Slowing the car to a creaking stop, I looked over as Jo sloshed peach-flavored Burnett’s into a 32-ounce cup of McDonald’s sweet iced tea. I winced like the syrupy sweet liquor was coating my throat. She grinned, waggling the drink in my direction. I hadn’t seen her and Blake in five months when we all lit fireworks and wished Blake and the new year a happy birthday. It’d maybe been the longest we’d all been apart since kindergarten. “Baby friends,” our moms called us.

“God, you’re an angel of this earth, Addie. I’m so happy to see you. This semester was a shitshow,” Jo said.

“I told you not to take a music theory class.”

“Ok, but wouldn’t you think we’d get to learn about, like, Linda Ronstadt.”

“Traitor. You’re a Linda girl now?” I gasped in horror.

“Shut up,” she laughed. “Half the CD you made me was her.”

Jo had cut all her hair off at school, the wild curls shorn to a pixie. It suited her in a way I didn’t expect. She said her new friends convinced her to do it. Jo and Blake shared a dorm room, but they seemed to each be finding their own way. It felt like every time they left, something new unveiled itself. First, it was Blake’s DJing on the college radio. Then it was Jo’s writing and the English professors she loved. I listened obediently when they called, savoring the details like hard candies. They’d gone away for college, and I stayed. Home was here, misshapen in their absence, but here.

I forced myself out of that gloom. Today was a green light day. Back together, we always made a dedicated effort to recreate our childhood summers, a series of perfect moments congregating into heaven on earth. They started with a phone call, Jo and Blake in the car, pushing 90 mph down I-95 to let me know they were four hours, an hour, thirty minutes from home.

In May, Regency, the town’s dry cleaner, sold all the unclaimed items of the year for cheap. Fur coats, silk gloves up to the elbow, men’s dress shirts of every color, linen, cashmere, the odd kerchief—but these were not our desires. The gowns, the gowns! We loved the gowns. We clamored for the gowns. Tucked away in the back of the store, the dresses sat blissfully unaware, sleeping children wrapped in tulle and thread.

Jo spilled a bit, knocked loose by an errant bump. The Isuzu Trooper drove like a window on wheels, and North Carolina never cared much for infrastructure.

“Now this is southern comfort,” she said, replacing the drink’s lid and angling the straw toward me. I drank begrudgingly, then started singing along to the CD playing. Blake burned it for me over Blake and Jo’s winter break. We all swapped new ones over Christmas, a small balm to get us through the time apart. It was easy to imagine the glow of her laptop illuminating Blake’s concentration, the darkened dorm room around her. Jo and I joked that our music was superior, but Blake always found the gems.

“How you doing back there, kid?” Jo called to Blake, turning around to look at the backseat.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Blake crooned. I watched in the rearview as she looked up, eyes adjusting, admiring my handiwork on the ceiling.

Over time, I covered the car’s seats with cheap, secondhand Hawaiian-print fabric. The ceiling held the memories of our escapades; concert ticket stubs, photobooth strips, pen-drawn portraits, and pressed flowers adorned the foam—moments stolen over breaks and long weekends. A Lenny Kravitz bobblehead wearing a rosary made his home below the rearview. I swore up and down he winked at me during midnight drives. And despite our perfumes and deodorants and sprays, the car always smelled like the yellow American Spirits we smoked when we had shit nothing else to do.

Blake tipped her hands toward Jo, wanting in on the communion. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, my heart thumped. I felt like a kid the night before a fieldtrip, antsy and excited and nervous in a way I wouldn’t admit.

“What’s the goal for today, boys?” Jo asked, turning the volume down to a hum.

“I’m going big this time around,” I said. “Big sleeves.” I stretched my hands to hold the size. I was hamming it up, I couldn’t quell my excitement.

“Big. Noted. Blake, my dear, what’s in your sights?”

“I’m letting it come to me when we get there. I can’t think when it’s this hot,” Blake said. “Has it always been this hot?”

The car’s nonexistent air conditioning meant we constantly had everything rolled down. Out the windows, the mulberry trees were beginning to fruit, enticed by the honeysuckle bushes in full bloom. Summer hadn’t fully debuted, but we all wore denim cutoffs and men’s aluminum-rich deodorant anyway.

“Blake—don’t tap the glass,” I heard Jo chastise. “He’ll end up following us all the way to the mall.”

“What’s she doing?” I asked.

“Blowing kisses at the minivan.”

“I’m just making friends.”

“Yeah. And last time you did that, I had to threaten that guy with mace,” said Jo. “Leave it alone.”

“We’re almost there,” I said, eyes wide.

“Home again. Home again,” whooped Blake.

Our hometown mall came into view: ugly and gray and straight, at odds with poplars and oaks standing earnestly in the background. Careening into the lot, the car stopped with a shudder. Three pairs of shoes hit the pavement, announcing our arrival to court. An orange tube man greeted us with a deep bow as we walked past.

“At ease, soldier,” called Jo.

We were only halfway through our booze, and my head was swimming. Standing outside Regency’s doors, I still encouraged us all to swallow, tapping the cup’s bottom and gesturing up.

A man to our left took notice and cruised our figures. His eyes immediately latched onto Jo. Blake caught sight of him and elbowed me, pausing my antics. His untrained eye did not clock the rings adorning each finger, the Sappho tattoo. To him, Jo was cool, maybe in a band. He ambled up to the group, trying his luck.

At the front counter, Jo filled in the store manager, Mrs. Clancy, about her and Blake’s lives: their parties, their degrees, their new friends. I kept walking toward the last racks, anxious to find our treasures for the day.

“Is there anyone you like at school?” I heard Clancy ask.

“I think,” Jo replied. I felt my throat catch, pausing my steps as Jo talked about a girl she liked. None of that had been mentioned to me.

“She’s artsy, witty,” Joe said, sheepishly. “She has this long brown hair she can tie by itself. I loved watching her do it during class. I was so struck by her. She’s always rock climbing or going to a class about native plants. She lives this incredibly full life. It’s admirable, really.”

“Have you told her?”

Jo’s shoe scraped the floor.

“No,” she drew out the sound.

“Well, honey, nothing is going to come of that,” Clancy tutted. “Say something.”

Jo’s answer chiming in my ears, I searched for Blake. Crouched beside a glass display, she peered at Clancy’s necklaces.

“Hey. Did you know Jo was into someone?” I asked.

“Yes? I think Marin is her name. She’s in Jo’s English class. She’s come over a few times,” Blake answered distractedly.

“How long has Jo liked her?”

“Maybe a month.”

Jo and I called so many times since then. She’d said nothing. My heart curled into a fist.

“Do you like her?”

“Me? She’s cool. From Portland. A bit annoyingly esoteric. You know, Jo’s type.” I hadn’t realized she had a type. I looked at Blake, waiting for her to reveal something more, but she turned her attention back to the baubles and pearls.

Making my way to the gowns, eyes to the floor, I grabbed at a reason for Jo’s omission. Busy, she’s just busy, I thought. Or, she assumed I wouldn’t like Marin. I didn’t like the girl before or her high school boyfriend. I turned over our recent calls in my mind, trying to pinpoint where I’d flubbed.

My eyes shifted back into focus, and I found myself staring at the dresses. This year was even better than the last. It always was. A strip of iridescent fabric caught my attention. Pulling it out for a better view, the dress was floor-length, pink and gold lamé with sleeves to the sky. It was hideous. It was camp. It was soon to be mine. Twirling around with the dress pressed close, I rocked it back and forth in my arms.

“There she goes again!” Jo yelled. “You’re up, kid,” she directed at Blake, who begrudgingly tore herself from the necklaces.

Waiting on a tufted bench for the others, I still clutched the dress. Jo and Blake made their way over, beholding the fabrics spilling over. Blake plunged one hand through the sea, the other covering her eyes as she chanced different near futures. After rustling back and forth, she landed on a short blue silhouette. With exquisite care, someone had sewn gossamer sequins into the entire dress.

Blake, never one for tenderness, grabbed a fistful of the dress and exclaimed, “You’ll never top this, Jo. You can’t!”

Jo scanned Blake’s choice.

“You play it too safe. Same as last year and the year before that,” Jo teased.

“I play it safe? The one you chose two years ago was a silk sack!”

“Hey—it was chic.”

“Neither of you have anything on mine,” I piped up, holding my treasure overhead like an infant I was proud to bear.

Jo’s and Blake’s heads swiveled. They both grimaced.

“Addie. No, not that one.”

“Adeline. Really?”

“Isn’t it great?” I grinned.

“The color—it’s a lot,” Jo said.

“You’re going to look like a troll doll,” Blake explained. I looked down at the dress. Obviously, it was ridiculous, but that was the fun of it. Last year, Blake bought a tangerine suit and romped around town in the 90-degree heat, sweat dripping from every crevice.

“She’s my ugly beauty, so you both can fuck off,” I huffed.

“Alright, well.” Blake made another face. “Jo, pick up the pace here. We’re waiting on you.”

Jo always took the longest. She grabbed at her hair, silently agonizing over her decision. Blake and I surrendered to her process, draping ourselves over the furniture as we waited.

“Blake,” I whispered, poking her in the ribs. “Remember your orange suit?”

“Oh God. I don’t think I’ve ever been that hot in my life,” she laughed.

“I loved that day.”

“Really? I was so miserable,” she continued. I brushed her comment away.

“How’s the radio?”

“It’s good. I have a better slot now, so no more 2 A.M. coffees.”

“I’d been listening to your sets. I was wondering why I couldn’t find them anymore.”

Blake moved her hand to cup my hair.

“Always our angel Adeline.” I leaned into her touch.

“What about the dorm? Is Jo better about her clothes?”

Blake smirked. We both looked at her, flipping through each dress, picking apart what the dresses might say about her, many pulled from their hangers and left in a heap.

“Of course not, but it makes it easier to steal what I want to wear.”

Blake bounded from the couch and wrapped her arms around Jo’s midsection, who was nearing a fever pitch now, her rifling becoming urgent.

“What about this one?” Black, timeless, billowing out under Blake’s touch.

“Too safe,” Jo said.

“This one, then.” Red, skimpy.

Jo eyed it, aghast. “Who do you think I am?”

“You are not making this job easy.” Blake squeezed Jo to cement her jest.

They went back and forth, Blake entertaining Jo’s whims. They looked like conjoined twins, Blake’s head nestled into Jo’s shoulder. They made a good pair. Three is always hard with girls, I remembered my mama saying. Someone always gets tossed aside. But we’d beaten the odds, right?

After some time, Jo landed on a purple silk sheath. It suited her. Blake put forth no protestations, only a sly smile. We paid Clancy thirty-two dollars, cash. A damn steal.

Exiting in a caterwaul of goodbyes and thank-yous and blown kisses, we promised to behave.

#

“Adeline, we have to try something else,” Jo said, out of breath. I swiveled to peer at the dress’s undone zipper in the mall’s bathroom mirror. Despite its perfection in my mind, the dress didn’t fit. Blake and Jo stood before me in their outfits, hands on hips, red-faced from trying to wriggle me into it.

“You’re sure if I don’t suck in—”

“Nope. Blake, you hold down the hem. I’m going to close the zipper as Addie jumps,” Jo ordered. Blake squatted down and held the dress tight. I couldn’t help but laugh at the scene we created. Jo braced with a widened stance, and Blake’s hands strained with effort. In the mirror, Jo gave me a small nod, her hands clasping the zipper.

I leaped up, feeling the zipper pull upward, ecstatic, only to hear the shrieking rip of the dress and feel metal biting into my back.

“Oh fuck,” Jo said, gingerly pulling my skin free.

“It’s not that bad!” Blake lied.

I couldn’t bring myself to look, to say anything. My hands felt along the gaping fabric, the heat of my angry skin. The rip ran along the entire zipper. Make it worse, I thought. Make it unsalvageable. I hooked my fingers around each side, pulling a bit, testing the loose threads. The fabric was fragile from years at the store. I continued slowly, almost hoping no one would notice. The dress shredded from waist to shoulder, my back exposed. The tearing sounded far away like I wasn’t the one doing it.

“Addie—” Jo started to plead.

“It’s fine,” I laughed. “It’s ugly. Who cares?”

“Why don’t you change back into your clothes?” Blake stepped in, stopping my hands. “Didn’t it cost, what, six bucks? The roller rink will still be fun.”

I wanted to shout: Don’t you get it? Instead, I nodded and tucked myself into the bathroom stall.

Before Jo and Blake moved away, I told them about my childhood impressions of heaven. I explained that I collected moments I hoped I could return to after I died, but it had to be a conscious effort. I had to say to myself, “This. I would like this one.” The earliest of these moments was a neighborhood barbecue, and I ran down the street barefoot, maybe 10 years old, and it was June or July in North Carolina and I’d just tried pasta salad for the first time. Others included a 14-hour bus ride during a high school field trip when Andrew Kiernan let me fall asleep on his shoulder. Or when Blake tried to smoke for the first time and lit the cigarette on the wrong end, causing Jo to snort beer from her nose.

The sadness I felt wasn’t big or boisterous. It didn’t strike me down in the way I expected. Hidden behind the stall’s plastic laminate, I grieved not the here and now but the next. “I’ve collected so many of those moments with you two,” I’d said.

Taking an extra year before starting college had felt right. More hours at the cafe to save up for school. More time to think about what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go. But it meant we were unfurling, our pinky swears a little looser, our green light days maybe more memory than anticipation. Blake and Jo wouldn’t feel the effects for a while. They still had each other, clasped close, cornerstones in each other’s lives.

Blake and Jo’s murmured conferencing grew louder as they tried to salvage the day.

“I think it’s time for a beer sprint,” Blake yelled over the stall.

#

We made moves to the grocery store across the street. More ugly and gray, gray and ugly. This particular grocery chain had an informal monopoly over the Southeast. Beloved by college students for its Free Sub Fridays and maligned by mothers for its overpriced, pre-cut fruits, the store’s real appeal was with high schoolers.

Years before, an upperclassman came across the store’s foolhardy shoplifting policy while flipping through the employee handbook: the no-chase rule. Staff could not pursue shoplifters so long as they reached the store’s pearly gates undetected. Beyond that boundary, you were home free with the shirt on your back and the beer in your hand. This story made its way through the class years, and on Thursday nights, some sad bastard cradling cases could be seen hauling ass toward his friends’ car.

Now, there was no reason for us to do this. Blake had a fake, and Jo had the 22-year-old barista she flirted with whenever she came home. But this was their olive branch after the dress.

We slunk past the checkout lines, and I waved a sad hello to the rudimentary security system cameras, long since broken down, their blind eyes only frightening to those not in the know.

“What are we going for?” Jo peered through the frosted glass.

“PBR?” I said.

Blake grabbed a case of Red Stripe, and a silent agreement passed between us. Twenty-four beers, three girls.

“Adeline, do you remember when we did this senior year? And you tripped! I never thought I’d get the smell out of my hair,” Blake said, laughing.

“That wasn’t as bad as when you ran. You couldn’t even get past—”

Jo nudged me and grabbed Blake’s sleeve. A security guard sat perched beside the exit, his form spilling over a stool. “CAPE FEAR SECURITY,” read his sleeve. Contracted. The grocery store had gotten wise.

Jo looked at Blake.

“It’s gotta be you.”

“Fuck. Fuck. I know.”

She handed me her case and kissed my cheek.

“See, the dress would’ve just slowed you down,” she said, then swaggered up to the guard. Jo and I started forward, tracking Blake across the store. She was in his face now, her baby-doll eyes working double-time, her gestures wild and open. He couldn’t tell if she was flirting or fighting.

Cases strapped in, Jo cleared the checkout aisles. A few heads looked up, mouths quirked and eyebrows down. Our footfalls rang out against the tile.

The guard looked behind Blake, starting to understand what was happening.

“Hey—” He cried, trying to push Blake to the side.

“Go! GO!” I yelled.

The final few feet came into view, and Jo rammed the doors open. We both sprinted toward the truck, the bottles clinking and clapping in delight. Jo held her case in the air and yelled, “Ha!” before cracking the cap open with her teeth and gulping down the beer.

Night had fallen while we were inside, but the heat remained. I cranked the truck on, and the CD from the morning began to play. Jo opened the trunk and crawled in, breath heaving. Blake followed close behind, throwing the door open and collapsing face-down on the bench seat. She had no shoes on for whatever reason.

“Never again,” she groaned, fumbling around for the beers.

“We can still make it to the roller rink,” Jo said, crawling into the backseat with her.

“It’s tradition,” I said, looking in the rearview at the two of them, the words sliding around my mouth.

#

Dressed in neons and flashes, the roller rink cast a warm glow across the strip. Jo and Blake clambered from the car, blurring together in familiar touches and grins and swallows of Red Stripe. Blake’s gown was by far the best. Jo grabbed her hand and twirled her for the attendant doling out skates. The dress fluttered out faithfully and rested against her shins. The attendant fell in love. How could he not? She skated onto the hardwood as he clapped and hooted from behind the counter. Jo and I looked at each and laughed.

We made our way to the rink’s benches to put on our shoes, eager to start. A few of our favorite songs had already played, and kids were crowding the edges of the rink as they hobbled and grasped at the rails.

“Can you help me with this lace,” Jo said, sticking out her foot. “I can’t reach.”

Squatting in front of her, I unwound the laces from the eyelets and started again, pulling the two laces tighter as I went. I looked up at Jo and she smiled, her dimples on full display. The girl I’d grown up with, just six years old, eating cookie cake covered in blue icing, came back to me. The middle school sleepovers. The shared lunches, the shared clothes. My Jo and my Blake.

“Who’s Marin?” I asked. She immediately blushed.

“We’re in Shakespeare together. I told you about her weeks ago.” I nodded along, the high of the beer sprint leeching away. I finished tying the lace and stood up.

“Sorry. Forgot.” I reached for her hand and squeezed.

“I’ll see you out there,” Jo said.

“Come on!” I thought I heard Jo shout. Stumbling over benches and shoes, I laced my skates, but my fingers kept tripping over themselves. The song changed, and I floundered toward the rink. Picking my way through the crowd, the strobe lights punctured my vision. I saw a flash of Blake’s blue dress, Jo’s hair. A peal of laughter rang out. Around and around they went in their lazy river, only pausing to reach out and hold the other’s hands.

END