by Amy Spalding
“Yeah,” I say, “I heard it was an epic triumph.”
Sai cracks up. I love making him people laugh. “Man, he must have said that ten times after.”
“I wish I was more like that,” I find myself admitting. “That part, I mean, not the jerk part later.”
“The mildly delusional part?”
“No, just . . . ” I consider my words carefully, but for some reason it feels safe to say it. “Less scared, I guess. I knew I did well with mine, but I’d never go around calling it an epic triumph.”
“Yeah, well, you’re also not an asshole, Dev,” he says. “Not that Kennedy is.”
“Not about that, at least.”
He grins at me. “It’s a fine line. I’m glad you’re on this side of it.”
“Me, too.” I page through my script. “Should we get to work?”
“Sure,” he says. “You doing okay with everything?”
“What’s everything?” I ask. “School and the show?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Being in L.A. working out for you?”
“Sure,” I say quickly. “What about you?”
Hopefully since he asked me it’s fine to ask him.
“School’s good,” he says. “Excited about the show. My dad’s still . . . ”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He reaches out and tucks this stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingertips trace little lines on my cheek. It’s weird—there is no denying that. I think about what it would be like to pounce on him and let go of everything I’m holding inside in this moment—there is no denying that, either.
“Your hair was in your face,” he says like all friends take care of that duty for each other. “Okay, I had one idea for the scene, but I’m open if you do, too.”
I’ve kind of lost the ability to speak but I do manage to nod. And I do manage not to pounce. If I were to pounce on anyone it should be Elijah, but I can’t imagine that at all, and it’s easier if I keep myself too busy the rest of the night to dwell on that any longer.
Chapter Sixteen
Things I know about Reece Malcolm:
32. She’d probably handle boy stuff better than me. (She has Brad, after all.)
There’s no rehearsal on Friday night, which leaves me completely free to hang out with Elijah. I guess it’s kind of an official date. Considering how there are a billion things that are great about Elijah, and only one I don’t love—how who knows if he’d like me at all if Lissa would have figured out she still liked him a couple weeks sooner—I know I should be tingly-heart-pounding-thrilled in anticipation. But I’m pretty much like I always am, just with less lip gloss because I expect there will be some serious kissing.
Elijah’s mom is, again, out, so we go to his house. We have this list of plans as he’s driving us there from my house: order something for dinner, watch this weird horror movie he claims is more unintentionally funny than scary, listen to the cast recordings of Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson because I’m determined to make him like at least one musical, if not two. But as soon as we get inside I stumble over something and fall into Elijah, and it’s like the excuse we need.
We kiss for a long time standing there, barely inside the front door. We’re both wearing jackets and, between the heat of the room and the heat of the room, I’m way too warm. Still, I’m worried if I take mine off it’ll look like I’m starting to remove clothing. I like Elijah lots but I am not ready to remove clothing around him. (I mean, more clothing than a jacket.) Kissing is great—more than great, bordering on amazing—but I know I’m not ready for anything more than kissing right now. Despite how at this very moment I can’t imagine not being wrapped up in Elijah’s arms.
And that means I’m almost completely not thinking about Sai at all.
I sleep in a little late the next day, though the aroma of Pancake Saturday wakes me up eventually. My mother’s downstairs with Brad when I walk into the kitchen, though of course I’m already dressed and she’s in her pajamas.
“Hey,” she says. “Good night?”
“Sure,” I say. It’s not that I was out that late with Elijah, it’s that they were out later than me. For some reason it made me super relieved to realize when I let myself in last night because hopefully that meant my mother was being less anti-social and there wouldn’t be any drama between her and Brad. Maybe it’s weird that I’m totally invested in them being happy together, but I am.
It had been one of my first chances in a long time—thanks to rehearsals and the fact that Reece Malcolm doesn’t leave the house that often—to check her email or look in her room, but after an evening of making out with Elijah I hadn’t exactly been thinking about investigating.
Honestly, it had been kind of nice to forget about it for at least a while.
“Do you have plans today?” my mother asks. “Brad and I were going to see a movie, maybe. If you go you can be our tiebreaker.”
“I don’t have to.” I take a plate of pancakes from Brad and sit down. “If I’ll be, like, a third wheel.”
“You absolutely won’t be,” Brad says.
“Unless you’re busy, I demand you go with us,” my mother says.
“We’ll go to the ArcLight,” Brad says. “You’ll love it. They have reserved seating, and it’s much nicer than your average movie theater. And there’s an excellent music store next door, though I know people your age don’t really buy CDs anymore.”
“I still totally do. I love having a little book of lyrics and photos,” I say. “Probably normal people who don’t only listen to musicals don’t, though.”
“I think we’d be pretty disappointed if you were normal,” my mother says.
I know she’s joking, but it’s weirdly nice to hear anyway.
They force me to choose between two movies—without telling me which sides they’re on—and I pick the documentary over the indie comedy, which turns out to be what my mother wanted. After she gets ready, Brad drives us over the hill into Hollywood, and when we walk inside Amoeba Records I have this rush of whatever religious people probably feel when they step into church.
“Oh. My. God.” I stare at the expanse of CD bins, at the stairs ascending into the second level. “This is . . .”
“I know!” Brad scurries ahead of me. “I know that musicals and such are in the back, if that’s what you’re interested in.”
My mother glances between us. “I have no idea who’ll be less annoying to hang out with. Devan, maybe?”
“You’re very funny,” Brad says, and then continues scurrying. My mother and I walk to the back, where together we manage to find the musicals section (it’s always a great sign when it’s separate from the movie soundtracks section, and it is here).
“Everything good?” she asks me.
“Why? Do I seem like it’s not?”
“No, paranoid one, I just like to check in with you.”
I study a recording of Follies I don’t own. “Things are fine. School has stupid drama, but I guess that’s normal.”
“Unfortunately. Anything you want to talk about?”
“Totally not.” I flip through the C’s. “Is it ever just easy to like someone?”
Ugh, why do I ask such weird questions without thinking?
“Yes,” my mother says. “Believe it or not. Sometimes people make it pretty easy.”
By next week we’re in the midst of rehearsals already. Normally it takes longer to feel like you’re really doing something because it requires so much time for everyone to learn their songs and their lines and, sometimes, what show they’re even performing. Here it is some kind of well-oiled machine. Seriously, Week Two and we’re running lines like actors. I guess we are actors.
I did hope Travis would end up with the other lead role, and not just because I wouldn’t have to deal with his dirty looks and silence. Luckily the senior playing Frank, Aaron Finley—who I never really talked to before Merrily, even though we’re in Nation and Honors together�
��is a nice guy. Unlike some people I’ve heard whispering, he doesn’t seem to care that the other two leads are only juniors, and brand new to New City at that.
That’s especially good today because the three of us are working on “Old Friends,” and Mr. Deans keeps telling us we’d better seem comfortable, like we’ve known one another half our lives. I’m glad I’m pretty good at acting because I’m not sure I’ve seemed comfortable, ever.
“What are you doing after this?” Sai asks me, poking a finger in my side while we’re sitting onstage after our scene, waiting for notes. Boys should learn not to do that. I’m pretty much okay with how much I weigh and all, but they still shouldn’t treat you like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Luckily I don’t let out a weird giggle to further solidify that imagery. “Wanna hang out?”
Well, yes, I do. Even if him asking is weird. (I mean, the asking is weird, right?) We’ve done stuff with a group and we’ve worked on school projects, but we haven’t just hung out. Even though I have free time, maybe I should call Elijah. Or maybe I should see if Travis is free, so he’ll hopefully get over being mad at me.
But all of that stuff is just my brain giving me better options. I don’t take any of them. I totally go over to Sai’s house.
“Just warning you.” He unlocks the door from the garage to the house. “It’s not awesome like yours. It’s not even nice.”
It actually is nice, sort of, because the house itself is big, bigger than my mother’s. It’s just empty. The living room holds only a TV and a recliner, and the kitchen has all the major appliances, but not even a table or chairs.
“See?” Sai gestures around. “How much does this suck?”
“Once you get more stuff, it’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe. Come on, my room sucks the least.”
Maybe it’s weird that he’s asking me up to his room, but he’s been in mine. It isn’t a big deal.
“See? Sucks less.” He opens his door and makes a dorky grand gesture. Sometimes I wonder if Sai is actually some huge geek who made a deal with the devil: his soul in exchange for the hair, the abs, the shoulders, the curve of his biceps—
“What are you staring at?” he asks me.
Ohhh my God, Devan. Get a grip.
“Nothing, sorry,” I say. “Your posters.”
“Oh, man, I know, it’s lame.” He laughs and runs his hand through his hair, pluming it up a little more than usual. “Nic gives me crap about ’em, too.”
I actually am only looking for any excuse that doesn’t involve a detailed list of his best attributes. But even though I’m not Nicole’s greatest fan (nor do I love thinking about the time she’s spent in this room), I can’t argue that a bunch of literary posters like you’d see in English class or at Barnes and Noble aren’t lame. “It’s great you’re so into books, though.”
“I’m rebuilding my collection.” He points to a bookshelf in the corner. “My sister convinced my mom to start sending my books out to me.”
I wonder what became of all my stuff once I was gone. I can’t imagine Tracie doing much besides tossing it or ignoring it forever.
“Why is your sister still there?” I ask. “Since you had to move here?”
“Man, it’s a long story.” He sits down on his bed, and since it’s the only furniture besides the shelf and a nightstand, I, after hovering for a few moments, join him. Unlike mine—which I make every morning—it’s a mess with sheets and pillows tossed every which way. My bed only looks like that after not sleeping much at all.
“Everything okay?” I ask, because I hate seeing this bed, hate how much Sai hates this house, hate that his own mom would need to be convinced to send him the things he cares about most.
“Same as always,” he says with a shrug. “Glad we’re doing the show. Once Kennedy gets over his epic dickishness, it’ll be a good time.”
“Totally. I never feel so much like myself as when I’m—”
“Playing someone else?” he asks with a grin.
“Well, yeah.” I smile back at him. “You know what I mean, though. Right?”
“Right.” He leans forward and wraps his arms around me. I don’t know what is happening or what I should be doing, so it’s probably the worst hug ever. Him embracing, me like stone. My heart beats like I’m having some kind of medical episode. Offstage I’ve only stood so close to one other boy before, and that’s only been when we’re kissing. “Glad you came over, Dev. It’s been shitty lately.”
“Not the same as always?”
“Guess I don’t even know anymore.” We stay like that for a long time. I turn from stone, though, slipping my arms around him, hugging tightly, too. It’s funny, really, how normally I think of Sai as the hottest guy ever, but right now he’s just my friend who needs me. It breaks my heart, actually, how much he needs me.
We don’t really talk any more. Eventually Sai extricates himself from the hug, curls up next to me, shoves a pillow under his head. I can’t explain it, but I know he’ll sleep better if I’m here, so I lie down as well (not too closely). We both doze off, which—when I wake up a bit later—I realize is kind of crazy considering I’ve never slept next to another person before. Sai’s still asleep, and I wonder what proper etiquette is for hanging around after your friend who’s a boy but most definitely not your boyfriend but in a completely different way than your gay friend who is a boy but not your boyfriend sleeps.
I glance at the clock on his nightstand and decide since I’m in no rush I can hang around at least a half hour. That’s a normal amount of time for a nap, right? Then I notice the other stuff on his nightstand: a book by Hemingway I’ve never read, the newer Merrily cast recording, a box of condoms.
I guess in a way I thought Sai and Nicole might be having sex. That’s what people who go out do, at least eventually, right? Not that I necessarily think Elijah and I will, even eventually. Obviously I’ve thought about it, and not just when we’re in the midst of making out. Our making out is pretty tame, after all, and I guess that’s why sex doesn’t seem inevitable. I know, obviously, that I’m sixteen and a half, and lots of people who are sixteen and a half have already done it, but right now it just doesn’t seem like something I should even be considering. Everyone’s got their own speed, and mine is currently set to Doesn’t Totally Feel Comfortable Even Taking Off Her Jacket In Front Of Her Sort Of Boyfriend. You’ve definitely got to get past that one before you can think about having sex.
My stomach and head are spinning a bit out of control, doing their best not to imagine Sai and Nicole, trying not to hate the thought, knowing I shouldn’t hate it like I do. If I call it what it actually is, anyway, it isn’t hate. It’s jealousy. And anyone who has a boyfriend shouldn’t be filled with this much jealousy regarding another boy’s sex life.
I lie there, stiff like a mannequin, until Sai is eventually awake again. He reaches over and rests his hand on my waist. It’s warm from sleep, and I feel my gaze snap to it almost magnetically.
“Thanks for being here,” he says. “Weird maybe, but sometimes I sleep better if someone else is here.”
“It’s not that weird.” I slide my hand over his. He squeezes me a little and pulls me closer. Kiiiiind of full-body contact. Something about the moment feels dangerously out of control. But also I want to lock out the rest of the world and even time from passing to stay right here in whatever this is.
Sai’s phone buzzes in his pocket. We’re close enough that I actually feel it against my hip. He digs it out and holds it to his ear in what seems like record time. “Hey, Nic. No, I’m just hanging out after. Going over some stuff. Yeah, later? Awesome.”
He clicks off his phone while I try not to overthink the fact that he totally just lied to his girlfriend.
“I, um—maybe I should go,” I say. Not because lying next to Sai in bed isn’t nice, but maybe because it’s too nice. Too something, for sure. “Do you mind?”
“No, let’s go.” He gets to his feet, stretches his arms in
to the air so that the hem of his T-shirt rides up a little and I can see a stretch of his stomach. I tell myself it’s okay to look, okay to think about how it would feel, because I have something terrible to do as soon as I get home.
The weird thing is that after Sai drops me off at my house, as I’m gathering up the strength, Elijah calls me. I almost ignore it so I can be completely ready, but when am I really going to be? “Hi.”
“Hey.” He takes one of his now-usual pauses. “I heard you went to Sai’s.”
I’m still getting used to people realizing I exist, much less talking about me. “Um—from who?”
“Does it matter?” he asks.
Well, kind of.
“Are you guys—”
“Are we what?” I ask, instead of just letting him finish. Oh my God, am I turning into Reece Malcolm?
“It just seems like . . .” Insert Elijah pause. “You know what it seems like.”
“Maybeweshouldn’tgooutanymore,” I say all at once.
“I knew it,” Elijah says, all triumphantly. The boy I kissed is not a boy I would have thought would be so gleeful at catching me or whatever.
“We aren’t anything,” I say. “I wouldn’t do that while you and I are . . . I just— Probably it’s not fair to feel anything for him if I’m—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.
“It’s not supposed to mean anything!” It dawns on me what he thinks. “Do you still feel things for Lissa?”
Pause pause pause.
“It doesn’t feel very fair for you to yell at me about Sai, then,” I say.
“I’m not yelling.”
That much is true.
“I think you’re right, though,” he says. “Maybe we shouldn’t go out.”
“Fine,” I say.
“Fine.”
It seems like we’re going to hang up on each other, but neither of us does.
“I was over her,” Elijah says. “Then that whole thing happened . . . after my show.”
“I know what thing you’re talking about.” Like I’ve forgotten getting abandoned already. I’m pretty sure getting abandoned is one of the only constants in my life.
