Bright Side

by Kim Holden

  I bump into Peter whose just walking out of his room across the hall. “Hey Pete, sorry.”

  “Hi Kate. No problem, I didn’t see you either.”

  “Where are you headed, mon frère?”

  “Cafeteria. I was waiting for Clayton, but he just texted and said that he’s having dinner with Morris in Minneapolis tonight.”

  That makes me happy. Clayton has talked to Morris every day since we went to Spectacle and they’ve gone out every night. Clayton’s on cloud nine. “Righteous. Well, I realize I’m no Clayton, Pete, but if you don’t mind waiting for two seconds while I use the little girls’ room, I’ll join for the entrée du jour.”

  Peter smiles that nervous smile that tells me: (a) He’s relieved he doesn’t have to go to the cafeteria alone, and (b) He’s relieved to not have to ask someone to come with him so he’s not alone. “I don’t mind. I’ll wait outside.”

  I run down the hall. “I’ll be out in two minutes.”

  Dining is routine, but Pete and I are becoming accustomed to eating without Clayton. I miss Clay, but I don’t mind time alone with Pete either.

  At first I had to carry the conversation with Pete because he’s quiet and shy. And I didn’t mind because he’s kind and funny, and I liked being around him. But then I discovered Pete has this insatiable thirst for national and world news, political and otherwise. And though we sometimes differ on our views, because he leans slightly right and I lean slightly left, we’re both open-minded enough to listen to the other person’s opinions. Not many people are like that, I treasure open-mindedness. And to me, Pete’s intellect is a gift. I have to be honest: I was a little insulted at how shocked he was that I could hang with him in debates involving foreign policy or the economic crisis in Europe, but I’m kind of used to people assuming I’m just a dumb blond. And I admit that I sometimes perpetuate that assessment, because it’s just easier and kind of funny. If you’re important to people they take the time to figure out you’re not—a dumb blond that is. Pete’s taken the time.

  We’re talking about the current situation in the Congo when I notice Pete’s eyes keep drifting just over my left shoulder. I turn around and pretend I’m looking for something in my hoodie pocket that’s hanging on the back of my chair. The cafeteria is almost empty except for one girl sitting by herself in the corner behind me. I see her in here every day. She always sits by herself and she’s always reading, totally immersed. She’s small and has mousy brown hair that’s always pulled back in a messy bun. She wears glasses that are perched on the end of her nose, the same way old people wear reading glasses, but hers aren’t reading glasses. They’re big and round. As usual, she’s completely wrapped up in her book. The entire building could crumble around her and I doubt she would notice. I admire intense concentration like that. Reading is an escape from the outside world. Everyone needs a little of that to keep their sanity.

  I turn around and go back to eating my peas, sorting out the carrots and pushing them aside because they’re repulsive. Cooked carrots taste like baby food mixed with dirt. Only in this cafeteria have I ever seen peas and carrots served together. What a disappointing combination. I always thought they just made that up in Forrest Gump—“like peas and carrots”—but I guess not. I liked Forrest and Jenny together and now, sorting my carrots from my peas, I’m left wondering if maybe they weren’t right for each other after all. Forrest and Jenny were more like peas and butter or peas and salt … anything but carrots. I gesture over my shoulder with my fork. “Hey Pete, you know that girl over there?”

  Awareness flames in his cheeks and he shakes his head slightly.

  I smile inwardly, because I’m pretty sure he was checking her out. “She always sits alone; maybe we should invite her to come sit with us sometime.”

  The blush deepens, but other than that there’s no movement. He doesn’t speak.

  I lean across the table and whisper, “She’s pretty cute, Pete. She’s got the unassuming, sexy librarian thing going on.”

  He smiles slightly and gives himself away, but averts his eyes away from mine and stares into his mound of mashed potatoes so intently that I swear he expects them to speak to him.

  I lower my voice in hopes that I won’t embarrass him further. “Dude, you should ask her out.”

  He looks terrified and shakes his head again.

  I sigh, but keep my voice low, “Pete, you’ve been checking her out the whole time we’ve been sitting here. Don’t tell me you’re not interested.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to say,” he says, exhaling. He seems helpless, or maybe hopeless, or maybe a little bit of both.

  I extend my hand across the table in introduction. “How about, ‘Hi. I’m Peter Longstreet. Do you mind if I sit down?’ Conversation would naturally progress from there.”

  “What if it didn’t? What if she ignored me, or … or … or told me to get lost?” Yeah, that’s sheer panic I hear in his voice.

  I smile. “Dude, I don’t think people even use the phrase ‘get lost’ anymore. I’m pretty sure you’re safe.”

  He cracks a smile. “You know what I mean.”

  I reach across the table and put my hand on top of his to stop his fingers from tapping his spoon against the tabletop. “Pete, dude, you’re an amazing guy. She looks like a perfectly nice girl. What have you got to lose? You should go talk to her. Listen, I’m all finished up here anyway and I’ve got a paper to get started on, so I’m gonna head back to the dorms.”

  “You shouldn’t walk alone,” he says after me. He and Clayton are always worried about me walking around campus after dark by myself. They bought me two cans of pepper spray: one for my keychain and one to keep in my bag.

  I smile and release his hand from mine. “I’ll be fine. When I leave, give yourself a few minutes to summon some courage and promise me you’ll stop by and talk to her on your way out, okay?”

  He looks like he might pass out or puke, but he nods and looks resolved in a terrified new way. “Okay.”

  I slip on my hoodie and grab my dishes. “You’re the man, Pete. That’s your new mantra. I. Am. The. Man.” I wink. “Good luck.”

  He exhales. “Thanks Kate.”

  I drop off my dirty dishes, say “Hola” to Hector, and on my way out, I notice that Pete’s on his way to drop his tray of dishes as well. I know I have about forty-five seconds to make my move, so I make a beeline toward Pete’s girl’s table. The cute librarian doesn’t look up from her book, even though I’m standing less than a foot from her. I’m invading her space and I feel bad about that, but I don’t have time to waste. I clear my throat. Nothing. So I kneel down and start speaking. “Excuse me,” I say. Her eyes dart to me. “Hi, my name is Kate. I’m sorry to interrupt, but in about thirty seconds my friend, Peter, is going to stop by to talk to you. He’s really nervous about it, but please know that he’s a nice guy, a really nice guy. Please hear him out.” She frowns, but nods. “Thanks.” I exit quickly without looking back.

  Pete knocks on my door about fifteen minutes after I return from dinner. His smile is so big that I notice for the first time he has dimples in both cheeks. He immediately starts rambling. Rambling! He’s usually reserved and calculated even when he’s being funny, so this is something. “Her name’s Evelyn. She’s a freshman, American History major. She likes reading the classics, but enjoys biographies and science fiction as well.” He looks so pleased with himself.

  I glance at my watch. “That’s one helluva report.”

  His smile hasn’t faltered, not even a millimeter. “She’s easy to talk to.”

  I slap him on the shoulder. “Excellent. See. She loves you already. Did you get her number?”

  His smile slips a little. “I thought it would be too forward to ask her the first time I talked to her. Would it have been too forward?”

  I shake my head. “No. If you’re feelin’ it and she’s into you, it wouldn’t have been too forward.” His innocence kills me.

  His eyes flash away fr
om mine and his lips tighten in frustration. He’s upset with himself. “Darn it.”

  “No worries. You’ll have something to talk about next time you see her.”

  The two-dimpled smile returns. “I’m meeting her at the cafeteria at seven o’clock tomorrow. We’re going to eat dinner together.”

  I clap my hands. “Hot damn, Pete, that’s practically a date.”

  “Thanks Kate.” His eyes go to the floor and then back up to meet mine again. “You know, for the encouragement. I would have spent the rest of the semester just looking at her if it weren’t for you.”

  I don’t expect to be thanked for everything, or really for anything. But I never take a thank you for granted, especially when it’s one as heartfelt as this one. “That would’ve been creepy.” I wink. “So you’re welcome.”

  He nods and turns to unlock his door.

  “Pete?”

  He turns. “Yes?”

  “I meant what I said earlier. You’re an amazing guy. And Evelyn’s a lucky girl.” I smile. “Good night.”

  He smiles shyly. “Good night.”

  I feel like I’ve just seen happiness and confidence bloom in my friend for the first time. What a great combination.

  Monday, September 19

  (Kate)

  “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

  “Hey Gus. Not much. What about you, mon ami?” It’s good to finally hear his voice. We’ve been communicating through texts the past few days because he’s been in non-stop meetings. It’s not the same. I like to hear his voice. It tethers me to reality, to the real me.

  “More of the same. I can’t wait to just get out on the fucking road.”

  Gus isn’t really the type of person who can appreciate every part of a process. He’s always been kind of coddled by his mom and his life has been pretty easy. Not that he doesn’t work his ass off. Life’s just been easy. He’d rather skip what he doesn’t like, even if it’s important in the long run, to get to what he actually enjoys. I guess we’re all that way. It’s not being selfish, it’s human nature. Sometimes we need reminding that it’s all important—the good and the bad. So I say, “I know dude, but preparation’s the key, right?”

  He exhales and it sounds less like Gus than I can remember hearing in a long time. “It’s just that the preparation and marketing seems like it should be someone else’s job, you know? I mean, that’s what the record company and our agent and manager are getting paid shitloads of money to do, right, preparation and marketing?” He’s getting really worked up. “It’s our job to play the music; we shouldn’t have to worry about anything else. It’s like trying to herd fucking cats, Bright Side. Everything’s constantly changing. And so much of it is complete bullshit. We had to spend an hour today listening to some dude coach us on fucking interviews. What to say, what not to say. Here’s a novel idea, be honest and talk about the fucking music when someone asks a question!”

  “Whoa, Gus. Slow down. They’re just trying to help protect your image. Are you somewhere you can smoke?” Gus’s anxiety level has been increasing incrementally every day during the past month. I don’t like to see him stressed out like this. I love his bandmates, but I know he’s bearing the brunt of what’s going on by himself, because, well, they don’t … or won’t.

  “Yes.” He snaps.

  “Maybe—”

  I’m interrupted by the click of a lighter and that deep first drag. “I’m one step ahead of you and don’t fucking say it, Bright Side.”

  I know I shouldn’t because he’s in a really shitty mood, but I also know it’s not because of me, so I don’t take it personally. “But you should, you know … quit.”

  “Don’t.” His reply is clipped and final. I sit and wait for him to finish his cigarette and then the apology comes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

  “I have a question for you. How would you have felt if MFDM came into the studio with his own songs and told you were going to record them instead of Rook’s?”

  “I would’ve told him to fuck off.”

  “Fair, because they need you, obviously, to be involved in the process of recording the music, because it’s your music.”

  “Damn right.”

  “But it was still collaborative, right? MFDM was pretty involved, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, so the next step is preparing you for the release of Rook’s album and touring to support Rook’s album.”

  “Yeah. Where are you going with this?” He sounds both impatient and curious at the same time.

  “Well, you sort of have to trust that they are the experts regarding the album release and tour, but that doesn’t excuse you from doing your part. If you don’t step up and take ownership of every step of this process, it’s gonna come back to bite you in the ass. And you’re not going to have anyone to blame but yourself. CYA, dude. Cover. Your. Ass.”

  He huffs and I know he grudgingly agrees with me. “But it sucks. The meetings are mindless babble. I sit there and after five minutes of listening to them I wonder when they turned into the goddamn Charlie Brown adults. It’s all ‘Wah, wah, wah.’ And I’m so fucking tired of having my picture taken. What’s with all the photo shoots?”

  I add some humor. “Maybe you’re just so damn good-looking they can’t help themselves.” Time to bring Gus back to reality. “Listen Gus, I’m on your side, you know that. But, seriously dude? You’re doing something right now that people would sell their souls to do. You just recorded an album of your music. Gustov Hawthorne’s music. And it’s honestly the best album I’ve heard in a really long time. It’s being released in a couple of weeks and you set out on a goddamn nationwide tour. You get to live the life of a rock star every day for at least the next three months. All they’re asking in return is that you play an active role in promoting the band, album, and tour to make it as successful as possible. Gus, do I have to remind you that this is your band, your album, your tour? You don’t have to sacrifice yourself or lose who you are in the process, but it’s in your best interest to participate in every aspect. Don’t bitch about it; just do it. It’s kind of your job.”

  He sighs and I know I’ve gotten through to him. “You’re right. I know. I’m whining like a fucking baby.”

  I smile. “The good stuff is coming, I promise. Before you know it you’ll be playing in a different city every night and your biggest worry will be trying to decide whether you want to hook up with the sexy brunette in the front row who flashed you her tits or the blond identical twins that show up backstage after the show. Maybe both.” The idea itself actually makes my stomach turn, but I know I’m speaking Gus’s language: women.

  Gus snorts. “All right, enough about me and my whining ass. How was dinner tonight?”

  I try out my exaggerated British accent. “It was lovely, darling. Cheesy mashed potatoes, green beans and lettuce salad. I dined in the company of Clayton, Peter, and his girlfriend, Evelyn.”

  “Wait, Pete? Leather Chaps Pete has a girlfriend? When did this happen? Where have I been?” Gus follows my life like a soap opera. It’s funny how interested he is in all of these people, especially with everything that’s going on in his life. Maybe it’s because of everything that’s going on in his life. It’s an escape. Like reality TV.

  I drop the accent because it’s too much work. “Last night. Pete spotted her across an empty cafeteria and it was love at first sight. I’m proud of him. The dude’s never had a girlfriend before. He was scared shitless, but he talked to her anyway and they hit it off. They already made plans to eat dinner together and then study in the library every night this week. It’s cute as hell how awkward they are around each other. They’re both trying so hard. I feel like it’s restored my faith in humanity.”

  “Faith in humanity has never been lost on you, Bright Side. But good for him. What’s she like?” He’s genuinely interested.

  “A lot like him, actually—.”

  He interrupts me. “So she’s into S&M
and wears leather chaps, too?”

  I giggle. “No.” And then I laugh harder. “No … Eww … I don’t … want … that visual.”

  He’s laughing, too. After a few moments, he says, “So, what about you, Bright Side?”

  “I’m not into S&M or leather chaps.” I deadpan. “My ass is too flat, it wouldn’t fill out the chaps. It would just be disappointing.”

  He laughs, but it’s forced. “I’m not even going to comment on the chaps.” He adds under his breath, “But there’s nothing wrong with your ass. Nothing at all.”

  Back to his original question. “So what about me?”

  “Well, Clayton’s got a boyfriend and now Peter’s got a girlfriend, so I was wondering if you … you know … if you’ve met anyone?” He sounds nervous, which is rare for Gus, at least with me. He knows he can ask me anything.

  “I don’t want a boyfriend, Gus. You know that.”

  “God, how can the most positive person I know not believe in love? You’re such a contradiction. I’m sure you have guys hitting on you all the time, just like you did at home.”

  I clear my throat. “Actually, no. No one’s asked me out since I’ve been here.”

  There’s his nervous laugh, and then he says, “You know it’s not because they don’t want to, it’s because you’re fucking intimidating, you little shit. It takes balls to even flirt with you, let alone ask you out. You scare the hell out of guys, because they already know before they ask that you’ll turn them down. They know they don’t stand a chance.”

  “The only guy that’s even flirted a little bit with me is Keller, the guy who works at the coffee shop I go to. But it was just innocent flirting.”

  “Are you attracted to him?” His voice sounds tentative.

  “I don’t know, yeah, I mean he’s good-looking for sure. But, I’m not looking for a hook-up right now.”

  “But if you were?” He’s really pushing this.

  “I’m not. Besides, he may be in a long distance relationship, so I really don’t even know why we’re talking about it. I’m not getting in the middle of that. We’re just friends.” That’s final.