This Song Will Save Your Life (21 page)

“How am I a slag? Char is the first and only guy who I have ever…” Kissed. Seen naked. Slept in a bed with. “Anything,” I finished.

“I don’t think she means it literally,” Vicky reassured me. “And for whatever it’s worth, I’m on your side. They weren’t together. Pippa can’t call dibs on every guy who she thinks is hot, because that would be
every
guy. Except for the Dirty Curtains. She thinks Dave looks like a caveman, and not in an ‘I will protect your young’ way. And Harry isn’t ‘man enough’ for her. You know, because he’s not actually a legal adult.”

“Oh, so speaking of the Dirty Curtains,” I said, “I have a proposal.”

“Shoot.”

“You know how I get to DJ Friday nights now?”

“I’m so excited,” Vicky replied. “Goddammit, I am so excited.
Glendale’s hottest DJ.
Do I or do I not keep saying that?”

“Well, Glendale’s hottest DJ wants the Dirty Curtains to play a set at her first-ever gig next Friday.”

There was silence for a moment.

“What do you say?” I asked.

Vicky let out an earsplitting shriek. “I say
yes
!” she squealed. “Harry and Dave also say yes, or they will once I tell them, since they do basically everything I say. Elise, this is awesome. I can’t believe you would share your big night with us.”

“There’s no one I would rather share it with,” I told her.

“You
have
to come tonight, then,” Vicky said. “So we can celebrate together our impending fame. Honestly, Elise, don’t worry about Pippa. You need to understand, the past few weeks have been hard on her.” Vicky’s voice grew quieter. “Pippa likes being in the action. Like the sun, with everyone revolving around her. When she was in Manchester, I think she felt like she was completely in the dark, closed off from her own solar system. So to come back here and discover that all of us kept orbiting without her … well, she’s not happy. It isn’t about
you
.”

“Isn’t she in the room with you?” I asked. “Aren’t you two getting ready together?”

“I locked myself in the bathroom.” I heard the sound of a toilet flushing. “See?”

I sighed. “I don’t want her to hate me. Enough people already hate me.”

“I don’t know if this matters, but
I
want you to come tonight.”

I pulled my quilt over my head.

“This will all resolve itself on the dance floor,” Vicky told me.

“Oh, really?” I said. “How’s that going to work?”

“How could anyone hate anyone when we’re all out there together, moving to the same song? How can we not be united? Come out tonight and join in—it’ll be good for you. Oh, and wear that top you got from Calendar Girls. The lacy one.”

“It makes me look like a snowflake,” I mumbled.

“Just trust me!” Vicky chirped. Then she hung up the phone.

I sat for a moment under the fortress of my quilt. Tiny flecks of light peeked through the stitches. I could just live the rest of my life under here. I could pay Neil to bring me food three times a day.

I groaned and threw the blanket off my head. Unfortunately I hadn’t thought to make feeding time arrangements before hiding in my bed, and now I was hungry.

Before I went to forage for a snack, I glanced at my computer to see what Fake Elise was up to right now. I hadn’t checked in on her since right after coming home from school this afternoon.

June 10:
nobody likes me. sometimes i think people like me, i pretend that i have real friends, but i know i’m just kidding myself. why
would
they really like me? why would
anyone ever
really like me??? whenever someone is nice to me i know it’s just because they’re taking pity on me. xoxo elise dembowski

I looked in the mirror on the back of my door. I stuck my fingers in the corners of my mouth and pulled my face into a hideous grimace. Then I practiced some affirmations.

Lots of people really like you!

For example … your mom!

Alex!

Neil!

People who gave birth to you or who still have most of their baby teeth totally like you!

Sure, the only thing your dad said to you during the entire time you were at his house last night and this morning was, “Well, I’ll see you again one week from now, since that’s what you want.” But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t
like
you. He’s just mad at you. And he will get over it, if only because he is your legal guardian!

Vicky likes you! She is not just taking pity on you. Really. Her kindness to you is genuine.

How do you know this?

Because you’re awesome at reading a crowd!

Char likes you! Okay, he kind of ignored you at Start last week, and okay, you haven’t heard from him since then. But this situation with Pippa is delicate. He doesn’t want to hurt her. Who does? You don’t want to hurt Pippa either. Why would he have taught you to DJ if he didn’t like you? Why would he kiss you? Because he likes you!

You are a likable girl, Elise Dembowski!

Affirmations complete, I headed toward the kitchen to make myself a hot chocolate. On my way back, I noticed my mother sitting on the couch in the sunroom. Alex was with her, which surprised me. Neil’s weeknight bedtime is 8:15 and Alex’s is 8:35, so the fact that it was past nine and Alex was still awake was definitely
not fair
.

“What’s up?” I asked them.

“We’re just admiring the poetry castle,” Mom answered. She took a sip of her tea and gestured at Alex’s creation.

I sat down on Alex’s other side, and the three of us stared contemplatively at the castle.

It was massive. I had no idea how Mom and Steve planned to transport this thing to Alex’s school next Friday. It stretched well over my head, cardboard boxes and duct tape everywhere. She had painted the boxes all the colors of the rainbow, and streamers hung from every corner. I could see the poems stacked neatly inside, ready for sale.

“It’s amazing, Alex,” I said.

“It’s not done yet,” Alex warned me. “It’s not perfect yet.”

“It’s going to be the best one at the fair,” Mom said proudly, and I remembered all the times she had said those same words to me. When I designed and sewed a dress for the Girl Scouts’ fashion show; when I practiced reciting a monologue for the Shakespeare competition in eighth grade; when I baked pecan-raisin-banana-chocolate bars, my own invention, for the Election Day bake sale three years ago. My mother always said this:
It’s going to be the best one.

“Does Mr. Berger give a prize for the best booth?” I asked Alex.

Alex snorted and said, “Of
course
not,” like I was an idiot for not understanding the exact rules of the second-grade spring fair.

“Well, if he did, you’d win,” I told her.

“But for now, Alex sweetie, it’s
way
past your bedtime.” Mom stood and lifted my sister from the couch.

“But I’m not tiiired,” Alex whined, and I wondered if this was the curse of all women in my family, to never get tired.

“It’s bedtime anyway,” Mom said. “You can work on it more tomorrow. Right, Elise?”

“Right,” I said. “Even I am going to bed, Alex. See?” I picked up my hot chocolate, yawned dramatically, and headed to my room.

Two hours later, I crept out of the house and walked to Start. I meant what I had said to Vicky. I meant to stay home tonight. But I wanted to see Char too much, and I couldn’t resist.

Like Char himself once told me, we all want things that aren’t good for us.

15

When I got to Start, I didn’t immediately see Vicky or Pippa. Char was in the booth with his headphones on, playing a Marvin Gaye song, and this seemed a good omen; Char knew how much I liked old soul singers.

I slipped into the booth next to him. “Hey, stranger,” I said. “Long time no talk. You miss me?” I was aiming for jokey, but it came out wrong, too honest. I saw Char flinch a little.

nobody likes me,
Fake Elise chanted inside my head.
why would
anyone ever
really like me???

“How was your week?” I tried.

“Fantastic,” Char muttered.

“Really.”

“Oh, yeah. Probably my best week ever. Have you ever been to Disney World?”

“Yeah.”

“My week was like that, only about eighty times better.”

He stared down at his computer. The song playing was “Panic” by the Smiths, which is the one where Morrissey repeats the line “hang the DJ” for about a minute straight.

“Sure, it totally seems like you’re having an eighty-times-Disney-World week,” I agreed. When he didn’t respond, I said, “So what exactly happened with Pippa last week?”

“We frolicked through rainbows together,” Char answered in a monotone.

“Char.”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up in tufts. “I don’t know, Elise. She was pissed.”

I fought the urge to smooth down his hair with my hand. I never touched Char first. I always waited for him to touch me.

“What did you think was going to happen when she came back from Manchester?” I asked him. “Did you think she wasn’t going to find out about us? Or she wasn’t going to care?”

“I didn’t,” Char said, “think about it. Anyway, I told her I didn’t want to be her boyfriend before she left. You know that. So why did she expect me to celibately wait for her return for a month and a half?”

“Because,” I replied, wondering if Char was secretly an idiot not to already know this, “you had sex with her
after
you told her you didn’t want to date her.”

“So?” he asked.

“So, what was she supposed to think that meant?” I asked. “What do you
think
people think it means when you hook up with them?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea. What do people think it means?”

I gave a long exhale, then said, “For someone who’s supposed to be so great at reading a crowd, you have some serious blind spots.”

Char flicked a number of dials on his mixer. “If you’re such an expert, Elise, why don’t you just tell me?”

I tried to look him in the eye, but he just kept looking at his equipment. “People think it means that you want to actually be with them. In a serious way. People think it means you care about them. That’s the point of the whole thing, isn’t it?”

Char shrugged. “Guys don’t think that way.”

I didn’t know if he was right about that or not. I didn’t know how guys thought about anything.

“Is Pippa coming tonight?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer from Vicky.

“No idea.” Char put on his headphones.

I waited until he had transitioned into the next song, but when he still didn’t take off his headphones, I tugged at his arm.

“What’s up?” he asked, taking off one earphone. “I’m working.”

“I can
see
that,” I said. “I wanted to tell you my big news from last week.”

Things were weird between me and Char right now. Things were weird because Pippa was back. But when I told him my news, he would be proud of me. He would remember how much we had in common. Things would be good again.

Right?

I felt like a cat bringing home a dead bird to her master.
“You’ll like it, won’t you? I killed it all by myself. You
must
like it.”

Did bird-murdering house cats get this fluttery feeling in their stomachs, too?

“I’m going to be DJing Friday nights!” I told Char, a smile erupting across my face. I couldn’t not smile whenever I thought about it. “Starting next week. I can do whatever I want with it, Pete said. It’s going to be the best.”

Char took off his other earphone. He stared at me. “You’re DJing Friday nights,” he repeated, and I thought that maybe the loud music had garbled my words. “Here?”

“Right!” I shouted, to make sure he could hear me this time.

But his expression was still confused. “Pete gave you a Friday night party? Just you, no one else?”

“Just me,” I confirmed.

Now Char’s expression was more than just confused. It was mad. He responded with only one word. “Why?”

“Because he thought I’d be good at it.”

“Why?” Char asked again, and I felt the ground slant ever so slightly underneath me.

“He said … I have a lot of natural talent, and—”

“Do you have any idea what a big deal it is to get a weekend party at one of Pete’s venues?” Char interrupted. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve asked him to move me to Friday, so no one has school or work the next day and can really
go out
? And then he just gives it to you? You, a sixteen-year-old girl who started DJing all of two months ago?”

I didn’t speak for a moment. Then, quietly, I said, “It’s not my fault that I’m only sixteen. And it’s not my fault that I only started DJing now.”

Char lowered his voice, too. He sounded gentle, helpful. “Why don’t you just tell Pete that you don’t feel ready? Tell him you need more practice. Tell him you’re worried about what will happen if you have technical problems and you don’t know how to fix them. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Because,” I said, “I
do
feel ready.” I cleared my throat. “This is so silly, but I guess I expected that you would be happy for me.”

Char tapped on his computer keyboard and was silent for a minute. If I were someone else, I might have been impressed. But I knew enough about DJing to know that he wasn’t actually doing anything.

“Listen, Elise,” Char said at last. “I hadn’t wanted to get into this tonight. But I think we should … stop.”

“Stop?” I repeated.

“Yeah. Like, break up.”

And the world tilted again, harder. “How can we break up?” I asked. “Were we even together?”

“I think the age gap is too much for us,” Char said. “We’re at different stages in our lives, and we’re looking for different things.”

“Now?”
I said. “
Now
this bothers you?” I felt my breathing coming funny, like I had to gasp to get enough air. “What did I do, Char? What is it? Are you breaking up with me because Pippa’s mad at you? Are you breaking up with me because”—my breath caught in my throat and I almost couldn’t go on—“because I got offered a stupid Friday night party and you didn’t?”