You shove your hands deep in your pockets. Bite your lip. Your eyes are trained on me, waiting.
“Why? Because of Matt?”
You nod. “How would you feel if I worked with Summer?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t like it, but—”
“Grace. You would freak out if she looked at me the way Matt looks at you.”
“Matt doesn’t look at me any way.”
“He does. I told you, he stares at your ass when you lean down to take cookies out of the oven. He touches you all the time.”
“What?”
“Please.” You step forward. “Even if you don’t want to work at Guitar Center, just … work somewhere else. I’d do it for you.”
“But I just got a raise. I get good shifts—”
“Don’t worry about the money,” you say. “I can make up the difference.”
“Gav, I can’t let you do that.”
“You tell me you love me more than anything, but then you won’t leave this shitty job. What am I supposed to think, Grace?”
“Hey.” I move closer, wrap my arms around your waist. “I do love you more than anything.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
You pull away from me and head to the door.
“Gavin! Come on.”
But you keep walking.
Later, when I’m in bed, I stare at the slats that hold the bunk bed above me. There are still a few stray glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the wood. I remember putting them up there when we first moved here. They don’t glow anymore. Now they’re just cheap plastic.
There’s a tap at my window. I pull back the covers, slow. I don’t really know if I want to talk to you right now.
I open the window and you look up at me, penitent. I step back and you hoist yourself over the short ledge and slip into the room.
“I shouldn’t have walked away from you,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.” We sit on the bed and you take my hands.
“Have you … thought more about it?” you ask.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“And…”
“Gav, I’m not quitting my job. It sucks that you don’t trust me—”
“How am I supposed to trust you when you break the rules we agreed on? We said we wouldn’t touch a member of the opposite sex and then you go off and kiss Kyle—”
“For a scene in class!”
I can’t believe you’re bringing that up again.
“And let Matt fucking hold you—”
I press my hand over your mouth. “Gavin, my parents!”
You close your eyes and I let my hand drop.
“I don’t want to fight,” I whisper.
You glare at me. “Then stop working there.”
I keep my eyes on yours. “No.”
It feels so good to say that word to you. You look like you’re going to say something else, then just shake your head.
“All right, Carter. You win.”
I lean forward and kiss you, magnanimous in my victory. “Besides, what would you have done without all the free cookies?”
“That’s a good point,” you say grudgingly. You kick off your shoes and crawl into bed with me. “Tell me why you were crying.”
And just like that, we’re not fighting and back in love. You hold me tight against you as I tell you about my mom. I wonder if she’s curled up against The Giant or if she’s all alone on her side of the bed, her eyes wide open.
“I feel so bad for her,” I whisper.
She doesn’t have someone who will make the clouds go away and the sun come out. She doesn’t have you. I hold you tighter, kiss you all over your face.
“What was that for?” I can hear the smile in your voice.
“Just because,” I say.
You press your lips against my forehead and soon your breathing is soft and even.
I lie awake for a long time, listening to the beat of your heart.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ever since I refused to quit my job, you and I fight every single time we talk—being with you is like walking a tightrope all day, every day. I’m always tensed for the fall. If I don’t respond to a call or text from you right away, you freak out. I changed the passcode on my phone because I was afraid you’d see Nat’s and Lys’s emails. They’re engaged in a full-on campaign to get me to break up with you. It was also kind of a test, to see if you’re actually as unreasonably jealous as they say you are. One night when we’re out at a restaurant, I go to the bathroom and purposely leave my phone on the table. When I get back you’re seething. What are you trying to hide from me? you say. It was a test, I answer. You failed. I refuse to give you the passcode and we end our date early and don’t talk for three days.
End this shit, Nat and Lys say.
I can’t. I just … can’t. People who make each other this unhappy should break up. Duh. But right when I think I’m going to do it, something good will happen. Something that reminds me why you’re my soul mate, like convincing the person who runs the mall’s audio to let you sing a song for me, live, during one of my shifts at the Honey Pot.
“Attention, everyone in the mall. This song is dedicated to my favorite cookie baker.”
Matt and I look at each other. He mouths, “What the fuck?”
“I think…” The first chords of “Anthem” play and I know for sure it’s you. “That’s Gavin.”
“Let me be your anthem, baby, let me be your song,” you sing.
A customer in line gestures to the speakers above us. “You know that guy?”
I blush crimson and nod. “That’s my boyfriend.”
“He has a beautiful voice,” she says.
I smile, proud. “He does.”
* * *
IT’S THE MIDDLE of February—only four months until graduation—and now that rehearsals for the spring play are in full swing, we don’t have as much time together. I find myself feeling relieved that I don’t get to see you and I know that’s a bad sign. But I still can’t give you up. I made the biggest sacrifice of my life for you when I didn’t turn in that NYU application. That can’t be for nothing.
At school we’re doing Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night—one of my favorites. Miss B’s mother is sick and she’s asking me to fill in for her a lot, since I’m the assistant director. I love every second of it: casting, running rehearsals, working individually with the actors, meeting with the crew and designers. And I realize something important about myself that I didn’t know before, or at least maybe it wasn’t true before: part of why I love directing is that it’s just mine. And I like having something that has nothing to do with you. It makes me feel like … like me again.
A few weeks into rehearsals, I’m on my way to Ashland, Oregon, a special trip for drama kids that only happens once every four years. Since all my paychecks go toward paying rent, I’ve had to borrow the money for the trip from my gram. I don’t want you to pay me back, she said. It’ll be our little secret. Just one more reason why Gram is my favorite relative. For a whole weekend we’ll be immersing ourselves in Shakespeare, seeing several shows, taking workshops, and—best of all—being in a town expressly designed for theater (ahem, I mean theatre) nerds.
You are furious that I’m going on the trip. It starts the day after Valentine’s Day, which, instead of being a mushy love day, has turned into the year anniversary of when you tried to kill yourself. You took me out to dinner, but you were distracted and not entirely sober. I (stupidly) made the comment that my trip was perfect timing because it would be good for us to have a little space. Now you’re convinced I’m going to break up with you when I get back. You begged me not to go, said you’d take me after graduation. We’re more important than this trip, you said. I have to play a show. I need you there. But I’m sticking to my guns.
The next morning I grab my little suitcase and rush to the school parking lot, late because of being up half the night worrying about us. Since I’m one of the last people to arrive, I end up sitting with Gideon Paulson on the b
us ride there instead of in the back with Nat and Lys. He’s a junior, a guy I hadn’t really talked to much before we started Twelfth Night, but he’s Count Orsino, one of the leads, so we’ve gotten to know each other a lot better this semester. We’ve actually become pretty good friends, not that I would ever tell you that. Gideon has my back and helps wrangle people when Miss B’s not around and he runs lines with the actors who are struggling. He was formerly more of a choir geek but transferred into our advanced drama class in January and now he’s part of our little group. It’s crazy how doing a show with someone can make you so close so fast.
Gideon is my kind of people. We pretty much like all the same things except he’s obsessed with manga and kung-fu movies, neither of which interests me. But that’s okay because he loves Radiohead, reads even more than I do, and wants to travel the world someday. As our bus passes through California’s drought-ridden Central Valley and into the lush green of Northern California, we sit slouched low in our seat, heads bent close together as we create an imaginary itinerary for a round-the-world trip.
“Okay,” he says, pushing his glasses up as they slide down his nose. “We have a big decision to make here. Switzerland or Prague?”
“Prague is non-negotiable,” I say.
“Oh, really? And why, pray tell, is that?”
“I’m part Czech. There’s, like, a statue of one of my ancestors in a small town near there.”
Gideon nods, all business, as he adds Prague to the itinerary.
“Fair enough,” he says. “I won’t stand in the way of rediscovering one’s roots. But since you got that choice, I get first choice in Asia.”
“By all means,” I say.
He does research on his phone for hostels and we discover that in Asia, it’d actually be cheaper to share a room at a guesthouse, since they don’t really have hostels there.
“Are you a bed hog?” I ask.
He grins. “Oh yeah. You better bring a sleeping bag.”
And that’s when I realize—we’re flirting with each other. I have that light-headed, butterfly feeling I used to get with you and I’m suddenly very aware of how my knee is touching Gideon’s and the way his hair curls just over his ears. He’s wearing a shirt covered in Chinese characters and he’s written FUCK WAR on the toes of his high-top All-Stars, an outfit so totally him—nerdy iconoclast. I like the fact that he carries a messenger bag instead of a backpack. It adds to the whole hipster/scholar vibe he’s got going on. I’m a sucker for guys with style—you’re evidence of that.
Gideon’s hand brushes mine as he sketches in Mount Fuji on the map we’ve been making. I go still, every part of me aware of the warmth his touch leaves behind.
I want him to touch me again.
Fuck.
We spend the next four hours carefully detailing our itinerary, squabbling over cities and travel routes, laughing at our growling bellies. We should be stopping for lunch soon, but I don’t want to stop because I’m having so much fun flirting with Gideon. Shitshitshit. I’ve always been like this: a fast faller. The first time I saw you I turned into one of those cartoon characters with popping heart eyes. I went from not knowing you existed to thinking about you every second of every day for three years.
“I’m telling you, we have to go on the Trans-Siberian,” he’s saying.
“But that won’t leave us very much time to go to Moscow and St. Petersburg,” I argue.
He frowns. “Riding across Siberia in a train would make me an official badass.”
“I think swimming in the Great Barrier Reef will take care of that.”
“Oh, so you’re totally cool with great white sharks but we can’t go to the Sahara because of scorpions?” he says, genuinely incredulous.
I laugh and Peter peeks over the seat in front of us. I hadn’t noticed he and Kyle were sitting there. I guess I was … distracted.
“You know Gavin will never let you go on a round-the-world trip with another dude, right?” Peter says because he’s a nosy bitch.
Gideon snorts. “Let? That’s a bit 1840, don’t you think?” He turns to me. “He’s joking, right?”
I ignore Gideon and scoot closer to the window as I glare at Peter. I hope he didn’t notice how close we’d been sitting.
“This is a purely hypothetical enterprise,” I say.
But I break out in a cold sweat. Will Peter or Kyle tell you I sat with a boy on the bus? Does this count as being “alone” with another guy?
Peter just lifts his eyebrows. “If you say so…”
He turns around and sits back down. Gideon looks at me, his head cocked to the side. He turns to a fresh piece of notebook paper and scrawls across it in his scratchy handwriting.
You okay?
Yeah.
How did Gideon know that my good mood had suddenly disappeared? It was almost as if he knew it had happened before I did.
Was he kidding—about your boyfriend being mad?
When Gideon puts it in black and white like that I’m reminded of how absurd your rule is. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out with someone. Or hugging them. I haven’t hugged another boy in almost a year, except for when Matt gave me a hug that day I was crying at work.
No. Gavin is …
I bite my lip, look up at Gideon. Which is a huge mistake because if you look past his glasses he has the biggest, brownest, kindest eyes I’ve ever seen and I kind of fall right into them. I feel warm, like I do after I’ve had a nice big cup of hot cocoa. With marshmallows.
I like the planes of his face, the mixture of long Roman lines and soft cheeks, rounded, like they still have a little bit of baby fat left in them. I like his straight white teeth, tidy where the rest of him is gangly and adorably awkward.
Gideon takes the pen out of my hand.
Possessive?
There it is in black and white.
Yeah. Kinda.
The bus lurches to a stop and I rip off the piece of notebook paper he’s written on and ball it up.
Gideon raises his eyebrows. “Destroying the evidence?”
“Very astute, Dr. Watson.”
Nat grabs my hand as we all head out of the bus and surge toward the travel center with five different fast-food joints. Gideon goes on up ahead with Peter and Kyle.
“Dude. You and Gideon?” she says. Her smile is disgustingly huge.
“Oh my god, stop it,” I say. “He’s such a dork.”
I feel terrible saying that about him because that’s not even what I think. But I’m starting to realize that we all wear strange armor to get through the day. Mine is denial. Denial that I’m feeling something for Gideon. Denial that you and I need to break up, like, yesterday.
“No,” Lys says, putting on her heart-shaped sunglasses. “You two are adorkable—there’s a difference.”
“Guys. I have a boyfriend. I know he’s not your favorite person in the world right now, but I love him, okay?”
I tell myself I’m not going to flirt with Gideon anymore. It’s wrong, I know that.
I’m just finishing lunch when I realize my phone has been on silent this whole time. There are six missed calls from you. And one text:
Who’s Gideon?
Fucking Peter. I knew you were having him spy on me, but now I have proof.
When I get back on the bus, Gideon slides in next to me. I throw my phone into my bag and keep it on silent. For once, I’m going to ignore you. I don’t realize this at the time, but I’m taking my first step toward leaving you. Baby steps.
“So where were we?” I say, holding up his notebook.
“We’re in Tokyo and I was selling you on the merits of South Africa,” Gideon says.
“I’ll give you South Africa if you give me Morocco.”
He holds out his hand. “Deal.”
I take it, press my palm against his.
We hold on longer than we need to.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Lys has fallen in love with a girl from Birch Grove High.
&
nbsp; Her name is Jessie and she has curly brown hair and the kind of laugh that lasts so long it gets everyone around her laughing, too.
“I just can’t believe this is finally happening to me,” Lys says, awed. She’s been walking around in a daze for half the day.
We’re in our hotel room, just a short walk from the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. A pile of candy we’d gotten at the grocery store is sitting in the middle of one of the beds. My stomach already hurts, but I keep eating Red Vines.
“How glad are you the Birch Grove drama students tagged along on our trip?” I say. Initially, Lys had been a hater about it, since Birch Grove is the rich kids’ school. (Even though she’s rich, she says she’s one of the people. Whatever.)
“I know, right?” Lys says. She falls on her back and practically swoons.
The next day we meet up with everyone at a local diner, squishing into five booths. Gideon is in the booth next to mine and he calls, “Canada! We totally forgot about Canada!”
I laugh when Jessie looks at him like he’s crazy.
“We’re planning a round-the-world trip,” I explain.
“Oh, he’s your boyfriend, right?” she asks.
I choke on my too-sweet coffee and Natalie grins.
Because your timing is impeccable, my phone rings and I hold it up so Jessie can see the picture I snapped of you playing guitar.
“That’s my boyfriend,” I say.
“He’s pretty hot,” she says. Then she winks at Lys. “Not my type, of course.”
“That’s just the packaging,” Nat mutters.
We only have two days in Oregon and things are planned out to the hour. After the diner it’s time for an improv class with some of the actors at the festival. They put us into two groups and we play what they call the “Yes/No” game. Two people are chosen and they stand in the middle of a circle. It happens to be me and Nat. I’m only allowed to say the word yes and she’s only allowed to say the word no. That’s it. We’re supposed to respond to each other’s cues to make it seem like a real scene.
“No,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Yes,” I say, firm.
“No,” she says.
“Yes?”
“NO.”