Leah on the Offbeat

  God. This whole friendship thing. You’d think I’d have a handle on it by now.

  Simon’s in his driveway waiting for us, perched on the hood of his car. He slides down as soon as he sees me. “Thank God you’re here.” He hugs me tightly. “Ugh. Leah. Everything’s the worst.”

  My heart thuds. “What happened?”

  “Hop in.” Already, he’s opening the driver side door. Nora lingers, looking concerned.

  Simon waves her off. “I’ll fill you in later.” Nora rolls her eyes.

  I slide into the passenger seat. “What’s going on?” My stomach twists nervously as I turn toward Simon. “Si, you look like you’re going to cry.”

  “I might.” He sighs and turns the car on. “Did Nick tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Abby broke up with him.”

  The whole world seems to pause.

  “Abby broke up with Nick?”

  He nods, slowly, and backs out of the driveway.

  “When?”

  “This morning. Like thirty minutes ago. I just got off the phone with her.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah.” He sighs faintly.

  And for a moment, I’m silent. Sometimes, I swear there’s a little knob beside my heart. It’s as if someone reached in and dialed it ever so slightly to the right, one notch faster.

  “Okay,” I say finally. “Wow. Do you know why?”

  “I mean, sort of,” says Simon. “I haven’t talked to Nick yet, but going by what Abby said, she just didn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship.”

  I pause. “Right.”

  “Which—I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous, right?” Simon says hoarsely. “Like, seriously? You’re not even going to give it a shot? It’s like, hey, look, I’ve got this amazing relationship, but it’s a tiny bit inconvenient, so let’s just end it.” He turns onto Mount Vernon Highway, lips pressed tightly together.

  I turn toward the window, my heart in my throat. “Maybe it’s not an amazing relationship,” I say.

  “What? It’s Abby and Nick.”

  “Okay.”

  “They’re like a legend. They’re perfect.” He sniffs. “They’re OTP.”

  “But they’re not,” I say softly. And maybe this is out of left field, but I find myself thinking about Taylor. About the way Nick and Taylor were maybe, definitely flirting at Martin’s cast party. About Taylor’s new obsession with Nick joining the band. Maybe something’s actually been going on. Except—I don’t know. I don’t think Nick would cheat. And especially not on Abby. God. He’s so moony-eyed for her. I’ll never forget the way he looked the first few weeks they were dating. He had that particular kind of nerdy-boy swagger, that back-and-forth between braggadocio and wonder.

  “And of course it’s right before prom.”

  “Yikes.”

  Simon shakes his head. “What are we going to do?”

  “Well, how did they leave things?”

  “I mean, Abby’s like, oh, it’s amicable, we’re still friends, et cetera, you know,” Simon says. “But Nick? I don’t know.”

  “He . . . uh . . . didn’t look happy,” I say.

  “Do you think I should call him?” Simon exhales. “Actually, maybe I’ll just drop you off and head over there.”

  “That works.”

  “This is going to be fine.” He nods quickly, like he almost believes it. Then he glances at me. “But I need a tiny favor.”

  “How tiny?”

  “Okay, not that tiny. You have to talk to Abby.”

  My stomach twists. “What?”

  “You guys are leaving on Monday, right?”

  I nod slowly.

  “Leah, you have to talk to her. This is just—I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Like, I’m not trying to get in the middle, but this is just unnecessary, right? There’s literally no reason for them to break up right now. Abby’s just assuming it’s not going to work.” He turns onto my street, gripping the steering wheel hard. “Why can’t they just try it out and see how it goes?”

  “Simon, we don’t get to decide that for them.”

  “I know that.”

  “Okay.”

  Simon pulls into my driveway, and then puts the car in park. “I’m just saying you could talk to her,” he says, after a moment. “I bet she’d listen to you.”

  “Pshh.”

  “Seriously, she, like, super respects you. Though she’s sort of intimidated by you.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Because you’re intimidating?” I shove him, and he smiles. “For real, though. She just thinks you’re really cool, like with the band and everything. So I think she’d listen to you.”

  “That’s not . . .” I trail off, blushing.

  “Just talk to her, okay?” Simon leans back in his seat, rolling his head toward me. “Just—maybe you could remind her how awesome Nick is, and how great they are together. And then I’ll work on Nick, and we can keep each other posted?”

  “Yeah, I really don’t think we should be meddling in this.”

  “This isn’t meddling! We’re just looking out for our friends. You want them to be together, right?”

  The question hits me like a punch—I feel my whole body clench around it. I mean, obviously I want them to be together. I want them to be happy. I don’t want any tables flipped at prom. But the thought of bringing the topic up with Abby makes me gag.

  “Please. Just talk to her.”

  “I’ll try,” I say softly. I look everywhere but his eyes.

  16

  “AND YOU’RE SURE YOU’VE GOT your phone charger?”

  “Yup.”

  “And the car charger?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll call me when you get there?”

  “Mom. Yes.”

  She’s pacing the length of the kitchen, hands scraping against her hairline. I don’t know why she’s being like this. It’s like all of a sudden, she thinks I’m going to the moon.

  “Mom, it’s an hour and a half. That’s like driving down the block at rush hour.”

  “I know. It’s just weird. This is your college tour. I feel like I should be there.” She sinks into a chair, resting her chin on her purse. “I don’t like missing this stuff.”

  “But I’ll be fine. I’ll be with Abby.”

  “This better not be Girls Gone Wild,” Mom says sternly. “No hooking up with college kids.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’m just looking out for you.” She tweaks my nose. “And for Garrett.”

  “Oh my God. I’m never telling you anything again, ever.”

  “Okay, but call me at the office.” She stands, smoothing down her skirt. “I mean it. As soon as you get there. And have fun, okay?”

  I lean back in my chair, head tilted toward the ceiling. Two hours until Abby gets here, and I don’t have a clue what to expect. I don’t know whether she’ll be crying over Nick or wanting to hook up with every guy in sight. And of course, Simon’s counting on me to find the magic words that will fix everything. Like I’m somehow going to be able to talk her into reversing the breakup and living happily ever after. With Nick.

  I’m starting to think this is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.

  I don’t know. I just feel so amped up and wired, and I can’t pinpoint why. It’s like when a song changes key, or starts on the offbeat, or shifts its meter halfway through. It’s that hiccup you get in your chest. That tiny huh moment. Like maybe something’s kind of wrong.

  Or maybe something’s about to change.

  Abby’s fifteen minutes early. And she doesn’t text from the driveway. She knocks on the door.

  I knew she would do that.

  Which is why I spent all weekend clearing piles of clothes and papers out of the living room, piling everything into my closet in one giant, precarious stack. From the doorway, the living room looks almost normal, even though the couch is kind of
patchy and faded, and the wallpaper is from the nineties. At least you can see the floor now.

  I sneak a glance at her through the window—and she’s definitely not crying. She actually looks pretty cheerful. To the point where I’d think she and Nick were back together if I hadn’t gotten a mopey update from Simon just this morning. But I guess Abby’s the smile-through-anything type. For all I know, she’s secretly heartbroken.

  I slip out through the door before she can step inside. It’s cloudy and cool out, cold enough for my Hogwarts cardigan. “I’m finally reading that,” Abby says, pointing to the Slytherin crest. “I was bullied into it.”

  “By Simon?”

  “And my cousin Molly. She spammed me with quotes for a week straight.”

  “My hero.”

  Abby smiles. “I like it so far. I’m halfway through the third one.”

  “You like it?” I almost sputter. Abby likes Harry Potter. That’s like saying Mr. Rogers was nice. Reece King is decent-looking. You can’t just like Harry Potter. You have to be balls-out obsessed with it.

  The breeze catches her hair as she roots for her car keys. She’s Casual Abby today—curls and skinny jeans and a loose blue sweater. She pops open the trunk, and I set my duffel bag next to her little rolling suitcase. Her mom’s car is kind of old, and the trunk is filled with books and stacks of papers. It’s strangely reassuring, seeing the clutter. I always expect everyone else’s lives to be immaculate.

  “So let me put Caitlin’s address into the GPS,” she says, “and then we’ll cue up the second most epic, bottom-tier bullshit playlist you worked so hard half-assing.” She grins up at me.

  “Wow. Shots fired, Suso.” I climb into the passenger seat.

  She does this very animated shrug, palms up and everything.

  I side-eye her, but I’m smiling. “Okay, well, I’ve actually got two playlists. Your choice.”

  “My choice, huh.” She starts the ignition. “This feels like a test.”

  “Oh, it is. I’ll be judging you.”

  Abby laughs. “I knew it.”

  “Upbeat music or moody music. Go.”

  She scoffs. “Like that’s even a question.”

  “I assume that’s code for I’m Abby Suso and I want happy.”

  “As opposed to I’m Leah Burke and I want to cry all the way to Athens.”

  “Pshh. I don’t cry.”

  “See, now you’ve just issued a challenge.”

  I grin at her. “I see.”

  Wow. So, this is strange. She’s certainly not crying over Nick. She’s acting like she’s never cried in her life. And this teasing. Even when we used to be friends, we were never like this. I’ve never been able to pull my shit together enough to talk to her like a normal person, and banter wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. But it’s like a tiny door just opened inside my brain. I feel weirdly clearheaded. For once, I can keep up with her.

  This is actually really fucking wonderful.

  We fall into a peaceful silence on the highway. I stare out the window, and all I hear is Vampire Weekend, Ezra Koenig’s voice decrescendoing. And then the song flips to Rilo Kiley. A moment later, Abby laughs.

  I look at her. “What?”

  “This breakup song. Wow. The timing on that.”

  “Oh shit.” There’s this feeling in my chest like an elevator dropping. “I didn’t notice. I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “Because.” I swallow. “I don’t want to make things weird for you.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “About Nick?” She presses her lips together.

  “We don’t have to,” I say quickly.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just . . .” She nods, staring at the road. “Okay, this stays between us, right?”

  “Of course.” I smile. “Whatever happens in Athens stays in Athens.”

  “We’re not in Athens yet.”

  I glance up at the exit signs. “Okay, whatever happens in Lawrenceville . . .”

  “Promise?” She stretches her hand toward me, pinkie extended.

  I hook it with my own. “Promise.”

  I don’t think I’ve pinkie sworn since I was ten years old.

  “I don’t know what to do, Leah.”

  “About Nick?”

  She tucks a curl behind her ear and exhales. “Yeah. Kind of. I mean, I talked to Simon, and he obviously thinks I’m making a huge mistake, but . . . I don’t know. Like, do I feel shitty right now? Yeah. But it’s not because I want him back.”

  I just look at her. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I know Simon would want me to challenge this somehow, or at least press for details. But it’s like I’ve been pushed onto a stage to recite lines I’ve never rehearsed. How would I know how a breakup’s supposed to feel? I’ve never even kissed anyone.

  Finally, Abby sighs. “I just feel like such a bitch. We’ve been dating for over a year. I love him. I do. It’s just.” She taps the steering wheel. “I don’t want to do long distance. Like, at all. But a part of me feels like I owe him that, since I’m not following him to New England or whatever. Which is ridiculous, I know, but I just feel so guilty.”

  “Because you’re not giving up your scholarship to pay student loans for the rest of eternity?”

  “Right.” Abby sighs. “I mean, yeah. Why is this even a question?”

  “Look, if he wanted to simplify this, he could have applied to Georgia.”

  “Yeah.” Abby bites her lip. “Though I’m glad he didn’t.”

  Oh.

  “Okay.”

  “Like, am I the biggest jerk? He’s an incredible guy. He’s been an incredible boyfriend. I mean, he’s Nick. I just can’t . . .” She laughs wryly. “You know, I kept wanting to imagine there was something going on with him and Taylor, because then there would have been a reason to break up with him.”

  “Why do you need a reason?”

  “Because it sucks that there wasn’t one. I just wasn’t feeling it. At least not as much as I should be? Like, I’m sad about it, but it doesn’t wreck me, and I really feel like it should wreck me.”

  I glance at her sidelong. “You want it to wreck you?”

  “Do I want to love him enough that leaving him would wreck me? Yeah.”

  And somehow, that single word expands like a balloon. It fills the whole car. Yeah.

  “Then I think you did the right thing,” I say after a moment. I feel strangely charged up. Like if you touched me, I’d zap.

  “I know,” she says softly.

  For a minute, we’re both quiet.

  “God. I just feel so bad. His birthday’s coming up. Prom’s in two weeks. Like, I’m pretty sure I just ruined everyone’s senior prom.” She laughs flatly. “That’s going to be a fun limo ride.”

  “You can’t stay in a relationship just so prom won’t be awkward.”

  Abby’s lips tug upward. “It sounds so ridiculous when you put it that way.”

  I shrug.

  “It’s just such a weird feeling. I’ve never broken up with anyone before.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I only had only one real boyfriend before Nick, and he dumped me.” She rakes a hand through her hair, smiling sadly. “Like, how does this work? Am I even allowed to feel good about this?”

  “I mean . . . probably not in front of Nick. Or Simon.”

  “Yeah.” She laughs out loud. “God. Boys are just so . . . ugh. I’m never dating one again.”

  “Maybe you should date girls,” I say.

  She grins. “Maybe I should.”

  I turn quickly toward the window, face burning.

  Just. Holy fuck. I said that.

  I didn’t plan to. I don’t know where it came from. But I said it, and it’s out there, thickening the air between us. I have this sudden mental image of our car filling with smoke. But maybe it’s all in my head, because suddenly Abby’s singing along to Wham!
like it’s nothing.

  I’m sure it really is nothing. Just like the drawing was nothing.

  Except she kept it, and I can’t imagine why. I wonder what she thinks about it—or if she even thinks about it at all. She probably just likes how I colored the background. Or she forgot it’s in her phone in the first place.

  But here’s what Simon doesn’t know: the drawing’s in my phone, too.

  The traffic on Route 29 is suddenly fascinating. There’s a minivan in front of us, with a little stick figure family in the corner of the rear windshield. Perfect magic hetero dream family: mom, dad, two girls, and a boy. Now I’m picturing my own family as a sticker tableau. Mom and me hanging tight in the left corner; Dad on the top right, mostly out of frame. And, of course, Wells creeping his way in on the side. Just your basic American love story.

  The song changes to Passion Pit. Way too upbeat. I should have picked the moody playlist. We drive and drive, and it’s like I’m teetering on the edge of something. Now it’s been ten minutes since we’ve spoken. The music feels too loud and too soft all at once, and underneath its bass line, I can hear Abby breathing.

  17

  AND THEN WE’RE IN ATHENS. Abby cuts down Prince Avenue, and I take in the colorful jumble of shops and cafés. There’s a little indie bookstore with tall, arched windows, a grocery co-op on the corner, and two guys walking down the sidewalk, holding hands. I don’t think it’s hit me that I’ll be living here. Not just visiting. Not just staring out of a car window, driving by. It doesn’t feel like real life.

  Abby’s friend lives in an apartment building near the center of town—understated and modern, with its own covered parking deck. “Caitlin says we just park wherever,” says Abby. “She’s letting us borrow her parking permit.”

  “This is wild.”

  “I know.”

  I peer out the window as we loop around each row of the deck. It’s a funny mix of cars—some freshly washed and expensive-looking, others dented and battered. Lots of University of Georgia cling stickers. Apparently, almost everyone who lives here is a student.

  We find a spot on the third level, ride an elevator to the lobby, and sign our names on a sheet at the front desk. Then we take another elevator to the sixth floor, where Caitlin’s apartment sits, halfway down a long, carpeted hall.