by Sarah Miller
"What's with her?" Pilar asks. Madison is asleep, with a copy of Italian Vogue over her face. Of all the poses Madison could ever fancy herself in, I like this the most.
"I actually have to get out of here," Mija says. "That chick Edie has Moby-Dick on CD, and I'm going to go eat and then I'm going to her room to listen to it."
Pilar purses her lips—still luscious even without their patina of Diet Coke. "Doesn't Molly McGarry live with her?" She points a playfully accusing manicured finger at Gideon. The half-moons on her nails are perfectly white and oval. "I see you talking to her a lot." Her eyelid does that half-closed flutter that always breaks Gid's heart. Mija
has gone now. Gid didn't even notice her leaving.
"Molly and I are doing a Spanish project together," Gid says. He feels a little guilty saying this. Not because of the romance aspect—well, maybe a little—but because he feels he's selling Molly out socially. He doesn't want Pilar to think they're involved, but he hates acting like the guy who can't even admit they are friends.
"Hmm...," Pilar says. "I suppose it has to do with Spain. You should do something to do with Argentina. It is way more interesting."
Gid blurts out, "Do you have any red nail polish?"
I am not surprised when Pilar opens up her Louis Vuitton doctor bag and takes out a small bottle of red polish. Gid reads the bottom. It is called Image Rose.
Pilar smirks at him. "Are you on a scavenger hunt?" she asks. "You are, aren't you?" She holds out the bottle to him. Gideon is so fixated on her that even though the generosity she's extending toward him is minimal, he's absolutely floored by it. When she holds out her arm, it presses against her chest, advancing her breasts forward a precious and fascinating quarter inch.
Gideon, you are so cute I almost wish you could disappear into an Italian Vogue fashion shoot with her and live there forever. But I'm glad you can't.
"No," he says. "Cullen needs it for his American History project."
Pilar puts her bare feet up on Gid's chair. How did he miss her taking off her boots? Does she not wear socks? "American History. You know, I don't have to take it because I am not American? It's true." She hooks a thumb underneath her necklace, pulls it back and forth.
Gid has a flash: His mother played with her necklace the first time she talked to his middle-school science teacher. And that man's now her husband!
This is incredible. Asking about other girls. Putting her bare feet on his chair. And now the necklace playing. He's taking his nail polish, and he's going to go tell Cullen that the bet is all about Pilar now, and he knows...she can sneak out of her room! He's going to have this tied up in no time.
At that moment, her tiny silver cell rings. She ducks behind a shelf of totally ignored foreign policy periodicals. Gid enjoys the view of her lower legs and the murmur of her voice. He pretends she is whispering to him. When she comes back, she tucks the phone into a tiny pocket in the front of her skirt and says, "That was a friend of mine who you know."
"Who?"
"A British friend," she says.
"I don't know anyone British," Gid says. "Oh, except those guys at the party. Dennis was nice to me."
"Dennis likes you," Pilar coos. "Because you protected me."
"Protected you? I don't have any idea what you're talking about."
He's still in the midst of saying the words as he gets it.
Dennis Tolland is dating Pilar. It all makes perfect sense.
Dennis encouraged him to go upstairs. To go and find Pilar, lie down with her. And Gid thought he was coaching him, well, not necessarily as an equal, but at least as a fellow guy. But really, Dennis was just thinking of him as a Boy Scout. Dennis was too drunk to go upstairs with Pilar, so he sent Gid, because he knew Gid would deter other suitors from trying to get into the room with Pilar. And that with Gid up there, Dennis could drink and strip-poker himself into oblivion and never wonder if anyone was macking on his lady. (Dennis's probable words of choice, not mine.)
Gid remembers Cullen telling him not to make the bed and feels a terrible chill.
The memory of every single fantasy he's had about Pilar since then blackens in his mind and fills his chest with ash. And that's why she moved rooms—to sneak out at night for her little Eurotrysts with Dennis Tolland.
"Are you okay?" Pilar touches his forehead. He wants to cry at how exquisite the feeling of her finger is and how heartbreaking it is that she always smells like roses. Dennis Tolland. That British asshole, whom he fantasized about being friends with. Repeatedly. Much more embarrassing, at this moment, than fantasizing about an unrequited love.
Pilars phone rings again. Before she answers it, Gid glances at the display: Dennis. Calling repeatedly. As lovers do.
"Bye," he says. He hopes Pilar hears the note of finality. Then he thinks, I could be like, Bye, you ruined my life, and she would just say, Good-bye, Gee-de-on.
totally playing the dog
Pollard Theater is the newest building on campus. It was designed and built by someone famous and foreign. It's rectangular with a round porch, tiled in black and red. Large glass doors lead to its lobby, which is decorated sparsely and features randomly placed Plexiglas cubes that function as chairs. Molly, sitting on one of them, waves.
Gid notes that she looks pretty cute. She's wearing a skirt. Has she dressed up for their first night of rehearsal? He should probably say something about it. But what? He doesn't want to be too provocative. He could go for a sort of sly thing, like, "What's the occasion?" But that reminds him of his dad. Always trying to be so knowing, when he knows nothing.
"You're staring at me," Molly says. *.
Or he could just say nothing and make her really uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he says. '1 guess I am a little distracted." I love Pilar, he thinks. I like you but I love Pilar and every time I start enjoying talking to you I remember that I feel like an idiot because of her.
Molly tucks her skirt around her legs. "Why are you distracted?" she asks.
Her curiosity touches him. But not so much that he's going to actually say what's on his mind. He is amazed at how instantly he's ready with a good lie or half-truth. "It's my girlfriend," he says. "Well, I guess she's my ex-girlfriend. Though not officially. I came to school here, and I just basically..."
Molly smiles. "Never called her?"
Gid rolls his eyes. "I know it's not great behavior. It doesn't exactly make me look like a good guy to girls."
"What do you mean, to girls? Like, all girls? Are we on a team? Do we have uniforms?"
"Come on," Gid says. He shifts on the cube, which, as you can imagine, is not all that comfortable. "You know what I mean."
"If all girls are really on a team, I want to know what our team shirts look like. Are they baby tees? Are they pink? Do they say 'Princess' on them? Because I wouldn't wear that shirt. But a lot of girls would."
"You win," Gid says.
"I just feel like...guys think all girls have, like, one idea about how guys are supposed to act. I don't think I know how anyone is supposed to act. Do you know what I mean?"
Does he ever. But he doesn't want to admit that kind of vulnerability. Though the fact that she did is good.
It's quiet for a few seconds. Gid tries not to stare at her, or the floor, and ends up in a kind of spacey middle-distance thing which, if Molly were that alert, which she may well be, makes him look stoned. Which he is. But not as stoned as he looks. "Did you read this play?" she asks.
"It's pretty racy," Gideon says, reddening. "I'm not sure Ms. San Video wilL.uh, go for it."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Molly says. "She's essentially European. They love it when kids talk about sex. She'll think it means we're smart."
Liam enters, walking fast, his hand held up in apology. "Sorry I'm late," he says. "I was sleeping."
This is an arrogant, annoying excuse, Gid thinks. Why doesn't Liam just say the prospect of being here with the two of you bored me? Then Gid remembers that he doesn't always have to
go on the defensive with Liam. He's gained ground. Gideon stands up. "What's up, bro?" he says, slapping him on the arm.
"Nada, nada, nada," Liam replies, seemingly unmoved by Gid's bravado. And then he throws Molly one of his smiles. "Aren't you looking hot tonight, Ms. McGarry!"
Okay, Gid thinks, this has got to be considered overboard, right?
Or...not. Molly blushes, thrilled. "Wow, Liam, thanks. Do I really?" She's standing up now, and playing with her skirt. She tilts her head coquettishly, indicating that they should head to the practice space down the hall. She leads the way. Liam follows, staring the whole time at her butt and legs. Gideon, behind them, feels a sharp and sudden stab of ownership.
And Liam's not done. As they enter the practice space, just a dark plywood box down a stairwell between the theater office and the costume studio, he says, "You know, Molly, while I was napping, before I got here, I had a dream about you?"
This surely is not going to fly with Molly. She's going to make fun of him. She's got to. Gideon sits down in one of the metal folding chairs that are the only furnishings in the room, save a coatrack hung with a fur stole, and waits for this to happen.
It doesn't. Instead, Molly saunters over to the fur stole and, throwing it around Liam's neck, pulls her to him. "Did I do this in your dream?" she asks. Her head's tilted back and she looks right into Liam's eyes.
"No," Liam says, a little hoarse, "I would have remembered that." Molly backs away from him, keeping eye contact. Gid knows that Liam is now fully aware of the fact that Molly is a little bit more than a stealth babe. This flirtation is throwing a wrench in his plans. And now Molly gets to choose between them. She's definitely going to pick Liam. If only because she'll be embarrassed to pick Gideon, because she knows him better. Unless that works the other way? Or is there no way that she would miss a chance to kiss Liam, just out of sheer respect for his handsomeness? So many stupid variables.
"I want to play the guy," Gid hears himself saying. He looks from Liam to Molly. Both wear neutral expressions. He keeps talking. "I am getting terrible grades, and Liam, your grades are fine. Ms. San Video already thinks I'm kind of lazy. This is probably my chance to change her opinion."
Liam's expression is still neutral, but he starts to step from side to side a little. He's nervous, Gid thinks. He's got to be thinking of a way to argue this without looking like he wants the part.
"You know," Liam says, "we all get the same grade for the project."
Just as Gid thought. This is about the only good point he has. If Liam keeps arguing, he's going to look like he cares. And there's nothing Liam likes less. This was his whole plan. Gid doesn't say a word. Let Liam keep talking if he dares.
"Well," Liam says, "what do you think, Molly?"
Gid feels the world go absolutely still. "Oh, no," Molly says. "This is between you two."
"I don't want to be a pain," Gid says. He looks at the ground humbly. "I just want to do well in school. I don't want to piss off my dad."
A masterful performance. Liam came in strong with the flirting, but he was no match for Gideon. "Sure," Liam says, "whatever."
Liam's playing the dog. Liam's totally playing the dog. He did it! And it wasn't even that bad.
Gid searches Molly's face for signs of disappointment or relief or excitement but she's not showing anything. Maybe she doesn't care.
Not possible, Gideon. When there's kissing involved, even if it's only make-believe, people always care. Especially girls.
They read through the play. Or, rather, Gid and Molly read and Liam alternately sulks and uses little corners of his script to clean things out of his teeth. "Do I have to bark in Spanish?" Liam asks at one point. "Because I don't understand how they spell out barking. I mean, ruff-ruff, that makes sense, but guau-guau? I can't say that. I'm going to look stupid."
"I'm going to go in the costume room and see if they have any plastic snouts," Gid says. He can't resist.
And really, why should he?
give me an a
"Yo quiero elperro,"Gideon reads, trying to make important eye contact and follow his lines at the same time.
"You're going to have to learn how to roll your damn Rs," Molly says. "Let's take a break."
It's the following night. They've been rehearsing for about seven minutes.
Liam takes off his plastic dog snout. "Thank God. This is fucking melting my fucking nose," he says, lying down on his side. He rolls over to the other shoulder. Then he rolls over onto his back. "Lying on my side hurts," he says.
"No need to apologize," Molly says. "It's great. You're really acting like a dog."
She reaches down and rubs his stomach. Liam kicks out a leg.
Liam pushes himself off the floor. He frowns and brushes the dust off his perfectly faded Levi's. "Can I leave?" he asks Molly. "Seriously."
He pretends to beg. Molly pretends to throw a ball out the door and Liam chases after it and is gone for the night.
Right after Liam has left, the smile lingers on Molly's face just a few seconds longer than makes Gid totally comfortable.
"I don't know about you," Molly says, sitting in a metal chair, leaning back, and putting her feet up on the back of another metal chair, "but I think that the Spanish are a little too obsessed with death and love. I mean, would a rousing musical number kill them?"
Gid nods. He couldn't agree more. This play is even weirder than it sounds. Yesterday, Molly brought in a little information about the author that she'd gotten off the Internet. He wrote this play five years into his incarceration. He was married to a woman and a man, at the same time. The dog in their play, some people said, was supposed to represent Franco, who, Molly informed him, was once the dictator of Spain.
"Frank O.?" Gid asks. "You'd think if he was such an important guy, they'd use his whole last name."
Gid thinks this is a very erudite comment and is not at all prepared to see Molly fighting off a smile.
"It's one word. Like Charo. Or, if you don't know who that is, like SbarroV
Gid nods happily. He knows what Sbarro is. It's his dad's favorite place to eat on the highway.
"But back to Franco," Molly says. "It's not that I don't understand how a dog could represent a dictator. I just think it's kind of stupid. They're afraid of the dog, but they take care of it, they allow it to exist. Okay, I get it. They're afraid of the dictator, but they keep him around. Is that supposed to be profound or something?"
Molly is smart, Gid thinks. She is probably smarter than he is—though he imagines he himself is pretty smart. But the fact that he doesn't always get what Molly's saying can make it difficult to respond to her. He considers making a joke but can't think of anything particularly funny to say.
Gid taps his lips with his fingers. "I wish I smoked, sometimes," he says. "Wouldn't it be nice to be smoking right now?"
This is all he can come up with?
"You didn't even respond to what I just said," Molly says, annoyed.
This isn't good. He remembers his mother telling him that talking to his father was like talking to a banana. "Well," he ventures, "I guess I feel like, who am I to judge? I barely speak Spanish. How do I know what's good?" This is better. At least on subject.
Molly picks up the script. "Allow me to translate: I love the dog. You love the dog. We love the dog. We hate the dog. Who is the dog? The dog is the one who tells us who we are!" She flings the script back down. "I may be just a campesina from Buffalo, but I don't need anyone to tell me that is some of the most ridiculous shit ever written."
"Maybe we should do another play," Gideon says.
"No way." Molly shakes her head. "Ms. San Video is going to love this. She's so pretentious and annoying."
"Really?" Gideon says. "I think she's a good teacher."
Molly leans forward and puts her hands on his knees. Whoa. Not sure where to go with that. Boys have such a love-hate relationship to physical contact. "Why do you think that?"
"Uh..." Gid fights the urge to l
ook down her shirt. She's at a prime angle for it.
"Because she's mean to you? Because she wears nice clothes?" Molly prods.
"I don't think she's mean to me. I think she's just trying to make me so ashamed of myself that I actually learn Spanish. It's working."
Molly laughs at this, as she should. She laughs hard enough, in fact, to drop her script. As she bends forward to retrieve it, he looks down the back of her pants. At first he is disappointed to see that she isn't wearing a skirt
tonight, but then, when he sees that her pants were tighter than usual, he becomes elated-He thinks her ass looks really good in those pants, and turns bright red. "I think that's a pretty good observation of your psyche," Molly says.
"Really?" Gid is pleased. "I feel like you say things like that, like, five times a day." And he blushes more, because he knows that this is kind of like telling her that he likes her.
"Oh," Molly says wryly, and if she notices Gid's embarrassment, she doesn't let it show. "I'm sure one day you'll be as wise as me!" She pauses and looks at him. "Are you okay? You're all red!"
"I...I..." Gid decides to tell a very partial truth. "I was just thinking of something embarrassing."
He wants Molly to ask what it is. But she just nods and jumps up. "I do that all the time," she says. There's a tentative knock on the door. It opens, revealing Edie and her ubiquitous book bag.
"Hi," she says to Molly. "I need to show you my American history presentation." She gives Gideon a brief glance. "Hi," she says.
