Of course, I think as I wave across the store at one of the retiree baggers, if this weren’t a documentary-style film, if it was fiction, I might write the story differently. In that movie, Alex and I might have actually had a chance. Our personalities are polar opposites, but I could make that work in a screenplay. There are plenty of on-screen couples who don’t make sense in the real world. In the movies, it doesn’t matter, though. Like Jack and Rose in Titanic. I know they didn’t exactly work out, thanks to the iceberg, but my point is, they were very different, and they totally fell in love.
Real life isn’t a movie, I know that. That’s why I love them so much. That’s why I want to make them. I want to make the impossible, possible, if only for a hundred and twenty minutes in a dark theater.
That’s what we are, me and Alex. Impossible. So tonight, I’ll hang out with my totally platonic friend in the real world, and Friday, I’ll ask an almost total stranger to prom. On a cow. With glitter.
I slip my phone into my vest pocket and look up from my scanner to see Devon McGill getting in my line. Great. She’s not who I want to see right now. I contemplate flicking off my “open” light, but then she’s already putting her stuff on the belt. Tube of toothpaste, a box of Cheerios, and two pieces of poster board.
Shit.
Poster board. No glitter, no glue, no giant markers, but I know exactly what it’s for. Besides science fair time, the only time we sell any volume in poster board is during promposal season.
“Hi.” I smile, because: customer service.
“Hey.” She seems distracted, which is good. I did my job with the initial greeting and don’t feel compelled to take the conversation further.
“Wait, don’t you work at the coffee place?” She looks sort of angry when she says this, curling up one end of her perfectly lipsticked mouth, as if my job history is somehow making her life difficult.
“Yep.” I can get through this, running the poster boards over the scanner. Of course it’s not reading the bar codes.
“Did you quit?”
I grab the wand and try to get them that way. “Nope.”
She’s silent for a few seconds, and finally, the frigging things scan.
“You have two jobs?” she asks.
I smile. No, I beam at her. I seriously couldn’t smile any bigger. “Seems like your math skills have improved.” Yeah, that’s why she dropped out of AP Physics. Girl didn’t even know her multiplication tables. I know, what I just said was terrible customer service, but she’s so freaking condescending, I can’t help myself. “$9.89, please.”
She runs her card, and it finally catches up to her that I’ve been a total bitch.
“What? Why would I assume you have two jobs?” She laughs. “I don’t know anyone with two jobs.”
I tear the receipt off the register and hand her the poster boards. “Aren’t you the luckiest girl in the world?”
She huffs and leaves. I watch out of the corner of my eye, half expecting her to stop at customer service and lodge a complaint, but honestly, I don’t think she’s smart enough to consider that an option.
She’ll hate me forever, which is fine. It’s not like we were friends to begin with—and what a bitch to call me out for having two jobs. Who does that?
I glance over as she flounces out the automatic doors, poster board wedged under her am. She is going to ask Alex to the prom, and he might say yes, and he can have her. They make sense together in the real world, and like I said, Alex and I do not.
Seriously, you can have a boyfriend. You can have a secret friend. You can have a secret crush. You can’t have all three. It’ll drive you—me—crazy.
…
I drive through the deserted streets of Edinburgh after my shift, unable to stop obsessing about Devon and the poster board.
What if she asked him tonight? What if he opens the door and tells me he’s going with her? At the four-way stop, I glance into the rearview mirror and practice my “so happy for you” smile, but it looks more like I’m about to puke. I keep practicing, though, because why shouldn’t they go together? I’m sure they’d make a lovely prom couple.
God, just thinking about them together actually does make me nauseous.
Caleb! Think about Caleb. Come on, girl! He’s so handsome, and sweet, and not a ladies’ man who doesn’t want anything serious. We’re a great match. Even Love Guru Alex thinks so, or why would he be helping me?
Caleb. Don’t think about Alex’s hands on your bare arms. Do not think about his breath in your ear, singing in that whispery voice that made every single nerve in your body twist and zing and converge in a perfect storm of wanting him.
Caleb. Caleb. Caleb. He’s all that matters from now on. Unless he says no, which would be okay, too, because I’ve the whole hermit in the woods with film equipment backup plan. So yeah! It’s all good!
I pull into the driveway, and the house is dark. I get out and lift a fist to the door. Lately he’s been opening up before I can even knock, so I let my hand hang in the air for a while.
Nothing.
Finally, I do knock. No one answers, so I ring the doorbell, which is obnoxiously loud but at this point seems necessary.
I wait for what seems like forever and am about to text him when he opens the door. “Hey. Sorry. Fell asleep.” He pushes back his hair; his eyes are droopy, and yes, he looks good. So good.
I am 100 percent certain that I have no business at all being here, but I walk past him and into the house anyway because I’m an idiot.
“How was work?” he asks.
“Good. Long. I’m tired,” I say, taking off my shoes by the door and sweeping all my urges and yearnings for this hot boy under the priceless antique rug at my feet.
Caleb. Caleb. Caleb.
“Yeah.” He scratches his head and walks into the house. “I’m glad you came, though.”
“Well.” I follow him. “I was promised pot pie. And cookies.”
He chuckles. That chuckle, the one that just came out of him, is one of my favorite things about him. Low and even and from somewhere deep inside. There’s nothing phony about it; it’s all genuine Alex.
“And I will deliver on that promise,” he says.
The kitchen, as usual, smells amazing. My mouth waters as he dishes out a few plates of the steaming, creamy veggie and chicken mixture.
“Lots of crust,” I demand. God, I love crust.
He smiles. “She’s craving the crust, people.”
He hands me the bowl and a fork, and I take it, gratefully, making sure not to touch his fingers as I do. “So what’s the occasion?”
“Occasion?”
I dig in, but it’s too hot to eat. “The cookies?” You can’t miss them. There’s about forty of them in the bouquet.
He stretches, arms above his head, showing off a sliver of his finely tuned abs. “Phil and Deidre’s way of saying, ‘Sorry we’re missing your Senior Night.’ So, child abandonment? Is that an occasion?”
A sour taste fills my mouth. They seem like nice people, but I wonder why they have to constantly let down their only kid. “Oh no.”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I knew they weren’t coming, but I thought maybe they’d surprise me. They claim they want to be here, but there’s something wrong with the plane; they can’t get a part. They were going to try for a commercial flight, but there’s a village nearby that they want to visit. So I don’t know, do they really want to?” He takes a swig of water. “Anyway. No big deal.”
“Isn’t it?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. “How’s the film coming?” he asks.
“Ah,” I say, “very subtle change of subject there.”
He smiles and keeps eating, waiting for me to talk.
“It’s going okay. I lucked out and got the pizza promposal today. Did you hear about it?” I didn’t see him there.
“Didn’t see it, but Sam and Lily—that was all me.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
&
nbsp; “Good job, Love Guru,” I say. “It was great. After that, on break at the store, I interviewed Edna. She’s old and cranky and hilarious. She talked about what prom was like when she was in high school, and when I told her about Friday night and the cow, she thought I was nuts. She thinks we’re all a bunch of spoiled jerks, I think.”
“Edna’s smart,” he says.
I squint at him. I’m not spoiled, but I shake that off. “I asked my friend Ashley if she’ll film the promposal. She said yes.”
“Oh,” he says with zero enthusiasm. “Great. Sounds like you’re all ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. To ask a guy to prom. From on top of a cow. With a soundtrack.” I cringe thinking about it. “Do I actually have to sit on the cow?”
“Of course you do.” He lifts an eyebrow. “With the hat. And the bandanna.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. Can I really pull this off?
“You want it to be memorable, right?”
I nod.
“Well, sitting on a cow is way more memorable than standing next to a cow.”
He’s right.
“And also I found a vest. You’ll wear that, too.”
I straighten up and lean across the counter. “No. I draw the line at hat and bandanna. Trust me, he’ll get the cowboy reference. If he doesn’t, he’s a big idiot and I’m taking back the promposal.”
He smiles. “Oof, that’s harsh.”
I heave myself off of the stool. “I do have standards,” I say. I have a thought that I should leave now. It would probably be the best thing, but… “So, are we watching a movie tonight?” I ask, officially losing control of my senses.
He doesn’t answer immediately, and there’s a twisty feeling in my chest. God, does he want me to leave? I should want to leave.
“Thought you could only stay for a bit,” he says.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I bite my bottom lip. “You’re tired. Me too. It’s okay.” I manage a laugh. “I’ll go.”
In that instant, I know the truth. Our weird friendship/my fantasy crush thing has run its course. Friday night, the bubble bursts. Everything will change. As it should, as much as it’ll kill me. I grab my purse, hike it up onto my shoulder, and turn away.
“I don’t want you to go,” he says, quietly, to my back.
I turn around again. His eyes are soft, and his sad smile melts me. I wish it didn’t.
“Then I’ll stay,” I say. I know this is a bad decision, but I make it anyway. For a few more hours, he can be my leading man, and I’ll be the sassy heroine, and then the credits will roll, and our story will end.
Chapter Fifteen
Alex
“Next on the list…” I pull out my phone after we’ve moved like slugs full of pot pie to the sofa. “Say Anything?”
“Oh,” she says, sounding doubtful.
“You’ve seen it?”
Her mouth drops open. “You haven’t?”
“No. Does it suck?”
She eyes me almost suspiciously. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen it. It’s the iconic teen movie. And no, it does not suck.”
“Okay then,” I say. “Prove it.” I flop down in my spot in the V of the sofa and stretch my legs out on the cushions. Then instead of sitting on the center cushion next to mine, she lays her head on a pillow at the other end, her feet by my head. This new positioning jars me. She’s so far away.
“I cannot sit up tonight,” she groans. “Too much pot pie. It’s a top button emergency.”
This means that she’s so full she has to undo the top button on her jeans. It happens a lot when Miriam’s food is involved, and it’s a thing between me and Bailey, like the Reese’s and Sprite. Things that will go away when she starts dating Caleb. Which she will. He’d be out of his mind not to want that. In my head, I curse the pot pie that has put her so far out of reach on our last night together.
I find the movie, rent it, and hit play. About ten minutes in, this guy, Lloyd Dobler, is all over the place. I can totally relate to this dude. He’s funny and really likes this smart, pretty, dark-haired girl named Diane.
Not long after, I get a text from Devon. She wants to know if she can buy me a coffee tomorrow morning at Java Infusion. Wants me to meet her there at seven.
Oh, no. I know immediately—she’s going to prompose. I knew she wanted me to ask her, but I haven’t, so I’m guessing this is her taking matters into her own hands.
Bailey chuckles at something that just happened on screen, then picks up one of the sofa pillows and tosses it at my head. I pretend to act annoyed. “What?”
“Are you going to watch the movie or be on your phone all night?”
I roll my eyes, hating the distance between us. “You’re not my mom.”
“Lucky you.” She laughs. “I’d make you cut your hair and get a damn job.”
Devon texts again, this time a question mark and a cup of coffee emoji. I just want to sit here and watch this movie with Bailey, but maybe I should say yes. Three weeks until prom, and that’s a long time to dodge someone like Devon. I’d be keeping my promise to Mrs. Banfield, too. I’d go to prom and keep my eyes on her daughter. Probably not in the way she means it, but still.
Sure, I text. It’s early, but I don’t care. I’ll be awake. And if she’s going to ask me, I say let’s rip this Band-Aid off.
Okay, I’ll see you there! She sends this last text with about forty additional emojis that I don’t even look at.
I hear my phone vibrate with a few more texts, but I ignore it. I want to be in the moment, watching this movie about this guy who’s kind of a slacker and has no idea what he wants to do in life. All he knows is that he’s totally into this girl who’s better than he is in almost every way. Yeah, it sounds familiar.
Bailey has told me that she loves movies because anything can happen. It’s why she wants to make them, but we both know it doesn’t work that way in real life.
Of course, good old Lloyd will definitely get the girl in the end, because that’s the movies for you. In real life, just because someone makes you feel safe and better than you are doesn’t mean you get some big romance. In real life, the slacker with a dysfunctional family and commitment issues won’t get the smart, ambitious, hot girl. She’ll pass him up every time. As she should.
When we’re about an hour in, Lloyd and Diane just had sex for the first time—in the back of his car, of course—and suddenly I kind of hate this movie. It’s making me feel shittier about what’s already a shit situation.
“You hungry?” I say. Seems like a good time for a break.
“Sure.”
That’s another reason to like this girl. She was stuffed an hour ago. As far as food consumption goes, she keeps up with me. Tex won’t appreciate that, I know it.
“You got any Sno Caps?” she asks.
I head to the stash that I keep in the pantry. When I get back, she’s sitting up, back in her middle cushion spot. Her knees are pulled up to her chin, and she is holding her arm out like a kid. “Candy!”
She yanks the box from my grasp like a velociraptor, then rips off the cellophane with a grin. God? (I’m seriously asking Him right now.) Why the hell is she so cute?
Instead of going back to my V, out of stupidity or whatever, I sit down right next to her. She lowers the remote in her hand and gives me major side-eye.
“Can I help you?”
“What?” I ask. I know what she’s thinking. We don’t sit this close. But it’s killing me to be so far away from her. “You’re not gonna share?”
She lifts one shoulder. “You think they taste like insects.”
I did say that, but I hold out my hand anyway. “I changed my mind.” She opens the box and dumps a pile of the chocolate chips covered in white dots in my palm. I pop them in my mouth and chew. “God. Gross. It’s like eating chocolate-covered ladybugs.”
“Oh please,” she says and unpauses the movie. I don’t move, though. I stay put, next to her.
&
nbsp; I sink deeper in the cushion, and it hits me that I might never be this close to her again. That sucks because I like being this close. I like looking at her weird face. She’s got this nose that’s kind of stubby at the end with a tiny bump on the bridge of it. Her cheekbones are sharp, and her chin is a little pointy, but altogether, it works. Her eyelashes are thick and dark and fall on her cheek like spider legs, which I know doesn’t sound totally hot, but the complete package—it’s pretty perfect. Beautiful, even.
Not long after she downs the rest of the Sno Caps, fucking Diane breaks up with Lloyd. I can’t believe it. “That’s cold,” I whisper, but she doesn’t answer.
A few minutes after that, I hear this snuffling sound, and her head drops onto my shoulder. “Bails?”
No answer. She’s asleep.
This is different. I sit as still as I can, through the scene where Lloyd holds up the boom box under Diane’s window trying to get her back, through the part where her loser-ass dad gets arrested, until they get back together and the closing credits roll. I kind of liked that it wasn’t all neatly wrapped up at the end. You weren’t sure that they were definitely gonna be together forever, but there was hope for a happy ending. I’m pretty sure that hope was symbolized by the dinging of the seat belt light going off on the airplane in the very last scene. I’m ready to impress Bailey with my mad movie analyzing skills, but she’s still asleep.
I lean my head back against the cushion and slowly lift my left arm over the top of the sofa. If I lowered it a little, it would actually be around her shoulder. I probably shouldn’t. It could be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but then I breathe in her smell, sugary vanilla shampoo, that faint whiff of coffee and fresh flowers, probably just laundry soap, but it all mixes together to make the perfume of Bailey. It does something to me, makes me feel something that I don’t understand. I listen to her breathing, scared to feel this whatever-it-is, and scared to stop feeling it.
I’m going to pretend that there’s hope for a happy ending, like Lloyd and Diane got, even though I know that shit only happens in the movies. Bailey tells me when I complain about a movie not being realistic that I’m supposed to “suspend disbelief.”
Love and Other Secrets Page 10
