Paula Stokes - The Art of Lainey

He leans close to me. “You didn’t say anything about getting cancer,” he yells over the pulsing music. “Pretty sure that smoke is toxic.”

“Gee, that’d be a real convincing argument if you didn’t spend half of every shift outside the back door puffing on cigarettes.”

I expect a snappy retort but to my surprise he smiles, like I’ve one-upped him and he knows it. I lead him through the smoke and we sit across from each other at one of the card tables.

“Fancy.” He wobbles back and forth in his chair to show me the legs are uneven.

“Yeah. They spend all their money on the lights and smoke.”

“They definitely don’t spend it on the sound system,” he says as the recording cuts out and a burst of static pulses through the speakers.

I search the lingering fog and quickly spot Jason in his standard knee-length shorts and backward hat. He’s one of the only boys actually dancing. Alex is standing a couple feet from him, wearing a strapless red dress that’s so low cut she’ll probably flash nipple if she leans over. I suddenly feel completely frumpy in my T-shirt dress.

“Did you find him?” Micah asks. He squints.

“Yeah. And his new girlfriend.” I angle my head in their direction. “The one who’s about ready to fall out of her dress.”

“She looks all right, but I’m not really into girls with huge boobs.” Micah furrows his brow in concentration as if he’s giving the matter a great deal of thought.

“That’s crass,” I say. “But sweet in a messed-up kind of way.”

“Sorry. It slipped out.” He fiddles with his barbed-wire bracelet. “So what’s her deal? Does she go to school with us?”

I tell him about Alex being nineteen, and then about how Leo took pictures of her with some other guy. “What do you think I should do with them?” I ask.

“Not sure how you can get them to him without looking like a crazy stalker chick,” Micah says.

“You think I’m a crazy stalker chick?”

“You’re using an ancient war manual to try and win back your boyfriend. I think you’re a girl who will do whatever it takes to get what she wants,” he says. “Hey, at least you’re committed.”

I turn back to Jason and Alex. The music has speeded up. Alex and her breasts are bouncing up and down and a wardrobe malfunction appears imminent. Maybe it’s just me, but after you reach a certain degree of ginormousness, strapless anything seems like a bad idea. “We’ve got to get closer to them or they’re not going to see us. Dance with me for one song.” I give Micah my best pleading face.

He points to his ear. “Do they play anything here that doesn’t completely suck? I can’t dance to this shit, Lainey. I don’t even know any of these songs.”

Right at that moment, the DJ hollers something about taking it down a notch. A popular slow song starts to play. It’s the kind of song that you can hear playing on six different radio stations simultaneously. Micah has to know it. And every guy can slow dance, right? I watch for a second to see if Alex and Jason are going to keep dancing. They do.

“Come on,” I beg. “It’s perfect. Just stand next to me and move back and forth.”

Micah groans, but allows me to lead him out onto the dance floor. We stay a few feet away from Jay and Alex. I don’t want it to be too obvious. For a second we stand there in the smoke, unsure of how to join ourselves together. Our hands bump as we reach for each other. His fingers are warm. Eventually both his hands end up on my waist, and mine around his neck.

I keep a small slice of space between our stomachs and chests, but even still there’s no way to really assume this position without being very close. I end up pressing my cheek to his temple, mostly so I don’t have to look at him. I angle my nose away so I’m not exhaling directly into his ear.

“Your hair smells good,” he says.

Random. He must feel as awkward as I do.

I watch Jason and Alex over Micah’s shoulder. There’s no awkwardness there. If they dance any closer, Alex is going to need a pregnancy test.

“Relax already,” Micah says. “Stop staring at them.”

“How do you know—”

“I can tell. Your whole body is stiff. It’s like I’m dancing with the Tin Man.”

“Oh, so now you’re a dancing expert?” I murmur, leaning back slightly.

Micah pulls me in close again. “I didn’t say I couldn’t dance. I said I don’t like to.”

Jason leans down and starts kissing the side of Alex’s neck. Her hands slide under the back of his T-shirt. This time even I can feel my muscles turn to metal.

“Tin Man,” Micah whispers.

I resist the urge to punch him in the gut. He rotates us so I can’t see Alex and Jason anymore. I close my eyes and try to feel the music as it moves through me. Gradually the stiffness fades away and we move closer together. Micah is so warm. I try to relax my whole body, one muscle group at a time. I pretend his arms are the only thing keeping me from collapsing to the floor. My fingertips accidentally brush against the tail of his mohawk. It’s soft, yet spiky. I reach up and run my other hand through the full length of his strip of hair, my fingernails gently grazing his scalp.

Micah’s steel-toed boot comes down hard on my bare toes. I yelp and stumble backward, losing my hold on Micah and bumping into someone else. I’m afraid to even look behind me, but I do.

I hit Jason. It figures. He turns around, probably to cuss out whatever klutzy bastard slammed into him, but his mouth snaps shut in surprise when he sees it’s me.

“Hey, Lainey,” he says, his eyes flicking back and forth between me and Micah. “What’s going on?”

I stand there, speechless, thankful at least that the flashing lights and smoke are probably obscuring my blush.

“My fault,” Micah says. “I told her I sucked at dancing, but you know women. They don’t take no for an answer.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Micah.”

“Jay.” Jason gives Micah his trademark bone-crushing handshake.

I hadn’t exactly planned for the two of them to formally meet, and it is every bit as weird as you might imagine. Both of them turn to look at me.

“Right,” I fumble. “This is, um, Micah.” Smooth.

“Yeah, we’ve covered that,” Jason says, his voice going flat. He lifts his baseball cap off his head and runs a hand through his thick, blond hair, replacing the cap at a slightly skewed angle. Very suburban gangsta.

“I’m Alexandra,” the EMT formerly known as Alex pipes up.

I had almost forgotten she was there. All three of us turn to face her. She leans toward me and her teeth glow bright white under the club’s iridescent lighting. For a second, I think she’s going to try to shake my hand. I quickly cross my arms behind my back.

“This is Lainey,” Jason says. His eyes meet mine but then he looks away. “She’s . . . my sister’s friend.”

I drop my eyes to the floor. Is that how Jason thinks of me now? As his sister’s friend? I’m tempted to say something smart, like how I wasn’t his sister’s friend when we were hooking up all over his dad’s condo a few weeks ago, but that would totally blow my act with Micah so I bite my tongue.

“Nice to meet you,” I force out. And then I just stand there, mute, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. Even the Tin Man probably would have had more to say. All I can think about is how Alexandra is different from me. What does she have that I don’t? She’s a little older, but Jason never expressed an interest in older women. She’s shorter than me, definitely curvier, which I know he likes. But were her looks enough to lure him away? Or was it something else, something I can’t see?

“Nice running into you—literally.” Jason sounds like he means it, but I am still stinging from being called his sister’s friend.

“Yeah. Sorry,” I say. The song ends and the video screen lights up with a popular hip-hop song from a few years ago.

“Sweet.” He spins around and moves his body to the beat. For a white guy, he’s got rhythm.

Alexandra grabs him by the hand. “Come on. I love this song,” she says.

“Later.” Jason lets Alexandra pull him out into the middle of the smoke and lights. He does his spin-around thing again and she goes through a series of dance moves that look like part of a pom-pom-girl routine.

“I think that went well,” Micah says.

He’s trying to be funny, but I don’t laugh. Instead I second-guess my decision not to punch him in the gut. “Yeah. Thanks for making me look like a complete idiot.”

My eyes water, but I refuse to cry in front of Micah or Jason. Or Alex. Alexandra. Whatever. I wish Bianca were here. Pushing past him, I fish my phone out of my purse as I head for the front door. Beneath the pulsing beats, I’m pretty sure I hear Micah’s combat boots tromping after me.

The night is warm but the rush of air that hits me as I cruise through the doors feels cool after the packed, sweaty club. I form my hair into a ponytail with one hand and fan the back of my neck with the other. Leaning up against the building, I text Bee.

Are you there?

She doesn’t respond. Maybe she’s working or asleep already. I consider trying Kendall. She’s probably awake, but use of her phone is so restricted on So You Think You Can Model there’s no chance she’ll pick up. I start to put my phone away and then wonder what time it is in Ireland. Pretty sure it’s already the next morning there. Maybe my brother is up early. I send him a quick text: