Leah on the Offbeat
Page 7
“Okay, you just have to smile and wave at the security guard,” he says. “Act like you’re allowed to leave.”
“Garrett, seniors are allowed to leave.”
“Wait, really?” He looks amazed.
Morgan inches toward the exit. She’s always driven like a terrified alien dropped on a new planet. She moves so slowly she’s practically rolling, and every traffic light and stop sign seem to surprise her. I turn up the music—a moody folk song I don’t recognize. I think I like it. I think I really like it. It’s somehow both sweet and wrenching, and the singer sings it like she means it.
“Who is this?” I ask after a moment.
Ahead, the light turns red, and Morgan crawls to a stop. “Rebecca Loebe. My new fave.” Considering yesterday’s fave was “Don’t Stop Believin’,” I’d call this the biggest level-up in the history of music.
“Morgan, you have officially redeemed yourself.”
We pull into Rio Bravo and pile out of the car, and I stand a little straighter when we step into the restaurant. Not that anyone cares. But I don’t want to look like some high school kid skipping third period—even though that’s totally, 100 percent exactly what I am. The hostess leads us to a big booth in the back, and a waiter stops by right away to drop off tortilla chips and take our drink orders. Garrett leans toward me. “Let me guess. Coke.”
“Maybe.” I smile. Bram and Anna exchange glances.
“She’ll have a Coke,” Garrett says.
“Excuse me, I can order for myself.” I smile brightly at the waiter. “I’ll have a Coke, please.” I don’t mean it as a joke—not at all—but everyone laughs, even Garrett.
“You’re funny, Burke,” he says.
I blush and turn to Morgan. “Hey, I was wondering—are you doing the campus tour and info session thing?”
Morgan grins. “I was just going to ask you. So, Abby and I were discussing it, and we were thinking maybe all three of us could go together over spring break. Did she talk to you about it yet?”
Ah. So, Abby’s question. The thing she kind of wanted to ask me. I swallow. “Pretty sure your parents will want to go to that, Morgan.”
“I know. But I’ll go twice. I don’t care.”
“You guys and Abby?” asks Anna. “Since when are you friends with Abby?”
Morgan looks confused. “We’ve always been friends with Abby.”
“Yeah, but not like that. Not like spring break road trip besties,” Anna says, pursing her lips. I shift slightly in my seat. Anna gets weird when we talk about college, and I never know what to say. On one hand, I get it. She’s the odd woman out. But on the other hand, I don’t even think she ended up applying to Georgia. She’s been obsessed with Duke since sophomore year.
“Anna Banana, we’re not replacing you,” I say.
She wrinkles her nose. “You just had to pick the girl with a four-letter A name.”
“Yeah, but she’s not you.” Morgan hugs her around the shoulders.
And it’s true. Abby could never be inner circle. Maybe once upon a time, I thought she could be. Here’s the thing: right after Abby moved here, she and I hung out a lot. Like, a lot a lot. To the point where my mom started getting twinkly-eyed and asking lots of questions. And obviously, it wasn’t like that. For one thing, Abby’s embarrassingly hetero. She’s the type who’d watch all of Sailor Moon and come away thinking Haruka and Michiru were just good friends. She probably thinks Troye Sivan’s songs are about girls.
Not that I need to be thinking about Abby right now. I stare at the chip bowl. “So what are we doing after this?”
“Well, I have a project,” says Bram.
“What kind of project?”
Bram blushes, mouth quirking upward. “I’m kind of working on a promposal.”
Ninety minutes later, Morgan, Anna, and Garrett are watching anime in Morgan’s living room, and I’m eating microwave s’mores at the kitchen table with Bram. “So you inspired me,” he says.
“Me?”
He nods toward my phone. “With the picture you showed me.”
“Are you doing a Morgan’s bat mitzvah–themed promposal? Because that would be epic.”
“Good guess.” He grins. “But no. I mean, I don’t know. I think I need to pick your brain for a minute.”
“About what?”
“I need all your embarrassing Simon stories.” He takes a bite of s’more and smiles. There’s a tiny blob of marshmallow stuck to his lip.
“You realize this could take all day, right?” I say.
He laughs. “I’m here for it.”
“Also, totally unrelated, but I have to know. Did Baby Bram call graham crackers—”
“Bram crackers?” He smiles. “Maybe. Definitely.”
“That’s amazing.”
“I’m making another. You want one?” He stands.
“Obviously.” I tuck my chin into my hand. “Okay, so Simon.”
“Simon.”
There’s this tug in my chest. Because when Bram says Simon’s name, he pronounces every part of it. Like it’s worth being careful over. It’s really sweet and everything, but wow. I get so jealous sometimes. It’s obviously not just Simon and Bram. It’s couples in general. And it’s not about the kissing stuff. It’s just—imagine being Simon. Imagine going about your day knowing someone’s carrying you in their mind. That has to be the best part of being in love—the feeling of having a home in someone else’s brain.
I push away the thought. “All right. So I assume you’ve seen the jean shorts picture?”
“The one on their mantel?” He grins back at me from across the kitchen.
“Yup. Okay, what about when he puked in the wax hand?”
“He actually told me that himself.”
“Yeah, he’s probably proud of that one.” I bite my lip. “Huh. Like, it really shouldn’t be this hard to think of embarrassing Simon stories.”
“You would think,” Bram says. The microwave beeps, and I watch for a minute as he carefully presses the s’mores together. Only Bram could wrangle a giant puffed-up marshmallow so neatly. He carries the s’mores back to the table and slides the plate in front of me. And I’m just about to grab one, but I’m suddenly inspired.
“Wait, do you know about his thing with Love Actually?”
“I know his parents make him watch it every Christmas, and he hates it.”
“Yeah. He doesn’t hate it.” I take a giant bite of s’more, peeking up at him with my widest, most innocent eyes.
Bram grins. “It sounds like there’s a story here.”
“Oh, there’s a story. Simon wrote the story.”
Bram opens his mouth to reply, but then Garrett pops his head up over the back of the couch. “Hey, Burke. Question. So, I’m trying to figure out the plan for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“The play,” calls Morgan from the armchair.
“Oh, I knew that.”
“Are you going?” Garrett asks.
“I was planning on it.”
Bram and Garrett glance at each other quickly, whatever that means. “Want to come with us?” Bram asks. “We want to get there early and get good seats.”
“In other words, Greenfeld wants an unobstructed view of his boyfriend’s ass.”
Bram shakes his head, smiling.
“Maybe we can grab dinner or something beforehand,” Garrett adds.
“I guess so.”
“You guess so? Leah. Leah.” Garrett shakes his head.
I force a giant, cheesy smile. “Oh. My. God. I can’t wait!”
“Better,” he says, sinking back into the couch.
But all night, at home, I’m not thinking about the play. I collapse onto the couch with a Coke, feeling edgy and restless. My mind keeps drifting back to what Morgan said at Rio Bravo. Abby wants to tour UGA with us. It’s not like it’s totally out of left field. We’re technically friends. But probably a hundred people from our grade applied to Georgia, and Abby’s friends with all of them. She’s friends with everyone. So it’s a little bit surprising that she’d want to go with us.
“Garrett, seniors are allowed to leave.”
“Wait, really?” He looks amazed.
Morgan inches toward the exit. She’s always driven like a terrified alien dropped on a new planet. She moves so slowly she’s practically rolling, and every traffic light and stop sign seem to surprise her. I turn up the music—a moody folk song I don’t recognize. I think I like it. I think I really like it. It’s somehow both sweet and wrenching, and the singer sings it like she means it.
“Who is this?” I ask after a moment.
Ahead, the light turns red, and Morgan crawls to a stop. “Rebecca Loebe. My new fave.” Considering yesterday’s fave was “Don’t Stop Believin’,” I’d call this the biggest level-up in the history of music.
“Morgan, you have officially redeemed yourself.”
We pull into Rio Bravo and pile out of the car, and I stand a little straighter when we step into the restaurant. Not that anyone cares. But I don’t want to look like some high school kid skipping third period—even though that’s totally, 100 percent exactly what I am. The hostess leads us to a big booth in the back, and a waiter stops by right away to drop off tortilla chips and take our drink orders. Garrett leans toward me. “Let me guess. Coke.”
“Maybe.” I smile. Bram and Anna exchange glances.
“She’ll have a Coke,” Garrett says.
“Excuse me, I can order for myself.” I smile brightly at the waiter. “I’ll have a Coke, please.” I don’t mean it as a joke—not at all—but everyone laughs, even Garrett.
“You’re funny, Burke,” he says.
I blush and turn to Morgan. “Hey, I was wondering—are you doing the campus tour and info session thing?”
Morgan grins. “I was just going to ask you. So, Abby and I were discussing it, and we were thinking maybe all three of us could go together over spring break. Did she talk to you about it yet?”
Ah. So, Abby’s question. The thing she kind of wanted to ask me. I swallow. “Pretty sure your parents will want to go to that, Morgan.”
“I know. But I’ll go twice. I don’t care.”
“You guys and Abby?” asks Anna. “Since when are you friends with Abby?”
Morgan looks confused. “We’ve always been friends with Abby.”
“Yeah, but not like that. Not like spring break road trip besties,” Anna says, pursing her lips. I shift slightly in my seat. Anna gets weird when we talk about college, and I never know what to say. On one hand, I get it. She’s the odd woman out. But on the other hand, I don’t even think she ended up applying to Georgia. She’s been obsessed with Duke since sophomore year.
“Anna Banana, we’re not replacing you,” I say.
She wrinkles her nose. “You just had to pick the girl with a four-letter A name.”
“Yeah, but she’s not you.” Morgan hugs her around the shoulders.
And it’s true. Abby could never be inner circle. Maybe once upon a time, I thought she could be. Here’s the thing: right after Abby moved here, she and I hung out a lot. Like, a lot a lot. To the point where my mom started getting twinkly-eyed and asking lots of questions. And obviously, it wasn’t like that. For one thing, Abby’s embarrassingly hetero. She’s the type who’d watch all of Sailor Moon and come away thinking Haruka and Michiru were just good friends. She probably thinks Troye Sivan’s songs are about girls.
Not that I need to be thinking about Abby right now. I stare at the chip bowl. “So what are we doing after this?”
“Well, I have a project,” says Bram.
“What kind of project?”
Bram blushes, mouth quirking upward. “I’m kind of working on a promposal.”
Ninety minutes later, Morgan, Anna, and Garrett are watching anime in Morgan’s living room, and I’m eating microwave s’mores at the kitchen table with Bram. “So you inspired me,” he says.
“Me?”
He nods toward my phone. “With the picture you showed me.”
“Are you doing a Morgan’s bat mitzvah–themed promposal? Because that would be epic.”
“Good guess.” He grins. “But no. I mean, I don’t know. I think I need to pick your brain for a minute.”
“About what?”
“I need all your embarrassing Simon stories.” He takes a bite of s’more and smiles. There’s a tiny blob of marshmallow stuck to his lip.
“You realize this could take all day, right?” I say.
He laughs. “I’m here for it.”
“Also, totally unrelated, but I have to know. Did Baby Bram call graham crackers—”
“Bram crackers?” He smiles. “Maybe. Definitely.”
“That’s amazing.”
“I’m making another. You want one?” He stands.
“Obviously.” I tuck my chin into my hand. “Okay, so Simon.”
“Simon.”
There’s this tug in my chest. Because when Bram says Simon’s name, he pronounces every part of it. Like it’s worth being careful over. It’s really sweet and everything, but wow. I get so jealous sometimes. It’s obviously not just Simon and Bram. It’s couples in general. And it’s not about the kissing stuff. It’s just—imagine being Simon. Imagine going about your day knowing someone’s carrying you in their mind. That has to be the best part of being in love—the feeling of having a home in someone else’s brain.
I push away the thought. “All right. So I assume you’ve seen the jean shorts picture?”
“The one on their mantel?” He grins back at me from across the kitchen.
“Yup. Okay, what about when he puked in the wax hand?”
“He actually told me that himself.”
“Yeah, he’s probably proud of that one.” I bite my lip. “Huh. Like, it really shouldn’t be this hard to think of embarrassing Simon stories.”
“You would think,” Bram says. The microwave beeps, and I watch for a minute as he carefully presses the s’mores together. Only Bram could wrangle a giant puffed-up marshmallow so neatly. He carries the s’mores back to the table and slides the plate in front of me. And I’m just about to grab one, but I’m suddenly inspired.
“Wait, do you know about his thing with Love Actually?”
“I know his parents make him watch it every Christmas, and he hates it.”
“Yeah. He doesn’t hate it.” I take a giant bite of s’more, peeking up at him with my widest, most innocent eyes.
Bram grins. “It sounds like there’s a story here.”
“Oh, there’s a story. Simon wrote the story.”
Bram opens his mouth to reply, but then Garrett pops his head up over the back of the couch. “Hey, Burke. Question. So, I’m trying to figure out the plan for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“The play,” calls Morgan from the armchair.
“Oh, I knew that.”
“Are you going?” Garrett asks.
“I was planning on it.”
Bram and Garrett glance at each other quickly, whatever that means. “Want to come with us?” Bram asks. “We want to get there early and get good seats.”
“In other words, Greenfeld wants an unobstructed view of his boyfriend’s ass.”
Bram shakes his head, smiling.
“Maybe we can grab dinner or something beforehand,” Garrett adds.
“I guess so.”
“You guess so? Leah. Leah.” Garrett shakes his head.
I force a giant, cheesy smile. “Oh. My. God. I can’t wait!”
“Better,” he says, sinking back into the couch.
But all night, at home, I’m not thinking about the play. I collapse onto the couch with a Coke, feeling edgy and restless. My mind keeps drifting back to what Morgan said at Rio Bravo. Abby wants to tour UGA with us. It’s not like it’s totally out of left field. We’re technically friends. But probably a hundred people from our grade applied to Georgia, and Abby’s friends with all of them. She’s friends with everyone. So it’s a little bit surprising that she’d want to go with us.
