Leah on the Offbeat
Page 49
“Check your Tumblr,” Abby says suddenly.
My eyes flutter open. “What?”
“Just check it.” Then she tucks her face into the crook of her elbow.
I tap into my phone, staring into the brightness of my screen. My app is still logged into my art page, and I can see right away that I have a new ask. I don’t know how Abby knew that. Unless—
I tap into the message, feeling like the ground just tilted. I have to read it three times before the words sink in.
Commission request: two girls kissing on prom night.
The whole world seems to freeze, and my lungs empty like a balloon. Two girls kissing. On prom night. I look at Abby, but her face is still buried.
“Is this . . .” My voice shakes. “Are you joking?”
She lifts her head to peek up at me. “Why would you even think that?”
“Because. I don’t know.”
“Leah, I’m just. I’ve been losing my mind.” Her whole body is tense and still, skirt trailing to the floor of the platform. And I swear, I’ve stopped breathing. Abby Suso wants to kiss me. At prom. Right now. My whole body feels electric: chest and stomach and everywhere below. It feels like having to pee, except it’s not actually pee. It’s lightning.
She laughs nervously. “Please say something.”
My hands fall to my sides. “I mean, obviously.” I swallow. “Obviously, I like you.”
Her face falls. “But.”
“It’s just the timing,” I say.
“I know.”
“Like, you don’t even.” I shut my eyes. “I just. I really like you.”
“Me too. God. I think I’m . . .”
“Me too.”
We just stare at each other. My heart is pounding out of my chest.
“I mean, the good news is that we’ll be at the same school,” I say finally.
“We’ll be roommates.” She sniffs, and then smiles.
“Yeah. That’s probably not a good idea.”
“I don’t care.” She stands, suddenly, brushing her skirt down. Then she walks over to the railing beside me, hanging her arms over the side.
I tilt my head toward her. “I just think we should let some time pass.”
She sucks in a breath. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I mean, you’re right. You’re very practical, Leah.”
“I know.” I swallow. “This will be good, though. Nick will have moved on—”
“Wait, are you talking about Taylor Metternich’s face barnacle?” Abby asks. “Because I’m pretty sure that Nick has moved on.”
I smile sadly. “See, I don’t think he has. Not even close.”
I turn to look at her, but she’s staring out at the lake.
I keep talking. “It’s just that everything’s a mess, you know? With prom and graduation—and you’re right, we don’t want drama. Nick would be so—”
“I know,” Abby says quickly. “Yeah. Nick would lose it. He’s already losing it. And Garrett too, probably.”
“God.” Garrett. “Yeah.”
“It just sucks.” She sighs. “I mean, I get it. I totally get it. And I shouldn’t have even—it’s not.” She covers her face. “I don’t know. I’m an idiot.”
“No you’re not.”
She laughs flatly. “Yeah, but I am. This is so—just. I mean, I screwed this up a long time ago. We could have been—” But she cuts herself off.
For a moment, we’re silent. I feel my eyes start to prickle.
“We could have been what?” I ask finally.
“We could have been like Simon and Bram,” she says, her voice quivering faintly. “I was so—like, this whole time, this could have been us, you know? Being the cutest girlfriends and kissing and grossing everyone out with how in love we are.”
And there it is: that runaway tear. I wipe it away quickly, but it regenerates. I hate crying. I hate it more than anything in the world.
Abby sniffs. “We need a Time-Turner.”
I laugh, and it sounds like a hiccup. “God. Are you like the biggest Potterhead ever now?”
“Not really,” she says, smiling tearfully. Then she sighs. “I’m literally just trying to impress a girl.”
“Oh.” My heart thumps.
“So, yeah. This sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“And obviously I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Me neither. I mean, we just can’t. We can’t do this to Nick.”
“I know.” Her voice cracks. “I know.”
It actually hurts to look at her. “Abby, I’m so—”
“Just don’t. Okay? It’s fine. We’re fine.” And even though her eyes are wet, her smile lights up her face. “This is totally my fault, and I get that, and just . . .” She turns around, leaning her back against the railing. “I don’t know, Leah. Maybe you should get back to your date.”
“Abby.”
“It’s fine! We’re good. I just need a minute.” She presses the corners of her eyes. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”
I nod quickly. And holy fuck. I am dangerously close to sobbing. I can’t even form words. I just cut down the ramp and flee back down the path, without a backward glance.
Of course, I’m back at the pavilion approximately ten seconds later, but I’m nowhere near ready. I can barely breathe, much less speak. It’s weird, but all I want to do is lie on the ground. Sleep in the dirt. I don’t even care about the dress.
It just sucks, and it sucks harder because it was so painfully close to being wonderful. Imagine if the kiss in Athens wasn’t an awkward mistake. If I were a little less stubborn. If Abby were a little less clueless. What if she’d never dated Nick at all? What if we were out and happy and as famously in love as every other obnoxious Creekwood couple?
Maybe Abby would have talked me into trying out for the play. Maybe I’d have spent a little less time watching the action from the back of the auditorium. Maybe I’d have spent more time making out in the back of the auditorium.
Instead, I’m standing here watching prom happen from twenty feet away.
My eyes land on Simon and Bram at the edge of the pavilion, in their jacketless tuxedos, leaning against the railing. They’re not dancing—just standing—and I can only see their backs. Simon’s arm is hooked around Bram’s waist, their bodies so close they practically blur together. And Bram’s hand sweeps smoothly over the nape of Simon’s neck.
Sometimes watching them makes my throat hurt.
The song changes again, and I instantly recognize the opening bars. Stevie Wonder. Mom’s song. Awesome, because what I really need right now is to feel Mom peering over my shoulder.
Except. I don’t know. It kind of feels like a sign. Like a whispered secret message: don’t overthink this.
Stop obsessing. Don’t overanalyze. And don’t cry.
But it’s hopeless.
My hands fly to my face, but these are full-body sobs. I can barely catch my breath. Because here are Simon and Bram, with their arms around each other, and they’re so fucking brave in ways I’ll never understand. And now we’re about to graduate, and all I have to show for it is the saddest crush of the century.
And God. It would be so sensible to wait until college. To let Nick bounce back to normal. To let Garrett down gently. Let the dust settle. Let our friends know. Dip our toes in first, and let everything evolve slowly. We could ease into dating in a couple of months, if we wanted.
But I don’t want to wait for months. And I don’t feel like being sensible.
Don’t overthink this.
Suddenly, I’m running, almost tripping over my dress, hair falling in my face. And it’s reckless and stupid, and probably pointless, too—because I doubt she’s even where I left her. I bet she disappeared entirely. I bet she—
“Leah?” Abby says.
And then I barrel straight into her.
“Oof.”
“Wow.” She grabs my shoulders to steady me. “Are you—” She stops short. “Leah, you’re crying.”
My eyes flutter open. “What?”
“Just check it.” Then she tucks her face into the crook of her elbow.
I tap into my phone, staring into the brightness of my screen. My app is still logged into my art page, and I can see right away that I have a new ask. I don’t know how Abby knew that. Unless—
I tap into the message, feeling like the ground just tilted. I have to read it three times before the words sink in.
Commission request: two girls kissing on prom night.
The whole world seems to freeze, and my lungs empty like a balloon. Two girls kissing. On prom night. I look at Abby, but her face is still buried.
“Is this . . .” My voice shakes. “Are you joking?”
She lifts her head to peek up at me. “Why would you even think that?”
“Because. I don’t know.”
“Leah, I’m just. I’ve been losing my mind.” Her whole body is tense and still, skirt trailing to the floor of the platform. And I swear, I’ve stopped breathing. Abby Suso wants to kiss me. At prom. Right now. My whole body feels electric: chest and stomach and everywhere below. It feels like having to pee, except it’s not actually pee. It’s lightning.
She laughs nervously. “Please say something.”
My hands fall to my sides. “I mean, obviously.” I swallow. “Obviously, I like you.”
Her face falls. “But.”
“It’s just the timing,” I say.
“I know.”
“Like, you don’t even.” I shut my eyes. “I just. I really like you.”
“Me too. God. I think I’m . . .”
“Me too.”
We just stare at each other. My heart is pounding out of my chest.
“I mean, the good news is that we’ll be at the same school,” I say finally.
“We’ll be roommates.” She sniffs, and then smiles.
“Yeah. That’s probably not a good idea.”
“I don’t care.” She stands, suddenly, brushing her skirt down. Then she walks over to the railing beside me, hanging her arms over the side.
I tilt my head toward her. “I just think we should let some time pass.”
She sucks in a breath. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I mean, you’re right. You’re very practical, Leah.”
“I know.” I swallow. “This will be good, though. Nick will have moved on—”
“Wait, are you talking about Taylor Metternich’s face barnacle?” Abby asks. “Because I’m pretty sure that Nick has moved on.”
I smile sadly. “See, I don’t think he has. Not even close.”
I turn to look at her, but she’s staring out at the lake.
I keep talking. “It’s just that everything’s a mess, you know? With prom and graduation—and you’re right, we don’t want drama. Nick would be so—”
“I know,” Abby says quickly. “Yeah. Nick would lose it. He’s already losing it. And Garrett too, probably.”
“God.” Garrett. “Yeah.”
“It just sucks.” She sighs. “I mean, I get it. I totally get it. And I shouldn’t have even—it’s not.” She covers her face. “I don’t know. I’m an idiot.”
“No you’re not.”
She laughs flatly. “Yeah, but I am. This is so—just. I mean, I screwed this up a long time ago. We could have been—” But she cuts herself off.
For a moment, we’re silent. I feel my eyes start to prickle.
“We could have been what?” I ask finally.
“We could have been like Simon and Bram,” she says, her voice quivering faintly. “I was so—like, this whole time, this could have been us, you know? Being the cutest girlfriends and kissing and grossing everyone out with how in love we are.”
And there it is: that runaway tear. I wipe it away quickly, but it regenerates. I hate crying. I hate it more than anything in the world.
Abby sniffs. “We need a Time-Turner.”
I laugh, and it sounds like a hiccup. “God. Are you like the biggest Potterhead ever now?”
“Not really,” she says, smiling tearfully. Then she sighs. “I’m literally just trying to impress a girl.”
“Oh.” My heart thumps.
“So, yeah. This sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“And obviously I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Me neither. I mean, we just can’t. We can’t do this to Nick.”
“I know.” Her voice cracks. “I know.”
It actually hurts to look at her. “Abby, I’m so—”
“Just don’t. Okay? It’s fine. We’re fine.” And even though her eyes are wet, her smile lights up her face. “This is totally my fault, and I get that, and just . . .” She turns around, leaning her back against the railing. “I don’t know, Leah. Maybe you should get back to your date.”
“Abby.”
“It’s fine! We’re good. I just need a minute.” She presses the corners of her eyes. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”
I nod quickly. And holy fuck. I am dangerously close to sobbing. I can’t even form words. I just cut down the ramp and flee back down the path, without a backward glance.
Of course, I’m back at the pavilion approximately ten seconds later, but I’m nowhere near ready. I can barely breathe, much less speak. It’s weird, but all I want to do is lie on the ground. Sleep in the dirt. I don’t even care about the dress.
It just sucks, and it sucks harder because it was so painfully close to being wonderful. Imagine if the kiss in Athens wasn’t an awkward mistake. If I were a little less stubborn. If Abby were a little less clueless. What if she’d never dated Nick at all? What if we were out and happy and as famously in love as every other obnoxious Creekwood couple?
Maybe Abby would have talked me into trying out for the play. Maybe I’d have spent a little less time watching the action from the back of the auditorium. Maybe I’d have spent more time making out in the back of the auditorium.
Instead, I’m standing here watching prom happen from twenty feet away.
My eyes land on Simon and Bram at the edge of the pavilion, in their jacketless tuxedos, leaning against the railing. They’re not dancing—just standing—and I can only see their backs. Simon’s arm is hooked around Bram’s waist, their bodies so close they practically blur together. And Bram’s hand sweeps smoothly over the nape of Simon’s neck.
Sometimes watching them makes my throat hurt.
The song changes again, and I instantly recognize the opening bars. Stevie Wonder. Mom’s song. Awesome, because what I really need right now is to feel Mom peering over my shoulder.
Except. I don’t know. It kind of feels like a sign. Like a whispered secret message: don’t overthink this.
Stop obsessing. Don’t overanalyze. And don’t cry.
But it’s hopeless.
My hands fly to my face, but these are full-body sobs. I can barely catch my breath. Because here are Simon and Bram, with their arms around each other, and they’re so fucking brave in ways I’ll never understand. And now we’re about to graduate, and all I have to show for it is the saddest crush of the century.
And God. It would be so sensible to wait until college. To let Nick bounce back to normal. To let Garrett down gently. Let the dust settle. Let our friends know. Dip our toes in first, and let everything evolve slowly. We could ease into dating in a couple of months, if we wanted.
But I don’t want to wait for months. And I don’t feel like being sensible.
Don’t overthink this.
Suddenly, I’m running, almost tripping over my dress, hair falling in my face. And it’s reckless and stupid, and probably pointless, too—because I doubt she’s even where I left her. I bet she disappeared entirely. I bet she—
“Leah?” Abby says.
And then I barrel straight into her.
“Oof.”
“Wow.” She grabs my shoulders to steady me. “Are you—” She stops short. “Leah, you’re crying.”
