BROOKLYNN.
1.
Abby rang the doorbell and waited nervously.
Am I at the right house?
she thought.
She could hear voices and music in the background. But it was Saturday night, after all, and that had been the case at nearly every house between here and her car.
The front door opened, and she was greeted by a tall, tanned dudebro who had shaggy hair, but a clean-shaven face. His shirt was only half-buttoned, showing off a long flat, hairless torso. He wasn't wearing any shoes.
"Heh. Hey," the dudebro said. His arms were long and took up the entire doorway.
"Um... hi," Abby said. "I'm looking for..." She froze. She was a guest of a guest and realized that she didn't know the name of the host. For all she knew, this was him.
Does this guy know who Brooklynn is?
"My name is Abby...?"
The dudebro stopped her. "It's her," he said over his shoulder.
A woman's voice belted out from behind him. "'
From the East to the West, they scream and shout!"
Abby's eyes lit up as Brooklynn emerged with a drink in her hand, shouting a cheer from their high school days.
"'Ask them what they talkin' about!'"
"Whatchu talkin' 'bout!'"
"Willis!"
"Whatchu talkin' 'bout!"
"Willis!"
"Whatchu talkin' 'bout!"
"Willis! Willis!"
Abby finished. The two women screamed and embraced each other, rocking wildly from side to side.
"It's so good to see you!" Abby squeed.
"I know, it's been like, forever, right?" Brooklynn said. "Let me look at you." She pulled back from their embrace and twirled Abby like a music box ballerina. She nodded approvingly. "Still Abby after all these years."
"Gosh, thanks," Abby said. "You look great, of course. Have you been eating nothing but kale and avocadoes out here?"
"Avocados are actually not that great for you," Brooklynn said. "Pretty fatty."
"Hey, Brooks," the dudebro interjected, a grin creeping onto his face. "You gonna introduce us?" His voice was flat with a west coast drawl. He stared at Abby's chest when he spoke about her, as though her tits were pronouns. His eyes looked as though he'd been in the middle of a nap.
"Abby, Mark. Mark, Abby."
"Nice to meet you," Abby said with her customary spunkiness, crossing her arms.
"Christ, Dude," Brooklynn said to Mark. She elbowed him lightly in the stomach, breaking his gaze.
"Wha-h-hut?" Mark said, chuckling.
She turned back to Abby. "C'mon. Let's mingle." She looked up at Mark's face. He stepped away from the doorway to allow the ladies to pass. Brooklynn hooked Abby's arm and led her through the house, up to the roof to join the rest of the party.
2.
A DJ played music but nobody danced. The guests were more or less just... hanging out. It was all very low-key. Indeed, Mark was not out of place in his almost-outfit. Everyone seemed to sport a similar look, down to the shagginess, as though the party had caught them all by surprise and it had been easier to simply stick around. Brooklynn herself wore only a flowy sundress, showing more skin than not. She was loose and fluid, moving through the crowd like smoke and taking Abby along for the ride.
They returned to a waiting section of people.
"Alright, alright, alright," Brooklynn announced. "Class, this is my friend. Abby."
"Hiii, Aaa-by," they all said in unison.
"Abby, this is Morgan, Trevor, Lourdes, and Yuri." She pointed to each person as she named them. Abby waved and said hello to each new face.
"Are you also from Iowa?" Yuri asked.
"Ohio," Abby corrected.
"He knows that," Brooklynn said. "He's just being an asshole." She waved at Yuri, making out to hit him. He squealed, slap-box-play-fighting in return, with Lourdes cheering them both on. Abby was taken aback and she moved out of the way. So much was suddenly happening.
A mellow voice broke through the noise. "It's nice to meet you, Abby," Trevor said.
"Oh... uh, you too," she said, taking his hand. Trevor wore a polo shirt, tucked in, and was the only one in the group sipping his drink from a proper bar glass. He was also the only Black guy Abby had seen at the party so far.
"What brings you to L.A.?" he asked.
Brooklynn pulled Yuri's cap over his eyes, thereby winning their bout. "Abby's going to be joining us at Mercer," she said.
"Go Kiwis!" they all cheered. All except Abby.
"She starts Monday," Brooklynn finished.
"Are you a teacher, Abby?" Morgan asked.
"I don't know about that," Abby said with a nervous laugh. The group followed suit.
"Abby's going to be taking over 12th grade English," Brooklynn said.
"Ohhhhh," the others said.
That was one way of putting it. Though in no way did Abby feel prepared to "take over" anything.
"Do not worry," Lourdes said. "They are seniors. They are mostly potty-trained."
"Do you all teach at Mercer as well?" Abby asked.
"Sí. Español," Lourdes said.
"Film Studies," Trevor said. "Department chair."
"Math
s
," Morgan said, emphasizing the "s," eager for Abby to ask why.
Yuri stuck his chest out and dropped to one knee. "Drrrrama!" he declared, twisting the end of his mustache. They all applauded accordingly.
"Let's get you a drink," Morgan said. "Shots?" she asked the group.
"Shots?" Yuri said, shrugging.
"Shots," Brooklynn said, nodding.
Abby held up her hand. "Oh, no thank you. I'm not much of a drinker. Not the hard stuff, anyway."
They all looked at each other, then burst out laughing. All except Abby.
"You really aren't a teacher, are you?" Morgan said.
Morgan and Brooklynn gathered shots, while Trevor procured a glass of wine for Abby. With everyone armed, they raised their drinks to the newest member of the Mercer family.
"To Abby," Lourdes said.
"Good luck on Monday," Morgan said.
"And good luck with the Twins," Yuri added under his breath.
"The what?" Abby asked.
"Nothing," Brooklynn said. "Welcome to Mercer."
"Go Kiwis!" they said.
"...Kiwis," Abby trailed.
Over the next hour, the group conversed, laughing loudly at several points. When the conversation threatened to spiral into bitching about students or parents, Brooklynn declared a moratorium on all "shop talk." They broke off into various pairing as the topics shifted.
Abby didn't say much. To her, they were all so quick. Every comment was a chance to top the last. To be wittier than the other person. They talked about politics and religion and sex with such openness in mixed company, never running short on opinions.
Morgan explained the statistical probability of surviving a zombie attack.
"It's not a matter of
if
," she said. "But
when
!"
Lourdes and Yuri dished about the men they were both seeing. Both in finance. Both named Rick.
Trevor tried to convince Brooklynn of the underlying racism of the
Rocky
film franchise.
"But what about the one with the Russian?" she asked.
"You mean the one where an even whiter boxer beats the Black guy to death?" Trevor asked.
Nobody once mentioned the weather. Or the Browns.
I'm definitely not home anymore
, Abby thought.
At one point, Brooklynn grabbed Abby's hand. "C'mon," she told her. "We'll be right back," she said to the rest, who were wrapped up in their own lectures and gossip.
Brooklynn led Abby by the hand through the crowds once more. This time, she pulled her into a bedroom downstairs, shutting the door behind them.
3.
Back at the Willis School for Girls, Abby and Brooklynn had been a notorious pair. Teammates, lab partners, running buddies, co-stars. Best friends. They'd been drawn by their mutual love of black-and-white sitcoms and all things apple-cinnamon, and by their awkwardness and their shared ability to hide just how painfully weird they were. They both grew up as "the only child." And both had mothers who were always so "concerned" that their daughters didn't know how pretty they
could
be "if only Abby would lose five pounds," or "if Brooklynn would just trim those wild curls of hers."
But it had been almost ten years since they'd seen each other, having lost touch after Brooklynn headed out West for college without looking back. Then, out of the blue, Brooklynn contacted Abby with news of a job opening at Mercer, where Brooklynn was the school's guidance counselor. For Abby, who'd been in recovery mode for so long, the call had come right on time. She laughed to herself now, thinking about how easily Brooklynn had gotten her to come to California. This time.
"Your friends seem nice," Abby said.
"Yeah, they're a fun bunch," Brooklynn said. "You having a good time?"
"I am," Abby said, almost too cheerfully.
Brooklynn reached into her pocket and pulled out a green plastic tube. She popped it open and slid a thick joint into her palm.
"
Brooklynn
," Abby hissed. "Is that pot? You can't smoke pot at these people's house."
"Tell me about it," Brooklynn said. "Greedy bunch of motherfuckers around here." She pulled out a lighter.
"Goodness," Abby groaned. She looked around. This room definitely belonged to a guy. There were dumbbells scattered on the floor. And sneakers. Big sneakers. There was an open gym bag on the messy bed. Abby retrieved a towel from inside it and bunched it at the bottom of the bedroom door. Then she headed to the window and opened it as wide as it would go.
Brooklynn watched attentively as Abby scurried about, preparing the room.
"Teamwork," Brooklynn said, placing the joint between her lips. She sparked it and took a couple of long hits, blowing a thick cloud of smoke out the window.
"What do you think about Trevor?" Brooklynn asked.
"Trevor? He's nice, I guess," Abby said. "What do you mean?"
Brooklynn gave her a sly smile. "I think he's into you," she said.
"Please. That stuff clearly works fast," Abby said, pointing to the joint.
