by M. F. Lorson
In the end, Nadine allowed the camera guy to switch the teleprompter over to his new program. After that, Becca killed it, which made everybody happy. Gabe of course bombed every third line on purpose and replaced all of his ‘nows’ with ‘meows’. I had to hold one hand over my mouth to keep from exploding from laughter and ruining the only good take we had.
There was no commentary from Nadine on his performance though. Maybe she thought the Maxwells were untouchable, or maybe she was just too tired from over criticizing Becca. Either way, many a meow made its way into the final cut.
At the break, I noticed the camera guy showing Becca his new program. I couldn’t tell if she was really interested or just too grateful to be rude, but she listened attentively, even thanking him for saying that bit about the background.
I found Gabe at the drinking fountain out in the hall.
“That was really something special,” I said, popping one eyebrow. Now that I knew he was actively trying to get fired, I had the perfect excuse to comment on his flubs.
Gabe grinned. “I can’t wear those tight pants every day. I had to come up with new ways to be bad.”
“Mission accomplished. Do you want your medal meow or later?”
Gabe opened his mouth to make a smart alec remark, but the sound of the door to the classroom squeaking open stopped him before he could complete his thought.
“Three minutes till places,” warned Ms. Mitchell.
“Don’t worry,” I said, nudging Gabe in the ribs as we headed back to the classroom. “The teacher won’t tell anyone you’re hanging out with a middle class '80s junkie.”
He paused for a minute before pulling open the door. When he was thinking hard about something, his eyebrows did this adorable furrowing thing, like he looked far more worried than he could possibly feel. His worrying was making me start to worry.
“Are we going in?” I asked, desperate to break the silence.
“Yeah, it’s just...what you said earlier at the park. You know I wouldn’t actually ghost you, right? I’m not embarrassed to talk to you just because you’ve never done a keg stand at my house.”
I had been joking earlier, but now that I knew it bothered him I was kind of flattered. I tried not to smile scary big as I said, “No worries, I was only joking.” I stepped past him to enter the classroom.
Standing at my place behind camera number one, I was feeling pretty warm and fuzzy inside. If he thought about that one little thing I said all morning, that meant he had been thinking about me all morning. I kept my lens focused on Gabe, but my eyes drifted to Becca. He couldn’t tell her he didn’t want to be an anchor. What if he couldn’t tell her other things? Things like, maybe we aren’t compatible?
The thought, though comforting, was fleeting. Because the very last take of the day was Becca opening this year’s homecoming court nominees live on camera. She shrieked with joy, turning to plant a kiss square on the mouth of an unsuspecting Gabe.
“We are so totally nominated,” she cried.
Like a hot air balloon shot from the sky by evil children with slingshots, hope whizzed out of my body. I took a deep breath and prepared for the inevitable crash landing.
Gabe
It felt as if someone slapped me right on the face and made me continue the show. HoCo? How about NoCo. The last thing I needed to do at this point was parade around my girlfriend and lead her to believe that my heart was in it.
Suddenly, my evil plan had a deadline.
After we finished the show, Ms. Mitchell gave us the rest of the class period to work on our special segments. She had little benchmarks in place to keep us on track and one of those benchmarks was to submit a segment proposal, like a pitch. Which was fine...except for the one tiny detail that I hadn’t included Becca on my plan of not working with her. We had permission from the teacher to work in pairs or groups, but not necessarily from our girlfriends.
While Becca wasted her working time on checking her Instagram feed, I stared at Sloane across the room. She had her laptop open and seemed to be invested in something she was reading. I was just waiting for the perfect moment to join her.
Counterproductive as it may have seemed, I didn’t actually want to upset Becca regarding my partnership with Sloane. As much as I wanted to end things with my girlfriend, I didn’t want to do it like that. That wouldn’t be fair for anyone, least of all Sloane.
Suddenly, one of the guys came over and kneeled down next to Becca. It caught me off guard because of how nervous the guy looked. It took me a minute before I realized it was the quiet, pale kid who was usually standing behind camera number two—the one Becca was always looking into.
He was mumbling something to her about the teleprompter. I tried to listen in as he explained something too technical to her with a stutter and shake to his voice. Glancing at him casually, I noticed the way his cheeks blushed when she touched his shoulder. His eyes darted toward me when she did that, and I had to bite back my smile.
Was it just my imagination or did this guy have the hots for my girlfriend?
“Well, while you’re talking to your cameraman, I’m going to go talk to mine…” I stammered to a not-listening Becca. “Or camerawoman, I guess.” I let out an awkward chuckle as I walked over to the desk Sloane was sitting at. Becca didn’t even notice me leave.
“About this proposal,” she said as I sat down across from her.
“It’s due next week,” I answered, “but we don’t have much of an idea yet.”
Sloane looked up from her computer to glare at Becca and the cameraman. “Are you sure you’re not going to summon the wrath of the homecoming queen by working with me?”
“Har-har. She’ll be glad I’m not working with her. She hates this stuff.” My eyes followed her back to the anchor desk to find that Becca was now fully smiling at the guy. I had no idea what the guy’s name was. He struck me as a real fly-under-the-radar kind of guy. He wasn’t the nerdiest guy in Grover, and he wasn’t standing out with his looks. He was thin with oversized clothes and a shaggy mop in need of a trim, but he had a mature, nice guy look about him.
“What are they talking about?” Sloane whispered.
“That teleprompter thing I guess,” I answered. “Do you know his name?”
“Parker,” she said, glaring at me. “He’s been in our grade since elementary school.”
“Hey, I’ve been gone for a few years. Don’t give me that look.”
“Yeah, we know,” she droned. “Study abroad in Europe. We heard.” I could tell she was teasing me, and I smirked in her direction as I shut her laptop with my tongue out. Not many of my friends in Grover were at that level of comfort yet, and it felt good to have someone I could be myself with.
“You’re a smart a—” I said before I was interrupted by Becca calling for me.
“Gabe!” She motioned for me to come over.
Sending Sloane a shrug, I turned and walked back to my girlfriend.
“What was that all about?” I asked, motioning toward cameraman number two.
“Ummm...nothing,” she said, fidgeting with her makeup bag on the table. She pulled out a dark lipstick and a small mirror, propping it up on the table and leaning forward to apply the dark maroon shade.
“What was that all about?” I knew she was referring to Sloane, and here was my chance to come out with it. I braced myself as I answered.
“She had a great idea for the special project and is letting me help her with it.”
“Oh, good,” she said to my surprise as she shoved her makeup back in the small bag. “I was afraid you were going to want to work with me on that.” With a cheesy smile, she ruffled my hair and popped a stick of gum in her mouth. “Aren’t you excited about homecoming?” she squealed, a little too loudly. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, including Sloane’s.
I shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “Sure, I guess.”
Looking a little deflated, Becca tilted her head and said, “I bet you’re more excited ab
out this project.”
She was not wrong, and I waited patiently to see how she would react when I didn’t argue with her. Then, she pressed her fingers against my mouth.
“You’re adorable, Gabe Maxwell, and I’d kiss you if I didn’t just…” she said pointing to her now dark matte lips. So, I smiled as I laid a kiss against her cheek.
“You sure you don’t mind me working with someone else?” For the first time, I felt genuinely bad about it.
“Oh heck no,” she said. Her perfectly black-lined eyes on me, I suddenly wished I was more into being her boyfriend. She deserved better, and I made a silent promise to myself that I would do right by Becca, definitely by homecoming.
Sloane
When Gabe first suggested that we work together I was excited. I had managed to make it through sixteen years of life without finding a single other person that understood why I was into filmmaking, so finding someone that had studied it abroad, could quote John Hughes, and liked my name was sort of like finding the holy grail of new friends.
Not that I would tell Reagan and Harper this. They had put in their time catering to my obsession and for the most part, didn’t complain, not even when I popped Pretty in Pink into the DVD player for the gazillionth time. But my excitement for working with Gabe came to a screeching halt when he suggested we start outlining the project at his house.
“You could lie,” said Harper, as we plopped under our favorite tree in the school courtyard. It wouldn’t be warm enough to eat outside much longer so the three of us were making an effort to get as many lunches in as we could before cold weather and empty pocketbooks forced us to be cafeteria dwellers.
“What kind of lie?” I asked, chomping into a ham and cheese sandwich.
“Tell him your dad is overprotective. He doesn’t want to meet the other end of his shotgun.” Harper raised her arms, pretending to load an imaginary gun and shoot at the birds in the trees above us.
“I don’t like that idea,” said Reagan.
Harper rolled her eyes. “Shocker.”
“Me either though,” I said. I couldn’t picture myself lying to Gabe. Besides that kind of lie was too easy to disprove. One look at my dad in his grey sweatshorts and college crewneck and he would know it was bologna.
“I think you have to go,” said Reagan. “Even if it’s out of your comfort zone.”
Out of my comfort zone was an understatement. Dad and I lived just fine, but the Maxwell’s home made our four-bedroom in the suburbs look like the projects. That wasn’t even the part that bothered me. What bothered me was knowing Landon lived there as well. I had decided to give him a get-out-of-jail-free pass for losing his mom, but that didn’t mean I wanted to see him anymore than I had to. Just a week ago he was tearing Reagan, Harper, and I down at the Burger Barn. It wasn’t like he was going to open the door with a plate full of cookies and welcome me into his home.
“I’ll go,” I admitted, “but it’s going to be hard to focus on the project.”
Harper waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll bet.”
Right on cue, Gabe, Landon, and a group of guys we commonly referred to as the Khaki Collective swaggered past us in pursuit of an off-campus meal.
Gabe gave a small wave toward our tree. I smiled nervously. Every time I talked to Gabe it had been easy, comfortable even, but when I saw him with other people—people like Becca and Landon, I had to fight off a desire to lower my eyes and pretend he didn’t exist. I hated that there had to be an us and them, but there was. Grover High School was full of us and thems: the popular kids, the jocks, the girls who got nominated for Homecoming court. It was like they were another species. It didn’t matter how nice Becca was to me or how real Gabe was when it was just the two of us. Something about their status made me feel like we were supposed to be seperate.
Going over to Gabe’s house was crossing a serious boundary between the us’s and the thems. No matter how much I tried to psyche myself up for the afternoon, a little voice inside of me warned that it was probably a mistake.
That little voice got a lot louder when I pulled into the Maxwell’s driveway. They lived in a giant brick home, the kind that had ivy creeping up the walls and flowers in all the windowboxes. I was shaking like a leaf as I pressed down on the doorbell.
If Landon answered, I was prepared. I’d spent half the school day determining what to say. I’d settled on, “Is your brother here?” Super aggressive, I know.
It wasn’t Landon who answered though. Instead, Gabe pulled open the large green door and smiled down at me.
“We can work in my room.”
I swallowed hard, following him through the living room toward the back of the house. Guess how many times I had been in a boy’s bedroom? Never. I had never been in a boy’s bedroom. My already racing pulse was now kicking into overdrive.
Gabe pulled open a sliding glass door leading to the backyard. I frowned. I was pretty sure boys lived indoors as well.
“That is my room,” he said, pointing across the pool to a little brick outbuilding designed to match the main house. “You have your own mini house?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. My eyes were wide with amazement. I knew they were rich, but not ‘each kid gets their own tiny house’ rich.
Gabe grinned from ear to ear. “It’s the pool house, Sloane. Haven’t you ever seen Fresh Prince of Bel Air?” I had not, but I nodded like I did. Apparently this was normal for the thems. For a brief and terrifying second, I worried that Landon was also a resident of the pool house, but my fears were instantly quelled when Gabe pushed open the door and the first thing to greet me was a lifesize cardboard cutout of Ferris Bueller.
Gabe
The whole reason I brought Sloane here was to show off my Bueller collection. Maybe she would think I was nuts, but it was a risk I was willing to take. Most people who liked '80s movies did so ironically, which was the only reason they didn’t all think I was insane at this point, but I had a feeling Sloane would appreciate it as much as I did.
“Well, now I know why you recognized my name so quickly,” Sloane laughed as she peered around my room, examining the authentic posters, framed and lined above my desk. “Is this your favorite movie or something?”
“It’s classic, not to mention hilarious and the voice of a generation.”
“For guys, maybe,” she replied with a quizzical smile.
“Okay then, Hughes,” I teased. “What was the quintessential '80s flick for you? Which one really captured being a teenage girl?”
“Easy,” she answered. “Sixteen Candles.”
“What?” I nearly shouted. Sloane broke out in a laugh that made the skin on my arms erupt in goosebumps. She had one of those endorphin-releasing laughs that made you want to be her best friend. It was infectious.
Leaning against the desk, she seemed so much more relaxed than she did a moment ago. I could tell she was nervous at first, and I almost felt bad about it. I wasn’t quite sure what counted as crossing the line and flirting. I was so out of touch after living in Europe for so long. There weren’t boundaries there, at least not many.
So if inviting her over to my place to work on our project was inappropriate, I had no idea.
“You’re telling me you don’t like Sixteen Candles?” she asked, staring at me like I wasn’t in on some inside joke.
“Not at all,” I answered, walking around the room to take a seat at the tall dinette set my mom bought before she passed. “I had a whole class last semester where we focused on cinema from the '80s, and while everyone was so crazy about The Shining and E.T., I focused on Hughes. They just don’t make movies like that anymore. No one really captures what’s so great about being a teen like he did. Everything is so...dark and serious now. Hughes made it fun.”
She was biting her lip, tapping her foot while she stared at me, and for a minute I was afraid I went off the deep end. I could do that talking about movies. It just felt like no one got as deep into them as I did.
“You think I’m crazy,”
I joked, hoping she wouldn’t laugh at me, no matter how much I loved her laugh.
“Not at all. You sound like my mom,” she said, and the room went quiet. Delicately quiet, like the heavy turn in conversation threatened to shatter all of the happiness that filled the space just seconds ago.
But I couldn’t help but want more. She hadn’t spoken about her mom with me or vice versa. It wasn’t a secret that we both lost ours and were pretty much the only kids in town who had, so it felt like that unspoken conversation just waiting to happen. It would sooner or later. I was desperate to see her grief, to see if it matched mine, but I couldn’t pry, not yet.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, not knowing what I was apologizing for—sounding like her mom, bringing it up, or just for her mom, in general.
“Don’t be. I like talking about these movies. I’ve just...never met anyone else who did.” Her eyes met mine and the air suddenly became harder to breathe.
The room was awkward and quiet but for totally different reasons. It had occurred to me that Sloane might get the wrong idea, that I was pushing our projects together to lay some slimy moves on her, so I quickly brought our conversation back to where it was supposed to be.
“Well, then this project needs to encompass everything we love about Hughes, and I think going Ferris Bueller style with our delivery is going to be the way to do it.”
She smiled and snatched her notebook out of her bag to start jotting down notes where she had collected the information for our pitch. We spent the next hour going over our pitch, making it perfect. The unease that we both felt at the beginning of our meetup was gone.
When she started packing up her laptop and I was cleaning our study session snack mess, she looked up at me with a bright smile. “You really like Sixteen Candles?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess…” she paused for a moment. “You know the whole premise is based on this girl who doesn’t have the heart to tell her family they forgot her birthday. I guess I just didn’t expect guys to understand that.”
