Maritza’s words had obviously gotten to him. She had drawn a line in the sand, marking herself as brave, daring, and adventurous on one side, and marking me as cowardly, weak, and stagnant on the other. JaKory was aligning himself with the side he wanted to be known for.
“I’m sorry,” Maritza said, without sounding like it. “It just feels like I have to push you more. You’re so content to flap around in your comfort zone.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” I said, my voice rising.
“Then stop acting like that,” she countered, her voice matching mine.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re small. Like you’re afraid of everything.”
“I’m not afraid—”
“I think you are. You’ve always been afraid to put yourself out there, even when you want something badly. Can’t you see you deserve bigger things, Codi?”
My chest was heaving; my cheeks were burning. Never before had Maritza attacked me like this, going straight for my weak points like my brother did. I glowered at her, and she glowered back, and there was something more than anger in her eyes. It took me a beat to recognize it, but when I did, my stomach plummeted.
It was worse than anger, worse than pity: There was something in Maritza that was ashamed to be my friend.
All the breath seemed to go out of me. Just when I’d started to worry that I was outgrowing my best friends, they had rushed to the same conclusion about outgrowing me. They were ready to leave me in the dust and set off on their new adventure together. I stared at the two of them like I’d never seen them before. In a way, I felt like I’d never truly seen myself before.
“Well?” Maritza said after a heavy pause. “Are we gonna go tonight?”
There was silence for a long, hanging moment. I watched the rushing river. The moment stretched on.
“No,” I said. “If this is really how you guys think of me, then I don’t want any part of your stupid plan. Y’all have fun.”
As I stood up, I caught them looking away from each other. An impenetrable wall seemed to solidify in my chest, and suddenly I was desperate to get away from them.
* * *
I stayed in my room that night, playing music and sketching for hours. It was comforting and familiar, but several times I found myself staring at my sketchbook without seeing it, lost in visions of Maritza and JaKory at that party. They were somewhere here, in my neighborhood, but not to hang out with me. That had never happened before.
Were they relieved I wasn’t with them? Were they meeting new friends who were cool and outgoing? Were they sneaking off into dark corners for those make-out sessions they were so desperate for?
Around midnight I decided to go to bed, but just as I got up to brush my teeth, my phone chimed with a text.
Maritza Vargas: Are you up? I know I’m not your favorite right now but I drank too much and can’t drive home, can you come meet us and drive my car back to your house??
I stared at the message for a while. Competing emotions jostled for attention inside me: hurt, resentment, even a bitter desire to say no. But then I imagined Maritza trying to drive them home after she’d been drinking, and I thought of what could happen to them, and that thought was unbearable to me.
I pulled on my shoes and answered before I lost my nerve.
Send me the address.
4
It was a humid night. The streetlamps were on, casting light onto the pavement below. I hurried along the sidewalk, checking the directions on my phone. The address Maritza had sent was just past the clubhouse, so I knew where to go until I reached that point. It was the same familiar path the three of us had walked a hundred times.
I wasn’t nervous until I came upon the street where this guy lived. I didn’t know him, but the idea of anyone who was bold enough to throw a party in his parents’ house was intimidating to me. It was strange to realize that this guy made the same drive home from school that I made every day, that he grew up swimming in the same neighborhood pool as me, and yet his whole approach to life seemed to be vastly different from my own.
My phone led me to the end of the street, where the cul-de-sac was. I walked slowly, making my way toward a long line of cars, cars that I knew must belong to people at the party. How did it feel to be one of those people? What was it like to lie to your parents about where you were going, and to pick up your friends along the way, and to hope—maybe even know—you’d hook up with someone cute once you got there?
Just before I reached the first car, I passed a cluster of towering magnolia trees, their leaves whispering in the night. I hastened to move past them, gripping my phone tightly, still lost in my daydream about the party.
Then I heard something. It was a boy’s voice, low and agitated.
“We’ve been out here ten minutes already—”
Another boy’s voice, even lower than the first one, broke in. “It’s fine, they won’t notice we’re gone—”
“Dude, you always say that, but we’ve had more than one close call already—”
The voices were coming from the trees. I stood frozen on the sidewalk, my heart hammering in my chest, listening without meaning to.
“I’m going back,” the first voice said. “I’ll catch you later.”
And then, before I could move, his dark shape emerged from the trees.
I was about to say something, to make my presence known so I wouldn’t alarm him, when—
“Wait,” said the other boy, darting out to catch up with the first. I saw the outline of his arm reaching for the first boy’s, trying to hold on to him, and a moment later their bodies were fused together, mere feet from me, and I heard sounds I’d only heard in movies.
The only thought in my head was kissing. These two guys were kissing. And I was standing there, paralyzed in the dark, witnessing it.
“Okay, okay,” the first boy said, his voice softer now. He took a breath and pulled away. “Enough for now.”
And then he turned, and he took a rough step forward, and he saw me.
My mouth was open, ready to explain, but—
“Who is that?!” he yelled, jumping back.
The second boy, the one who had darted after the first, hurried forward. For an infinite second, he was silent and still, hovering over me. Then he shone his phone flashlight right into my face.
I threw my arms up, trying to block out the glaring white light, but it was everywhere.
“Who are you?” the second boy asked, his voice harsh on my ears.
I felt a strangling panic in my chest. My mind wasn’t working properly. Neither was my voice.
“I said, Who are you?” the second boy repeated. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry,” I managed, my heart thudding painfully, my hands over my face. “I was just—I was—I was walking.”
“You were walking?”
“Yeah,” I breathed. “To the end of the street.”
“Why?”
“My friends are at a party down there. They’re drunk and need me to drive them home. I walked here from my house.”
“Your house?”
“I live in the back of this neighborhood.”