by Liz Czukas
I squinted at the action, distracted momentarily from my own woes by Ryan’s smile. The gesture had been a little more personal than I usually saw out of my male friends.
Most interesting . . .
“And you were supposed to be Chase’s ticket buddy,” Ally continued.
“So?”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe that wasn’t just a coincidence?” Neel asked.
“No.”
Neel sighed. “You’re right. She’s not ready,” he told Ryan.
“Told ya.” Ryan leaned in, nudging Neel’s shoulder with his own.
“Not ready for what?”
“Oh my God, Heart, use your brain!” Ally threw her head back in frustration, raising her voice to a near shout.
I startled, leaning away instinctively.
“Easy there, Al,” Neel said.
“Well, come on!” Ally went palms up, making the right one higher than the other. “Heart ditches out on No Drama Prom-a and doesn’t show up where she said she’d be”—her hands switched heights—“Chase is mad at her. Gee, I wonder what could be going on with that? It’s so confusing. I just can’t figure it out!”
Neel and Ryan laughed, but Ryan leaned forward to make eye contact with her. “You are harsh!”
“Sometimes, you have to be harsh to get the message through.” She tapped my forehead twice before I could swat her hand away.
And yes, like a complete idiot, I didn’t get it until that moment. “You’re not saying . . .” My jaw dropped. It actually dropped. I’d heard the expression for years. I’d even seen people do it on purpose, but I’d never experienced my own face falling victim to complete shock before.
“Hallelujah!” Ally looked heavenward and raised her hands in praise.
“You mean . . . Schroeder?” I twisted to look up and back at the sliding glass doors where he’d disappeared. I couldn’t even see them from here, but something made me try. Primitive owl instincts, maybe. “Me?”
“Aww, it’s so sweet when they learn to talk, isn’t it?” Neel cooed, echoing Olivia’s earlier teasing.
I couldn’t be bothered with that now, though. “Are you . . . ?” I shook my head. “No.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Ally got up, stepping back to call across the patio toward the fire pit. “Cassidy!” she called. “Lisa! Dan!”
The three people she’d called came over, with Marcus, and Becca from costume crew right behind. “What’s up?” Lisa asked.
“Does Chase like Heart?” Ally asked, stepping back and indicating with her hand that they should address their answers to me.
“Yeah.” Dan scratched his head, looking confused.
“Oh, totally,” Cassidy agreed.
“Yeah, why?” Becca said.
“Mmm-hmm.” Marcus nodded.
“Duh,” Lisa said.
Ally let her hand drop. “Thank you.”
“But . . .” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. All I knew was I had an urgent need to deny them.
Ryan leaned forward, looking past Neel at me. He sighed and said, “I told you she wasn’t ready.”
Lisa made a dismissive sound. “Trust me. She was never going to be ready.”
“You guys,” I tried again, but my brain wouldn’t form coherent thoughts. It was too filled with a buzzing sound of shock and too distracted by sending out all kinds of mixed signals to my body. I was both hot and cold at once, my muscles felt stiff but my hands were shaking, and my heart seemed to think I was running a marathon rather than sitting on the bottom step of Frank Blanchard’s excessively huge deck.
Cassidy tilted her head like a bird. “You okay, sweetie?”
“I don’t—” I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Can I go now?” Dan asked. “I’m up next on the pool tourney.”
“Yeah, go ahead.” Ally dismissed him with a wave.
“Does Chase know what you just did?” Becca asked.
“No.” Ally shook her head.
“Oh boy.”
Their words danced around my head like mosquitoes. It had to be a rumor. It couldn’t be true.
Or could it?
“I gotta go.” I jumped to my feet and rushed up the stairs, shoving open the sliding door and pushing my way into the noise and heat of the party. The kitchen was crammed with people, all watching something I couldn’t see happening around the island in the middle of the kitchen. The crowd was like a solid wall of flesh, almost impossible to penetrate. Frustrated, I spun slowly, looking for an opening.
And just like that, I spotted Schroeder. He was back outside, only a few feet from the door I’d shoved my way through. I must have walked right past him. I squeezed my way back to the door and yanked it open just enough to slide through.
He saw me coming and started to back away, but I called out to him in a stern voice. “Schroeder. Wait.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Can I talk to you?”
“If you must.”
“Come with me.” Snagging his sleeve, I pulled him toward the far edge of the deck, checking over the railing a few times to look for a spot where we couldn’t be overheard by curious ears.
Schroeder tried to pull his arm away. “Where are you going?”
“I’m just trying to find somewhere quiet.”
“This is fine.” He gave his arm another yank, slipping free of my grasp. “What do you want?”
My heart was pounding wildly. I had no idea what I was going to say to him, so I blurted out, “Are you mad at me?”
“Are you still drunk?” he countered.
“No.” The bomb dropped on me by my friends had been more than adequate to sober me straight up.
He sighed, his voice losing its edge. “What were you thinking, Spleen? Something could have happened to you.”
“But nothing did. I’m fine.”
“You got lucky, that’s all. It could have gone way different. You already know that guy’s not above taking what he wants.”
“I know, okay? You don’t have to lecture me.”
“That was really stupid, is all I’m saying.”
“Yeah, I heard you.” I rolled my eyes. “Are you going to stand there and insult me all night?”
“You’re the one who wanted to talk.”
I was getting angry now on top of being nervous, which was not how I wanted this to go. I pressed my lips together and forced myself to take a deep breath before I continued. “Do you . . . like me?”
He crossed his arms. “Yeah, I like you fine. Usually.”
“No. I mean, do you like me like me?”
His mouth went weird for a minute, twitching and jumping before he managed to answer. With a question. Of course. “What is this, fifth grade?”
“Schroeder. Come on.”
“What does it even matter?” He faced the railing and ran a fingertip along the edge of one of the finials.
“I think I deserve to know.”
He didn’t say anything and didn’t turn to face me. That was probably all the answer I needed, but I had to hear it. Out loud. In writing would have been even better, so I could read it over and over again until it made sense.
I decided to try a different tactic. “Please?”
He turned. “I am such a dumb-ass.”
“What? Why?”
“I knew you didn’t date. I knew you had all your weird rules about that stuff, but did it matter?” He shook his head. “Nope. I’m still stupid enough to—” His mouth shut, and he looked at me carefully. “Never mind.”
“So you do?” I still needed to hear the words, no matter how much my persistence was irritating him. Which it was, I could tell.
Turning back to the railing, he said, “Yeah. Now, can we just not talk about this again?”
“I think we need to talk about it—”
“Why? There’s nothing to say. You’ve got your ‘Closed for Business’ sign out—I’m aware of that. Let’s just not talk about it, so we can get t
hrough chemistry for the rest of the year, okay?” He glanced back at me once, then walked quickly across the deck and down the steps, leaving me too shocked by his shutdown to stop him.
25 Wherein I analyze carpet, and Ryan analyzes me
HEADS/TAILS
When someone hands you shocking news, there is never enough time or space available to accommodate it. Maybe there never would be enough time or space. Maybe that was life. What a terrible thought. Just year after year of perpetual shock.
I dropped my head into my hands.
Schroeder liked me.
It sounded so juvenile. Why is there no good word for having feelings for someone without using the word “love”? I’d always been a proponent of the word “crush” myself, but that was for my deliberately immature, unrequited crushes on fictional characters and unattainable real people.
I’d been the object of a crush or two in my short life. Freshman year, Scott May had asked me to homecoming. Thank God I was able to use the old “My dad won’t let me go on dates until I’m sixteen” routine. Scott asked someone else and forgot about me, which was fine by me. It spared me having to turn him down with nonlegitimate excuses down the road.
It wasn’t that I liked rejecting guys—I mean, obviously not, or I wouldn’t have torn myself to pieces over the Troy/Ryan situation—but it was just easier to not date anyone.
Closing my eyes, I summoned the will to tell Schroeder things could never be like that between us. Ugh. I’d never had to do it to a friend before, and it sounded awful. How could I sit next to him in chemistry for the rest of the year if I’d flat-out rejected him?
For that matter, how could I flat-out reject him?
TAILS
Ryan, being a far better date than me, found me sitting at the top of the steps. I’d made it all of eight feet since I’d watched Schroeder run out of the music room. It was surprisingly secluded up there. The traffic was steady but light, and most people were just looking for a bathroom. I was in the mood for wallowing, and most of the people who passed by seemed to sense that. I was being avoided like a puddle of vomit on the sidewalk. Except Ryan didn’t seem put off by my vomitlike persona. He sat right down next to me.
“Oh man, you missed something beautiful,” he told me.
I didn’t speak, but looked at him from the corners of my eyes.
“Kim and Dan just came out of the laundry room,” he said, like that was enough information. I hadn’t seen either of them since the No Drama Crew rode over in the serial killer van together, now that I thought about it.
“Okay,” I said.
“He had lipstick all over his face, and her hair was—” He approximated wild hair with splayed fingers around his head.
Maybe this was news after all. I lifted my head to face him. “For real?”
He nodded, grinning. “You should have been there.”
I smiled, but tears welled up in my eyes and I had to look down. I should have been there. This prom business was definitely not turning out the way I’d imagined it at all. And as far as avoiding drama went, I was a total failure.
“Whoa, what’d I say?” He went hands-up like I’d pulled a gun on him instead of a few tears.
“Nothing. I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “It’s just . . . this night isn’t quite like I’d pictured.”
HEADS
Out in front of the house, the music was muffled considerably. I could hear the distant laughter of people in the backyard and make out a few glowing embers from the smokers farther out on the vast lawn. The driveway curved away from me, disappearing from sight where the guesthouse sat to my left. There were still lights on in the small cottage, and I wondered if the Blanchards were watching from the window, or if they were sound asleep, oblivious to the hundred or so teenagers swarming through their house. Part of me wondered if there was anyone in the house at all. Maybe that was where Phil and Austin had dumped Troy. I hadn’t seen a sign of him since I got out of the limo.
Nobody was sitting on the low brick steps outside the front door, so I gladly took a seat there. I needed a few minutes to myself. Possibly a few days.
Behind me, the massive front door popped open, spilling music on me like a sudden rain shower. I twisted to look at my intruder, surprised that it was Ryan on the steps.
“Oh!” he said. “You’re right here.”
“Pretty much.”
“I thought you might have made a break for it.” He whistled through his teeth, lifting one knee like a sprinter in a still shot.
“Not yet.”
“Can you spare some step?”
“Mi steppo es su steppo,” I said, patting the bricks to my left.
He laughed. “I think you should stick to French.”
“Probably.”
“So. I take it you had no idea about Chase.”
“Not a clue.”
“Really?” He wrapped his arms around his upraised knees. “Nothing?”
I shrugged. “This severely complicates things.”
“Why? You don’t like him?”
“I don’t date.”
TAILS
“He wouldn’t believe me that there’s nothing between you and me.” I pulled hard on some carpet fibers on the edge of the stair, but they didn’t budge. This was high-quality stuff. My dad would approve.
Ryan laughed. “He just thinks everyone finds you as irresistible as he does.”
A shiver ran down my spine. “Stop.”
“For the record, I told you he was flirting.”
“Yeah, yeah. Lot of good your great wisdom is doing me now.”
“You didn’t tell him about me, did you?” Ryan peeped over his shoulder, checking the dim hallway behind us for signs we’d been overheard. He was like a spy for the gay CIA.
“Of course not.” I sighed. “It was tempting, believe me.”
“But you didn’t.”
I straightened up, looking at him. “No, okay? Jeez. What do you think he would have done if I did tell him, anyway?”
“I don’t know. But bad shit happens to gay kids in high school.”
“Ryan, for God’s sake, you’re not the only gay person at our school.”
“Statistically speaking, you’re probably right.” He cleared his throat and flicked the nail of his third finger over his thumbnail. I’d heard the sound a million times during French exams. He was nervous.
I rested my hand on his knee and leaned close. “No, I know I’m right. I know of two others.”
He went pale. “Seriously?”
I smiled softly. “I get that you’re scared, but seriously, if you want to stay in the closet, you could at least stand near the doors and peek out once in a while.”
Narrowing his eyes, he gave me a little smirk. “You’re not actually giving me relationship advice again, are you? I thought we’d already been over this part.”
“I’m just saying you shouldn’t be so afraid.”
He nudged me with his shoulder, pushing me softly into the wall to my left. “Neither should you.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Ryan snorted. “Right. You are so afraid.”
“Of what?”
HEADS
“I don’t want to end up like my mom.” I told him about her, and how having us had ruined her life. A couple of times, I found myself frowning in confusion, as though he should have already known what I was telling him. As if I could hear myself saying these same words before. I watched lightning bugs lift from the lawn as I talked, feeling almost hypnotized.
“So don’t do that,” he said.
I shook off the lightning-bug daze. “I’m not. That’s the whole point.”
“No, what you’re doing is like saying ‘I don’t want to end up in a car accident, so I just won’t get in a car. Ever.’”
“It would be the safest way,” I tried to reason, knowing he had a point.
TAILS
“It’s called birth control, Heart. Maybe you’ve heard of it? I seem to recall you
sprinkling condoms around Taco Bell.” He tapped his chin as if the memory were foggy.
“None of them are a hundred percent.” Down the hall behind us came the sound of a flushing toilet, adding much-needed ambiance to this already high-class discussion.
Ryan shrugged. “Okay, then just don’t have sex. You don’t have to turn yourself into a nun.”
“It’s a lot easier to just avoid the whole situation.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” he asked.
HEADS
“Heart. Come on. You’re already not like your mom.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’ve decided not to be,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you don’t even turn your back on your brother when he’s being a dillhole. There’s no way you’d leave your kids behind.”
Suddenly, my eyes filled with tears. It was the word “dillhole” that did it. I knew they were tears about everything, but that’s when my psycho body decided to go whole hog and start up the cry machine. I sniffed, dropping my face into my upraised hands again.
“God, I’m so pathetic. Why can’t everything just be the way I want it to?”
Ryan laughed, the sound of it unexpectedly echoed by a few of the distant smokers across the yard. “It’s good that you’re keeping your goals realistic, Heart.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to deal with this.”
He nodded slowly. “Mmm.”
“What does ‘mmm’ mean?” I sniffled.
“It’s just . . . how do I put this? Maybe it’s just hard for me to imagine turning down something that’s so much harder for someone like me to find.”
“Oh.” I cast my eyes down. “I guess I see your point.”
TAILS
“Admittedly, it’s not a perfect plan.” I pursed my lips as I looked down at my dirty bare feet, wondering if I was leaving footprints on the cream-colored carpet. Nah, this stuff had to be top-of-the-line, with built-in stain resistance.
God, I really needed to stop spending so much time with my dad.
