On The Bright Side

Chapter Nine- Party Poison

//you're doin alright, I got the answer-cause all the good times, they give you cancer//

There's a soft knock on my bedroom door, almost like whoever's doing it is trying to be as quiet as possible.

"Yeah?" I call.

My mom opens the door a crack and pokes her head in. "Aren't you going to that dance tonight?"

I crinkle my nose. "Waterfront? Uhh, no, I don't think so." It's not worth it, even if I liked dances. The student activities committee puts together some bullshit dance floor and a mediocre DJ near Emmigrant Lake. The wind is frigid as hell, people's dresses get dirty, and I don't understand why anyone would enjoy themselves, but they seem to love it more than homecoming.

"Well," she says, "I might drag you along. I volunteered to help with setting up tents and all, and since Hailey's mom said they needed student volunteers to help out with things, I told her you could come."

I stare at her. "Why didn't you ask me first?"

She holds up her hands, as if to feign innocence. "I figured you wouldn't mind. Aren't you on the student activities board?"

Is she kidding? "Yeah, when I was a freshman. I quit because I hated it. Don't you remember?"

Mom crosses her arms and I can tell I won't be able to get out of this. "Just come for a little bit. You can leave in the middle if you want, but they really need people to do the heavy lifting and get the whole thing off the ground."

I sigh. "Ugh. I have homework." Not that I'd planned on doing it.

"Sawyer, please. You can bring your books and study there."

Honestly, usually I wouldn't put up such a fight. But I was more in the mood to lay in bed in a lethargic lump and listen to music and worry about Beck, not play nice with a bunch of my superficial classmates and their dates.

She raises an eyebrow after a minute of silence. "Sawyer."

There's no getting away from this.

"Fine," I snap, and it comes out harsher than I intended.

Mom shuts the door without saying  a word.

So.

I slide reluctantly out of bed and open my closet to look for something to wear.

In the back, behind scores of band merch and jeans, this dark grey bodycon thing catches my eye. I mean, yeah, it looks fine, but why the hell do I even have this? Bodycon dresses aren't my thing in the slightest. And worse still, it puts that whole fucking dance daydream with Beck back in my head, and the walls come crashing down around me again. I let it drop out of my hand to the floor.

Whatever- it's going to have to suffice, because I am not putting in any more effort than I already have. It feels heavy, like lead, and a weird giggle slips out of me- like those big aprons they put on you before you get an X-ray. Does this make the dance an operation? God. I'm in such a mood. But I shake my head and adjust the dress anyway.

Of course Mom insists on driving me. No doubt so she can have a "discussion" about my attitude and plans for the future. No thank you. As soon as I slip into the passenger seat, it's-

"So! I set up another meeting with the college counselor at school."

A blink and a slight sound of acknowledgement is all I give her.

"I really think it would be productive for you to actually go to the meeting this time, Sawyer. It may seem like your dad and I are putting too much stress on you, but I've noticed that you've been acting differently lately, and if you could just snap out of this mood you're in and apply yourself, you could still-"

I cut her off. "Okay, okay. I'll go." Because I just want her to stop talking. This 'mood' I'm in? 'Apply myself?' Does she not notice that I haven't been okay for a while now?

She nods. There's a slight satisfaction in her face but it's overshadowed by this resigned sadness that's become too familiar lately.

We drive the rest of the way in silence.

Mom parks the car, and when I get out, the wind hits me like an icy slap in the face. Across the parking lot I can see the whipping white folding tents and cookie-cutter moms and students pacing on purposeful tracks.

"Renée! So good to see you!" cries some mother in a heavy coat as she approaches Mom with a checklist in hand.

"Julia, hello!" They're engaged in that bizarre fake mom-dance of empty greetings.

I tune out as I'm dragged towards participation in the center of the white-tent action.

3 hours later, with the sky smeared with cigarette ghost clouds and the miserable cold resting in my bones, I look through the mobs of people for Mom. I've had just about enough of watching Dominique dance with Thomas Hector and her new posse, and I don't care what she wants from me right now. I'm going home.

The neon lights are strobing in a frenetic frenzy and it makes it hard to see. These people- my classmates- are reduced to shadows ringed by bursts of colorful light and a dizzyness starts to set in, from somewhere deep in my head. The speakers send out shockwaves of weighted bass and my whole body is caught in the buzzing reverberation, caught in the party going on without me, caught in the dark and the light and the bright faces with dim eyes. I can't stand straight. I can't think straight.

And then- the bass slips away to hide somewhere in the night, replaced by that Ed Sheeran song I've come to associate with Beck. I'm wearing the dress, and they're playing the song, but... She's not here. I brush the hair out of my eyes and smell the perfume I'd dabbed on my wrist, and I almost cry, thinking about how Beck's scent would come to linger in my bedsheets after a while--

I have to sit down. Stumbling to a chair halfway between the light inside and the darkness outside, my  phone wakes up. It buzzes quickly and the screen illuminates my face.

My fogged breath catches.

It's Beck.