Better Than Perfect (6 page)

I didn't give him the satisfaction of correcting him; I just let Sinead guide me around the van, where I stood with her while Sean kept calling me Jules as he loaded me up with cords and told me to follow Danny up the hill to the stage.

By the time we'd set up all the equipment, I was dripping sweat and my arms and legs ached. I couldn't believe how much work it was to set up for a concert. We'd dragged mics and mic stands and amps and guitars and a drum set up the hill from the parking lot for what felt like hours. But when I
checked my phone, it was only eight fifteen. Everyone in the band was calling me Jules, and the unfamiliar nickname only intensified the sense that I was living in an alternate reality, one that was light-years away from my actual life.

I lay on my back staring up at the sky while Danny, Declan, and Sinead tested their mics and Sean hovered over a man Danny had told me was the club's sound guy as he adjusted the levels. Every once in a while there would be the loud screech of feedback, and then everything would go quiet and then they would start again.

My mother either tried to commit suicide or accidentally overdosed.

I lay on the stage, repeating the sentence in my mind as if repetition might make it comprehensible. But the words remained completely unreal to me, detached from any kind of meaning they might try to convey. Overhead, clouds passed slowly in a stratospheric breeze, and I felt as far away from earth as they were.

“Okay, Sinead, let's hear it,” called Sean.

“She just went to get some water,” Danny answered.

“Oh, well, that's great then,” said Sean. “I guess we'll all sit around twiddling our thumbs while we wait for Her Highness to return.”

“Just give me a second and I'll do it,” Declan said. He was taping wires down with bright blue tape.

“How about you, Jules? You don't exactly seem to be overworked.”

I sat up. “What?”

Sean was standing next to the guy at the soundboard, his arms crossed over his chest, a beer in one hand. “Talk into the mic,” Sean said. “Testing: one, two. Just like in the movies.”

I got to my feet, crossed the stage, and stood at the microphone. The perfect lawn stretched out all around me, as if the stage were a ship floating on a broad emerald ocean. Beyond the edge of the hill, the actual water appeared, then disappeared into the horizon.

“Testing: one, two,” I said. “Testing: one, two.” There was a loud screech, and suddenly Danny was at my side.

“Here,” he said, moving the stand about a foot away from where it had been. “Try this.”

“Thanks,” I said, following him and standing at the mic in its new location.

“Keep going,” Sean called out.

“Um, testing. One. Two. Testing.” On the second
testing
, my voice boomed out, shockingly loud.

“You're killing me with that testing,” said Sean. “Sing something. Sing ‘Happy Birthday.'”

Obediently, I started singing. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear . . . someone. Happy birthday to you.”

There was silence. In the distance, Sinead appeared, a pyramid of water bottles balanced in her arms.

“Let's have that again,” said Sean, but he didn't say it with
quite the same venom with which he'd said everything else.

I sang “Happy Birthday” one more time. By the time I was finished, Sinead was standing beside Sean. “Holy shit,” she called out. “Jules, you have a great voice.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“No joke, Jules,” said Danny from over by the drums. “You can really sing.”

“Okay,” I said, not really able to process their compliments. They were all staring at me. “Do you need me to sing it again?”

“Ah, yeah,” said the sound guy, who had a mustache so big I was pretty sure it was ironic. “If you could sing it one more time, that would be great.”

I sang the song for a third time. It didn't sound like anything special, certainly no different than it sounded every other time I'd sung it. When I was finished, everyone clapped. I felt weird standing up there with people looking at me, so I just asked if we were finished, went over to the edge of the stage, and sat down.

When it was time for the concert to start, everyone but me went off to change. Contrary to gender stereotypes, Sinead was the first one done, wearing a tight black dress and a pair of high-heeled black pumps. She stood at the edge of the parking lot, and a minute later the boys joined her. They walked toward the stage, where I was sitting, the guys in black suits and white shirts, Sinead in her dress. I wondered what it was
like to be a member of their let's-be-in-a-band-together-and-bicker-but-really-all-get-along-and-love-each-other family. You could tell just by looking at them that all of their parents were happily married, that nobody in their family had tried to commit suicide or overdosed, that they gathered around the piano at holidays and sang seasonal songs.

I kind of hated all of them.

I looked out at the lawn. Little lights were strung up in the few trees scattered picturesquely across the grounds. People were wandering around eating hors d'oeuvres and drinking from tall glasses. All of them looked happy and carefree, enjoying a warm summer's night at their club. I wondered what would happen if I opened my mouth, started screaming, and refused to stop. Would the roasted-egg guy throw me out? Would he have me arrested?

Would the police put me in a hospital bed with restraints on my arms?

My phone buzzed and I picked it up. Sofia.

Sofia: how r u?

I reread our previous exchanges.

Sofia: how r u?

Me: im ok.

Sofia: how r u?

Me: i am okay.

Here it was for the third time, and I typed a new response.

Me: i am fucking freaking out, sofia, how do you think I am?

I stared at the screen of my phone.

Don't make a scene, Juliet.

I deleted what I'd just typed.
im ok,
I wrote, and I put the phone back on the stage beside me.

“God, this crowd is ancient,” said Sinead, standing at the edge of the stage next to where I was sitting with my legs hanging down.

“We'll have them rocking in the aisles,” said Declan, surveying the audience along with her. When they were standing next to each other, it was clear how much Declan and Sinead looked alike—even more than they looked like Danny and Sean and Sean and Danny looked like each other. Declan and Sinead even stood the same way, both arms crossed over their chests, each hand holding the opposite bicep.

“Are you guys twins?” I asked, staring at them.

“Irish twins,” said Sinead. Her teeth were very white against her bright red lipstick. “We're eleven months apart. And Danny's our little brother. He's going into first form.”

“They don't call it that here,” said Sean, who was standing on the ground just below us. The way he said it made me think it wasn't the first time he'd had to tell her. “It's ninth grade. And you are going to be a junior and Declan's going to be a
senior.” He popped open the beer he was holding.

“Right,” said Sinead, snapping her fingers. “Junior. Senior. It sounds so American.”

“We
are
American,” Declan reminded her. He gave me an apologetic look. “We've been living in Beijing for the past seven years. Our dad just got transferred back to New York in June.”

“Start spreading the news!” Sean sang, and he took a swig of beer.

“I thought you were British,” I said, confused. “You have British accents.”

Sinead laughed. “We were born in London. We lived there before we moved to Beijing.”

The sound guy came over to the stage. “Okay, you guys start at nine?” His mustache was truly astonishing.

“That we do,” said Sean.

“I guess it's time, then,” said the guy. “Break a leg.”

“Thanks,” said Sinead.

Suddenly everyone was moving around the stage, gathering instruments, talking into a mic, doing a quick roll on the drums. I felt idiotic sitting up there and being in the way. I hopped off the stage just as Declan called out, “Hey! Jules!”

I turned around. He was holding a tambourine out in my direction. “Do you want to play with us?”

I shook my head. “I really can't.”

“A cat could play the tambourine.” He shook it lightly. “Haven't you ever dreamed of being a rock star?”

Even if I'd wanted to play with them—which I didn't—I was sure that shaking a tambourine would shake loose something inside me that was already barely staying attached. “No. But thanks. Really.”

He looked at me like he wanted to ask me something, then dropped the arm holding the tambourine to his side. “See you after the show,” he said.

The show was completely insane.

At first, none of the people on the lawn were even remotely listening to the band. Sinead said, “We're the Clovers” into the microphone, and I was literally the only person who noticed. As Sinead counted them in for the first song, I had enough time to try to think about how I'd have to find something nice to say when they came offstage knowing they'd bombed, and then Sinead finished the count and Declan started playing the guitar.

The notes were crisp, almost twangy. Danny joined them on the drums and Sean started playing the bass, and by the time Sinead started singing, people were already filing toward the stage. “I found a picture of you,” she began, and her voice was beautiful but there was a slight growl to it, almost like she was mad about what she was singing. “What hijacked my world that night . . .”

I'd heard “Back on the Chain Gang” before, but it wasn't a song I stopped to listen to if I happened to be playing the
radio in my car and it came on. Now, for the first time, I could feel how good it was, how the notes pushed into your blood and bones. By the time the song ended, there must have been a hundred people standing on the lawn in front of the stage, and the audience kept getting bigger. Sinead was right—it was an older crowd. But I spotted some younger people, maybe junior high kids, and they were dancing along with their parents.

They went right into a song I didn't know. “Been running so long I've nearly lost all track of time,” Sinead belted out, and by now there was no one on the lawn who wasn't listening to the band except for an elderly couple standing about as far away as they could get without actually leaving the grounds of the club.

I edged around to the back of the stage where no one could see me. I'd been right about the music shaking something loose inside me, and as they played I let myself sob, grateful that the band was loud enough that no one could hear me cry.

Afterward I felt better, as if the music and the crying had purged me of something heavy and dark. By the time the show was over, I didn't feel like crying anymore; I was just tired, and when I'd helped them bring the equipment back to the van and we were all standing clumped together in the parking lot and Sinead asked me for my number, I had to think to remember what it was.

“That way we can hang out,” Sinead explained, gesturing with her phone. “Declan and Danny and I don't know anybody here besides Sean. And he's so old.”

“Hey, watch it,” said Sean. He'd been drinking steadily, and now he sat in the open door of the van, an empty can next to him, a full one in his hand.

The phone she was holding buzzed, and Sinead looked at
the screen. “Oh, damn. That's Mum,” she said. “She's here to get Danny.”

“You're coming swimming with us, right?” asked Declan.

Sinead made a face. “I don't know. I'm kind of tired. And I've got to get up early tomorrow. I might just call it a night.”

“Pussy!” said Sean.

“Wanker,” snapped Sinead.

“Okay,” said Declan. “Thanks to both of you for your edifying verbal interplay.”

“I'm going,” said Sinead, reading something on her screen. “Mum says she's been waiting.” She gave me a hug. “You'll give these guys your number, right? So we can hang out. And you should seriously think about joining the band. You have an awesome voice.”

“Sure,” I said, knowing it would never happen. I let Sinead hug me and then I returned Danny's fist bump as they hustled off to meet their mother.

My phone buzzed. It was Sofia.
sorry i havnt txtd in so long. crazy here maybe not out until 12:30 u want keys 2 my house?

I was so tired. All I wanted to do was close my eyes. But the idea of going back to Sofia's and getting into the bed I'd slept in last night made my heart pound with terror. I couldn't go back there by myself. I just couldn't.

“You want to come swimming with us?” asked Declan.

“Um . . .” I looked at my phone. It was just after eleven. “Where?”

“Right here,” said Declan, gesturing toward the water with his chin. “In the sound.”

“I don't know,” I said. I remembered the egg's sunburned head, how he was packed into his too-tight chinos. I pictured him having my car towed, though when I looked around, there were still a lot of cars parked in the lot.

Sean made clucking noises, then added, “Chick-chick-chicken,” like maybe I hadn't gotten the hint.

“Don't be such a wanker, okay, Sean?” I asked, the word coming to me out of the ether.

“Nicely done,” said Sean. He gave a loud burp. “You're an honorary Clover now.”

Sean, Declan, and I crossed the wide lawn behind the stage down to a narrow flight of wooden steps. In the distance, I could hear the sound of people talking and the tinny clink of silverware on plates, but we didn't see anyone as we made our journey. At the bottom of the steps was a narrow beach, and I took off my shoes and socks and dug my toes into the cool sand. For some reason, Jason had never taken me here. When we came to the club, we always ended up at the pool.

Sean instantly stripped to a pair of boxer shorts and dove into the water, yelping as he came up for air. “That's fucking cold!” he cried.

“Shhhh,” I hissed. “We're going to get caught.”

“Shhhh,” he mimicked, “we're going to get caught.” Then he dove back down and emerged, blowing a fountain of water
out of his mouth. Finally he swam back to the shore and lay down. “Who wants to get me a beer?” he inquired.

“Dude, you're wasted enough as it is,” said Declan, taking off his shoe and throwing it at Sean.

“Ya bastard,” said Sean. He grabbed the shoe and shoved it under his head. “Thanks for the pillow. Oh, I do love the great outdoors.” A second later he was snoring.

Declan took off his other shoe and his socks, then rolled up his pants and walked to the edge of the sound. He picked up a rock and skipped it across the surface of the water. The moon was enormous, and it made the beach almost as bright as day.

“Thanks for helping us out,” he said. “With the sound check, I mean. And carrying all that stuff. You really do have a beautiful voice.”

I sat on the sand and watched the ripples Declan's rock had made slowly disappear. “Thanks,” I said.

He threw another rock. “Have you ever sung before? I mean in a band or anything?”

“No.” I couldn't see how I was going to make small talk for the next hour and a half while I waited for Sofia to get off work. The thought of continuing to chat gave me a tight feeling in my chest, like maybe now was the moment I'd just start screaming. “Let's swim,” I said, getting to my feet. “I feel like swimming.” Without waiting for Declan to say anything, still in my shorts and tank top, I walked to the edge of the water and did a shallow dive into the sound.

The water was cold, but I warmed up as I swam, the familiar rhythm of the strokes soothing me. It had been too long since I'd swum, but after commuting home from the city and then doing practice SAT questions or meeting with Glen, my tutor, the last thing I'd felt like doing at the end of every day was putting on my suit and hitting the pool in our backyard. Now, reaching for the dock, I felt the result of my inactivity as I lifted my heavy arm to touch it before turning and heading back toward the beach.

Halfway there I passed Declan, who was swimming out the other way. By the time I got to the shore, he had already climbed onto the dock, and I watched him do a smooth dive into the water. I wondered if he was on his swim team. Thinking about it made me realize that I knew nothing about him: not where he went to school, not where he lived. Not even his last name. It occurred to me how stupid it had been to come down to the beach with two complete strangers, one of whom clearly had a drinking problem. What had made me think this was such a happy family? For all I knew, Declan and Sean were serial killers. This was exactly the kind of story you read about on the front page of the
Post
. “Girl's Body Washes up on Long Island Shore.”

If I died, everyone would say how full of promise I'd been.

When he got to the beach, I saw that Declan had taken off his white shirt and his tie, which confirmed my imaginary text to Sofia. He
was
hawt. His shoulders were broad, and they tapered to a narrow waist. Water streamed off his pants,
which shone black in the moonlight.

“Hey,” he said, dropping down beside me on the sand and not sounding much like a murderer. “When I first met you, you seemed kind of upset.” I was focused on squeezing water out of the bottom of my tank top, but I could tell he was looking at me. “Are you okay now?”

I rubbed my wet hands on my equally wet thighs. “Why do people always ask if you're okay? What kind of a question is that?”

“Um, I take it you feel it's a dumb one?” he offered.

I shrugged.

“Look, if you want me out of your business, just say so. I only wanted to know if you were still upset about . . . whatever it was?” He reached his hand out and lightly tapped me on the knee, his tap a physical manifestation of his question.

I turned to look at him, trying to imagine his response if I told him why I'd been so distracted I'd almost hit his van earlier.

As I rotated my body to make eye contact with Declan, I realized just how close we were sitting. His face couldn't have been more than six inches from mine, and our knees were almost touching. We looked at each other.

“Jules?” he said.

Don't do it,
I said to myself.
Do
not
do it.

But instead of answering his question, I leaned across the few inches that separated us and kissed him.

“Jules . . . wait . . . ,” he said, trying to talk and kiss me at the same time. But I ignored the talking part, and almost immediately he stopped saying anything and just kissed me back.

At first, as our lips touched lightly, I felt detached from what we were doing. Analytical. I had never kissed anyone but Jason, and Declan kissed differently. His lips were softer, and his tongue traced the outline of my mouth very gently.
This is interesting,
I thought.
This is not what I'm used to.
It was funny how I could be kissing Declan and analyzing kissing Declan and it felt almost like a science experiment I was conducting.

And then, suddenly, it didn't. Declan slipped his arm around my back and I pulled myself onto his lap, my legs wrapped around his waist. I put my hands on his chest.

“Jules,” Declan whispered, kissing up the side of my neck. When he got to my ear, he repeated the question. “Who are you?”

But there was nothing about me I wanted Declan to know.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “Don't make a scene.”

“What?” he asked, his mouth gentle against my ear.

I shivered and pulled him up so that our lips were level with each other, and I kissed him even more deeply. As we kissed, I could feel his questions—along with the rest of the universe—floating away, like the clouds I'd been watching overhead earlier.