Sleepover

Sunshine Barbito

She chooses Truth, and then Emma tells us that she hears her mom scream at night. Her mom has a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend. Emma says the girlfriends come out of her mom’s room with red cheeks and they pretend like nothing happened. Kitty-Kat doesn’t say anything, she just chews on the drawstrings of her sweatshirt. I swallow hard and we nod, and then we look at Hannah, our leader, with wide eyes, so she can pick what happens next. 

Hannah pulls the new dress down from her closet and pushes the mirror-door shut. She says she needs to look perfect tomorrow. 

Sleepovers at Hannah’s aren’t fun. 

We watch Hannah-Banana brush her perfect yellow hair or try on perfect new clothes and we play Truth or Dare. Nobody ever chooses Dare. 

The eighth-grade dance isn’t supposed to be fancy like prom, but Hannah’s mom bought her a princess-dress anyway. Emma, Kitty-Kat, and me, we won’t wear dresses, for fear of outshining our queen. Anyway, Kitty-Kat doesn’t wear anything low cut. Not since last summer, when she grew these juicy, watermelon boobs, way bigger than Hannah’s little grapefruits that she’s so proud of. For a whole week Hannah-Banana hinted that Kat’s new growth made her look fat. Now Kitty always wears a sweatshirt.  

Hannah’s mom peeks into the room at us. The ice in her wine clinks and she slurps a sip from the sweating glass. She asks us if we’re ready to paint nails. Hannah-Banana whines that she wants to try on her dress first. Hannah goes, “I told you I’d tell you when we’re ready.”

“Okay, Banana,” her mom laughs, “I come in peace,” and she holds her wine up like to say don’t shoot. She taps my shoulder with her wet hand, then walks down the hallway. Her mom is like Hannah but with wrinkles and this old-timey way of talking. She sounds southern, like she talks with syrup in her mouth. 

Sometimes it feels like Hannah’s mom wants to join the sleepover. 

Emma grabs the cord to the twinkly lights that line Hannah’s walls. She plugs them in and then kills the bedroom light, and the room starts to glow yellow. I watch Em’s big brown eyes, like chocolate kisses, follow the glowing lights around the room. Emma moved here at the beginning of the school year. It took Hannah and Kat most of this year to like her. 

But she still feels new to me.

Hannah takes her shirt off to start the show. I get goosebumps, hug myself to warm me up. Banana whispers that she wants to steal some vodka from her mom and bring it to the dance tomorrow. I fake gag and say that vodka tastes like nail polish remover. The chub on Hannah’s shoulders squeezes up from under her white bra straps, that she tightens as tight as possible, to try and squeeze her boobs up. She reaches behind her head and pulls on her bra strap like pulling an arrow free. Like all the Cupids on all the Valentines that Banana gets, but we don’t. 

Emma cups her boobs, like lemons, and she does a perfect Hannah-face at me.

I start to do the same but catch myself and stop. You don’t want Hannah to catch you making fun. And you don’t want to bring attention to your flat chest, like a boy’s. When Kat touches the princess-dress, she gasps. She grabs my arm and chews on her sweatshirt drawstring. 

Kitty-Kat says, “Feel this,” and she shoves my hand against the pink dress. 

It feels like wrapping paper and makes a crunching sound between my fingers. Under the twinkly lights, the layers of cotton-candy-color net shine. Emma touches my arm so that I’ll let her see. Her painted black nails crawl across the dress. She pops her gum in my ear and makes a yikes face. Em’s long black hair smells like coconut shampoo. 

My stomach growls and burns bubbles up my chest. 

I sit down on Hannah’s soft queen bed and it bounces me. Kitty holds the dress up against herself by its spaghetti-straps and looks at herself in the mirror. We’re all mostly the same size, but we don’t borrow Hannah’s clothes. The truth is, Emma wins, taller and skinnier than all of us. But you don’t bring that up around Hannah. Not since the time my mom squeezed Emma’s side in front of everyone and told her that she needed more meat on her bones. Right in front of Hannah-Banana. For a whole week, Emma had to bring double the money to school and force herself to eat two lunches, just to keep Banana from melting down in the cafeteria. 

Kat holds the cotton candy dress against her stomach and sways like she’s dancing. The twinkly lights blink against Emma’s hair, she pushes it behind her ear with her black nails. I take a pillow from the bed and hold it on my lap and lean forward. Hannah looks at Emma and stops undressing, she starts to button her pants again. 

Hannah says, “Whose turn is it?” then says that she still wants to play. She crosses her arms over her chest and tells Kat to hand over the dress. 

Kitty-Kat asks Emma, “Wait, do you like girls too?” she says, “Because your mom.” 

Em rolls her chocolate eyes and says, “I don’t like anyone,” she pops her gum. 

In her white bra and jeans, Hannah takes the scratchy pink dress from Kitty-Kat and pulls it over her head. She stands in the mirror and smooths the dress down. Emma sits up on her knees and squints at the mirror, pretends like she cares how Banana’s dress looks on her. Kat squeezes her hands into prayer position over her watermelon boobs. She chews on her sweatshirt string and says that the dress looks perfect. 

Hannah says, “Your turn,” and her reflection smiles at mine. Her yellow-haired, blueberry-eyed reflection. She says, “Truth or Dare?” 

I bite my lip and pretend to think about which one to choose. 

She turns to look at me and Hannah-Banana says, “Put Emma’s gum in your mouth.”

I swallow and choke on my spit, say, “I wanted Truth,” and cough. 

When Hannah gives you that look, you get ready to listen up. The girl has something to say. Emma pops her gum, then her chewing goes quiet. Kitty covers her mouth. Banana knows how to make us hold our breath. She says that if you always choose Truth, you’re boring. 

“C’mon,” Hannah-Banana says, “You think Emma’s gross, or something?”

She uses Hannah’s voice, and Kitty says, “Yeah. You think Em’s gross or something?”

Emma shakes her head and tells me I don’t have to. Her cheeks get apple-red. I push myself away from the plush, quicksand bed, and get down on my knees by Emma. She leans away from me. I hold my shaking hand out to her and clear my throat, to hide the sound of my stomach growling again. Emma pushes her black fingernails into her mouth and pulls the little, pink, chewed thing out from between her lips. 

You can’t let Hannah see you sweat. Not since the time she made me let her cheat off my biology test, and I couldn’t get the test turned around for her to see it right and the teacher heard us whispering and made us both fail. I got stuck doing Banana’s biology homework for the rest of the school year. 

The gum sticks to my fingertips, warm and soft. It doesn’t feel as wet as you’d think it would. My tongue wraps around it and unsticks it from my fingers. The first swallow of spit tastes like sugar and the coconut way Emma’s hair smells. It feels like I have to pee. 

And then I’m chewing. 

Kitty-Kat screams yuck and then she bends in half, laughing. Hannah crosses her arms over the pink silk of her dress and opens her mouth, in awe of me. She catches herself and closes her lips, rolls her blueberry eyes. The girls watch me chew and chew and swallow away Em’s spit that lives soaked into the rubbery gum. 

“How long do I have to chew it?” I ask. 

“What if it’s contagious,” Kat says, and she sits down on the carpet, “and you like girls now too?” Emma tells her to shut up.

The clink of ice and glass turns our heads. Hannah’s mom stands in the doorway holding a basket of cotton balls and nail polish and says that we should start before it’s too late. Hannah-Banana laughs while she starts to peel off the dress. The gum feels hot in my mouth. 

Hannah’s mom sits down on the carpet. With her t-shirt back on lightning fast, Hannah tells me that it doesn’t matter how long I chew the gum, she wants to pause the game for nails anyway. Hannah walks through the circle of us on the carpet and hangs her princess-dress on the dresser behind Emma. 

Hannah’s mom leans into me and says, “It’s more fun playin’ with boys, anyway,” and she laughs. She pats my thigh with her wet hand. 

I stand up from the carpet and run out of the room. The taste of Emma’s spit burns a hole in my tongue. Hannah’s mom calls after me, asks what’s wrong. The gum gets harder and harder between my teeth with every chew, and my stomach growls. In the bathroom, I press my fingers into my lips and pull the peach-pink gum free. It looks smaller than before. I stare at it and then bring it to my teeth, and bite into it. 

The reflection of me with Emma’s chewed gum between my teeth makes my stomach turn and burn. My cheeks are strawberries in the mirror. I spit the gum into my hand then pull the faucet on. Gargle and rinse and gargle and rinse. The cold water shocks my teeth, like they could shatter. It feels like I have to, so I try to pee, but nothing comes out. 

Hannah’s toothbrush, pink and sparkly, better than any toothbrush we’d ever dream of having, sits on the corner of the sink. I pick it up and smell it. It smells like mint and makes the inside of my nose cold. I take Emma’s gum, my gum, and press it onto the white bristles of Hannah’s brush. I catch myself trying to swallow a laugh in the mirror. 

The twinkly lights sparkle in the hallway through the open bedroom door. Back inside, Hannah’s mom rubs a nail-polish-remover-cotton-ball against Emma’s black nails. The room smells like vodka. Banana and Kitty-Kat sift through the colors in the basket. The bottles of polish clink against each other. Her mom will save Hannah’s nails for last so we can all watch in awe. Kat stands up and flicks on the light. The twinklies die. 

I lean back against the bed. When all of Emma’s nails are bare, Hannah’s mom throws the now black cotton ball into the basket and lifts her wet wine glass to her lips. 

After she swallows, Hannah’s mom goes, “What boys we dancin’ with tomorrow?”

“Or girls,” Kitty says, and she looks at Emma. 

Hannah sucks her teeth, flashes eyes at Kat. 

“Whatta ‘bout that doctor-kid?” Hannah’s mom smacks a bottle of red nail polish against her palm and says, “Isn’t his dad a doctor? That boy’s cute.” She starts on Emma’s nails. 

Hannah says the doctor-kid is cute if you like metal-mouths. She says he can barely talk through his braces. I look at the colors in the basket and Hannah says that I should do blue. You don’t question her decisions. Not since she got voted best dressed two years in a row. 

Hannah’s mom takes another drink of wine and wipes her hand off against her jeans. The ice cube clinks when she sets the glass down on the carpet. Hannah’s mom starts to paint Emma’s other hand and she says, “Well whatta ‘bout the boy I met the other day when I picked y’all up at the mall?”

“Ew mom,” Hannah says, “he has a pizza face,” and she dares Kitty-Kat to dance with the pizza-face-boy tomorrow. Kat nervous-laughs and whacks a purple polish bottle against her palm. She pretends like Hannah’s joking. 

The little brush painting red onto Emma’s nails draws me forward like a magnet. The color looks perfect against Emma’s tan skin. When she finishes Emma and Kat’s nails, Hannah’s mom starts on mine, and her breath smells like nail polish remover and sweet like syrup on breakfast. Her hands feel cold from her almost empty glass. She squeezes my fingers still and focuses on keeping the blue on my nails only, away from the edge of my skin. 

I blow on my finished hand to dry it. 

Hannah’s mom says, “You girls remember to let the boys lead tomorrow,” she says, “when you slow dance and some Tennessee-Waltz-Elvis-thing plays in the background. Or whatever dream boy singer y’all like.” She talks like it’s her eighth-grade dance.

Kat looks at Em and says, “Who leads when it’s two girls?”

Emma rolls her eyes and blows on her cherry red nails. I can smell the gum still on her breath. She tells Kat to shut up right when my stomach talks to me again. Emma sees me press my thumbnail against my pinky finger on my already painted hand. 

“That’s not how you do it,” Emma says, then pulls my hand toward her. 

Hannah’s mom finishes painting my other hand and says she wants to do another coat. She sets the blue polish down on the carpet and rests the brush inside the bottle. Hannah-Banana looks up from the basket of colors and rolls her eyes at Em trying to teach me something. Emma says that if you lick the nail, you can see if it’s dry, and you won’t leave a mark. 

“Like this,” she says, and Emma pulls my finger up to her peach-pink lips and runs her tongue over my nail. Her tongue burns a hole in my skin, chills grow over my arm. 

Emma’s chocolate-kiss-eyes meet mine. She is a deer in headlights. Hannah yells oh my god, and Kat shoves her sweatshirt’s drawstrings into her mouth. I rip my finger away from Emma’s mouth and press my hand into my chest. I want to disappear. 

Kitty points at Emma and yells, “You do like girls!”

Hannah’s mom says girls, girls and raises her glass like to say she comes in peace. Hannah-Banana laughs that she doesn’t want Em to sleep in the room with us tonight. Emma combs her long black hair with her cherry red fingernails and looks at me for help. 

I tell the girls that we should just forget it. 

Hannah looks at Emma and says, “Hand me my dress so I can see how these colors look with it,” still giggling. Kitty-Kat sounds like she’s chewing gum. 

Emma pulls the dress free by its spaghetti-straps, careful and nervous. She gets up on her knees and turns around with it, holding the cotton-candy material up over the carpet. Hannah reaches across the circle for it, then Em steps a knee forward and it catches on the bottom. She falls forward and knocks the bottle of blue polish over onto Hannah-Banana’s princess-dress. 

Emma bounces up and covers her mouth. She says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and Hannah’s full-blown melting down. The blue spill soaks into the scratchy, wrapping paper fabric. Hannah’s mom jumps up and grabs the stained thing. Blue paint drips from the skirt of the dress.

Our queen screams and screams that everything is ruined. I grab Emma’s shoulder to tell her it’s okay, but she jerks away from me. Tears start in her eyes. 

Kitty-Kat squeezes the chub on Hannah’s arm like to massage her. Kat says, “I’m sorry, it’s okay,” and she pretends like she’s not trying to bring attention to Banana’s flab. 

The truth is, I want to save Emma, but you don’t betray Hannah the day before the dance. Not unless you want to get stuck dancing with a pizza-face or a metal-mouth. 

Not if you want to survive. 

Emma stands up and runs out of the bedroom. Hannah’s mom follows her, still holding the dripping dress. My stomach sinks. Hannah is a puddle of tears and Kat’s busy consoling. In the mirror, I watch Kat’s reflection. She munches on her grey drawstrings and she smiles on the other side of her hug with Hannah, trying not to laugh. 

+++

Emma’s mom rings the doorbell. I peek out of Hannah’s room, down the hall. Em stands by the door while the parents talk. She holds her red nails up to her eyes and then licks her thumbnail. She pushes her hand through her coconut hair. I can smell her from here. Emma’s mom walks into the house and rubs Em’s shoulder. Her mom is tall and her black hair hangs in a braid down her back, her cheeks glow apple-red. They say goodbye to Hannah’s mom. 

And they’re leaving. 

The door closes and Hannah’s mom tilts her yellow head back and finishes her drink. Back in the room, Banana and Kitty-Kat tear apart the closet, searching for our leader’s new outfit for tomorrow. You have to pretend like there’s something in her closet you haven’t seen before. Ever since the time Hannah’s mom told her to change before we went to the mall together, because the queen wore that same denim mini skirt already, the day before. Banana jumps onto her bed and bounces a little. She screams into a pillow. 

She flips over and looks at me. She says, “Go steal some vodka.”

“Your mom’s awake,” I say. 

Hannah sits up all red-cheeked and says that her mom is an idiot. She says, “I dare you.”

On my way out of the room I flick the light off, bring the twinklies back to life. The sounds of clinking ice and Elvis-blues come from the kitchen. In the song, he whines that he was at a dance, dancing with his darling. Hannah’s mom sways barefoot with her wine and ice in hand. Empty bottles stick out of the sink where the princess-dress soaks. Hannah’s mom shakes her hips over to the speaker and turns the Elvis up. He sings that his friend stole his love away from him. When she twirls again, Hannah’s mom sees me and a laugh bursts from her throat. 

She raises her arms, “Lord,” she says, “You caught me.” 

My stomach growls and I squeeze it, embarrassed of the sound. She asks me if I’m hungry. “I don’t know,” I say.  

“We’ll fix you something,” Hannah’s mom says, and she winks at me. 

She waves me over to her and asks if I’ve ever danced with a boy before. 

I shake my head and lean against the kitchen counter. Hannah’s mom sets her glass down and then me pulls over by my arm. I look back down the hallway and see the twinkly lights from Banana’s room glittering the walls. Hannah’s mom presses a wet hand against mine. She puts her other hand on my lower back, and it feels ice-cold even through my shirt. 

She breathes warm syrup, against my nose. I turn my face and rest my cheek on her chest and wonder if I’m supposed to be the boy. It feels like I have to pee. Elvis sings about the night of the Tennessee Waltz. 

Hannah’s mom presses her nose into the top of my head. She breathes in hard and goes Mmm. She says, “Why you smell like coconut, girly?” and she pulls me into her. Her grapefruit boobs, just like Banana’s, tuck under my chin. She says I smell delicious. 

Hannah’s mom ask’s me if I’m ready, then whispers a one-two-three in my ear. She leads me in circles around the kitchen. We squeeze together. 

And we’re dancing. 

My legs feel hot, my stomach burns but this time it doesn’t feel hungry, it feels like sparkles. Like glitter. Down my thighs to my knees goes warm and goosebumped. Hannah’s mom hums along with Elvis in my ear. She feels heavy on me. When she pulls away to twirl me, the warm on my thighs down to my knees goes cold. And it hits me.

I’m peeing.