Crash Test Love (12 page)

ME

I told you. I fell asleep.

NIGEL

For real?

ME

Yes. Why don’t you guys believe me?

I take al the books I’l need for the next few periods. Then I shut my locker and start walking to class.

NIGEL

You didn’t return our calls all weekend. Did you screen us? Because if you did, that’s just … nasty.

ME

I didn’t screen you. I was busy.

DUKE

You’re acting weird.

ME

What? No I’m not.

NIGEL

Yes. You are.

ME

How so?

NIGEL

You’re smiling, for one.

I am?

DUKE

You look, I dunno. Happy.

ME

I don’t know what you guys are talking about. I’m exactly the same as I was before the weekend.

Only I’m not. I feel like one of those Russian dol s you take the top o and there’s another, smal er dol beneath it. The outside of me is the same, but the inside …

NIGEL

No, dude. You’re de nitely not.

ME

Well, so what if I’m happy? Is that such a crime?

DUKE

No. It’s just not you. You’re Henry Arlington. Tall. Brooding. Man-slut.

ME

Wow, such compliments.

NIGEL

Is it a girl?

My stomach lurches, but they can’t possibly suspect that anything is actual y going on between Garret and me. Can they? I haven’t even told them that she works at the movie theater.

DUKE

Is it her?

I assume that Duke is referring to Garret , and our IM conversation on Friday. I shake my head.

ME

What makes you think that?

A look passes between Duke and Nigel that I don’t exactly understand. I know I’l have to tel them about Garret at some point, but right now

—while things are stil fresh and exciting—I don’t feel like opening myself up to their criticism.

DUKE

Whatever it is, dude, snap out of it. We need you in top crasher form for Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen. You’re still in, right?

Destiny’s party is the upper echelon of Sweet Sixteens. It’s going to be lmed by MTV, and pret y much anyone who’s anyone wil be in at endance. The three of us wil get invites, for sure, but it’s not about get ing in the door. Not for us. It’s what happens afterward that mat ers.

What we’re going to do that wil guarantee a debacle of epic proportions broadcast on national television.

We’ve pul ed a few pranks before at other parties, but nothing major. Usual y the plan is to not draw at ention to ourselves and simply have a good time. This time, though, is di erent. Not only is the event for a girl at our school, but there’l be an actual television crew recording everything; eventual y, the whole country wil see what happens (at least, whoever tunes in wil ). Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen is not about blending in

—it’s about standing out.

Duke, Nigel, and I have been hyping up this party for months. At this point, there’s no way I can tel them I’m not real y into it anymore without losing their friendship (and their respect).

ME

Of course.

DUKE

Sweet. We need a major planning session this week. This shit needs to be hard-core.

The bel rings, and I’m a few feet away from homeroom.

ME

All right. Let’s talk about it later.

Duke and Nigel salute me, and I begin the day.

I can’t think about anything—or anyone—other than Garret al morning. I have never had a single person take up so much space in my brain. I scribble her initials in my notebooks and remember the softness of her body and how we talked about movies for hours and didn’t fal asleep until six in the morning. The only women I have ever daydreamed about this much are Britney Spears (before she had kids) and my mother (after she left, but not in a sexual way); clearly, this thing with Garret is new territory for me.

Before lunch, I slip a note inside Garret ’s locker asking her to meet me in the courtyard. I could text her, but this note-in-locker thing seems romantical y old-fashioned, and that’s the kind of mood I’m in.

The courtyard at East Shore is pret y self-contained—as, by de nition, courtyards are. It’s stil warmish outside, and some people choose to eat lunch out here instead of in the cafeteria. Most seniors go out to Wendy’s or Taco Bel or this bagel place a lit le farther away, but I hate rushing around.

I sit on a wooden bench and wait. I wonder if she’s going to stand me up. It’s one thing to be friendly at the movie theater, or in the privacy of my house, but being seen in public together is a big step. I’m wil ing to give it a shot, though, and see what happens. Risk the wrath of Duke and Nigel. I don’t know if she’s happy about the fact that we hooked up, or upset. Maybe a lit le of both.

I’ve never worried about what a girl wants before.

I’ve never worried about what a girl wants before.

“Hey there.”

I look up. It’s Garret .

“I got your note. I thought it was some kind of joke.”

“Nope,” I say. “Sit down.”

I make room for her. She’s wearing a red cot on sweater and a pair of jeans, and resting a brown paper bag on her lap.

“Why would you think it was a joke?” I ask.

She shrugs. “You usual y eat lunch with Duke and Nigel. You guys may as wel have No Girls Al owed signs taped to your backs.”

“Nah,” I say, “it’s not like that.”

“It’s not?”

I think for a minute. She’s got a point. “It doesn’t have to be like that. Besides, your lunch table isn’t exactly inviting either.” It’s sunny out, and Garret squints at me. Is she going to bring up the weekend? Pretend it never happened? Does she think we’re dating now?

She holds her hand over her eyes, blocking the light. “So the courtyard is what—neutral territory?”

“I never thought of it like that,” I say, laughing, “but yeah. I guess it is.”

We sit there, staring at each other. Some younger girls are clustered a few feet away, and they glance in our direction. I recognize one or two guys from my Spanish class sit ing on the grass. At the other end of the courtyard, a bunch of freshmen are playing wal bal .

“So what’s for lunch?” I ask. I decide not to mention our make-out session. If she wants to talk about it, she’l say something. At least, I think she wil .

“Oh”—she opens the bag and takes out a sandwich—“turkey, let uce, and tomato on white bread. Nothing special.” She opens a bot le of water.

“So. You and me,” she says. “Together in public. What wil people think?”

I take out my own sandwich. Roast beef with ketchup. “I dunno,” I say, taking a bite. “But I don’t care if you don’t.” For a moment we are simply two people, sit ing on a bench. Eating. Duke and Nigel are nowhere in sight; neither are London or Jessica or Jyl ian. It feels good to just eat with a girl. No false pretenses. No tricks or gimmicks or wondering how to avoid her when she Facebooks me the next day. At some point we’l have to gure out exactly what is going on between us, but for now we can just be.

“Nope,” she says. “I don’t care at al .”

And then, for no reason at al , I lean forward and kiss her cheek.

“What was that for?”

“Just because,” I say. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, before I forget.” I take out a bag with a warm chocolate chip cookie I bought in the cafeteria. “For you.” Garret breaks o a piece of the cookie and tastes it. “Delicious,” she says. “Thank you.” I slide closer and rest my hand on her leg. “You know, there’s no going back now,” I tel her.

“What do you mean?”

“People are going to start talking now that we’ve gone public. There are no secrets at East Shore.” She looks contemplative. Eventual y, she says, “So? Let them talk.”

I can’t tel if it’s from the sun or from her, but I feel my entire face light up.

Later, Duke and Nigel convince me to crash a Sweet Sixteen in Carle Place. I’m not sure why anyone would throw a party on a school night, but Duke heard about it from his mom, who takes yoga with the birthday girl’s mother on Saturday mornings at the JCC.

The girl’s name is Marge, and her Sweet Sixteen theme is Broadway! (I added the exclamation point.) I’m not particularly interested in going, but I did ditch Duke and Nigel over the weekend and this’l make it up to them. Besides, I can’t lie: watching Annie Hal with Garret , talking about relationships, eating lunch in the courtyard … everything is moving kinda fast. I wonder how soon it wil spin out of control.

Slowing things down for a night with the guys sounds pret y good.

Duke picks me up around eight. Nigel is already in the car, and I hop in the back. I’m wearing a black dress shirt and a pair of slacks. Duke is in an electric blue tuxedo, and Nigel is wearing a gray suit (and a yarmulke).

ME

’Sup?

DUKE

Nada, dude. Glad you could make it.

NIGEL

How’s it hangin’, Enrico?

ME

Fine, ne. So what’s the plan?

Duke turns down the radio.

DUKE

Here’s what I’m thinking: we’re visiting from somewhere like Kansas or Oklahoma, and we’ve never been to New York before.

NIGEL

I like it. I’m de nitely in the mood to say “y’all.”

DUKE

I feel that.

ME

That’s ne, except the theme of the party is Broadway. Won’t it be funnier if we say we’re actors or something?

NIGEL

De nitely. Broadway shows are usually dark on Monday nights, so that would explain why we’re not in the city.

DUKE

What show should we say we’re in? Should we all be in the same show, or di erent ones?

I don’t know a lot about musicals or Broadway in general. I have seen The Phantom of the Opera, though, so that’s what I suggest.

NIGEL

Shit! I should have brought my Phantom mask.

DUKE

Why do you have a Phantom mask?

NIGEL

Why don’t you have a Phantom mask?

DUKE

Good point.

NIGEL

Aren’t we a little young to be in Phantom? Maybe we should say we’re in that show Spring Awakening.

DUKE

Dude, that closed a while ago.

Nigel and I both shoot him looks.

DUKE (cont.)

What? My mom really likes musicals. Give me a break.

We arrive at Chateau Briand, a popular catering hal on Long Island. The valet parks Duke’s car, and we head inside. It’s cocktail hour, which is out on the patio. Everything is very bright. There are palm trees (how did they get those here?), dozens of tables and chairs, and a long bu et table decorated with appetizers.

A waiter nods and says: “Welcome to the oasis.”

DUKE

What did that mean?

NIGEL

I dunno. I want some shrimp. Anyone coming with me?

ME

I will.

Duke wanders over to a table of Sweet Sixteeners doused in makeup and hair spray. The name he’s chosen for tonight is Marcel o.

NIGEL

What do you think his chances are?

Nigel and I grab some cheese along with some thinly sliced roast beef.

ME

With one of those girls? Not sure. Pretty low, I’d guess.

NIGEL

Ladies do love actors, though. At least, that’s what I hear.

ME

True. But I think that pertains to, like, movie stars. Not people in Phantom of the Opera.

NIGEL

And we’re not even really in it.

ME

Touché.

We continue picking at the food. Eventual y the crowd starts ltering inside. A bunch of teens have stayed in the “oasis,” whatever that means; Nigel and I are chat ing with two girls who go to school in Roslyn, which isn’t too far from us. They’re both pret y cute. The girl I’m talking to is named Desiree.

DESIREE

That must be a really demanding schedule, going to NYU School of Medicine and being in a Broadway show.

ME

Yeah, well … I make it work. That’s what you do when you’re passionate about something.

DESIREE

Being smart and talented is so … sexy. It’s such a blessing.

ME

Thanks. Although most of the time it feels like a curse.

DESIREE

What kind of doctor do you want to be?

NIGEL

(chiming in)

He wants to be a proctologist.

I smack the back of his head.

ME

Shut up, Horatio.

DESIREE

What’s that?

ME

Oh, he’s kidding. Horatio thinks he has a great sense of humor.

The other girl, Annabel e, leans forward and sips from her Diet Coke.

ANNABELLE

A proctologist is a butt doctor.

There’s a bit of uncomfortable silence, which Nigel eventual y breaks by taking out a rum- l ed ask.

NIGEL

Do you ladies wanna spice up your drinks?

ANNABELLE

No thanks. We have a chem test in the morning.

Desiree moves closer to me and rests her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her and try not to think about Garret . Nigel at empts to mimic me, but Annabel e glares at him so ferociously that he almost fal s out of his chair.

I’m about to suggest to Desiree that we nd somewhere a lit le more “private” to hang out when I hear banshee-like howling coming from inside the lobby. I glance at Nigel and raise an eyebrow.