Chasing Days

by Deirdre Riordan Hall

  “Wait strawberries? But you wouldn’t touch them, texture or something.” Jaze is despicable. I won’t even go there.

  “I was wrong. There’s more to me than…”

  “Kinda like your sculptures.”

  “Sure.” He takes a deep breath. “I know it’s stupid, but I had this reputation for being me, but there was more substance there and I figured it would confuse people because dang, it confuses me. Then there was that fuck it moment, we only have two weeks left. I have absolutely nothing to lose because if I don’t go to RISD, if I don’t be myself, I'll have nothing. I'll lose it all.”

  There it is, glittering in the moonlight. I don’t know what I expected him to say but it doesn't matter because I'm relieved to hear the truth.

  I turn to Teddy and take his hand. “I always thought I’d say this when you came out of the closet, but it works now too. I’m proud of you, friendling.”

  “Yeah?” he asks.

  “Definitely.”

  “Okay, your turn,” he says.

  We pass a few houses before I answer.

  “Well…Joss just appeared and so did the feeling. I can’t really explain it. I mean, when we were younger and an actress would flash her boobs in a movie, there were stirrings, I guess. But never in the locker room or for anyone at school. Then I started watching Girls.”

  “With your parents?”

  “No, it’s a secret pleasure.”

  He laughs.

  “But there’s still Grady too. I mean, I thought you’d understand about His Royal Hotness,” I say, borrowing his old term slash code name for my crush.

  “So I’m not gay, but you might be,” Teddy says.

  “That’s about the sum of it. It’s—.”

  “A confusing shit pickle. But it doesn’t have to be.”

  “But it is. And if you figure out how to make sense of it, let me know. For now, I just want someone to understand how confusing this is,” I say.

  “I do. If anyone does, it’s me. Seriously.”

  “Thank you, but I mostly mean me. I guess. I don't know. I just want out of this limbo.”

  "Sexual limbo. Sounds kinky." He laughs.

  "You know what I mean. I'm just so frustrated." I could scream.

  "Sexual frustration? You and every person on earth. Just stay out of my parents’ medicine cabinet,” Teddy says with a self-deprecating laugh.

  “That was a dumb thing to do, you know.”

  "I know."

  “Forgive me?” he asks.

  “Of course. Just no asshat-ery, ever again. I want to go to your opening at the Guggenheim.”

  “Asshat-ery Good one. And Agreed. Never again.”

  A car drives toward us and we're temporarily blinded by the pair of high beams.

  "Name one person you know who has their shit entirely figured out and is happy," he challenges me after the car passes.

  I fidget, thinking about Joss. My stomach tickles. Then, when Grady pops into my head, my skin tingles.

  "I thought so," he says, referring to the fact that although I feel the pressure to have my life all sorted, none of us really, truly do. There are too many variables and unknowns, and I suppose that's where opportunity and excitement lives.

  “It’s like I have to pick one, but they both light me up in different ways,” I say, turning the conversation back to my conundrum.

  Teddy stops on the sidewalk. “Willa, there’s a name for that. It’s called bisexual.”

  “Duh. But that’s for people who are sex addicts or are drunk at parties and curious—”

  He interrupts. “Don't be ignorant.”

  I don't mean to be, but it feels extra complicated like I have to choose; I do better with black or white, either or, this or that. This is too gray. “I’m mixed up.”

  “But you’re not alone. I am too. It’s okay not to know something definitively, like you said about not knowing your plans for school or whatever. Same thing here. You're the queen of being cool with uncertainty. It takes time, but get okay with it, with not knowing. If you keep open, you'll figure it out eventually.”

  I whisper, “You’re right.” He is. I know this, truly. But my being okay with uncertainty ebbs and flows like the tide.

  “Really?” he says.

  I nod.

  “I like the sound of you're right," he repeats. "It feels good to hear that I’m not a supernova of wrong.”

  I know he means the bombarding chorus of nos he hears from his family.

  “There I was, this celibate guy, plugging along, hating myself underneath all the denim and swagger and hair gel and sarcasm. And you, quietly awesome, blending into the background when you weren’t knocking me out with your intelligence and creativity. And then blam, we stirred things up.”

  “So now what?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I’m totally open to what might come. If there’s some distance as we continue to sift through what it means to be Theodore Westing and Willa Wohlbreuk so be it. But one thing I’m sure of even as we learn how to deal with all this change is that we’ll be friends forever.”

  “Friendlings forever,” I say.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ☼

  Monday

  The brick windows and doors of Puckett burst with colorful balloons when I arrive on Monday. It’s like hitting the gumball machine jackpot the way they stream up, up, and away. How the guys pulled it off is beyond. It’s lovely, almost poetic how the blues and reds, yellows and pinks dip and bob as if preparing to set off for life far from here. I only vaguely remember the youngest Parker, Cordelia, but if she's watching, her smile must be as big as mine.

  Teddy spots Gretel and leaves my side with a wave. We're okay. For now at least, he and I will endure. I scan the crowd for Grady and the others, but there’s no sign of them.

  The entire student body, including the faculty, stand in wonderment for a full five-minutes before the janitors are able to liberate enough of the balloons to make space to move through the building.

  Whitaker seems a rung beyond annoyed, but tolerates this better than the episode on the roof.

  Augie is inconspicuously absent. I hope we don’t find him and Grady passed out in the hall, smothered by latex. Just before I go inside, the sun burns through the marine layer floating in off the ocean. I absorb the shot of vitamin D like a wilted plant.

  Heather rushes up to me and leads me over to a bench. She’s doing that not quite making sense high-speed chatter-squeal hybrid like she has news that she can’t wait another second to tell me. Usually I just want her to get to the point, but today, her enthusiasm is contagious. It was almost as if she was dating Lou all over again when she started up with Sherman: rare appearances, sparse calls and texts, closed doors. Although it's only been a week, albeit the longest and slowest and shortest seven days in history. I'm learning to accept paradox. With the backdrop of floating balloons, she’s as bright, bubbly, and present as ever.

  “I missed a crazy weekend, huh? Tell me everything!”

  “Where were you?” I ask, realizing that maybe it’s me who's been preoccupied.

  “I told you, it was my cousin’s wedding.” A smile blooms on her face. “Sherman came.”

  “Your mom let him?”

  “It was that or no grad party at the Clam Shack. He won her over anyway, talked all about making sure everything would be perfect for the party: king crab, clams, seafood. She’s a sucker for that kind of thing. I’ll just pretend I’m somewhere else for two hours. The grad party can’t be that bad, right?”

  “I’m sure it will be delicious.”

  “Speaking of delicious, we stayed in different rooms, but that didn’t stop us from…”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “He’s amazing. I can’t say how awesome it's going to be when we’re at UMass together and no one is looking over our shoulders.” She squeals again and spares few details while I wonder about Grady. I’ve seen him shirtless, we’ve slept next to each other, clothed, but I can
’t imagine all of him like how I just got an earful of Jud Sherman.

  As she goes on, I’m glad I’m not the only person who can’t stop thinking about sex. Actually, it’s about sixty-forty. Still, lately more than half the time my mind lands on and dwells in sextown. I didn’t grow up with the subject being taboo like Teddy. The Westings would rather contract Malaria than utter the S word. That’s just one of the reasons Teddy thinks they’re aliens; he claims they had to have used some kind of cybernetic method to create him—no physical contact necessary.

  As for me, until the last month or so, kissing, sex, and the naked human form were only something I thought about when someone else brought it up. Now it’s near constant, like a song stuck in my head, something like I Kissed a Girl, only way more explicit. Thanks brain and hormones. But aside from the suddenness it’s awesome. I now understand what my mom means about women’s sexual liberation. I’m all for it, minus the squelchy confusing parts that nag at me to choose.

  A shadow crosses in front of us, silencing Heather’s comparison of circumcised versus uncircumcised.

  I may not be able to picture accurately Grady naked, but Joss’s cami is practically see-through and her jean shorts are super short. The pockets hang out with loose threads dangling around her thighs, and a belt with a huge buckle wraps around her waist. She has combat boots on too, even though it's hella hot today.

  She gives me a private smile. Already burning in the sweltering sun, I completely melt.

  Heather looks at both of us.

  “H, you know Joss right?” I manage to say.

  “We haven’t met,” H says evenly.

  Joss is not Heather bestie-material and I can safely assume the opposite is true. I’m afraid it might be like cats and dogs and not the fluffy, cute kind. I envision them having a tug of war with each of my arms, yanking me in opposite directions.

  Friend. More than Friend.

  Best friend. Girlfriend.

  “Heather Hitchcock Hennessey, H, meet Joss. Joss, H.” The introductions feel important somehow, but I’m embarrassed I don’t know Joss’s last name.

  They exchange modest pleasantries.

  “Hey, I better get inside. Silver will give me detention if I’m over five-seconds late,” H says, leaving.

  I immediately sense something unspoken travels between the mutual air we breathe, a vector in the girls who like girls time space continuum.

  Students filter by, slowly and reluctantly, making their way through dim doorways. The remaining balloons flit and float around us like it’s a collective celebration or coming out day. Being that brave and bold is daunting. There have been a few kids over the years that are out and proud, but the anti-bullying assemblies and tolerance pushing at Puckett that cropped up shortly afterward point toward the administration getting involved. Likely, Jaze was behind any anti-gay problems. Shit nozzle—Teddy's word, not mine.

  I kind of wish I could float away because it feels like everyone’s looking at Joss and me as if they know about the kiss or rather, kisses, plural. I’m not ready to be public since I don't feel definitively one way or the other. As I find my footing, navigating this unfamiliar land of sexuality, sensing eyes on me is about as pleasant as a burp on the wind, which is what it smells like in the cafeteria as we pass.

  This is what the characters on Girls call dating with no strings attached, flings, one-night stands—even though Sunday was just an afternoon and a lake and us. I'm deep in thought when Joss pulls me into an alcove under the stairs. Her breath is warm and sweet on my cheek. Dim patches of light checker her face.

  “I don’t know if you’re ready for me to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about you,” she says in a low voice.

  Everything south of my brain quivers in anticipation.

  Like a magnet, I can't resist her pull. I lean in, but my brain holds a mutiny. “I don’t think you want to hear this, but right now, this, us, is still a secret,” I say, gesturing between us. Then the space around us is too small because I’m also holding a place for Grady. And Joss. And Grady. And Joss. But I only have one set of lips and if kissing is addictive, then I am one-hundred-percent hooked, which means I have to pick.

  She doesn’t answer. The bell rings, but I sense we both have more to say.

  “I don’t care about being punctual,” she adds instead. Then our chests are pressing together and her lips are on mine. It feels like screaming into the wind on a mountaintop until my entire body aches and I’m out of breath and then there’s the crushing realization that there's still the climb down.

  I pull away. “I want you to know that—”

  Her light eyes land on mine. “I’ve seen you and Grady. Also, Theo told me.”

  “Yeah. But—what did he tell you?”

  The air between us cools. There might be a sudden frost warning for the vicinity.

  “I know you’re still figuring things out. I’ve done this before. Looking the way I do wasn’t the only reason my dad sent me away.”

  I don’t like the way it feels not to put her in first place, but the truth is there isn’t a trophy spot in my mind. There’s Joss and Grady. My inexperience lassos the words in my throat.

  “I should go,” I try, but it doesn’t feel right, walking off like a big jerk.

  “It’s okay,” Joss says, trailing her fingers down my arm. I warm up again. She lifts my chin, but doesn't meet my eyes. “Really, it’s okay.”

  But I'm not sure I believe her. My intention isn’t to hurt Joss, but I’m afraid that could be the result of my immersion. If only I could conduct this experiment in a controlled environment, no feelings on the line other than my own.

  I invite the silence in the hall that insists we go to class.

  Later, I consider avoiding lunch, but spot Joss talking to Teddy and a figure that from behind looks like Teddy's advisor, Mrs. Schaffer. I’m relieved they occupy each other because if the remaining balloons were denser and capable of harm, I might chuck a few at them. I'm upset he was talking to Joss about me instead of talking to me first. A slinking feeling tells me it may also be jealousy. It was probably before our talk last night, but I own the rights to my story, not him.

  I get a tray of slop and exit to the common area outside. In the noonday heat, I’m already perspiring. I blow my bangs out of my eyes and there’s Teddy and Gretel, chatting intimately under the shade of the eaves. Then I spot a crew huddled in a circle on the other side of the picnic tables, presumably brewing up the next senior hijinks.

  The Clearwaters appear with an entourage waving a banner, not dissimilar to my parents’ flag. Except in the center, it says our graduating class year, surrounded by signatures and quotes.

  Suddenly, splat. Something wet drips down my legs.

  Augie streaks by with an armload of water balloons, yelling, "It wasn't me." He ducks behind a tree. I scan the area for accomplices or enemies, hoping not to be hit again. I creep up to the tree he hides behind ready to let him have it for hitting me with a balloon.

  Before I can say anything he repeats, "That wasn't me. I swear." He gazes over my shoulder, presumably to his opponent.

  "I thought you weren’t supposed to be here, suspension?” I say.

  “Don't tattle. Will you go get Grady for me?”

  “Go in there? No way, it looks like I peed my pants.” I consider lying in the football field and letting the sun dry my shorts. A daydream or a nap would be nice right now.

  “It’s about to get crazy.” His eyes gleam with that certain kind of Augie mischief.

  “What are you—?”

  He cuts me off. “Apparently the balloons this morning were just the prelude to an inflated kind of day."

  I must look annoyed or stupid.

  “In second period, Berlin got word that there was going to be a water balloon fight. I wanted to make sure you guys were prepared. The truck, out back, filled it."

  I widen my eyes.

  "With your thanks me-lady.” He bows regally.

 
I roll my eyes, but laugh. “Who's the opposition?” I don’t wait for Augie’s response. “If this wasn’t one of your pranks, who’s behind it?”

  “Our rivals? The hardcore athletes. Apparently, some of the balloons are filled with booze.”

  “No way.”

  “A waste, I know.”

  “It doesn’t even make sense. Are you supposed to catch them in your mouth?”

  “Hell if I know. They just wanted to top the stuff we've been doing.”

  “What’s in yours?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Water.” He shrugs. "The best I could do on my Whitaker-sanctioned day off with a limited amount of time. Will you please go get Grady?”

  “Fine,” I say because none of my teachers will let me get away with hanging out with Augie behind a tree for the rest of the afternoon.

  People who haven’t seen Dolphina and Ziggy in ages swarm them and others clap along as Ziggy belts out a melodic song and strums his guitar. They’re sitting ducks, ready to be doused. I should warn them, but they can't hear me over the music.

  Others dart around corners and dash into hiding places, presumably preparing for the balloon attack. I risk it. Moments later, I'm only halfway across the courtyard when balloons drench my T-shirt. Another sails in front of me, lands on Dolphina’s banner, and splashes Ziggy’s guitar. I'm too late.

  Teddy intercepts me and we both just barely miss being hit again. “I have good news,” he says.

  "Chaos, about to happen. Can this wait?" I ask, panting.

  He shakes his head. The old Teddy would have cared if his hair got wet. Theo's eyes are already damp when I meet them.

  “Is everything okay? What happened?” I ask frantically

  "I'm going."

  I squeal and jump. I give him the hug we should have shared last week. “They said yes?” I ask in gleeful disbelief as I pull away, hoping his parents realized they have a tremendously talented and awesome son.