Leah on the Offbeat
Page 37
“Why?”
“Because you’re acting super weird.”
“No I’m not.” He strums a loud chord. “I’m just.” Chord. “Making music.” Chord. “With my two best.” Chord. “Friends.” Then his hands fall suddenly still. “You know what’s really awesome?”
Simon looks hopeful. “What?”
“The fact that from now on, for the rest of my life, I can tell people I got dumped two weeks before prom.”
Yikes. I look at Simon. He puffs out his cheeks and then exhales loudly.
“Hilarious, right?”
I look at him. “Not really.”
“I was in love with her,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “And now she’s totally over it. Like, whatever. Just like that.”
“I don’t think that’s—” Simon starts to say.
“I’m just saying, do you even know what it’s like to be in love with someone like that?”
I almost choke.
“Dude, I’m like seriously worried about you right now,” Simon says. He glances at me again.
“Why? I’m fine.” Nick smiles brightly. “I’m totally fine. You know what I need?”
“What?”
He sets the guitar down and chugs the rest of his beer. Then he grabs another beer and chugs that one, too. “That,” he says, beaming. “God, I’m feeling so much better already.”
“Okay,” Simon says uncertainly. “Good.”
Nick gasps. “I just had an idea.”
“What?”
“We should play soccer!”
“Um.”
“Yeah, okay. This is a great idea. We’re totally doing this.” Nick nods eagerly. “Let me get my balls. Ha. My ball.”
Simon catches my eye and shakes his head wordlessly. For a minute, we just sit there, listening to Nick hum as he pokes around his storage closet. Already, he’s working on a third beer. And it’s not like I’ve never seen Nick drunk before, but I’ve never seen him this unhinged.
“Got it,” he announces, emerging triumphantly with a soccer ball. “This is going to be amazing.”
“But it’s raining,” says Simon.
Nick smiles. “Even better.” He slips through the basement door, out into the backyard, and starts kicking the ball gently from one foot to the other. It’s not actually raining, but the air is thick and humid. “Come on,” he says. “Leah, I’m passing to you.”
“Remind me why we’re doing this.”
“Because we are,” he says. Then, with a firm thud, he kicks the ball in my direction. I swing my foot halfheartedly, missing it by a mile.
“Okay, okay. Nice hustle,” Nick says, clapping his hand against his fist.
I circle back to the ball, pick it up, and walk it back toward him.
Nick laughs. “You have to kick it.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He sets the ball down. “Did you know Abby and I used to do this all the time. She’s, like, really good at soccer.” He doesn’t wait for us to react. “She is. She’s really, really good. But guess what?”
Neither of us speaks.
He grins. “She broke up with me!” Then he kicks the ball so hard, it smacks against his neighbor’s fence.
“Nick,” Simon says, taking a step toward him. But Nick pulls away suddenly, jogging after the ball.
Then he dribbles it back. “You know, it’s good, though. It’s all good. Wasn’t going to work, anyway, because long-distance relationships are the fucking worst. Am I right?”
Simon winces. “Right.”
“No they’re not,” I say quickly.
“Yeah they are,” Nick says. He kicks the ball to Simon. “They’re doomed before they even start.”
“Not necessarily.” I look pointedly at Simon. “If you commit to making it work, it can work.”
Simon frowns, staring straight ahead.
“Dude, you’re supposed to kick it back.”
“Oh.” Simon’s eyes cut to the soccer ball, and he gives it a halfhearted nudge with his foot. It rolls two feet and stops. “Have you talked to Abby at all?”
“Nope. Not interested.” Nick grins. “Don’t care enough.”
“You don’t care.” Simon sounds dubious.
“Do you know how many girls there are at Tufts?” Nick asks calmly.
“A lot?”
“Millions. Millions and trillions.” He taps the ball with his toe. “I mean, honestly, Abby did me a favor.”
Simon’s eyes flick toward mine.
“Anyway, I’m already over her,” Nick adds.
Yeah, Nick, you really seem over her. Totally normal, and totally not having an epic fucking meltdown. God. I’m not an idiot, but wow: I’d love to believe him. Because if Nick were really over Abby, then maybe I’m not an asshole for hoping. Not for anything soon, obviously. Just. Maybe down the line—in a month or two—when things aren’t quite so raw. I could kiss her for real.
Nick slams his foot back into the ball, sending it flying toward the house.
Maybe not.
This time Simon runs to fetch it.
“So, Leah, you’re the one with all the romantic intrigue now,” Nick says, and it’s like someone smashing their fist on a piano. My heart sinks into my rib cage and drops out of my chest entirely.
“What are you talking about?” My voice comes out soft.
“Come on.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “You know Garrett has the biggest crush on you ever. But don’t tell him I told you,” he adds suddenly. “I’m not supposed to tell you that.”
“That’s—okay.” My stomach wrenches, and I have this sudden sinking feeling that I might burst into tears. Which is crazy. I should be happy. Or flattered. Or something.
“You guys should hook up at prom. That’s like the ultimate high school achievement, right?”
“You mean the ultimate high school cliché,” I say flatly.
“Well, you should do it,” Nick says.
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to what?” Simon asks, returning with the ball tucked under his arms.
“Guys. How many times do I have to say it? Stop carrying the fucking ball around.”
Simon drops it.
“I don’t want to hook up with Garrett,” I say, louder than I mean to. It comes out like a declaration. And suddenly, I feel so certain about this, it almost takes my breath away. I press a hand to my cheek. “I don’t want to kiss Garrett.”
Simon laughs. “Okay, then don’t.”
Nick kicks, and the ball rolls quietly toward me. My thoughts are quietly rolling, too.
I don’t want to kiss Garrett. I don’t want to kiss anyone.
Except her.
Which would be the wildest, most reckless, worst idea ever. I might as well stomp all over Nick’s heart, and then stomp all over my own. I can’t actually fall for a straight girl. I can’t fall for my best friend’s ex-girlfriend.
I take a breath. And the ball—I crash into it. I kick it like banging a drum. I kick it so hard, it flies halfway to the moon.
27
“SIMON’S ACTING WEIRD,” BRAM SAYS on Thursday, chin in hand. He and Garrett and I have claimed a table in the corner of the library. “It’s like there’s something he’s not telling me.”
“Maybe he’s gay,” Garrett whispers.
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering that.” Bram’s so deadpan when he says it that I can’t help but smile. But God. I can’t believe Simon hasn’t told him. Does he really think the distance between New York and Philadelphia is a dealbreaker? We’re not talking Paris or Tokyo. This is literally an hour and a half on the train.
“I don’t know,” Bram says finally. Garrett looks at me and shrugs. And it hits me, all of a sudden, how strange it is to be spending a morning in the library with these two. Not Simon and Nick, not Morgan and Anna. Just Bram, Garrett, and me. That wouldn’t have happened a year ago. I don’t think it would have happened six months ago.
“Because you’re acting super weird.”
“No I’m not.” He strums a loud chord. “I’m just.” Chord. “Making music.” Chord. “With my two best.” Chord. “Friends.” Then his hands fall suddenly still. “You know what’s really awesome?”
Simon looks hopeful. “What?”
“The fact that from now on, for the rest of my life, I can tell people I got dumped two weeks before prom.”
Yikes. I look at Simon. He puffs out his cheeks and then exhales loudly.
“Hilarious, right?”
I look at him. “Not really.”
“I was in love with her,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “And now she’s totally over it. Like, whatever. Just like that.”
“I don’t think that’s—” Simon starts to say.
“I’m just saying, do you even know what it’s like to be in love with someone like that?”
I almost choke.
“Dude, I’m like seriously worried about you right now,” Simon says. He glances at me again.
“Why? I’m fine.” Nick smiles brightly. “I’m totally fine. You know what I need?”
“What?”
He sets the guitar down and chugs the rest of his beer. Then he grabs another beer and chugs that one, too. “That,” he says, beaming. “God, I’m feeling so much better already.”
“Okay,” Simon says uncertainly. “Good.”
Nick gasps. “I just had an idea.”
“What?”
“We should play soccer!”
“Um.”
“Yeah, okay. This is a great idea. We’re totally doing this.” Nick nods eagerly. “Let me get my balls. Ha. My ball.”
Simon catches my eye and shakes his head wordlessly. For a minute, we just sit there, listening to Nick hum as he pokes around his storage closet. Already, he’s working on a third beer. And it’s not like I’ve never seen Nick drunk before, but I’ve never seen him this unhinged.
“Got it,” he announces, emerging triumphantly with a soccer ball. “This is going to be amazing.”
“But it’s raining,” says Simon.
Nick smiles. “Even better.” He slips through the basement door, out into the backyard, and starts kicking the ball gently from one foot to the other. It’s not actually raining, but the air is thick and humid. “Come on,” he says. “Leah, I’m passing to you.”
“Remind me why we’re doing this.”
“Because we are,” he says. Then, with a firm thud, he kicks the ball in my direction. I swing my foot halfheartedly, missing it by a mile.
“Okay, okay. Nice hustle,” Nick says, clapping his hand against his fist.
I circle back to the ball, pick it up, and walk it back toward him.
Nick laughs. “You have to kick it.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He sets the ball down. “Did you know Abby and I used to do this all the time. She’s, like, really good at soccer.” He doesn’t wait for us to react. “She is. She’s really, really good. But guess what?”
Neither of us speaks.
He grins. “She broke up with me!” Then he kicks the ball so hard, it smacks against his neighbor’s fence.
“Nick,” Simon says, taking a step toward him. But Nick pulls away suddenly, jogging after the ball.
Then he dribbles it back. “You know, it’s good, though. It’s all good. Wasn’t going to work, anyway, because long-distance relationships are the fucking worst. Am I right?”
Simon winces. “Right.”
“No they’re not,” I say quickly.
“Yeah they are,” Nick says. He kicks the ball to Simon. “They’re doomed before they even start.”
“Not necessarily.” I look pointedly at Simon. “If you commit to making it work, it can work.”
Simon frowns, staring straight ahead.
“Dude, you’re supposed to kick it back.”
“Oh.” Simon’s eyes cut to the soccer ball, and he gives it a halfhearted nudge with his foot. It rolls two feet and stops. “Have you talked to Abby at all?”
“Nope. Not interested.” Nick grins. “Don’t care enough.”
“You don’t care.” Simon sounds dubious.
“Do you know how many girls there are at Tufts?” Nick asks calmly.
“A lot?”
“Millions. Millions and trillions.” He taps the ball with his toe. “I mean, honestly, Abby did me a favor.”
Simon’s eyes flick toward mine.
“Anyway, I’m already over her,” Nick adds.
Yeah, Nick, you really seem over her. Totally normal, and totally not having an epic fucking meltdown. God. I’m not an idiot, but wow: I’d love to believe him. Because if Nick were really over Abby, then maybe I’m not an asshole for hoping. Not for anything soon, obviously. Just. Maybe down the line—in a month or two—when things aren’t quite so raw. I could kiss her for real.
Nick slams his foot back into the ball, sending it flying toward the house.
Maybe not.
This time Simon runs to fetch it.
“So, Leah, you’re the one with all the romantic intrigue now,” Nick says, and it’s like someone smashing their fist on a piano. My heart sinks into my rib cage and drops out of my chest entirely.
“What are you talking about?” My voice comes out soft.
“Come on.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “You know Garrett has the biggest crush on you ever. But don’t tell him I told you,” he adds suddenly. “I’m not supposed to tell you that.”
“That’s—okay.” My stomach wrenches, and I have this sudden sinking feeling that I might burst into tears. Which is crazy. I should be happy. Or flattered. Or something.
“You guys should hook up at prom. That’s like the ultimate high school achievement, right?”
“You mean the ultimate high school cliché,” I say flatly.
“Well, you should do it,” Nick says.
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to what?” Simon asks, returning with the ball tucked under his arms.
“Guys. How many times do I have to say it? Stop carrying the fucking ball around.”
Simon drops it.
“I don’t want to hook up with Garrett,” I say, louder than I mean to. It comes out like a declaration. And suddenly, I feel so certain about this, it almost takes my breath away. I press a hand to my cheek. “I don’t want to kiss Garrett.”
Simon laughs. “Okay, then don’t.”
Nick kicks, and the ball rolls quietly toward me. My thoughts are quietly rolling, too.
I don’t want to kiss Garrett. I don’t want to kiss anyone.
Except her.
Which would be the wildest, most reckless, worst idea ever. I might as well stomp all over Nick’s heart, and then stomp all over my own. I can’t actually fall for a straight girl. I can’t fall for my best friend’s ex-girlfriend.
I take a breath. And the ball—I crash into it. I kick it like banging a drum. I kick it so hard, it flies halfway to the moon.
27
“SIMON’S ACTING WEIRD,” BRAM SAYS on Thursday, chin in hand. He and Garrett and I have claimed a table in the corner of the library. “It’s like there’s something he’s not telling me.”
“Maybe he’s gay,” Garrett whispers.
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering that.” Bram’s so deadpan when he says it that I can’t help but smile. But God. I can’t believe Simon hasn’t told him. Does he really think the distance between New York and Philadelphia is a dealbreaker? We’re not talking Paris or Tokyo. This is literally an hour and a half on the train.
“I don’t know,” Bram says finally. Garrett looks at me and shrugs. And it hits me, all of a sudden, how strange it is to be spending a morning in the library with these two. Not Simon and Nick, not Morgan and Anna. Just Bram, Garrett, and me. That wouldn’t have happened a year ago. I don’t think it would have happened six months ago.
