Leah on the Offbeat

  I think of Abby.

  But I can’t take commissions, because what if I draw the thing, and it’s a steaming pile of shit? What if they ask for their money back? Or what if I post my commission rates and people just fall over laughing? What if no one ever contacts me? Maybe this anon is actually just trolling me. Maybe it’s like the dudes in teen movies who pretend to ask the nerdy girl to prom.

  My mouth goes dry. It’s hard to explain. Maybe I should delete my whole Tumblr account. Except.

  I don’t know.

  I’m curious.

  Which doesn’t mean I’m doing this. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

  24

  I STEP OFF THE BUS on Monday, and Garrett pops out of the stairwell like a jack-in-the-box. “Burke!”

  I jump. “Jesus, Garrett!”

  “So, guess what,” he says.

  I narrow my eyes. “What?”

  “I’m mad at you.”

  “Why?”

  He smiles and ruffles his hair. “You disappeared before the game ended. Again. Why do you always do that?”

  “Because.” My mind goes blank. I mean, not blank, exactly. But it’s definitely not giving me anything useful to work with.

  Because.

  Because Abby kissed me. Because she may not be straight. Which means I had to update every single one of my daydreams to reflect this. We’re talking about a massive overhaul, Garrett. I don’t think you realize how many Abby-related fantasies live in this brain.

  “This was the most boring spring break ever,” Garrett says. Now he’s walking beside me, matching my pace. “You should have stayed home to entertain me.”

  “Entertain you?” I side-eye him.

  “Well, Burke, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, nudging me. “But now that you mention it . . .”

  Then he winks at me, so—yeah. We’re done here. “I’ll see you at lunch, Garrett,” I say, patting him once on the arm before veering down a side hall.

  “I made dinner reservations!” he calls after me. “For prom!”

  I give him a thumbs-up over my shoulder. What a fucking slightly adorable doofus.

  I haven’t talked to Abby since I stepped out of her car on Wednesday—and when I realize that, it throws me. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. But then again, I’ve thought about her approximately ten billion times a day.

  All morning, I feel like I’m quietly buzzing. I don’t have any classes with Abby until the afternoon. But there’s lunch. At noon. In six and a half minutes. I can’t stop staring at the clock.

  Bram’s already at the table when I get there, and I take a seat beside him, facing the door. It occurs to me that I have no idea whether Simon talked to him. So, that’s awkward. Hey, Bram—your boyfriend might move to Philly, and he told me first.

  And then it actually hits me. Simon told me first. And if I’m being totally honest, I’m sort of gleeful about that. No one ever picks me first. But he did. I feel this sudden wave of affection for Simon. I think he might be the best friend I’ve ever had.

  And maybe I should actually come out to him. Tell him I’m bi. I can picture it perfectly. I think he’ll laugh when I tell him. Not in a douchey way. I just think he’ll be happy.

  “What are you smiling about?” Bram asks.

  I shrug and look away.

  And then I see her in the doorway. Understated Abby, goddess of restraint. Jeans and a long cardigan and glasses. I literally just spent two nights with her, and I had no idea she wore glasses. Of course she looks amazing in them.

  Then she smiles at me slightly, and I can barely look at her. I literally can’t remember if I’m supposed to be mad at her. She does a come-over-here gesture, and first I whip my head around to see who she’s talking to. Yes, you, she mouths, grinning.

  I get up from the table, just as Simon’s sitting down. Abby’s waiting in the hall, outside the doorway.

  “Hi,” she says, smiling tentatively.

  “Hey.”

  “I can’t sit there.”

  “Because of Nick?”

  She shrugs. “It just seems mean.”

  For a moment, neither of us speaks. We just stand against the wall, watching the juniors stream into the cafeteria in clusters. Abby’s foot taps on the molding, and there’s this look in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. I can’t decipher it.

  “So, we really need to talk,” Abby says finally.

  “You and Nick?”

  “No.” She rolls her eyes, smiling. “You and me.”

  My heart flips. “Okay.”

  “Are you free after school this week?”

  “What day?”

  “Any day. Want to say Friday?” Abby pauses. “I just need to—”

  But then she stops talking abruptly, leaning almost imperceptibly away from me. I look up, and there’s Garrett.

  “Hey, ladies.”

  The daily cringe, starring Garrett Laughlin. Today’s episode: Garrett missed the memo about not calling women ladies.

  “I was just filling everyone in on dinner plans for prom. We have a six o’clock reservation at the American Grill Bistro at North Point Mall. It’s about twenty minutes from the nature center.”

  “I love that prom’s at the nature center,” says Abby. “It suits us.”

  “Because we’re so naturally awesome?” Garrett asks.

  “Because our classmates are literally wildlife,” says Abby.

  Garrett actually giggles, and I shake my head, smiling.

  “Anyway, I should go,” Abby says quickly, looking from Garrett to me. “But.” She nudges my foot with her toe. “Friday afternoon. I’ll find you.” She flashes a quick smile and drifts back down the hallway. Then she turns a corner and disappears.

  25

  AND OF COURSE, I’M A hot mess for the rest of the day. I’m so far gone, it’s not even funny. My head is just mush. Actual mush. And it would be one thing if it only happened in Abby’s physical presence, but it’s way beyond that. It’s everything I do and everywhere I go. People try to talk to me, and I don’t even hear them.

  Simon intercepts me on my way to the buses. “Come on. I’m driving you home.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s not a question. Let’s go.” He hooks his arm around my shoulders and turns me toward the parking lot. Then he walks me the whole way there, like I’m a frail, stumbling great-grandmother.

  “You’re ridiculous,” I inform him.

  He opens the passenger door for me.

  “Are you going to click my seat belt for me, too?” I add.

  “Very funny.”

  “So, where’s Nora?” I ask when he finally slides into the driver’s seat.

  “Funny you should ask.”

  “Funny how?”

  “Well, by funny,” he explains, “I mean not at all funny.”

  “Ah.”

  He backs slowly out of his parking spot, lips pressed together.

  “Is everything okay?” I say after a moment.

  “What? Oh yeah. I’m just.” He shakes his head. “Did you know she’s going to prom?”

  “Nora?”

  Simon nods.

  “Oh. With Cal?”

  He stops at a light, turning to me incredulously. “You knew about it?”

  “No, but they were pretty flirty during the play.”

  “No they weren’t! I would have noticed. I always notice this stuff.” I snort out loud, and he narrows his eyes. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hmph.”

  “So, are they dating?” I ask.

  He sighs. “I don’t know.”

  “Want me to ask her? I’ll ask. I don’t care.”

  “It’s just weird, right?” he says, nodding earnestly. “He liked me.”

  “And you have a boyfriend. Which, speaking of—have you talked to Bram yet?”

  “No. But I will. And, Leah, God. You know I’m not jealous, right? I’m just saying—it’s weird.?
??

  “I don’t think it’s weird at all. You and Nora look a lot alike.”

  Simon smacks the steering wheel. “That’s why it’s weird.”

  “The dude has a type.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “I think you just don’t like the idea of your little sister hooking up with someone.”

  “THEY’RE NOT HOOKING UP.”

  I shake my head, smiling.

  “But she keeps staying after school with him for yearbook, and now he’s giving her a ride home like every day.”

  “Aka, they’re hooking up.”

  Simon huffs. “No they’re not.”

  He turns onto Roswell Road, and for the next five minutes, we drive in silence. I don’t say a single word until he pulls into my driveway.

  “Seriously, are you okay?” I ask finally.

  “What? Yeah.”

  “You need to talk to Bram.”

  “I know.”

  “Like now. Today.”

  He nods, slowly, jaw clenched. “This is stupid. I should just turn in my deposit for NYU, right?”

  “Simon, I can’t make this decision for you.” I shake my head. Then I grab his hand and tug it. “All right. Come on.”

  “You want me to come in?” His brow furrows.

  “Yup.”

  “Um. Yeah.” Simon nods quickly. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve actually been inside your house in years.”

  “I’m aware,” I say, feeling stupidly self-conscious. It’s not a secret that I’m not rich. And Simon’s not going to judge me for having a small house, or clutter, or crappy secondhand IKEA furniture. But I’m just weird about having people over. It’s like I can’t help but be acutely aware of the stains on the carpet and my mismatched bedding. Or even just the fact that my whole room is the size of Simon’s closet.

  We walk in through the garage, and he follows me down the hall. “I can’t even remember what your room looks like,” he says.

  “It’s really small. Just warning you.”

  Then I open the door and step into my room. Simon lingers in the doorway. “This is amazing,” he says softly.

  I look at him to see if he’s kidding.

  “Did you draw all of these?” He walks toward the wall, peering closely at one of my sketches.

  “Some of them. Some are from the internet.”

  My walls are covered with art—pencil sketches and carefully inked character portraits and chibis and yaoi. If I fall in love with something on DeviantArt, I print it. Or sometimes Morgan and Anna print them and give them to me. And I guess lately, more and more of them are mine. My Harry and Draco sketches, Haruka and Michiru, my original characters. And the picture I drew of Abby and me at Morgan’s house. I hope to God Simon doesn’t notice that.

  “This room is so you,” he says, smiling.

  “I guess.”

  He flops backward onto my bed. That’s the thing about Simon. He feels totally at home wherever he goes. I stretch out beside him, and we both stare at my ceiling fan.

  Then Simon covers his face and sighs.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.”

  “I know you’re worried.”

  He sniffs and turns his head to look at me. There’s a tear streaking down his cheek, sliding out from under his glasses. He wipes it away with the heel of his hand. “I just don’t like good-byes.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t want to leave him or you or Abby or any of you guys.” His voice catches. “I don’t know anyone in Philly. I don’t know how people do this.”

  I feel my throat start to tighten.

  “I think I’m even going to miss Taylor.”

  “Okay, now you’ve lost me.”

  He laughs and sniffs again. “Come on. You know you’ll miss her. How are we going to know if her metabolism is still rocking?”

  “Probably from her daily Instagram updates.”

  “Okay, that’s true.”

  “And that’s a conservative estimate.”

  “I know.” He scoots toward me, so close our heads are touching. Then he sighs quietly into my ear, ruffling my hair with his breath. I don’t think I’ve ever loved him more. We just lie there like that, watching the fan move in circles.

  I should tell him.

  Right now. I don’t think there’s ever been a moment in history that was more perfect for coming out.

  But I don’t.

  It’s the weirdest thing. I’m lying in a room with my gay best friend, who’s 100 percent likely to be completely fucking cool about this. Literally risk-free.

  But it’s like the words won’t come.

  26

  AND THEN THERE’S THE ISSUE of Nick. Despite his Waffle House meltdown, he’s totally normal on Monday and Tuesday—so normal, it’s almost concerning. But on Wednesday afternoon, he skids straight off the edge.

  I’m heading toward the buses when I hear—unmistakably—Nick’s voice over the intercom. “Simon Spier and Leah Burke, please report to the atrium immediately.”

  I stop in my tracks, staring at the loudspeaker.

  “I repeat: Simon and Leah, report to the atrium immediately.”

  I have no clue what he’s playing at, but I head up there anyway. I catch Simon in the stairwell. “What’s this about?” he asks.

  I shake my head slowly. “No idea.”

  I follow Simon upstairs and into the atrium. It’s teeming with people—laughing, jostling, and streaming out to the parking lot. But Nick isn’t anywhere. I mean, I guess he must be somewhere. To be honest, he’s probably suspended by now, because we definitely aren’t allowed to use the intercom.

  “Do you think he’s pranking us?” asks Simon.

  “I mean.” I tilt my head. “If he is, I don’t get it.”

  But moments later, he bursts out of the front office, looking wild-eyed and disheveled. “Hey, you’re here. Cool, cool.”

  Simon peers at his face. “Are you okay?”

  “What? Totally!” He nods quickly. “Totally.”

  For a moment, no one speaks.

  “So, what’s going on?” I ask finally.

  Nick’s eyes scan the room. And then he pauses. “Are you guys free right now?”

  “I am.” Simon nods.

  “Okay, good. Because I need you”—he points at me—“and you”—he points at Simon—“and me to go to my house and eat shitty food and play video games. Just like old times. No Abby, no Bram, no Garrett.”

  “Okay, Garrett and I aren’t—”

  He cuts me off. “Just us. The original trio.”

  “Just us,” Simon echoes. “Okay, let me text Nora. If you can give me a ride, I’ll leave her the car.”

  “Excellent,” says Nick, clamping a hand on each of our shoulders. Simon’s eyes flick toward me nervously.

  None of us speaks as we drift through the parking lot. The sky is dark and gloomy, with gray clouds hanging low. I swallow a prickle of dread as I slide into the passenger seat. It’s only a short drive to Nick’s house, and Simon fills the space with frantic chatter—about Nora and Cal, about tuxedo rentals. Nick doesn’t say a word. He pulls straight into his garage and takes the spot where his mom usually parks. “They’re both on call all night,” he informs us. “And there’s beer.”

  So, it’s that kind of night.

  Nick grabs a six-pack and his acoustic guitar and heads down to the basement. I curl into one of the video game chairs, and Simon sprawls out on the couch. But Nick bypasses everything comfortable, opting instead for the floor, where he crosses his legs and starts tuning his guitar. Then he takes a sip of beer and does a few experimental strums, his shoulders finally relaxing.

  “Um, Nick?” Simon says after a moment. “Why are we here?”

  “You mean evolutionarily or existentially?”

  Simon’s brow furrows. “I mean why are we in your basement?”

  “Because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do. We hang out in basements.” He strums a
chord and takes a long swig of beer. “Also, everyone else suuuuuucks.” He actually sings that last word instead of saying it.

  Then he sets the beer down, repositions his guitar, and starts playing a melody so intricate, my eyes can’t keep up with his hands.

  Simon slides off the couch and settles in next to Nick on the floor. “Okay, this sounds really great.”

  “It sounds like shit,” Nick says, fingers still tearing across the frets. But he grins.

  Simon pauses. “Seriously, are you okay?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay,” Simon says. He looks up at me desperately.

  I lean forward in my chair. “Nick, you’re freaking us out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re acting super weird.”

  “No I’m not.” He strums a loud chord. “I’m just.” Chord. “Making music.” Chord. “With my two best.” Chord. “Friends.” Then his hands fall suddenly still. “You know what’s really awesome?”

  Simon looks hopeful. “What?”

  “The fact that from now on, for the rest of my life, I can tell people I got dumped two weeks before prom.”

  Yikes. I look at Simon. He puffs out his cheeks and then exhales loudly.

  “Hilarious, right?”

  I look at him. “Not really.”

  “I was in love with her,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “And now she’s totally over it. Like, whatever. Just like that.”

  “I don’t think that’s—” Simon starts to say.

  “I’m just saying, do you even know what it’s like to be in love with someone like that?”

  I almost choke.

  “Dude, I’m like seriously worried about you right now,” Simon says. He glances at me again.

  “Why? I’m fine.” Nick smiles brightly. “I’m totally fine. You know what I need?”

  “What?”

  He sets the guitar down and chugs the rest of his beer. Then he grabs another beer and chugs that one, too. “That,” he says, beaming. “God, I’m feeling so much better already.”

  “Okay,” Simon says uncertainly. “Good.”