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JADE
“Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth. Turn melancholy forth to funerals . . .”Act I, Scene I
“Aw, fuck. She’s listening to Sondheim.”
Jessie’s voice follows the slam of the front door of our shared apartment. Even over the sound of my music, I can hear her and her boyfriend Mac, both my roommates, shuffling in from their evening at the library. I turn the music down on my phone to a more respectful level. Just because I want to drown in show tunes doesn’t mean everyone in the apartment has to.
“Is that what that weird music is?” Mac asks.
Weird music!I scramble up from the floor where I’ve been lying for the past two hours to give Mac a piece of my mind.Merrily We Roll Alongby the legendary Stephen Sondheim is a classic in the musical theater world. Hand on the knob, a fight already brewing in my gut, I wait when Jessie starts talking again.
“Oh, stop. It’s just a musical. I don’t remember the name of it, but I do know it’s some guy named Sondheim.”
“Sond-who?” Mac asks, his voice louder, probably passing my room to put his things down in his and Jessie’s shared room.
“Of course you don’t know who that is, you uncultured numpty,” I say, whispering from my side of the door. I don’t mean it. Mac is probably more cultured than me and Jessie combined, even if there is a large musical theater gap in his knowledge.
“Sond-heim,” Jessie explains, her voice also getting louder then quieter as she disappears into their room. “He’s a musical theater composer or something. I only know him because it’s Jade’s Code Red music.”
MyCode Redmusic? What the . . .?I tighten my grip on the handle but hold back, my arm practically shaking with the effort of not opening the door. My curiosity wins out over my temptation to join the conversation, and I lower the volume of my music even more to hear them better.
“What does that even mean? Do I have Code Red music? Do you?” Mac asks.
“It’s not really about the music. It’s about levels of sadness.”
“Levels of sadness?” Mac asks.
“Yeah, like, different behaviors that indicate how upset she really is and how worried I should be. Code Red is the highest, obviously.”
Their voices grow louder and then quiet again as they both go back out into the kitchen.
What the hell is she talking about? Levels of sadness? Why has she never mentioned that to me?I shift my weight, crossing my arms over my chest with a tight squeeze. I’m tempted to pop out of the room and confront her for an explanation, but I’ve never been able to eavesdrop on my best friend talking about me, and I’m not about to miss that opportunity.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity,” Mac says. “What are Jade’s levels of sadness?”
“Well, level one is, like, she gets rip-roaring drunk, wakes up with a hangover, and she’s back to herself.”
I scrunch up my nose. That barely counts. Everyone in college gets rip-roaring drunk when they’re a little sad. They also do it when they’re celebrating, or when it’s a day that ends in Y.
“But Jade parties, like, every week,” Mac says.
I clench my fist around the doorknob.
“Yes, but she can hold her liquor. When was the last time you saw Jade get absolutely hammered?” Jessie asks.
There’s silence while Mac thinks. He doesn’t respond, and Jessie continues.
“Exactly. She actually doesn’t get drunk very often. It’s rare. She can really keep her shit together when it comes to alcohol.”
“Thank you,” I whisper into the quiet of my room with an eye roll, relaxing my clenched fists.
“Okay, so, level-one sadness, drunk. Check. How many levels are there total?” Mac asks.
“Four. Levels one, two, and three, and Code Red. Level two is a food binge.”
Four!Now I know she’s made up these levels, and I’m going to make her say them to my face. I reach for my phone again, ready to storm out of my room, but when I have to move a chip bag stuffed with the trash of a few candy wrappers to get to it, I stand down. Instead, I lean against the door again, ear pressed to the wood, lowering the volume of my music once more.
