Hothouse

He tasted it before he felt it. James’s eyes swelled with tears as he stumbled back, barely catching himself. The clatter of his wooden blade hitting the dry hard ground was lost to him as the taste of iron filled his mouth. Like wildfire, the pain began to spread from the spark that was his bleeding nose. He desperately, yet in vain, tried to stop the crimson fluid from its ceaseless flow. The child’s body ached with newfound bruises, his chest heaving so deeply that his face had turned almost as red as the banner strung up behind him. I hate this. James thought to himself as blood dripped down his chin. 

The rapid slapping of feet against the dirt captured the young boy’s attention much like the morning church bells did, whipping his head up to see the young lord Burkhart charging towards him. 

“Sto-Stop!” James choked out harshly, sending him into a fit of coughs. 

The young lord halted almost immediately, a brown cloud of soil wafted in the aftermath of his abrupt stop. Lord Burkhart stood a few paces in front of him in the vast training yard, his brown eyes wide as they stared directly into James, and for a moment the boy thought the young man looked like a gaping fish. 

“Do not stop!” A voice demanded from above them. 

James flinched and twisted around, his gaze trailing up the dark cobblestone wall that surrounded them. As if to confirm God’s ordainment, the king stood above them, illuminated by the heavens, making the man’s hair resemble gold. The child felt the urge to squirm and look away from the older man’s stern eyes. But he knew better than to look away. And he knew exactly what was going to be said next. 

“Lord Burkhart, do not halt now, it would only do the prince more harm,” The king said, then resumed his attention to his son. “Pick up your sword, James, and continue.”

James chewed his lip as if to barricade his sentiments from spilling out. His muscles whined in protest as he lifted the timber sword. Once he readied his stance, he flexed his nimble fingers around the handle, cringing as they chafed against the wood with dirt and blood. James watched as his sparring partner shifted his feet, and noted how the knight held his weapon without wavering, unlike himself. He felt shame pooling in his chest when he realized he looked no different than a cowering creature standing before a predator. Within a wisp of a blink, the wolf that was Lord Burkhart stalked towards him, determined to go in for the kill. 

*** 

The lessons of the day were focused on duty. The bald Sir Richmond spoke with a youthful passion that contradicted his elderly status. The scholar had begun expounding on the most important monarchs and the way they executed duty to the kingdom before James could finish taking his seat. James stopped paying attention to the tutor after he got into the importance surrounding succession. Instead, he pictured himself outside, savoring the breeze as it cooled his fair skin. The feel of soft green grass against his feet as he galloped about the field, he could almost smell the sweet, fresh earth of his personal Eden. 

James nearly yelped when he felt something hit his foot. The strike was swift and yet hard enough to remind him of the pulsing soreness of his soles. James glanced accusingly at his sister, Anne, who only looked forward, her chin held high. He followed her gaze and was nearly startled once more when he found the wrinkled face of Sir Richmond locked on his small form. The prince quickly understood the explanation behind the princess’s discrete act of violence on his already aching feet. 

“Could you repeat the question, Ser?” James requested as he looked into the scholar’s eyes.

“Why certainly, Your Highness,” The tutor nodded,” Your Highness, could you tell me why we call King Edward the Third, “the King of Folly”, while his brother, King Robert the First, who succeeded him, is known as “Robert the Great “?” 

“Because King Edward died early, leaving his kingdom in disarray, and King Robert won many battles,” He answered, voice firm to conceal his lack of certainty. 

“Well yes, that is true, but the core reason behind their titles is not tied to just those reasons, for we have had many kings who have died early, won many battles, or both,” the old scholar explained,” King Edward exploited the people and the crown for his parties and pleasures, sending the kingdom into turmoil. When he died he left behind no legitimate heirs. King Robert spent many years helping to recover the kingdom and led it into a period of prosperity. King Edward’s duty was to himself, and King Robert’s duty was to his people. To be a true king is to serve.” 

Ser Richmond’s gaze bore into their own, his normally light attitude suddenly heavier than before. James shifted in his seat, averting his attention. His stomach twisted unpleasantly as the image of a king in shackles entered his eyes. All of a sudden, his wrists felt heavy, and he found himself rubbing them, hoping to liberate himself from the weight. 

*** 

The art of dance is one beloved by many, James however, was not among them. The boy’s complete lack of coordination was one factor to his dislike, the nail in the coffin of his detestment lay in all the rules that were involved. He thought he might’ve liked it if he could move more freely. James looked ahead and watched the happy exchange between his mother and younger sister. Anne was the opposite of him and seemed to hold a natural elegance in almost everything she did, especially when it came to dancing. The prince might’ve felt more bitter about this fact if her joy wasn’t so contagious. She made the tortious act bearable. The young boy concealed a groan as his legs protested against his stride. 

“My darling, I understand it is tiring, but a future king must be well-versed in dance to impress his queen and people.” The queen chastised. 

“Why should I worry about impressing my queen with dancing when I can simply marry someone who also dislikes it?” 

At that, both the princess and the queen began to let out a fit of giggles. James unconsciously grinned with them, his brows furrowed as he watched the harmonic display of joy between them. It was then he felt his mother’s soft hands caress his face, her blue eyes warm and affectionate as she looked at him. The young boy found himself leaning into her touch, tension leaving his small form with the stroke of her thumb. 

“Oh my love, such a queen wouldn’t do. But don’t worry, when the time comes we will choose a suitable queen.” 

His cheek suddenly ached, as if he had been slapped. The comfort from before was snatched away from him with just a few words. 

*** 

“You’re quiet tonight.” 

James looked up from his plate slowly. His father stared at him with eyes that contradicted the harsh ones from the previous morning. It was almost like his whole family had learned how to be two different people. One moment they could make portraits green with envy with the way they conducted themselves without a single flaw. While the next, they could turn into the warmest people James could ever hope to encounter. 

“Apologies Father, I am simply tired,” The prince finally replied.

The king hummed and exchanged a glance with his wife. Nodding his head before resuming his focus on his son. 

“You took quite a blow, are you alright?” 

The young heir’s fingers clenched tightly as he processed the question. The phantom taste of iron violated his taste buds once more. The pain he felt earlier had dulled but found it had begun to blossom at a violent rate in his bosom. 

Now you ask?! Not when I stood below you gasping and helplessly trying to halt the bleeding?! Oh, but my pain now will somehow help me later? One after the other, treasonous thoughts raced through his mind. 

“It is alright to feel pain, everyone does, even Kings,” His father said softly,” I know it’s cruel, but in battle, no one will wait for you to clean your bloody nose. And as a future king, you need to be prepared to shed even your blood for your people.” 

James looked up at the monarch for a moment, giving him a quick nod before looking back down. His face was neutral, but inside his stomach twisted unpleasantly, his pulse was so strong he felt it from head to toe. James finally realized the damning notion that was to be a king. To be a King is to be a slave. 

*** 

The secret passageway of the east wing had become a path to heaven for the young prince. The sunlight teased his face from the small crackways created by the leaves. The breeze was just as crisp as he remembered the last time he visited the east forest. The trickling sound of the stream lured him like a siren’s song. Before he knew it, the child found himself splashing about, laughing harder than he had in days. 

“What are you doing hopping about like a rabbit in the stream?”

The boy gasped as he whipped his whole body, his eyes darting around till he saw her. The woman stood taller than any he had seen before, and her frame was so slender, that he was sure she could stand behind most trees and remain perfectly concealed. Her hair, gray as an old hag swayed gently with the breeze. Her dark eyes held no animosity. The woman tilted her head at him as if encouraging him to answer her question. James huffed as he began to trudge out of the chilled waters. 

“Enjoying the taste of liberty” He answered. 

The woman hummed, her ebony hues inspecting his form. 

“A boy who wears fancy robes like yours looks like he can afford more liberty than most.”She replied as she gestured to the fine garments he wore. 

“Looks are deceiving.”James retorted, wiping his hands against his velvet coat. 

“Then what are your shackles boy?” 

His muscles ached as the stern eyes of the man graced by the rays of Phoebus looked down at him. The sharp nails of a veiled queen dug into his hands as the echo of his mother and sister’s laughter filled his ears. Iron invaded his senses once more. The prince rubbed his wrists helplessly, hoping to ease the weight he felt on them. 

“My family, my duties, Everything…” James responded solemnly. 

The woman nodded her head in understanding. 

“I could free you from it all if you wish,” The woman offered, at which the boy looked at her again. 

“A woman like you doesn’t seem like she has that much power to do as she suggests.” He said incredulously.

“Looks are deceiving,” she chuckled,” Well boy, what do you say? If you wish it, I can make you as free as a rabbit, with more freedom than you know what to do with.” 

The boy thought about her offer, one that seemed about as blasphemous as it was treasonous. To any other person, they would find that only a king could grant such a wish, not some strange woman of the forest. But James was not just any person, he was to be the king one day. It was because of this, his knowledge of what it truly meant to be a king, that James said his answer. 

“Yes, I wish to be as free as you claim, forever.” 

The woman smiled,” As you wish,” 

As soon as the words left her mouth a flurry of light swallowed him. His mind went blank, and he shut his eyes, fearing he may go blind from the rays bright enough to rival the sun. It was only when everything went dark that he dared to look upon the world once more. The woman was gone, the sky was dark, and he felt no different than before. The boy stood up and found that his perception was different. The trees were thicker and taller than before, and the stream now resembled a river. 

His eyes widened when he saw his reflection no longer his own, his smooth cherubic face was now covered in white fur, and his ears were now large and pointed toward the sky. James realized he had been tricked by the witch and turned into a rabbit! What was he supposed to do now as a rabbit!? 

Suddenly it struck him that the enchantress gave him exactly what he wanted. James was no longer a prince, no longer a future king, but a rabbit. A free one. Glee filled him as he hopped off into the expanse that was freedom. 

***

Freedom was being able to play for as long as he liked. Until he ran out of games to play. It was a place where there were no beds, or fire that was kept to keep him warm. Freedom was also where food seemed to be harder to come by than he realized. A low grumble reverberated through his being as he shuffled along. 

After a couple of days, or perhaps weeks, James honestly didn’t know how long he had been free, but found it to be a bit tedious. There was not much he could do on his own. He had tried easing the greens he had witnessed other creatures nibbling away at but found that his taste buds had not shifted the way his body had. 

The forest, he had come to learn in his time as an inhabitant, had a voice of its own through its children. There were too many nights he found that it never seemed to quiet down, it was like a neverending choir. It truly was a grating ordeal, he wished for respite from it. That was until it did. 

His long slender ears quirked as the crunch of leaves interrupted his thoughts. James paused as he tried to evaluate the cause, his bead-like eyes darting around. The songbirds had ceased their hymns, and the wind was stagnant. The silence would’ve been louder, had it not been for the sound of James’s heartbeat drumming against his chest. 

A shriek escaped him as her large form lunged towards him. 

“I got you!” Tilly exclaimed gleefully before she began to howl with laughter. James let out a strained gasp against the girl’s body, his heart still thundering. His instantaneous relief quickly turned into rage as he began to berate her, but Tilly only continued to laugh. It didn’t take him very long to join her. 

James had tried to commune with the animals around him, and even a few rabbits. But they all returned his advances with the same indifferent blank stare. He was not a threat to them, but he was also nothing to them as well. It didn’t take very long for James to begin avoiding his fellow forest dwellers. At least that was until he had crossed paths with Tilly. Tilly set him down gently, much to James’s disappointment. 

“I got something for you,” Tilly said as she began to fish out something from her satchel. James nearly cried with delight when she placed down the bread and berries in front of him. He thanked her before he began to devour the simple meal. Tilly watched him fondly as she stroked his silky fur. James told himself he indulged in such actions as his way of thanking her, and that the stirring of his heart was simply because he was still reeling from the fright she gave him. Before he knew it, he finished off every crumb. 

“Thank you again for the food Tilly,” James said,” What would you like to do today?” 

“I actually can’t stay much longer,” Tilly said sadly as her mahogany eyes looked into his own blue ones. 

“What?! How come?!” James inquired, his voice more desperate than he would’ve liked. 

“The prince of the kingdom has gone missing, so the search party is going on all over the kingdom. My mum told me it was best we stayed out of the way.” Tilly said, looking away from the rabbit for a moment. 

“Oh.” 

“Yes, which is why I came to warn you. The search party should be in this forest any day now. Be sure to stay out of sight lest a hungry scout snag you for dinner. I would be sad to lose you to such a fate.” Tilly stated, her voice more stern than before. 

James only nodded his head at her. For a moment he thought she would just leave. Until she scooped him up in her arms once more. She put him down before he had the chance to properly react.

“Alright then, I will see you soon my friend, please stay safe,” Tilly said as she nodded her head at him. 

James stared dazedly as her form disappeared into the forest. Free and alone once more.

*** 

Tilly’s warning had proven true. It had not yet been a full day since they parted before the forest was overwhelmed with camps and knights. He had heeded Tilly’s warning to stay hidden, he had even foraged some berries in the case where he wouldn’t be able to leave his humble hole of a home for days. What he hadn’t prepared for was the thirst that would come from the party’s extended stay. He had never known thirst to be as tortuous as the one he currently endured. Each breath felt like fire charring away at his throat and lungs. He was sure that if he didn’t die of thirst, the madness it brought him would surely take him. 

He knew there was a pond not far from where he was, but so was the camp. He knew the risk of venturing out, but somehow his body had convinced him a swift death was better than an extended one. 

James soon found himself hopping toward the body of water against his better judgment. His nerves were at an all-time high the further he got from his home. Cursing himself along the way. However, The moment his eyes fell upon the small body of all reason left his body as he began to sprint towards his aqueous salvation. Water never tasted sweeter than it did as he gulped down greedily. The cool liquid soothed his aching gullet. James sighed contently once he had his fill. 

He heard it before he saw it.

The sound reminded him of when his sister Anne tried to whistle. A barely audible airy sound. That was what the arrow sounded like as it whizzed past him before it tore into the bush behind him. 

James was sprinting away before he had even registered it. Whizzing through the forest in the opposite direction of the thundering steps that pursued him. The world was a blur of green, everything was moving too quickly and too slowly. When he saw the series of tents, dread ebbed into his bones. James knew he needed cover and lept for the largest bush he could see. 

As his body glided through the air, everything suddenly slowed down completely. The arrow shined almost blindingly as it neared him. 

Darkness. That was all he saw until he opened his eyes to see the arrow buried into the ground a few feet away from him. James didn’t even give himself the chance to breathe before he began to furiously dig into the ground. 

*** 

James heaved heavily when he finally emerged from the ground. Blind to the world around him until his breath finally transitioned into hurried pants. 

The rabbit now found himself hidden away behind a dresser, his heart beating so rapidly he thought his chest would surely crack. He had dug his way from one trap into the next. The sound of his father’s voice as he barked orders at his men halted any thoughts of escape. 

“Do not stop until he is found! Now go!”His father ordered. 

The sound of clinking armor faded and for a moment all was silent in the tent. Until the sound of sobs began to shake the space. It sounded like a woman, but the longer he listened, the more he could hear the soft hiccups of a child as well. The longer he listened the more tortuous it was, and eventually James couldn’t resist the urge to discover the owners of the sound of grief. A King sat before him, holding his beloved queen and princess in his arms as they wept into him, his own tears barely contained. James felt the pressure begin to build up inside him and no longer felt sure about anything. These were the same people who always carried themselves in a manner that would make portraits envious. His mother who was the image of grace, Anne whose smile lit up a room, and his father whose gaze made men bend the knee, were unrecognizable. As they sat bonded in grief, James found he couldn’t breathe anymore and everything was now blurry. 

*** 

The rabbit ran until all he could do was walk, and walked until he could only shuffle, now his small body ached so much he could hardly move. His voice was almost completely lost to the wind after hours of calling out to the witch to no avail. It was well past two twilights since James had left his family’s tent, resolved to make things right. And so he limped on until he heard the trickling of a stream. 

“Why have you searched for me?” A voice called out of the darkness. 

With a fright, James jolted, whipping his head about furiously searching for her tall silhouette. A shaky sigh left his mouth as he took in the sight of the witch who stood illuminated by the moonlight. 

“I wish to be turned back into a boy!” James cried out to her. 

“I am sorry, but it cannot be done.” she said solemnly,” Because you wished to be ‘Forever’, free, there is nothing I can do now.”

Her words struck him like an arrow to the heart. Everything started to spin, and each breath came out harder than the last. As tears began to dampen his snowy fur, he thought of the tears his family shed and will continue to shed in the grief he caused. With a hiccup and cough, the rabbit prince knew what his next wish was. 

“Then I want to make another wish,” He began, the woman nodded her head at him, encouraging him to continue,” I wish that those who love me never have to bear the pain of missing me!” 

The witch smiled,” As you wish.” 

*** 

“We have to go now.” 

The children groaned at the eldest girl’s announcement. They stood in the field of fresh grass that danced with the summer’s breeze. For the last several hours the trio of siblings frolicked about with the magical talking rabbit that was James. 

“We have to, mama says that we have to get up early to witness the coronation of Queen Anne and her husband King Philip tomorrow!” the girl defended before her younger siblings sent a flurry of complaints her way. 

“She’s right,” James responded,” Don’t dawdle here and go enjoy the event!” At that the younger boy and girl looked defeated, nodding their heads slowly. Then with a start, the younger girl began to dash towards the treeline, letting out a fit of giggles. The sound reminded the old rabbit of a little girl he once knew. Not a beat later, the other two chased after her. 

“Alright, but we promise to come see you tomorrow!” One of the children said,” It’s not every day you encounter a talking rabbit!”

James only laughed,” That is a lovely thought!” 

And just like that, they were gone. If he would ever see them he didn’t know. But what he did know was that they would not remember the promise they made, nor the magical talking rabbit of the woods. James only let out a heavy sigh as he made his way back to the hole he called home. His fur was damp once again, which surprised him, that even after all these years, the fate of his choice still rattled him. The foolish wish of a little boy whose mind was as weak as the creature he turned into. 

James curled into himself as his heart began to swell painfully, his breaths coming out short and labored. Everything seemed fast and slow all at once until he felt a wave of frost travel within him. Soon the world began to dim and his breath slowed. The rabbit prince heard Anne’s bubbly laughter, felt his mother’s soft caress, and saw his father’s warm gaze. James hoped that he would find himself not in a land of dreams, but in a reality where he never wished for a life without his beloved family.

“I mean, don’t you ever think about shaving your head?” I ask, hugging my knees to my chest on the fitting room bench. 

Margaret looks at me through the mirror. A brief glance, then back to the dress she pulls over her chest. 

“No. Not really. Zip?” She sweeps her hair to one side. 

I stand up, wiping my palms on the sides of my school skirt before touching her. The zipper glides smoothly, like a knife slicing through butter. 

I wish I didn’t say the shaving your head thing. My insides feel cold and cavernous. It happens when I say something to someone and they let it fall to the floor and shrivel up like a rotten piece of fruit. 

“I just mean like, I get tired of washing it…sometimes,” I say, though she doesn’t seem to hear. 

Margaret turns around and looks over one shoulder at the mirror, studying the way the dress drapes around her ankles. “I think I like the first one better.” 

“Me too.” 

She asks me to unzip the dress and I do, the fabric slowly unfurling, revealing her pure skin underneath it. When the dress falls to the floor around her bare feet, she turns to me in her bra and underwear, arms crossed in front of her. 

“Do you really like it better or did you just say that because I like it better?”

I don’t look at her, just at the abandoned dress lying on the floor like an animal’s carcass. “No, I do.” I mumble. But her eyes continue to bore into me, and I know what she really wants to say is, Do you want me to look ugly, Zoe? 

“Seriously,” I say, looking her in the eye. 

“Okay.” 

I stand, smoothing my palms over my shirt, making little progress at removing the wrinkles. 

“Zoe,” She says, looking at me through mascara coated lashes. “You look so pretty today.” 

I smile. 

This is our currency. 

While I try on my dress, Margaret waits outside. The truth is, I savor these moments. Moments of pure vanity, everything else turning to distant buzzing. An embarrassing relief flows through me as I admire my reflection in the big mirror. As I undress, I take note of my most satisfactory features. My strawberry lips painted red, my dark hair cut short like a French academic’s, my ballerina bones delicate, drinking up the spotlight. I pull the silky olive fabric over my skin, and it drapes over me like a Grecian tunic. 

Margaret’s probably stretched out across the chaise lounge in the hall, feet up on the cushion, smiling at her phone as she texts Lorenzo. The thought of it makes my chest go red and blotchy in the mirror. It always surprises me how quickly I can be filled with hatred toward her, but also how quickly any animosity toward her vanishes. Just last night we lay in her bed, lights off, an overwhelming tenderness for her crashing over me as she laughed about the way I had pronounced “Yosemite.” I accidently said it like yo-sim-might. I had the urge to hug her in that moment, protect her, maybe. It’s like an uncontrollable spouting of platonic love, trying to take shape somewhere before it ultimately spills to the floor. Now I just picture her face and it irks me. 

A subtle nausea pulls at me as I zip up the dress. I look like a lifeless statue. The more I stare, my facial features start to look distorted. It happens sometimes when I look in the mirror too long, taking note of the good and bad. I tip-toe bare-footed toward my reflection, getting so close I start to look a little blurry, my eyes crossing, my nose and mouth looking like puzzle pieces in the wrong places. My nose is a little too wide with blackheads festering in the top layer of skin, coated with an unflattering sheen from the humidity outside. It’s disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. 

I unzip the dress, letting it puddle around my feet. And I think about wearing last year’s formal dress that’s collecting dust at the back of my closet, and letting Lorenzo rake his blasphemous eyes over me as he flirts with Margaret and she twirls her hair and asks, does anyone want a drink? 

Don’t worry, I don’t do any of that. Obviously not. I buy the dress. And God, do I look good in it. 

… 

Margaret and I lay out on a checkered picnic blanket in her backyard, the earth cradling our heads, our hands groping the manicured grass. The air is hot and wet, like we are lodged

under God’s tongue. Margaret breathes steadily next to me, shielding her eyes from the relentless sun with her arm as she scrolls through her phone. 

“You look so pretty today,” I say. The afternoon light gives her skin a subtle glow. She turns to me briefly, smiles. “Thank you, my love.” Then back to her phone. Her thumbs swiftly move over her keyboard. 

“Who are you texting?” I ask, though I already know the answer. 

“Lorenzo.” 

A bitter silence fills the air. 

“What?” She turns to me, her eyes squinty. Because silence must mean something poisonous, something that kills girls like us slowly and painfully. 

I think of that day at the pool party, Lorenzo sitting next to me at the edge of the water, sweat beading on the back of his neck. 

“Why don’t you ever talk to anybody? It’s supposed to be a party,” he said, a boyish grin taking over his features. I wasn’t used to him talking to me, though sometimes I’d find his eyes on me at school. 

“I don’t like to talk.” 

“You’re interesting, you know,” he said before looking down at my lips, like it was some revelation he was having. I didn’t say anything back, just dove in the pool, letting the cool water fold around me, cleansing me of…what? Something revolting, something intriguing. “Nothing,” I say. 

We’re quiet until Margaret’s mother brings us a bowl of fruit. Cantaloupe and pineapple, cut up in perfect cubes. I eat it with my face still looking to the sky, pineapple juice dripping down the side of my cheek, down my neck. I let it dry there and get sticky in that irritating way. I don’t know why I do it. 

I turn on to my belly, propping myself up with my elbows. “Margaret?” 

“Hmm?” 

“How would you want to die?” 

She doesn’t question me, merely sets her phone down and looks at the tree canopies, probably narrowing down her answer in her mind. This is a game we sometimes play. “Maybe beheading.” 

I thought she’d say that. “But you know you can stay conscious for like twenty seconds after,” I say, picking the last piece of fruit from the bowl. “Anne Boleyn’s eyes kept twitching around after her head hit the ground, apparently. Something about adrenaline and oxygen rushing to your brain when the scythe hits the back of your neck.” 

I feel a slight breeze flutter through my hair. 

She sits up, shrugs. “Yeah. But, I don’t know. I think I might like seeing everybody’s reactions.” 

I laugh. I don’t really find it funny, though. I picture myself kneeling on the scaffold, the look of horror rippling through the crowd as blood splatters their faces. “That’s sick.” “Maybe,” she smiles. “What would you choose, old age?” 

“No. I don’t know.” 

“I want it to be memorable,” Margaret says, and that makes me feel a little sick, too. I sit up, crossing my legs how they make you in elementary school. “I think I’d rather disappear. You know, die out in the woods. And they’d find my skeleton at the bottom of some lake.”

“That’s a little depressing,” she laughs. 

“I don’t think so.” I run my fingers over my bare knees, feeling the hair starting to get prickly. “I think it’s freedom.” 

The birds sing in the silence. I don’t look at her, but I feel her eyes on me. “What do you mean?” 

And I don’t want to tell her that all of us girls belong to someone else. We belong to something else. My silk dress is reserved for the eyes of others. The way I’ll hold myself at the dance tomorrow night, taking delicate sips from my drink, swaying gently to the song playing like everybody is watching. I won’t be able to help it. 

“I don’t know,” I answer, resuming my horizontal position, face to the sky, eyes closed. … 

It’s fifteen degrees warmer at the center of the dance floor even though the school counselor turned the thermostat down to 65. And I want to feel high from the dancing and the music and the sweat, but I just feel claustrophobic. 

Margaret took her shoes off and now holds her hair in a makeshift ponytail as she sways to the trap song. The hair she so carefully straightened a few hours ago, curling up at the nape of her neck from the damp air. 

Lorenzo finds his way beside me, as he has all night. I try to avoid him but simultaneously feel his eyes on me like a weighted blanket. His attention feels threatening and I don’t know where to put it.

“It’s hot,” he says, his black hair damp and stringy on his forehead. 

I nod, telling him, I know. He takes my hand and leads me through sweaty bodies out into the hallway. We lean against the wall, the cement smooth and cold and refreshing against our backs. As we sit in the quiet, I try to picture myself the way Lorenzo must see me. Are my lips chapped beneath my faded lipstick? Does my skin look glowy from the heat? I lick my lips then, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth to get rid of the last of the pigment. 

He pulls out his father’s flask and I take a sip. Whatever’s inside burns as it goes down my throat and warmth blooms across my chest. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. He’s so close, it makes my heart beat fast, it makes me feel like I might throw up. 

“Aren’t you gonna dance with Margaret?” 

He laughs. “No. What are you really thinking about?” 

I look at the white tiles on the floor. “I’m wondering what it is you like about me.” But it’s not true. Really I’m wondering what happens to me if he looks away, if I’ll disintegrate, disappear. If I exist without his eyes on me. 

Slowly, I feel his presence closing in on me. He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his coffee black eyes looking into mine like it’s supposed to mean something. His gaze is soft, like a child’s, and I picture what he must have been like as a little boy. 

He smiles, “Well, firstly, I think you’re beautiful. I mean, you’re the prettiest girl in the whole school.” 

I expect to feel relieved, but I don’t. 

From this close, I can see the peach fuzz growing on his upper lip, trying its best to become a real mustache but getting stuck in this unflattering in-between.

Then he kisses me. Boyish, wet. When I mechanically pull away, he doesn’t know what to say. He just stares. I picture his fingerprints all over me, all over my brand new dress. 

… 

“My brain feels like, slow,” I say, “like I’m underwater.” 

I’m all but engulfed in Margaret’s decadent, pillowy duvet. I turn towards her and she crawls in beside me like a little kid. 

“Me too,” she says, her words muffled by her face in a pillow. Lamplight paints her bedroom with a soft glow. 

After the dance, Margaret dragged me to an after party. Everyone who was at the dance seemed to be there too. I polluted my body with some strange, unidentifiable juice and disappeared in the smoky realm of bodies. I didn’t see Lorenzo for the rest of the night. 

Now the edges of my gaze are softened by the alcohol, Margaret’s blond hair softly glowing beneath the lamp light. I study her face, her smudged makeup, the dull droopy look of her under eyes. For a second, my insides feel cavernous when I think of Lorenzo’s callused fingers on my cheek, his sweaty forehead under the fluorescents. But it’s not so bad this time. Like this cavity is only a clearing of space, clean and made for something new to fill it. 

Margaret’s eyes fight to stay open. Her blinking is slow like honey dripping. “You look horrendous,” I say. 

She giggles, slamming a pillow over my head. “Look who’s talking.” 

“True.”

“Here,” she says. And she leans over to her nightstand, and flicks off the lamp, leaving us in the dark.“That’s better.” 

The moon is covered by the clouds, so no external light seeps through the curtains. I could not blink Margaret into visibility if I tried. She’s a snuggly sleeper, already draping her arm over me and drifting away. And I can’t see her limbs, or mine, but I know they tangle together. The only thing left is the quiet beat of our hearts filling up the night.

She is not yet awake. Dawn sprinkles rose-colored light into the room. The sunrise brushes her freckled skin, creating a luminescent glow upon her face. We lie on the floor and my eyes study her, but hers do not even flicker. She’s a late sleeper. Or perhaps I am just an early riser, constantly sinking into my crowded mind, never reaching a state of silence. She’s never had this problem. She allows her limbs to carry her wherever they wish to go.

“Just jump, Lina,” Julia would call from the river below as she ran out of breath from peddling the stubborn water. My hands clung to the old rope swing, feet planted on the ground. This sickening feeling roared inside of me. My best friend looked up at me from below, squinting as the relentless August sun beat down. She basked in the waters below, completely unafraid. She was perfect, but my knuckles were whitening from my death grip on the rope and my body looked feeble and pale from the two-piece bathing suit that clung to all the wrong places. She was perfect, and now she is slipping away.

You cannot tell from where I lay. You cannot tell by the way the strands of her chestnut hair fall over her forehead, or by the way her chest slowly rises and falls, sending delicate breaths into the air. You cannot tell, but things are not the same anymore. Our memories spill like blood over my bedroom floor. This is our first sleepover in months, but we used to have one every chance we got. We’re falling out. Falling away. Disappearing. My fears whisper to me like lullabies. I am closer than I appear. She will inevitably leave behind our childhood dreamscape, and there is nothing I can do. As I look at her, I wonder if it will be the last time. I know her ultraviolet

energy will linger like the smell of smoke in these walls, but I still imagine myself forgetting. Her face will still be held in my heart, but it will be a blur. I will no longer be able to recall the complexities of her hazel eyes or the patterns of her freckles. For now, until I can’t remember anymore, all I can do is try to untangle my soul from hers.

“Let’s live right next to each other when we’re grown up, Lina,” She lisped, gaze pointing to the sky. Our bodies spread out like peanut butter on that red and white checkered blanket that we laid across the grass. The Earth cradled our heads and we stared into the trees, the sky peeking through in blue splashes of light. “If our husbands don’t get along we can just leave them.” I laughed at that, the kind of laugh that erupts, that you can feel in the pit of your stomach.

We were young then, but now we’re older, our friendship carefully balancing on that sweet nostalgia. We are the ghosts of our younger selves. As we were laying under those trees, she told me everything, and all I wanted to do was listen. But one day, her stories and silly anecdotes were reserved for the other girls. The carefree girls. The funny girls. The beautiful girls.

Her face is still so peaceful as my mind floods with chaos. I will miss you, I want to say. I don’t want to forget. But she is sleeping and none of it will matter, no one will hear except the air that fills this claustrophobic room. But maybe the air is just as aware as me, listening to me as I listen to the world outside. The sun has risen higher, illuminating the entire room now. The contours of her face are no longer highlighted, but small, bright pieces blending into the incandescent world. “Julia,” I whisper to the air lingering around us. “Julia,” I say, so maybe someone will remember. She turns over in her sleeping bag, then, and I can no longer see her face.