded,

  Looked at me without his tough-guy mask on,

  Folded his hands in his lap.

  His phone rang,

  A different ring tone from the Gina-special,

  But still annoying.

  He silenced it without answering,

  Without even glancing at it.

  He couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at me.

  Finally, the moment broke;

  I sighed;

  Jesse chuckled.

  For the first time,

  I thought that maybe Jesse needed someone

  The same way Trav did.

  Seconds became

  Minutes and

  Minutes and

  Minutes.

  Honesty had normal parents,

  Meaning a father with a handgun

  And a mother with a high-def. camera.

  By the time she and Trav appeared,

  They both wore smiles that were stretched too thin.

  Many things about Honesty were thin:

  Her hair,

  Her body,

  Her patience,

  But not her friendship.

  She glowed with life,

  With happiness,

  With laughter,

  With the perfect shade of lip gloss.

  JESSE PAID ME A MILLION COMPLIMENTS,

  Entertained me while we waited in line for pictures,

  Brought me cup after cup of punch.

  We danced,

  His fingers warm and firm on my waist,

  His eyes looking right into mine,

  His charm turned all the way up.

  I enjoyed myself,

  Impressed at the transformation in Jesse,

  Relieved that I hadn’t once longed for him to be Trav.

  Finally, Honesty linked her elbow through mine,

&
nbsp; Waggled her fingers at the guys,

  Said, “Restroom, boysies. Be back in a minute.”

  Honesty’s minutes could become hours,

  And Trav knew it.

  Once in the hall, Honesty started.

  And once she started,

  She couldn’t be stopped.

  “Elly, honey, you look ravishing!

  No wonder Jesse’s eyes are bugging out of his head.”

  I felt flushed,

  Happy,

  Worried that I couldn’t return the emotion I saw in his eyes.

  “He’s nice.”

  “He can’t stop looking at you.”

  Honesty click-clacked into the bathroom,

  Gasped.

  “I look like this, and you don’t tell me?”

  She looked fine,

  But she proceeded to spend the next ten minutes smoothing her hair.

  We laughed about dinner,

  We agreed that Trav was adorable in his white shirt and tie,

  Even if he did keep pulling at the collar.

  We gossiped about her dress (so hideous),

  Those corsages (better than ours),

  The terrible dye job she had (seriously, red roots, blonde hair),

  And who would wear boots that color (neon yellow)?