by Tom Leveen
Robby sits beside me. “And? How you doing?”
“About her? Fine. I guess. Maybe it’s just taking a while to sink in.”
Robby waves my comment off. “I don’t think so, Ty,” he says. “Gotta say, I’m surprised it lasted this long.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“So then, who you been on the phone with this whole … Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the deal?”
“I need to get going.” I stand up and hold out my hand for my keys.
“Whoa, back the truck up, cowboy,” he says. “You invited us out for a party and then spent most of the night chitchatting with your chicks. It’s my turn now, bitch.”
I’m impatient, itching to get to Becky’s, but he’s right; once the alcohol was gone, I sort of drifted. That wasn’t fair. I sit back down.
“Now,” Robby says, kicking back with his elbows on the table behind us, “what is it about Rebecca Webb that’s so—”
Justin’s knees are bouncing fast, kicking up dust devils at his feet. Without further ado, he bursts out, “You saw her naked?!”
“Whoa, what?”
“I told him about the shower thing,” Robby says.
“Naked?!” Justin demands again.
“Stop, no, I didn’t see her naked,” I say. “Just, you know … partial.”
“Dude!” Justin shouts. “Partial, full frontal, who cares, she took a shower with you in the room and changed her clothes in front of you and you don’t know if she freaking likes you or not?”
Robby breaks in before I can respond. “No girl—no woman—does something like the shower thing, putting her clothes on like that in front of you, all of it, unless she’s ready for you to make a move.”
“Okay, yeah,” I say, “I kinda wondered that at the time, but—”
“But you didn’t make a move,” Robby says, jabbing a finger at me. “And that’s why she said thank you.”
“Yeah, man,” Justin says. “That ‘thank you’ thing … she really said that?”
“Yeah …”
“So you were, like, a gentleman,” Justin says.
“Yeah, yeah, it was a test,” Robby says. “She was ready for you to do something, but she didn’t really want you to. Get it?”
“… Not by a mile.”
Robby rubs his forehead. “A girl’s not getting naked like that in front of a guy—a straight guy, anyway—without knowing that it’s risky. I don’t care what kind of ‘friends’ she says you are. She knew doing that would turn you on, and she wanted to see what you’d do with it. You didn’t jump her, so you passed the test.”
“And after something like that,” Justin says, “you seriously don’t think you have a shot with her?”
“I don’t know!” I say.
“Bullshit you don’t know,” Robby grumbles.
“What more do you want, man?” Justin asks. “A written invitation?”
“I want …,” I say, squinting at the dirt between my feet, “to breathe her in. You know?”
Justin’s nose wrinkles. “You wanna smell her?”
I can’t stop a short laugh. “No—well, yes, but—no, not like that. It’s like … possession. I want to possess her. I mean, not like a demon. And not like property. God, I really suck at this.”
“Okay, I get it,” Robby says. “You want to be a demon who sniffs her.”
I punch his shoulder. “Dick.”
“But you’re still not answering the question. Why her?”
“It’s—just—everything. I guess.”
My friends take this in for a minute. We sit in silence.
“So you’re meeting up with her tonight, huh?” Robby says finally.
“Yeah. At her house. I promised her ice cream. She’s had a rough night.”
Robby frowns and leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers. “If that’s what you got to do,” he says. “But tell me something, Ty. You been going off about this chick for almost three years now. Is it that you just want to do her? Take her for a test drive? Is that it?”
“Not really,” I say. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down, but no. I don’t know, dude. It’s something else.”
“Something Sydney doesn’t have,” Robby says. “Because you’ve made it sound like Syd was pretty, uh, generous with you.”
True. Sydney wasn’t shy.
“My chances of hooking up with Becky are a trillion to one—”
“Never tell me the odds!” Justin cries.
We look at him.
“Empire Strikes Back,” he says. “Han Solo? Um … sorry. Go ahead.”
Robby and I take a moment to laugh at Justin’s expense before I go on.
“So regardless of what the shower thing was supposed to mean, if it even meant anything, she’s been perfectly clear that we’re friends, and that’s it. Maybe she wanted me to make a move that night, or maybe she didn’t think I would because we’re only friends, I don’t know. And it’s … it’s not about sex, it never was about sex. You can believe that or not, I don’t care. It’s something else. Or more, I don’t know which.”
Of course, I don’t say out loud, according to my now ex-girlfriend, my chances of sleeping with her are actually pretty decent.
The guy part of me, and I don’t mean anatomically, wants that to be true. The rest of me sometimes wants to forget everything I know about Becky, because I already know too much.
None of it is recognizable in the story sitting in my car right now.
On closing night of the one-acts, I ended up going to the cast party at Ross’s insistence, since I left the one for Mockingbird so fast. And since Becky was going too … well, there it is.
I’d spent that afternoon before the one-act performances hanging out with Sydney. And Gabrielle. I kept waiting for one of them to ambush me about the night before, going to Becky’s and all, but they didn’t. So naturally, I had to bring it up.
We were kicking back on our patio so Gabby could smoke. It was one of the concessions Mom and Dad made during her whole grounding, or probation, or whatever she and my parents were calling it. She and Syd rocked back and forth on wicker chairs while I paced, and stood still, and paced again, listening to them going off about politics, religion, law. Stupid adult stuff.
“So am I busted or what?” I finally shouted after about two hours of this.
They both stopped rocking and stared at me.
“Busted … how?” Sydney asked.
“For the whole Becky thing last night!” It was impossible for me to prevent an image of her changing her clothes from flashing—no, lingering—in my mind even as I spoke.
Syd frowned in such a way that I couldn’t tell if she was truly confused or just being a bitch. And, honestly, the bitch thing was pretty unlikely.
“You said there was nothing to worry about, I thought.”
“I did! Nothing happened!”
“Yeah, you said nothing would,” Sydney said. “So? What’s the problem?”
“Are you, like, feeling guilty or bad or assholish, Ty?” Gabrielle asked, blowing a stream of blue smoke at me.
“No! Because there’s nothing … I mean, she’s not … No.” I crossed my arms, mad at every single woman on planet Earth for not just spitting out whatever they thought.
“Tyler?” Sydney said, with the smallest trace of a smile. “You said I could trust you—”
“Actually, I don’t think he said that,” Gabby interrupted. “I mean, I do think it was implied, in all fairness. But not stated explicitly.”
“You’re a peach,” I said.
“So’s your face.”
Sydney smiled at this little exchange before facing me again. “Ty, let me ask you. Did you kiss Becca Webb last night?”
“No!”
“Did you hook up, make out, get nasty, et cetera, et cetera?”
For some reason, this line of questioning calmed me down. Maybe because I could answer honestly. “No,” I said.<
br />
“Did you want to?” Gabrielle asked, all sly.
I sighed and lifted my hands in helplessness. “I’m sixteen,” I said.
That made them both laugh. “See, he’s so honest,” Sydney said to Gabby. “It’s one of the reasons I love him so much.”
With that, she got up, gave me a hug and a kiss, and smiled. “I’m going to head out,” she said. “Break a leg tonight.”
“Thanks,” I said, a little taken aback that the drama was already over.
Sydney picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Have fun at the cast party,” she added, and, after saying goodbye to my sister, went into the house.
I was too stunned to say anything. I’d been wondering if I should invite her or not, after what Neapolitan/Danielle had said after the last one. Now I didn’t have to wonder.
But I did wonder if Sydney knew she could come and was waiting to see if I’d ask.
I decided not to worry about it. She was cool with it, so was I; it was no big deal.
“So you’ll pick me up after the cast party?” I asked Gabrielle.
“What?” Gabby said. “Oh, shit, really? She meant tonight?”
“Sorry. But yeah.”
Gabby frowned mightily, then rolled her eyes. “Okay, you know what? Just take the car.”
“What?”
“Sure,” she said, waving a hand. “You’re a big boy, I trust you.”
“Dude, if I get caught—”
“We’re both screwed,” Gabby said. “So don’t ‘get.’ I’m gonna go hang out with my buddy Wade tonight anyway. He can pick me up. And Mom and Dad are doing their date night thing—”
We both made retching sounds in tandem. It was a tradition.
“—so they’ll be gone till late. Just don’t come home till after they’re in bed, and we should be fine.”
“Um … okay! What’re you doing with this guy Wade?”
“Eh. Nothing much. We’ll probably go see a movie in the park. The Princess Bride.”
“Is that it?”
“Oh, god, Tyler,” Gabrielle moaned, snuffing out her cigarette. “I promise I will stay as straight and clean as a whistle, okay? Cripes.”
I gave her an exaggerated smile. “Thanks. You’re precious.”
Which I truly meant, but since she’s my sister, I had to make it snarky. You know how it is.
So that’s how I came to be driving, with only a learner’s permit, by myself to the cast party. Feeling quite cool, badass, and scared half to death.
Becky and I got there at the same time. I grabbed a beer, just to fit in, and felt a little awkward because when I offered to grab one for Becky, she declined. I wondered if she didn’t like me doing it either, so I did little more than sip the thing for about two hours. I intended to drink no more than maybe the neck over the course of the night. I mean, I was already driving illegally as it was. I waited nervously for Becky to break out her pipe, but she didn’t. She only snacked on potato chips and wandered around, not really talking to anyone.
I got caught up in a conversation with Matthew Quince, old Atticus himself, of all people. We sat out on the back porch, where I discovered that Matthew had grown up reading Stephen King as well. We got into this protracted debate about which story collection was better, Night Shift or Skeleton Crew. I argued for Night Shift because of the ’Salem’s Lot story “One for the Road,” which as far as I was concerned was the best vampire story ever written. Matthew fought for Skeleton Crew because of “The Mist,” which was a pretty tough point to beat. We did agree the film version ruined the story.
After an hour passed like this, us going back and forth, I suddenly felt the urge to bring up him and Becky. I’d lost track of her and didn’t see her anywhere nearby. The words came out before I could stop to assess what impact they’d have. I hoped maybe he’d think I was drunk.
“Hey, man, what was up with you and Becky after Mockingbird?”
Matthew looked confused. He was also on his fourth beer, though.
“Becca? What’re you talking about?”
I held back because now that the question had been asked, I had to wonder if he was completely lying, or totally baffled and maybe drunk. I couldn’t tell if he meant to say Becca or if he was just slurring Becky.
“Backstage,” I said. “I heard you guys hooked up after the show.” By modifying the fact that I saw them, I figured it left me an out. The thought crossed my mind again that maybe, somehow, it hadn’t really happened at all and I was clinically insane for having imagined it.
But this time, I saw recognition in his eyes. It was fast, here-then-gone, but it happened.
Matthew leaned back in his chair, more casually than any person who really feels casual could ever appear. That’s what clinched it for me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
He was lying. I had no doubt.
The thing was, I hadn’t seen them getting cozy before or after that night. It sure as hell didn’t look like they were dating, and Becky never talked about him. Never talked about any guys, really.
I took the opportunity to cover my ass. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I figured,” I said. “It didn’t sound right to me.”
Matthew said nothing. Took another drink.
It was like a door being slammed shut. I knew the truth; whether or not he knew I knew it, I wasn’t sure. Either way, he was definitely done talking about it.
“Well, I’m going to get something else to drink,” I said, getting up from the rocking chair I’d been sitting in. “You want anything?”
“One for the road?” he joked.
“Yeah, right.”
“Nah, I’m good, man. Thanks, though.”
I headed back inside, throwing away my nearly full bottle on the way. Cast parties weren’t like other parties, I’d noticed; there was no music, for one thing, and there were a lot more drugs. The cloying scent of pot made my eyes water, and I’d seen two bags of pills being passed around already.
I looked into every dark corner, searching for Becky, but I didn’t see her.
Like, anywhere.
I ended up doing a patrol of the whole house and backyard but didn’t find her. Pissed that she’d left without telling me, I walked out the front door, figuring I could bitch about it to her on Monday.
I got my keys out and was all ready to go when I saw Ross getting out of his truck, parked down the street a ways. I was about to call out to him, when I saw him struggling with his fly, trying to get it up. His shuffle definitely had a drunken tilt to it. Once he’d jimmied his fly shut, he shuffled off toward the house and went inside. I started to turn and head up the street to my own car.
That’s when the truck’s passenger door opened and Becky got out, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth.
Click, snap, crash. The meaning of what I’d just seen leaped into my mind with high-def clarity.
I laughed. The sound was sick and purple in my ears. It wasn’t a ha-ha funny laugh. More … insane.
Becky looked up as she straightened her T-shirt. Our eyes met, as they so often had the past year, and she froze. Hesitated. Gave me a backward nod.
“Hey,” she said. I was close enough to see her run her tongue across her teeth, top row, bottom row, then spit into the street. The gesture turned my guts sour.
“How’s it going?” she asked. “You hammered or what?”
“Seriously?” I said, feeling a demented smile tearing my face in both directions. “Seriously, Becky? It’s a joke, right? Some kind of drama department hazing bullshit. Right? Right?”
She didn’t move any closer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
The exact phrase Matthew had used on the porch.
“Did you just—” I forced myself not to say any more.
Becky raised an eyebrow. “What.”
“Nothing,” I said. “You know what? Nothing. It’s your life. Whatever.”
I walked quickly
up the street to my car and—ready for this?—prayed to hear her footsteps on the street, running after me. I wanted her to stop me, demand to know what I’d seen, so I could yell, scream, shout that she was killing me with the easy way she hooked up with people.…
When she didn’t, I got into Gabby’s car and sat gripping the wheel with both hands. I arched my neck to look in the rearview mirror, where I could see her reflected, still standing by the truck.
I waited. Waited.
Eventually, Becky threw her hands up in the air and stalked back to the house. Like I was the impossible one.
I drove home, fighting, I’m only half ashamed to say, tears of betrayal and rage that wanted to explode out of my head.
Robby is waiting patiently for me to continue. Justin, despite his earlier animation, is starting to tip over.
“It’s not about sex,” I repeat.
“Okay, so?” Robby says.
I stand up. Robby does too.
“I guess I want to help her,” I say.
“With what?”
“I’m not sure.”
Except I was.
“You got a hero complex?” Robby demands. “Is that it? Ride in on a white horse, save the princess? Man, that never works. Never.”
“Well, no, it hasn’t so far.”
“But she snaps and you come running with ice cream in hand. There’s a word for that, you know. Rhymes with ‘wussy-pipped.’ ”
I giggle. The headache I’d felt pinching my head earlier is starting to come back. God, what a bad idea this was. We should’ve just gone out for pizza, maybe played video games all night or something.
“Know what I’m saying?” Robby pushes.
“Yeah, I get it. Maybe you’re right, maybe I am. Thing is, though, man, I tried it the other way. I tried staying away from her. It didn’t work. Didn’t take. At least this way …”
Robby crosses his arms, waiting.
“At least this way I know where I stand,” I finish.
“That’s dog shit.”
“It’s not all that bad.”
“No, I mean, you’re standing in dog shit, Ty. Look.”
And indeed, I am.
“Well … shit,” I say. And we both burst out laughing.
