The Boy Next Story

by Tiffany Schmidt

  “I figured.” Because Merri and Toby didn’t just watch movies, they dressed up. It was a whole thing. When I was little I’d spend days begging or blackmailing for an invite. Around ten I started pretending not to care, then creeping up to my room to cry. But they hadn’t had one lately. Eliza had been extra clingy at the end of summer and Toby had been away at lacrosse camp and in California visiting his mom.

  Merri had her hair twirled into two buns and was wearing pajama pants with some sort of sci-fi bears. Her T-shirt read Who stole the Wookie from the Wookie jar? It was unbearably adorable. Toby was leaning against the counter beside her, his hip pressed against the outside of her leg, flipping that stick of butter over in his hands.

  He smiled at me. “I don’t have a blaster, but I still make a pretty good Han Solo, right?”

  “You look ridiculous,” I lied. He looked adorable in that way someone can be when you look at them and see their seven-and seventeen-year-old selves simultaneously. The same black hair, but now he wore it cut short instead of in wild curls. The same expressive dark eyes and tan skin. The same mouth that pouted as easily as it laughed. He was chuckling now, a sound that echoed through all my best childhood memories.

  “You mean, ridiculously Han-some,” he corrected.

  Soon they’d be in our basement, sharing a couch and a bowl. Fingers brushing. And my sister was the opposite of an idiot, so how long could it possibly be until she realized that Fielding may be great, might even be the second greatest guy in the universe, but the absolute greatest was waiting patiently for his turn?

  Yeah, tea was not worth it. “Well, wharf speed ahead,” I said, then pivoted to leave.

  “Wrong movie.” Merri laughed.

  “Wait, Roar.” Toby was smiling as he crossed the room. “Did you just say ‘wharf speed ahead’? Wharf?”

  “Isn’t that a thing in Star . . . something?” I wasn’t a big film person—I tended to be dragged to movies instead of choosing them. Merri leaned toward romance and Lilly toward historical. Neither of my parents were sci-fi people. The only things with aliens I’d seen were Lilo & Stitch and Home, and those were with Molly and her little sister. Toby was shaking his head at me, his eyes bright with amusement. “No, it makes sense,” I protested. “Like, they’re taking the boat or spaceship or whatever to the wharf. Docking it on a new planet.”

  He shook his head again, his eyes and nose scrunched up before he glanced at Merri and they both exploded into laughter. “Wh-wha-wharf?”

  I never should’ve left my room, where the biggest threat was art supply impalement. I ducked my head and turned. “And on that note, good night.”

  “No. Wait.” Toby slung an arm around my neck to stop me. “That might be the cutest mistake in the history of mistakes.”

  Merri grimaced at the word “cutest,” but not all of us were pocket-size and had an aversion to it. For some of us, the word made our hearts race.

  Toby steered me into the kitchen, then went to the cabinet and got me a mug. He brought the box of tea bags too. “You’ll want a drink during the movie, right?”

  “Movie?” I asked, trying to keep my cheeks from revealing my glee over him knowing my tea habits.

  “Of course,” he said. “Clearly I’ve been derelict if you know that little about Star Wars and Star Trek. Sit next to me and I’ll fill you in.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt if you’re having special friend time or whatever.” Which was a lie, because that was exactly what I wanted.

  “No, stay!” It was Merri who insisted at the top of her lungs, and I could only imagine this meant she was using me as a nonplatonic feelings shield, which, whatever—if Toby needed to redirect those nonplatonic feelings, I volunteered as tribute.

  Downstairs in the basement Merri pointed from me to the couch. “Rory, sit. Toby, get the movie set up. I’m going to go make the popcorn—some with extra butter, and some”—she looked at me—“without any.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  While Toby did his thing with the remote controls, I played some solo form of Twister on the couch. Right knee cushion? Or both feet floor? Butt on middle cushion? Or back pressed against left arm?

  “Think Merri’s lighting the kitchen on fire? Should I go help her?” Toby asked, his eyes going from the TV, where the menu waited and a song played on a thirty-second loop, to the door at the top of the stairs.

  “I’m pretty sure she can handle it. Put your knee up.” I pointed to the coffee table I’d shoved closer to his side of the couch.

  “Thanks.” He dropped the remotes on top, then rearranged his knee brace.

  “How’s this movie rank, score-wise?” He watched all movies twice—once for plot and once for soundtrack. “The plot and characters may interest you, but the score owns you.” He’d told Merri that over the summer while I was eavesdropping from the top of the stairs. She’d laughed and disagreed, and he’d countered with “A good score controls your emotions. It’ll make you cry, make you scared, make you feel like you can take on the world or fall in love. Listen.”

  They’d gone silent and I’d slunk away. But now I was the one on the couch beside him, and he was grinning like I’d asked the best question in the world.

  “It’s by John Williams—which means it’s amazing. Definitely in my all-time top ten—but hold that thought for later. Ready for a short history of Star Wars?”

  But I paid a lot less attention to his summary than I did to the ten inches of couch cushion separating us.

  “Got it?” he asked.

  “Magic twins. Bad guys. Spaceships. Robot hand. I think I’m good.”

  Toby groaned and poked my leg. “Magic twins? Roar, you’re butchering this.”

  “Yeah, well you should see what I do to classic literature,” I joked. “Are the space bears from Merri’s pants in this too?”

  “Space bears?” He covered his eyes. “No. No. No. Those are Ewoks.”

  “They’re cute,” I said. “I like them.”

  “You’re cute,” he joked back. “The Ewoks are fierce fighters who help the Rebel Alliance save the planet. And, fine, they’re freaking cute too.”

  “Can you both stop saying ‘cute’ and start the movie?” Merri plopped a bowl of popcorn in each of our laps before taking her own bowl and retreating to the love seat.

  “Hey, do you want some—”

  Merri was already wrinkling her nose before Toby’d pulled the candy out of his pocket. “If the name starts with lick, you know my answer is forever no.”

  “Licorice is delicious, Rowboat. One of these days you’re going to figure that out.” He held the package out to me, but I waved it away.

  Merri pretended to gag. “I don’t know how you like that. Even the smell is gross!”

  I disagreed. The scent was quintessential Toby. And while I’d never, ever admit it, when he was away at lacrosse camp and in California, I’d bought a pack and hidden it in my dresser drawer. On the nights when I missed him most—when I could hear his voice on speakerphone in Merri’s room and knew that was the closest I’d get to him—I took it out and smelled it. And though I’d deny it until my last breath, I may have slept with it in my pillowcase.

  “Are we doing this?” asked Merri as she cranked the surround sound unnecessarily loud.

  Toby nodded and hit play. The two of them immediately launched into a recitation of the words scrolling across the opening screen. They had the same serious voice, the same inflection and pauses. I burrowed deeper into my corner of the couch: conspicuous, costumeless, and excluded. A trio of outsider qualities that added up to feeling like this was a very bad idea.

  “You ready to be indoctrinated, Roar?” Toby asked, reaching across the cushion between us to squeeze my foot. Maybe this wasn’t the worst way to spend an evening after all.

  10

  I was watching the movie. Sorta. I’d tried, but it didn’t feel like the type of movie you could half pay attention to, and once I got lost, well, then what was my motivat
ion to not switch all my attention to the boy beside me? Which meant I noticed the first time his lips parted in a noiseless sigh. And the second. And every time he adjusted his leg on the coffee table or shifted in his seat. He was inching his finger beneath the top strap of his knee brace, scratching underneath.

  I hadn’t noticed that Merri had fallen asleep. Not until he ripped open the Velcro on his brace, then grimaced and flashed his eyes over to the love seat where she was softly snoring with her legs tangled in a blanket. She didn’t move, and the tension melted out of his posture, only to return when he shifted his leg while trying to smooth the fabric bunched beneath the strap.

  “How much is it still bothering you?” I asked in a whisper.

  “I’m fine,” he said. But when I didn’t turn back to the screen he elaborated. “It burns by the end of the day, and I’m still taking Motrin before I go to sleep. Mostly it’s just . . . irritating. The brace pinches and rubs. Nothing fits over it, and it’s just so there, for everyone to see. I know these aren’t international tragedies, but I miss lacrosse. I miss my team. I hate . . .” He shrugged. “Everyone’s busy, you know? And now I’m not.”

  I wondered if his dad, who I secretly called “Major May” because he was strict and neat and had rules for things I’d never dreamed of, knew Toby was unhappy. He’d always worked long hours, but I hadn’t seen his Mercedes coupe in the driveway for . . . days?

  “Me either,” I admitted. “Not busy, I mean.”

  Toby paused the movie. On the screen a spaceship was frozen midexplosion. I knew that feeling. My life had already detonated, but all the pieces hadn’t jettisoned and caused max destruction yet. I heard the remote hit the coffee table before he shifted to face me more fully. “Everything okay, Roar?”

  Which would be worse—if he cared but not in the way I wanted or if he didn’t care at all?

  I swallowed and raised my chin to nod, but Toby continued. “And since I already know the answer is no—why don’t you save time and tell me what’s up?”

  “It’s just—” He was looking at me with those eyes that made me feel like I was the only person in the room. In the universe. And like my problem was something he’d move mountains and popcorn bowls and throw pillows to fix—or at least so he could pick up my hand and squeeze it. And while that didn’t solve anything, it did create all the breathless sensation of an asthma attack. You know, without all the danger and inhalers.

  “You can tell me anything, Roar. You know that, right?” He squeezed my hand again and I managed a horribly incoherent jumble of sounds. “Ya-gah.” Then took a deep breath and exhaled out. “I’m kinda failing math.”

  “Hey.” Merri stirred sleepily and yawned like a kitten, all pink tongue and stretches. “Why’s the movie off? Is it over?”

  Toby didn’t look in her direction. His eyes were still pinned on me, full of concern and hurt. “What do you mean you’re kinda failing math?”

  “What!” It was a question word, but there was no question mark on Merri’s exclamation. And though she had lopsided buns and creases on her cheek, she’d bounced immediately to wide-awake. “What does he mean, ‘What do you mean you’re kinda failing math?’”

  “You’re the genius,” I grumbled at her. “It’s not that hard a concept.” I pulled my hand from Toby’s and picked up a throw pillow to use as a shield. I also glanced from the couch to the stairs—was it possible I could make it up them before they caught me? I mean, Toby was in a knee brace . . . but Merri was now a runner. Dangit.

  “But how did this happen?” Merri was practically falling off the couch as she tried to untangle her legs from the blanket. “How bad is it?”

  “F bad,” I answered, my annoyance rising at both of them. It was a secret for Toby, not for public consumption. And not for Merri to use as a weapon to make me feel dumber. “Does it get worse than that?”

  “And you haven’t done anything about it? What’s wrong with you?” She came to stand in front of me. Glaring down with hands on her hips.

  “Hey!” interjected Toby.

  “You sure you don’t want to answer that?” I snarked back. “You have plenty of experience telling me exactly what’s wrong with me.”

  “Does this have to do with that academic warning I saw last week? Tell me you had Mom and Dad sign it. Tell me they know.”

  “Do not say anything to them. Seriously, Merri, I’ll go Fahrenheit Whatever-It-Is on your bookshelves if you do.”

  “Hey. Campbells!” Toby put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Time out. Rowboat—go sit on your couch and shut up for a minute. Roar, take a deep breath. So, retests?”

  I took incredible delight in Toby telling Merri to shut up—it almost made up for the rest of this. Except not really. “Mrs. Roberts said I could retake the last quiz.”

  “Great.” Toby scrubbed a hand through his hair. “And the first round of exams is in a few weeks—so you’ll need to go all in on some tutoring. I can do that.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” My stomach had been pretzeled with humiliation this whole conversation, but the thought of Toby being a firsthand witness to my inability to do things with numbers made me want to vomit.

  “Yeah, she’s my sister,” said Merri. “I’ll tutor her.”

  I shook my head vigorously. “Um, no.”

  Toby was also headshaking. “I got it.”

  “Hey,” Merri squeaked, standing. “I currently check your math homework, Toby. Clearly it should be me.”

  He carefully lowered his knee and stood too. “To quote Rory, ‘Um, no.’”

  I looked between their standoff and tried not to let the fact that they were fighting over me go to my head. Because, (a) the end result was going to be math tutoring, and (b) this is what they did. They fought. They yelled. They slammed doors. They stomped away. Then Toby climbed Merri’s balcony with a chocolate bar or ice cream or a book and apologized. Merri forgave him and he was relieved. They’d go sit on the roof and talk about best friends forever. And then the cycle started all over again next time she got mad.

  They may be fighting over me, but Toby had never cared enough to fight with me. He’d never stood outside my door with a present tucked under his arm and a look of soul-deep devastation on his face while waiting for my forgiveness. I sighed and considered escaping again.

  “She’s my sister. If anyone’s going to be stuck tutoring her, it should be me.”

  “Stuck? Thanks, Merri.” Not that she heard me, not that I was part of this conversation.

  “Knock it off. I’m tutoring her. She’s my Knight Light adoptee. I’ve taken her math class, and you haven’t. She might be your sister, but she’s my . . . She’s Roar. I got this.”

  I’m his . . . I would’ve given up every one of my paintbrushes for the ending of that sentence to be different.

  “Besides,” continued Toby, stacking our empty popcorn buckets and collecting water glasses. “You two will kill each other. And, Rory, didn’t I do a good job teaching you about Star Wars? I can do this.”

  “Magic twins and Ewoks,” I said—but I must’ve missed the part with the sci-fi bears. Or the part where Luke and Leia realize they’re twins—because I was pretty sure they kissed each other? I’d have to ask Toby to clarify later. But first I nodded emphatically, because he’d made a valid point—Merri and I would turn tutoring into a blood sport. “True. I pick Toby.”

  Merri melted. Her bottom lip pouted and her shoulders drooped and I felt my own posture do the same, because what if Toby gave in? He always gave in—if Merri wanted coffee, we detoured to Cool Beans on the way to school. If she wanted a bite of his brownie, he broke it in half. If she wanted to be my tutor . . . he’d surrender all claim to the job.

  “Come on, Rowboat,” he said softly. “It’s the week after I lost lacrosse and . . .” He didn’t say the word “you,” but he looked at her with eyes as heartbroken as my own must’ve been. I was a distraction. A boredom cure. “I’ve got piano lessons and physical therapy
. . . that’s it. I need this. I want to do this.”

  “Fine,” Merri conceded before turning to me for the first time in the argument. “But don’t think this means you get out of telling Mom and Dad. Come on, Mayday.” She scooped up the popcorn bowls and flounced up the stairs—Toby limping after her.

  I was left behind to stare at the blank TV screen and try to process what had happened.

  11

  After church on Sunday I was scheduled for six hours at the store. I brought The Great Gatsby, French, and earth science with me. Earth science was fine. I currently had a B. I planned to keep it. But French and Fitzgerald were equally foreign. I plowed through our second assigned chapter, trying to make sense of the pieces Huck had told me.

  I couldn’t, so Monday morning found me in front of Ms. Gregoire’s classroom, knocking on her door with a sweaty hand.

  “Oh, Aurora, come in.” Ms. Gregoire stood up and put down the purple and green pens she’d been drumming on the edge of her desk. Walking around to the front, she leaned against it, blocking my view of the stack of papers she’d been grading. I wondered if one was my last reaction journal and how much purple and green ink had been bled on the pages.

  Her dress today billowed on top and was more fitted through the thigh to knee. It was navy with brassy trumpets printed all over. Her shoes were red. Her lips too. And yet again I joined the legions of students who’d sat at these desks and wanted to adopt her as a style icon or personal shopper.

  “I had a follow-up question about our conversation on Friday,” I said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well, it’s just that . . . I can’t be like Gatsby. He’s all about parties. I . . . am not.” I knew I was contradicting Huck’s conclusions, but he had to be wrong; Gatsby was party king.

  Ms. Gregoire tilted her head and smiled at me. “Is he? Think about it. Does Gatsby love parties, or does he just throw parties? Does he attend them? Does he enjoy them?”