Antoinette picked me up in her mom’s car, a silver Toyota Camry. I’d brought the Canon, which I’d stashed in my backpack.
“How was your Christmas?” I asked her.
“The usual.”
“What’s the usual?” I asked.
Antoinette sighed. “My mom trying to be cheerful. Then completely losing her shit. Then trying to be cheerful again. And then losing her shit.”
“She’s still thinking about your brother?”
“She’s always thinking about my brother. She’ll be thinking about my brother until the day she dies.”
I nodded respectfully. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Is it always on your mind?”
“Sometimes it is,” she said. She thought for a second. “And then I forget about it. And when I realize I forgot about it, I feel guilty.”
I nodded. I watched the passing houses along the road. “What happened to him exactly?”
“He impacted a hard surface at a high rate of speed.”
She drove for a while, thinking about it. “I don’t know what happened to him.”
“What did the doctors think?”
“The doctors? There weren’t any doctors.”
“He didn’t go to therapy or anything?”
She shook her head.
“What about the police?” I asked. “Or your family?”
“Nobody knew he was going to do that. I mean, we knew he was depressed. He was always depressed.” She changed lanes, checking her rearview mirror. “I did learn one interesting thing though.”
“What’s that?”
“My dad tried to kill himself when he was nineteen.”
“But he didn’t succeed,” I said.
“He didn’t try as hard. He took pills. And then puked them back up.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“I think my dad might be gay,” said Antoinette. “That’s the feeling I’ve got from my mom over the years.”
“Yeah?”
“Marcus might have been too. But who knows. It’s not like anyone’s going to discuss it. Being a military family and all.”
• • •
Agenda was right downtown. We parked across the street. I got out the Canon. Antoinette watched while I slung it around my neck.
“Actually,” said Antoinette, “I don’t think they allow cameras inside.”
“It’s small,” I said. “They won’t notice.”
“I think they’ll notice.”
“No they won’t,” I said. I tucked the strap under my shirt and hid the camera beneath my coat. With my hands in my front pockets, you couldn’t tell it was there.
“They’re pretty strict,” said Antoinette.
“They won’t see it,” I said. “I’ve been working with this pro photographer guy. We just did a gig in Seattle. He knows all the tricks.”
“If you say so,” said Antoinette.
• • •
The Agenda security guy found my camera. It took him about two seconds.
We went back to Antoinette’s car.
“So who is this guy you work with?” asked Antoinette, while I untangled the Canon from around my neck.
“His name is Richie,” I said. “He works at the Passport Photos place downtown.”
“And you get paid?”
“He gets paid. And then he pays me.”
“And you call it a gig?”
“That’s what Richie calls it,” I said, returning the camera to my backpack.
“I gotta say, Gavin, ex-boyfriend of idiot Grace Anderson, that’s sorta cool.”
We went back to Agenda. They let us in this time, after another thorough search.
• • •
I don’t know what I was expecting of Agenda. I guess I thought it would be like a high school dance, awkward kids smiling bashfully at each other from across the room. It wasn’t like that. People were dressed very cool, for starters. The guys looked intense. The girls looked like they’d snap your head off if you looked at them wrong. It wasn’t what you’d call a welcoming vibe.
We sat on a bench along one wall. Eventually the music started. It was pretty hard-core electronic dance music, which I like. The beat was crisp and powerful through the large speakers. It sounded fantastic. As the music got going, people appeared from various nooks and crannies. The dance floor filled up. Then the lights went out and a ball started to turn above the dance floor. It sent laser lines, bending and twisting through the room. I turned to Antoinette to say something, but it was too loud. Instead, she grabbed my arm and pulled me onto the dance floor. And so we did that. Antoinette and I danced.
The dance floor got pretty wild. It was way cooler than any high school dance. Two girls appeared beside us who were dressed up like . . . I don’t know what . . . sixties girls? They had thick fake eyelashes and short dresses and different-colored tights. And they were great dancers! Super casual and not moving too much, but totally sexy. They never looked at anyone and kept the same unreadable half smiles on their faces. Then I looked over at Antoinette and realized she was like them, super chill and relaxed and moving just enough and in just the right way to be totally hot. Since when was Antoinette sexy? But she was. She totally was.
We danced for a long time. People would come and go off the dance floor. You’d get to know the different people by their look, their style, the way they moved. One girl bobbed her head from side to side. One guy in white jeans did slow-motion reptile moves, like a snake. And since we were all stuck inside—you couldn’t leave Agenda once you came in—we settled in with each other.
After an hour, it got pretty hot and sweaty. We took a break and bought cans of Coke, which cost four dollars each and weren’t even cold. More people came in. The night was just getting started, it seemed. And with everyone dressed to the teeth, with their own carefully honed styles, it was really a spectacle. I would have killed to have my camera.
• • •
We left around midnight. Outside, I couldn’t quite believe what I had seen.
“So what do you think?” asked Antoinette.
“It was great,” I had to admit. “I didn’t know there were such places.”
“Yes, dear Gavin. There are.”
“I want to take pictures in there.”
“Maybe there’s some way.”
Antoinette dug a cigarette out of her bag. “Why do you always bring your camera when you do stuff with me?”
“Because there’s interesting people.”
“They’re not that interesting.”
“To me they are.”
Antoinette leaned against her car and lit her cigarette. “Maybe instead of taking pictures of interesting people, you should try to be one.”
“How would I do that?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you could start by going out with someone interesting for once.”
“Like who?”
Antoinette smiled in a funny way. At first I didn’t know what she was smiling about. But then I saw that she was looking past me, down the street.
“How about Britney Vaughn?” she said.