Leah on the Offbeat
Page 38
“Burke, I can’t tell if you’re staring into space or staring at Taylor’s ass.”
“Definitely Taylor’s ass,” I say automatically. I blink, and there she is, a couple of yards away from us. She’s crouched down and appears to be helping a freshman sort through an array of scattered papers. Sometimes I forget what a Girl Scout she is.
“I think she’s into Eisner,” Garrett murmurs.
I nod. “Agreed.”
“But what about Abby?” Bram asks.
Garrett shrugs. “I mean, she dumped him. He’s a free agent.”
“I guess so.” Bram chews on his lip. “Prom’s going to be interesting.”
“Yeah, with Eisner and Suso in the same limo? Guaranteed shitshow.”
“You think it will be bad?”
“For them? Yeah. But we’ll have the best time, Burke, I promise.” He smiles, and there’s this softness in his eyes.
I freeze.
And then the bell rings. Thank God. “I should get to class.” I stand quickly, almost upending my chair.
Because, wow. I can’t do this. I can’t deal with Garrett’s mushy eyes and Nick’s broken heart. And I really can’t be this head over heels for a straight girl. The head and heels need to get back in line.
I need to fucking chill about this Abby situation.
There honestly can’t be an Abby situation.
But I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow afternoon. This mysterious after-school plan that Abby’s concocting. She hasn’t said a word about it all week, and I’m actually starting to wonder if she’s forgotten about it entirely.
But just as we’re leaving English, she tugs the sleeve of my cardigan. “Hey, are you taking the bus tomorrow?”
My stomach goes haywire.
Like, seriously? Fuck this. Fuck you, butterflies. Stop acting like this is a rom-com moment. Am I taking the bus. That’s seriously a step above discussing the weather. But for some reason, my body’s decided to treat this like a marriage proposal.
I blink and nod and exhale.
“Cool. I can drive you home.” She grins. “I’m excited.”
I can’t even reply. I’m just a giant steaming mess.
The whole bus ride home, I’m like a blender on pulse. In one moment, I think I finally have my shit together, and then the anticipation hits me in one megawatt burst. Tomorrow, I get to be alone with Abby. Which doesn’t mean anything will happen. I’m pretty sure I’m trash for even wanting anything to happen.
But I may actually be losing my mind. I’m in the weirdest mood. I’m this close to flinging my arms out and running up a mountainside, Sound of Music–style.
I feel reckless.
And I want to do something.
I get online as soon as I get home and log into my art Tumblr. Because why shouldn’t I? I don’t even hesitate. I type some words and upload some pictures, and then I hold my breath and click post. Done. I link it to my sidebar.
And probably no one even gives a shit, and I’ll never hear from anyone—but in this moment, I don’t care. I really don’t. Because I did the thing, and I posted it, and now I feel like Bigfoot. Like every step I take leaves an imprint.
It’s right there on my Tumblr: I’m officially open for commissions.
28
BUT THE BIGFOOT FEELING VANISHES as soon as I get to school on Friday. Nick’s at my locker, clearly waiting for me. He perks up as soon as I get there. “Hey, I heard you’re hanging out with Abby today.”
“Um.” I hesitate. “Yeah. Is that okay?”
He nods. “Totally. Of course. I don’t want to get in the way of your friendship.” He does this weird, strained laugh. “It’s so funny, because I didn’t even know you guys were friends. But now you are! But, like, I’m totally cool with it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure. So sure.” He nods like a Muppet. Holy shit.
I mean, he’s falling apart—and this is over the idea of Abby and me as friends. Platonic, hetero, after-school friends. He would die if he knew. He would actually die. So, yeah.
“Hey. So.” He stares at my forehead. “Will you let me know if she mentions me?”
“Sure.”
“Cool. That’s awesome. Oh man. I really appreciate that.”
My stomach twists with guilt.
Of course, it’s the longest day in the history of long days. Time is actually curdling.
Abby finds me at my locker, in the same exact spot where Nick stood this morning. “Are you ready?” she asks, smiling. For a moment, I just look at her.
Her hair is pulled back, and her cheeks are almost glowing. I think she might be wearing eyeliner, but it’s actually hard to know. The eyelash situation is that intense. And she’s wearing a dress—short-sleeved and belted, over tights and ankle boots.
“The boots are from Athens,” she says, catching me staring, and I almost choke on my own spit.
“I know,” I say finally.
“I really like your dress,” she says.
It’s the universe one, and I’m not going to lie. Other than my prom dress, it’s the best thing I own.
“So the weather’s really perfect. I know exactly where I want to take you.”
Wow. Okay. Where she wants to take me? I don’t want to lose my shit or anything, but she’s really making this sound like a date.
“I’m good with whatever,” I manage.
“Since when are you this agreeable?”
“I’m super agreeable. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Suso.”
“Every time you call me Suso, I feel like you’re actually Garrett wearing a Leah mask.”
“Are there Leah masks?”
“There should be,” Abby says. Then she turns down a side hall and down the back stairs. There’s a set of double push doors at the end of the music hallway—and it’s funny, because I’m here all the time, but I’ve never even noticed them. Abby pushes and holds one open with her hip, and I step out into the soft afternoon warmth. We’re in a courtyard behind the school, where a path cuts toward the football stadium.
“Are you making me play football?” I ask. Because that’s all I fucking need. Another weird, tense game of sportsball. Is this the universal post-breakup ritual?
“Obviously. You’re a cornerback, right?”
“Okay. Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I step onto the path, matching her pace. “Are cornerback and quarterback actually two different things?”
“Is that a real question?” She seems amused.
“I figured it might just be lazy pronunciation.”
“Okay. Wow. You are way too cute.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
My cheeks are off-the-charts warm. I could grill steaks on them. I could break thermometers and straighten your hair and give you second-degree burns.
“Seriously, why are you taking me to the football field?”
“Because you’ve clearly never seen one before.”
I bite back a smile. “False. I attended a single game at UGA five years ago.”
“Let me guess—with Morgan?”
“Yeah.” I roll my eyes.
“Did I tell you she apologized to me?”
“She did?”
“A few days ago. She seemed really messed up about it.” She veers left, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I’m following. Then she leads me through a gap in the stands, onto the track that surrounds the football field.
“Well, she should be. She fucked up.”
“She did.” Abby nods. “But I’m glad she apologized.”
Suddenly, Abby takes off, jogging to the center of the field and plopping onto the grass. By the time I catch up to her, she’s lying supine, propped up on her elbows.
I settle in beside her. “So, are you cool with her now?”
“I guess so?” She shrugs. “I mean, I’m not going to lie. That comment sucked. It’s just super hurtful. And I get it all the time. So then I get obsessed with the idea of proving people wrong and being, like, unimpeachably perfect, which probably isn’t healthy, and it’s just really exhausting. I hate it.” She sighs. “But I also hate conflict, especially this close to graduation. So I don’t know.”
“Definitely Taylor’s ass,” I say automatically. I blink, and there she is, a couple of yards away from us. She’s crouched down and appears to be helping a freshman sort through an array of scattered papers. Sometimes I forget what a Girl Scout she is.
“I think she’s into Eisner,” Garrett murmurs.
I nod. “Agreed.”
“But what about Abby?” Bram asks.
Garrett shrugs. “I mean, she dumped him. He’s a free agent.”
“I guess so.” Bram chews on his lip. “Prom’s going to be interesting.”
“Yeah, with Eisner and Suso in the same limo? Guaranteed shitshow.”
“You think it will be bad?”
“For them? Yeah. But we’ll have the best time, Burke, I promise.” He smiles, and there’s this softness in his eyes.
I freeze.
And then the bell rings. Thank God. “I should get to class.” I stand quickly, almost upending my chair.
Because, wow. I can’t do this. I can’t deal with Garrett’s mushy eyes and Nick’s broken heart. And I really can’t be this head over heels for a straight girl. The head and heels need to get back in line.
I need to fucking chill about this Abby situation.
There honestly can’t be an Abby situation.
But I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow afternoon. This mysterious after-school plan that Abby’s concocting. She hasn’t said a word about it all week, and I’m actually starting to wonder if she’s forgotten about it entirely.
But just as we’re leaving English, she tugs the sleeve of my cardigan. “Hey, are you taking the bus tomorrow?”
My stomach goes haywire.
Like, seriously? Fuck this. Fuck you, butterflies. Stop acting like this is a rom-com moment. Am I taking the bus. That’s seriously a step above discussing the weather. But for some reason, my body’s decided to treat this like a marriage proposal.
I blink and nod and exhale.
“Cool. I can drive you home.” She grins. “I’m excited.”
I can’t even reply. I’m just a giant steaming mess.
The whole bus ride home, I’m like a blender on pulse. In one moment, I think I finally have my shit together, and then the anticipation hits me in one megawatt burst. Tomorrow, I get to be alone with Abby. Which doesn’t mean anything will happen. I’m pretty sure I’m trash for even wanting anything to happen.
But I may actually be losing my mind. I’m in the weirdest mood. I’m this close to flinging my arms out and running up a mountainside, Sound of Music–style.
I feel reckless.
And I want to do something.
I get online as soon as I get home and log into my art Tumblr. Because why shouldn’t I? I don’t even hesitate. I type some words and upload some pictures, and then I hold my breath and click post. Done. I link it to my sidebar.
And probably no one even gives a shit, and I’ll never hear from anyone—but in this moment, I don’t care. I really don’t. Because I did the thing, and I posted it, and now I feel like Bigfoot. Like every step I take leaves an imprint.
It’s right there on my Tumblr: I’m officially open for commissions.
28
BUT THE BIGFOOT FEELING VANISHES as soon as I get to school on Friday. Nick’s at my locker, clearly waiting for me. He perks up as soon as I get there. “Hey, I heard you’re hanging out with Abby today.”
“Um.” I hesitate. “Yeah. Is that okay?”
He nods. “Totally. Of course. I don’t want to get in the way of your friendship.” He does this weird, strained laugh. “It’s so funny, because I didn’t even know you guys were friends. But now you are! But, like, I’m totally cool with it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure. So sure.” He nods like a Muppet. Holy shit.
I mean, he’s falling apart—and this is over the idea of Abby and me as friends. Platonic, hetero, after-school friends. He would die if he knew. He would actually die. So, yeah.
“Hey. So.” He stares at my forehead. “Will you let me know if she mentions me?”
“Sure.”
“Cool. That’s awesome. Oh man. I really appreciate that.”
My stomach twists with guilt.
Of course, it’s the longest day in the history of long days. Time is actually curdling.
Abby finds me at my locker, in the same exact spot where Nick stood this morning. “Are you ready?” she asks, smiling. For a moment, I just look at her.
Her hair is pulled back, and her cheeks are almost glowing. I think she might be wearing eyeliner, but it’s actually hard to know. The eyelash situation is that intense. And she’s wearing a dress—short-sleeved and belted, over tights and ankle boots.
“The boots are from Athens,” she says, catching me staring, and I almost choke on my own spit.
“I know,” I say finally.
“I really like your dress,” she says.
It’s the universe one, and I’m not going to lie. Other than my prom dress, it’s the best thing I own.
“So the weather’s really perfect. I know exactly where I want to take you.”
Wow. Okay. Where she wants to take me? I don’t want to lose my shit or anything, but she’s really making this sound like a date.
“I’m good with whatever,” I manage.
“Since when are you this agreeable?”
“I’m super agreeable. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Suso.”
“Every time you call me Suso, I feel like you’re actually Garrett wearing a Leah mask.”
“Are there Leah masks?”
“There should be,” Abby says. Then she turns down a side hall and down the back stairs. There’s a set of double push doors at the end of the music hallway—and it’s funny, because I’m here all the time, but I’ve never even noticed them. Abby pushes and holds one open with her hip, and I step out into the soft afternoon warmth. We’re in a courtyard behind the school, where a path cuts toward the football stadium.
“Are you making me play football?” I ask. Because that’s all I fucking need. Another weird, tense game of sportsball. Is this the universal post-breakup ritual?
“Obviously. You’re a cornerback, right?”
“Okay. Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I step onto the path, matching her pace. “Are cornerback and quarterback actually two different things?”
“Is that a real question?” She seems amused.
“I figured it might just be lazy pronunciation.”
“Okay. Wow. You are way too cute.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
My cheeks are off-the-charts warm. I could grill steaks on them. I could break thermometers and straighten your hair and give you second-degree burns.
“Seriously, why are you taking me to the football field?”
“Because you’ve clearly never seen one before.”
I bite back a smile. “False. I attended a single game at UGA five years ago.”
“Let me guess—with Morgan?”
“Yeah.” I roll my eyes.
“Did I tell you she apologized to me?”
“She did?”
“A few days ago. She seemed really messed up about it.” She veers left, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I’m following. Then she leads me through a gap in the stands, onto the track that surrounds the football field.
“Well, she should be. She fucked up.”
“She did.” Abby nods. “But I’m glad she apologized.”
Suddenly, Abby takes off, jogging to the center of the field and plopping onto the grass. By the time I catch up to her, she’s lying supine, propped up on her elbows.
I settle in beside her. “So, are you cool with her now?”
“I guess so?” She shrugs. “I mean, I’m not going to lie. That comment sucked. It’s just super hurtful. And I get it all the time. So then I get obsessed with the idea of proving people wrong and being, like, unimpeachably perfect, which probably isn’t healthy, and it’s just really exhausting. I hate it.” She sighs. “But I also hate conflict, especially this close to graduation. So I don’t know.”
