Love and Other Secrets

by Christina Mandelski

  I lift an eyebrow. “Why? You and I became friends in the express lane at Publix.” This is a fact. Since that first day, we clicked, like we’d known each other forever.

  “That’s true,” he says. “But you’re not asking me to prom.”

  I let myself imagine that he sounds a little hurt, but I know he’s not.

  My face warms at the memory of meeting him. He’d come to my line straight from lacrosse practice that day. I’d smelled him before I saw him, dried, dirty sweat caked on his face and arms, a giant bottle of Sprite and a king-size Reese’s he’d grabbed from the displays in front of my checkout stand in his hands.

  My eyes had locked on his face. Light brown eyes, killer smile. I’d seen him around school before. A guy like Alex is hard to miss.

  “Hello,” he’d said. Not some non-descript grunt like most guys, but a real, actual two-syllable greeting. I was instantly impressed.

  “Hi.” I dragged the bottle across my scanner and scratched a finger against my own cheek. “You got a little something, right here.”

  “Here?” He’d played along, rubbing at a tiny spot when really there was dried mud all over him.

  “Yep, perfect. You’re good.”

  That was it, the moment we became friends. He used to go to whatever line was shortest, but then, he started to come only to mine.

  A few days later, he told me his housekeeper had made gumbo. I told him my mom’s gumbo was the best. He said that was impossible, and he invited me over to prove it.

  “I don’t finish here until nine,” I’d said.

  “That’s fine.”

  It sounds weirder than it was, but it all felt sort of natural. At first, I thought he might be into me, like, romantically, but then I’d see him in school with girls and watched his Snapchat stories. It was easy to conclude that he was not at all interested.

  Fast forward to now, a few months later, and here we are, just friends, eating all the gumbo. For the record, Miriam’s is way better than my mom’s.

  “So,” Alex says, snapping me out of my memories, “you’re gonna need to meet him out in the wild.”

  My palms feel a little sweaty. I’ve never asked a guy out, and I’m never the one they pick. “Okay? Where?” I pause. “When?”

  He scoots back his chair and walks to the stove for another serving. I’m on empty, too, so I follow.

  “You need to ask him soon. It’s already April.” He scoops up a ladleful of gumbo and holds it out to fill my bowl before his own. “I could have a party?” he suggests.

  Alex is notorious for his parties. I’ve never been to one, but the Snaps I’ve seen are enough. He likes to have a good time. Girls. Beer. All the usual things.

  “Thank you, no. You’re still in trouble from the last one.” I head back to the table with my full bowl. “Didn’t the police show up? You’re eighteen, you know. You could literally end up in the slammer.”

  He laughs. “No. Eli’s dad is the police chief. He won’t let me go to any ‘slammer.’” Cue his sly grin again. “And my parents won’t be home anytime soon, so…”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Not worth the risk. Plus, I was hoping we could get it over with this week before someone else asks him or I lose my nerve.”

  “Or someone asks you,” he says.

  I choke on that one. “No. No one is asking me. That’s not even a remote possibility.” I reach into the small basket of sliced sourdough bread, grab a piece, and spread it with butter.

  “Wow.” He sits back down at the table. “Here I thought the future Ms. Spielberg was supremely confident.”

  “It’s not a confidence issue, Mr. Trust Fund. It’s the truth.” I lean back in my chair. “What about you? When are you going to pop the question to the mystery woman?”

  He pushes back his hair, scratches his bristly cheek, and lets out a big sigh. “I don’t know. I’m probably not gonna do it. I’m not really feeling prom this year.”

  No. No, no, no. That’s not what I want to hear. Even if he goes with Devon McGill, I can’t imagine him not being there. “Come on, it’s your senior year—you have to go!” I’m surprised by the insistence in my voice. I think he is, too. “Really. If I go, you need to be there. I can’t do it alone.”

  He stares at me like I’m insane. “Isn’t that the point of asking Tex—not doing it alone?” He pauses, stirs his gumbo. “You’ll be doing it with Tex.” He chuckles crudely. “Are you planning to do it with Tex?”

  My cheeks flame up in an instant. “Don’t be vulgar,” I say, even though he brings up a good point. When you’re not the one guys go for, it follows that you are pathetically inexperienced. What if Caleb says yes, and what if he thinks prom sex is a possibility?

  Is prom sex a possibility? It’s the first I’ve thought of it. For a quick second, I let my mind wander to the image of Caleb, naked, and no, the picture I’ve conjured up is not at all vulgar. He has those wide shoulders. He’s tall. All those lacrosse players have really nice hard muscles and six-packs. Present company included.

  “I mean, it happens,” Alex says. “You should probably cover that in your film.”

  Oh God. “Okay, all right.” I’m putting a stop to this before it gets out of hand. “Just help me with the promposal. Seriously, that’s all the assistance I’ll be needing. I can handle things from there.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Okay. Just remember to use protection.”

  I smack his arm. “Shut up, okay, and come up with a plan. Please?”

  He laughs and pushes his chair back. “Okay, fine. I’ll come up with something, I’ll get you an audience with Tex, and you’ll have a prom date by this time next week.”

  I take a deep breath. “He’ll say yes, right?”

  He grins again, and I find myself wishing he’d stop. It’s hard to think about another guy when he’s doing that.

  “Why not? When a pretty girl asks me, I always say yes.”

  I feel my cheeks warm, and I turn away fast so he doesn’t notice. He just called me a pretty girl. Didn’t he?

  After dinner, I make him help me with the dishes, though he complains the entire time. He wants to leave them for Miriam.

  “Not cool,” I scold him.

  “Okay, fine, but if I’m coming up with a promposal and doing the dishes, then you have to stay for a movie.”

  We’re slowly working our way through a list of a hundred teen film classics. I check the grandfather clock in the adjoining family room.

  “I guess.” I try to sound resistant, but really, I’m relieved he wants me to stay.

  It’s only ten, and it’s Saturday night. My parents both work crazy night shifts. Dad is a security guard, Mom is a custodian at the hospital, and they’ve never really set a curfew for me as long as they know where I am. They’re okay with me being at Alex’s—or at least Mom is. She met him once, and he dropped some of that ridiculous charm on her, but I’ve made it clear to both my parents that we’re just friends. I’m lucky that they trust me and let me do what I want.

  “All right, next on the list,” Alex says, reading from his phone. “Number twenty-eight, 10 Things I Hate About You, a retelling of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, directed by Gil Junger.” He scowls. “Sounds bad.”

  We head to the family room adjacent to the kitchen. “You literally say that about all of them, but if you don’t want to watch it, it’s okay. I’ve seen it.”

  I have seen it, and the truth is, I do not want to watch that movie with him. There’s something about Alex that sort of reminds me of the late great Heath Ledger. The movie is very romantic and ends at the prom. I don’t need that tonight.

  “Okay.” He refers back to the list on his phone. “Most of them sound pretty terrible.”

  “That’s not true. Not most. What’s next on the list?”

  “Okay, here. Number twenty-nine. Just One of the Guys?” He pauses. “Nineteen eighty-five, and—wouldn’t you know it—‘A loose adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Nig
ht.’ Damn, what’s up with adapting that dude?”

  “Sounds perfect to me. And they adapt that ‘dude’ because he knew how to tell a story.”

  He puffs out a breath. “All right. Sounds dumb, but all right.” He shuffles over to the remotes like he can’t believe this is his life. I don’t take it personally because I know he doesn’t really mind. It was his idea to tackle this list after the first time I told him about the big plans I have for the future. I am going to win Oscars, Golden Globes, all of the shiny statues. I am going to make movies that make people cry and laugh. I want it so bad I can barely stand it sometimes. It’s why I work so hard, why I’m so driven.

  Alex opens a bag of popcorn and throws me a box of Sno-Caps, my go-to movie snack. We take our usual spots on the huge sectional sofa: Alex in the V where the two sides meet and me on the middle cushion to his left on the side that faces the TV. He does a search for the movie, finds it, and pushes play.

  Two hours later, the movie ends at prom.

  “Why is it always prom?” he grumbles. “Like that’s the end-all-be-all of the high school experience?”

  “You should know,” I say. “You’ve been to enough of them.”

  His long body is stretched out on his side of the sofa. “God, I hope not.” He twists toward me. I’m slumped down pretty low in the center cushion, my feet up on the coffee table.

  “It’s a lot of hype for not much payoff, if you ask me,” he says.

  “Maybe you’ve just gone with the wrong people,” I say, not sure what point I’m trying to make. Whatever. It’s late. I’m tired and need to go home. The movie was not my favorite, although it was directed by a woman, which doesn’t happen enough. I plan to change that.

  Alex chuckles.

  “What’s funny?” I ask.

  “These movies are so predictable, yeah?”

  He’s not wrong. “Yeah, but there were twists in this one. It is Shakespeare—or a ‘loose adaptation,’ anyway. You can’t make fun of him.”

  He smiles. He looks tired. “Still, on a scale of one to ten, that one gets a three.”

  While the credits roll, I stand up and stretch. “Well, I give it a five, so we actually almost agree. Now I have to get home before I pass out.”

  He walks me through the house toward the foyer and slings his arm around my shoulder again. This is a normal thing for him to do, except this time when we get to the door, he turns toward me at the same time I turn to him. We’re close, very close, so close we almost touch noses. So close we could almost kiss.

  I gasp and hop back. He steps away casually, like it’s no big deal, and the current of energy that just zapped through me is snuffed out. Right. We’re friends, pals, and this face-to-face moment was an accident. It didn’t even faze him.

  He opens the door for me, and I step into the steamy Florida night.

  It shouldn’t have fazed me, either. There’s nothing there, I remind myself. I’m exhausted, and I’m thinking that from now on we should steer clear of Shakespeare adaptations.

  “Text me when you get home,” he says as I walk to my car. This is also his habit, which is nice, chivalrous, and also probably very brotherly.

  “Sure,” I say. “Thanks for the movie, and thank Miriam for the gumbo.”

  He crosses his arms as I open the door to my rickety old Kia. “I will.”

  I make eye contact once more before I get inside. “And you’ll think of something genius for Caleb?”

  A corner of his mouth twists upward in a smirk. “It’ll be a promposal worthy of Shakespeare.”

  I wince. “A comedy, right? Not a tragedy?”

  “We’ll see,” he says.

  I roll my eyes and slip inside the car. The engine coughs to life. It sounds awful, but I so need this car to last. I chance another look at the massive front door of the house. At Castle Koviak, where the young Prince Alex covers his ears with his hands.

  I lift a select finger, wave it out the window, and drive away.

  Chapter Five

  Alex

  The house is quiet—too quiet. I walk around downstairs, turn off the lights and the TV, and think about what just happened with Bailey at the door. She turned to me, I turned to her—it wasn’t on purpose, it was like a head-butt, only we were face-to-face. Almost lip to lip.

  For a nanosecond, I got stuck in those light gray eyes. Seriously, it didn’t last long, but in that moment, I never wanted to kiss a girl so bad in my life, and that’s saying a lot, because I have wanted to kiss a lot of girls.

  I have kissed a lot of girls. That’s why she wants to ask Caleb-fucking-Gray to the prom, not me. When she told me her plan, at first I thought it was mostly for her film project. She’s obsessed with winning that thing, says it’ll help her get into NYU, but now I’m not so sure. If she wanted any guy, she could have asked me.

  She mentioned wanting a boyfriend, though, and she knows I’m not boyfriend material.

  I like a girl who just wants to have fun, no strings attached.

  That’s why I’m glad I didn’t get a chance to ask her to prom. If she said yes, there would be strings. So many strings. Not on her end, clearly, but I’m man enough to admit there would be on mine. I’ve let myself get way too close to her, and I need to put a stop to it. I really love being her friend, but that’s where it ends.

  She deserves a date to the prom.

  She deserves a friend who will help her get one.

  I am that friend.

  I turn out the kitchen light and dig through a drawer for a rubber band. Once I find one, I pull my hair up into a stubby ponytail. I haven’t cut it since summer, and I’m not about to start now with our season going so well.

  Also in the drawer are scissors, glue, and tape. I’m reminded of all the promposals that I’ve been on the receiving end of. There have been posters, glitter, sparklers, and silly string, though the bendy cheerleaders and the parrot really set the bar high.

  But for a truly unforgettable promposal, posters won’t cut it. Neither will a big bouquet of flowers, you dumbass. There has to be more.

  The object of Bailey’s promposal, Caleb Gray, moved here after Christmas from Texas. I don’t know all that much about him. He lived on a ranch back home. He’s a baller at lacrosse, but he misses Texas. He misses all the cowboy shit—the open range, the boots, the hat. Cows, probably.

  I close the drawer.

  Cows?

  Just like that, a plan starts coming together in my head. I ignore the tiny part of my brain that’s saying, Don’t do it. Don’t send her to prom with someone else, you complete ass. The other, bigger part tells the little part to sit down and shut up. It says to do what she asked because it will make her happy. I want Bailey to be happy.

  So that’s it—that’s the game plan. I’m going to do this, help her ask Caleb to prom. The one thing I know for sure, though, no matter how much she wants me there, I’m not going to the dance. If I have to hide out for the next few weeks to dodge would-be promposers, I will. I’m not going to be able to watch Bailey Banfield go with someone else, even if I helped her do it.

  The next morning, I hop out of bed with cows on the brain. Or a cow, singular. That’s what’s going to happen. I was tired when she left, but I didn’t sleep at all—in fact I ended up watching that movie, 10 Things I Hate About You. Damn, it had the promposal of all promposals in it.

  Seriously, the Heath Ledger character takes over the sound system of their high school’s football stadium and sings a song in front of, like, the whole student body. Anyway, it worked. The girl he was singing for, who had previously hated him, changed her mind, and of course they end up at the prom together.

  No singing for Tex, though. Bailey seriously has the world’s worst singing voice, honest to God. She sounds like a dying animal. That’s not the point.

  The point is—I know what will work.

  She’s at the grocery store, Publix, right now working the early shift, so I send her a text.

  Craft store after w
ork? Operation Ultra-Mega Promposal to the Death is on. Come to my house, I’ll drive.

  I know she won’t be able to text me back right away, so the next text I send is to Tex.

  You gonna be in library tomorrow? Could use some help with calc.

  If she is really going to ask him to prom, they have to have at least one real conversation. I promised her I’d make that happen.

  Finally, I text Jake O’Dell. His parents and mine are old friends. He’s also twenty-two and my beer hookup. I haven’t seen him since the party at his family’s hunting lodge last month. It got busted by the cops, and I legit almost spent a night in the “slammer.” Eli’s dad got me out of it, but my parents and Miriam will murder me if they find out I had any contact with Jake.

  This is different, though. I’m not asking him to do anything illegal. Jake’s a cool guy, and I need him.

  Dude, can I borrow a cow?

  I put my phone down, lift weights for a while, then take a shower. By the time I’m out, I’ve got three texts. One from Bails.

  Yeah, I’m off at 2.

  There’s one from Caleb.

  Yeah, see u there

  The last is from my old buddy O’Dell.

  Any cow of mine is a cow of yours.

  It’s all coming together.

  Yee haw.

  Chapter Six

  Bailey

  My shift at Publix was bonkers. I had to be there at seven, and I am so not a morning person. Then the after-church crowd is always insane. You’ve never seen a grumpier, less-patient group of people, which I find totally ironic. I happily clock out at exactly two. Even though I have to be back for our weekly family dinner and movie night, I have a few hours to head to the craft store with Alex.

  I pull into the circle drive of his house. His mom’s shining black Range Rover is parked out front.

  I shoot him a text. Are your parents here?