I’ll Give You the Sun(31)
Author: Jandy Nelson

I head down a smoky crowded hall, where everyone’s pressed to the walls in clumps like people-sculptures. No one’s face is arranged right. In the next room, it’s their bodies. People are dancing, and after I make sure Brian’s not here yet, I lean against the wall and take in the whole mob of sweating gleaming people with their piercings and plumage and windmilling arms as they jump and sway and spin and lift off into the air. I’m staring and staring, getting eaten by the music, getting new eyes—when I feel a hand, or maybe it’s a bird talon clawing into my shoulder. I turn to see an older girl with tons of springy red hair. She’s wearing a short shimmery brown dress and is way taller than me. Winding around her entire arm is an off-the-hook tattoo of a red-and-orange fire-breathing dragon. “Lost?” she asks loudly over the music, like she’s talking to a five-year-old.

I guess I’m not invisible after all. Her whole face is sparkling, especially the emerald-green wings around her icy blue eyes. Her pupils are huge black caves where bats live. “You’re so cute,” she shouts into my ear. She has a strange accent, kind of like Dracula’s, and looks like one of the ladies Klimt paints. “Your hair.” She pulls one of my curls until it’s perfectly straight. I can’t look away from her because that’s what happens with demons. “Such big, dark, soulful eyes,” she says slowly in her thick accent, like she’s making a meal of each word. The music has quieted down and thankfully so has her voice. “Bet all the little girls are after you.” I shake my head. “They will be, trust me.” She smiles and there’s a gash of red lipstick on one of her fangs. “Ever kiss a girl?” I shake my head again. I can’t seem to lie to her or break the demon spell in any way. And then with no warning, her crackly lips are pushing against mine, in between mine, and I can taste her, all smoky and the gross kind of too sweet like an orange that’s been in the sun all day. My eyes are open, so I can see the black spidery eyelashes sleeping on her cheeks. She’s really kissing me! Why? She pulls back, opens her eyes, and laughs when she sees the expression on my face. Putting one of her talons on my shoulder again, she leans in and whispers in my ear, “See you in a few years.” Then she turns and walks away on long bare legs, her devil tail swishing back and forth. I watch the fire-breathing dragon tattoo on her arm slither all the way up her shoulder and wrap around her neck.

Did that really just happen to me? Did I imagine it? Um, don’t think so, because I certainly wouldn’t have picked her if my imagination were in charge. I bring my hand to my mouth and wipe my lips. Red comes off on my fingers, her lipstick. It did happen. Do all people taste like sun-rancid oranges on the inside? Do I? Does Brian?

Brian.

I start toward the front door. I’ll wait for him outside and convince him to go up to the roof instead for his last night, like I wanted to anyway, so all the stars can fall on our heads one final time, so maybe what hasn’t happened all summer might finally happen, but as I enter the front hallway, I spot him following Courtney up a staircase, watch him as he razors through the crowd, nodding his head to guys, returning the smiles of girls, like he belongs. How is it he belongs everywhere?

(PORTRAIT: The Boy with All the Keys in the World with All the Locks)

When he reaches the top of the stairs, he turns around. His hands are on the banister and he’s leaning forward, surveying the room—is he looking for me? Yes, I know he is and it shape-shifts me into a waterfall. Can you die of this feeling? I’m thinking yes. I can’t even draw or paint it out of me anymore. When it comes on, and it comes on all the time now, I just have to lie down on my back and let it wash me away.

Courtney tugs on his arm and he slips off behind her without having found me and so I turn back into a person.

I squeeze up the steps after them with my head down. I don’t want to make eye contact, don’t want anyone talking to me, kissing me! Do people at parties just kiss other people for no reason? I know nothing. When I’ve almost reached the top of the stairs, I feel a hand on my arm. Not again. A small girl who looks like a gothed-out chipmunk hands me a red plastic cup full of beer. “Here,” she says, smiling. “You seem like you need one.” I say thanks and continue up. Maybe I do need one. I hear her say, “Isn’t he a little hottie?” to someone who replies, “Cradle robber.” God. So much for my secret garage workouts with Dad’s weights. Everyone here thinks I’m in kindergarten. But am I hot? It’s not possible, is it? I always assume girls look at me because they think I’m strange, not because they think I’m cute. Mom tells me I’m so handsomeadorablegorgeous, but that’s her job. How do you know if you’re hot? The redheaded kissing demon did say that my eyes were soulful.

Does Brian think I’m hot?

The idea goes straight to my groin and jerks me awake. He grabbed my hand under the armrest at the movie. More than awake. I stop, breathe, try to get under control, take a sip of the beer, well more like a giant gulp. It’s not horrible. I continue up the stairs.

The second floor is the opposite of the first, as it’s in heaven. I’m standing in a long, white-carpeted, white-walled cloud of a hallway with a bunch of closed doors on either side.

Which room did Brian and Courtney go into? What if they’re alone? What if they’re kissing? Or worse? Maybe she already has her shirt off. I take another drink of beer. What if he’s licking her boobs? Guys are really into that. He told me not to worry. He told me not to worry. He told me not to worry. Which was code, wasn’t it? Code for: I will not lick Courtney Barrett’s boobs, right? I take a huge gulp of the beer, worrying a real real lot.

In movies, terrible haywire things always happen on people’s last night places.

I go left down the hall, where it looks like some of the doors might be open a crack. In an alcove, I spot two people in a frenzy of red-hot making out. I slip back to watch. The guy has an incredible back that narrows just so into his jeans and the girl’s sandwiched between his body and the wall. His head’s moving like he can’t kiss her hard enough or fast enough. I tell myself to move on already, but then something catches my eye. The girl’s hands reaching around the guy’s back aren’t girls’ hands at all—no, there’s no way in hell those hands are anything but another guy’s. My chest starts to vibrate. I lean to the left and then I see flashes of both faces, strong-boned male faces, eyes closed like moons, smashed noses, mouths crushing together, their bodies climbing up each other and falling down each other at the same time. My legs start to shake, every part of me starts to shake. (SELF-PORTRAIT: Earthquake) I’ve never seen two guys kiss like this, like the world’s ending, except in my own head and it wasn’t half this good. Not even close. They’re so hungry.