From the Fan Fiction Unbound Archive,
posted by conTessaofthecastle:
Taking a breath, Daphne stepped from behind the tree.
Soph.
Chris has a parka on, as though she’s headed outside. Cold air blows on my face from the doorway. “Chris, do you have your window open? I can feel the wind.”
Chris’s eyes widen. She takes a long breath, and opens her door wider. Her window is broken, and it’s even colder inside her room than in the hall. The wind blows in ice and rain. “The tree branch hit the window about ten minutes ago.”
“Chris, you can’t stay in there. At least come to our room downstairs.”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine. I have a jacket on. I moved the furniture away from the window so it wouldn’t get wet. I can go to a room down the hall.”
She continues, “I’m not going downstairs to be poetry-slammed. Now go away.”
Tess takes a different tack. “Chris, no one is going to slam you. Let’s talk about it. Everyone is downstairs. The power went out. We noticed you were missing and came to find you because we were worried.” She doesn’t mention that no one has Chris’s number.
“I doubt that.” Chris snorts. “Can you leave me alone, please?”
Tess looks at me, and I look back at her. I think neither of us is sure what to do. Tess reaches out and grabs Chris by the arm.
“If you don’t want to go down to the lounge, fine. But we aren’t leaving you here. Come sit in our room where at least it’s warmer.”
Chris starts to pull her arm back, but Tess’s grip must be firm, because she doesn’t let go.
Chris sighs, “Hang on, let me get my phone.”
I’m surprised Tess convinced her, but I was also surprised Tess wanted to try. Tess has been surprising me all week.
Tess follows Chris into the room. I can make out Chris fumbling for her phone in the dark. Tess turns on her flashlight to help, then pulls a blanket off the bed. She drops it quickly. “Chris, this is soaking wet!”
A few minutes later, we are on the second floor in our room. It’s dark and colder than before, but not nearly as loud or as cold as it was in Chris’s room. Tess shuts our door and turns off her flashlight. The three of us stand there uncertainly.
“I bet you’re colder than you’re letting on, Chris. This isn’t Texas, and you’re all damp.”
Tess rummages through her duffel, and I reach into mine. We turn back to Chris at the same time. She lights up her phone to see what we’re offering. Tess holds up her pink camo pajamas, and I have Papa’s unopened bottle of Hennessy. Chris’s teeth chatter in the dark. She looks at both of us, unsure what to reach for first.
* * *
I never would have expected to find Chris wearing Tess’s pajamas and sitting in my bed with the two of us. But there we are. Tess texts Keisha to tell her that we’re fine, but we’re not going back down and the lodge should arrange for Chris’s window to be boarded up. She convinces Chris to change into her pajamas and explains that the three of us should huddle together for warmth.
“What are you, some kind of Girl Scout?” Chris asks.
“Yes,” Tess answers firmly. She’s a lot more confident than when we arrived last weekend. “Gold Award. And I do a lot of hunting with my dad in the winter, and, you know, I happened to grow up here. Consider it a tip from the locals.”
“I’ll drink to that!” I announce, holding the bottle high. That’s when the three of us climb into my bed and pull the comforters from both beds over us. I get in first, on the left, followed by Tess. Chris sits on Tess’s other side. I take a big pull of the Hennessy and try to explain how Lally, Gordon, Mibs, and I hang out on the steps of the Met at night.
“I don’t get it, Soph. You and your friends go to a museum for fun?”
“No, Tess. We just hang out on the steps. The Met’s closed by the time we get there. Kids from all the schools go and sit there at night. We just chill.”
Chris doesn’t say anything. I pass the bottle to Tess. I sit right up against her. I like the way her leg feels next to mine. I’m glad it’s dark in here.
Tess takes a tiny sip. “This stuff burns!”
I snort. “Keep going, you’ll get used to it. Can’t you feel it make you warmer?”
Tess shrugs, right next to my shoulder. “I guess so. My fingers feel less numb.”
We pass the bottle around, and I tease Tess a little. “I can’t believe a Gold Star Girl Scout and West Point wannabe is risking it all tonight, Tess. Is this your first time getting drunk?”
Tess laughs in a relaxed way I haven’t heard before, like she’s less controlled. She takes the bottle and this time she really drinks from it, not just a little sip, but a gulp. “Nope. We have parties in Castleton. But usually beer or vodka people sneak out in water bottles from their dads’ liquor cabinets.” She tells a story about a girl whose parents came home early and caught everyone drinking.
“Do you get drunk with Joey?” I can see Chris pause with the bottle when I ask.
Tess twitches next to me. “Why would I do that?”
“I thought guys like to get their girlfriends drunk before making out.”
Chris speaks for what seems like the first time. “Sounds pervy!” Leaning over Tess, she hands the bottle to me. “Maybe she should tell us more about her and this guy. I noticed she didn’t say no.”
Tess.
I may be feeling warmer and a little better about Chris, but I am not sharing private details about what I do with Joey. “’S off limits.” I realize I’m starting to slur my words. Oh, brother!
Soph hands the bottle back to me. “You almost never want to talk about him. Didn’t he send you a Valentine?”
I take another sip. I know I have to change the subject.
“Not talking about Joey. Do you have a girlfriend, Soph?” Although my mind is fuzzier from the alcohol, I realize I don’t know the answer to this question even though we’ve been living in one room for almost a week now.
“Tragically, no,” she says. “The only two other out girls at my school are dating each other. And neither of them is really my type anyway.”
The alcohol must be doing its job, because this is stuff I never talk about with anyone, not even Joey. I really want to ask how a girl figures out what kind of girl she likes. The bottle is already heading back my way, so I take it and turn toward Chris to ask if she’s dating anyone. I’m just trying to be polite—and change the subject.
“I was. For two years. He went to Baylor last fall and broke up with me by text.” Her answer surprises me. Chris seems so independent, as if she doesn’t need anyone. The idea of her with a boy for that long, an older boy who went to college, is hard to wrap my head around.
I’m still figuring out what to say as I take another sip from the bottle, but before I do, Soph says, “Asshole,” which sounds appropriate.
“He wasn’t, though, Soph.” This is the first time tonight Chris has used either of our names. Her voice, slightly slurred like mine, sounds sad. “He was brilliant and nice. Cute, too, with brown curly hair.” Her voice cracks. “Romantic, even. He read Beat poetry to me and played music on old vinyl records.” She stops before resuming, “I don’t know why he dumped me and I don’t guess I’ll ever find out.”
“’S that why you always want to investigate things? So, you can figure it out and win him back?” I ask without thinking. Chris has the bottle. She takes a sip before answering me.
“No. Don’t be stupid, Tess.” I guess we aren’t going to be besties by the end of the night after all. She goes on. “I like knowing why things happen, uncovering what the inside story is. I hate guessing about things. I want to have facts. He texted once and told me it was over and then never again. I have all these questions and I—I guess I wanted to know what I did wrong, so I don’t do it again with my next boyfriend.”
I think she’s going to hand the bottle to Soph, but she rests it on her lap and peers sideways at us. “I know everyone here hates me for asking questions about Orly. But I need to know why. I mean, I showed up, and they put me in a room with him as though it was nothing. No one told me I was rooming with a boy. I don’t know why no one understands that I can’t feel comfortable with that. Didn’t I have a right to be told? How am I supposed to feel safe if he pretends to be a girl but isn’t?”
Of course, Soph responds to that. Her voice crackles with anger. “First of all, Orly is not a boy. You should stop saying that. Didn’t you hear what she said downstairs?”
“Hey,” I reach out, putting my hand on Soph’s arm to calm her down. “We don’t need to have a fight here.” My hand misses Soph’s arm and I feel what I think is her thigh. I pat it anyway. The Hennessy is definitely at work.
Soph turns her next question to Chris. Her breath brushes my face. “I wanna ask something. I wanna know if you asked your boyfriend why he broke up with you.”
Chris’s response is sharp. “No, I didn’t. He hurt my feelings. It came out of the blue.”
“Well, you can’t ‘vestigate someone unless you try talking to them. If you talked to Orly, you’d find out that she’s totally nice.” Soph has a point.
Chris isn’t buying it, though. “I shouldn’t have to ask about something like that. They should have told me. Same with Miguel. He shouldn’t have just sent a five-word text. I blocked him after that.”
“You rushed to judgment,” Soph says. “Both times. Journalists are supposed to present both sides even if they think one is bullshit.” Chris doesn’t respond. I try a different approach.
“Chris, I get why you might have been—hey, you have to keep passing the bottle—thass—that’s a rule.” I reach over, and she lets me take it from her. I take another small sip and pass it back to Soph.
I try again. “Chris, you have to—I mean, I get you were surprised.” My voice is sloppy. That sounds like “sprized” even to me. I take a breath and speak very slowly. “And maybe you’re right, maybe Orly or the organizers should have asked you before they put you in a room with her, but what you did wasn’t anything that made you safer from Orly, whazzit?”
I take the bottle from Soph and pass it back to Chris without drinking.
“What do you mean?” she asks sullenly.
“I mean, if you were worried about her doing something, you could have gone to Professor Forsythe or asked to switch rooms. Or you could have asked her why she didn’t tell you. Maybe she was just as scared of you as you were of her.” Chris starts to interrupt, but I keep talking. “Instead, you talked about her behind her back and decided to make her a news story. Then you refused to work with us on the group project so you could spy on her and write about it. How did that make you safer?”
Chris is silent. Soph reaches across me and takes the bottle from Chris. For some reason, her arm brushing up against my front makes me think I need to make the bottle passing rule clearer. But my stomach quakes, and I say, “You know you actually made both Orly and yourself less safe.”
“How so?” Chris asks. I think she might be listening to me. I’m dizzy and I don’t feel so good, but getting her to listen might be a really good idea.
“You made Orly less safe because you’ve been treating her like an outsider and encurrenced, I mean, en-cour-aged other people to. And you wouldn’t even talk to her about it.”
What I say next seems like a good idea until the words come out of my mouth. “And you made yourself less safe ’cause no one had your number tonight. You were missing and you could have been hurt. You were hiding in your room in a stupid ice storm, and no one had your number to text you because you don’t have any friends here.”
After I say that, I realize I’m about to throw up right now. I push the blankets off and try to get to the bathroom.
Chris is still silent, but I can hear Soph behind me say, softly, “Damn, Tess.”
* * *
From Soph Alcazar’s Writing Journal,
February 14, 2018
A powerless night with three turns messy.
I’m surprised what comes out with Hennessy.