Perfect Couple

by Jennifer Echols

  I fist-bumped him. “Hey, boyfriend.” The way we’d reacted to our Superlatives title underscored how different we were, and how imperfect a couple we would have made. I never could have admitted this even to Tia or Kaye, but I’d puzzled endlessly over what our classmates saw in us that led them to think we’d be good together.

  In contrast, Brody called me his girlfriend and teased me. The “Hey, girlfriend” and the fist bump had been going on for the full two weeks of school. Every time we did it, I was afraid someone would mention it to Kennedy. He would pick a fight with me because I looked like I was flirting behind his back.

  Brody didn’t seem concerned that someone would mention it to his girlfriend, Grace. The idea of me threatening their relationship was that far-fetched. Although—and this thought had kept me awake some nights—Brody never called me his girlfriend and fist-bumped me when Grace and Kennedy were around. He did it only in moments like this, a period without Grace, with Kennedy missing. Aside from twenty other students and Ms. Patel, we were alone here.

  And if Brody had progressed to telling my ex-boyfriend, Noah, what he’d like to do with me when we were really alone, he was getting too close for comfort.

  After dumping my book bag beside my desk, I asked Brody quietly, “May I talk with you?” I nodded toward the back of the classroom.

  His eyebrows rose like he knew he was in trouble—but just for a moment. “Sure.” He jumped up with a jerk that made the legs of his desk screech across the floor. Four people in the next row squealed and slapped their hands over their ears.

  He followed me to the open space behind the desks, next to the cabinets. In the sunlight streaming through the window, I noticed his slightly swollen bottom lip and a faintly purple bruise on his jaw. He must have been hit in the mouth by another football player—or punched by an irate girl. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, he was back to looking as flaked out and heroin-chic as usual. I almost laughed, because he was so handsome and he’d said something so stupid to get himself in hot water—except that the person he’d said it about was me.

  “I heard you were talking about me in football,” I began.

  He gaped at me. I couldn’t tell whether he was horrified that I’d found out, or fake-horrified. He didn’t say anything, though. He eyed me uneasily.

  “What if Grace hears?” I asked.

  He gave the smallest shrug as he continued to watch me, like he hadn’t considered the possibility and couldn’t be bothered to care very much.

  Well, here was something I cared about. “What if Kennedy hears?”

  This time I got the reaction I’d been dying for, though I would never admit it. Brody narrowed his eyes at me, jealous of Kennedy, frustrated that he couldn’t have me for himself.

  Of course, I could have been interpreting his expression all wrong. But in that moment, the rest of the noisy classroom seemed to fall away. Only Brody and I were left, sharing a vibe, exchanging a message. His green eyes seemed to sear me. He was gazing at me exactly the way I felt about him.

  2

  BUT THE NEXT SECOND, I decided I’d been mistaken. He blinked, and the mad jealousy I’d seen in his eyes looked more like sleep deprivation. He shrugged again. The move gave way to a stretch as he raised his arms behind his head and clasped both hands behind his neck.

  He wasn’t preening for me. Hot athletic guys purposefully showed their bulging triceps to cheerleaders like Grace, not geek bait like me. The message to me was, If Kennedy confronts me, I will squash him like a bug between my thumb and forefinger.

  Frustrated, I whined, “Brody!” just like I had, and every other girl had in kindergarten, when he tickled us and made us giggle during quiet time or dabbed paint on our noses just before our dramatic debut onstage in the class play.

  My protest snapped him out of his jock act. He held out his hands, pleading with me. “Harper, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You know me. I just blurt shit out sometimes. Or, all the time. The guys on the team asked me about the Superlatives thing. In football, when somebody asks you how you feel, you answer with a sex joke.”

  “I see,” I said. “What you told the guys was a more offensive, more personal version of ‘I would totally hit that.’ ”

  Grinning, he pointed at me. “Yes.”

  I tried an even better imitation of the assholes on the team. “ ‘I would hit that thang.’ ”

  He patted me on the head, possibly mussing my careful French twist. “The guys are pretty taken with you. They think the idea of you getting with an idiot like me is hilarious. They’ll keep teasing me about you. I’ll keep making sex jokes. I’m just warning you.”

  “Are you going to keep adding that bit about my ass, too?”

  He wagged his eyebrows.

  “Fine,” I said over the bell that started our half-hour study hall. We headed for our desks. To keep up the facade that I thought the idea of us getting together was hilarious too, I made small talk. “Ready for the game tonight?” I hoped he wouldn’t give me a detailed answer I couldn’t follow and force me to expose my ignorance about football. I’d never been interested in sports. Over the last few days, Mr. Oakley had given me a crash course in what I hadn’t absorbed while dating Noah, so I’d know enough about the rules to catch the important plays through a camera lens. Ideally.

  But I did want to know how practice had been going for Brody, and how he felt about the pressure he must be under before the game. I’d been part of the crowd at parties at his house a couple of times recently, but we’d never had what I’d call an in-depth conversation. I knew more about his football career from the local newspaper than from him. Seeing the game through his eyes would help me capture a star quarterback’s perspective and immortalize it in the yearbook.

  Plus, I enjoyed the way he looked at me. I wished he would give me that narrow-eyed stare again, no matter what emotion was behind it. I might have had a boyfriend, he might have had a girlfriend, and the idea of us getting together under any circumstances might have been ridiculous, but I wanted his attention a little longer.

  He stretched his arms way over his head again. Sitting this close to him, it was hard to get perspective on how much taller than me he was, but I never forgot. Then he settled himself across his desktop, arms folded, head down, and closed his eyes. “Don’t I look ready?” Conversation over.

  Ms. Patel eased into her chair at the front of the room and pulled a stack of papers out of her desk drawer. The people who’d been milling around the classroom slid into seats and hauled books out of their backpacks or, like Brody, settled down for a nap. Ms. Patel had said she didn’t care what we did in study hall as long as we kept the noise down to a dull roar.

  I pretended to check Noah’s calculus homework while gathering the courage to ask Brody about our yearbook photo together.

  I was on deadline. Taking the easy route would be smartest. I should schedule a meeting in the school courtyard like I’d arranged for most of the other Superlatives. I could set up a tripod and program a simple picture on a time delay, then dive into the frame with Brody before the shutter opened. But that wouldn’t be cute. It wouldn’t be original. It wouldn’t contribute to the portfolio I needed to get into a college art program next fall.

  And it wouldn’t put me in proximity to Brody for as long as I wanted.

  I raised my eyes from problem number five on Noah’s homework and considered the close-shorn back of his head. If Brody and I discussed the photo here, Noah would hear me. I could say one wrong thing and let on that my weird pairing with Brody had developed into a crush, and Noah would make sure the whole locker room knew what was going on. That would definitely get back to Kennedy. Noah wasn’t one to keep his mouth shut about other people’s business. His own business, yes. Mine, no.

  Quinn sat in front of Noah. He would overhear the conversation too. He wouldn’t spread the gossip like Noah, but when Brody slighted me, Quinn would feel sorry for me, just like he had when Noah broke up with me. That wou
ld be worse.

  And in front of Brody sat Sawyer. He didn’t have it in for me, as far as I knew, but if he overheard my awkward request, he would retell the story in the funniest way possible, which would make my life a living hell. That’s just how Sawyer was. He might have been asleep, though. His white-blond head was down on his arms, and he hadn’t moved since I’d entered the classroom. As our school’s mascot—he dressed up like a six-foot pelican at the games—his first act of bringing about student solidarity had been to pass out from heat exhaustion at a practice on the football field last Monday. He probably was resting for his debut at the game tonight.

  And that meant at least he would nap through what I said to Brody. As for Noah and Quinn, maybe Quinn had been right: It was time I stopped worrying about how things looked. Once more, I rehearsed what I would say to Brody. We need to take a yearbook photo for Perfect Couple That Never Was, and We need to think of an original way to pose for the photo, and What if we met off campus? Like on a date? We’d be a couple—get the joke? Not a real date, of course. We don’t want Kennedy and Grace mad at us! Feeling like I was about to fling myself off a cliff, I took a deep breath and turned to Brody.

  He was asleep. In the thirty seconds I’d taken to steel myself, his hunched shoulders had gone slack. His upper body rose and fell with deep, even breaths. I was amazed he could relax amid the buzz of the classroom—but after all, he wasn’t a geeky girl whose nerves were stretched taut to the point of snapping because the popular quarterback was an arm’s length away.

  With a defeated sigh, I faced the front and crossed my legs under my desk again.

  “Is my homework that bad?” Noah asked, turning his broad body around. “I thought I actually understood this unit, for once.”

  “No, sorry, I’ve hardly started.” I bent over Noah’s work, checking his answers against mine.

  My gaze drifted across the aisle to Brody. His handsome face was hidden: the high cheekbones, the expressive mouth. All I could see from this angle was the top of his head, longish light brown hair curtaining over his face, and one strong upper arm straining against the sleeve of his tight athletic shirt. He also wore long athletic shorts and flip-flops, as always. On the coldest day of the year, which admittedly wasn’t very cold around here, he might add a hoodie. We’d been in various advanced classes together since middle school, but the way he dressed, he looked like he’d taken a wrong turn from the gym. That’s how Brody had always been: grinning, a bit of a mess, and a world away from me.

  Twenty minutes later, I’d checked Noah’s homework. I hoped I had just enough time to finish my questions on the chapter in English so I wouldn’t have to take my book home. Ms. Patel interrupted my thoughts. “Class, may I have your attention, please? Quinn and Noah want to make an announcement before lunch.”

  Sawyer stirred and raised his head from his arms. Brody couldn’t even make that much effort. He kept his head down but shifted so he could see around Sawyer. He would be sitting up in a minute, though. Surely he knew what was coming. I put my hand on Noah’s back as he stood. He smiled nervously at me before he and Quinn made their way up the row to stand in front of Ms. Patel’s desk.

  “We. . . ,” Noah began, then folded his muscular arms. He was African American, with such dark skin that the fluorescent lights overhead highlighted the indentations of his huge muscles like he was a comic-book superhero. He’d also perfected a threatening scowl he used to intimidate other football players, but he wasn’t wearing it now. It was strange to see him look nervous. He glanced over at Quinn.

  “Tick-tock,” Ms. Patel said. “The bell’s going to ring. Better get it out.”

  Quinn wrung his hands in fingerless black leather gloves, an odd accessory during hot weather in Florida, even for one of my friends. Then he ran his hands through his black hair. Finally he burst out, “Noah and I are dating. Each other.”

  Silence fell over the classroom. It was so quiet that Mr. Frank’s voice filtered through the wall from the next room. I wanted to jump up and pound on the wall to stop Mr. Frank, but I felt dizzy. That’s when I realized I was holding my breath.

  Brody started clapping.

  The class burst into applause.

  Sighing with relief, I clapped along, harder and harder as the weight of the last year lifted from my shoulders. I’d been so worried about Quinn and then Noah when they came out to me. This positive reception to their official, public coming out was a great sign for their future.

  The door opened. Kennedy gave the noisy classroom a bewildered glance. Ms. Patel pointed to an empty desk near the door, indicating that he should park it rather than moving all the way back to sit behind me. As he slung off his backpack and slouched in the desk, Noah mouthed an explanation for the commotion: “We’re gay.” Kennedy blushed bright red.

  Not the reaction I’d expected from Kennedy. He prided himself on being open-minded. I’d thought he’d be mildly supportive, or have no reaction at all.

  The applause died down, and Noah cleared his throat. “Some of you may be wondering, ‘Why now?’ A couple of weeks ago, when we voted on the Senior Superlatives, I wrote in myself and Quinn for Perfect Couple That Never Was. I thought the student council would take it as a joke. Really it was just wishful thinking, I guess. I wasn’t even sure Quinn was gay.”

  Quinn put his gloved hand on Noah’s shoulder. “I did the same. Principal Chen called us both into her office and told us that if we had something to say to the school, we could go ahead if we did it in a way that wouldn’t disrupt class.”

  My friend Chelsea raised her hand. “Those were secret ballots, I thought. How did Ms. Chen know they were yours?”

  “Because she’s creepy?” Quinn said.

  “Careful,” Ms. Patel spoke up.

  “She’s really old,” Noah said with a sideways glance at Ms. Patel. “You know how she’s always telling us in assemblies that we’d better not try to slip anything past her.”

  Ms. Patel bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

  “Anyway,” Quinn said, “we decided to do it here in study hall because we wanted to come out in front of the people who’ve encouraged us the most.” He put his hand over his heart. “For me, that’s Harper.”

  “Awwwww.” A chorus of girls’ voices echoed how I felt. I’d tried to support Quinn any way I could, but I hadn’t expected him to acknowledge me in front of the class.

  “And for me,” Noah said, “that’s Harper and Brody.”

  “Brody!” Sawyer yelled a raunchy, “Aoow!”

  Brody thumped him on the back of the head.

  Sawyer turned around and took a swipe at Brody. Brody leaned back in his desk to dodge the blow.

  “We also wanted to come out in front of Sawyer,” Noah said, “so we’d catch him off guard, before he had the chance to work up any jokes.”

  “Oooooh,” said the class. All eyes were on Sawyer now. It wasn’t often that somebody stuck it to Sawyer.

  Quinn went on, “And of course, Sawyer is our study hall’s student council representative. He can help us address our grievances to the school if anything bad happens.”

  Sawyer nodded. He must take his position seriously. I’d been as surprised as anyone when he nominated himself for student council representative at the beginning of the year. We’d elected him because nobody else ran. But it was nice to know he would step up for Noah and Quinn if they needed him.

  Then he muttered, “I’ve got nothing. Good material takes time.”

  “Exactly,” Noah and Quinn said together.

  Their speech seemed to be winding down. Before anybody else could heckle them, I called, “Cupcakes!”

  “Cupcaaaaaakes!” several people cheered.

  As I slid out of my desk, Brody cracked a smile at me. “You made coming-out cupcakes?”

  “Yeah. Wait till you see them.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “No, thanks.” There was only one container. I’d hidden it on the counter at the back of the room,
underneath a huge folded poster of the periodic table.

  I was halfway there before I realized that I’d just turned down an innocent excuse to interact with Brody. When it came to guys, I was a little slow on the uptake.

  Brody was standing beside his desk now, stretching. I grabbed the container and brought it to him. “I mean yes,” I said, “I need your help. Could you open these on Ms. Patel’s desk?”

  “Sure. What are you going to—Oh.”

  I pulled a camera out of my pocket, the small one I carried when I didn’t have my expensive one, so I never missed a shot. “Say cheese,” I told him.

  “Cupcakes!” He held them up.

  It was another killer picture of him, I realized with dismay. Brody was a little too photogenic. I wanted my best work to go into the yearbook, but I couldn’t get away with slipping a photo of him onto every page.

  I shot a few more candids of the class while I waited for him to deliver the cupcakes to the front of the room. Then I cornered Quinn and Noah against the whiteboard for the commemorative picture I really wanted. They put their heads close together and held up their cupcakes. I’d used rainbow papers, and each cake was topped with a plastic rainbow and a cutout photo of someone in the class. So Noah’s cake had his face on top, and Quinn’s had his. After we all three checked the camera display and laughed over that classic shot, I pocketed my camera and reached into the box for the Harper cake.

  Brody held his cake, as if he was waiting for me to start eating. “This was why you went around the room yesterday, taking pictures of everybody.”

  “Yeah.” That, and it had been another reason to take a picture of him. “I thought if I made cupcakes and put people’s faces on them, involving them in the celebration, they’d be less likely to say something ugly once we get to the lunchroom.”