Page 95 of The Two of Us

Cat bursts into laughter and my face grows hot. I take my near-empty smoothie cup from her, sipping at the remnants. Maitland says he’ll pick us up tonight before rushing off to pick up his pressed cap and gown before the dry cleaners close.

I still haven’t processed that it’s the evening before graduation. You go to school for as long as you can remember and then one day you’re just done. If you don’t choose to go on to college, that is. But the liberating feeling of freedom is still there. In a matter of twenty-four hours, you’re no longer expected to show up to seven classes a day or eat suspicious-looking pizza for lunch. In college you can make the kinds of friends you want and not because you’ve known them since you were in preschool and it’s familiar. You can be whoever you want to be. Go wherever you want to go.

Who do I want to be? I’m still figuring that out. But the one thing I know for sure is that I want to do it all by Cat’s side.

Afraid she’ll remember the subject of our conversation before Maitland interrupted, I gather our trash and remind her that we’re supposed to help her mom set up the house for our graduation party. Alima insisted our parties be thrown together and a deep part of me explodes with appreciation toward her. She’s aware that I have significantly fewer friends than Cat and I have a feeling my dad told her my mom was unable to make it. Something about a gallery networking event she can’t miss. “I’ll watch it online!” she said, as if it’s no more important than a video of a parrot singing the national anthem.

On the way back to Cat’s house, she insists we play “Life is a Highway” on full volume and we giggle like two little schoolgirls as we roll down the windows, screaming the lyrics at the top of our lungs. Spring is in full bloom and the air that whips at my face carries notes of roses and freshly mown grass. I close my eyes, wishing I could somehow freeze the moment in time.

And years from now, I’ll look back and wonder if the lyrics we sang out into the expanse around us were more of a premonition than a proclamation.

Life’s like a road that you travel on

When there’s one day here, and the next day gone.

***

It’s a quarter past seven when we finally put the finishing touches on the house. Ambrose and I avoid eye contact the entire time and whenever he gets too close, I find an excuse to escape to another part of the house. Cat watches us with suspicion in her eyes and I make a conscientious effort to avoid her too. My cover-up story is that I need to be alone while I focus on folding all the napkins into swans.

Alima goes overboard with the decorations. The interior of the house is flooded with a sea of gold-and-black balloons on the floor to the point where the hardwood is barely visible. There’s a six-foot inflatable teddy bear with a graduation cap and diploma billowing in the front yard and Alima even goes so far as to create her own graduation-themed menu for the guests. I’m most excited about the “Nacho Average Graduate” nacho bar.

When I ask her why she didn’t go so crazy for Ambrose’s graduation party last year, she bumps her hip with mine and laughs. “We weren’t sure he’d even graduate.”

I’m trying my hand at calligraphy for the banners inside when Cat clutches my arm. “We have to stop now, or we’ll be here all night.”

She drags me up the stairs, yelling to her mom that we’re getting ready to head out for the night. Alima assures us she’ll employ Ambrose to finish the remaining tasks and we begin getting dressed. When Maitland rolls into the driveway with Jensen Martinelli in the passenger seat, I overhear Ambrose asking Cat who he is. I’ll never admit it out loud, but I secretly hope that Ambrose watches from the den window when Jensen joins me in the back seat, giving Cat shotgun.

***

I’m fucking hot.

It isn’t because of the red body-hugging halter top Cat lent me for the night and it isn’t because of the jeans I outgrew sophomore year, which I spent fifteen minutes squeezing into because Cat said they make my ass look great. It’s because we’re standing in front of the tallest bonfire I’ve ever seen in my life.

When we first arrived, the fire was at an acceptable height and it stayed that way until I learned that Jensen Martinelli is somewhat of a pyromaniac. Jensen thought it’d make the night more “memorable” if he added fuel to the flames. Literally. Maitland had to confiscate the jug of fuel from his hands when people started to complain.

Cat and I rest on an abandoned tree stump, sipping at the flask she pulled from her purse. We’re both struggling to write our wishes down on pieces of scrap paper.

“Only one wish?” Cat groans. “This is too much pressure.”

For once, I agree with her dramatics and nod. “I know. I’m afraid I’ll wish for the wrong thing.”

My leg taps nervously on the pile of branches at my feet and my gaze drifts to the woods around us for inspiration. What do I wish?

I realize the problem isn’t thinking of a wish. The problem is thinking of a wish that I’d choose above all others. I wish for many things. I wish that things between Ambrose and me weren’t so complicated. I wish the relationship with my mom was better. I wish my dad would find someone who would take care of him after I leave for college. I wish for many, many things.

As I fold my paper into a tiny square, I look over at Cat. She’s bent down intently, scribbling down her wish with her lucky purple pen. I walk as close as I can to the fire without feeling like my face is going to melt off and throw the square in. As the flames crackle around it, I close my eyes. Tomorrow, everything will be different.

Everyone loosens up as the night progresses. Where students once admonished Jensen for his fire-throwing ways, they soon goad him on, encouraging him to make the fire bigger. I blame the alcohol. The flames rise higher and so does the tension in my neck.

“Are we sure this is safe?” I ask, motioning toward the red beast.

“Sure.” Maitland takes a swig from his cup. “As long as it doesn’t spread.”

“We’re in a forest,” Cat slurs. She passed drunk an hour ago and when I tried to take the drink from her hands, she tried to bite me like a piranha. She isn’t going to be happy with herself when she’s forced to endure graduation horns with a hangover.

“Okay, but don’t we think that maybe it shouldn’t be so big—”

“Fire.”

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