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  “The one with the scary roller coaster?” I ask.

  “You mean the scary roller coaster you refused to ride because you’re a baby when it comes to extreme things?” she laughs.

  “You refused to ride it, too,” I point out, smiling.

  “Only because I was afraid my flip-flops would fall off,” she says innocently.

  “Yeah, uh-huh,” I say, laughing now, too. At the memory. At us back then. “I miss us.”

  “Me too,” she says. “It’s still weird thinking of you in Orlando without me.”

  “It’s weird thinking of you up here, even though I’ve seen it. Celine called last night and was very impressed by your newfound partying.”

  “Celine,” she says, nodding. “It’s still weird you have a friend I don’t know. What’d she say about me?”

  “It’s weird you have a whole life I don’t know about,” I say, then, “She just said that college changes you into a partying animal, or the like. So when she called and I was at Jason’s party, it was kind of fitting. She was hitting on some guy at Starbucks when she called, and I felt almost more daring than her. Which was weird.”

  “Maude. You’re looking for your birth mother. You’re a million times more daring. And weird. Sorry, I just had to add one more.”

  I smile and lean on her shoulder. She’s right, I know. It’s just a different type of daring, I think. She then adds, “Didn’t you think someone was cute at Starbucks once, too?”

  “No.” I shake my head, then grin. “Okay, yeah, that super-pretentious guy with glasses.”

  “What made you think he was pretentious? The no-new-music-is-good attitude, or the ironic facial hair?”

  “Don’t remind me,” I say. “Hey, you liked that guy Lincoln who sometimes, but not always, referred to himself in the third person.”

  “Ah yes.” She nods. “‘Lincoln wants to take German next year,’” she says, imitating him. “We have great taste.”

  I sit up and say, “It’s a good thing your parents didn’t know about Lincoln. They would have hated him.”

  “What, he was half Indian, they would have half loved him.”

  “Do they know about Trey?” I ask, broaching the subject.

  “Oh, god no. Not that he’s bad or anything, but I’m not going to introduce them to someone I’m not serious about.”

  “You’re not serious about him? You seem pretty . . .”

  “You know what I mean. Like, after we’ve been dating for a few months, yeah, okay, I’ll tell them.” She shakes her head, then says, “Oh god, that sounds terrifying!”

  “Well, I mean, he’s your first boyfriend. Wait. Is he your boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know . . .” she muses. “I mean, right now we’re still . . . figuring things out, I guess?”

  “Is he hanging out with other girls like he is with you?”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “He said he wasn’t. It’s just me.” She pauses, then adds, “You do like him, right?”

  “I just . . .” I hesitate because I’m still not sure. “He’s okay, yeah, I just don’t know him well. I mean, I wasn’t into that whole haunted house thing, but . . . You’re just kind of . . . with him a lot, so . . .”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just, you know. To be honest, he’s making me feel more included. Like I’m part of something. After my attempt at finding a club to join kind of bombed, I just wanted something, and knowing this guy likes me and is introducing me to people and places . . . I don’t know, it’s kind of cool. It feels like college.”

  I nod, because what can I say to that? I want her to be happy. I want her with someone who will make her feel good.

  Maybe that’s what college is about after all. Not just discovering yourself, but discovering what makes you happy—whatever it might be.

  NINETEEN

  We continue talking through the afternoon, then eat a quick dinner downstairs before going back upstairs to change for the on-campus carnival Treena heard about. Treena puts on her bangles and a short, cute dress that her parents would freak over. Her mom’s thoughts on clothing were typically the more the better. Let’s be honest—the same goes with my mom, too. “I thought we were going to a carnival?” I ask, looking down at my jeans and black Pepperpots T-shirt. They’re a local band we used to see together a lot, so I thought she’d appreciate me wearing their shirt.

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to look cute, right? Wait, I have a skirt that goes with your shirt,” she says, pulling out a very short, very tight skirt.

  “I don’t know,” I say, trying it on.

  “It’s perfect! You have to wear it,” she says, jumping up and down.

  “Okay, okay.” I shrug, pulling it down a bit, still wondering why there are outfits for just a girls’ night. I look at myself in the mirror and see, well, myself, dressed up. Only with a lot of leg.

  Treena gives me a giant thumbs-up and we leave her dorm for the carnival.

  As we walk down the sidewalk, arm in arm, I can see the guys looking at her, and I realize it’s not just at her, it’s at us. And that’s when I feel it. The attention, the looks, the thoughts. They think we’re cute. It’s not like I haven’t tried to dress up before, but never in a skirt like this, and never with results like this. So when I see Treena with her chin a little higher, and a bit of a bounce in her step, I get it. She likes the attention. And I guess she wanted to give me some, too.

  “Oh, did I tell you they played here last week?” Treena asks, pointing to my shirt.

  “No! Did you go?”

  “Of course! They were awesome.”

  “I haven’t seen them in forever,” I say. It’s not the same without her. “Do other bands tour through here?” I ask, thinking of the pixie haircut girl who said all the good bands go to Orlando.

  “Yeah! I mean, before the Pepperpots, we saw Wilco at Club Downunder, the on-campus venue, who were awesome. Oh, the club also has trivia nights, which are fun. Not surprisingly, Bennett won for us last time.”

  “Ha, yeah, I’m not surprised. He told me about his Star Wars obsession.”

  “Yep. He killed at the Doctor Who round. I mean, he named us the Weeping Angels, which apparently is a reference? I don’t know. No one else could touch our team.” I wish I’d been there. I wish I were part of these memories, too.

  We walk on, toward the union, and though we’re quiet, the night is not. It seems like a lot of people are out, heading in the same direction we are. And while a lot of them are excitedly talking, I’m happy we’re not. Because it means we’re okay enough to be back at our comfortable silence. We have an understood quietness.

  The union is pretty crowded by the time we get there. It’s an enclosed courtyard, bordered by Club Downunder, a theater, the cafeteria, and offices. Right outside is a colorful bouncy slide with a long line wrapped around it. Beaming lights are casting shadows down on it.

  This is exactly what I needed after today. I learned so much, saw too much, and just . . . needed time away from learning. I just want to be me and have Treena be Treena, and remember what it was like to be us.

  “We have to go on that later,” Treena says excitedly, and I nod, thinking that a slide and miniskirt do not mesh well together. “But let’s see what’s going on first.” We walk toward the center of the action, and inside it’s just as crowded, with different stations of games and snacks. There’s a popcorn stand, a cotton candy stand, and a funnel cake stand. There are also games set up, like at a real carnival, and photo booths. “Oooh, but first, snack?” she asks, gesturing toward the food stands.

  “Cotton candy, yes,” I say, and we get the blue flavor, all piled and wound high. I bite down on it and promptly feel the sugar coating my teeth. My dentist dad would kill me if he were here. Mom warns against boys and drugs; Dad, sugar.

  “Is my tongue blue?” I ask, opening my mouth.

  “Yes!” Treena laughs, pointing at her electric-blue tongue. “Mine?”

  “Definitely
. We look like Smurfs.” I take out my phone and she yells, “Buddy Shot,” and we take a picture, tongues out and smiling. And I think it’ll be a great addition to my blog, because this is a new step forward, happily. We walk away from the stands and I find myself in a maze of people, but for once I don’t feel so alone within it. It feels like I’m part of the flow, and not against it, and I’m not sure why I suddenly feel so different. Like I can do or be anything. I look up at the sky, and see the stars shining down, calm against the swirls of energy surrounding us.

  A guy stops in front of us and shouts “Hey!” to Treena.

  “Oh,” she says, less enthused. “Hey, Brad.” Then she looks at me. “Maude, this is Brad, one of Trey’s friends from the soccer team. He was at the party last night. Brad, Maude.”

  “Hey,” he says, taking me in. He looks athletic, too, with short brown hair and a jersey on. In fact, he looks remarkably like Trey. “Are you guys going to the club tonight?”

  “No, we’re just hanging out,” she says, and I smile, happy that she’s ditching plans for me.

  “Really? Oh man, you’re missing out. It’s some girl from Tri Delt’s birthday, and it’s going down,” he says, pumping his fist in the air.

  “You don’t even know who the girl is?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips. I like how she’s getting an attitude with him. I like how she’s defending herself.

  “Does it matter?” he laughs. “Party is a party. Hope to see you guys out there tonight,” he says, then eyes me again before walking away.

  “Ugh,” Treena moans. “That guy annoys me.”

  “Tri Delt?” I ask.

  “A sorority. Trey mentioned going to Colt’s, this club that plays country music, but . . . he didn’t say there was a sorority party going on.”

  “Not a fan of sorority parties?” I ask.

  “They’re fine, whatever. There are a bunch of girls in my English class, and I think I’m just too brown for them. Like, they’re really blond.”

  “Sounds fun,” I say.

  “Yeah, and they’re all just perfectly gorgeous,” she says, picking at her arm self-consciously.

  “Tree, you’re beautiful,” I say, defending her.

  “They’re, like, models. And Trey’s friends with them.”

  I sigh, automatically knowing—and hating—what I’m going to ask next. “Do you want to go to the club?”

  She looks at me, her eyes alight, then looks back down. “No, no, it’s just us tonight. I can see Trey tomorrow. . . .”

  “Tree . . .” I say.

  “No, it’s our night. I want to spend time with you.”

  “Tree . . .” I say again, because sometimes she needs a push to be honest. And while I want her to say no again, I know she won’t.

  “Maybe.”

  “All right. Let’s go,” I say, relenting for her sake. “Plus, I need to get the full college experience and I haven’t been to a club yet.”

  “We should get someone to drive us,” she says, already planning. “Girls drink free there, and even though we’re not twenty-one, we can still get by. I wonder if . . .”

  “I’m on it,” I say, taking out my phone and texting the only other person I know here.

  TWENTY

  “Well, this isn’t exactly how I planned to spend my Wednesday night,” Bennett says when we get inside the club. It was free to get in, because we arrived before eleven, and instead of getting yellow bands like most people, our hands were marked with do-not-serve-them-because-they’re-babies black Xs. But, according to Tree, that doesn’t seem to matter much.

  “Not a fan of country music?” I ask him as I watch Treena peer around for Trey.

  “Dead tractors, broken hearts, and missing dogs? Not so much.” Just as he says that, a song comes on about a sexy tractor, and I start laughing. The club is big and loud, with lights beaming down onto the dance area. We’re on the outskirts right now, looking at the dancers. There are tables and a few bars around us, boxing in the dance area where, currently, everyone is doing a very choreographed line dance. I feel like I’m in a musical.

  “Do you think people practice before they come?” I ask, pointing.

  “I know I do,” Bennett says, and I laugh. I notice a few people in the front, leading the line, so I guess they teach it as the songs play. It all seems so forced; how is this fun?

  “Trey!” Treena shouts, and we turn around to see Trey walking toward us, with girls on both sides of him.

  “Baby, what are you doing here?” Trey asks, reaching out to her. The backup girls look at each other, then eye Treena. I can see what she meant earlier—the girls are gorgeous.

  “Your friend Brad said we should come,” she says sweetly, reaching up to give him a kiss.

  “Awesome,” he says, and I’m not sure if it’s sarcastic or if he’s really pleased to see her. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.”

  “This is going to be an interesting night,” Bennett mumbles, and I nod.

  A few minutes later, Treena is holding two red drinks and pulling me into the bathroom.

  “What’s up? And, um, why are we going into a stall?” I ask, as she closes the door behind me.

  “Trey has a fake ID, so he was able to get us these.” She hands me my cup. “But since we’re underage, we can’t, like, drink them out there. So. Drink,” she says, and starts chugging.

  I look at Treena, high school good girl Treena, never entertaining the thought of drinking, and shake the image out of my head. Because that’s not her anymore at all. And as I raise the cup I realize it might not be me, either. I take a sip of the drink, and it’s fruity and cold. I look at her, and then back at where I am. “This is a little extreme—we’re in a bathroom stall, standing over a toilet, and secretly drinking. Something is wrong with this picture.”

  Treena shakes her head. “Yeah, what’s wrong is you’re not drinking.”

  I place the cup to my lips again, and drink.

  Treena is laughing by the time she’s done. “Ugh, brain freeze.”

  “Ugh,” I say, finishing off my drink. I don’t feel any different yet, but knowing I will in a little bit, like I did last night, is oddly . . . freeing.

  “Okay, let’s go back out,” she says with another giggle.

  Trey and Bennett are by the bar—Trey surrounded by more girls and Bennett standing next to him, also talking to the girls, with his hands in his pockets. Treena magnetically attaches herself to Trey’s hip, and I find myself next to Bennett, of course.

  “Have fun?” he asks with a grin.

  “Loads. Trey has an ID, apparently.”

  “Oh, I know. And with great power comes great responsibility . . . which he does not have.”

  “Spider-Man?” I ask.

  “Uncle Ben, but yeah, Spider-Man.”

  “You are such a dork,” I say.

  “Hey, you knew the reference.”

  I smile, and awkwardly look down. Behind me, I hear Treena laugh, and turn to see her trying to command attention among the other blond girls, who, at least to me, don’t stand a chance. Treena is just so much more of everything. I notice Bennett looking, and ask, “So where’s your flock of women?” I gesture toward the array standing around Trey and Treena.

  “Left them at home. It’s exhausting bringing them around, you know? Someone is always hungry, someone always has to use the bathroom; I mean, come on.”

  I laugh and start to feel the alcohol seeping into my body. My face feels lighter again, brighter. I’m getting used to the feeling. I look over at Treena again to see how she’s doing, and she’s lapping up the attention, basking in Trey’s glow, and I shake my head. She’s going to get hurt. I just know it. Then I look over at Bennett, who’s staring at me, and I feel brave. I feel stronger. What was it Jessica said about my mother—why paint an orange when you can paint the sky? I want to paint the sky.

  “Want to dance?” I ask him.

  “I don’t think I can,” he says, looking at the still-choreograph
ed routine.

  “I can’t, either. Let’s look stupid together,” I say, and he gives in.

  “If you say so.” He takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. We stay toward the back, away from the group of good dancers. At first we try to keep up—three steps to the right, three to the left, turn, turn, clap, toe, heel—but after a while we give up, and as I feel a whirl around me, I know I’m feeling good. I’m feeling different. I’m feeling lighter.

  I bump into him, and we both laugh. He takes my hand and twirls me in a circle, completely abandoning the routine, and I come in close, then back out again. I spin into his arm, so I’m wrapped up in him with my back to his chest. He puts his other arm around me and I close my eyes, moving in time with him, feeling his weight against mine. I turn around, still linked in his embrace, and stare up at him. He’s so close, and his eyes are hesitant. But I’m not.

  The song ends and another one comes on, but I don’t care—I don’t move. The world is spinning around us, but we’re on solid ground. A force pushes into me, and I spin around as a guy trips by.

  “Ouch,” I say, rubbing my arm.

  “You okay?” he asks, taking a step back from where we were and shaking his head.

  “Yeah, fine,” I say, and I want to ask, “Where were we?” but the words don’t come out.

  “Hey!” I look over and see Treena beckoning me.

  “Oh, um, I should—”

  “Yeah, I’ll be right here,” he says, pushing his hair back and leaning against the wall.

  I walk over to Treena, upset with that guy for knocking me back, and frustrated with myself for not doing anything.

  “Nothing between you guys, huh?” Treena asks, giggling.

  “We’re friends,” I say again, this time joining in her laughing.

  “Well, you should go for it,” she says. “Kiss him! I dare you to kiss him. Trey!” she calls, looking toward him. “Maude’s going to go make out with Bennett.”

  “Tree!” I yell.

  “Good. Dude needs to get some action,” Trey says, and I blush uncontrollably. “Here,” he says, handing me another cup.