Hannah Gersen - Home Field

“You will,” Dean promised.

Ed and Jenny had seen Megan win and were making their way over to her with dumbfounded glee. Dean ducked out of the scene and returned to the line where Aileen and See-See — they had stuck together until the end — were racing to the finish. Aileen edged See-See out by one stride. Dean thought there was a chance for a halfway decent team score, but then a big group of runners — none of them blue — came across the line and he knew a win was mathematically impossible.

Missy, Lori, and Jessica were so far back that they had no clue of Megan’s win. Telling them was like giving them a present. They ran over to Megan, who was now being interviewed by a reporter. The reporter wanted to talk to Dean but he said not until he’d taken the girls for their cooldown jog. Then he led the girls away, back to the clearing where they’d stretched before the race.

“I JUST DON’T want to get into a pattern of drinking all the time,” Raquel said. “It’s so cliché. And I’m so sick of going to dumb jock parties on Saturday. It’s their one night to have fun and they all binge.”

They were sitting together in the cafeteria, Stephanie with her apron on because she was taking a break from the dish room. Gabe had told her to go get a cup of coffee because she seemed so tired. Stephanie couldn’t understand how Raquel could look glamorous after so many late nights in a row. It was as if all the things that made other people seem undone — messy hair, a drawn face, the residue of last night’s makeup — instead conspired to make Raquel utterly chic.

“We could go to the movies,” Stephanie said.

“You always want to go to the movies.”

“It’s just what Mitchell and I would always do when we were bored,” Stephanie said, missing her old friend.

“We should go visit him — he’s at Harvard, right? We could go to a Harvard party! Seriously, we could get a bus from Philadelphia. Or you could drive! I always forget you have a car.”

“He’s at MIT.”

“Oh, right.” Raquel seemed genuinely unhappy, plagued by her fantasies of the parties just out of reach. It had to do with growing up near a city, Stephanie thought. When you grew up in a small place, you just accepted that there were more exciting things going on pretty much everywhere else in the world.

“We could go into Philadelphia,” Stephanie offered, even though she really wasn’t in the same restless mood.

“I’m bored of Philadelphia,” Raquel said, drawing out the word bored into two self-consciously bratty syllables.

“Gabe invited me to something.” Stephanie reached into her apron pocket, where Gabe had tucked a xeroxed invitation. “It’s at the Arts House — a First Saturday party? They have them every month.”

Raquel examined the hand-drawn flyer, which pictured a crescent moon smiling down on a group of dancing stick figures reminiscent of Keith Haring or maybe Matisse. A Grateful Dead bear was thrown in for good measure. Stephanie expected Raquel to reject this idea, since it had pot written all over it and Raquel was surprisingly contemptuous of potheads, but instead she rewarded Stephanie with an earnest smile, the kind she reserved for her most closely cherished pop songs.

“Stephanie! These are supposed to be the best parties!”

“I didn’t know.” Stephanie couldn’t help feeling pleased. It was a rare treat to surprise Raquel.

“Seriously, I have heard so many stories about these parties. The crazy things people do. You know what we should do?” Raquel lowered her voice. “I have some E. My ex gave it to me. We were going to take it together, but we never did.”

“He didn’t want it back?” Stephanie said. It was all she could think to reply. This was only the second time she’d ever heard of ecstasy; the first time was from Mitchell, of all people. He’d said it was the one drug he was curious to try.

“I’ve been saving it. For the right time. And I think it could help you. You know, to be happy.”

“I am happy!” Stephanie said. “I mean, I’m happy enough.”

“All I’m saying is that we’re in college, we should be having fun, trying things. It’s ridiculous to feel like we’re in a rut already. And I mean, let’s face it: We drink too much. It’s not good for our health.”

“And ecstasy is?”

“Well, it’s not bad for you. No one does anything stupid on it. The worst reaction I’ve ever seen is that some people want to talk a lot. But most people just dance, and, like, touch soft fabric, and feel amazing.”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Stephanie said. She wished she could consult with Mitchell. He would be honest about the risks. She felt as if she had run out of honest people in her life.

“You don’t have to decide now. We can see how we feel tonight.” Raquel stood up to bus her tray. “I’m going to the library — to our usual spot. Want to meet me there?”

“Yeah, okay. Here, I can take your tray.”

In the dish room, Stephanie dumped Raquel’s half-eaten scrambled eggs and told Gabe to take a break. Without him to help her, she had to work fast. The radio was turned up loud, Radiohead’s “The Bends” blasting. Stephanie remembered playing the song loud in her car on her way home from school and hollering the chorus. She had thought of herself as miserable, bored, constrained, isolated, uncertain, but looking back on the memory, she saw a joyful girl. She remembered the fresh air blowing through the rolled-down windows, her skin warm from the sun, the exhilaration of driving fast on the rolling, empty hills, the roads her own private roller coaster, the music her own private anthem, propelling her to something unknown but likely very good. Happiness.

She sprayed hot water into a bowl of half-eaten oatmeal. With a gloved hand, she placed it onto the dish rack, along with two nearly empty mugs, and then sent the rack on its way down the conveyor belt toward the Hobart. She’d worked so efficiently that she had a couple of minutes of downtime before the next tray came down the pike. As she stood there in the steamy, bleach-scented air, she thought of how nice it would be to just take a pill and feel happy again. If it was truly possible, she wanted to try it.

DINNER AT JOELLE’S again. Dean sat on the front porch steps with a postprandial beer, watching the sky begin to grow dark. He could hear Robbie’s and Bry’s high voices mixing with Megan’s and Jenny’s inside the house. They sounded happy. The boys wanted to stay overnight again, and he couldn’t think of why they shouldn’t. Nicole would be shocked by how laid-back he was being; they used to fight about how often to come here, the gist of their argument that she wanted to visit more often than he did. But there was another layer, the sense of obligation that she couldn’t admit to feeling. The sense of guilt she clung to, as if her life was disappointing to her family. Dean couldn’t understand it, didn’t want to try anymore. He wanted to hold on to the morning, the joy of seeing Megan crossing the finish line, exhausted and exhilarated. At dinner she’d looked like a different girl, with her hair down and her bangs curled, wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater. An ordinary girl.

The front door creaked open, and he turned to find Joelle. She had a beer in hand, a rare sight.

“Can I join you?”

“Of course.” Dean moved over even though there was plenty of room. “Beautiful night.”

“It sure is. Nice and clear. I might take the kids stargazing down at Mom’s. She has the best view.”

“Thanks for letting them stay over tonight,” Dean said. “They always have fun.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure! It’s a nice way for me to see the boys every week. And I’m glad we’re getting along.”