by Ted Michael
When I return, I flick off the overhead light. “Ready for the movie?” I ask. Henry inserts the DVD into his computer, which is hooked up to his TV. I crawl to the far side of his bed. Is it weird to lie down on his pillow? I’m not sure. I do it anyway.
“We can watch it from the beginning if you want.”
“Nah,” he says, pressing Play and getting on the bed with me. “I know this one pretty much by heart.”
The moment feels incredibly intimate even though we aren’t touching. I can smell him on the comforter and in the air surrounding me; I never realized that Henry has a smell, but he does. It’s intoxicating and completely indescribable. It’s just him.
We’re at the part when Diane Keaton and Woody Allen have split up for the first time but then she calls him to kill a bug in her apartment and they get back together. I think about the time my mom found a colony of bees living in our basement in Chicago—she started crying and called 911. Then I think about the time I was home alone and found a roach in the kitchen, and made Ben come over and kill it. The thing I love about this movie is how it’s funny and sad at the same time, how very much like life it is.
Somehow, while we’re watching, Henry and I move closer. We’re not on top of each other or anything, but first my leg, then his, my foot, then his, my arm, then his, slowly inch together. When we finally touch, it’s magical. The invisible hairs on my arms are shocked; my skin tingles and my blood flows more easily.
By the end, we’re overlapping. Neither one of us moves even though the credits are rolling.
“So,” he says, breaking the silence. “Better the second time around?”
“Yeah,” I say, my hand resting in the middle of his chest. I think: All that is between my skin and his skin is a thin layer of cotton. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve touched a boy; I remember how much I love it. Being held. Holding someone. “Do you think they should have wound up together?” I ask. “Alvy and Annie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think, you know, love is … complicated. And scary.”
“Why scary?”
“Maybe scary isn’t the right word,” he says. The room is dark; all I can see are his eyes. “More like terrifying.”
I laugh. “I’ll second that.”
We stay this way for what seems like a very long time. I’m confused by tonight’s discovery: a side of Henry Arlington that I never knew existed, a side that was hinted at the first time I met him but had yet to expose itself again until now. And even though I know the J Squad would be very disappointed in me if they knew I was in Henry’s arms, in Henry’s bed, and nothing happened between us—and, frankly, I’m disappointed with myself—I can’t bring myself to make a move. I silently curse Henry for making my plan more difficult than I imagined.
“Do you think it would be better if they’d never met?” Henry asks. “Then he wouldn’t have to go through the heartache of getting rejected. Of seeing her with someone new. It’s awful to have someone who’s, like, your entire world for so long and then have her disappear from your life completely. I can’t imagine anything worse.”
I want to ask if he is talking about his mother. He must be.
“You’re right,” I say, “but if they’d never met then he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to experience loving her. Love is the most powerful emotion there is. And in the end, he’s grateful for that.”
“Is he?”
“Yeah,” I tell Henry, “I think so.”
“It doesn’t work out, though. Their relationship was a failure.”
“Just because two people don’t wind up spending their entire lives together doesn’t mean their relationship was a failure.”
Henry is silent. Finally, he says: “I guess….”
“I think that’s sort of the point of the movie,” I say. “That love is terrifying and hard and awful but it’s also amazing and beautiful, and there’s something about us, as humans, that wants that perfect relationship even though we know it’s probably unattainable, and even if we do manage to get it, holding on to it, helping it grow into something that will last a lifetime, well … it’s daunting in its impossibility. At least, that’s how my dad describes it.”
“Your dad must be really smart.”
“He is,” I say, and then: “But we still want it.” I wonder if I am trying to convince Henry or myself of this.
“Want what?”
“Love.”
He turns his head and our noses touch. He is so close. “Maybe we do.”
His breath warms my face, and he pulls me closer. He is about to kiss me. And even though this is a good thing—the next step in getting Henry to call me his girlfriend and take me to Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen, in getting the J Squad to induct me as a legitimate member—that I want him to kiss me is a bad thing, and what’s going to make this all the more difficult in the end.
HENRY
INT.—EAST SHORE HIGH SCHOOL, MONDAY MORNING
School is different now. I’ve never worried what a girl thinks about me post–hooking up
The feeling is nerve-wracking.
Exhilarating.
Paralyzing.
DUKE
So, dude, no explanation?
Duke and Nigel are standing at my locker. They’re pissed I didn’t meet them at the party on Friday. Right now they are mirror images of each other: arms crossed, backs straight, faces scrunched.
ME
I told you. I fell asleep.
NIGEL
For real?
ME
Yes. Why don’t you guys believe me?
I take all the books I’ll need for the next few periods. Then I shut my locker and start walking to class.
NIGEL
You didn’t return our calls all weekend. Did you screen us? Because if you did, that’s just … nasty.
ME
I didn’t screen you. I was busy.
DUKE
You’re acting weird.
ME
What? No I’m not.
NIGEL
Yes. You are.
ME
How so?
NIGEL
You’re smiling, for one.
I am?
DUKE
You look, I dunno. Happy.
ME
I don’t know what you guys are talking about. I’m exactly the same as I was before the weekend.
Only I’m not. I feel like one of those Russian dolls you take the top off and there’s another, smaller doll beneath it. The outside of me is the same, but the inside …
NIGEL
No, dude. You’re definitely not.
ME
Well, so what if I’m happy? Is that such a crime?
DUKE
No. It’s just not you. You’re Henry Arlington. Tall. Brooding. Man-slut.
ME
Wow, such compliments.
NIGEL
Is it a girl?
My stomach lurches, but they can’t possibly suspect that anything is actually going on between Garrett and me. Can they? I haven’t even told them that she works at the movie theater.
DUKE
Is it her?
I assume that Duke is referring to Garrett, and our IM conversation on Friday. I shake my head.
ME
What makes you think that?
A look passes between Duke and Nigel that I don’t exactly understand. I know I’ll have to tell them about Garrett at some point, but right now—while things are still fresh and exciting—I don’t feel like opening myself up to their criticism.
DUKE
Whatever it is, dude, snap out of it. We need you in top crasher form for Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen. You’re still in, right?
Destiny’s party is the upper echelon of Sweet Sixteens. It’s going to be filmed by MTV, and pretty much anyone who’s anyone will be in attendance. The three of us will get invites, for sure, but it’s not about getting in the door. Not for us. It’s
what happens afterward that matters. What we’re going to do that will guarantee a debacle of epic proportions broadcast on national television.
We’ve pulled a few pranks before at other parties, but nothing major. Usually the plan is to not draw attention to ourselves and simply have a good time. This time, though, is different. Not only is the event for a girl at our school, but there’ll be an actual television crew recording everything; eventually, the whole country will see what happens (at least, whoever tunes in will). Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen is not about blending in—it’s about standing out.
Duke, Nigel, and I have been hyping up this party for months. At this point, there’s no way I can tell them I’m not really into it anymore without losing their friendship (and their respect).
ME
Of course.
DUKE
Sweet. We need a major planning session this week. This shit needs to be hard-core.
The bell rings, and I’m a few feet away from homeroom.
ME
All right. Let’s talk about it later.
Duke and Nigel salute me, and I begin the day.
I can’t think about anything—or anyone—other than Garrett all morning. I have never had a single person take up so much space in my brain. I scribble her initials in my notebooks and remember the softness of her body and how we talked about movies for hours and didn’t fall asleep until six in the morning. The only women I have ever daydreamed about this much are Britney Spears (before she had kids) and my mother (after she left, but not in a sexual way); clearly, this thing with Garrett is new territory for me.
Before lunch, I slip a note inside Garrett’s locker asking her to meet me in the courtyard. I could text her, but this note-in-locker thing seems romantically old-fashioned, and that’s the kind of mood I’m in.
The courtyard at East Shore is pretty self-contained—as, by definition, courtyards are. It’s still warmish outside, and some people choose to eat lunch out here instead of in the cafeteria. Most seniors go out to Wendy’s or Taco Bell or this bagel place a little farther away, but I hate rushing around.
I sit on a wooden bench and wait. I wonder if she’s going to stand me up. It’s one thing to be friendly at the movie theater, or in the privacy of my house, but being seen in public together is a big step. I’m willing to give it a shot, though, and see what happens. Risk the wrath of Duke and Nigel. I don’t know if she’s happy about the fact that we hooked up, or upset. Maybe a little of both.
I’ve never worried about what a girl wants before.
“Hey there.”
I look up. It’s Garrett.
“I got your note. I thought it was some kind of joke.”
“Nope,” I say. “Sit down.”
I make room for her. She’s wearing a red cotton sweater and a pair of jeans, and resting a brown paper bag on her lap.
“Why would you think it was a joke?” I ask.
She shrugs. “You usually eat lunch with Duke and Nigel. You guys may as well have No Girls Allowed signs taped to your backs.”
“Nah,” I say, “it’s not like that.”
“It’s not?”
I think for a minute. She’s got a point. “It doesn’t have to be like that. Besides, your lunch table isn’t exactly inviting either.”
It’s sunny out, and Garrett squints at me. Is she going to bring up the weekend? Pretend it never happened? Does she think we’re dating now? She holds her hand over her eyes, blocking the light. “So the courtyard is what—neutral territory?”
“I never thought of it like that,” I say, laughing, “but yeah. I guess it is.”
We sit there, staring at each other. Some younger girls are clustered a few feet away, and they glance in our direction. I recognize one or two guys from my Spanish class sitting on the grass. At the other end of the courtyard, a bunch of freshmen are playing wall ball.
“So what’s for lunch?” I ask. I decide not to mention our make-out session. If she wants to talk about it, she’ll say something. At least, I think she will.
“Oh”—she opens the bag and takes out a sandwich—“turkey, lettuce, and tomato on white bread. Nothing special.” She opens a bottle of water. “So. You and me,” she says. “Together in public. What will people think?”
I take out my own sandwich. Roast beef with ketchup. “I dunno,” I say, taking a bite. “But I don’t care if you don’t.”
For a moment we are simply two people, sitting on a bench. Eating. Duke and Nigel are nowhere in sight; neither are London or Jessica or Jyllian. It feels good to just eat with a girl. No false pretenses. No tricks or gimmicks or wondering how to avoid her when she Facebooks me the next day. At some point we’ll have to figure out exactly what is going on between us, but for now we can just be.
“Nope,” she says. “I don’t care at all.”
And then, for no reason at all, I lean forward and kiss her cheek.
“What was that for?”
“Just because,” I say. “Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
“Oh, before I forget.” I take out a bag with a warm chocolate chip cookie I bought in the cafeteria. “For you.”
Garrett breaks off a piece of the cookie and tastes it. “Delicious,” she says. “Thank you.”
I slide closer and rest my hand on her leg. “You know, there’s no going back now,” I tell her.
“What do you mean?”
“People are going to start talking now that we’ve gone public. There are no secrets at East Shore.”
She looks contemplative. Eventually, she says, “So? Let them talk.”
I can’t tell if it’s from the sun or from her, but I feel my entire face light up.
Later, Duke and Nigel convince me to crash a Sweet Sixteen in Carle Place. I’m not sure why anyone would throw a party on a school night, but Duke heard about it from his mom, who takes yoga with the birthday girl’s mother on Saturday mornings at the JCC.
The girl’s name is Marge, and her Sweet Sixteen theme is Broadway! (I added the exclamation point.)
I’m not particularly interested in going, but I did ditch Duke and Nigel over the weekend and this’ll make it up to them. Besides, I can’t lie: watching Annie Hall with Garrett, talking about relationships, eating lunch in the courtyard … everything is moving kinda fast. I wonder how soon it will spin out of control.
Slowing things down for a night with the guys sounds pretty good.
Duke picks me up around eight. Nigel is already in the car, and I hop in the back. I’m wearing a black dress shirt and a pair of slacks. Duke is in an electric blue tuxedo, and Nigel is wearing a gray suit (and a yarmulke).
ME
’Sup?
DUKE
Nada, dude. Glad you could make it.
NIGEL
How’s it hangin’, Enrico?
ME
Fine, fine. So what’s the plan?
Duke turns down the radio.
DUKE
Here’s what I’m thinking: we’re visiting from somewhere like Kansas or Oklahoma, and we’ve never been to New York before.
NIGEL
I like it. I’m definitely in the mood to say “y’all.”
DUKE
I feel that.
ME
That’s fine, except the theme of the party is Broadway. Won’t it be funnier if we say we’re actors or something?
NIGEL
Definitely. Broadway shows are usually dark on Monday nights, so that would explain why we’re not in the city.
DUKE
What show should we say we’re in? Should we all be in the same show, or different ones?
I don’t know a lot about musicals or Broadway in general. I have seen The Phantom of the Opera, though, so that’s what I suggest.
NIGEL
Shit! I should have brought my Phantom mask.
DUKE
Why do you have a Phantom mask?
NIGEL
Why don’t you have a Phantom mask?
&
nbsp; DUKE
Good point.
NIGEL
Aren’t we a little young to be in Phantom? Maybe we should say we’re in that show Spring Awakening.
DUKE
Dude, that closed a while ago.
Nigel and I both shoot him looks.
DUKE (cont.)
What? My mom really likes musicals. Give me a break.
We arrive at Chateau Briand, a popular catering hall on Long Island. The valet parks Duke’s car, and we head inside. It’s cocktail hour, which is out on the patio. Everything is very bright. There are palm trees (how did they get those here?), dozens of tables and chairs, and a long buffet table decorated with appetizers.
A waiter nods and says: “Welcome to the oasis.”
DUKE
What did that mean?
NIGEL
I dunno. I want some shrimp. Anyone coming with me?
ME
I will.
Duke wanders over to a table of Sweet Sixteeners doused in makeup and hair spray. The name he’s chosen for tonight is Marcello.
NIGEL
What do you think his chances are?
Nigel and I grab some cheese along with some thinly sliced roast beef.
