I try to look at her to figure out what’s going on. She pulls me back, her mouth all hungry.
“Hey,” I ask, my finger under her chin. “You know travel ball is finished, right? I’m not going anywhere until next summer.”
“Yo sé. Now stop talking.” She tugs at my shirt and kisses me again.
One of the college guys across from us elbows his friend. They’re not looking at us though. They’re looking over our heads. Toward the other door. I glance over my shoulder. A girl with blond hair in a bun and a black hoodie sweatshirt stares at me.
Heat drains from my face, from my fingers. It plunges down to my toes. My feet are hot. The heat must melt the bottoms of my shoes because I can’t move them. My lips are cold. They refuse to move too. So do my eyes. They don’t look away from her.
Coño.
That’s my sweatshirt. I gave it to her that night I brought her to my apartment. She was cold on the way home.
“¡Ále!” Kiara’s yanking my arms.
Isa’s cheeks are white. Her eyes blink. She covers her mouth with her hands.
“¡Ále!” Kiara pinches me. “¡Ále!”
I turn to her. Flashes of heat prick at my chest.
Kiara stumbles back at the look on my face. “¿Qué what?” she says, all defensive.
The doors chime and whip open. I swing around as a streak of gold aims for them.
Doors close. The train rumbles on. The girl students are talking about tofu and seitan. The guys are talking about the beautiful dancer who ran out like she was late for her curtain. Kiara and I don’t talk about anything. I can’t even look at her.
When we get to Brooklyn, I wait for Kiara to help Yaritza with a platter of arroz con pollo. I take out my phone. I scroll through my old posts. A week after the Barclays, I woke from a nightmare. In my dream, Isa was calling for me. No. She was screaming for me. Something awful had happened—I didn’t know what. I only knew I had to get to her. But I couldn’t. No matter how much I fought and kicked and cried out, I kept being pulled away.
That night—when my hands stopped shaking—I picked up my phone. I tried calling her again. I messaged her, every way I knew how. She didn’t answer. I went to her dance school and stood outside, but I didn’t see her. I didn’t see Chrissy either. Then our out-of-city games started up. I spent the whole summer in that dusty van, checking my phone. I took a picture of every single home plate on every field I played and posted it. In our last week of travel, I posted one of the poems I wrote her. Guess some part of me was hoping Isa was checking her accounts too, even if she didn’t want me anymore.
I got back from Atlanta, from our last tournament, three weeks ago. Bryan dragged me to a party. Kiara came right on up to me. I was straight with her. I told her I’m not looking for no girlfriend. She said she didn’t care. She just wanted company and what kind of man was I to refuse that? She knew I was busy and wasn’t ready, but she’d be happy with whatever I could give her. When she got me alone, she put her mouth to my ear. She whispered she could help me. She could help me forget.
I wasn’t prepared to see Isa just now. I wasn’t prepared for it to hurt so much. Now that I’ve seen her, I don’t know what to do.
I lean against the fence and fumble with my phone as a guitarist beside me tunes up. I snap a pic of my foot, of my sneaker. I write in brilliant blue on top of it: I’m sorry. I post it. I know better than to let myself hope.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 30
ISA
Chrissy and Kevin are waiting on the platform. They’ve been doing that lately even though I never ask them to ride with me. Kevin lifts his hand to wave, then drags his wiggling fingers through the air to his pocket. I do the same to him. It’s our personalized greeting, a joke from when they first started dating. Because he’s a piano player and he tickles the ivories and all. He also tickles Chrissy, but only when she baits him.
Chrissy tackles me in a full body hug. “How. Are. You?” She squeezes me with each grunt.
I squeeze her back. “I. Am. Fine.”
“Ready to spend your Saturday afternoon sweating it out at this awesome workshop?” Chrissy tugs down my sweatshirt, unrolling the frayed bottom cuff that used to be black but is now more of a gray. “Martha Graham kicks butt. Literally. My butt hurts for days after running her routines.” Chrissy leans over to touch her toes, stretching said glutes. “The teacher they’re sending us is amazing. He came last year too.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be great.” I show them a wide smile. I was just telling Dad how much I love my new school, how I love that the Academy is challenging us with different techniques. I keep telling myself the same thing, that it’s exciting and that I should be loving it.
“OK, babe. You want the Summer Bowl with chicken instead of tofu, right?” Kevin leans down to kiss Chrissy. “I’m heading to Sweetgreen if you want me to get you something, Isa.” Kevin doesn’t have to play at the workshop. He’s just going to be a groupie today. He’ll probably sneak off to one of the sound rooms to work on the jazz piece he’s composing.
Chrissy grabs Kevin’s hand. “If the Summer Bowl’s no longer available because it’s almost October and all, just ask for the Shroomami but substitute sweet potatoes for the beets.”
“Got it,” he says. “Anything?” He looks at me.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I’ve got plenty of protein bars in my bag.
“See ya.” He turns, piano fingers waving at us over his shoulder.
“So look what I just noticed.” Chrissy shows me a run in her tights. “You don’t have any extras, do you?”
“Sorry.” My dance bag is sparse these days. I only buy the bare minimum of what I need.
Chrissy looks at her phone. “I’m going to have to get out at Seventy-Second to run to Capezio. Thank the gods, I still have time. Hey.” She pokes me with a finger. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Merrit.” The 1 train charges into the station, pulling her words away from me.
I try to look normal. “What about him?” Chrissy and Kevin know Merrit was in the hospital, because they were with me that day. We’re telling people Merrit had a bad reaction to one of his medications. The doctors say it is one explanation for what happened. Mom especially will believe anything if it means she doesn’t have to accept the alternative. Chrissy knows Merrit’s taking the semester off, to get back on his feet. I never told her about Merrit getting kicked out before that.
Chrissy licks her fingers and smooths a tiny curl behind her ear. She slides out a bobby pin and slips it in, holding the hair in place. “Well I called your landline the other day, since you weren’t picking up your cell. Anyway, Merrit answered.”
I’m careful to keep my smile steady. Merrit never mentioned that.
“He sounded good. He told me all about reMAKE, which sounds really cool, by the way. Anyway, do you know when the app is going live? I was thinking maybe I could use it.”
I line up next to the correct car and the correct door. I wait for a man with a very large dirt bike to get off. Chrissy follows me in. “What, you want to become a vlogger all of a sudden?” I try to keep my tone light.