Naomi and Ely's No Kiss List (7 page)
I can’t let Naomi know what I’m thinking.
This is very treacherous ground.
“Got
your
dick, Naomi?” Ely smirks at me as the elevator goes down.
“If I did, would it get me anywhere with you?” He thinks he looks so hot in that red belt. It totally makes him look dumpy. Dumpy
and
red-hot flaming.
Very
tragic combination on a gay boy.
“Negative,” Ely responds. He leans into me, jutting his chest against mine, then angles his face like he’s going to kiss me. His lips are almost touching mine when his hand lands in between our mouths. “Gum?” he asks, twirling a pack between his fingers. Like a piece of gum will successfully overpower Ely’s late-night scent. Ely will say it was only one, but his breath power indicates at least three.
A piece of olive is lodged in between his two front teeth. It gives his face a most welcome ugly appeal. If Ely leans in any closer to me, the friction between his smile and my anticipation would be like a
begging to detonate.
I do realize a big bad
is happening out there—war and injustice and global warming and all that hope and humanity—but I’m sorry, I care most about the Naomi & Ely
. It’s what’s gotten me through this far in life. It doesn’t burst. Like everything else does.
I place my index finger inside my mouth so he’ll know about the olive. He immediately licks it from his teeth.
Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .
He’s so close already—why not?
“Time-out?” I tease, referring to our occasional hands-free, means-nothing-but-platonic-love-between-best-friends make-out sessions that don’t count in real time. (The time-outs only happen when we’re drinking or bored—which interestingly seem to go hand in hand, or mouth to mouth, as the case may be.)
“You’re only using me for my gum,” he teases back. “How can I trust you’ll still respect me in the morning?”
He pulls back, dances around me, playful.
False alarm. I lied. There’s no, and Ely doesn’t look dumpy or red-hot flaming. He just looks like Ely. He’s not hot, like Gabriel. He’s Ely. Lovely. The first person I think of when I wake up in the morning, the last person I hope for when I fall asleep at night. The one person who’s as much a part of me as me.
Maybe I’m an egoist. I’m not sure exactly what an egoist is, but I’d appreciate any label right now that could clarify exactly what Ely and I are. To each other.
I mean, I know we know. But
do
we really know?
The egoist version of us distills Naomi & Ely, two parts of the same whole. My mom and his moms have
me over and over again that sexual preference is not a choice, but when Ely’s leaning and teasing, so close to me without touching me, yet I still
feel
him—up here, down there, on every centimeter of my skin—it’s like I can’t ,
because no matter what anyone says, I can’t help but believe that
he
chose for
me:
When we were thirteen and learning how to kiss by using each other as practice,
gay
wasn’t even an issue. It felt so natural and sweet and right. No wall existed between us, because it was so clear we were destined to share that first experience together. His lips didn’t feel
gay
then. Why should they now? Just because Ely is attracted to boys doesn’t mean he couldn’t want to push our mind-meld into body-meld. I refuse to believe it’s possible he couldn’t want that, too, on some level, whether he knows it or not.
Or maybe, as backup friend the girl Robin advises, I’ve known Ely too long and too well, and my eyes only see what my heart projects.
I need to spend more time with other girls.
The elevator door opens.
Ely places a piece of gum into my palm as we step into the lobby hall area. I stop cold.
Bruce the Second really does have great teeth—bright and shiny, perfectly straight, almost works of art. The art is no accident. Both his parents are dentists. They allegedly own the mouths of the LIRR Ronkonkoma Branch Line’s elite. And their prodigal good son chews only sugar-free gum. Bruce the Second is an Orbit man. Ely is Dentyne’s bitch.
“Since when do you chew Orbit?” I ask Ely. I do not unwrap the gum. I pop a Tic Tac into my mouth instead, from my own stash.
“Since Madonna started writing children’s books. Why do you care?”
I step back from him, resisting the urge to shove him against the wall.
Naomi, come out, come out, wherever you are.
I care because, um, oh yeah, BRUCE THE SECOND IS MY BOYFRIEND! Or was. Or something. I mean, I don’t think I really care that Bruce is about to not be my boyfriend anymore, unless he’s already not my boyfriend and we’re so indifferent we’re not even bothering with an official breakup scene. I do care about the fact of my best friend being the reason for that. Maybe when Ely confessed he’d kissed Bruce the Second, I was like, “Yeah, whatever.” That indifference was a lie. It’s like when Ely says, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re gonna fuck you, cuz it ain’t gonna be me,” and I laugh. Indifference lies to protect my hurt.
In order to stay in Ely’s orbit, you have to make choices.
Yes, Ely, you really do have a chance with Heath Ledger. No, Ely, no one thinks you’re an asshole when you fall down drunk on the pavement and your friends have to carry you home. You’re fun Fun FUN! Ely, of
course
I’m teasing you about wanting to sleep with you. Why would I want to ruin our friendship like that?
You have to choose to let Ely believe his fantasy version of reality, for the sake of preserving Naomi & Ely.