Even If the Sky Falls (6 page)

“I think Danny would make a better Romeo,” I say.

Without missing a beat Miles turns to Danny and
shouts, “‘O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?'”

“What?” Danny replies before going back to the convo he was having with Taj.

“See?” Miles continues. “Amateur.” He ventures closer. “What do you say, Sunshine, encore performance? My iambic is a bit rusty, but I think I can manage.”

Yes. Absolutely. But no words actually leave my lips. A cacophony of sound blasts from the streets below us. Danny rushes over, snagging Miles's forearm and pulling him away. “It's started. There's a better view over here.”

Miles reaches for me, our hands link, excitement flowing from one to the other. We all lean over the edge of the building. The writhing mass of people below us gather like atoms preparing to split.

And at the front of the assembly stands the Krewe of OAK, who put on Mid-Summer, dressed as blazing suns of all sizes. Golden, red, and yellow rays reaching out so far they could chase the storm clouds away. The trumpets build, gathering up the drums, waking the cymbals; the suns ruffle their rays like mating birds. I lean my chin down on the ledge, narrowing my eyes until they become stars shooting across a night sky and planets colliding into each other on their way to making life. The boys are talking, commenting on costumes; I drift in and out of the conversation whenever Miles bumps against me. His presence keeps me awake; I feel so alive next to him.

The revelers continue on, some look up, wave, and
beckon us down, while others toss strands of beads up to us. My legs itch to join in. I shift, restless now. What was once a dense and far too crowded thoroughfare has thinned out enough to slip into the madness. I straighten, decision made, and stand.

All eyes shift to me, waiting. “I wanna go down.”

Taj and Danny look at each other, waiting on Miles, who in turn is observing me. I'm practically on the tip of my toes, bouncing, filled with energy. I can see myself among the stars, colliding, dancing, falling.

He nods, and we flow down the steps into the Milky Way.

M
ILES AND
I
REMAIN IN EACH OTHER
'
S SIGHTS, BUT WE SWING
and dance and revel with those around us. We are among the gods, and we are below the seas with the brightest fish, fins swaying to the beat. I hear the strums of a banjo and follow. Miles plays for everyone, I realize, but every time our eyes lock, I think he's playing just for me.

Somewhere along our celebration it starts to rain. The clouds, once off in the distance, catch up, attempting to spoil our fun. But no such luck. We welcome the rain, a cool blessing against our overheated skin despite the night air; we throw our hands up, streaks of glitter traveling down our bodies, and continue on. After a few minutes the rain stops and the crowd cheers as we parade on.

We are far from where we started, somewhere near the Maple Leaf Bar in what Taj says is a neighborhood called Carrollton, although we can't get within ten feet of the entrance. A dense halo of people surrounds the door, and so far we've had no luck getting inside. Our little troupe makes its way to a relatively quiet street corner, watching the rest of the costumes go by as my sore legs, blood pumping, settle down.

“Danny?” someone calls from behind us, and Danny's smile falls, his shoulders slump. “Uh, back in a second, guys.”

Danny is up and off before I can even see who called. He runs over to a tall guy with a shaved head, neatly trimmed (and sparse) beard, and a shirt that shows off his fit arms. As Danny nears, the guy reaches out a hand to rest against his shoulder—a gesture that I now associate too much with sympathy—but Danny slips away, remaining close yet out of reach.

“What's . . . ,” I start to say.

“Ex,” Taj answers before I manage to finish. “Didn't end well.”

“Oh.” I watch the two of them together, mesmerized by the back and forth and this new discovery about Danny. “But he was totally flirting with a girl earlier, wasn't he?”

“Probably.” Miles shrugs. “And with you too. Danny likes to flirt with anyone who will flirt back really. Doesn't mean anything.”

I nod, already 100 percent invested in the dance between Danny and his former boyfriend, one moving forward, expectant, the other stepping back, refusing. If his ex had hoped for a quick and casual conversation, then this wasn't it. The ex inches in closer, trying to get Danny to talk to him, but Danny will barely look him in the eye. Small touches are avoided and rebuffed.

“How old is he?”

“Nineteen going on asshole”—Taj scowls—“from the way he treated Danny.”

“I'm fine,” I hear Danny say over the music before he shrugs off another attempt at a connection. I whip my head back to Taj and Miles, who must have been eavesdropping as well. Not that they have anything to be sorry about—they actually know Danny and what's been going on, and I'm just someone they met today who has no right to interlope on this conversation.

The ex storms off, and Danny is left standing alone among inebriated partygoers who stumble around him as if he were a part of the street itself. I feel the urge to stand, but Miles is up by Danny's side before I feel him move. He puts a hand on Danny's shoulder and leans close, saying something I can't hear. Danny nods, and they walk back in our direction.

This is more than I should be allowed to see, isn't it? I'm a stranger, an outsider, and yet I feel a part of the group. Perhaps this is the Mid-Summer effect, a connection that
pops into your life if only for the moment, igniting memories that continue to resonate.

When Danny returns to our side I try and forget what I've just witnessed, but I can't help but ask, “Everything okay?”

Danny smiles—the kind of smile that says, “Let's fool the demons.” “No,” he answers, “but I'm told it gets better.”

“What does?”

“Heartbreak.” He offers us another sad smile that makes me hope it does, before he shakes himself like a dog. “Shaking it off. No time for this drama. What's next for the night? Maple Leaf has a cover charge and a protective layer of bodies, so that's out.”

“We could head over to another party,” Taj says. “There's plenty of them around.”

Another party feels like more of the same. My body itches for something new, different. There must be more to New Orleans than dancing.

“How”—I clear my throat—“about we walk around a bit? I haven't seen much of New Orleans.”

“You want a tour, Lila?” Miles turns back to Taj and Danny. “What do you say, boys? Tour?”

Danny and Taj shrug at the same time. They are totally in sync, which is quite amusing.

Miles claps his hands. “That's the enthusiasm I'm looking for.”

“Madame La Laurie?” Danny suggests.

“No!” Taj shouts.

“Why not?”

“Man, f—” Taj cut off his curse halfway. “Forget Madame La Laurie! That shit freaks me out.”

Miles laughs and leans in. “Taj will be freaked out for most of this trip, I'll tell you that right now.”

“Let's not pretend y'all weren't raised to respect the spirits and histories of New Orleans more than I was. I've been here two years, and even I know not to mess with this city.”

“Is that true?” I look at Miles, and when I can't hold his gaze for long I turn to Danny. “Do you all believe in ghosts?”

“It's hard not to believe in something in New Orleans. Ghosts, spirits, vampires.” He wiggles his fingers, imitating I don't know, a ghost? He drops his hands and shrugs. “It's kind of like breathing here. And even if you don't believe, you don't go around traipsing in cemeteries and kicking over gravestones. There's a level of . . .”

“Respect,” Danny offers.

“Fear,” Taj adds.

“Tradition,” Danny again, making it into a test.

“All of the above,” Miles says. “It's just . . . you know?”

“Not really.” I shake my head.

I can feel Miles's breath on my neck. “Don't worry, Sunshine, by the end of tonight you will.”

His reaches over, fingers wrapping around my wrists, his touch speaking of the night ahead—a night to live and forget.

God, just let me forget.
A silent prayer I recite to myself. Already the thoughts of Adam and my life back home threaten to sneak in like water through a crevice. I know that if I turn my phone on I'll have triple the texts I had before. My head starts to pound when I think of all the unanswered messages piling up, pouring out of my phone, and wrapping themselves around me. They repeat like a broken record,
Where are you?
, until I push them back down.

“Promise?”

Miles holds out his hand, flipping it over to loop his pinkie with mine. “Promise.” He holds me there, his eyes on mine—I think—until I believe him. Idly I notice that I'm tracing the line of the bracelet he wears on his wrist. Fine and delicate, it's refreshingly cooler than my skin feels right now.

“Yo, is that Amy and the girls?” Taj points with his chin off into the crowd.

Miles's hand drops, and his head snaps back to Taj, then scans the crowd, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah.” His brow furrows for a moment before he wipes the worry from his face—it's a conscious change, a kind of mask because I can still read the tension in his body. Something I've become rather adept at the last couple of months. Hunched
shoulders, bowed heads . . . just because you are not speaking does not mean you are silent.

I don't tell Miles this, that I can read him and know the bright smile he flashes back to me isn't quite as honest as he'd like it to be. A flush of disappointment creeps in, tugging my shoulders down as I curl inward. Somewhere behind me a tuba blares, kicking me out of my spiral and blasting away the feeling of disenchantment. I don't care how much truth there is to this night. I'm not looking for truth, I'm looking to escape, so I take his smile and move past it.

“Who's Amy?”

“Friend of a friend.”

Danny and Taj exchange glances. I'm smart enough to realize that either Amy is his girlfriend or friends with his girlfriend or someone he hooked up with. If I was being optimistic I'd guess his sister, maybe? Either way Amy is not someone Miles wants me to meet.

“Is she coming on the ghost tour?” I keep my tone light and innocent.

Miles shrugs, moving us under a balcony where it is considerably darker. I follow his gaze to a group of girls dressed up like birds. It's unclear if they were part of the parade or are just heading out to join the parties—their effervescent energy seems natural as they make their way through the square. Miles shifts farther back into the shadows, while Taj and Danny stand in front of us.

“Who are you hiding from?” I whisper in Miles's ear.

“What?” He turns to me, his face so close to mine. His eyes dart to my lips, realizing how close they are to his.

I roll my eyes. “You're hiding from someone, I can tell.”

“Not at all.”

“You are far from subtle.”

Miles is about to deny it when there are shouts from the girls. They've spotted Taj and Danny, who have made no effort to hide. Miles's shoulders visibly slump, and I want to laugh at his misery when my own face falls because out there, in the crowd behind the girls, is Tavis.

“Fuck.”

M
Y HEART IS SOMEWHERE IN MY STOMACH, AND
I
SLIDE BACK
as far into the shadows as I can. When my heart returns to its proper position, it's beating quite fast.

Calm down,
I tell myself. Maybe it's not Tavis, maybe I'm seeing things, and it's just my guilt getting the better of me. I shouldn't have run from the site like that. My parents must be worried sick about me, and they have so much to worry about already with Adam and . . . and everything. I can feel Tavis's clammy hands on me, pulling me into a hug, telling me how disappointed he is. Taking me home to the closed doors and unplugged television, to the grating friction of fork against knife as no words are spoken across the dinner table. My hands clench.

I check again, maybe I'm imagining things. It can't be him. There are at least five out of the seven deadly sins happening around us right now, and I can't imagine Tavis willfully throwing himself in the vicinity of it. My gaze finds him again—it's definitely him. Oh God—and in that moment his eyes lock with mine. His lips form my name, “Julie,” as he pushes through the crowds. His way is slow, the sea of revelers doesn't part for him, and as he moves he is shoved back, the people returning push for push.

I breathe in and out, tracking the beating of my heart, realizing that I am no longer scared. My heart is not pumping with fear but anger. How dare Tavis be here? How dare he try to take me away? I need this. I need this and I just got it and now I have to give it up? No.

No.

A man twice Tavis's size is shoving a finger in his chest. Tavis has his hands up, trying to calm him down. This is it. This is the moment. A wicked smile spreads across my face and I turn to Miles, snatching his hand into mine.

“I'm not ready for this to end,” I say, hoping Miles understands. I glance at Tavis one more time. Miles follows my look; Tavis is waving at me frantically. Our eyes dart to the girls, happily chatting as they make their way over to Taj and Danny. Our night is moments from collapsing in front of us.

Miles squeezes my hand. “Me neither.”

“Get ready to run,” I say.

Taj and Danny turn back to us, their brows scrunched in question.

“Intercept!” I yell to the boys and dash away with Miles, pulling him behind me through the crowd and around the corner. We run, feet stomping down the cobblestones, pushing past fish, birds, stars, and yelling back apologies as we escape. In alleys we run past revelers in compromising positions, they yell at us for interrupting their fun, a laugh tumbles out. Street after street we escape, hands clasped together, speeding our way toward a night of promise. If my legs ache I don't notice, they continue pumping as the houses around me shift, their intricacies multiplying as we go along. Miles loses his hat at some point. It flies off his head and into the crowd, claimed by another reveler. At corners we hop on tiptoes waiting for lights to change before dashing across. When we are far enough from our troubles, we cut between two buildings and collapse against each other.

I drop Miles's hand, placing mine on my knees, calming my lungs.

There is no sign of Taj, Danny, the girls, or Tavis.

I smile.

Between breaths Miles's chest convulses, a soft chuckle then a full-blown laugh.

It's fantastic and full of energy. It travels across the
alley and pulls my own from my lips. I want to go on like this forever.

Calming down, Miles straightens up. “What am I hiding from? What are YOU hiding from, Sunshine?”

“Nothing.”

He waits for me to say more, and when I don't he nods but doesn't drop my gaze. “Yeah, me too.” He still gulps large breaths, and I watch his chest rise and fall; he starts shaking his head like something doesn't sit right. “Liar. You panicked and ran.”

“
We
ran.”

“True, true.” He nods, staring back at whatever we left behind. “I wanted to get out of there.”

“Why? Was she your girlfriend?”

Miles pushes away from the wall he is recuperating on, approaching me. He stands a whole seven inches above me—I hadn't realized how tall he is until now, or how short I was in comparison. He must be at least six feet something, while I am a very respectable five-five. When he looks down to meet my eyes I sense the invitation to close the gap.

“You first. Tell me why you ran, and I'll tell you why I ran.”

He inches closer; I fight the instinct to push him away because that would require more touching, although at the moment, it's exactly what I wanted.

“No. No baggage, remember?”

He steps back. “No baggage.”

There's a faint buzz from his phone, and he pulls it out. I touch mine, still in my pocket, and fight old Julie for the urge to turn it back on.

“It's Danny and Taj. They got roped into a party. Guess we're on our own, Lila.”

Alone with Electric Blue and no buffer.
Breathe.

“Their loss,” I reply.

“Yeah.” Miles reaches under his shirt to scratch his stomach—I follow the movement and catch a glimpse of the sparse hairs on his abdomen before he rearranges the strap on his banjo. “Their loss.”

Miles extends his arm, and as I loop mine around his, my mind keeps roaming back to the flash of skin. The thought of it makes me happy. Oh God. This is why people compose sonnets, isn't it?
An Ode to Miles's Abs.

“Where to?” he asks.

A flood of places pop into my mind. Too many to count. Old houses. Food. Cemeteries. Food. Stores. Food.
You JUST ate, belly!
I want to see it all but don't know where to start or where anything is and whether or not they are within walking distance, which I'm assuming will be our major mode of transportation.

“How far are we from the cemeteries?”

“Ah, you want to see Marie Laveau's grave, right?”

“That's the famous one?”

“It is, but cemeteries are not a good place to be at night, at least not for us.”

“Really? Why?”

“Shady shit mostly. Taj got jumped there once, which knowing Taj is not that hard to believe. He has a way of getting into trouble.” He runs his hand over his hair; it changes just a bit as he shapes it. “He was supposed to meet this girl, but he got stood up, then mugged, so overall not a great night for him.”

“Oh.” Checking it off the list then.

“Yeah, so stick to the daylight when visiting the dead. Much safer for the living.”

“Safe sounds good, I guess.” But I can't hide the disappointment from my voice.

“You say
safe
,” Miles teases, “but I hear
boring
. What is it that you really want?”

I want to go and let the night unfold before us. No thoughts. No plans.

“I don't care,” I say, tugging him closer, “and I don't think you should care either.”

“How's that?”

“I think we should just walk, pick a way and go. Not overthink it or anything. If I'm going to let go tonight, you are as well, Miles.”

“That might be a bit hard for me . . . my mind thrives
on plans,” Miles replies.

I unloop my arm from his—regrettably—to face him. “Trust me.”

I step away from him, bringing my arms to my chest. “Count to five, then stop me.”

“Stop you?” Miles tilts his head to the side, intrigued.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and spin.

“One.” I hear Miles count as the world shifts around me. “Two.”

This is it,
I think. “Three.” I'm shaking off all the worries, emerging anew. “Four.” I extend my hand out. “Five.” Hands on my hips, strong, I lean back into Miles, my other hand reaching up to his neck, fingers brushing his hair, breath steadying. My eyes open and follow my hand down our path. “That way.”

“You sure?” he whispers, hands coming fully around my waist turning me to face him.

I catch him calculating our route in his head, brow creasing. “Don't think,” I whisper. With a finger I erase the horizontal lines across his forehead. “Please, just trust me. Whatever the night brings.”

His grip tightens around my waist. A silent yes.

W
E STEP BACK
out onto the streets, feeling the beat of something just around the corner. Miles's phone buzzes again. I pull it out of his reach.

“No phones.”

“No phones?”

“No interruptions, just you and me and New Orleans.” I hope my tone is as playful as I feel.

He turns the phone over in his hands. “Okay, but I gotta tell Taj and D.” He types something quickly and turns the phone off. “We'll need a meeting place. Something popular, like Jackson Square.”

“Why?”

“In case we get separated.”

“Planning on running again?”

He squeezes my arm, and I squeeze back before I have time to think about it. His touch is warm and welcoming despite the heat.

“Only if you run with me.”