Her Name In The Sky Part 5

"Yeah. Ethan used to say he was gonna kick me over it. Probably would've killed me."

"What happened to the mower?" Baker asks.

"It crashed and burned," Clay shrugs. "The body of it was all contorted and there was smoke coming out of it and everything."

Luke laughs. "You and Ethan did some dumb s.h.i.t when you were kids."

"We weren't even kids," Clay says. "We were, like, 12 and 17."

"Your mom must've wanted to kill you," Joanie says.

"Yeah, sounds about right," Clay says. "She freaked out over the whole thing. She never even wanted to buy this house just 'cause of that stupid hill."

Hannah crouches down to examine the fence. In the dancing glow of the torch fire, the wood seems pained and helpless, a break in the chain that never full mended.

"Careful," Clay says. "It's not very st.u.r.dy. Dad made Ethan and I repair it and we took to it like a couple of girls."

"Hey," Hannah says, kicking dirt at his legs. "Watch it."

"I'm just messing with you," Clay says. "But seriously, we had no idea what we were doing. A b.u.t.terfly could land on that thing and it would probably fall over."

"You two are idiots," Joanie says.

"Yep," Clay says, arching his eyebrows, but there's a peculiar strain of pride in his voice. "Anyway, let's get back inside. I want to test the Elixir one more time before everyone gets here. Got to make sure it's Landry standard."

The house has swelled with people by ten o'clock. The music is ear-achingly loud, and the air is humid with breath and sweat, and Hannah feels that she might be drunk just by standing in the middle of the party.

"Let's get drinks," she says, touching Baker's arm, and Baker nods and follows her toward the punch table. They wind their way through a dozen people, all of whom want to hug them and ask how their break has been so far, and scoot past Michele Duquesne, who eyes them warily as they go by.

"It's crazy in here," Baker says when they're standing by themselves.

"I know. I didn't expect it to be at this level already. Do you want some of Clay's punch?"

"Sure. Not too much."

"I won't," Hannah promises, and she makes sure to measure out a small amount.

Everything starts to look softer and warmer-all yellow and gold and orange hues-and the music starts to get even louder, standing as it is on the shoulders of teens. Hannah's arm muscles slacken and her vision dims, but the magic of the night, the rawness of it, starts to grow in contrast.

"You okay?" Baker asks, setting her dark eyes on her.

"Yeah," Hannah answers, "just a little tipsy."

Baker touches her wrist. "I'll watch out for you."

Clay finds them after a while. His face is ruddy and bright, the way it always looks when he's in his element like this, walking around and courting people, finding cla.s.smates who validate him and smile at all of his jokes. "Let's get drunk, y'all!" he says, and when Baker gives him a hesitant smile, he places an arm on her waist and says, "What are you holding back for? It's our last high school Mardi Gras."

"I'm not holding back," she says. "I'm just pacing myself."

"Let me make you a drink. I promise it won't be too strong."

"Says Mr. Elixir-de-Landry," Hannah says.

Clay shoots her a look. "We're talking about Baker here," he says. "I'm not going to get her wasted or something."

"I didn't say you were."

"Alright," Baker says, offering her cup. "Mix me something. But nothing too strong!"

"You got it," Clay grins as he turns away.

"Clay-" Hannah says.

"Yeah?"

Hannah hesitates. "Watch out for Michele. She's had her eyes on you all night."

Clay's expression darkens. "I know. She's already sneaked up on me twice."

"Be careful," Baker laughs. "She'll get you."

Clay's happy look returns. "Yeah," he says, resting his eyes on her, "I guess I do have to be careful, huh?"

Luke and Wally find them, their smiles eager like little boys', their temples glistening with sweat. Wally sports an orange stain on his white shirt-"Luke knocked my cup over," he says, self-consciously following Hannah's eyes-and Luke wears Joanie's scarf around his waist, tied low and carelessly like a pirate's sash.

"This orange s.h.i.t is getting to me," Luke says as he hangs his arms over Hannah's and Baker's shoulders. "The h.e.l.l did Clay put in that mix?"

"Insecticides," Hannah says.

"And maybe some bleach," Baker says with a glance to Hannah.

"And just a dash of Kool-Aid to make it taste good."

"He's a master," Luke says reverently.

Hannah drinks another cup of Elixir de Landry, and now her muscles feel even slacker and her chest feels heavier. "You alright?" Wally says, placing an arm on the small of her back, and she swats at him and says "I'm fine, Wall," until he drops his hand.

The room continues to darken and the shouts of Hannah's cla.s.smates get louder and looser. Hannah sips from her drink without thinking about it, until it's empty once again and she has to mix a fourth drink. "I'll do it," Clay says, holding out his hand for her cup. "Baker, you want another one too?"

The music changes to a song they all love. They throw themselves into the crowd, hugging and shouting and singing, Luke hopping from one foot to the other in a bizarre dance, Wally nodding his head over and over in a kind of trance, and Clay returns with fresh drinks and a roar of delight, and Joanie jumps on Luke's back from behind, and they all sing the lyrics together, clapping for each other's melodramatic gestures, drinking from their cups when they're not sure how to match their dancing to the beat, but most of all falling into the music, into the crowd, into each other.

Hannah feels exuberant-freer in a way than she has ever been before. She clutches her drink and bobs where she stands, watching the people dance all around her, and for just this moment, for just this second of her life, she feels whole, she feels at ease, she feels like she could exist in this coc.o.o.n of time forever and ever. She looks at Baker, standing there with her long brown hair falling over her shoulders and her dark chicory eyes blessing everyone around her, and tenderness pours forth from Hannah's chest like light from a broken vessel.

"Outside?" Baker says, catching Hannah's eye.

They step out onto the back porch and close the door on the party behind them. Hannah knows the air is cold, but she doesn't feel it. Her body is warm and her muscles feel like jelly. She steps forward, closer to the yard, and watches the mesmerizing torches in the distance.

"Baker," she says.

"Yeah?"

"I might be drunk."

Baker laughs. "I can tell."

"What? No you can't."

"You keep combing your hair over your face. You only do that when you're drunk."

Hannah smiles. She extends her hand toward Baker. "Come sit with me."

Baker takes her hand, and Hannah pulls her toward the porch steps. But when Hannah spins back around to sit down, she loses her balance and knows a split-second's terror as she falls forward off the steps.

But then Baker is there, quick and steady in her movements. She wrenches Hannah back, gripping her left wrist and the right side of her waist. "Whoa, drunky," she says, guiding Hannah to sit down on the steps. "Let's not ruin the night with a bad fall."

"Sorry," Hannah laughs.

"You okay?"

"I'm good. Thanks."

They sit still for long minutes, simply breathing. Baker pulls absentmindedly on the hem of her dress until Hannah grabs her hand and stills her fingers.

"Thanks," Baker says. "Hey, Han?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Clay likes me?"

Hannah stops breathing. "I don't know." She hesitates. "Why?"

"I think he does," Baker says, her eyes narrowed at the dead gra.s.s in the yard. "But I don't think I like him. Do you think that's bad?"

"Why would that be bad?"

Baker doesn't reply. They sit in silence in the cold air, and Hannah feels Baker's energy all around her.

"Sometimes I can't wait to graduate," Baker says after a long minute.

Hannah lets the words wash over her. "I never want to graduate," she says.

Time pa.s.ses over them. They walk back inside and the party absorbs them again, and Hannah marks the minutes by the songs that play through the speakers. She loves every song that comes on, even the ones she usually skips when she hears them on the radio, and as she looks around the room, she feels elated to see Joanie and Luke belting out lyrics until their faces turn red; to see Clay raising his cup into the air in the middle of the crowd; to see Wally, who rarely sings, throwing his arms around his track teammates and letting them pull him into the song; and to see Baker, who stands next to her, laughing hard as she mixes up lyrics, her skin flushed and her eyes bright.

Hannah's not sure how it happens. One moment her friends are all walking toward them, and then the six of them are singing in a circle, their arms laced around each other's waists and their drinks spilling onto each other's clothes, and the next moment Clay's trying to kiss at Baker's cheek. Hannah watches, in a drunken daze, as Clay's lips graze Baker's face once, twice, and as Baker jerks back and gives him a look that's entirely sober, and entirely unlike any look Hannah has ever seen her give before. And then Baker's gone, and Clay's looking in confusion at Wally and Luke, and Hannah finds herself suspended in time, until all of a sudden she blinks herself back into awareness and moves into the crowd, following Baker's path out of the room.

It's like she's in a trance. She sees Baker pushing ahead of her-the dark hair, the sharp movements-and she vaguely registers the people all around them trying to stop Baker, and then Hannah, to ask what's going on. Hannah keeps moving, moving, moving, her legs and her heart carrying her, until she's face to face with a tall door and the whip of Baker's hair disappearing behind it.

"Hold on!" Hannah says, throwing her hands against the door to keep it from shutting. "Bake-you okay?"

Baker allows her into the bathroom with her. Hannah shuts the door behind them and locks it without thinking about it. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine."

"I'm fine."

Baker sits down on the edge of the bathtub. Hannah walks toward her until she's standing above her, able to look down at Baker's eyelashes and the serious expression on her face. "Hey," she says softly, tucking Baker's hair back behind her ear. "What's going on?"

Baker breathes in. Her eyelashes still; her lips stay parted around her breath.

"Is it Clay?" Hannah asks.

Baker closes her eyes. Hannah keeps tucking her hair back behind her ear.

"Bake, it's alright. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me how we can fix it."

"Nothing's wrong," Baker says, keeping her eyes closed. "I just-do you ever just feel not right about something, but you don't know why?"

Hannah sits down next to her on the edge of the tub. "Sure," she says. "I think it just happens at our age. You know?"

"Maybe."

"Was it-was it him trying to kiss you?"

Baker's eyes open. Her eyes are dead; her expression is vacant. She doesn't answer the question.

They sit in silence for a long minute. Outside of the bathroom, on the other side of the door, Hannah knows that the party is carrying on, that the music is pulsing, that people are laughing and singing and drinking and waiting to welcome her back. But she has no desire to leave this bathroom. So she looks down at her dark-washed jeans, at her black ballet flats, at the bathmat below them, and she waits.

"Maybe I'm just drunk," Baker ventures after a few minutes.

"Maybe," Hannah says.

"It's a weird feeling. I like it, but I-I feel scared. Does that make sense?"

Hannah looks at her. The expression in her eyes is vulnerable and uncertain, and Hannah wants nothing more than to gather her in her arms and tell her that everything is alright. She takes her hand instead.

"It makes absolute sense," Hannah says. "I feel the same way."

Baker's mouth shifts slowly into a smile. She presses her thumb against Hannah's fingers. "Really?"

"Really."

Baker raises her free hand, the one not holding Hannah's, to Hannah's face. She brushes her fingers down Hannah's cheek, and Hannah's heart beats faster. "I'm really glad you're my best friend," Baker says.