Lydia Sharp - The Night of Your Life

Lucy is doing that thing with her lips again. I call it a twibble, a twitch too subtle to be a quiver or a tremble. Shes trying not to let this get to her. Shes failing to hide that shes trying not to let this get to her. I just havent figured out what this is yet.

So I lean against the doorway to her bedroom as Lucy finishes getting ready for school, pulling up sections of her hair to pin them back. If we talk, eventually the reason for her twibble will come out. Did you get your prom dress yet?

Prom is tomorrow night , JJ, she says without looking away from the mirror above her dresser. She plucks another pin from the tray next to a bottle of lotion. If I didnt have my dress yet, I wouldnt be going.

She also wouldnt be Lucy if she didnt plan every little thing ten steps ahead. But for this, Im in agreement. This is senior prom. Our last big hurrah before high school graduation. Before our entwined lives go their separate ways. I picked up my tux last week, but she never told me when she got her dress. She hasnt told me anything about it, actually, not even the color.

Can I see it? I take one step toward her closet

In a blink, shes across the room and blocking me. No!

All right, all right, I say through a laugh. I wont look. I keep smilingits not a big deal. But still Whats the big deal?

Prom is supposed to be a night of fun, nothing more. Nothing serious. We made a promise to each other at the beginning of senior year, that if neither of us had dates for prom, wed go with each other. At the time I hadnt thought that would actually happen. It was likely Id still be single, but before this past school year, Lucy never went long between partners. But now its the day before prom, and were both still dateless. The chances of that changing in the next thirty-six hours are close to nil.

Its not a big deal, she insists.

Then why cant I see it? Im just curious.

Your curiosity can hold out one more day. Her lips twibble again.

Okay Is this about the dress? Does it fit okay? I ask.

She goes back to the mirror to finish her hair, her green-purple-blue-swirled tunic top swishing back and forth. I didnt get too fat for it since picking it up, if thats what you mean.

Thats not what I mean. Youre not too fat for anything, now or ever. I mean I know its hard for you to find clothes that complement your shape, and I want you to be comfortable.

Her dark-brown gaze catches mine through the mirror, and then another twibble. Sorry, my brother is just getting to me lately. Hes on some new fitness plan, and according to his chart, Im morbidly obese and one cupcake away from heart failure. She rolls her eyes, then mutters, Ive got a chart of my own Id like to show him.

This again. God, I hate that guy. You could out-yoga him with both hands tied behind your back. Dont listen to him.

Trying not to. Her shoulders drop with a sigh. Anyway, Ive got everything sorted out. Shoes, accessories, hair, makeup. And the dress fits perfectly.

Good.

It is good. She smiles unconvincingly, the corners of her mouth barely lifting. Even in the weak lighting of her bedroom, I notice her skin is already getting darker with the longer, sunnier days. She drinks in sunlight as if its water and she completely dehydrated over the cold months. In midwinter Lucy appears almost as white as I am, but by midsummer she turns a radiant golden brown, while I become a very attractive shade of burnt and peeling. She stabs the nest of dark-auburn curls on her head with another pin. And weve got enough to worry about today, she continues, then sucks in a breath, the rest of her freezing in place. Did you remember to bring Marty

Hes in my car, I assure her. Everythings ready to go. Except you.

Most school days I find Lucy and a to-go cup of coffee waiting for me in the kitchen downstairs. Its only on the twibble days that I have to venture up to her room because she needs more time. Is she nervous about our presentation with Marty today? Is that what this is all about? Yesterday she was fine. Today shes on the brink of not-fine. But weve been practicing. Its flawless, everything set, down to the pauses for breath. Because Lucy is flawless, perfect as always, and so is all she does. Im the one whos likely going to flub something up.

Oh. Maybe thats itme. I have a tendency to stress her out sometimes. Okay, more than sometimes, but never on purpose. Shes a perfectionist, and Im whatever is the opposite of that. A disorganizationist? A go-with-the-flow-ist? A hot-mess ist? So we clash. We have spats. And then we get over it. Thats just us. Complicated, but it works. We are a well-oiled machine made of broken parts.

Without Lucy to keep me in order, Id probably fall apart. Spontaneously self-destruct. I dont remember how I kept it together before I met her almost four years ago.

Im ready now, she declares, and grabs her messenger bag, then slings it over her head to crisscross over her chest. I turn to walk out and she falls into step behind me as we head downstairs. Theres a spot on your glasses, she says casually. Left lens. Upper right corner.

I remove them, use the bottom of my shirt to wipe away the offending spot, and slip them back on. Anything else?

We reach the bottom of the stairs and she looks me up and down. Her assessment pauses at my distance-raptor over time-raptor equals veloci-raptor T-shirt.

Twibble. Good choice. Thats one of my favorites.

I know. Thats why I wore it. Glad you approve.

You appear ready, she says, but if youre not feeling ready, tell me now. We have only one shot at this. One chance to nail this thing that counts for half our final physics grade. One chance.

You dont have to remind me there are no second chances. With this project, or anything. Everythings going to be fine. We got this, okay?

What do you got? her dad shouts from the kitchen. Unless its a cold, you better share! He laughs, throaty and robust, at his own joke. The sound of it tugs a grin out of me, even though Ive heard that joke from him a million times. Yeah, I hate her brother, but I love her dad.

Lucy sighs, heading across her living room. Nothing, Pap, just school stuff. A dopo! She waves goodbye to him as she passes the kitchen on her way to the front door.

Ciao , Lucilla! he calls back to her. JJ, dont forget your coffee!

Va bene. My Italian is borderline embarrassing with my blah Ohio accent. But every word I know of it, I learned from Lucy and her family. When Im around them, it just comes out.

She glances over her shoulder at me. Grab your coffee, lets go. Were running late.

Were running right on time.

I meant we will be running late if we dont leave now. She snatches her rainbow-striped umbrella from the front closet and then shes out the door, into the grim haze of a steady spring drizzle.

My mistake. I grab the to-go cup of coffee she left for me on the kitchen counter, say hello and goodbye to Signore Belliniconveniently the same word in Italian for bothand meet Lucy in my car. Same as I always do, every school day of the year.