When I look up at his face, I realize he’s staring back at me. It’s weird, us watching each other. I’d been looking at him like he couldn’t even see me. When our eyes meet, he smiles, slowly, this creep of movement from the corners of his lips. He’s wearing eyeliner. Thick greasy pools of it under his eyes. His hair is long and dark and he has a thick, wide chin with a dimple. They finish the song and start another one. The lead singer screams, “Fuck!” at the top of her lungs about six or seven times in a row and as far as I can tell there aren’t any other words to the song. Every time I look at the guitar player, he makes eye contact.
At the end of the song, when he changes picks, he looks me right in the eye, kisses the old one, and throws it at me.
I catch it, which is some kind of miracle, because I’m never that smooth. I slip the pick into my purse. Carly is freaking out. She pulls me through the crowd and into the bathroom to ask how it happened.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I was watching him play and he just started looking at me.”
“Seriously? Don Dickford threw you his pick? He’s like notably stoic.”
“Do you want it?” I put my bag on the counter by the sink to dig it out.
“No! I couldn’t.”
“Yes, you can!” I hold it out to her. “Take it. You love them.”
She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek. “I love you! You’re like the best friend ever!”
Just as she’s pulling away from me to get a better look at the guitar pick, the bathroom door opens, letting in a horrible blast of sound, and Rosemary.
“Oh, am I interrupting something?” Rosemary says like she’s bored, pushing her way up to the mirror. She pulls a lipstick from her purse and reapplies it to her already perfectly made up lips.
“Come on, hon,” I say to Carly. “Let’s go.”
As I reach for my bag, Rosemary knocks it off the counter, sending everything in it flying across the disgusting bathroom floor. Lipstick, eyeliner, wallet, the crocheted tampon pouch Margo made me when I got my first period, buck knife, safety pins, chewing gum—Carly and I scramble to pick it all up as if stuff that’s been on the bathroom floor of a club will be less revolting if we get to it faster.
“Oops,” Rosemary says, even though she clearly did it on purpose. She bends down and pushes the stuff that’s near her toward me, scraping my lipstick and the crochet bag into the dirty floor even worse.
“Stop,” Carly says through clenched teeth.
“Fine. Whatever.” Rosemary stands up. “I was just trying to help.” She walks out of the bathroom with a distracted look on her face like she’s already forgotten we exist.
— Chapter 27 —
We run from The Haunt, into the cold air. My boots slap the wet pavement hard, making sparks in my shins. Carly runs like someone who knows how. Like maybe she ran track in high school. Her legs are shorter, but each stride takes her further.
She grabs my hand when I start to lag and her palm is damp like mine. We both know Rosemary isn’t chasing us, but we need to get away. We need speed so our muscles can work through the itch under our skin.
We run through The Commons, down the alley next to the movie theater, up the spiral of the parking garage, and I swear I feel the concrete move from the force of us.
In Carly’s car, we pant and sweat, our bodies fighting against the idea of sitting still. The rush in my veins makes me feel like Carly and I could fly if we wanted to. If we held hands and jumped from the edge of the parking garage, we would probably soar.
“That’s why John and Lila didn’t wave at me,” Carly says, and I think maybe she means James Dean and the lip ring girl. “It’s fine to be my friend when Rosemary isn’t around, but heaven fucking forbid they choose me.”
She stares out the windshield, key in hand, not ready to start the engine. “I can’t go home yet.” She looks at me. “I’ll take you home, if you want to go.”
I hear the plea in her voice and I’d stay with her just for that, but I can’t go back yet either, to tiptoe into Adam’s apartment and lie next to his sleeping self with all this energy unspent. I am mad about Rosemary, but that isn’t all of it. I feel like I am actually here. Like someone dropped my mind into my body and it’s a shock to the system. I think maybe they were only walking side by side before this and now we are here together, both parts of me.
“No,” I say. “I’m not tired.”