When Owen arrived at work, he discovered that sometime in the twenty-four hours between his last shift and now, the holiday decorations had gone up, oddly coinciding with the first day of their annual fall sale. The backdrop in the store window was magnetic magenta and neon, the Northern Lights billowing over fresh fake snowfall like electric whirlpools, the inverse of sunshine. The only products displayed in the window were inexplicably high–heeled boots, a path of stiletto footprints across the snowscape. Inside the store, tiny mirrors shaped like snowflakes and stars waxed and waned their way across the ceiling to mimic the wild flight of aurora light. Fake evergreens threaded with delicate gold guarded the escalators.
He hurried through the faux Nordic skyscape and walked into the break room with only two minutes to spare before he was supposed to punch in for his shift. An after-school meeting for a group project had run longer than it was supposed to and he’d hit traffic on his way here. Judging by how crowded the store already was, he knew he was going to have a headache by the time he left tonight.
He pressed his employee number into the time clock and left the break room just as his coworker, Liz, was walking in.
“Prepare yourself, it’s a nightmare here today. I think the holiday decorations are warping everyone’s sense of time,” she said as they passed each other. “I’ve been getting screamed at since I got here and I’m this close to just not going back out there.”
Owen was working on the floor tonight, which was better than the register because the lines were long and everyone was impatient. Here at least he could move around as he tidied up abandoned clothes and put things back where they belonged.
He refolded a table of soft cashmere sweaters and returned two racks full of unwanted clothes from the fitting room to their proper places. He was in the middle of rehanging blouses and thinking about his Walcott essay when a woman approached him, holding a dark green dress with a clearance tag.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m looking for this in a medium. Would you be able to check if you have any left in the back?”
Owen put on his best customer service smile and took the dress from her. “Absolutely,” he answered.
He knew that they didn’t have any extra clearance inventory but headed toward the back of the store anyway to waste a few minutes and check his phone.
As he walked into the back room, his phone lit up with a text message from Angela. He felt his stomach freeze.
I’m going to pick up the donations for the silent auction tomorrow.
He stared at the screen. Why was she telling him this?
They’d barely spoken since the football game apart from whatever they had to say to each other at the Tricentennial Committee meetings. He’d initially been surprised by how quickly she’d offered to coordinate the silent auction but this week, when she presented the list of places that had agreed to provide donations, he understood—people in Westview would do anything Angela Witney asked.
Owen looked up from his phone, trying to think of how to respond, and he realized that he was surrounded by a galaxy of color and glitter.
Once the sale was over next week, all the holiday merchandise would be pushed out to gleaming floors. Dresses cut out of winter skies, smoky gray and ice–white, inky midnight and the fullest, purest blue like the world after snowfall. There were clutch bags encrusted in narrow red gems and round purple stones. Silk scarves with rivers of letters and gloves so soft it seemed that snow would dissolve them like sugar.
Want to keep me company?
He could have sworn he felt his heart stop.
Sure, he wrote back immediately, then cringed, hoping he didn’t seem overeager.
He realized he hadn’t even looked at his other messages, then saw that Lucie had invited him to go to Cherwell tomorrow. His stomach filled with guilt as he texted her back, lying that he was working.
On a table beside him, someone had laid out pictures and diagrams illustrating the layout of the store, the configuration of displays, outfits for the mannequins. It was all so calculated, everything carefully researched, tested and planned out to make people want the dream this place was selling. The mannequins were all supposed to be arranged in little scenes in their respective departments. Faceless bodies wearing party dresses sewn from champagne bubbles and candlelight. Child-shaped plastic in festive pajamas surrounded by cheerful stacks of wrapped presents.
He wondered if people really believed that if they bought those things here, they could have that life. The fancy party, the perfect family on Christmas morning. It made him feel a little sick.
He brought the dress back out to the customer. She was examining gift sets of perfume, displayed in patterned boxes and topped with shiny bows.
“Sorry,” he told her. “Everything we have left is out here.”
“Thank you for checking,” she answered, then walked away to look for something else. He wondered what dream she wanted to buy. Sometimes when he was bored here, he’d walk through the men’s section, imagining what he would purchase if he could afford to, what would make him look like someone who belonged in Westview.
Owen put away more clothes from the fitting room and tidied up a display of handbags. Then he took his fifteen-minute dinner break, quickly making a sandwich from the bread and peanut butter he kept in the break room. He looked at his phone. Angela had texted him to confirm the details for tomorrow. Lucie hadn’t said anything.
He went to the registers afterward to cover a break, carefully folding and wrapping layers of silk and wool. He smiled until his face hurt, at Westview people who ignored him, at strangers who demanded to speak to the manager. Fantasized about walking away from this place and its glittery lies. People here and people in Westview made him feel so small sometimes, like he didn’t matter.
He thought about that as he drove home, navigating roads where streetlights blinked like fireflies, all the way to his own part of town where everything was completely dark, lit only by his headlights and patterned with the shadows of trees. Past the stretch of street on his block that he always tried to avoid looking at so that he didn’t have to think about what had happened there on a winter night all those years ago.
There were so many parts of this town he loved—his friends and their families, all their traditions. The coziness of places like Gracie’s and Insomnia. But he hated the way Westview was ruled by secrets and status and appearances. He didn’t like the part of himself that felt like he needed to prove something to other people. People who judged him, didn’t even care about him.
And then, at home, he wondered, as he clicked submit on his Walcott application and thought about spending tomorrow with Angela instead of his friends, if he was really so different from all those people after all.
***
Angela was already there, waiting by her car when Owen pulled into the small parking lot behind the bank. She was dressed in dark jeans and a lake-blue shirt that matched her eyes and reminded Owen of summer afternoons.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, holding out a cup of coffee from Gracie’s.
“You remembered,” he said, then wished he hadn’t. “Thanks.”
She looked at him for what felt like a long time and Owen had to remind himself that she couldn’t actually read his thoughts right now, all the feelings swirling in his head. He took a sip of coffee.
They walked out of the parking lot to Main Street. He stole a glimpse over at Angela, who still looked deep in thought.
“I heard you’re on Homecoming Court,” Owen said, the first thing he could think of to break the silence. “Are you excited?”
Angela didn’t say anything at first, playing with her hair as they walked, looking like she was trying to decide how to answer.
“Not really,” she said finally.
“Why not?” He was surprised she was telling him this. He’d expected that she would be excited, or at least pretend to be.
She watched the cars driving by for a moment. Exhaled. “I’m not really excited about any of that this year,” she said quietly, like she was confessing her darkest secret.
Her eyes darted to Owen’s face, watching for a reaction. When he didn’t say anything she continued. “Spirit Week and Homecoming is always such a big deal for my friends. We always plan our costumes in advance, coordinate everything, go shopping together. We always have to have the best costumes. It was always so much fun. And I thought it would be this year, too, since it’s our last year. But last week, when we went shopping, it all just felt like a huge waste of time and effort. And it feels even worse because everyone wants everything about this year to be special. We don’t have another chance to top this one if it’s not as great as we all built it up to be. And that takes all the fun out of it.”
The moment she stopped talking, she looked like she regretted it. Like she’d said too much.
“I know what you mean,” Owen said. “There’s a lot of pressure on this year.”
She seemed to relax a little. Gave him a small smile. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way,” she said softly. There was something sad in her eyes.
“My friend Lucie made us promise to make this year memorable,” Owen added.
“Cassie did the same thing. I appreciate the sentiment but sometimes it feels like a little too much,” Angela admitted. “She’s been making us these playlists to commemorate everything we do lately.”
She held up her phone and Owen could see a long list of playlists with labels like October and Monday Morning and Paige’s Party.
“It’s nice of her,” Angela added quickly, almost defensively, as if afraid he was judging Cassie. “I just don’t think every moment needs to be special.”
A notification popped up on her screen. “Look. She just sent me a new one for tonight. We’re going to a party at Walcott.”
She pressed play. The playlist was titled Walcott Party and as the sound of upbeat pop music poured out, bubbling like champagne, Owen felt like he’d been pulled into her world. She and her friends were this song, the music playing on the radio with the windows down to let summer wash all over their skin, and on city rooftops where everything glittered, Westview in the palm of their hands and the world at their feet. He could imagine what it would be like to be part of her group, all those girls with their shiny hair and sparkly dresses, boys who dressed better for school than he did for special occasions. Their lives all looked so beautiful. He pictured them all crowded into one of the dorm rooms he’d seen on his tour of Walcott with cinderblock walls and narrow twin beds.
Sometimes he wondered how someone who had everything could seem so unhappy.
He wondered if Dillon knew everything she was telling him right now, things she didn’t seem to be able to talk about with her friends. He felt a little guilty.
He tried not to think about what it meant that even though she’d opened up to him so quickly now, he knew she would ignore him the next time they saw each other at school and he’d feel that familiar stab of hurt, a sinking feeling in his stomach. At the football game, when she didn’t seem to care who saw them together, he’d wondered if everything would change. But it hadn’t.
Angela shut off the music as they waited to cross the street, that thoughtful expression settling over her face again. Owen wished he could think of something else to say to her but the silence between them felt more comfortable now.
Their first stop was a narrow shop filled with expensive cosmetics. The woman at the register rushed over to give Angela a hug, ignoring Owen. The two of them talked for a few minutes while Owen stared silently at the glass bottles of perfume lining the marble counter.
“Anyway, this is our new skincare set,” the woman explained, producing a beautifully wrapped gift basket from under the register. She handed the basket to Owen, then presented a small bag to Angela. “And here are some samples of our new products for you. Let me know what you like and I’ll set it aside.”
“Thank you,” Angela said politely. “And thank you for donating this, we really appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” the woman said, smiling. “I’m really looking forward to the gala. Say hello to your parents for me!”
“We should probably put this in the car,” Angela suggested once they were outside. Back in the parking lot, she opened her trunk and Owen saw that it was full of other small bags from the shop they’d just left, along with a tangle of sparkly dresses and strappy shoes.
“One of your Spirit Week costumes?” Owen asked, indicating a bright pink wig spilling out of a large bag from a party store in the same mall as Madison.
She nodded.
“What are you going as?” he asked as they continued back onto Main Street.
“I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Owen laughed.
“I’m serious,” Angela said. “Cassie is always afraid that someone is going to steal our ideas. We all had to promise not to tell anyone.”
“You’re right, though, your friends always have the best costumes,” Owen said, remembering all the elaborate group costumes they’d worn over the years.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dress up.”
He wished that his heart didn’t skip a beat when she said that. He was surprised she’d noticed. But maybe it wasn’t difficult to notice one of the few people who didn’t dress up for Spirit Week. He shrugged. “I’m not really into costumes.”
Angela smiled. “Fair. But this is your last chance, you know…”
“That’s one thing I don’t think I’ll have any regrets about.”
“Do you really want to take that risk?” She was laughing a little, eyes sparkling.
All of Main Street was decorated for fall with amber hay bales and pumpkins in the doorways, plaid bows and red and white bunting strung across windows. Everything was yellow with autumn leaves, drenching the trees that lined the street and soaking the sidewalk like paint. It made him think of how Madison was ready for winter, his world all dressed up for two different seasons. Time felt strange now, somehow fast and slow at the same time. He wished he could speed up the bad parts like taking standardized tests and worrying about college, and slow down everything that was good, all the late-night conversations with his friends and digging through old archives for Tricentennial Committee projects, the feeling of holding history in his hands and discovering forgotten stories. And today, with Angela, her smile, her hair in the breeze, confessing things like they were friends again.
They continued down Main Street, collecting the donations Angela had procured for the silent auction—gift certificates from restaurants and boutiques, a basket of wine and charcuterie from Westview Wines, a necklace from the jewelry store. Everyone seemed to know everything about Angela. They asked her if she was excited for the gala next week, congratulated her on being selected for Homecoming Court, told her to say hello to her parents. And Owen watched her put on a version of herself that didn’t match who she was once they stepped back outside, blazing autumn all around them. The way she held herself around them was different. She was taller somehow. Her movements were slow and precise, almost calculated like she was picturing what the moment looked like instead of living it. They all looked at her like she was an entire world, oceans and constellations, and Owen could see in her eyes that she was miles away.
He stood off to the side while she chatted with the staff at Westview’s new fitness club. Everything there was sleek, all soft-gray and white and it reminded him more of a fancy hotel than a gym.
The sound of laughter echoed along the staircase and a group of girls Owen recognized from school descended into the lobby. He could see them staring at him, and then they lit up as soon as they saw Angela. Immediately, they were at her side, laughing and chattering, and Angela kept that perfect fake smile on her lips the entire time.
As the girls left, one of them glanced back and looked curiously from Angela to Owen, eyes lingering on Owen. The door slammed and he could feel his face burning.
“That’s almost everything,” Angela said when they left a few minutes later, looking through a list on her phone. Her voice was tight and clipped now. “Everyone else I spoke with already brought over their donations so this is our last one today.”
They were standing outside a dress shop. Three mannequins wore long red dresses in the window. Angela glanced from the shop to Owen.
“It would be better if I go in here myself,” she said. “I’ll drop everything off at Jan’s office on my way home.”
He felt all the hope and happiness from today drain away.
He’d read too much into all of this. There was nothing special about this afternoon. She just wanted someone to keep her company and there he was, because everyone in Westview did whatever Angela Witney wanted. Of course she’d told him how she really felt about all the pressure of this year because to her, he was just a nobody who wouldn’t care. Who wouldn’t tell anyone.
And even if he did, no one would believe him. One of those names you shouldn’t trust. She gave him her secrets like a message in a bottle, tossed out to the ocean to forget, to turn into sea glass.
And as soon as people noticed them together, all her walls went back up because he didn’t fit into her world.
He had to stop overthinking every moment he spent with her.
“I’ll see you at school, then,” he said quietly and walked back to his car. He drove home slowly through this postcard-pretty town. Old white churches. The red-brick clock tower. Gold fields and the stone bridge that crossed so much reservoir that all the blue seemed to go on forever.
There were so many secrets in Westview. Owen had plenty of his own and knew plenty of others. Some secrets weren’t worth sharing; they seemed small and insignificant. Others ached to think about, hurt even more to talk about so he drowned them deep within himself. And still others, like that one he’d discovered on a slow, sleepy summer day, could cause ripples. But there were so many reasons not to tell, he thought, picturing Angela as he looked at Westview and all its blue.