The Trouble With Flirting

  He raised his eyebrows. “You once said I’d never be able to make you jealous.”

  “I thought we’d proven you already have. Anyway, I’m serious. You guys are so close—”

  He shook his head. “Isabella is my sister, my mother, and my best friend all rolled up in one. But I’d rather gouge out my eyes than ever go out with her.”

  “I don’t understand why. You love being with her—”

  “Would you want to go out with your sister, mother, and best friend?”

  “Maybe not all at once . . .”

  “Well, there you go. Anyway, she’s too much work for a girlfriend. She’s too needy.”

  “I’m needy,” I said, reaching for him.

  “Only in the best ways,” he said.

  “They’re mostly physical,” I agreed, and we moved on from there.

  Still, watching them all folded up together now, after the show, I feel a tiny stab of jealousy. They have so much history together. And their lives are entwined in a million different ways—school, theater, geography, social circles . . . Even their parents are friends.

  But I reject my own jealousy. I actually like that Harry can care about a friend as much as he does about her. It’s part of what I’ve come to value about him: he seems to skim along the surface of relationships, but now I know that once he commits to caring about someone, he cares deeply. And once you’re one of the people he cares deeply about, you don’t ever want to lose that.

  I turn away, letting them have their moment, and look for other people to congratulate. And there’s Alex. Julia’s got her arms around his neck and she’s telling him he was great.

  I move closer to them, and when he sees me standing there, I smile and say, “You were great. I wish I’d brought a flower.”

  “Just steal one,” he says, detaching himself from his sister. “Preferably from her.” He holds out his arms and we hug awkwardly and briefly. “I wish I’d given you the whole bouquet back then,” he says with a small smile. “Might have helped me out this summer.”

  “Poor old Alex,” his sister says affectionately. “You kind of got burned. But don’t worry. Pretty soon we’ll be back at school, where all my friends are madly in love with you.”

  “Yeah,” he says without much enthusiasm, and I see his glance flicker over to where Isabella and Harry are talking. So it’s not just me he’s feeling wistful about.

  Of course, it was never just me he felt anything about this summer. And never just her, either, I guess. That was the problem.

  Across the lobby, Isabella’s roommates are descending on her, so Harry leaves her to them and comes over to join us. “Good job,” he tells Alex with a brusque nod.

  “Thanks.”

  Harry takes my hand and tucks it under his arm. It’s a small gesture, but I have to hide my smile, because its message is so obvious.

  She’s mine.

  He doesn’t have to worry. I think I’ve made that pretty clear in every way a girl can make these things clear.

  That night we lie together on one of the practice-room sofas. We’ve discovered that no one uses those rooms at night, and it’s especially quiet right now since everyone else is either in the cast or the audience of A Winter’s Tale. Harry and I are supposed to be there too, but we’ll have another chance to see it, so we’re playing hooky. We’re starting to realize our time together is slipping away.

  The sofa is pretty narrow, but we’re comfortable, my head on his chest, my legs curled up on top of his. There are worse ways to spend an evening.

  “Three more days,” I say, a little sleepily, because I’m cozy and warm. “And then I don’t get to see you again.”

  “Of course you will. We’ll visit each other.”

  “Will we?”

  He tugs my hair, making me raise my head so I’m looking at him. “Are you kidding me? Phoenix to L.A. is an easy flight.”

  “I know, but . . .” I hesitate.

  “Then I’ll come to you. I can drive there.”

  I push myself up into a sitting position. “Oh, sorry,” I say, because I accidentally leaned on his stomach and he made an oof sound. I lean back into the cushions and regard him seriously. “We come from really different worlds, Harry. It doesn’t matter so much here—a little bit but not so much—but you have no idea how awkward my real life is. My mom and I live in this pathetic little apartment—I’d be embarrassed to have you come visit there. And I don’t know if I could deal with seeing your huge estate of a home and all your servants and your pool and your Porsche.. . .”

  He sits up, swinging his feet down and onto the floor, and regards me somberly. “First of all, I don’t really have a Porsche. Second of all, I never knew you were such a snob, Franny.”

  “A snob? Harry, it’s the opposite. Your house would be way too nice. I’d be overwhelmed. And I’d feel like I was trying to fit in where I didn’t belong.”

  “Total snob. Letting the difference in our families’ wealth influence you.” He crosses his arms. “If I were poorer than you, would you say all that stuff about how different our houses are and how you don’t even want to come visit me because of it?”

  “No, but it’s not the same thing. I wish you were poorer. I would love that.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t arrange that.” He gives a sarcastic shrug. “So maybe we should just break up.”

  “You know I don’t mean that.” I take his hand and crush it in mine. “I want to be with you all the time, Harry, but I want to be with you here, in this stupid little practice room, where it doesn’t matter how different our lives and families are. Or at college. Or some other neutral place. I’m scared of letting you see the way we live and I’m even more scared of seeing the way you live.”

  He squeezes my hand back. “Don’t you think I’m terrified about it too? We’ve been in a safe little bubble here, and it’s always agonizing to expose your life to someone else, especially someone you care about. You don’t have the monopoly on embarrassing family situations, you know. In fact, I bet I beat you.” He runs the fingers of his other hand through his hair, making it stick up. “We may have money, but we’re a pathetic bunch. There are things I haven’t even told you because they’re too humiliating. My dad hits on my female friends. Just ask Isabella. And my mom dresses like she’s fourteen and is basically the poster child for plastic surgery gone wrong. It sucks, and if I could lock them away in a basement until I move out, I probably would.” He presses his knee hard against mine. “But I can’t, and I want you to come and visit anyway because I want you to be a part of my life, even with all its horrors. And I kind of assumed you felt the same way. But I guess maybe I was hoping for too much, because if you think I wouldn’t be able to deal with the stuff that embarrasses you, then I guess that means you don’t want to deal with the stuff that embarrasses me, and so maybe—”

  I put my hand across his mouth. Sometimes it’s the only way to shut Harry up. “Shhh. You’re right. I’m sorry. Please stop talking.”

  He pulls my hand away. “You’ve hurt my feelings,” he says with a mock sniff. “All that racist talk—”

  “Racist? I’m pretty sure you’re not using that word right.”

  “Wealthist, then.” He curls up in a fetal position against the sofa arm. “Whatever. I’m all bitter and unhappy and worked up now, thanks to you.”

  I lean over him and pat his arm. “Poor baby.”

  “Poor baby is right. I think you’d better make it up to me.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “Honestly, Franny, have you learned nothing from our time together?” He stretches back out on the sofa and looks at me from under heavy-lidded eyes.

  I figure out a way to make it up to him. One that works out nicely for both of us.

  Each cast performs one more time over the next two days. Our second performance is strong for the first half but gets a little messy toward the end, as it hits us that this is it—we won’t get to do this ever again.

&n
bsp; There’s a big going-away party on the last night, but first the casts meet in separate rooms so the directors can make speeches about each of the actors. I’m worried I’ll be late, because Amelia and I have to organize all the costumes, separating out the ones that will go to the cleaners and pressing, labeling, and hanging the rest, but I make it just in time.

  Charles makes a funny speech about how worried he was when he first met his cast, how he was convinced he could never pull Shakespeare off in five weeks with such a motley crew, but he did, and we did, and it was amazing . . . and then his speech turns sentimental, so that by the end we’ve all stopped laughing and are in tears. “I’m proud of each and every one of you,” he says, and holds out his arms, and we all jump to our feet and come together in a giant soppy group hug. Madeline reaches out for Marie, who’s standing back a little bit, and pulls her in close with the rest of us, and I’m glad she does.

  For dinner we head to the dining hall, where we join up with the other casts and the administrators and staff of the program, including Amelia, who’s changed into a long black dress and pulled her hair up on the top of her head in a severe topknot. She’s sitting at the center table with the program director. I’ve seen him make some speeches before, but this is the first time I’ve seen him up close, and I remember that he’s Alex and Julia’s uncle. He’s pudgy and bald, and at first I think he doesn’t look anything like them, but when I come over to their table to say hi to Amelia, I see that his eyes are the same light blue as theirs.

  Once we’re all seated, he stands up and makes a speech about how this was the most talented group of summer students they’ve ever had at Mansfield.

  I’m guessing he makes that speech every year.

  He congratulates and thanks all the people who worked hard to make the summer go smoothly, and we clap after each name. When he singles out Amelia for her hard work and terrific costumes, I jump to my feet, cheering, and all my friends follow suit, so Amelia gets the biggest round of applause of anyone there. She bobs her head awkwardly, flushes, and flaps her hands with a “shush” in my direction, but I see her hide a smile, and I know she’s pleased.

  After the speeches we eat dinner. This is a calm, contained, civilized party—nothing like Mansfield Mayhem. We’re all subdued tonight, partially because the adults are there, but also because we know it’s our last time to be together. We’re celebrating, but we’re also mourning.

  Once the official dinner is officially over, Harry, Vanessa, Lawrence, Julia, Manny, and I find a couple of sofas in the common room that aren’t taken. We curl up together and talk, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in one big group. Harry and I are always next to each other. Even when I’m talking quietly with someone else, I can feel his leg warm against mine. I don’t ever want to stop feeling that.

  The graduate students don’t make us go to bed. They come through a couple of times just to check on us, but they don’t scold us and they don’t tell us it’s curfew. Ted and Charles even join us on the sofas for a little while around two in the morning. Charles tells me he’s never been so blown away by an actor so quickly. “You said three lines and I knew I wanted you in my play.”

  I store that compliment so I can take it out later, when I have time to think about it. “I want to act more,” I tell him, and I realize it’s true as I say it. “I’m going to try out for the school play this year.”

  “You should also look at colleges with good drama programs,” he says. “I’m not saying it has to be your career, but theater should always be a part of your life.”

  The older guys eventually leave and the rest of us keep talking, lazily, dreamily, sleepily.. . . At some point I doze off on Harry’s shoulder. I wake up and look around, and ask Vanessa where Lawrence has disappeared to, but she says it’s his secret to tell.

  At some point Harry dozes off on my shoulder. When he wakes up, he asks what time it is. I tell him it’s almost five, and he says, “Let’s all go watch the sunrise together.”

  So we struggle up off the sofas and up the stairs to the rooms to grab quilts off the beds; then we go out into the courtyard and wrap ourselves up and lie together in one big heap, on our backs, our heads propped up on one another’s legs, all of us gazing up at the sky, which gradually grows lighter until we can see the first arc of the sun poking above the trees that surround us.

  And then we all doze off.

  I wake up first and it’s seven and I panic because my flight is at noon and that means I only have a few hours left to be with everyone. I wake the others up, and we agree to meet in the dining hall in half an hour. I go up to Julia and Vanessa’s room so I can use the bathroom and wash my face. Marie is asleep, her already packed bags on the floor next to her. Julia and Vanessa want to change their clothes, but I have only the dress I was wearing the night before and I don’t want to waste any time waiting for them, so I leave them behind and head over to the dining hall by myself.

  The first person I spot in there is Lawrence, who’s sitting at a table by himself, staring off into space.

  “You okay?” I ask as I approach him.

  He startles and looks at me. “Hey, Franny. I’m so tired I think I’m having an out-of-body experience.” He rubs his eyes. “I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

  “I got like an hour at most. What happened to you? I fell asleep for a few minutes and when I woke up, you were gone. Where’d you disappear to?”

  “I was just hanging out . . . ,” he says with a little smile. And at that moment one of the actors I only know slightly, a guy named Kevin who was in the Midsummer Night’s Dream cast with Lawrence, comes over with a couple of cups of coffee and I realize that Lawrence isn’t really sitting alone. He was just waiting for Kevin to return. I catch his eye and bob my head questioningly in Kevin’s direction, and Lawrence smiles again and nods his answer, and I know who he was with for the second half of last night.

  They found each other . . . just in time to say good-bye. It sucks, but we’re all facing tough partings.

  I hug Lawrence and make him promise not to leave without telling me. “Are you kidding me?” he says. “There will be tears. Many tears. Prepare yourself.”

  It’s the beginning of an endless morning of emotional good-byes. People are running back and forth between the tables, exchanging emails, cell phone numbers, memories. The early morning sunlight streams through the windows, catching dust motes in every beam—it looks like movie lighting. It’s melodramatic. Clichéd. Magical. It feels like the last morning of something.

  Harry comes in with his roommates, gets himself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, and joins me at the table where I’ve settled with Vanessa and Julia, who came in together a few minutes earlier, and Manny, who’s just arrived.

  Alex and Isabella show up a little while later, and to everyone’s surprise they walk through the buffet line together. When they emerge, they exchange a glance and then join us at the table. Harry looks at Isabella, and she gives a slightly embarrassed shrug, which I think means that she and Alex hooked up at some point last night. But they still seem awkward and uncomfortable around each other—the conversation doesn’t exactly flow from either of them—so I think it was more of a nostalgic last fling than any kind of new beginning.

  Marie never shows up at the dining hall. She’s either still asleep or gone.

  Vanessa has to leave breakfast first, because she’s getting picked up by a relative who’s taking her to the airport. Her hugs are tight and enthusiastic and she orders every one of us to stay in touch and come visit her in New York. “Most people would kill to have a place to stay right in the city,” she points out. “You guys are nuts if you don’t take advantage of it. And I can show you around NYU and Columbia if you’re interested in either.”

  Lawrence decides to walk out with her so they can have some time alone together while she’s packing, so I have to say good-bye to him too.

  “You will video-chat with me at least once a week,” he says during our last hug. ??
?Do you hear me? Repeat that so I know you heard me.”

  I repeat it. Through my tears.

  A little while later, I’m the one who has to leave. I stand up, setting off another round of hugs.

  Julia and I agree that we’ll make a point of getting together a lot back home, now that we’ve reconnected, and I tell Alex I’m including him in that plan.

  Isabella kisses me on the cheek. “Come to L.A.,” she says.

  “Why?” I say with a grin. “What’s in L.A.?”

  Harry doesn’t bother getting up. “Bye,” he says, glancing up briefly. “See you around, babe.”

  “Yeah, okay. Later.” I head toward the dining-hall door.

  He catches up with me as I’m crossing the threshold. “Hold on,” he says. “We should probably shake hands good-bye, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t get all mushy on me, Cartwright.”

  But the joke is over. We stand, facing each other, in the damp heat. The sun has gone behind some heavy clouds. The sky can’t make up its mind what it wants to be.

  Neither of us says anything for a minute.

  He breaks the silence. “How long is the drive from L.A. to Phoenix?”

  “Six hours, maybe?”

  “That’s not so bad.”

  “I don’t have a car.”

  “I do.”

  “Then come,” I say. “Soon. And often. All the time.” I’m done worrying about our ugly little apartment. The only way I can bear to say good-bye right now is if I know I’ll see him again soon.

  “You have to come visit me, too,” he says. “Just so you know what I’m talking about when I talk about my crazy family. And I want to show you around L.A. It’s crass and materialistic and fake—you’ll love it.”

  “Yes,” I say. “You know how much I adore things—and people—that are crass and materialistic and fake.” I snake my fingers between his. “Okay, so you have, what, a three o’clock flight this afternoon? And then it’s like a couple of hours to L.A.?”

  “Something like that.”