People danced like crazy. People really, really enjoyed the donated brownie bites, and the other store-bought snacks that Michael and I had picked out. We didn’t run out the whole night, and we never had to ration like last year. People really appreciated that.
At about eight o’clock, when I took over manning the snack table from Kimmie Hersh, I realized that I was standing in exactly the same spot I had been in last year when Jesse came striding through the door in her crazy tuxedo. I caught myself looking over at the door every time it opened, to see if she would come through it again, even though I knew that was ridiculous—she would never leave her own event and come over to mine. Not now. A year ago, when she came into the gym through that door, it was one of the most powerful moments in my life. Everything changed for the better that night. And even though I knew it was totally, absolutely not going to happen, I guess I thought that maybe, if she somehow came through those doors again tonight, everything would change again, and go back to how it was.
I was standing there alone at that snack table for I don’t know how long, watching the doors open and close, open and close, with Jesse not coming through them. After a while, I started to feel kind of panicky, and I looked over to the souvenir photo-booth area by the wall to find Michael. One of the key things that NorthStar donated to us was a fantastic new photo printer that allowed us to take fancy pictures and print them out right there for people to take home. We had little gold card-stock sleeves with the Vander logo and NorthStar logo printed side by side on the back and the words STARRY STARRY NIGHT embossed on the other front, and the pictures slipped inside. It was such a great take-home gift. I had put Michael in charge of running the whole operation, along with a couple of other guys I knew he got along with. But when I looked over to find him right then, he was gone. There was no one in charge of souvenir pictures. No one was preserving our memories anymore.
Jesse
Jesse wanders a little ways off away from the tent, hovering in the dark where Huckle’s yard meets the edge of the Vander parking lot, and looks back at the counterdance.
The Christmas lights wrapped around the tent poles and strung across the dance floor make everything look spangled and festive, but cheap and fun at the same time. The star garlands she and Esther cut out of yellow construction paper are a little wonky—some of them look more like blob garlands, and Esther went so insane with the glitter that light showers of gold sparkles sift down onto the crowd every time the garlands catch a breeze.
It’s cold, but nobody seems to mind. People are jumping around happily to the music—Wyatt (in full Charles Lindbergh drag now: bomber jacket, aviator cap, goggles, scarf, lace-up boots) has some old-school No Doubt on at this moment, buoying the crowd on its bouncy ska beat. Some people don’t have their coats on anymore—they’ve thrown them onto the folding chairs or the grass at the edge of the plywood dance floor.
It’s a super mixed-up, random crowd. It certainly doesn’t look like a high school dance, more like a weirdo wedding reception, with people of all ages and from all sectors of town jumping up and down together—spinning, shaking, twisting—or standing around in groups at the edge of the dance floor, chatting and drinking cocoa. All kinds of crazy people are here. Carol Bernstein, reference librarian from the Minot. Dr. Paul Klang, Jesse’s dentist. Several of the other therapists who share space with her dad at his professional building—Susan, Joanne, Windsong, and Jill. Jesse’s old preschool teacher Mrs. Hoyt. Bethany from Beverly Coffee. Marla from Rose’s Turn. Dr. Fayed the veterinarian. Lots of people Jesse has never seen before—a group of girls who could be sorority sisters from the university in Stonington. A couple of middle-aged couples—maybe parents of Vander kids—in his-and-hers Patagonia fleece jackets. A young dad spinning around and around in a floppy, knitted hunter’s cap, with a stunned-looking baby strapped to his chest wearing its own tiny replica of the cap. Lots and lots of kids from school—random kids, most Jesse recognizes but some she doesn’t. Ralphie Lorris. Black-Haired-Bob Girl from the student council meeting. And a few guys who seem to be refugees from the Starry Starry Night dance inside, ties flapping under their loosened collars, blazers, khakis—they look like baseball players, for sure, and as Jesse watches, they form a mini–mosh pit around Arlo, who hurls himself gleefully against and over them, his long, thin body flailing like a sock monkey tossed in a game of keep away.
A surprising number of teachers are here, too—not just Mr. Kennerley, who’s been using StarMart as a case study in his social studies classes, but also Mr. Samms, the head of athletics, Ms. Speck from home ec, and Joe the special-ed aide who works one-on-one with Jamie, the mainstreamed kid with developmental delays. As she’s watching, right in front of everybody, Joe dances casually by Mr. Samms, slides his hand lightly over his lower back, and kisses him lightly on the lips. It’s brief and blasé, so no big deal, but still—Jesse blinks. Joe the special-ed guy and Mr. Samms? Everyone’s coming out of the woodwork tonight.