23

Leah

Friday, October 20th, 1989
Lucy missing 3 weeks

I’m back home early from the dance; my heart is still racing.

Scott picked me up earlier in his black Nissan truck. It’s small but souped up with big tires and a loud stereo system that makes the dashboard glimmer like a Christmas tree. Scott just got his license, and he’s proud of the thumping bass and likes to crank it up so that other cars notice. I could hear his stereo from down the street but thankfully he turned it down before pulling into our driveway.

“Please be safe,” Mom called out to me as I was walking toward his truck.

When I got in, Scott didn’t ask me a bunch of awkward questions, he just sweetly squeezed my hand and set it on his knee, holding it there until we got to the church where the dance was being held.

We pulled up to the white-rock building—the dance was in the basement—and Scott turned to me, saying, “Look, we don’t even have to go in if you don’t want to.”

I considered leaving, but I also didn’t feel like driving around for hours alone with Scott. “No, I can do it. Let’s go.”

It was still stifling outside, but when Scott led me through the thick wooden door to the basement, it was freezing cold and dark. Strobe lights beamed off the walls pulsing to the music, and the odor of the smoke machine made me feel dizzy. He took my hand and led me around the room. All eyes were trained on me. I was mostly met with sad, pitiful smiles and half waves until Ali burst in front of us with a pushy, over-exaggerated hug.

“How are you? I am so sorry, sweetie.” Ali was a cheerleader and was always making big displays of emotion, trying to grab the spotlight. In that instance, I cringed; I couldn’t remember why we were friends, or what I even liked about her. I started to answer Ali but she was already chatting up Scott, thanking him for bringing me to the dance.

The next song that came on was the Cutting Crew’s “I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight,” and I was relieved when Scott pulled me away from Ali and onto the dance floor. I clasped my hands around his neck, still sweaty from the night heat. We tried to settle into a groove, but the song really was too fast, making it awkward to keep time to. Scott kept stepping on my toes with his Cole Haans and we both became flustered, so we followed the other fumbling couples off the dance floor.

I looked around the room and saw my old best friend, Nicolette, in the corner with her boyfriend, Damien. She was looking up at him and twirling her hands through his hair as he held her close, his arms roped around her back. I left Scott by the drink stand and went over to her.

We’d been best friends since third grade. We had the same homeroom class that year and were seated next to each other according to the roll call: Nicolette Rossi and Leah Spencer. I liked how different Nicolette was from the other girls—she was easily the prettiest girl in the class with raven hair and a Liz Taylor smile, but also, there was something wise about her and she possessed a mischievousness that I envied. On the playground during recess one day, she turned to me and asked if I would be her best friend. “Forever and ever, promise?” Nicolette had said, flashing her wide grin. Lucy was my best friend but Nicolette was irresistible so I said, “Yes, forever and ever.”

We became inseparable. We went to slumber parties and birthday parties and were friends with other girls in our class, but we kept a moat around our perfect friendship, not letting anyone else get too close to us.

Mom and Dad adored Nicolette, and her parents, Nick and Florence, would clasp my cheeks in their hands and call me Little Bella every time I saw them. They were originally from Italy. Mr. Rossi was a well-respected heart surgeon and when he came to Dallas once for a conference, he fell in love with Texas, with the wide-open skies and barbecue and decided to bring his new bride to America. Soon, they had Nick, and then Nicolette, their offspring just as dazzling as they were.

I loved going to their house. It was always warm and open with company drifting in and out—their windows and doors were always open, too—and the air was thick and dreamy with towering houseplants and sliced fruit resting in glass bowls, the sounds of classical piano always tinkling in the background from the stereo. Just outside their back door, there was a crushed granite path that led to a huge, jungly garden and a glittering pool.

When we hit middle school, Nicolette blossomed overnight, becoming bustier and more like a teenager while I was stuck with my flat brown hair and training bra and braces. Nothing bad had happened between us—we didn’t have a fight or anything—but during the summer before eighth grade, we started drifting apart. Instead of spending endless hours with Nicolette by her pool reading Seventeen magazine, I watched her being swarmed by eighth-grade boys and even some high school boys. She always tried to include me, but I felt left out and awkward watching her make out with a handsome boy while I sat parked in my swimsuit in a lawn chair, dazed by the sun, sipping on a Sprite.

When we got to high school, we slowly went our separate ways. Now she spent all her time with Damien, a hazel-eyed junior with curly blond hair. Damien was edgy and good-looking and drove a black convertible Mustang.

And I joined the yearbook staff and fell into the group of giggly girls I had always tried so hard to avoid.

As I got closer to Nicolette and Damien, I saw him point in my direction and whisper something in her ear. Nicolette broke away from him and looped her arm through mine, guiding me toward the bathroom so we could talk. It was as if no time had passed between us.

“Have you guys heard anything at all?” she asked.

“No. Nothing,” I said, my throat tightening into a lump.

“I’m so sorry, Leah. Lu is like a sister to me, too. I really don’t know what to say.”

She pulled me into her and we both started sobbing. She took my face in her hands and wiped away my tears while smoothing out my bangs. “My parents really want you to come to the house. Mom wants to cook for you. Whenever you’re ready, okay?”

We walked back inside the dance. Scott was talking to Damien. They were discussing Lucy, I could tell, because as soon as we walked up they both fell silent.

The DJ then put on “With or Without You” by U2. I looked at Nicolette and saw a look of concern flash across her face. U2 is Lucy’s favorite band. As the opening notes of the song filtered through the room—the haunting sound of the keyboard like a call from the sea—I felt my stomach coil into a knot and thought I might be sick. I raced for the door, across the dance floor, and tried to push my way through the couples that had already started to lock together and sway. The lyrics rang in my ears as I scanned the room for the exit, and all I could think was this: Lucy might never get to go to a high school dance.

Scott was right behind me and pushed down on the metal bar that clanked open the heavy door that led outside. We stepped into the parking lot. He wrapped his arms around me tightly, letting me cry. After a moment, I looked up at him. He leaned in to kiss me, but I just shook my head.

“Can we just go?” I asked.

Scott is driving toward my house, and I thought he was taking me home, but now he’s turned down a cul-de-sac a few blocks up. It’s a quiet and dark circle, with only one house set far off the road. He puts the truck in park in front of an empty lot and kills the engine but leaves the stereo playing. He fumbles through his cassettes until he finds one and jams it into the tape deck. He lowers the windows. The air has cooled but the night is still a hot, panting thing.

He pulls me into him and we start kissing. John Wait’s “Missing You” is playing softly, and for a moment I let myself go, for a moment I enjoy being wrapped up in Scott’s arms. He feels solid, secure. He reaches for my hand and places it on his thigh, then takes his own hand and slips it up the back of my shirt. His fingers feel like warm velvet; my heart is a jagged drum. But when he starts fumbling with my bra clasp, I jerk away.

“It’s been a while,” he purrs, and starts tracing his fingers back up my spine. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. Suddenly, his truck seems too tiny and I feel overpowered by his cologne—Benetton—he always wears too much, and I find myself annoyed with him, irked by the cheesy song he chose, the very normal, predictable song he always plays when he wants to make out. All at once I feel repelled by Scott, by what his life is—normal—and what mine will never be again. There is a gap between us now that I can’t name, and I can’t wait to get out of his truck.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“But you don’t have to be home for another hour at least. I miss you, I—”

“What’s your problem, Scott? Just take me home,” I snap, sounding more annoyed than I intended.

He just sits there with one arm dangling off the wheel, his face in a pout, sulking, so I open the door and get out, slamming it shut behind me. I decide to walk home. Scott idles for a few angry moments before peeling off. It’s dark out, the streetlights casting puddles of light on the road, but when I get to the darkest spots I pump my legs as fast as they can go. I’m still just a few blocks from home and mad at myself for not letting him drive me. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck as I race home. Between pools of streetlight, I race in the dark, running faster.

Is this what you felt, Lucy?

I hear a car door shut. I whip my head around, but I can’t make out anything. My calves are on fire, but I run as quickly as I can down my street and up my long driveway. Mom has left the porch light on, thank God, and I race toward it and fumble with the key in my pocket. My hands are shaking but I jam the key in the lock and open the door. Safely inside, I lock the door behind me and collapse in the entryway.