The Princesses of Iowa (31 page)

He sounded so earnest it almost hurt me. Normally such reverence in any other person — for any other person — would disgust me, but this I understood. Mr. Tremont was on a whole different level than the rest of us. Logically, we knew that he was only a few years older than we were, and a student as well, but intuitively we knew that he was so much more than a mere substitute teacher or grad student. He was real in a way that most adults weren’t.

“Oh boy,” Mr. Tremont said suddenly. We followed his gaze to see a kid pointing a bottle of hair spray at the flames. “I should probably —” he started. The noise of the crowd carried the rest of the sentence away as he pushed through bodies toward the firebug, leaving Ethan and me alone.

We were quiet for a moment, just standing together, letting the floods of noise and light wash over us. I caught sight of Jeremy in the crowd, with a group of kids from the paper. My heart clenched when I thought about what I’d said to him. I’d find him on my way out, apologize, explain that I’d just been panicking. I’d just wanted to protect Mr. Tremont. And okay, maybe I’d been a teeny bit drunk. But I hadn’t meant it.

“So, you’re a princess,” Ethan said.

“Apparently.” I was a princess, Lacey and Nikki were princesses. . . . Despite everything that had happened last spring, this summer, even these last few weeks, everything had turned out just as we’d always planned. I could see Lacey, still standing up on the flatbed, her blond curls blown slightly back, like a photographer was carrying around a wind machine just for her.

The wind shifted directions, blowing the warmth of the fire away from us and pushing at my bare skin. I shivered.

“You’re cold,” he said. “Do you want my jacket?”

“No, I’m fine.” I smiled, feeling strangely shy. “Anyway, I still have your sweatshirt. You can’t let me steal all your warm clothes.”

“Good point,” he said. “You’re quite crafty.”

“I really can’t be trusted,” I said. He looked at me strangely, and I wondered if I meant the warning for him, or for myself.

We were quiet again, lost in our own thoughts, until Ethan nudged me with his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” I nodded at the fire. “This.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said softly. “Me too.”

The crowd was thinning out as parents left, taking their youngest children with them, leaving a core of middle and high school students who were getting increasingly hyper and crazed. Pretty soon Jake would be back from whatever errand he’d run to Randy’s truck for — I really didn’t want to know — and would come looking for me. I sighed.

“Look,” I told Ethan, “about last night —”

“Yeah,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for that —”

“No,” I interrupted. “It was my fault. I’m sorry I brought it up.” And I was. He was turning into a good friend, and I hated the idea of making him feel weird or mad about anything. I made a mental note not to mention his mom or her boyfriend again.

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t you. It’s just . . . I haven’t really told anyone else, and I was surprised — I didn’t expect to —” He took a deep breath and looked at me searchingly. His voice came out in a rush. “Paige, I have to tell you something. I don’t — I’ve been practicing how to say this in my mind all day, but I haven’t come up with the right words, so I’m just going to say it.” His eyes were the darkest brown, so dark you’d almost think they were black at first — unless he was holding your gaze and you couldn’t look away, you couldn’t see anything but his dark-brown eyes.

“I came tonight because I wanted to see you.”

A tiny black hole opened at the center of my solar plexus and pulled everything in toward it.
No no no,
I thought.
Don’t say anything to ruin what we have. We’re such good friends and you’re going to ruin it. Please, don’t.
“Ethan —”

“Paige, I’ve never felt a connection like this with anyone else, not even Shanti. I don’t even know how to explain it. I feel like I already knew you before I met you, and the first time I saw you, the first time I talked to you, was incidental, because the connection was already there —” He inhaled sharply and looked away. “God, I’m saying this badly.”

“Ethan . . .”

He looked at me again. His eyes were the deep earth, the forest and the trees and the leaves and the wild autumn night. “Please don’t get upset,” he said. “I’ll completely understand if you don’t feel the same way, but I just had to say it. I feel like you see a version of me that no one’s ever seen before. A truer version of myself. Does that make any sense at all?”

It did. I knew exactly what he meant.

Being seen. Feeling found.

“And I know I agreed to forget about it, but I just can’t, Paige. Kissing you . . .”

“Don’t,” I said, and winced at the way he flinched in response. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

His shoulders sagged, but he smiled faintly. “It’s okay,” he said. “I was stupid to think —”

“No,” I said. “It’s just — I have a boyfriend.”

Ethan frowned. “But you’re not like them. Look at — ugh.” He gestured to the flatbed trailer where Nikki was grinding on a junior boy, her face flushed with alcohol. “You’re not one of them, Paige. You’re a real person.”

I bit my lip, fighting the pull of the collapsing star behind my sternum. “Ethan, listen. You’re a great friend. But I —” I thought of Mr. Austin’s hard voice and Jake’s attempt to write a poem, the strips of notebook paper leaning against one another along the sides of the wastebasket, broken trees after a windstorm. I thought about the warmth of Jake’s side in the parking lot, the night on the golf course, his shouting father, my crazed mother. We were cut from the same cloth, we belonged together. Ethan was wrong. I wasn’t a writer at all. I belonged to my family and the Austins and even the Lanes. I was a princess, for chrissakes. “I can’t leave Jake.”

For the first time since we’d met, Ethan looked at me without a single flicker of recognition. I was un-seen. Un-found.

The bonfire sent up a sudden shower of sparks, and everyone started screaming and laughing, but Ethan’s eyes went dark. He was about to walk away. Just like Jeremy, like Nikki, like my sister, like everyone. Pretty soon he’d be looking past me too, like Lacey, and eventually I wouldn’t even exist. No more quiet moments out by the springs. No more kidnappings or crazy adventures, no more river walks or booths at Perkins or trucker hats or inside jokes.

“Ethan, wait.” I reached forward and grabbed his arm. He turned — and for a flash it was back, the recognition in his gaze. “Wait.”

“Get your hands off her.”

I jumped and dropped Ethan’s arm like it was venomous. “Jake!”

“Stay away from my girlfriend.” He stepped up close, snaking his arms around my waist and sticking his face in Ethan’s. “Faggot.” His breath burned with the sharp tin smell of alcohol.

“Jake,” I said.
So that’s what you left in Randy’s truck? More liquor?

“You’re drunk,” Ethan said.

“Fuck you, punk.”

“Come on.” I tugged on Jake’s arms, trying to untangle myself and pull him away. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No. This little fairy needs to be taught a lesson.” He pushed his face closer to Ethan’s. Ethan was a little bit taller, but Jake was heavier.

I pulled at Jake’s sleeve. “Jake, come on! Let’s go!”

Ethan reached up to brush his hair from his eyes, and Jake knocked his hand away.

Behind us the carnival of fiery light and twisting limbs paused, suspended, a photograph of blurred motion. Ethan looked down at his hand with scientific interest. “Really? It’s so clichéd.” He almost sounded like he was talking to himself, but I knew Jake would take offense. At this point, anything would piss him off.

“Jake —”

He reached forward and grabbed Ethan’s shirt. “Clichéd? You smug mother fucker, I’ll show you fucking clichéd.”

“Jake! Stop it! This isn’t you!” Desperately, I slammed my heel down on his foot, and he loosened his grip on Ethan.

“Fuck!” he yelled, hunching over. A crowd was gathering around us, chanting and clapping.
Fight! Fight! Fight!

Mr. Tremont pushed through the crowd and grabbed Jake from behind, pinning his arms against his sides. “Come on, son.” His voice was firm. “Nothing to see here, folks.” Jake struggled in his grip but Mr. Tremont held tight.

Mr. Berna shoved in behind Ethan. “What’s going on here?”

Mr. Tremont said, “It’s okay, Carlos. I got it.” He pushed Jake ahead of him, keeping his arms locked so Jake couldn’t get away.

Shanti ran into the circle, shrieking. “Oh my God, Ethan! Are you okay?”

Ethan looked at me. “I’m fine.”

I met his gaze and for a second I thought I could hold that connection forever, I could hold both ropes and not let go. But of course I couldn’t. Tonight I was destined to break everything in my path.

“I have to go,” I said.

I found them in front of the school, standing in the shadows of a sickly neon floodlight. Mr. Tremont’s voice was low and insistent; Jake was slumped against the concrete brick. He was going to get kicked off court, he was going to be benched, his team would hate him, his father — oh, no —

“Mr. Tremont,” I said, running up to them. “It’s all my fault. It was me.”

“Paige.” Mr. Tremont looked surprised. “What’s all your fault?”

I swung my arm wide, feeling wild. “Everything!”

He didn’t say anything. He seemed disappointed and I hated it. My heart ached like hands were wringing it, twisting, but I stood my ground. I had nothing left to lose. Jake had everything. “It’s all my fault,” I repeated.

Mr. Tremont sighed. “Take him home,” he said finally. “Don’t let him drive.”

“Really?” I asked, then shook myself. “Yes, okay. Thank you, Mr. Tremont. Thanks. Thanks.” I grabbed Jake around the waist and propelled him toward the parking lot. I couldn’t bear to look back.

Away from the fire, the night was wilder than we’d left it. The clouds were black now, glowing from behind, lit by the icy moon. Jake broke free of my hands and strode ahead, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. A cold wind twisted across the parking lot, pushing though skeletal branches and clattering the leaves.

I wrapped my fingers around my arms, shivering.
Are you cold?
Ethan would have noticed, would have insisted I finally take his coat, but Jake pushed forward without me. Above the dark football field, a jagged arm of lightning ripped the sky from zenith to horizon, followed by a crash of thunder. I was aching to ask what had happened back there, whether or not Mr. Tremont was going to tell Dr. Coulter, whether or not Jake would have a place on the team next week, but I was afraid to hear the answers.

A plastic cup scuttled across the pavement like a startled cockroach. The long black horizon flashed once, and as if in reply, a distant car alarm started beeping. Ahead of me, Jake stopped and ducked against the wind to light a cigarette. I was the one who let him drink on the way here. I should have taken the flask from him, should have thrown it out the window when I had a chance. If I had just followed him out to Randy’s truck, I could have stopped him from drinking on school grounds, could have kept him from getting so wasted that he felt the need to start shit with Ethan. And Ethan — if I hadn’t grabbed him, if I hadn’t tried to hold them both . . .

More garbage whipped through the parking lot. A hamburger wrapper bounced against Jake’s truck and hung there, quivering against the silver metal, until it finally shook itself free and went flying away into the sky.

“Jake.” My voice disappeared quickly into the black wind. “Jake,” I said again, louder, but he didn’t look back. Shadows from the orange streetlight danced darkly on his face, and he stubbed his cigarette on the bumper of a red car, charring a sticker with stars that said
WE FIND MAGIC EVERYWHERE.
Over the football field, lightning zipped between dark clouds, striking sideways. Thunder followed, booming so low I could feel it in my bones.

The first time Jake and I went out, Lacey spent hours helping me get ready, plucking my eyebrows and shoving tooth-whitening strips in my mouth. Jake showed up early and we both panicked, screaming as we pulled curlers out of my hair and spritzed perfume into the air for me to walk through. On the way down to answer the door, I caught the hem of my brand-new jeans under the heel of the boots Lacey made me wear, and I tripped, sliding all the way down the stairs on my butt, earning myself giant bruises on my thighs and back. At the bottom of the landing, I jumped up and brushed myself off, trying to appear dignified. At the top of the stairs, Lacey’s mouth was an
O
of horror. I opened the door as gracefully as possible, trying to suppress the inevitable blush that would outshine Lacey’s careful work, praying that he hadn’t seen me, that he wouldn’t suddenly change his mind and decide to go out with someone a little more coordinated. Months later, Jake told me that he’d seen the whole thing through the windows alongside the door, but that day, he said nothing but
You look beautiful.

“Jake,” I said.

In the silence after the thunder, Jake looked up at me. He reached for my face, his thumb sliding along the lower part of my jaw. His other hand reached in his jacket and pulled out a familiar silver square, unscrewing the cap and draining it without taking his eyes off mine. He dropped the empty flask into a front pocket and leaned into me, and the entire evening slipped away — everything I’d broken and ruined and wrecked — and in that moment, nothing mattered but his skin against mine, the heat of his breath in the freezing night. I sank against him and let everything go. We belonged together. I wasn’t a writer; I couldn’t tell the truth like they could. I’d never fit in with people like Ethan and Mr. Tremont and Shanti. I was made to be with Jake. We matched. It wasn’t him fighting back there, it was his father talking through him. It was all the tiny darts of disappointment from a father he’d never be able to please, a mother so busy with work she hardly saw him. I knew him, really knew him, and at his core he was a good person.

“Let’s go to Jensen’s,” Jake whispered, sliding the tip of his tongue along my earlobe, and in that moment I would have followed him anywhere in the world.