In Real Life (11 page)

Disaster.

“And Frankie,” I say, still focused on the T-shirts. “Three months? Why didn't you—?”

“I didn't know what to say,” he says, his shaking voice barely audible over the music coming from inside. “I didn't think you would care.”

“Why wouldn't I care? You're my friend. You've told me about your girlfriends before, Nick. I told you about Josh.” I press my hands down on the merch table and look at him as I lean forward so I don't have to shout it. “I told you
everything
about Josh.”

Then, as I am feeling my most vulnerable, with the conversation about Josh hanging in the air between us, Nick comes out from behind the table. I think he's going to hug me or comfort me in some way, so I brace my body. Flinch a little. But he doesn't try to comfort me at all.

He walks away.

I prepare myself to run as quickly as I can back to Grace and Lo and drag them out of this venue, out of this casino, out of this godforsaken city. Before I can do anything, though, Nick is back, pulling a floppy string bean of a kid behind him. “Mo,” he says in a voice that leaves no room for conversation. “I need you to cover merch until Chang gets here.” This no-nonsense voice of his surprises me; I've never heard it before.

Mo's thin mouth twists up in confusion. “But I don't know—”

“You'll figure it out. No one buys anything anyway.” He turns to me. “I'm so sorry. I can't talk here. Like this. Can we go for a walk?”

The urge to run is still strong, but I want to hear what he has to say for himself, so I nod. He starts toward the makeshift exit indicated by the ropes we walked through earlier, and he leads me along, through the groups of people walking into the show, by placing his fingers gently on the small of my back. That light touch, only the second time we have touched ever, sends sparks of electricity up my back, and I hate how my body betrays me like that.
Stop that. He lied to us. We're mad at him.

My body doesn't listen.

We pass back through the spot where Grace, Lo, and I walked in, and Nick gives a fist bump to Scary Bouncer. “Hey, man, we're going to be back in a sec. Is that cool?” Scary Bouncer looks me up and down and grins at Nick, giving him an affirmative nod.

Walking away from House of Blues doesn't mean it gets any quieter; we're still on the casino floor. Slot machines ring and clang. Drunk people stumble back and forth between the doors to the Strip, the gambling tables, the bars and restaurants, and their hotel rooms, yelling and cheering and having no idea my life is falling apart around me.

“Um. Can we sit?” He motions to the chair attached to a
Wheel of Fortune
slot machine.

I lower myself into it carefully, and he flops down into the one next to mine.

A tentative smile spreads over his face, and he leans closer to me. “I can't believe you're here.”

I glare at him. “Well, honestly, I'm sort of regretting it right now.”

His smile drops away. “I'm sorry.” He does seem to look sorry, but I'm not as familiar with his looks. I need to hear the regret in his voice to be sure.

“You said that already.”

He makes eye contact and holds it. “I know. I just … I swear, I never meant to lie to you.”

I do hear it in his voice. He means it. But lying isn't something you do by accident. Why did he do it?

“You know me, Ghost. You have to know that.”

Goose bumps break out all over my arms, and I turn my focus to the elaborate, colorful pattern of the carpet. I open my mouth to say something—I'm not sure what, I just know the silence is killing me—but he continues before I can figure it out.

“And Frankie. I don't know. I didn't know how to explain her.” His voice sounds sad, or maybe I'm imagining things. Although I know his voice better than I know anything else about him. “And after … Well, I didn't think it would matter all that much to you.” He kicks the carpeted platform of the slot machine as he twists back and forth in the chair.

My first instinct is to yell out,
Of course it matters, you idiot!
But I remember that phone call, and how I told him I never thought of him that way and I never would.

God, what did I do?

“She seems nice.” It's all I can manage. My brain works overtime trying to process all these new discoveries about the person I thought was my very best friend. Every mental picture I have of Nick involves him being in this band. Just like anytime I mention him, it's followed by, “We tell each other everything.” I need a minute to adjust to a life where these two unshakable facts aren't true.

He stops swiveling in the chair and pokes absently at the buttons on the slot machine. “She is, Ghost. I think you'll like her.”

I don't want to like her. I want to punch her in the face. I want to make her disappear so I never have to look at her funky style and big ol' boobs ever again.

He opens his mouth to say something, but then he closes it and keeps poking at the slot machine instead. The weight of this awkwardness between us is suffocating.

Our silences have never been like this.

“Are you going to play that or poke it to death?” I can't talk about Frankie anymore. I don't know if I have the words.

He shrugs. “Nah, I'm just—…”

“You should play it,” I say. Play a slot machine, join a poker tournament, anything to change the subject. “You know you're feeling lucky.”

“Not that lucky. I gave Alex the last of my cash so he could get Taco Bell earlier.”

“I know you won't ask me for money since you just met me, but here.” I dig in my pocket, pull out a five-dollar bill, and hand it to him. “Slot it up.”

“Thanks.” He smooths the bill out on his jeans before sliding it in the machine. “And, just met you? Please. We've known each other since middle school.”

He's probably trying to break through the Great Wall of Weirdness by bringing up our shared dorky eighth-grade past, but it doesn't work. Instead we both watch in silence as the slot machine lights up and plays music. He pushes the large button on the bottom, and the three wheels spin around.
BAR, 7,
and the space between a
BAR
and a
7
. Nothing.

He continues poking at the slot machine, and I can feel it between us. The distance. We were good for that moment when he hugged me. When, for just a second, the rest of the world dropped away and we were just us. Normal. Like the usual Hannah and Nick, talking until the wee hours of the night. Best friends. But then Frankie and now the band and the lies and weirdness keep getting bigger and bigger. They have created this impossible distance neither of us can cross. I'm not sure what to do. Or what I want to do. Can I still be friends with him?

Do I still want to be?

He's laser-focused on the wheels spinning around inside the machine, and I'm so flooded with weirdo, conflicting emotions, I can't even sit still. I shift to one side of the chair as I imagine myself punching him in the face and kicking him in the balls for lying to me, and then elbowing Frankie in the gut for good measure. I shift back to the other side as I picture myself reaching over right now and smoothing down his messy hair. I scratch the back of my leg with the toe of my shoe as I plot a way to quietly sneak away and have some time alone to figure out how I'm feeling, but the slot machine dings. He has some matches, and the number of credits on the screen in front of him increases. “I wish coins actually fell out the bottom like on TV,” he says absently, looking over at me with a smile that is small, but reaches all the way to his eyes under his black-framed glasses. “It seems so much more satisfying, don't you think?”

I don't mean to, I don't want to, but I completely melt at his little smile. One stupid smile and my stomach drops out from under me and I feel out of control, like I'm falling from a great height. God, I'm being so ridiculous. I've never lost control of my feelings over a guy like this before.

“So, are you mad at me, Ghost? If you are, it would kill me, but I understand. I'd be mad at me, too.”

I cringe.

Grace gave me plenty of lessons about guys over the past few years, both directly and indirectly. She'd sit me down in her big-sisterly way and tell me, “Watch out for guys who don't want you to hang out with their friends,” or “Never trust a guy who is more attractive than you are—you should be the hot one in the couple.” And I'd sit back and watch how things slowly went wrong with her own relationships and try to figure out why. I know it's nerdy, but I had a list saved on my computer because I wanted to make sure I didn't make the same mistakes she did. I didn't get to see the slow breakdown of Grace's relationship with Gabe, because she was away at school, but I feel like their matchy-matchy
G
names were the first hint of impending disaster.

She had this boyfriend in high school, Sam, who was not only better looking than she was (he was better looking than pretty much everyone), but he was also a smooth talker. Mom and I always knew he was saying exactly what Grace wanted to hear, but what he was actually doing was manipulating her into doing what he wanted. Grace never saw it, though, and thought everything Sam did was The! Best! Ever!

What Nick says about being mad at him, it sounds exactly like something Smooth-Talking Sam would say, and I realize this night is only going to get worse from here. The real Nick is not the person I thought he was at all.

“Ghost?”

“Sorry, I … For real? That sounds like such a line.” I look around for a sign hanging from the ceiling of the casino that will point my way out of this disaster. “Look, this was super fun and all, but I'm going to go.”

“Wait! Please!” He reaches his hand out and rests it on my arm before I can get up. “I'm messing this all up.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, and when he puts them back on and looks at me I see panic in them. “Why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”

“Oh, so you could hide everything so I wouldn't find out? So you could figure out who to be for the next few days?” Blood pumping, adrenaline rushes through my veins. I stand up; fight or flight is kicking in, and I'm tired of fighting. “I'm glad I didn't call.”

“This isn't who—Oh my God! Look!” His slot machine makes noise and flashes. “I get to spin the wheel!” He moves to smack the big round
Wheel of Fortune
button with his palm, but he stops at the last second. “You do it,” he says. “It's your money.”

Unbelievable. I can't even yell and make a dramatic exit without getting upstaged. Of course he would win at a slot machine now.

“Whatever.” I lean over and punch the button with my knuckles, and the wheel on the top of the machine lights up and spins. People walking by us stop to watch the wheel go in circles, spinning around, whizzing past different numbers.

Arms crossed, I drum my fingers on my elbow and wait for the flashing to end so we can say everything we have to say to each other and I can get out of here.

“Nick,” I say, not even waiting for the wheel to stop spinning anymore.

“Hold on, Ghost,” he says. He's on his feet and clapping. “Come on, wheel!”

The wheel slows to a stop and lands on 1,000.

One thousand credits. On a one-dollar machine.

It takes a few seconds of processing before this registers. “Nick!” I hop up and down. “A thousand dollars!”

He hops up and down, too. Then, before I even realize it, he reaches over to me, grabs my arms, and pulls me into him. So close, his arms tightly around my waist. I'm surprised for a split-second by the closeness, but then I let myself press into him. He lifts me up off my feet and twirls me around halfway before he puts me down.

I don't know if it's just because of his hand placement, but his fingers tangle up a little in the ends of my hair when he puts me down. Then they trail slowly down and linger for a beat or two longer than I expect on the small of my back.

This feeling, it's like nothing I've ever experienced before. Electricity races up my spine. My body lights up like the slot machine.

I stare up at him, waiting for something. For him to move or apologize or tell another lie. But he doesn't. He stares down at me, eyes locked with mine, and he doesn't move his fingers from my back.

And I'm stuck somewhere between hating him so much, I never want to see him again and never, ever wanting him to let me go.

 

CHAPTER

12

“What happened?” Frankie's voice surprises me, and Nick and I both jump. It's not that I'm super shocked to find her here. I know we left her back inside House of Blues, and it was a matter of time before Automatic Friday's short opening set was over. No, I'm surprised because of her tone. I mean, had I come out to the casino to find my boyfriend wrapped around some chick I'd just met, I'd have been spitting fire. But not Frankie. She doesn't sound jealous or pissed at all. She's just curious.

But I feel like I'm doing something wrong anyway, and apparently, so does Nick. And, so it seems, do Lo and Grace, who are standing behind Frankie with the biggest
WTF
looks on their faces.

Before Nick or I have to fumble to explain the intense moment we were in the middle of to a surprisingly un-pissed Frankie, Grace notices the wheel and points at Nick. “Mini Cooper, did you win a thousand dollars?”

“Well, it was—”

“Shut! Up!” Frankie crosses the space between them remarkably quickly for someone so tiny, and she throws her arms around his neck. “Dude, my boyfriend is such a rock star.” Then she kisses him.

I look away. It's too much. How can he kiss her in front of me like that after the moment we just had?

And he's
not
a rock star, I think as I stare at the patterned carpet.