Sadie’s dresser was covered in books, as was every horizontal surface in her room. It left little space for anything else. Recently her books had been taken over by the slowly creeping growth of her mom’s discarded makeup. The collection expanded like an invasive species, rendering Frankenstein and Wuthering Heights—her summer reading before junior year—inaccessible without toppling lipstick and nail polish all over the floor.
“Look at you,” George sneered as Sadie attempted to apply liquid eyeliner for the third time. Her hands were shaking, and yet again, she ruptured the clean swoop of a cat eye, resulting in a knobby goth mess.
George sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing behind her. He began whistling a familiar tune, but she ignored him. He peevishly continued until finally, under his breath, he began to sing:
“There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination—”
“You’re distracting me, George,” Sadie snapped, glaring at him in the cabinet mirror. From the corner of her eye, she could see him pouting, but she focused on herself and tried to salvage her boring face. She blurred the black liner into two dark pockets over her eyes and smeared glitter on her eyelids, but gave up on the whole concept of blush and lipstick. She had a kind of ghoulish look that she hoped Henry would like. She looked like the rest of his band, at least. She had wanted to ask Lucie what to wear to the concert, what to wear to impress Henry, but she’d been too embarrassed. She didn’t want Lucie to know, but Sadie was certain: something was wrong between her and Henry.
“You better not tell her,” George said. “Lucie’s so pretty, and she’s got so much in common with Henry.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means. If you ask me, you look ridiculous. In case you’re wondering.”
“Why are you being this way?”
“Because I’m jealous,” he muttered. It was hard to tell if he was serious. He lit a cigarette and took a sip of his old-fashioned. She loved the way it smelled. He was trying to distract her.
“I have to go,” she said.
“Don’t go.”
“Why?”
George set the glass down hard on the desk, spilling whiskey all over a colony of Penguin Classics.
“Because no matter what you think you have with him, he’ll never be me.”
Sadie slammed the cabinet door, but when she turned to face him, he was gone.
It seemed to Sadie a dreadful lie to call the City Museum a museum. It was chaotic. Nothing lived in frames, and nothing was labeled. It was loud. One always needed to look out for children running, or dragons, or any other manner of demon. It did not leave space to think. It did not leave space for George.
But it was Henry’s favorite place, so Sadie was happy to be there. It was beautiful like a collage: all the pieces of different times and places repurposed into something truly different. Artists had salvaged a city and built a fantasy. Painted factory rollers lined up into slides and concrete curled into caves. Everything was wild and unusual there: a circus indoors, a machine to make shoelaces. Mrs. Vaughn had said it was the perfect place for his band to play because it defied description, just like Brother Raja, and Henry had blushed with pride despite himself.
As Henry reminded his mom, they were only the opening act, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. He measured himself against gods and legends. For mere mortals, it was quite a big deal. The Riverfront Times had branded Brother Raja a band to watch and recommended that parents “give a second listen to the poorly dressed teens playing folk rock disco disguised as punk.” Their T-shirts with the elephant logo printed right in Henry’s backyard were showing up not only around Webster, but on staff at Vintage Vinyl and around the WashU campus. Precocious was the adjective everyone used for Henry. Raw was what they called Lucie. As the review had said: “These high school punks are showing us that the suburbs are alive with the sound of music.”
The show didn’t start for a few hours. Henry was already nervous, his hand warm and damp in her own, as they strolled through the concrete caves. His black eyeliner and all-black clothes drew a few parental stares from the adults tethered to toddlers, but his smile softened every hard brow. Even dressed like the devil, he still looked like a nice boy.
Sadie watched the covetous stares of Henry’s blossoming fan club. To girls from local schools he was no longer invisible, if he ever had been. When Henry waved, they screamed, turned bright red, and vanished. He just looked confused.
“But you’re not confused,” George whispered. “You know exactly what’s going on.”
“Are you excited?” Sadie asked to break the silence. Her knees were curled up underneath her in a hidden pocket they had found. It was a dragon’s den just big enough for the two of them. Sadie could smell Henry’s shampoo: something flowery he’d taken from his mom, totally at odds with his desperately authentic punk look.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a good show,” Henry said, fidgeting with his shoelaces. “I’m happy you’re here.”
“I mean about everything. How everything’s…happening,” she said. Henry shrugged.
“Sure. It’s nice to have an audience.” He hesitated. “But I miss…you know. The way things used to be.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged again. He could be so hesitant to say anything these days. He was so busy all the time with the band and lessons and applying for college that they mostly texted anyway. In some ways, she liked it. When they were together, it was like there was a wall casting a shadow over them. Not between them, but in front of them. She felt awkward, like she was being left behind and she didn’t know how to follow.
“Nothing,” he said finally, touching her with the squeaky toe of his all-black Converse. “I just miss…having fun doing nothing. Matinees. Reading on the porch.” He fidgeted with the friendship bracelet Sadie had made him. It was old, nearly falling apart. She reflexively touched her own.
“Me too,” Sadie said. And she did miss how it had been then. But it wasn’t like she would have wanted to go back either. It was confusing. She felt herself retreating into her thoughts, puzzling it out. What did she want? George would know.
“Are you…?” she began, but then she wasn’t sure what question to ask.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You can ask me anything.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
“That’s not a question,” Henry said.
“I’m sorry.” Sadie was too afraid of the answers to her questions to even ask them.
The awkwardness settled into the cave with them, so they climbed out and wandered toward food. They weren’t hungry, but it was something to do. The whole band had made it, according to the massive group text they all shared. Sadie spotted a few of them: Lucie was standing in line for a hot dog, chatting with her other friends. She had a whole pack that followed her everywhere. She caught Sadie’s eye and made a face, waving. Sadie smiled and nodded. In the distance, she glimpsed George. He was wearing his robes and he had his wand out, a dragon crawling around his feet, affectionate as a puppy. She’d been thinking of dragons ever since they’d come in. Dragons were fascinating. George beckoned to her urgently, looked over his shoulder as though he was being chased. He ran out of sight and Sadie—
“Sadie? Sadie!”
“What?” Sadie asked, suddenly aware that Henry had been calling her name for some time.
“I asked you something.”
“What was it?”
“Weren’t you paying attention?”
“Yeah, it’s just loud in here.”
“Come on. You weren’t even listening. You were just staring into space.”
“I wasn’t. I can barely hear you now. Don’t be mad.”
“I can’t help it!” he snapped. “It’s like, no matter where we are, you’re always looking somewhere else. I can never get to where you are.”
“But I’m right here!” Sadie pleaded.
“Who are you thinking about?” he asked. “You’re always smiling when you’re far away. But you never smile when you’re with me. Not really.”
“That’s not true. I didn’t hear you. What did you ask me?”
“I asked if you love me.”
Sadie’s voice caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. She looked back to where Lucie had been standing, and thankfully Lucie was looking right at her. Always on cue, Lucie jogged over.
“What’s up?” Lucie asked.
“Where have you been?” Henry snapped.
“Checking our gear, unlike some slackers.” Lucie poked him in the ribs. Henry batted her back, and suddenly they were play-wrestling.
“Isn’t that cute?” George whispered in Sadie’s ear. Sadie shook her head as hard as she could and he vanished.
“What are you doing, Sadie?” Lucie asked, grabbing her. Lucie held her so tight she couldn’t move, stopping her from shaking. Sadie hated to be held down, it made her feel strapped in, out of control.
“Nothing!” she shouted in embarrassment as she wrenched herself away. Henry and Lucie looked at each other, having the same kind of secret conversation Sadie’s parents always had.
“I’m fine,” Sadie said. If Henry left her for Lucie, maybe they’d still be friends. And then she wouldn’t have to worry anymore about it all falling apart.
But when Sadie thought about it, she knew it wouldn’t happen like that. Lucie wouldn’t do that. Neither would Henry. What was she thinking?
“Okay. Jeez! You’re being so weird,” Lucie said after a minute. Weird stung, but Sadie knew she deserved it. She felt weird. “Let’s get hot dogs.” Lucie’s voice was the comforting purr of an engine capable of handling anything the road would throw at her. She was always on to the next thing, unbreakable.
“How can you eat before a show?” asked Henry.
“Running. Constantly. We’re going to win. At running. Which is a sport. According to your mom.”
“Thank you, Lucie, for the information. You truly are a gift to humanity.”
“That’s what your mom said last night,” said Lucie. Sadie laughed. Lucie always made her smile. Henry glared at them and they both stopped. “Oh, lighten up. What’s the matter with you two?” Lucie asked.
“It’s nothing,” Sadie said, looking at the floor.
Lucie cleared her throat and punched Henry hard on the shoulder. He yelped. “Stop being a psycho,” she commanded. And when Lucie commanded anyone, they obeyed. Lucie was always in control. Sadie envied that.
They didn’t say anything else, not in front of Lucie, and not to each other. But Sadie couldn’t stop thinking about it. When the show started and Henry went onstage, she thought: it wasn’t fair. When he was onstage he couldn’t think about anything but music. It consumed him. He was furious, but at that moment Sadie was certain that he didn’t feel anything but music. He went away to his other world, and she was in the audience suffering alone.
Staring up at him, watching him so close but so far away in his head, Sadie missed him.
She loved him. She really did.
But then, there was always George.
After the show, Henry smelled like sweat and smoke from the fire pit. His Honda was stuffed to its breaking point with musical instruments and gear. It sagged on its wheels. Sadie could hear the high-pitched song of its dying serpentine belt. She’d been helping out at the shop with her parents more and more, and everywhere she turned she saw mechanisms in need of repair. She had a knack for it.
Henry whooped, still high from being on the stage, as the stereo shifted from some abstract guitar torture to a more recognizable White Stripes throwback.
Sadie sat in the passenger’s seat with a misplaced tambourine in her lap, smiling.
“Can we drop this stuff off at my house before I take you home?” Henry asked, running his hand through his sweaty hair. Sadie nodded. They went over a speed bump and the tambourine rattled in her lap.
“Those are called sleeping policemen in England,” she announced. She was nervous for some reason, spewing facts.
“Really? That’s hilarious,” Henry said. “I love how you know everything. When I take you to England, we’ll know what to call them. You can be our guide.”
Sadie offered a limp smile. Henry sang, beating the steering wheel into submission with a drum solo.
They pulled into the driveway with a mechanical whine and a crunch and sat in silence for a few breaths. Henry stared at the garage door, watching it rise at the behest of the groaning motor.
“My mom’s not home,” Henry said. He leaned over quickly and kissed her. “She’s on a date with Mr. Rigley.” Sadie recoiled.
“Like, gym Nazi Mr. Rigley?”
“Yeah,” Henry said. “She’s been dating him for a few weeks. Don’t tell anyone.”
Sadie’s heart sank. Mrs. Vaughn seemed so untouchable, like a queen. It was hard to imagine her dating anyone, let alone a universally loathed gym teacher.
“What does she see in him?” Sadie asked.
“Same thing she saw in my dad, I guess,” Henry said. “A hero.”
Sadie understood that. Henry’s nearly imaginary army father was a man of stories and legends, but he didn’t sound like a match for the sparkling, bookish, manic Mrs. Vaughn that Sadie knew. Henry’s dad was a statue, a portrait in uniform. Not to Henry, of course, but from a distance he looked like a page out of a history book. Henry always said those first years moving around military bases were what broke up his parents, but Sadie wondered if it wasn’t just the disappointment of a hero stepping off the page. No one from that two-dimensional world of text could ever survive three dimensions.
They unloaded the band’s equipment into the converted garage, hurrying to beat the rain. A big sheet with the elephant logo hung over an arsenal of disused tools glimmering in the falling light. Thunder broke overhead so loud that the drum kit shook. It began to pour.
“Come inside for a second. Maybe it’ll slow down,” Henry said as the garage closed. He shook the water from his hair and made cute little noises of exertion. Sadie followed him into the familiar living room. Pictures of Henry’s band and some of Sadie had joined the pillage of history spanning the walls. Sadie and Henry going to the winter formal. Sadie and Henry asleep in the hammock. Sadie and Lucie after a race, lying in the grass. Brother Raja and Sadie eating pizza in the garage, slices raised to salute Mrs. Vaughn behind the camera. Sadie’s favorite was a picture of herself, Henry, and Lucie on the floor watching a movie, so absorbed they hadn’t noticed the camera. Their eyes were wide and their faces were lit up with the eerie gray of the television. All around them was darkness, but they were so bright.
Little moments, among the toils of Shackleton, the foxholes, the mountaintops. Little victories next to the highest peaks, the greatest depths, the firsts and the finals. Mrs. Vaughn called it her wall of heroes.
Henry had disappeared while she was distracted with the pictures. Sadie went into the kitchen, grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge, and poured it into a glass from the dishwasher, where their dishes always lived. She hung her damp bag in the mudroom. In the living room, she sat carefully on the wobbly ottoman, staring into the black TV screen at her reflection. She was wet and cold.
Behind her in the screen, she saw George’s lean reflection, no more than a silhouette. He looked angry and sad.
“Sorry, did I scare you?” Henry asked when she whipped around. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other.
“A little,” Sadie said. She turned back to the screen. It had been Henry all along.
“Celebration?” Henry asked. “My dad bought all this for me the last time I went to see him. We went out all night in Tokyo and no one even stopped me when we went into bars. He called it learning sin to overcome sin. It’s like a macho family thing. His dad did it and his dad before him….”
“Your dad bought you alcohol?” Henry had gone to Japan for two weeks that summer, texting her every day. He hadn’t said anything about nights on the town. Every picture had been anime and temples and Harajuku Girls. He’d mentioned they’d had some man-to-man talks, whatever those were. His dad was the one thing Henry kept secret, outside of veneration in swashbuckling anecdotes. Henry with his dad was an alternate universe Sadie couldn’t even imagine.
“He drank it with me. He made me swear I would drink it at home and that I wouldn’t drive. It’s supposed to be really good Japanese whiskey. I wanted to surprise you.”
“And your mom lets you drink in your room?”
“She doesn’t know,” he said with a grin. Sadie doubted that. Nothing got by Mrs. Vaughn: not a spelling mistake in class, not a missed practice for cross-country. Sadie’s hair was dripping onto the floor. She wondered what Mrs. Vaughn would deduce from that and reminded herself to wipe it up before she left.
“How will you drive me home if we drink it?” Sadie asked. Henry reached out and put his arms over her shoulders. She could feel the heavy bottle on her back.
“I was thinking maybe…would it be okay if I didn’t? My mom is gone for the night.”
Sadie blushed.
“I don’t mean…,” Henry trailed off, pulling away. “I mean, we don’t have to…”
He sighed. “I just want to spend time with you. I miss you. Don’t you ever miss me?”
She stared at him for a long time, standing there with a bottle of whiskey and cigarettes, all of him soaking wet. His black shirt was dripping. His eyeliner made him look like he’d been crying. Sadie’s heart beat hard in her chest, pounding against the moment of a decision. She could feel the vibrations in the track, standing at a crossroads between two out-of-control trains. She felt like the girl tied to the track between them.
“Yes, I miss you,” Sadie said. She took the bottle and poured two glasses, neat, handing one to Henry.
“Na zdorovie,” she said, clinking his glass. He took a sip and winced. Sadie took a gulp and choked, dribbling her drink on the floor. Henry laughed.
“It’s an acquired taste,” he said.
Sadie thought of all the dream cocktails she’d drunk, all the sips stolen from George. This did not live up to those drinks. It was horrible. Nothing dignified, woody, or rich about it. Just burning and choking. Real whiskey was nothing like what she’d read about.
When she looked at Henry, he was still laughing, but catching her eye, he stopped.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You have the bluest eyes of any girl in the world. When you look at me, it’s like I can’t look away.”
Sadie woke with a gasp. Her vision was spinning, careening painfully. She grabbed her phone. It was one in the morning. She’d barely dozed off.
She pulled the grimy covers up under her chin. They smelled like sweat. They smelled like clean laundry under which dirty laundry was hiding: like Febreze couldn’t quite get out the smell.
Henry lay next to her, sleeping. His chest rose and fell, his ripped T-shirt hanging open to reveal a few random long hairs.
Sadie extracted herself from the bed with surgical precision. Henry stirred, awakened by her movement.
“Are you leaving?” he whispered.
“Your mom will be home,” she whispered back.
“No, she’s out for the night. She’s staying at her boyfriend’s house. I promise.”
“Well, my parents are home,” Sadie countered. He put his hand on her arm.
“Hey,” he said. The bottle of whiskey had fallen over and she could see the remaining droplets congregating in one corner. Even thinking of it turned her stomach. The muddy remains of the tea-light candles had gone out, and his iPhone had died. The speakers it was attached to continued to buzz. A square foil wrapper sat crumpled in a ball on top of the piles of CDs that covered his bedside table.
She looked at him, hoping to get lost in his eyes. His eyes were so black that he looked like a deer. There was nothing to get lost in, just darkness.
“Hey,” he said again, and she managed to focus. It wasn’t like in a movie or a book, him lying there. He didn’t look cool. He looked confused. His faux ’hawk was all mussed across his head, and he had glitter on half his face from her makeup and the concert. She was smeared all over him.
“Hey,” she said back finally.
They sat awkwardly in the silence for a minute. Then he kissed her. His kisses tasted like sour ash after half a cigarette. It didn’t smell wonderful and sophisticated like George’s cigarettes. It was nothing like how she had imagined it. The stench lingered in the air and deep in Henry’s throat. How could smoking taste so bad?
She stood up. She felt nauseous and unsteady, but she put her hair back coolly, focusing on containing everything in one controlled little knot.
“Was it okay?” His hand brushed her leg. Everything was perfect. What was wrong with her?
“Yeah,” she said after a moment, stepping away from him. “I just have to go. My parents are home.”
“Can’t you stay the night?”
“No.” She wanted to hold him. She wanted to run away. Everything was a muddle.
“We have ice cream,” he said desperately.
“I have to go,” she said. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was shaking. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Can I walk you home?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” Sadie said.
She grabbed her bag, and she went to the door. She hesitated, and she went back, and she kissed his wonderful bewildered face one more time, missing his mouth entirely. Then she marched through the house and out his so-familiar front door into the night. And then she could finally breathe.
The street was cool and empty, glittering with the memory of rain.
Sadie walked slowly, her bag digging into her shoulder. She felt sore and damp and uncomfortable. She felt disgusting. She wished it would start raining again so she would feel clean.
“We could go to the Star Palace,” George said, walking beside her.
“Not now.” She felt sick.
“Come on, Sadie.” He started walking backward in front of her. She looked at him, and he was so gleeful she wanted to hit him.
“Now, now. Real’s not much fun, is it?” he teased. She watched the pavement pass by and her feet come into view, one after the other. In the corner of her vision George’s shiny black shoes kept distracting her.
“I’m sorry. Cheer up, darling. I just missed you. That’s all. I know you’ll go your own way eventually. I just thought we’d have more time.”
“Go away, George,” Sadie said, and he vanished.
She focused on walking. She counted her steps: one two, one two. Against her will she watched the scene unfold with Henry over and over in her mind. Her head hurt from drinking. She couldn’t quite get it clear. But then it had all been over so quickly, so strangely.
She imagined Henry’s face, and her heart filled with the kind of ache she’d dreamed of: wanting to touch him, wanting to be near him. He kept her in the present like an anchor. How could he be any more perfect? She didn’t deserve him. He was a rock star grown out of books.
So why did she feel so awful?
She wiped her face clean, which only managed to further streak her eyeliner. She straightened out her clothes, but there was no salvaging it. There was no way to make herself look put together.
She walked slowly up the driveway, in no hurry to get home. She passed George sitting solemnly on the front step tossing pebbles into the air and letting them fall to the earth. She didn’t even look at him.
“You’re home late,” her mom said as Sadie came inside.
“I texted you asking if I could stay out,” Sadie said, hovering near the door so her parents couldn’t smell the reek of alcohol and cigarettes and whatever other sins were emanating off her.
“Yeah, and when the answer to the text is no, you’re supposed to come home,” her mom replied, an obvious glimmer of suspicion crossing her face.
Her parents were in the kitchen, her dad staring intently into a battered old four-slot toaster without a spark of life left in it. Her mom was changing the record, inspecting album covers. They’d been listening to a lot of classical music, nerding out about this or that concerto. They even went to the symphony sometimes. Sadie could barely tell all the songs apart.
“Henry dropped me off,” Sadie said, kicking off her shoes.
Her dad looked at his watch. “It’s two in the morning,” he said.
“The show went late. Really late.”
Her parents exchanged a glance. Sadie realized: they never stayed up this late. They’d been waiting.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just…it was important. To Henry. It was a big deal.”
“Okay, well, next time not so late,” her mom said. “How was it?”
“What?”
“Henry’s show. How was it?”
“It was…perfect,” Sadie replied.
Her parents smiled. Her dad went back to his toaster and her mom changed the record. The speakers swept into a waltz. Their massive speaker system filled the whole house with music. She’d be able to hear it even in the basement.
Sadie felt her phone vibrate and she looked at it. It was a text from Henry. “I love you,” it said. She put her phone back into her pocket and marched toward the back door.
“Sadie?” her mom called after her.
“Where are you going?” her dad asked.
“Outside for some air,” she mumbled.
“It’s two in the morning,” her mom said.
“I’m just going out back.”
She let the screen door slam behind her. She ran barefoot out to Old Charlotte, yanked open her door, and closed herself in.
It didn’t feel like another world inside like it usually did.
It felt like a violated world, a broken one.
Henry always felt like he was a step behind, but Sadie knew that she was the one running to catch up. Tomorrow she would be happy. Tomorrow she would text him that she loved him. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, she would kiss him and touch him and be touched by him. But tonight she was lost.
The backseat was cold and empty and there was nothing for her to blow her nose on. She tried to stop crying, tried focusing on anything else. A spell. A palace. A mystery. Anything. An old favorite: just a hand to hold. Anything. Anything but this emptiness.
“Don’t cry,” George said. As though she were under one of his magic spells, she found that she had stopped. The night grew completely quiet. Nothing existed outside Old Charlotte’s foggy windows.
George leaned in hesitantly, as though she still had the power to stop him. His face was almost touching hers, electric. He took shallow nervous breaths, and she could feel each one light up the space between them with static begging to connect skin to skin, lips to lips. She stayed perfectly still staring into his blue eyes. Destiny, gravity, force. Something brought them together. His lips were soft but not wet, his skin smooth and dry.
“Did you like it?” he asked when he pulled away. She nodded. She turned away from him, and he pulled her face toward his and kissed her again. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear.
“The untold want—”
“I don’t need poetry,” Sadie said, searching those eyes for an answer. “I just need you.”
And then she kissed him back. She kissed him hard. Not sloppy and wet and fumbling as before, but confident. It was like they could read each other’s minds. His arms wrapped around her and hers found their way around his neck, and she felt the same things she had felt before: the strange automatic motion of him, manifested into something more. His fingers laced their way easily around buttons, and his hand took its place on her back, tempting her toward him. He lifted her up and suddenly she was on top of him—
Just then Sadie heard a door slam and the whole thing vanished in a wave of panic. She peeked out the window. No one was there, and all the lights had gone off. Her parents had gone to bed. It was dark, and she was alone. Completely alone.
She leaned back in the truck and lay down in the seat, putting her earbuds in. Her jeans had bunched themselves up in a strange way and she reached down to the sore wetness that remained of Henry, her only recollection of the main event warped by this disgusting mess it had made and the smell he’d left on her.
Sadie let her hands feel that hard seam of her jeans that held everything together, zipping her in. It divided her in two. She leaned back into the seat and listened to the music from her phone, all the old songs she used to love. A loose spring was sharp against her shoulder. It grounded her. She put her bare feet on the old hand crank of the window, where they fit perfectly. As she pulled at the seam, she imagined how it might have been with George, and what his hands would have felt like, and how magic and different it all could have been and never would be.
Something was over and something had started with Henry. And she cried, because it had felt strange, and it had felt right, but nothing had been magical at all.