Going Off Script

by Jen Wilde

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “How cute are we?” Parker asks as he buckles his belt of makeup brushes around his hips. “I feel like we’re in a nineties rom-com.”

  I laugh so hard I almost slip off the stool I’m sitting on. We’re in front of the bathroom mirror, about to do my makeup and hair for my date with Shrupty. Parker has always loved doing my makeup, and I was the perfect guinea pig for him to practice on growing up. So when he offered to be my one-man glam squad tonight, of course I said yes.

  “Are you freaking out about your date?” Parker asks, grinning.

  My cheeks flush and I look down at my shoes. “Maybe a little. I’ve never been on a date before. I’ve never even had anyone I liked like me back before.” I chuckle uncomfortably, and he pouts.

  “First dates are so awkward,” he says sympathetically. “But try to enjoy it. That way, if nothing comes of it with Shrupty, at least you’ll have had fun.”

  I nod, taking his advice to heart. “I think we’ll have fun. We’ve had fun every other time we’ve hung out.”

  “See?” he says, smiling. “You have nothing to worry about. She obviously likes you.” He pauses to choose an eye shadow palette. “Smoky eye, cat eye, au naturale? Preferences?”

  I shrug my hands up. “Smoky, I guess? And what do you mean she obviously likes me?”

  He puts his hands on his hips. “She couldn’t take her eyes off you at the Golden Ivy the other night.” He clips my hair back, and I notice him giggling to himself.

  “What?” I ask.

  He starts laughing. “I knew she was queer straightaway.”

  My whole body tingles thinking about Shrupty watching me at the Golden Ivy. But something P said pushes me to ask something I’ve been wondering since I came out to him.

  “When did you first think I might be gay?”

  He thinks for a moment, then chuckles. “Midnight screening of Eclipse.” I give him a quizzical look, and he explains. “Don’t you remember? I asked if you were Team Edward or Team Jacob, and you said—”

  “Team Bella,” I say, remembering. We both laugh. “Kristen Stewart was absolutely the catalyst for my sexual awakening.”

  Parker sighs happily. “Mine was Edward Cullen. I wanted to be his spider monkey.”

  It feels so good to be talking about this with someone who gets it … Hell, it feels good just to be talking about it at all. How did I hold all this in before? And what the hell was I so worried about?

  “Close your eyes,” he says as he dips his eye shadow brush into light brown shadow. I do as he asks, then feel the soft hairs of the brush sweep over my lids.

  “Have you always known you’re gay?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “I think that’s one of the reasons I didn’t label myself for so long. At first I thought maybe I’m bi, but gay feels more accurate now. You always knew, right?”

  He nods. “But everyone always knew with me. I came out of the womb with a pride flag wrapped around my little pink butt.”

  I laugh so hard that I almost fall off the stool again.

  “Still,” I say once I can breathe. “It wasn’t easy for you. I remember all the homophobia you had to deal with in town.”

  His smile fades. “That’s why I wanted to do this. I wish I had someone to make me feel pretty and tell me it’s all gonna be okay.”

  I look at him in the mirror. “Thanks, P.”

  “It is, you know,” he says softly.

  “Hmm?”

  “It’s gonna be okay.”

  * * *

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” I ask as we creep down the alleyway. The only light is from a flickering lamppost back on the street and the fading headlights of the car that dropped us off. Shrupty takes teeny-tiny steps along the cracked, uneven path.

  “Valentino heels were not meant for this cruelty,” she says.

  We walk a few more feet, and just as I’m about to check the address again, I hear voices on the other side of the fence. I peer through a gap in the fence and see two big, buff guys in tight black shirts standing by the door of a warehouse.

  “This way, ladies,” one of them says.

  Shrupty and I glance at each other. “Um, is this Will’s party?” she calls to them.

  One of them opens the door, and a flood of music hits us.

  “You’re at the right place,” the other says. “Don’t be shy.”

  I let Shrupty step through first, then we follow the thumping bass into the building. I knew Will’s boyfriend, Ryan, had kept this party under wraps to keep the paparazzi out, but I never expected it would be like this. I felt cool just for getting an invite, but sneaking down a dingy alleyway and into a secret warehouse party takes it to another level. For the first time in my life, I’m one of the cool kids. I could get used to this.

  We walk down a long graffiti-covered hallway toward a set of double doors and yet another big guy in a tight shirt. He sees us coming and opens the doors.

  “Have a great night, girls,” he says as we enter.

  “Whoa,” I say once we’re finally inside.

  Shrupty giggles. “I don’t think we’re in the Valley anymore, Toto.”

  It doesn’t even feel like we’re in a warehouse anymore. It’s like a winter wonderland. An ice-skating rink is in the center of the building, already busy with guests. Disco balls and colorful spotlights hang over the rink, bathing us in pinks and blues and yellows. To the right of us is a counter to hand over our coats and bags and pick up some skates. To the left is a cocktail bar built out of large blocks of ice—literal ice. A digital screen behind the bar boasts a temperature of minus ten degrees. A dance floor has been set up behind it, and I see some familiar faces there.

  “I should have dressed warmer,” Shrupty says, looking down at her black off-the-shoulder minidress and denim jacket.

  I point to the guests sitting in the ice-sculpted booths, wearing white coats. “They have jackets at the bar.”

  She makes a face. “I look too good to cover this up.” She runs a hand down the side of her torso. My mouth goes dry.

  “Facts,” I say without thinking, then immediately start to blush. But it’s true; she’s stunning. Tonight, her hair is swept to one side, showing off a silver-and-emerald ear cuff on her right lobe that matches her grandmother’s antique necklace, which she’s also wearing. Dark eyeliner sweeps along her lashes, forming a cat-eye wing at the end. Warm gold eyeshadow shines on her upper and lower lids, highlighting the subtle hints of green in her eyes. And her lips, wow, her lips are a dark brown, almost purple color.

  Standing next to her in my—you guessed it—black skinny jeans and an old striped men’s shirt I found at Goodwill last year, I feel underdressed. But at least my makeup and hair are on point. P introduced me to the wonderful world of contouring, so I’m pretty sure my highlighter is popping under these lights.

  “Thanks,” Shrupty says. “You look very handsome, too.”

  Handsome. Whoa. No one has ever called me handsome before. I like the way it feels, so much that I wish I could put it on a button and wear it proudly.

  “Thank you,” I say with a happy sigh.

  She smiles at me, then loops her arm in mine and walks us over to Will and Ryan, who are living it up on the dance floor.

  “Happy birthday!” I say when we reach him.

  He gives me a bear hug. “Thank you! I’m so happy you came!”

  He introduces me to Ryan, even though he needs no introduction. He’s the guitarist in the most popular band in the country right now, the Brightsiders. Their queer anthems make up most of my playlist.

  Just then, Chloe and Emmy jump onto the dance floor to say hi. It was Chloe’s party where Shrupty and I first met, and Emmy is the drummer from the Brightsiders and bandmate of Ryan. Everyone seems to know everyone else in this town.

  “This is Bex,” Shrupty yells over the music to them.

  Chloe raises their eyebrows. “Ohhh, this is Bex! I’ve heard about you.”
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br />   “Really?” I ask them, surprised.

  “Oh, yeah,” they say, exchanging a smirk with Emmy. “Shrupty can’t go five minutes without mentioning your name.”

  Hearing that makes me want to squeal with joy. That has to mean Shrupty likes me … right? Talking about someone nonstop is definitely a sign that you have a thing for them. But I can’t hush that voice in my head telling me not to get my hopes up. Maybe Shrupty has been talking about me because she’s excited about working on Silver Falls.

  Shrupty grabs Chloe’s hand and squeezes it. “You’re freaking her out!”

  Chloe puts an arm around her. “My apologies.” But then they wink at me and grin.

  “Okay,” Shrupty says, taking my hand. “We’re going skating.”

  “We are?” I ask, but she doesn’t hear me over the music.

  We’re strapped into our skates and about to step onto the ice before I finally work up the courage to tell her I’ve never skated a day in my life. The closest I’ve ever been to any kind of skating is when Gabby’s cousin gave us tickets to see her compete in Roller Derby.

  “Stick with me,” Shrupty says with a sexy wink. “I’ve got you.”

  A shiver runs down my spine, and I don’t know if it’s from the cold temperatures or from her winking at me like that. But I’m ready to follow her anywhere.

  I take slow, careful steps onto the ice. With my knees slightly bent and my hands out in front of me, I must look like a toddler taking their first awkward steps. Alyssa and her girlfriend, Charlie, glide over like two queer angels.

  “How amazing is this?” Charlie asks. “A freaking ice-skating rink!”

  They start talking about how cool it is, but all I can think about is how much money this must have cost. Probably more than my mom’s earned in her whole life. I can’t lie, it annoys me. I’m bitter about it. I can think of a thousand different ways the money used to build a freaking ice bar could have paid rent or fed families or saved lives. My mom would be so pissed if she saw this kind of extravagance for a simple birthday party. And I can’t say I’d disagree with her. I feel guilty just being here. But this is Hollywood, and this is the lifestyle of the rich and famous. And I’m here to party with Shrupty, so I push my resentment to the side and focus on making the most of it.

  We skate slowly around the edge of the rink. Every now and then, the colorful lights hit her eyes and make them sparkle like diamonds. I can barely take my eyes off her, which is a problem considering I’m balancing precariously on two blades on top of slippery ice. Inevitably, I lose my balance, but she takes my hand and steadies me.

  “You’re doing great,” she says, smiling at me. “I got you.”

  I smile back at her, and our gaze lingers as we move through the crowd. I’m falling for her. I’m falling so fast and so hard that it scares me.

  And then I just fall. My skates give way, and I slide off my feet and onto my butt.

  Shrupty gasps. “Are you okay?”

  I sit up, trying to smile to cover up my embarrassment. “I’m fine.”

  She reaches a hand out to help me up, but she can only bend so far in that dress without flashing everyone at the party. I take her hand, but every time I try to stand, the skates slide out from under me again. People giggle at us as they zoom past. Shrupty presses her lips into a line, like she’s trying to stifle her own laughter.

  A part of me wants to cry, to crawl off the ice and run out of the party and never come back. But I don’t have to let this get the best of me. As I sit on the freezing-cold rink, my butt damp, I realize I have a choice here: run from it or embrace the moment. I start to giggle, first just a little, but then Shrupty can’t hold it in anymore either, and we both erupt in loud, overwhelming laughter.

  “I’m stuck,” I say. “Go on without me.” We laugh even harder. Shrupty clutches her stomach in a fit of giggles, then loses her balance and drops to the floor next to me.

  “Owww! Motherfucker!” she says, but she’s still laughing.

  We face each other, legs stretched out in front of us, hopelessly enjoying ourselves.

  “I guess we live here now,” I say.

  She leans forward over her knees to tighten her laces. “I guess so.”

  People skate around us while we try pathetically to help each other up. My jeans are frozen to my butt cheeks, I can’t stand up no matter how hard I try, and yet I don’t remember the last time I had this much fun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Eventually, people feel sorry enough for us to help us to our feet, and we slide off the ice and straight to the bar. I sit in a booth with a glass of water, while Shrupty waits at the bar to order us two of something called The Will—a signature drink created just for this party. According to the chalkboard menu behind the bar, it consists of blue Bombay Sapphire gin, Sprite, a twist of lime, a sprinkle of ginger, and a ton of ice cubes, topped with bright blue forget-me-not flowers. I wasn’t planning to drink alcohol, but it’s too beautiful not to at least taste it.

  The song “Uptown Girl” comes on over the speakers, and I hum to it while I wait.

  “Will you be my uptown girl?” a low voice mumbles in my ear, making me jump. Archer slides into the booth next to me, drink in hand.

  “Oh, hey,” I say. “Some party, huh?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve been to better.” This guy isn’t impressed by much. I think he thinks it makes him seem laid-back and cool, but he just ends up looking obnoxious.

  “You didn’t answer my question, Uptown Girl,” he says with a smirk.

  I laugh through my discomfort. “There’s nothing ‘uptown’ about my life.”

  “Come on,” he says. “Don’t act like Daddy didn’t give you everything you wanted. I bet he even calls you ‘princess.’”

  That hits a sore spot for me, and I let him know it. “Listen, bud, you don’t know anything about me.”

  He grins, like he’s pleased to have made me mad. “We’ll just have to do something about that, then. Come skate with me.”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine here, thanks.”

  “Come on,” he says, reaching his hand out. “I’ll be your downtown boy.”

  “No, thanks,” I say. Then, because I’m still working on saying no assertively and feel like I need to lighten the mood: “I can’t go on the ice with my drink anyway.”

  But that just makes it worse. He takes the glass of water from my hand and puts it on the table beside him.

  “There,” he says, smiling proudly. “Problem solved. Let’s go.”

  He takes my hand and tries to take me with him, but I pull my hand back. “Hey! Can you not do that? I said no.” Then I stand up, reach around him for my water, and start walking away. Some people nearby watch us with concern.

  “Bex,” he says as he follows me. “Chill, I’m not asking for much. Just one skate?”

  I stop and turn around, ready to obliterate him. But more people turn to see what’s going on, and I lose my courage. I walk over to a quiet corner and let him follow me so I can talk to him without causing a scene.

  “Listen,” I say. “I’m gay. Okay? Gay.”

  His eyes widen. Then he looks me up and down, like he’s searching for something. “You? Gay? No way.”

  “Um,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Yes way.”

  “Gay?”

  “Gay.”

  “Gay?”

  “GAY.”

  Archer is still looking at me like I’m a math equation he can’t figure out. Then, with a sigh and a shrug, he gives up.

  “Shame,” he says. “We would’ve been great together.”

  I want to say something snarky, like “You wouldn’t stand a chance with me if I wasn’t gay, either.” But coming out to him took a lot of energy, so I decide to change the subject instead.

  “You’re not drinking The Will?” I ask, gesturing to his glass of what looks like whiskey.

  He makes a face like he’s grossed out. “Nah. It’s got flowers in it.”

  “So?�
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  “It’s a girly drink.”

  “Um, beverages don’t have a gender, my dude.”

  “Whatever.” He takes a sip. “Here’s a question: If you were a drink, what would you taste like?”

  I ignore the way he waggles his eyebrows when he says taste.

  “My signature drink would probably be sweet,” I say. “I have a sweet tooth.”

  He winks at me. “I bet you do.” He leans in closer, backing me against the ice-cold wall. “I’d be a hard liquor. Strong and powerful, like whiskey. Something that takes your breath away.”

  I put my hand on his chest and push him back gently. “You need to back up, man. I literally just told you, I’m gay. Like, super gay. And FYI, I’ve tried whiskey. I don’t care for it.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you just haven’t tasted the right kind. Some are more mature than others.”

  “And others are just tacky,” Shrupty says as she joins us. “Hyped up, watered down, and leave a bad taste in your mouth.” I try to hide my smirk as Archer takes a step back, speechless.

  “That’s cold, Shrupty,” he says. “I was just joking around.”

  “Well,” she says to him, looking at his glass. “You better get a refill, Arch, because you’re done.”

  He storms away, carrying his bruised ego back to the bar.

  “Make sure to get extra ice for that burn,” I call after him.

  I give Shrupty a high five and we laugh like witches over a bubbling cauldron. I take a sip of my signature Will. I’m not a huge fan of the gin.

  I push my glasses farther up my nose and turn to Shrupty. “What would your signature drink be?”

  Shrupty taps her index finger on her chin as she thinks. “Hmm. Probably something like elderflower champagne. Have you ever had that?”

  “Never even heard of it.”

  “It’s popular at my aunt’s restaurant. It’s champagne, sugar, lemons, white wine vinegar, and elderflowers. It’s sweet and flirty but has a bitterness to it that you don’t expect. Just like me.” She laughs. “What about you?”