Free Rose Sees Red by Cecil Castellucci

eyes for her so she could tell what I meant. She got it and squinted back at me.
    “Interesting. If you squint, you can make something look like something else,” she said.
    “This place is filled with treasures,” I said, feeling I was responsible for being some kind of tour guide. “Art treasures.”
    It was funny how you could suddenly have complete ownership over something. Here I was bragging about the museum, even though I hadn’t actually been to the museum in a million years, and maybe only a few times at that. I realized I was starting to compile a list in my head of things to do in NYC.
    Explore Central Park.
    Visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
    I had the New York pride spring in my step.
    “They have some Degas dancers in there,” I said. “You would like that.”
    There was a room with a bunch of Degas’s paintings of ballet dancers. There were also statues and a lot of them were little sculptures of dancers in the various positions. I had forgotten about them until just that moment. When I was little, my mom had taken me to see them, and for a couple of years afterward I’d loved to visit them and say hello. I could remember talking to them like friends. I had names and stories about them—what their careers were like, who was in the corps de ballet, who was the prima ballerina, who died of consumption, and who had suffered from a bad love affair. The stories were only for me—I never shared them withDaisy—and the dramatic ones were based loosely on ballets and operas I’d seen or heard of.
    It was amazing what I could remember about myself when I retraced my own steps. When I thought about it, those dancers were what I thought ballet was like more than any of the pink tulle that Daisy used to try to push on me.
    I told Yrena this.
    “Lovely,” she said.
    “Yeah.”
    We stood and looked at the building for a minute more, and then a gaggle of kids our age started running by us toward the steps. We followed.
    It may have been a world-renowned art museum during the day, but on Friday nights the steps of the Met doubled as a high school rendezvous point for hanging out and drinking. All kids were welcome. Here, private school and public school lives met on even ground.
    Kids were mingling on the steps in little groups. Some sat on the edge of the fountain at the bottom of the steps. Some were gathered up on the ledge near the doors. It was a lot of standing around, like a happening waiting to happen.
    “I thought it was a party,” Yrena said, looking around.
    “It is a party,” I told her. I liked that it was not a regular party with a makeout corner, a bowl of chips, and music I didn’t know playing on the record player.
    “But this is not what I imagined.”
    Yrena was definitely disappointed. If she was looking for the football players and the cheerleaders, this was definitely not the right place. I couldn’t even find it for her if I wanted to.
    “Well, a party is a party, right?” I said.
    “There is no music,” she said. “No rock and roll.”
    “It’s better to have a unique experience.”
    She looked at me and pouted.
    I just smiled back. A smile is sometimes all it takes to be lifted. To feel brave.
    “Come on,” I said with a confidence that I hadn’t felt in over a year. “This is where it’s at. ”
    I actually didn’t know if this was where it was at or if it was going to be awful. But I knew I wanted it to be fun. And if you wanted something to be fun, there was a better chance that it actually would be.
    “Do you see your friends?” Yrena asked.
    I scanned the crowd. I was counting on Callisto and Caitlin showing up like they said they would.
    “No,” I said. “I don’t see anyone yet. But it’s still early.”
    I was more trying to convince myself than her.
    “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves and meet people,” Yrena said.
    “Wait,” I told her. I didn’t know why I said wait except that I suddenly froze up. I didn’t know how to just go up