Follow Your Arrow

by Jessica Verdi

  “Well, how can I pass that up?” I said.

  We sat on the floor together, and I scratched under Ears’s chin for a few minutes, listening to his purrs. That’s when I noticed a small computer printout of Mika on the wall next to the larger posters.

  “Do you like Mika’s music?” I asked Gabby.

  “I do now! Josh played me that song you played him,” she said. “It’s so good.”

  “ ‘Elle me dit’?” My whole body went soft at the thought of music genius Josh sharing my song with his sister.

  She nodded. “I’ve listened to it about a hundred times. Both versions.”

  “I’ve listened to it at least that much too,” I confessed.

  She beamed.

  Josh appeared in the doorway then. “Gabby, Dad said you can have some screen time before lunch.”

  “Sweet! See ya, CeCe!” She hopped up and bounced down the hall.

  “I figured you could use some rescuing,” Josh whispered to me as we headed outside.

  “No rescuing required,” I whispered back. “Gabby’s cool.”

  He smiled. “She is, right?”

  Now on their patio, sharing the wicker love seat with Josh, I answer Marty’s question about books. “I’m listening to Between the World and Me on audio now. I’m loving it so far.”

  “Ah, a nonfiction reader!” Marty replies, pleased. “We have that in common.”

  “What are you reading?” I ask. “I’m always looking for good recommendations.”

  “Right now I’m reading a book about gravity.”

  “Gravity? Wow. I don’t really read much science stuff, actually …” I trail off when I see Josh’s face. He’s shaking his head at me while also rolling his eyes at his dad. “What?” I ask.

  “Just wait,” he mutters.

  “The gravity book is so good,” Marty says, turning the grill off and sliding the burgers and dogs onto the plate of waiting buns. “It’s impossible to put down!”

  There’s an extended beat where Marty and Josh just look at me, waiting. Marty’s grin is goofy/expectant, like the eyes-wide, big-smile emoji; Josh’s is more embarrassed/apologetic, like the monkey covering his eyes.

  And then I get it. Gravity. Impossible to put down.

  I burst out laughing. A real, teary-eyed belly laugh.

  “Oh no,” Josh says. “I’m disappointed in you, CeCe.” There’s laughter in his voice.

  Marty gives me a high five, still chuckling, pleased with himself.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I say to Josh, poking him in the ribs with my elbow. “That was hilarious.”

  He pokes me right back. “I’m glad you think so. Because there’s more where that came from. Martin Haim lives for a good dad joke.”

  “Aw, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Marty says, ruffling Josh’s already messy hair.

  “Yeah, Josh,” I say, mimicking Marty’s tone. “Dad jokes are the best.” I just decided this, right now. I’d never had the privilege of hearing a dad joke from a bona fide dad before. “And aren’t you the person who was wearing an I’LL BE BACH shirt the first time I met you?”

  Josh lifts his chin defiantly. “That’s a music nerd joke, not a dad joke. Big difference.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say. “Silvie loved to tell the kind of jokes that require a lot of setup. Like a whole freaking backstory that goes on for fifteen minutes before you get to the punch line.” I always grew impatient at those. And even when they ended up being funny, I could never remember them when I tried to tell them to Mom later on. Give me a two-line joke any day.

  “Who’s Silvie?” Marty asks.

  “My ex-girlfriend.”

  “Oh.” He nods, but his forehead crinkles the slightest bit in confusion as he glances at me, then Josh, then me again. “Gabby!” he calls into the house. “Screen time is over! Come get some lunch!”

  Barely a minute later, Gabby comes skipping outside, phone in hand. But she keeps it facedown on the table and doesn’t check it once as we eat. I never thought I’d envy the restraint of a seven-year-old. I purposely left my phone in my bag in Josh’s kitchen, ringer off, to make sure I wouldn’t start auto-scrolling in front of his dad.

  “I like your phone case, Gabby,” I say. It’s pink and glittery, and perfectly fits her personality.

  She beams. “Thank you! What does yours look like?”

  “It’s silver and shiny—a little like yours, actually.”

  “Do you text with Josh?”

  “Sometimes.” I lower my voice to a fake whisper. “He’s not very good at it, though.”

  “I know,” she says, rolling her eyes dramatically. “He always says hi at the start of his texts.”

  “He does!” I laugh. “But everyone knows the best thing about texting is you don’t have to say hi. You can just get right to whatever you were going to say, because the conversation never stops, it just pauses.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell him!” Gabby says.

  “Okay, I can hear you,” Josh finally says, mouth full and eyes sparkling. “I promise I’ll be better about texting, all right?”

  Gabby and I share a look that says Uh-huh, we’ll believe it when we see it.

  The lunch conversation veers in a thousand different directions from there, but it’s light and unfettered and the complete opposite of everything an afternoon with my dad would be. When the late-day sun crests our side of the house and begins to hammer us with its rays, we gather the empty plates and cups and head inside.

  “Do you have dental floss?” I whisper to Josh after helping Marty load the dishwasher. “I feel like I have an entire corn cob wedged between my teeth.”

  “Sure.” He nods in the direction of the hall. “Come on.”

  I follow Josh into a little bathroom off his bedroom, with white tile walls and a navy-blue shower curtain. It smells like Josh in here. His shampoo, his toothpaste, whatever else he uses. Not hair product. Pretty sure he doesn’t know what hair product is.

  He hands me the floss, and our fingers graze as I take it.

  It shouldn’t be anything, that touch. On its surface it’s no more intimate than brushing hands with a stranger while sharing a handrail on a bus. And we’ve legitimately clasped hands before, like when we were dancing in my room.

  So why do I inhale so sharply at this contact? Why does every inch of my skin erupt in prickles? Why am I so thirsty—no, parched? Why do I all of a sudden feel, deep down, miles inside me, so tuned in to this person standing beside me?

  It’s just our close proximity in this small bathroom, I tell myself. And the delicious shampoo smell. My guard is down, loosened from all the laughter. It’s circumstance, that’s all.

  But then. Why has neither of us pulled away? Why are we still both gripping on to this tiny plastic square as if it’s the last donut Holtman’s will ever make? And why is my pinkie still on Josh’s thumb? If it were a person on a bus, we would have readjusted, given each other our allotted space within a second or two.

  It’s been more than a second or two.

  I watch Josh’s hands with renewed interest as he finally, almost reluctantly, releases the box of floss and slips that same thumb through his belt loop, where it’s safe. His hands are the best part of him. And there are lots of good parts of him. But his hands … the way those bones and muscles are capable of taking direction from his brain in such a precise way … of creating such art …

  I need to snap out of it. I can’t just stand here, clinging to a box of floss and ogling this poor guy’s hands. They’re just hands. Stop.

  So I pull my gaze up to his face.

  It doesn’t help matters. His eyes are dark and intense and roaming over my face, searching, as if they expect to find the answers to the universe there. As I watch, his lips press together and he runs his teeth lightly over the bottom one. He’s thinking again. But what is he thinking? What am I thinking, apart from wondering what he’s thinking?

  Oh, shut up, CeCe, I admonish myself. You
know what you’re thinking.

  Yeah. What I’m thinking is, I like him. Like, like-like.

  It’s a revelation. It’s also a disappointment.

  I was just starting to get used to being alone; enjoying it, even. I haven’t checked Silvie’s feed for a couple days now, and I’ve cooked dinner for Mom three times this week—not because I was bored, but because I was legitimately inspired by some recipes I saw on the app. I texted Jasmine a new list of prom theme ideas, which she appreciated, since “Most of the ideas people had come up with so far were a snooze-fest.” And the Treat Yo’Self partnership has been going so well that Tawny asked me to extend my contract.

  Do I really want to be with someone again? And do I want to be with Josh? People say your significant other should also be your friend, but he’s already my friend, and the rational part of me, at least, doesn’t want to mess with that. Besides, does Josh even like me that way? I know that day we met up for donuts, he’d thought it was a date. But he hasn’t said anything like that since then.

  His eyes glint. What is he looking for when he searches my face? Are my thoughts printed on my skin, in my eyes, the shape of my mouth?

  The fears, the feelings, the endless questions are filling up this tiny bathroom, echoing back at me off the ceramic tile walls. I can’t think. I can barely breathe.

  The moment is going on too long.

  I look away first. Josh takes the cue. Looks down too. Toes the shaggy bath mat. Clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, leave you to …”

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding too much. “Just need to …” I hold up the floss as a conclusion to the sentence.

  “Okay … bye.”

  As he maneuvers his way around me, I hold my breath. My head is already filled to the brim with the scent of him. The brand-new idea of him.

  He keeps his eyes down. Leaves the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

  I exhale.

  * * *

  “She’s pretty,” I hear Marty saying to Josh when I reenter the kitchen. “And fun.”

  I catch my breath and pause. Josh is busy transferring the leftover food into glass storage containers, and Marty is at the sink, washing the serving trays. Their backs are to me, and the sound of the running water makes them a little hard to hear, but they haven’t realized I’m back, so their voices aren’t as low as they could be.

  Quickly, I tiptoe back around the corner, out of the kitchen. I’m out of sight now, but not out of earshot.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Josh replies noncommittally.

  “You guess?” Marty presses. “Joshua, she’s the first girl you’ve ever brought home. There’s got to be a reason it’s her and not someone else.”

  “Dad, please, stop.” His voice is pained. “We’re just friends.”

  “Uh-huh. If I had a ‘friend’ who looked at me like that, I’d marry her on the spot.”

  Looked at him like what? I only just realized I might have feelings for Josh. Like literally five minutes ago. What could Marty have possibly seen?

  “Yeah, well, I’m not getting married any time soon. Thought I might give that another ten or twenty years.”

  Marty chuckles, undeterred. “You know what I mean, son.”

  “I know.” A pause. “But she’s not interested in me like that.” The refrigerator door opens, then closes.

  “Impossible.” The tap turns off.

  “Dad,” Josh hisses, his voice lower now. “She just broke up with her girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, about that …” Marty says, lowering his volume too. “Is she a lesbian? Because the way you two were sitting by each other out there …” He trails off. I assume he’s doing something with his body language, but I can’t see. How were we sitting by each other? I had no idea.

  “She’s bisexual, but—”

  “Aha!” Marty claps his hands, like mystery solved.

  “But,” Josh reinforces, “she’s made it perfectly clear she’s not looking to date anyone. End of story.”

  Does that mean he’d want to? If he thought I wanted to? Or is he just trying to get his dad off his back?

  “What do you want, Josh?” Marty presses.

  Yes, thank you, Marty. My thoughts exactly. I lean in a little, waiting for Josh’s answer.

  But he doesn’t have a chance to give it.

  “Hi, CeCe!” The voice from behind me is little. The volume is not.

  I practically leap out of my skin. “Agh! Jeez, Gabby.” I press a palm to my chest in an attempt to slow my racing heart. She’s just standing there, cradling Ears in her arms, innocently beaming. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry.” But her smile doesn’t waver. Quite the opposite: When her eye line shifts beyond me into the kitchen, she grins even bigger and rocks up onto her toes, proud.

  My face flaming, I turn to find Josh and Marty staring at me, putting the pieces together. Josh’s face is bright red too. Crap. They know I was listening. And Gabby knew exactly what she was doing.

  “All good with the flossing?” Marty asks, his eyes darting between me and Josh gleefully, as if he’s trying to gauge who’s more embarrassed.

  “Yep,” I say, aiming for normalcy. “Can’t overestimate the value of good dental hygiene.” That was so not a normal thing to say. I resist the urge to bury my face in my hands. Instead, I hastily step into the kitchen to retrieve my bag. Fumbling, I fish my phone out and thumbprint it on. No missed calls, no texts. Just the usual app notifications. “Actually,” I say, palming the phone from one hand to the other, “I should be going. Abraham needs a walk.”

  Marty nods. “Thanks for coming over today, CeCe. I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around here.” He walks over and we exchange another hug. I hug Gabby too (even though she’s totally my nemesis now), scratch Ears between the ears, and give Josh a little wave. It’s kind of weird that I’ve now hugged every member of his family except him. But today is not that day.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Josh says.

  I swallow. Smile. “Okay.”

  “Hey, so,” he says once the front door is closed behind us and we’re halfway down the path to the driveway. “Did you hear what my dad said back there?”

  I don’t deny it. I don’t say anything.

  He takes it as confirmation.

  “Just … don’t overthink it, okay?” Josh says. “Dad’s a total softie. Believes in soul mates, Cupid’s arrow, all that stuff. He’s always playing matchmaker.” Josh rolls his eyes. “Tried to hook up the receptionist at work with the UPS guy last week. It isn’t anything to do with you, don’t worry.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

  But what I really want to say is But what about the way you feel, Josh? Is that anything to do with me?

  “We cool?” he asks, his face unreadable.

  I nod. “Of course.”

  He smiles in relief. “Great.” Then, with an abrupt nod goodbye, he turns back toward the house.

  I slide into the driver’s seat and power the car on. Josh’s CD begins blasting from the speakers. The windows are up, but I know he hears it, because he stops walking.

  I hastily turn off the music, but I don’t check my mirrors or put the car into drive. I can’t bring myself to leave. I watch Josh, my breathing coming so heavy I can feel the rise and fall of my chest. Josh is stock still, facing the house, the bones and muscles of his back at full attention.

  And then he does it.

  He slowly turns back toward me. An endless moment passes, as if he’s deciding something. Then he moves closer to the car. One step, then two and three.

  Something was set in motion when he heard his music playing from my speakers, and now neither of us is going to stop it. I know I don’t want to.

  I get out of the car.

  I study Josh’s dark eyes. Something is going on in there. Something deep and intense.

  I take a breath to speak. For once in my life, I’m going to wing this.

  “This is hashtag bonkers” is what comes out.

>   Josh laughs, just a little, and extends his hand, palm up. It’s an invitation, a query. That beautiful hand. I grasp on to it, and he squeezes tight. It’s amazing how good it feels, his perfect fingers wrapped around mine. “CeCe …” he begins, but I cut him off. I don’t know why, but I need to be the one to say it first.

  “I like you,” I say, staring down at our hands. “Like-like.” The words release the pressure that’s been building since I met him. There. The hardest part is done. How simple it ultimately was.

  “You do?” Josh breathes, half in disbelief, half in relief.

  I glance up. His eyes are even darker now, if that’s possible.

  “Yeah,” I say sheepishly. “I have a pretty terrible crush on you, if I’m being honest, which I think I’m only fully realizing right now, and—”

  Josh cuts me off with a whispered “CeCe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I kiss you?”

  My body goes warm at the sweetness of the question.

  This whole time, we’ve been slowly moving closer and closer together, but at my quiet, confident “Yes,” time speeds up. In a flash, Josh closes the gap, pressing his lips to mine.

  Oh my god.

  Josh is kissing me. I’m kissing Josh.

  Part of my brain registers that I’m kissing a boy for the first time ever, and that that’s kind of momentous in its own right, but the thought falls away before I can properly acknowledge it, because, hello, this is not just any boy. This is Josh. He is so much more than just a boy. If Josh weren’t Josh, I wouldn’t have wanted to kiss him at all.

  But he is, and I did. I am.

  Our kiss is almost feverish, frenzied, like we’re making up for lost time. Which is strange, because we haven’t really known each other that long.

  His hand untwines itself from mine and I feel a nanosecond of loss, but then he brings both his hands up to my face, my hair, and wow. Does he have any idea how much power those hands of his hold?

  I wrap an arm around the back of his neck, tugging him closer. I want him as close to me as possible. He follows willingly.