the hallway was dark and the floor was sticky. Music thumped in a distant room and Jules was right—it was terrible! I followed her past a vacant bar to a windowless room lined with ugly velvet banquettes, where a guy and girl sat sprawled in opposite corners.
I edged in behind Jules, straightening my dress strap as they jumped to their feet. The girl was intimidatingly pretty—Asian, model-tall, with a perfect purple ballerina bun. The guy was on the short side, olive-skinned, wearing an untucked dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, like he’d just gotten off work on Wall Street.
He’s trying to look older, I realized, but then he smiled, totally affable, and I felt bad for noticing.
Jules glanced back at me, almost shyly. “Yeah, this is Sam and Joey.”
I couldn’t figure out whose name was whose, so I gave a general wave. “Hey.”
Jules whipped back around, sculptural hair flying. “Meet Ruby.”
“Hey Ruby,” Joey/Sam said in unison.
“Her dad is Martin Chertok,” Jules added.
They stared blankly at us—and a thrill shot through me.
“Martin Chertok,” Jules said again, louder, like she hadn’t been heard over the thump-thump-thump of Top 40 in the next room. “The classical composer?”
“Cool!” the tall girl said, but it was obvious she was pretending.
“Ugh.” Jules threw herself onto one of the sofas. “Heathens. Sorry, Ruby.”
“Not at all,” I chirped, too enthusiastically. But oh my God, I meant it. I was outside the gates of Musiclandia, and the air was so heady and clean! Actually, it smelled like beer stains in here, but still.
Joey/Sam—I was leaning toward him being Joey—scooted closer. “Where do you go to school?”
What a delightfully ordinary question! “Exton?”
Everybody groaned.
Jules slung her arm around me. “Don’t mind us. We’re victims of the public school system.”
A boy walked in with his arms spread wide and, again, apart from Jules, everybody rose to greet him.
She turned to me instead. “So! Tell me what you’ve been up to for the past six years.”
Tyler, then. Still on probation.
“A lot of piano,” I said.
“Yes, I figured.”
“But now I’ve quit.”
“Why?” Jules leaned in, unblinking.
“Because I suck.”
“Hmmm, dubious reason.” She stood, presenting her cheek for Tyler to kiss.
“You didn’t answer my texts,” he said. He was handsome, in a high school production of Grease kind of way. “I didn’t know if you were hanging out tonight.”
“Oh, is that a problem?” She sat again, crossing her legs coquettishly. “Did you invite another girl?”
“No! Jesus.” He motioned to the door. “Do you want something?”
“Water,” she said. “Ruby?”
“You’re still not drinking?” Tyler sounded amused.
“Nope.” She examined her thumbnail.
“I make one comment—”
“Ruby, do you want a drink?” she asked, louder.
“I’ll have a Shirley Temple,” I answered, and immediately wanted to bury my head in these disgusting cushions till I passed out from shame.
But the model clapped. “Oh my God, I love those! I’ll have one too. But put some vodka in mine.”
The dance floor in the other room had started filling up in the time it took to get our drinks. As I wobble-walked out with them, I found myself matching step with the bass beat whether I wanted to or not. My Shirley Temple had tasted slightly off, so I was guessing I’d also gotten the Sam upgrade. It felt . . . interesting.
We bobbed around the side of the room, making fun of the music—dancing with exaggerated enthusiasm. Ironic dancing? This was new.
Then Jules pointed to the front door. “I have to eat.”
Out on the street, everybody headed north, like they were psychically linked and had already decided on a destination.
Joey hung back. “Are you a senior?”
“Yeah, next year.”
“Us too. Do you know where you’re applying for college?”
Normal. I loved normal. I could totally normal. I wobbled and Joey caught my elbow.
“Um, not yet.” I jogged to catch up with the others, crossing the street past dark office buildings to a glowing diner. “I need to pick a life direction first. Where I can make the most impact.”
“Oh, right,” Joey said, but he looked confused.
We followed everybody inside to a corner booth the waitress was still clearing. The place was packed—our timing had been impeccable.
Joey slid in beside me. “Are you going to stay in the city? I applied to Northwestern, but there’s no way I’ll get in.”
“You’ll get in!” Sam turned to me. “He’s a math genius.”
I coughed, abruptly on the spot, like Joey and I were on a blind date.
Joey flushed. “I get good grades, that doesn’t mean I’m a math genius.”
Genius. I pictured tuxedoed Oscar sitting at Nora’s table at the Met gala tonight, smiling under the ballroom lights, the set of his jaw, fingers idly tracing a tune against the edge of the tablecloth . . .
“You calculate derivatives faster than me.” Sam opened her menu. “And I’m totally a genius, so.”
“Have you decided on Binghamton yet?” Tyler asked Jules. The subject hadn’t changed, exactly, but this had the tone of a private conversation.
Jules sipped her water as her boyfriend kissed her shoulder. “Nope.”
He straightened. “Nope, you’re not applying, or nope, haven’t thought about it.”
“I haven’t had time to think about it.”
“With all your training.” He said it flatly, no sarcasm, but her face went cartoon red.
“Yes, with my training and my life, which you are barely a part of.”
“Whoa.” He raised his hands.
“Anyway, I’m staying in the city, so you need to come to terms with that. I’m not moving out of my apartment until they forcibly evict me.”
I squinted at her. “Why would you get kicked out of your apartment? You’re not, like, squatting—”
“It’s rent controlled,” she said. “How else do you think we could afford it? Grandma’s a social worker, but she’s been there since the Dutch bought Manhattan, and she’s the only name on the lease. As soon as she dies, the rent goes nuclear, I’m out on my ass.”
“Is she sick?” I asked. “I didn’t—”
“No, Jesus, we are out of touch, aren’t we? She’s fine! Everything’s fine.”
Everyone in the booth was frowning at Jules and me now, queasy with confusion. They snapped out of it long enough for us to all order dinner, then Joey asked, “How do you and Jules know each other?”
“We’re neighbors,” I started, sipping from my water as Jules cut in—
“We don’t. We used to be best friends, awww, but then Ruby here went off to Exton and I stayed in public school and she pretended not to know me anymore.”
“Excuse me?” My mouth fell open, the straw sticking to my lip. “That is not what happened at all.”
“Okay, cool, I’d love to hear your version. After all these years.”
“We just . . . didn’t have the same interests anymore.”
“Oh, this is classic. Go on.”
“I started to get serious about my practice schedule.”
“She plays the piano,” she explained to the table. “Or is it ‘played’ now that you’ve quit?”
I jabbed my straw into the bottom of my cup. “And you weren’t serious about anything, so we drifted apart.”
“I wasn’t . . . ?” She sputtered soundlessly. “Newsflash, Chertok, you’re not supposed to be serious about anything when you’re ten. I was a kid. You were a robot.”
“What?”
“A robot.” She jerked her arms. “‘Must not hang out, must do scales.’”
“Only in the afternoons,” I snapped. “You could have hung out after that. We could have had sleepovers.”
“I’d made new friends,” she said snootily.
I had too. But I still hit the table. “So you admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“You dropped me.”
She blinked. “Let’s call it mutual.”
I fumed a breath. Everybody was staring.
Jules reached across the booth and grabbed my hands. “But now we’re friends again, yay!”
I wasn’t sure how offended to be, but she squeezed one more time and her face relaxed into a real smile and I realized . . . she was being sincere.
I laughed. “Yay.”
The night was easier after that. We slipped back into the club and after another sneaky Shirley Temple—Sam started calling them Shirley Temple Blacks, the actress’ grown-up name—I even attempted to dance for like three minutes.
After a mysterious argument with Tyler in the corner of the club that ended with a public make-out session, Jules grabbed my hand, waved good-bye to the others, and marched us back outside to hail a taxi home.
“This was fun,” I said, getting out at her building.
“This was the usual.” She sounded strangely sad about it. But her face lightened as she extended her hand. “Give me your cell phone.” She typed something in and passed it back. “Text me if you feel like coming over. I’m skipping the run tomorrow, but if you want to join me Tuesday—”
“Yes! See you then.”
New friends. New topics of conversation. The new and awesome normal.
The light was off in the basement apartment. Oscar was probably out, not that it was any of my business. I glanced at the time on my phone as I fumbled for my keys—and nearly dropped my bag.
One in the morning. I did not do this. Ever. My dad must have filed a missing person report. I held my breath, tiptoeing into the house, primed for yells, “young lady”s, the sound of the door being blow-torched shut behind me.
But I hadn’t gotten any frantic calls on my cell. No texts, nothing.
All the lights were off. I had to fumble my way to the steps to my bedroom. I saw a scribbled note resting against my closed door, Dad’s handwriting.
Working with Oscar at Lincoln Center tomorrow. Lilly Hall. Be a doll and bring us some of those pastries I like? 9am or so. xo Dad.
I sat on the top step, staring at the note. I let out an empty laugh. Then I crumpled it and threw it at the ceiling.