The Difference Between You and Me (25 page)

Jesse

Jesse wanders a little ways off away from the tent, hovering in the dark where Huckle’s yard meets the edge of the Vander parking lot, and looks back at the counterdance.

The Christmas lights wrapped around the tent poles and strung across the dance floor make everything look
spangled and festive, but cheap and fun at the same time. The star garlands she and Esther cut out of yellow construction paper are a little wonky—some of them look more like blob garlands, and Esther went so insane with the glitter that light showers of gold sparkles sift down onto the crowd every time the garlands catch a breeze.

It’s cold, but nobody seems to mind. People are jumping around happily to the music—Wyatt (in full Charles Lindbergh drag now: bomber jacket, aviator cap, goggles, scarf, lace-up boots) has some old-school No Doubt on at this moment, buoying the crowd on its bouncy ska beat. Some people don’t have their coats on anymore—they’ve thrown them onto the folding chairs or the grass at the edge of the plywood dance floor.

It’s a super mixed-up, random crowd. It certainly doesn’t look like a high school dance, more like a weirdo wedding reception, with people of all ages and from all sectors of town jumping up and down together—spinning, shaking, twisting—or standing around in groups at the edge of the dance floor, chatting and drinking cocoa. All kinds of crazy people are here. Carol Bernstein, reference librarian from the Minot. Dr. Paul Klang, Jesse’s dentist. Several of the other therapists who share space with her dad at his professional building—Susan, Joanne, Windsong, and Jill. Jesse’s old preschool teacher Mrs. Hoyt. Bethany from Beverly Coffee. Marla from Rose’s Turn. Dr. Fayed the veterinarian.
Lots of people Jesse has never seen before—a group of girls who could be sorority sisters from the university in Stonington. A couple of middle-aged couples—maybe parents of Vander kids—in his-and-hers Patagonia fleece jackets. A young dad spinning around and around in a floppy, knitted hunter’s cap, with a stunned-looking baby strapped to his chest wearing its own tiny replica of the cap. Lots and lots of kids from school—random kids, most Jesse recognizes but some she doesn’t. Ralphie Lorris. Black-Haired-Bob Girl from the student council meeting. And a few guys who seem to be refugees from the Starry Starry Night dance inside, ties flapping under their loosened collars, blazers, khakis—they look like baseball players, for sure, and as Jesse watches, they form a mini–mosh pit around Arlo, who hurls himself gleefully against and over them, his long, thin body flailing like a sock monkey tossed in a game of keep away.

A surprising number of teachers are here, too—not just Mr. Kennerley, who’s been using StarMart as a case study in his social studies classes, but also Mr. Samms, the head of athletics, Ms. Speck from home ec, and Joe the special-ed aide who works one-on-one with Jamie, the mainstreamed kid with developmental delays. As she’s watching, right in front of everybody, Joe dances casually by Mr. Samms, slides his hand lightly over his lower back, and kisses him lightly on the lips. It’s brief and blasé,
so
no big deal, but still—Jesse blinks. Joe the special-ed guy and Mr. Samms? Everyone’s coming out of the woodwork tonight.

A couple of little kids dart in and out of the crowd, chasing each other through the legs of the grown-ups. Huckle holds court on his back porch, passing out sodas and lazily kicking a hacky sack around with three or four other guys who look like they got lost on the way to a Phish concert.

In a corner of the fray, Margaret and Charlie sit side by side, like the king and queen of the dance. Bert, their Access-a-Ride driver, seems to have made a special off-hours run to bring them here this evening, and he stands behind the two of them, awkward and protective at the same time, like a Secret Service agent in his mirrored sunglasses. His arms are crossed high and tight over his chest, but Jesse notices that he’s tapping his shiny patent-leather toe to the music.

In the middle of the dance floor, Fran and Arthur have their arms around each other, doing their three flashiest community-center-swing-dance-class moves over and over again. Normally, Jesse would be embarrassed to watch her pot-bellied, parka-wearing father dip her giggling mother to the floor. But Jesse hasn’t seen them dance together like this for a long time, since before her mother got sick. It feels like a gift to see them so happy.

Someone’s dog, a big, sleek, doleful-looking Weimaraner,
threads its way through the crowd and out of the tent. Jesse is moving toward him to stroke his head when Emily appears beside her.

“Hi,” Emily says tensely.

Emily is in an oversized overcoat—maybe Mike’s—holding it closed with her clutched arms, but underneath Jesse can see a few inches of satiny blue party dress. She can only imagine what the rest of it looks like, what the shape of the neckline is, how the texture of that satin would feel on her fingers. She swallows, and extinguishes the thought.

“Hi,” Jesse says. It’s strange to be talking to Emily in public, even now, in the dark, this far away from other people.

“You’re wearing it,” Emily observes.

“What?” Jesse looks down at herself.

“Your, um, suit.”

“Oh yeah.”

“You wore it last year, too.”

“I only wear it on special occasions,” Jesse explains. “So, how’s your dance going?”

“Incredible.”

“How come you’re not over there?”

Emily pauses. “I’m looking for Michael,” she says. “Is he here?”

“I think he was. I think I saw him in there for a second.” Jesse jerks her head toward the tent.

“He’s in charge of my souvenir photo booth area. I left him and Snehal in charge, and I looked over a second ago and no one was manning it.”

“Oh. I don’t know if he’s in there anymore. I haven’t really been keeping track of who’s been coming and going.”

Emily looks past Jesse into the tent, and Jesse follows her gaze. The tent is hopping, but Mike doesn’t seem to be there.

“Your dance is going great, too,” Emily observes. Jesse starts to respond but Emily says suddenly, “I’ve been missing you.”

“Oh.” Jesse feels her heart lurch. She doesn’t know how to respond.

Emily takes a step closer to her and lowers her voice a little.

“I think, you know, I think I was really stupid to say we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why I said it. I was so overwhelmed. I’m still really busy and overwhelmed but, like, it doesn’t take any time away from my responsibilities to see you, right? It’s just my break, it’s easy to fit you in.”

Jesse waits a second before she says, “Uh-huh.”

“And I miss you. I actually miss you a lot. Can we forget I ever said that? Can we just, like, start up again on Tuesday?”

Jesse looks up at the night sky. Long, inky clouds are
streaked across it, but here and there, in between them, a scintillating diamond-point shines through.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh. You’re too busy now?”

“No. I mean, I am, I’m busy, but I’m just not…” Jesse swallows. “I don’t feel like hiding anymore.”

“Oh.”

Emily nods briskly. A shiver passes through her body, and she hugs herself, shrugs her shoulders up to her ears. Jesse fights the urge to wrap her arms around Emily, pull her close, keep her warm. She looks down at the ground.

“And I guess, like… I want to put my energy into other things?”

“Oh. Oh yeah.” Emily nods again rapidly. “I get it. That’s fine. I totally understand.”

Jesse looks up and meets Emily’s eye.

“But I still, like, love you,” Jesse says, and Emily inhales sharply, like she might burst into tears.

For a moment, Jesse feels the energy wave encircle them once more, the one that draws them toward each other like ultra-magnetic gravitational pull. She feels it as fear this time: the sense that they’re going to fall into each other, even if she doesn’t want it to happen. If Emily says it back to her now, Jesse is afraid she’ll give in to her completely.

But Emily doesn’t say, “I love you, too.” She says, “I’d better go find Michael,” and she turns abruptly, and heads
back across the parking lot toward the lit-up gym. After a couple of steps she breaks into a run.

Jesse stands and watches her go.

She’s still watching when Esther appears, breathless, at Jesse’s side.

“There you are!” Esther gasps. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”

Jesse says, “Here.”

“Okay, well, can you come back under the tent? I left your mom in charge of the birdhouse–cash box, but I think she wants to get back up and dance.”

“No, sure. Of course.”

As Esther steers her in the direction of the tent, Jesse turns to look back over her shoulder at the parking lot. Emily’s gone.

“It’s crazy in there, isn’t it?” Esther is practically bouncing up and down with excitement as she walks. “How many people do you think are here? Three hundred? Four hundred?”

“Um, more like seventy-five? But it’s still great.”

“The birdhouse–cash box is totally full,” Esther gloats. “I had to take some money out to make room for more money.” Jesse looks at Esther now and sees that she’s a giddy, ecstatic mess—sweaty from dancing in her coat, her braids so undone that her hair is basically just a mass of curls with two vestigial rubber bands wadded up in it. In the distant glow of the lantern-tent, her eyes gleam.

“How much do you think we made so far?” Jesse asks.

“I don’t know. Thousands. Millions.” Esther giggles gleefully. “Can you believe how excellent this is?”

“It’s awesome,” Jesse agrees.

“It’s paradise in there. And Arlo and Charlie are so happy. They have a whole crazy plan for what to do with the money. Apparently, they’re going to start some kind of blog.”

“Blogs are free.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, apparently they have some kind of big plan.”

Jesse looks into the tent as they get closer to it, crowded with happy people bathed in yellow light. A little girl in a purple hat and coat has cuddled up with the Weimaraner, who is sitting, chin on paws, at the edge of the dance floor, and is sleeping on top of him. Arlo and the baseball players have stopped moshing, and Arlo is standing in the middle of them now, lecturing them animatedly about something (how to Dumpster-dive for fun and profit, no doubt) and making them all look at something on his BlackBerry.

“We made that,” Esther says.

She reaches down and grabs Jesse’s hand. In the cool night air, her hand is warm and dry, and her grip is strong.

Esther looks at Jesse admiringly. Under her gaze, Jesse feels her chin lift. She feels her shoulders straighten. She feels strong, and strange, and beautiful.

“Hey, you want to dance one dance before you take
over the birdhouse?” Esther suggests, tugging Jesse toward the tent. “Don’t be scared. It’s totally cool and non-gender-oppressive in there.”

Esther pulls Jesse from the chilly dark into the warmth and noise and jostle of the dance floor. She takes hold of both of her hands, and spins her around like a little kid. They go faster and faster. Esther laughs. Jesse laughs. When Jesse looks up, the glittering lights of the tent blur above her like the stars of the universe.