And off we go. We laugh, sometimes so hard my stomach hurts. We speak in whispers about things that are easier to say backstage, where the darkness surrounds us like a cloak. In these moments, our heads are close together, conspiratorial.
“I have a proposition for you,” Gideon says.
“Okay…”
“Thespians are usually hungry before an evening performance—this is common knowledge, you understand.”
I fight back a smile. “Of course. Everyone knows thespians get hungry from time to time.”
“So, I’m just curious—taking a survey, actually: do you like food? A yes or no answer will suffice.”
“You take beating around the bush to a whole new level.”
“Dinner,” he says, stepping closer. One hand is on the gate, gently clutching the metal. “With me. Tonight.” He checks his watch. “Actually, in two hours, because we have to get to the theater early.”
I shake my head. I should go. Gavin. My boyfriend. I should go.
“It’s just dinner, Grace,” he says gently. “I mean, let’s be honest—it’s the ninety-nine-cent menu at Taco Bell. Pretty innocent, all things considered.”
“I don’t even know what we’re doing here,” I say.
“We’re doing this,” he says. Then he wraps his arms around me.
“I hate you,” I mumble, my forehead leaning against his shoulder.
“Liar,” he says, soft. He presses me closer and we both sigh at the same time. I’m glad he can’t see the smile on my face.
He’s wearing a soft old T-shirt with a picture of Albert Einstein on the front and he’s warm and something is swirling between us, in us, I don’t know what it is but I don’t want to let go. But I have to. This is wrong, this is almost cheating. If you saw—
I try to pull away but not really and he holds me tighter, runs his fingers through my hair.
“Choose me,” he says.
I look up, startled. Our lips are inches apart. If he kisses me, I don’t know what I’ll do. My eyes fill with tears and I don’t know what to say. I don’t fucking know.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I adore the hell out of you,” he says. “You’ve become my closest friend in a matter of weeks. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up. Choose me. You won’t regret it. I promise on Radiohead and Shakespeare. And even on Pepsi Freezes, if that will sweeten the deal. Pun intended.”
My forehead falls to his chest. Yes, yes, I think. But also, no. I can’t. Even if you weren’t threatening to hurt yourself if I leave, would Gideon really want to be with me if he knew what my parents were like? Would he still feel this way if he knew how shitty I am at loving people, how selfish I am? I feel used up, tainted, hollow. I gave you everything, Gavin. I don’t think there’s anything left for me to give Gideon. He deserves better.
“Don’t go back to him,” Gideon says. “Even if we … even if you decide this isn’t…” His hands slide down my arms and he interlaces his fingers with mine. “He hurts you. And it’s killing me to see it.”
I like holding his hand. I like that he wants to touch me as much as he can. I like the soft look he gets in his eyes whenever they settle on me. I’m cheating on you, aren’t I? This must be cheating. I thought I was better than this.
I pull away. “Gavin and I have been together for almost a year. He’s a part of me. Leaving him would be … I mean, you make it sound like I can just—” I make a sweeping motion with my hand. “It’s not that easy.”
Go away, I beg him. I will ruin you. I’m broken.
Gideon’s fingers slip away from mine and he leans against the gate, arms crossed. “Why not?”
He doesn’t say this with anger or frustration; his eyes don’t narrow like yours do when you’re pissed at me. It’s like me staying with you is a math problem Gideon can’t figure out. And he’s really, really smart. I’m not the only one utterly, completely, totally baffled here.
“Because…” I frown and reach down and grab my books and my backpack. “Because I just can’t, okay? I … I love him.” I lift my chin and try to say the words with more conviction. “I love him.”
Gideon shakes his head. “You say you love him like it’s a question, not an answer.”
He pushes off the gate and steps forward. I should move back but I don’t. He grabs a piece of paper out of his pocket and slips it between the pages of my statistics textbook.
“You’re worth the wait.” He smiles, crooked. “See you tonight.”
He starts to walk away and something in me crumbles, but then he turns back and closes the distance between us, resolute. Before I can move or protest or anything, he leans down and presses his lips against my forehead, his fingertips resting against my jaw.
I stare at him when he backs away.
“Speechless. Nice—just what I was going for.” Gideon grins. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
Then he walks away for real, hands in his pockets, messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
A part of me wants to run after him, turn him around, and give him the kiss I catch myself imagining whenever I’m bored in class.
Choose him.
Do it.
You stupid goddamn fucking girl, don’t let him walk away.
I wait until Gideon has turned a corner, then make my way through campus. I only get halfway across the quad when I see the figure stalking toward me. That walk, so familiar. Long strides, hands swinging.
I stop. Stare.
“Where have you been?” you demand.
“Um…” Worst nightmare. WORST NIGHTMARE. “Just … getting my stuff together. You know. For tonight.”
How could I have let Gideon kiss me? Forehead kisses count, of course they do.
“It’s almost three-thirty,” you say.
School lets out at two-forty. How was it possible that Gideon and I were together for almost an hour? It felt like minutes. Seconds.
“I—”
“Peter and Kyle said they saw you with some guy from your show. Gideon. Who the fuck is Gideon? Is he that guy from the bus ride to Oregon? The one who put his arm around you?”
Did I just cheat on my boyfriend? Am I a cheater?
“Yes, he’s that guy. I mean, just … he’s in the show and—”
“Look at you,” you say. “You’re lying to me. I know you. What are you hiding?”
You grab my shoulders like you want to shake the happy right out of me. I think of how my mom did that, the rage in her eyes. Would you hurt me, Gavin?
“Nothing,” I say. “I swear, nothing.”
My eye catches on the note Gideon tucked into my book. Diversion. I need a diversion. I don’t know what that letter says, but whatever it is, you will demand to read it and then you’ll know, you’ll know … Gideon says stuff like I love your mind. You’re the only person who gets my weird.
You drop your hands. “I got here to take you out for fucking ice cream.” I flush, guilty. “To celebrate your closing night.”
“Gavin. We were talking about the show and about this album we both like and I lost track of time, that’s all!”
“What album?” Because it’s you, because it’s music, the way this afternoon goes actually hinges on my answer.
“Radiohead. Kid A.”
You snort. “Of course. That mopey shit.”
I wonder if Radiohead is a deal breaker for me. I don’t get how you can’t love them.
You fix me with a look so cold it turns my stomach. “Are you cheating on me?”
“Gavin.” I reach a hand toward you, but you slap it out of the way. My skin stings.
“Are. You. Cheating. On me?”
I shake my head. “I love you. I would never cheat on you. I can’t believe you would say that.”
Deflecting. That’s what cheaters do.
You bite your lip, eyes filling. How could I do this to you?
“Hey…” I pull you against me. It’s not like with Gideon, who held me. I have to
hold you. Have to hold you together so you don’t break.
Kill. Myself.
“I can’t lose you,” you whisper. “I can’t.”
After who knows how long, you pull away and reach your hands out for my books.
“I’ve got it—” I start to say, but you take them out of my vise-like grip.
“What’s this?” you ask, pulling out Gideon’s note.
I pluck it out of your hand, smiling.
“Excuse me,” I say. Tease, flirt, divert. “That is super-secret girl stuff from Natalie.”
You narrow your eyes. “Right.”
I’m not a gambling kind of gal, but I have no choice. I hold it out to you.
“Read it if you want. It’s all about cramps and boy drama and—”
You look at it for a long moment and I think you know, but maybe you don’t want to. You wave the note away.
“I’m good, thanks.”
I tuck Gideon’s note into my pocket, hands trembling. You’re so smart, Gavin. If you hadn’t threatened to hurt yourself, I would have chosen Gideon the moment he said Choose me. Or better, I would have chosen myself.
You put your arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “It’s just when Peter and Kyle—”
“I get it,” I say. “I’d freak, too.”
Your hand slips into my back jean pocket, rests there.
“Gavin,” I say, dancing out of your arms. “Someone will see.…”
“So?”
My stomach hurts.
You’re worth the wait.
“I have to get home,” I lie.
You’re wearing the shirt that says ROCKSTAR across it that I bought you right after we got together. You love it. Sometimes you ask me to sleep in it so it’ll smell like me. It’s faded now and has a hole near the shoulder and isn’t that us, I want to say, Isn’t that us?
You sigh. “Let me drive you, at least.”
I get into the car, but instead of driving me home, you drive to your apartment and park in the lot.
“Seriously,” I start, but you stop me with a kiss and unzip my jeans.
“Here?” you whisper against my lips. “Or inside?”
We haven’t been inside since my first time over. But I owe you. The guilt swims inside me, threatens to take me over.
I shift away from you. “Inside,” I whisper. I am powerless. And maybe I want to be. “I really don’t have much time.”
Your lips snake up. “We don’t need much time.”
When we get inside I surrender to your touch, to sweat and spit and sloppy kisses. Because you deserve this. Because it’s the least I can do. I think of Gideon’s letter in the pocket of my jeans and I hope it doesn’t fall out. You push me onto my knees. Slide off your underwear. Your eyes beg. Demand.
You’re right. We don’t need much time.
THIRTY-SIX
I’m standing backstage waiting to call the last cues. Kyle’s onstage doing the clown’s final speech. I’m in a dark puddle of blue light and Gideon comes up and hugs me from behind, his arms crossed over my chest, his chin resting on the top of my head. He’s so tall.
“Gideon…,” I whisper. Anyone could see. But I don’t push him away. This is the last night of the show. No more hiding together in the dark.
We stand like that for a few minutes, me sinking into him. He whispers funny stuff in my ear, tries to get me to laugh. His lips brush my hair as I call for a blackout. This is all highly unprofessional and I love every guilt-ridden second of it.
“And … lights up,” I say into my headset.
The stage is blindingly bright and Gideon runs out, along with the rest of the cast, to center stage. They lift up their arms and bow. They motion for me to come on, and Miss B, too. Tears spring to my eyes and it suddenly hits me that this is my last show. The next one I do will be in college.
Backstage again, everyone’s floating. It was a good final show and the house was packed. The guys head to their dressing room and I follow the girls into theirs to help out with costume stuff. It’s small and it smells like perfume and makeup.
“I can’t believe this was our last show,” Lys says. “We’re graduating in ten weeks.”
Unreal.
Natalie glances at me as she reapplies her lipstick.
“So…,” she says.
“So…,” I say back.
She rolls her eyes. “I adore you?”
I’ve told them everything that happened this afternoon, except that very last part with you. I hate myself when we mess around now. It’s like I lose another piece of me each time. Soon, there won’t be anything left. You stupid, stupid girl. You deserve what you get.
“I don’t deserve him,” I say. “He’s … I have so much baggage.”
“You have daddy issues,” Lys says.
“Like I said: baggage.”
Nat’s eyes flash. “Just … stop. Stop being dumb. You’re going to hurt Gideon. You already are.”
“I know,” I whisper. I’ve been trying to ignore the longing in Gideon’s eyes, the hurt when I try to stay away from him.
“I’m siding with Nat on this,” Lys says, adjusting her pink babydoll dress, then sliding on a pair of knee-high socks with bows on them.
“I love you,” Nat says. “And I get that this whole Gavin thing is effed up. But you can’t have it both ways. It’s not fair to put Gideon in the middle.”
She’s right. It’s not fair. I’m stringing him along. He’s not going to wait forever. And I’m not going to break up with you anytime soon. I have to believe that these feelings for Gideon will pass. They will. It’s just a crush and I’ve taken everything too far—
There’s a shout outside and we rush to the stage door that leads to the private outdoor courtyard for the cast and crew. You’re there, gripping a baseball bat. Peter and Kyle are holding you back.
“Are you fucking my girlfriend?” you scream at Gideon. “I will kill you. I will kill you, you little fuck.”
“What is this?” Gideon says, gesturing to the bat. “You think you’re gonna challenge me to a duel or something? This is bullshit.”
He glances at me and it’s a punch to my gut. I realize that he’s not just talking to Gavin—Gideon’s talking to me, too.
He hurts you. It kills me to see it.
“Gavin!” I yell, running toward you. “Stop! What are you doing?”
“Shut up, whore,” you say to me, your voice dangerous. I stop. The word echoes and I hear Nat and Lys gasp.
“Enough,” Gideon says, his voice low. He takes my hand and gently pulls me away from you. I let him. Electricity surges through us, between us.
“You don’t talk to her like that,” Gideon says.
You stare at my hand in Gideon’s. I let go, palm slapping against my thigh. My skin tingles. I can’t breathe.
“She’s my fucking girlfriend. I’ll talk to her however I want.” Your words are tough but your face—the look in your eyes. You want to kill me, not Gideon.
“Asshole,” Nat mutters beside me. Then louder, “Get him out of here or I’ll bring Miss B.” She holds up her cell. “Or, better yet, I’m calling the cops.”
“Come on, man,” Peter says to you.
You look at Gideon for a long moment.
“Is this what you want?” you say, nodding toward Gideon. “This skinny fucker who can’t even grow a beard?”
Gideon’s seventeen, a year younger than me, two years younger than you. Here, now, you seem even older, with the cigarettes in one pocket and the keys to your own apartment in the other.
I know I’m supposed to say something—tell you to fuck off and run into Gideon’s arms, or tell you No, I love you, stop it. Or, better yet, go off by myself. But I don’t say anything.
Because I don’t know what to say.
“That’s it.” Nat holds up her phone. “I’m calling.”
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter. “I’m going, Natalie. Stop.” You take one last look at Gideon. “Stay
away from her.”
Gideon’s lip turns up. “I think it’d be better for all concerned if you stayed away from her.”
Peter and Kyle drag you away, but not before you fix me with the angriest, most vile glare, the bat still clutched in your hand.
Gideon barely waits for you to leave before he pulls me against him. Everyone’s watching but I don’t care and he doesn’t, either.
“He’s psychotic,” Gideon says. “I mean, clinically. End it. You deserve better.”
Maybe better, but not Gideon. He’s good—kind, pure. I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend. Me? I can’t even count how many blowjobs I’ve given the guy who just threatened to bash Gideon’s head in with a baseball bat.
I feel so used up and empty, and this well of sadness that’s opening up in me is getting deeper every second.
“Grace,” Gideon says in that soft, kind way of his, “you have no idea how great you are. Just trust me, okay? You’ve got to break up with him.”
I finally nod because I want to trust him. So much. “Okay.”
The words fall out of my mouth and they taste like something spicy, waking me up.
He pulls away enough to look at me. “Really?”
“Yes. I’ll do it. Tomorrow.”
Gideon wipes the tears from my eyes and he can’t hide the smile on his face. It’s the kind of thing that you could see from miles away.
“Does that mean I get to kiss you for real?” he says. I laugh-sob and he puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got this.”
Something in me releases. I can do this. I sigh and lean against Gideon. We stay like that until it’s time to go.
Grace—
I’m not mad. I promise. I knew you breaking up with him was a long shot. Although I have taken to reciting the Duke’s opening lines from Twelfth Night. Do you remember us in Oregon, sitting next to each other during the show? You smelled like grapefruit and I was sorely tempted to lick your cheek, just to see if you tasted like you smelled.
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! It had a dying fall:
O, it come o’er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Bad Romance Page 27
