As soon as I see her again, I know there’s no way I’m leaving. The change is instant, every doubt and worry getting flushed out with a dose of something I haven’t felt in a long time, something that’s hit me in waves every time I’ve looked at her tonight: certainty.
I’m going where she’s going.
Her eyes flick to mine for the briefest of seconds before she turns her back to me and stands waiting for the group to move.
The rebuff is like a twinge in a torn muscle that never healed right, but it doesn’t change my mind. I would know if I meant nothing to her, if there was no reason for me to be here. What I saw when I found her in the kitchen wasn’t nothing.
I stare at the back of her black hoodie, at the tense set of her shoulders and the sleeves so long they cover her hands. Always on edge. Always in disguise. Even as a kid, she’d already had to defend herself from so much.
I don’t really know what to do with myself, so I stand there silently as the people in the group debate over which noodle place to go to. Nabil tilts his head in a repeated gesture for me to go to talk to Paige that I ignore.
The girl with the pink hair finally gets the door locked and then whirls around to shout, “LET’S. GET. NOODLESSSS!”
Everybody cheers, and after settling the question of where we’re going, she starts leading us up towards the Mont-Royal metro station. Nabil and I end up near the back of the group, and it only takes a few minutes before he’s talking to some bartender about The Cube Room. I zone out of the conversation, my whole body buzzing with awareness that Paige is only a few steps behind me.
We make it two blocks before I give into the temptation to look back at her.
She’s much closer than I thought. People have shifted around as we’ve been walking, and now it’s only her and another girl behind me bringing up the back of the group. The girl’s saying something to Paige, and she doesn’t see me looking. I whip my head back around and strain my ears to hear what they’re talking about.
“So how long have you been doing techno music?”
I don’t have to look at her again to know Paige will be trying to hold back a cringe; using ‘techno’ as an umbrella term for electronic music is one of the best ways to make a DJ or fan die on the inside. Paige doesn’t say anything for a bit, and I almost laugh as I imagine all the replies she’s debating.
“Uh...a few years,” she finally answers.
Anyone else would miss it in her monotone, but I can tell how much it’s killing her not to scream, ‘IT’S NOT TECHNO. IT’S HOUSE.’
I clear my throat to hide a chuckle, and Nabil gives me a look before going back to his chat about venue management.
We pause at an intersection, and one of the guys up ahead steps to the edge of the sidewalk before calling down to the back of the group. “Renee, get up here! You have to tell Zach about that dude who came in last Friday. He doesn’t believe me.”
“It’s true!” The girl who was talking to Paige rushes past me. “Did you tell him about the hat?”
We start moving again, and I miss the details about whatever noteworthy hat the guy had on. All I can think about is the fact that Paige is now alone and right behind me.
We pass a vintage clothing shop that’s closed for the night, the dark windows filled with mannequins dressed in retro Levis and fringed jackets. I catch sight of Paige’s reflection in the glass, trailing along after mine, and decide it’s time to stop acting like I’m in a teen drama and just say something.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I slow my pace enough to fall into step beside her. She stays quiet, but I can feel the tension crank up a few more notches.
“So.” I take a breath. “How long have you been playing techno music?”
I wait. I wait for her to tell me to fuck off, to leave her alone, to go home and pretend I never saw her at all. I wait for her to ask me what the hell I think I’m doing here when she made it clear what she wanted years ago.
She doesn’t do any of that.
She does the last damn thing I expected.
She laughs.
It’s not one of her usual dark, sarcastic chuckles either. It’s her rare laugh, her real laugh, the one where she lets go and just forgets herself for a second.
It’s beautiful.
“Dude, you don’t know how bad I wanted to tell her, ‘It’s not techno. It’s house.’”
I laugh too, out of shock and nerves and some small measure of relief.
“I think you might have to hand in your DJ card for letting that one go.”
