Anything but Ordinary (12 page)

Gabby rolled her eyes and announced a girls’ bathroom break.

Greg locked eyes with Bryce, as Gabby took her hand to pull her away. Gabby led her fiercely toward the bathroom door, giving her
that look.
Her eyes were wide, her head tilted suggestively,
as in,
I know your secret.
Bryce’s heart raced. She had been looking at Greg too much, she knew it.

Gabby closed the door of the dingy restroom and immediately began fixing her bun in the mirror. “So, tell me,” she said, retwisting her thick dark hair.

“Tell you what?” Bryce asked, her muscles clenched.

“Don’t play coy.” Gabby smiled devilishly. “What’s the deal with you and Carter?”

Oh.
Bryce’s whole body sighed with relief. She felt like lying down on the dirty tile and going to sleep. “Nothing, really. We’re friends.”

Gabby tightened her ponytail, raising her eyebrows. “Well, there should be something.”

“What do you mean?” Bryce asked, leaning on the sink, catching Gabby’s dark eyes in the mirror.

“He can’t stop looking at you,” Gabby said in high, sing-song voice. “And he’s a
doctor
.”

“Please. He’s in medical school,” Bryce corrected, scrunching her hair.

“Well, whatever, I’m saying you should totally go for it.” She smiled at Bryce, her bun now perfectly in place. “We gotta get some love in your life. Something is missing, I can tell.”

“Well, we did kiss,” Bryce said coolly.

“What! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because it was on the same day I found out you were engaged to my boyfriend, Bryce thought, but instead she just shrugged.

“I knew it!” Gabby threw her hands up. She put her hands on Bryce’s cheeks. “I knew there was something. I know you, Bryce. I can always tell with you.”

Bryce removed Gabby’s hands from her cheeks with a pained smile. When they returned to the smoky room, the boys stood up from the table.

“I won!” Greg called. Sweat was starting to dampen his T-shirt. His beer-glazed eyes sparkled.

Greg threw his arms around Bryce in a celebratory embrace, and she let herself for just one moment enjoy the comfort of that place, to go back under the bridge with the train rushing above them.

But the train had passed, and Greg’s arms loosened as he moved away to walk with Gabby. Bryce put a hand to her chest, at the hole she felt when he was gone, almost as if the train had passed right through her.

he next weekend, Bryce folded clothes with her teeth digging into her lip. Though she hadn’t gone to bed until after one, she was up at eight, humming “Hey Jude” in the shower. The water was boiling hot, just like she liked it. She coated her skin with Sydney’s vanilla body cream. Her oatmeal was buttery, covered in blueberries and cinnamon, a taste of home to fortify her for the day ahead.

She had seen bachelorette parties in movies. The purpose was wild fun, she knew that. But underneath the wild fun was the fact running through everything, the fact that the bride needed this one last crazy night before she and her groom would be together forever. Greg and Gabby together forever.

She zipped her old AAU diving equipment bag, packing a few things for the weekend ahead. Her head hurt.

Bryce knew what was happening then. It didn’t come slowly, but it came in levels, like someone was turning up the knobs as the back of her skull was placed on the burner of a stove. Frostbite grew under her fingernails and across her toes. This time, when she was tipped on her head like a rain stick, she felt relief.

Hard dirt under bare feet.

The mute echoes of a place half full of water. It was dark, night. When she reached out in front of her, there was nothing but blank space.

Her eyes adjusted. She confirmed the solidness of the edge on which she stood, and quickly, as the moon darted between clouds, the glint of water.

Then, as if it was what she intended to do all along, Bryce bent her legs. Toes pointed forward, hands crossed in front of her.
Nothing fancy,
she told herself, and sprung off.

Air held her, gentle and familiar like an old friend. She allowed the breeze to cradle her until the last minute, when she made herself an arrow. She pierced its center and broke the liquid line.

Bryce knew as she hit that water was lifting around her body in a circle of precious, clear pearls, but a diver never gets to see her own splash. It’s too bad, Bryce thought as she went under.

She came to on the ground, the carpet digging spots in her knees and palms as her head moved slowly out of fire.

She never used to fall over after the visions before. And her fingers still felt a little numb.
Not now.
She shook her sleeping hands, trying to wake them up. She wiped at her face and found a light streak of blood coming from her nose.

She let the throbbing subside. A knock on the door. Her mother’s voice. “Hi, sweetie.”

Bryce stood and wiped at her face again. She opened the door to her mother, who gave her a small smile.

“Carter’s upstairs; he wants to do a quick checkup before you go,” she said.

Carter was waiting for her in the kitchen as she carried her bag up the stairs into the cloudy morning. He turned around from where he was rearranging the Grahams’ spice rack by flavor combination.

When he finished taking her blood pressure, he picked a piece of lint off her cheek. Bryce blushed.

“You look a little peakish.”

“You sound like you’re from the Victorian era.”

He looked at his clipboard for no reason, clicking the clip at the top. “I care about you,” he said, a little too loudly.

“Well, thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. His eyes darted around, then back to her. They were so gray this morning. Like the sky.

“I mean, I woke up this morning and I remembered you were going away for the weekend, and I got so disappointed.”

Bryce couldn’t help but smile. “I’m just going downtown with a bunch of girls. So don’t worry, you’re not missing anything.” She squeezed his arm and began to turn away. It was time to get going.

He stopped her. “No, I mean I’ll miss
you
.”

Bryce met his gray eyes. No, silver. They were almost silver. His shoulders lifted under his T-shirt in a small shrug. He felt tall to her. Taller this morning. Bryce swallowed.

His lips pursed. “I got something for you.”

Carter pulled out what looked like a little silk package. He unfolded it and handed it to Bryce.

“A sleep mask,” she said, smiling. It was navy blue silk with a gray rose pattern.

“It keeps out the light,” he explained. “It’ll help you sleep. Help with headaches, if you get them.”

Bryce fingered the mask. I doubt anything could help this weekend, she thought, but she said, “Thank you.”

Bryce’s phone vibrated in her palm.
Outside!
Gabby texted. Bryce took a deep breath.

“I have to go,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. His smile was small, quiet.

Bryce turned with some mixture of calm and relief. She slipped the mask into her bag. She walked as quickly as she could down the empty driveway, feeling her damp, freshly showered hair.

A white hotel van idled on the other side of the street. Bryce climbed in and was immediately enveloped in a soft, fragrant group hug. All she could see was a tangle of Gabby’s midnight waves, a short afro with a green scarf, and straight strawberry-blond locks.

They broke apart.

“So this is
the
Bryce!” said the taller of the two girls, readjusting the scarf around her tight black curls. Her smile was sweet, and her brown, long-lashed eyes oozed sympathy.

The strawberry blonde laughed at her friend’s expression and extended a hand. Bryce took it and got a closer look at the girl. She had bright green eyes and freckles. “I’m Zen,” she said, “And that’s Mary.”

Mary pulled Bryce into another hug. “Yes, I’m Mary. I’m so sorry, you must be so sick of this, but your story is just…miraculous.”

Two more girls sat in the back row of the van—both brunettes, one with a bob, one with shoulder-length hair. They were just like Gabby. Pretty, enthusiastic, sweet. Bryce couldn’t remember their names, even though they had just said them seconds ago.

As someone handed Bryce a cup of coffee, the van started down River Drive. Their conversations bounced around her. Bryce felt the coffee run on a hot path from her throat to her stomach.

From the front seat, Gabby filled Bryce in about Mary’s soon-to-be gig as a middle school math teacher in Oregon. Then Zen, a dancer from Vermont, started in on college gossip. Bryce watched their conversation like a tennis match.

“Did you hear about Gillian and Fred? They moved to Columbus.”

“Columbus? Christ.”

“At least they’re not holed up in a closet in Bushwick. Madison looks emaciated, but not in a good way. She’s taking the starving New York artist thing way too seriously.”

“Madison is this wannabe fame-whore from the drama department,” one of the brunettes explained from the backseat. “You know the type. Acts like she’s still in high school.”

“Oh my god.” Zen’s face broke out in a devious smile. “Wait a minute. Bryce, you have to tell us how Gabby was in
high school
.”

“That’s right.” Mary cocked an eyebrow. “There’s only one photo of her on Facebook from back then, and she looks like one of those girls who goes to Renaissance fairs.”

“What? No way.” Gabby put her hands over her face. “Let’s not go back there.”

Bryce shrugged. Why was she so embarrassed?

“She’s a great diver,” Bryce said. She froze, realizing she was using the present tense. “She was that girl who would talk to anyone, no matter who it was. The smelly kid; or Rebecca, the bitchiest, most popular girl at Hilwood; or the principal; anyone. She didn’t care about what lunch table she sat at, or if her lab partner had just gotten out of juvie, or anything like that. She didn’t look down on anyone.”

“Wait, so Gabby wasn’t Miss Popular?” Mary looked at Gabby with mock surprise.

Gabby was widening her eyes at Bryce from the front seat, her mouth pursed. Bryce looked apologetically at her, wondering what she’d said wrong.

They dropped the subject as Mary dove into stories of her month building houses in Mexico this summer. Mary was a good storyteller, and her bright eyes flashed as she talked. She made huge hand motions and had a booming, clear voice. She’d spent most of her time down south helping to build a school in Oaxaca, perfecting her Spanish, checking out the scenery. The rest of her time, however, was spent in the best restaurants and tequila bars in Mexico City.

“I’m a sucker for good tequila,” Mary confided to Bryce. “And let’s just say this weekend we’ll be sampling a well-aged bottle I was able to get over the border.”

“I can’t drink,” Bryce said sadly.

“Oh. Well, water will do fine.” Zen lifted her water bottle to Bryce. “A toast! To a wonderful addition to our group!”

Zen, Mary, and the brunettes in the backseat lifted their water bottles, and Bryce had no choice but to join them.

Gabby smiled at the rest of them, and raised her own. “To great friends,” she modified.

“And to you, Gabs.” Mary beamed. “To you, and to Greg, and to love.”

um-dee-dee-dum-dum-DUM!”

“TEQUILA!” the rest of the girls in the car finished. Even Bryce roused herself from her thoughts. The tune reminded her of the pep band at a Hilwood football game.

Gabby let out a whoop and threw up her long, tanned arms. Her brunette friends followed suit. Bryce now knew their names were Molly and Hannah, though she was still deliberating who was who as the van ride was ending. They were both in “marketing,” they said.

“Tequila at ten a.m.?” Bryce raised her eyebrows. They were pulling up to the enormous old Opryland Hotel, where they were being treated to a spa day.

Mary extracted a tall shiny bottle from her tote bag. “Bryce, darling, perhaps you’ve never heard of something called a Tequila Sunrise.”

“Trust me, Mary won’t be able to take off her clothes for the massage without it,” Zen said, leaning toward Bryce. Then, in a mock whisper, “She’s kind of a never-nude.”

“I heard that!” Mary shrieked. “Am not!”

As a bellhop in an old-fashioned uniform unloaded their bags, the girls rode the elevator to the top floor of the hotel. Inside the adjoining suites, enormous windows surrounded lush rugs on polished tile. Marble-topped tables held vases of fresh flowers. Bryce stepped up to one of the wall-length windows, Nashville spreading out below her.

When she turned back around, most of the girls had stepped out of their clothes and into large, white fluffy towels. One of the brunettes was lining up delicate glasses, portioning orange juice in each of them.

“Oh.” Bryce tucked her hair behind her ear. “Aren’t we…um, going to the spa?”

Gabby came over and draped a towel around Bryce’s shoulders. “No, dear,” she said, untucking Bryce’s hair. “The spa is coming to
us
!”

As Bryce stuffed her clothes in her bag, she came across the blue printed sleep mask, and smiled to herself, thinking of Carter’s gray eyes and his too-loud voice.
I care about you,
he’d said.

But she was distracted when white-outfitted people arrived and began moving furniture around to set up massage tables. Next came a row of three enormous leather chairs attached to tubs of steaming water.

“For pedicures,” Zen informed her as she set up a row of candles.

In a blur, the girls drew the shades, lit the candles, and gathered in the center of the room for a Tequila Sunrise toast (just orange juice for Bryce). Then they positioned themselves on the various relaxation mechanisms around the room.

From a massage table, Bryce flinched at the touch of a stranger’s hands on her naked back. She listened to the voices in the dark discuss LSATs, charity work,
Vogue
Italia
, long-distance relationships. She listened as they turned her best friend into Gabby Travers, lawyer extraordinaire. Bryce had always thought she and Gabby were alike, at least in the ways that mattered. But Gabby had turned into this beautiful, confident woman with stamps on her passport and graduate school plans, Bryce thought as she watched her feet soak in the bubbling water. And Bryce hadn’t turned into anything.

At dinner in a private back room of the velvet-curtain-covered, chandelier-lit Opryland restaurant, Bryce ate breaded squid for an appetizer, filet mignon and mashed fingerling potatoes for an entrée, and rich chocolate cake for dessert in the smallest, savoring bites. Because it was delicious, yes, but also because she didn’t feel pressure to talk when her mouth was full. She may not have anything interesting to say, but she could eat.

After their plates were cleared, Bryce stood up awkwardly, looking at Zen and Mary for encouragement. They nodded, clapping lightly with excitement. They had wanted her to contribute somehow to the weekend, so she did her best. With swirly hand motions and a curtsy, Bryce presented Gabby with the silver tiara from the flea market, and a shiny pink sash that read
HERE COMES THE BRIDE
.

Gabby squealed and wrapped her in a hug. “Oh my god, Bryce!”

As they hugged, it felt for just a moment that Bryce actually
was
Gabby’s best friend. Someone who really did know her best because she had known her the longest, because she had helped Gabby feel good when no one else could. Someone who belonged there.

“Thank you,” Gabby whispered. She let go and turned to the rest of the group, the tiara perched perfectly on her head. “I feel like a princess!” She poured everyone a tequila shot.

Zen and Mary tossed their shots back, twisted their faces, and looked at each other.

“It’s time.”

They left briefly, returning with a projector they had rented from the conference center at the hotel, and portable laptop speakers. Zen dimmed the private dining room’s lights as the words
GABBY GORDON + GREG TRAVERS
appeared on the wall.

The first slide was their baby pictures side by side—Gabby in a pumpkin outfit, already with thick curly hair, and Greg wearing a sailor suit, looking cherubic with thin blond curls sprouting from his round head.

“We’re going to project this at the reception. But we thought it would be fun to get a little sneak peek,” Mary said.

“Plus there are some embarrassing-ass photos we can’t show with your grandparents in the room,” Zen quipped. The other girls tittered. “We couldn’t let them go to waste.”

The second slide showed Gabby, eight, in a pink polka-dot swimsuit, drinking out of a hose.

I was there that day, Bryce thought. My suit had watermelons on it.

Greg, still chubby in a sport coat and khakis, outside his first middle school dance.

Gabby, fourteen, hair down to her waist, competing in the Nashville spelling bee.

She got eleventh. Out on the word
exacerbate
.

Greg at fifteen in an AAU uniform, flexing his muscles.

The first tournament we all dove together. Fifteen and under.
Heat was rising up on Bryce’s forehead. The colors on the wall flashed bright.

“I can barely remember those days,” Gabby said dreamily.

Bryce closed her eyes, and in a flash, she was there again. It was more than a memory; she was actually there, inside that day seven years ago. The smell of chlorine tingled her nose.

Sunbeams filtered through the mist above the pool, the team gathering on the bleachers for the group picture. She slipped her arm around Greg’s waist, her thigh feeling the heat of his. As someone held a camera up before them, Bryce and Greg shared a glance. But Gabby had also sidled next to Greg, nestling her head comfortably on his shoulder.

She’s happy,
Bryce could tell, and at the snap of the camera, Bryce was no longer at the poolside, the smell of chlorine leaving her.

The frame flashed to another picture of the three of them, a more recent picture. Recent, at least, to Bryce.

Gabby and Greg were unsuited, and Bryce was giving her tense, camera-ready smile, her warm-up unzipped, the USA suit shining through. The day of the Trials. The day that changed it all.

Gabby looked at Bryce through the darkened room, tears dotting her eyes.
I’m sorry,
she seemed to say. Bryce looked back to the slide show, her jaw clenching.

Then it was just the two of them. Gabby Gordon + Greg Travers.

Caught in the middle of a conversation in the halls of Hilwood, their backpacks beside them.

In a tentative, posed embrace at senior prom.

Outside their Stanford dorm, pointing with silly faces up to a palm tree.

Gabby’s hair cut short, her arm around a younger-looking Zen.

Greg, his hair long again, smiling cheesily, holding up a fraternity pledge pin.

Greg, a pot on his head, kissing Gabby wearing cat ears with a grin on her face.

Gabby and Greg facing one another with their eyes locked, not realizing the camera was on them.

A self-taken picture at the beach, Greg’s sunburned face slightly cut out.

Greg in a suit, cradling Gabby, the hem of her formal gown dangling from his arms.

Greg on one knee in front of Gabby on a beach, the Mediterranean sparkling behind them, holding a ring.

Bryce had had enough. The slide show went on for several more minutes. She watched the distorted reflections in Gabby’s wineglass.

When it finally ended they all stood, swaying in their tequila-soaked state, and filtered out of the restaurant.

“Good night, Nashville!” Mary yelled as they exited.

When Zen opened the heavy wooden door to their suite, they all jumped. A chorus of male voices came from inside.

The girls pushed their way into the room. Gabby gasped. The brunettes screeched. Six young men in suits of various shades of blue and gray stood in the tiled foyer with their arms around each another, swaying as they sang out of tune. Their ties were loose. Their hair was mussed. In the middle stood Greg, singing louder than anyone. Bryce watched him as he sang the Stanford fight song they all knew so well. To Bryce, it sounded like a song in an old movie, something she’d never heard.

The chorus drew out the last note as long as they could. Greg fell into a high five and a hug with the guy on his right, who almost looked like his identical twin. Peter, his older brother. Bryce didn’t know him well; he’d already been off at college when they were in high school. The rest of the guys stumbled into hugs with Zen, Mary, and the brunettes, shouting reunion greetings.

“What are you guys
doing
here?” Gabby finally managed to get out among more, louder renditions of the Stanford fight song.

“We’re crashing the party!” Peter threw up his long arms, landing them around Gabby’s shoulders.

A tall, broad-shouldered guy with tousled red-brown hair swiped Gabby’s antique tiara and put it on his head.

“Hey!” Gabby attempted a scolding tone, stomping her sequined heels. But Bryce could tell she was pleased. “This was supposed to be a girls-only night!”

“Aw, boo, Gab,” said another guy in a pin-striped suit, his skin a shade darker than Mary’s. “Don’t kick us out!”

“Greg made us come.” Peter pointed accusingly. Then he rolled his eyes. “He said he
had
to see his girl.”

Bryce followed Peter’s gaze. Greg was unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt, shrugging. She forced herself to look away from his chest. He glanced up. “How could I be apart from this beautiful lady, even for one night?”

“Awww!” Gabby squealed. She marched over to Greg and planted a kiss.

The bachelor and bachelorette parties made sounds of disgust and delight, respectively. Bryce swallowed, feeling warmth roll from inside of her to the tips of her fingers. They had all missed one very important detail.

When Greg spoke, he was looking at her.