Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(108)
“It’s funky in here!” Anke says.
Jenny crosses over and pushes up the splintering window. A breeze wafts in. She sticks her head out to welcome it. Down below, a couple of squatters are fixing a motorcycle. A Turkish family passes by; the mom guides her active little boy away from the street and onto the safety of the sidewalk. In another squat somewhere on the street, they are playing Mahler. It’s a great big symphony of sound and smell and life. And just beyond this is the wall with its watchtowers and rifles guarding a vast, drab uniform grayness. Just over the wall is East Berlin and a chance at legendary punk rock greatness.
They only have to survive the trip.
Lena comes up behind Jenny and wraps her arms around her, resting her chin on Jenny’s shoulder. She kisses Jenny’s neck. “I’m sorry I was so mad earlier. I just missed you really bad. Vergib mir?”
Jenny turns around and kisses her.
* * *
It’s dusk when Jenny returns to her apartment building still high on the music and Lena. She can smell Lena on her own clothes, a mix of tobacco and something spicy sweet, something uniquely Lena, and smiles. But it disappears the minute she gets inside. Alison has come down with a stomach bug; they never made it to the dentist appointment. Her parents are in the living room. They have had hours to be angry.
“Where were you?” her father demands. His voice is icy calm. Her mother won’t even look at her. She keeps her manicured hands in her lap and stares at a spot on the expensive rug. “And don’t say with Frau Hermann because we know she left town this morning. Martina told us everything.”
Martina. The traitor. Jenny wishes she could take back her Hardy Boobs tee.
“With my friends.” There’s no point in lying.
“You deliberately disobeyed us.” Her father.
“We were about to call the police. We were worried.” Her mother.
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble? Do you want to do that to your mother?”
“I’m sorry,” Jenny says.
“Sorry’s not enough,” her dad grumbles. It’s one of those empty phrases he likes to throw around. Then what is, Dad? she wants to say.
“Your mother and I have discussed it and we’ve decided that since you can’t follow even the simplest of rules, you’re not ready to live abroad. We’re sending you back to the States.”
“Wait. What? No. I don’t want to go back!”
“Well, you should’ve thought of that before you pulled this latest stunt. Actions have consequences, Jennifer. Your grandparents will pick you up at the airport. And then, next week, you’ll be enrolled in boarding school in Connecticut.”
“Mom. Please.”
Jenny’s mom sits stiffly, staring at her hands in her lap. “I’m very disappointed in you, Jennifer.”
“Your flight is Saturday afternoon. Otto will drive you to the airport since your mother and I have a company dinner that night.”
Saturday. The gig. Lena.
“I can’t go Saturday.” The minute it’s out of her mouth, Jenny knows how ridiculous it sounds.
“Oh? You can’t?” Her dad, mocking. “Do you have some affair of state to attend? Care to enlighten us?”
“I just … I can’t. Okay? Please. Can’t I go Sunday or Monday?”
“Give me a good reason why.”
It’s like the inside of Jenny’s head is a four-way stop sign and none of her words know when to go.
“That’s what I thought. Oh, and you’re grounded, of course. And I mean seriously grounded. You are not leaving this apartment until you’re in the car on the way to the airport. If I were you, I’d get a head start on packing,” her dad says, and crosses to the stereo and his jazz records, a dismissal. Jenny looks to her mother but her mother won’t look back. She’s lost this fight.
She only has four days to get them to change their minds.
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.
MAY 2020
Miles has spent all day preparing the living room for prom night.
Every piece of furniture has been shoved out of dance range. He has rolled up the rug; it leans against a corner like a dude trying to be cool. Every lamp and candle Miles could find has been artfully arranged—and rearranged—for perfect mood lighting. An hour after he probably should’ve been in the shower, Miles thinks to steal the fairy lights from the backyard and string them up across the back wall above the faux fireplace. Taped to the TV screen is a hand-painted sign: PANDEMIC PROM 2020: NO CHAPERONES NECESSARY!
He and Chloe discussed it and they decided in lieu of his school’s Zoom Prom, they’d stage their own. Just the two of them and some screenshots to prove it happened. At 9:45 p.m., Miles puts on his “go-to-all-fancy-things” suit. He hasn’t worn it since Christmas. It still fits and for this, he’s grateful. He eschews his dress shoes, opting for his favorite Jordans instead. The shaving went mostly okay, only one nick. The hair is an issue. He hopes that with the ambient lighting and grainy Zoom screen, it’ll pass. He snaps a few pics for the Moms Squared and sends them up into space. In a second, his group chat lights up with rows of hearts from Mama D, who has obviously stayed up into the wee hours for this. Mom Lisa’s phone is silent for now; she’ll weigh in when she can, he knows.