He laughed. He was always laughing. There was something off about it this time. “No,” he said. “When I dance, I look like—you know those flailing inflatable tube guys that are always, like, thrashing on the side of the highway to advertise car sales? That’s how it looks.”
I laughed and wandered past him toward the door, by column after column. Marden Cathedral was so beautiful. Even this mess of people couldn’t hide it. Biblical scenes were hewn into the pearly gray rock, shepherds herding, women weeping, the Messiah lifting His hands. Grooves ran up from the carved vignettes to flowery scrollwork at the top of the columns, where they bled into the arched ceiling.
“Julian,” Isaac said, nudging me.
I gave my head a shake, realizing I’d stopped to look up. I’d been staring at the ceiling for a while. I wondered how long. “What?”
“We should go.” He glanced along the wall. So did I. Teachers, a line of them, one for every dark, stained glass window. The nearest one was eyeing me.
“Yeah, got it.” I focused on keeping myself steady as we headed for the doors. They stood wide, letting freezing drafts into the cathedral’s sweaty interior.
We passed Principal Busse, the Supreme Overlord of Kensington-Blaine Academy, who stood at the door checking people’s invitations. She was a short, round woman wearing bright red earmuffs. She didn’t spare us more than a passing glance. Her face was a blur. Everyone’s faces were blurring. Red mouths and black eyes.
Outside, in the dry cold, the sweat and heat under my blazer evaporated in what felt like seconds. For an instant, it invigorated me, the shock of the temperature, and I wanted to sprint, or climb something, or dig deep into the world. But soon the back of my neck stung with the chill, and then I couldn’t feel my nose, and my eyes were globes of ice in their sockets. August Drive had grown to twice its usual length.
They’d said it on the news the other day—a storm was coming. Winter Storm Saul. Or was it Paul? Some Biblical boy name. Whoever it was, he was going to drench us in snow.
“Look,” Isaac said, “we’ll talk about this when you’re not drunk, but what happened Thursday with Trav shouldn’t have happened. I’m going to figure this shit out.” The words circled my head, not quite sinking in. An array of vaguely important sentences I wasn’t quite hearing. “I don’t know,” he went on. “You and Nihal seemed stressed out today, and that’s not a good rehearsal vibe, and I feel kind of bad since it’s your first semester and the president is supposed to, like, set an examp—”
I walked into his shoulder.
He stopped and steadied me. After a second I levered my head upward because I had been staring at my feet. There were his eyes. Not laughing now.
“How much did you have?” Isaac said.
“It’s cold,” I said. It was important that he knew this. How cold it was. Isaac had on a coat—the same hooded black fleece he’d worn the other night. Why hadn’t I brought my coat? This blazer didn’t keep the warmth in at all.
“Pretty cold, yeah,” he said. Then, after a second, “Where’d you even get a drink?”
“Victoria,” I said, and the back of my hand came to my mouth.
“Girls. Terrible influence.” Isaac sighed. “Okay, you live in Burgess, right?”
Bad. The plan was bad. He wanted to make sure I got back to my dorm. If he saw where I lived . . .
I hunted for a diversion. We stood across from the administrative buildings, that curving line of brick cubes. Identical gables stood out over their doors. To our right, a shallow hill led down to the music buildings. What to do?
“No, don’t,” I said. “You don’t have to w—don’t worry. About it, man, don’t worry.”
“I’m not gonna risk you passing out outside somewhere. It’s fine. I’ll walk you back.”
We kept walking down August Drive. I had to stop him. “It’s cold, though,” I reminded him. “I’m really cold . . .”
I shivered. And then my leg was somewhere left of where I’d wanted it to be. I staggered, and Isaac caught my upper arm. I regained my footing. We stood by a stop sign. The single intersection on campus. Four corners of white sidewalks glowed like paint in the moonlight. The narrow stream of August Drive crossed over the wide black river of Main Street. “Can I get some water?” I said. “Use a bathroom?”
“Water. Good plan,” he said, looking around. “Here, come on.”
We turned right on Main, heading downhill toward the dappled stone of Wingate. Isaac took a wallet out of his khakis and scanned us in. The warmth of the Wingate lounge enveloped us. Hardwood floors beneath my feet and uncomfortable-looking leather sofas passing by my legs. On the wall hung portraits of old people in wigs, rimmed in thick golden frames.
I spotted a water fountain in the corner and made for it. Isaac’s footsteps followed. As I hunched over the fountain, quaffing mouthful after mouthful, I got the urge to call Jenna. Tell her what had happened at the dance with Victoria.
Jenna had known since forever. Since she was six. How could I still not know? I had to be a fake. She wouldn’t believe me. Would she? Did I believe me?
Thoughts wandered around my head unrestricted. It was better being drunk and alone than drunk and crowded in. Everything felt important. Isaac stood a few feet away.
“I made out with Victoria,” I told the water fountain.
“Uh. What?” said Isaac’s voice. The water fountain had nothing to say.
“I mean, she made out with me. We made out with each other. She started it. I don’t know. What?”
“Classy,” Isaac said, sounding amused.
“I feel bad. Jon Cox was right there, and I felt bad.”
“That’s shitty luck. Same thing happened to Ted last year with this girl Cameron. I think I told you about him? Ted? He’s . . .”
Isaac’s steady voice soothed me. I listened to the cadences and rhythms of it for a minute, unable to wring any meaning out of the sounds. Eventually, I straightened up from the water fountain. Swayed. “You ever miss New York City?” I asked, cutting him off from some tangent or other.
He leaned against the wall. “I guess, yeah.”
“What do you miss?”
He looked bemused. “I don’t know. The size of it. My parents.”
“I miss my parents too. Are they—what generation are you?”
“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. Way back. Like, both sets of my grandparents lived in New York City.” Isaac paused. “Are you even gonna remember any of this?”
He had a point. I could hardly remember what he’d said about Thursday. Something important.
I looked around the lounge. “Is there a bathroom?”
“Yeah, but this is a girls’ floor,” he said.
I laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said, with a snap of lucidity. I had to fix my voice. When had it slipped up? When I’d laughed? Before? I tamped it down, deepening my words. “Let’s go.”
He headed to the silver elevator doors and thumbed the button. “Why do you ask?” he said. “About that stuff?”
“Because I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know that sort of thing about you guys. Except Nihal. He’s so cool, you know? He’s so good at everything.”
“Yeah, he is,” Isaac said.