Undecided (16 page)

“Sure.”

“He’s a
good roommate,” I add. “He cleans up after himself and so far he’s upheld his
end of the bargain about only using the apartment to sleep and study.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But he
eats way too much mac and cheese.”

Crosbie
huffs out a laugh.
 

“And I
think he steals my shampoo.”

“He loves
that stuff.”

“He
should love it. It’s expensive. The point is—we’re just roommates.”

“You
seemed pretty annoyed when he got your friend’s number.”

“That’s
because she’s just doing this to hurt Nate, and I’m going to be stuck in the
middle and work will be awkward. That’s it.”

“You’re
sure?”

“Positive.
Can we see
Kill Glory 3
now?”

“Will I
be able to follow along if I haven’t seen the first two?”

“Probably
not. But I expect you’ll have your eyes covered most of the time anyway, so it
won’t matter.”

He pushes
open his door. “You’re buying your own popcorn.”

* * *

Two and a
half hours later, we’re sitting in the adjacent chain restaurant, sharing a
plate of nachos. “For the hundredth time,” Crosbie is saying, “that wasn’t a
yelp. I stubbed my toe. It was a manly grunt of pain.”

I stare
at him earnestly. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I absolutely won’t
re-enact it for Kellan.”

“You’re a
monster.”

I twist a
chip until the string of cheese connecting it to the plate gives up the fight
and snaps in half. I’m on a
date
with Crosbie Lucas. I’d met him tonight
expecting some frenzied, cramped sex in the backseat of his car, but here we
are, movie, dinner, the works. I know I’d vowed to do this year completely
differently, but this isn’t exactly the “different” I’d envisioned.

“Have you
given any more thought to open mic night?” I ask, steering the subject away
from his fear of scary movies.

He sips
his orange soda. “That hasn’t passed already?”

“It’s in
two weeks.”

“Huh.”

“You
should do it. I liked that trick you showed me.”

He
smiles. “It was an illusion.”

“Do you
know any more
illusions
?”

“Of
course I do.”

“Let’s
see one.”

He stares
at me for a second. “Do you have any change?”

“Are all
these illusions going to cost me money?”

“This way
you know there’s no shady business going on, Nora. Two pennies or two dimes,
whatever you have will do.”

I fish
around in my purse until I find two dimes, then place them in his outstretched
hand. He moves the plate of nachos to the side so the center of the table is
clear, then holds out both his hands, palms up, a dime in the center of each.

“Two
coins, one in each hand,” he says. “Got it?”

“Got it.”

He flips
his hands over and I hear the clack of the coins hitting the table, hidden from
view. “Pick a hand,” he says.

I
hesitate, then tap the right.

“Good
choice. You know why?”

“Tell
me.”

“Because
that’s where the money is.” Slowly, dramatically, he lifts his right hand to
reveal two dimes. I gape as he lifts the left, which has nothing underneath.

“How did
you do that?”

“Magic.”

“Crosbie,
seriously. Tell me.”

“Never.”

“Do it
again.”
He slides the dimes across the table and
eats another nacho. “Don’t be greedy. There are other things I want to do to
you instead.”

I’d
really like to say that those other things won’t be happening if he doesn’t
tell me how he did that trick, but I’ve told enough lies for one day. I really
want to know the secret, but even more than that, I want Crosbie.

Still.

“Just
give me a hint.”

He laughs
and scoops up guacamole with his chip. “Forget it.”

“How
about—” The words fade as the doors open and a group of guys wearing Burnham
hockey team jackets struts in, the standard cluster of fans trailing in their
wake. Crosbie has his back to the door but turns to follow my horrified stare.
Slowly, he shifts back to face me, eyes narrowed.

“Problem?”

I swallow
and watch with relief as the hostess leads the rowdy group to the opposite side
of the restaurant. I don’t personally know any of them, but their names occupy
more than a few bathroom stalls, and I know at least two of those girls have
black markers ready and waiting. If I’m spotted eating nachos with Crosbie
Lucas, the rumors will start. And even if they don’t care enough to learn my
name, I’ll be another blank space next to a double-digit number on another
guy’s list, which is quite possibly even worse.

“No,” I
say, as my plan to quit lying dies a quick death. My appetite has fled so I
push the nachos in his direction and finish the last of my drink. “Are you
ready to go?”

He arches
a brow. “Do you know them?”

“No.”

“Then
what’s the problem?”

There’s
obviously a problem so I exhale and study my fingernails. “I don’t want to be a
Crosbabe.” I glance up through my lashes to see his jaw tense as he watches me.

“You know
I’m not in there updating that list, right? Your name’s not even on it.”

“I don’t
want it to be.”

“Then—”

I shoot a
pointed look across the room and he finally clues in. “You’re being paranoid,”
he says. “What do you want me to do? Put a bag over your head and lead you out
of here through the kitchen?”

“Shut
up.”

“Look—I
promise you won’t wind up on the list, okay? Like you said the other night,
there aren’t even any new names on it. People aren’t paying attention to what I
do anymore. I’m boring. So are you.”

My face
is hot and I feel stupid and embarrassed. I know it’s not fair to blame Crosbie
for being himself, especially when the only thing he’s done tonight is pick me
up from work and take me to dinner and a movie. I just can’t stomach the
thought of sitting across from Dean Ripley as he gives me another stern sex
talk.

“Who was
it?” he asks.

I snap
out of my reverie. “Who was what?”

“That did
this to you? Made you so worried?”

“What are
you talking about?”

“When we
hooked up, that wasn’t your first time. So who was it? A bad experience last
year? Tell me and I’ll deal with it.”

My eyes bulge.
“There’s nothing for you to deal with!” I snap. And I’m definitely not telling
him about my ill-fated Kellan hookup. “There wasn’t—I didn’t…” I sigh. “Look, I
know you think I’m boring.”

“I didn’t
mean—”

“No,
you’re right. I’m trying to be. I
want
to be boring. Do you know what my
nickname was in high school? Nora Bora. You know what I did? Graduated. Then
last year I partied a lot, trying to make up for being such an invisible loser
in high school, and nearly got kicked out. I lost half my scholarship and now I
have to have these meetings with the Dean and…”

“And
turning up on my list will make you look bad.”

“It will
make it look like I’m not taking all their threats to expel me seriously. And I
am.” It’s half the truth, but it’s the only half I’m willing to share.

“I get
it.”

“It’s not
you, Crosbie.”

“I know
that, Nora.”

We stare
at each other, hurt and confusion roiling between us.

“Free
refill?” The server’s shrill voice pierces the tension and we both jump.

“No,”
Crosbie says, eyes on me. “I’ve had enough. You?”

“I’m
fine,” I tell her. “Just the bill.”

“Sure
thing. You want the rest of these wrapped up?” She gestures to the half-eaten
plate of nachos. Seconds earlier it was a platter of cheesy goodness, and now
it’s just a soggy mess. I shake my head.

We sit in
unhappy silence as we wait. After a strained minute Crosbie reaches across the
table to take back the two dimes I’d forgotten.

“Watch,”
he says, placing a coin on each of his upturned palms. I pay close attention as
he flips his hands, the coins pinging as they connect with the table. “See
that?” he asks.

I frown.
“I don’t think so.”

“Like
this.”

He does
it again, slower. This time I see him toss one dime into his left hand, so that
hand has two coins and the other has none. It’s so fast I’d miss it if I
blinked. Or even if I was watching very, very closely, apparently.

“That’s
the whole trick,” Crosbie says, sliding the dimes back in my direction. “You
see what I want you to see. And sometimes you see what you want to see.”

“I’m
sorry.”

“Look. I
don’t want to get you in trouble with the Dean. I just thought you were a nerd.
A hot one, but still a nerd.”

“Thanks.”

“And if
you want to keep things quiet because you and Kellan have some ‘no fun’ policy
in place, and you don’t want the Dean breathing down your neck and you want to
keep your name off that fucking list, then that’s fine. But I’m not doing this
if you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“I’m not
embarrassed—”

“If your
name shows up on that wall, I’ll head up there with a bottle of whiteout and
get rid of it, okay?”

“Okay,
Crosbie.”

His
shoulders are hunched, his cheeks pink. He’s trying. The good-time party boy
who has women flocking and makes it look like everything comes easy to him,
works harder than anyone I’ve ever known. And anyone I’m pretending to be.

The
server brings the bill and Crosbie sticks some money underneath and pins it in
place with a salt shaker. “I can pay,” I offer, but he shakes his head and
stands.

“Let’s
just get out of here.”

We shrug
into our coats and head for the door. Crosbie holds it open and from behind us
I hear a few voices call his name. He returns the greeting but doesn’t stop,
and I hurry out into the cold night, my breath condensing in the air. We’d
walked here from the theater, and now we make the quiet trek back to his car,
the parking lot mostly empty.

The car door locks aren’t automatic so I linger
as he unlocks mine and pulls it open, waiting until I’m seated before closing
it. His manners, his unexpected honesty—it unnerves me and my hands are shaking
a little as I reach over to pull up the plastic lock on his side. He drops into
the seat, sticking the key in the ignition and turning up the heat to high.
Chilly air bursts out of the vents and I stick my hands between my knees for
warmth. Crosbie rubs his palms together, and when the thin film of fog on the
glass has cleared, he puts his hands on the wheel.

“You good
to go?” he asks.

“I’m
good.”

“Anything
else you need in Gatsby?”
“I’m all set.”

We drive
in silence until we reach the freeway, more of an uncomfortable
I-don’t-know-what-to-say quiet than an angry one, and Crosbie finally reaches
over to turn up the volume on the radio. An old pop song fills the air and I
think about one time last winter when a freak snow storm blew through and
Marcela, Nate and I were trapped in the coffee shop over night. Marcela played
this song on her phone and showed us the dance she’d done to it in her third
grade talent show, where she’d come in second. I remember watching Nate hand
her a star-shaped cookie and telling her she would have gotten first place if
he’d been the judge. He’d done so many sweet things for her and she’d been
entirely oblivious.

“I’m
sorry I hurt your feelings,” I blurt out when Crosbie turns onto my street.

He’s
quiet as he parks beneath a tree a couple of doors down. The streetlights are
blocked out and we’re cocooned in darkness. He flexes his fingers on the
steering wheel. “It’s fine. You didn’t.”

“I think
I did.”

He
glances at me. “You didn’t.”

“Thanks
for the movie. And the nachos.”

“You’re
welcome.”

“And the
illusion.”

He laughs
roughly. “Any time.”

I
unbuckle my belt. I should get out of the car and let this strange thing
between us melt away, but I don’t. Instead I shift onto my knees and lean over
the gear shift to kiss him. I hold his face in my hands and press our lips
together, waiting for him to stop me like he’d waited for me that first time,
but he doesn’t. I stroke his ears and his hair and the stiff muscles in his
neck, all the things I’ve been wondering about. His hair is a cropped mess of
unruly curls but it’s surprisingly soft, and when I trace my nails along the
back of his ear I feel him inhale. I sink my teeth lightly into his lower lip
and he groans deep in his throat and parts his lips. I slip my tongue into his
mouth and he finally lifts one hand to cup the back of my head, the solid
pressure of his fingers the only indication he needs this as much as I do.