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I’m dressed as Alita: Battle Angel for a Halloween party. My first party in Ohio is the farthest thing from my debutante ball in Connecticut. The bodysuit, printed to look like patches of metal and gears, was mail ordered for $14.99, while my debutante gown was custom-fitted and more expensive than some wedding dresses.
Since our initial combative interactions, I’ve gotten to know Shawna. As the club’s first female president, she remains a badass control freak. Outside that setting, my friend is smart, irreverent, and fun. If by fun you mean enthusiastic about geeky cosplay and obsessed with aerospace engineering. I’ve never had a friend like her; so free and confident.
In some ways, it’s disorienting to have this much freedom. My entire life had been determined by specific expectations for appearance, behavior, and taste. In other words, nearly every decision—from everyday ones like fashion styles to bigger choices like career tracks—would have to account for a slew of social factors.
It was easy for me to feign confidence when I simply donned the facade molded around the ideals of my old life. My behavior wasn’t always my first choice, but it was grounded in doing the “right thing.”
But here and now, when my brother encourages me to make my own choices and friends like Shawna seem to follow their own rules, I often feel unmoored.
I never realized how much my self-esteem wasn’t about myself at all, but an extension of following the rules. Unlike Shawna, who doesn’t care about coming across as anything but herself.
“You’ve got a shirt and biking shorts underneath, Ana. You’re revealing as much as a baby onesie at this point.”
“That’s not true,” I object.
We’re dressed as twin battle angels but with reverse colors. She’s in all black to highlight her bleached-blonde strands, and I’m wearing white to contrast against my dark hair. Shawna wears the bodysuit like a rockstar.
It doesn’t fit me as well, which might have something to do with being under twenty bucks, shipping and tax included. There’s an unflattering gape where the neckline doesn’t flatter my flatter chest. I snicker at my own joke, thinking about Declan who loves silly puns. Not that I’ll be sharing that particular joke with the old man.
“You look awesome. I look hot,” Shawna declares. “Together, we are going to kick ass at the party. Now, can you start my contouring?”
One thing that migrated from my old life is beauty products. I work on both our faces to exaggerate the cyborg part of the Alita costumes.
While wrapping up and grabbing our coats, we hear three gentle knocks on my door.
“Come in!” I call out.
Maeve opens the door and releases a robust whistle when she sees us. “Wow, you two look amazing!”
“Thanks, Maeve,” Shawna says with a twirl and a flick of her hair.
“But, um… ” She clears her throat before continuing. “Maybe put on a coat before you go downstairs though,” she says conspiratorially. “I know a little something about older brothers. They always have an opinion about Halloween costumes.”
We take her advice and head downstairs to wait for our ride.
Sergei asks, for the hundredth time, if he can drive us to Philip’s house for the party. He’ll always worry. Good thing Maeve is around to remind him I’m eighteen and can take care of myself.
“Nora is here!” Shawna announces when her phone pings.
I give my brother a peck on the cheek.
Nora is Shawna’s friend from summer space camp who goes to a different high school. I don’t know her well, so I keep to myself while they catch up. Watching the streets closely, I realize we aren’t heading where I expect.
“This isn’t the way to the party.”
“I’ve got an invitation to a better party. At OSU,” Nora says with a gleeful shoulder shimmy.
“A college party?” I ask.
“Obviously.” Shawna guffaws and throws me a wink. “Don’t worry, Nora is allergic to alcohol so she’s the perfect designated driver. And the guys are way hotter at these parties. Besides, aren’t you sick of Philip? He’s so annoying, constantly following you around like a pathetic, lovesick puppy.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Things have been uncomfortable since he asked me to the winter dance, and I said no. “But we should tell them so no one worries.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll put it in the group chat in a minute,” she says before screeching, “you missed the turn, Nora!”
We backtrack and weave our way through the tight streets of downtown Columbus. Close to the university, the low-rise apartments and run-down rentals are banal but not dreary. Varied noises are an ambient reminder of people joyriding, partying, arguing, laughing, and simply existing on a Saturday night in the city.
I’m nearly at the end of my teenage years, and it strikes me that this is the first time I’ve been out on a weekend heading to a location I don’t know, to party with people I’ve never met. It’s exhilarating.
