Théodora Armstrong - Clear Skies, No Wind, 100% Visibility

“Put this on,” Kate says, passing me a light pink tank top. “It matches.”

We do our makeup in the bathroom, sitting up on the vanity. The canyon water washed my face bare: small eyes, pale lips, hair gone wild again. Nothing I can do will tame it.

“Be right back,” Kate says, disappearing through the door.

I paw through the drawers and find some face powder, spreading a thin layer over my skin before snapping the compact shut and putting it back where I found it. The bathroom door swings open and Kate glides across the floor, pulling a half-full bottle of Grand Marnier from under her hoodie. “Drink up,” she says, handing it to me. “It’s all there was. That and whiskey.” She unzips her hoodie and examines her face in the mirror.

“Your mom won’t notice?” I ask, taking a gulp and passing the bottle back to her.

“She doesn’t drink. It’s my dad’s old booze.” She takes a sip, staring at me. “Your hair.”

“I know.” My hands involuntarily go up to my head.

“Overall it’s better, though.”

“I got this conditioner,” I say, pulling the strands into a tight bun. “They use it on horse manes.”

“At least you don’t have that tumbleweed-on-fire look going anymore.”

“Fuck you,” I say, laughing. I put down the toilet lid, sipping at the Grand Marnier, getting used to the burn down my throat.

“Should I go on the pill?” Kate looks in the mirror like she’s addressing herself.

“Why?” I ask before even hearing her question properly.

“You’re so pure,” Kate laughs. She hops off the counter and kisses me on the lips, soft and quick like a hummingbird. I blink, surprised, my cheeks flushing. She turns back to the mirror, sweeping her lids with shimmery pink shadow and flawlessly tracing them with black liner, smudging the lines so her eyes are shadowy and cat-like. “You need some of this,” she says, handing it to me. Beside her I lean into my reflection, running the black tip of the pencil along each lid and rubbing the line with my pinky carefully, like Kate did. I sit back and look at myself: a pale feline, lonely dark eyes. It’s better overall. “Meow,” I whisper at the mirror.

“You’re really weird sometimes,” Kate says, digging into one of the drawers. She pulls out a pack of smokes, taking out a single cigarette and cranking open the bathroom window. “So?” she says, lighting it and resting her chin on the window ledge.

“What?” I brush thick coats of black mascara on my lashes. I can’t stop staring at myself.

“What do you think of him?” Kate blows smoke out the window.

“He’s all right,” I say, joining her. I take a drag from her cigarette. “You should wait.”

“For what?” Kate says, smirking at me. “For you? That could take forever.”

“Shut up!” I grab the bottle off the counter and take a longer sip, catching a dribble down my chin with the back of my hand. “Let’s go.”

“Show-off,” Kate says, tucking the bottle under her hoodie. She kisses me again, a little harder. This time I’m ready, though. I smile and kiss her back.

WE ENTER MOSQUITO CREEK through Rana’s backyard. She was my lab partner through most of grade eight, and she told me her mom is always complaining of either bears or teenagers in their backyard, shit or beer bottles. The beer bottles are better any day; there’s nothing worse than bear shit. Rana likes to describe the scat in detail — berries, grass, fur, and bones.

Kate and I crouch low past the big picture window that looks out on their perfectly manicured lawn to the break in the hedges and the steep dirt path leading to the creek. On the trail, my eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet and we forgot a flashlight, but Kate’s an owl or a fox, dragging me by the arm as she skips ahead. Every few steps we stop to take swigs from the bottle, more for Kate than for me. It’s her booze, I guess, and it doesn’t matter because I’m already feeling a buzz. Kate trips over a stump, barely catching herself from falling, and I haul her back onto her feet. “What’s the hurry?” I say, but she’s already ahead of me.

We’re past the neighbourhood and working our way up the mountain when I see the glow of a fire. We can hear music through the trees, but it’s hard to judge how close things are in the dark and all of a sudden we’re there. A group of grade elevens chat around a fire burning in a ketchup tin, and past them kids walk along the paths or sit on the rocks in groups of two or three. Deeper in the forest, at the source of the music, a larger crowd is gathered. We wander around the creek chatting with friends, trying to find a group we want to hang out with. Rana’s sitting on a stump with a bunch of drama club kids and when she sees me she stands, waving me over. Kate and I join their circle and drink from the two-litre of shit-mix being passed around. When I spot Elgin coming toward us through the trees, I turn my back to him without saying anything to Kate, but she sees him anyway and squeezes my hand before disappearing with him into the forest. “Are they together?” Rana asks, passing me the two-litre, but I don’t bother answering her.

A few minutes later, Kate comes back alone to lead me up one of the paths along the edge of the creek. At the base of a big evergreen a lighter flicks on and off and Elgin’s voice calls out from the dark. I can see the outline of someone sitting beside him.

“Who’s with you?” Kate says, still hanging onto my hand.

“Max,” Max says. He lights a joint and the flame briefly illuminates his face.

“I can’t see anything out here,” Kate says, letting go of me and sitting down beside Elgin.

“Hi,” I say to no one in particular — Max or Elgin — just so everyone knows I’m here. I can barely see my own hand in front of my face.

“I know you,” Max says, passing me the joint.

“Yeah?”

“We were in elementary together.” He laughs like it’s a joke.

“Yeah, I remember,” I say, taking a puff. The smoke tickles my throat and my lungs tighten. I cough as I pass the joint to Kate.

“You liked My Little Ponies,” Max says.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did. At recess you’d be brushing their hair and shit.”

Kate starts giggling and Elgin joins in. “Why do you remember that?” Kate says.

“I have a good memory,” Max says, the joint back between his fingers, embers growing as he sucks in the smoke.

“Well, you don’t,” I say, “because that wasn’t me.”

“Whatever,” Max shrugs.

“I think I’d remember that,” I say. The glowing tip of the joint comes toward me and Max touches my hand as he passes it to me. I pull it back quickly and even in the dark I can tell he’s smiling. The joint goes around the circle again before anyone says anything.

“This guy has the best weed in North Van,” Elgin says, slapping Max on the back hard enough that he drops the roach. “Maybe the whole Lower Mainland.”

“Fuck yeah,” Max agrees, searching on the ground.

“We’ll be right back,” Kate says, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to the creek out of earshot. She’s close enough I can feel her breath and the moonlight cuts down through the branches brightening her face. Her cheeks are slack and her eyes are wet like a sick dog. The pot’s creeping into my face too. “I’m really stoned,” I say, rubbing my wet eyes. We’re both sick dogs.

“I’m gonna go with Elgin,” Kate says.

“Okay.”

“I’m not asking your permission.”

“I know.”

“Don’t come find me if I don’t come back,” she says, heading back into the trees. “I’ll find you later.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I say, following her back toward the guys. Kate looks at me as if it’s the stupidest question in the world and before she takes Elgin’s hand she leans in close and whispers, “What about Max?” I’m still shaking my head no as they disappear into the dark. “Now what?” I say, sitting on a rock. I can hear the crack and snap of underbrush as Kate and Elgin make their way further into the bush. My eyes have adjusted to the dark and I can see Max’s slouchy outline against the tree. He comes to sit beside me and I give him a weak smile he probably can’t see. “Are they gonna fuck?” he says, relighting the joint and passing it to me.