Been Here All Along (3 page)

“Yeah, can't disappoint the team,” I say, when she fails to continue. I sneak a glance at her desk and notice she's going through some papers. Probably the essays we handed in last week.

She grimaces and shows me the 60 percent on the top of my paper. “Did you understand any of the instructions?”

I take the essay from her and look at all the red slashes through words and sentences, different call-outs that I can't actually read right now because my brain is so foggy and nervous.

I hand it back to her and squeeze the straps of my backpack. “I worked really hard,” I finally say. I sound so whiny.

“I think there's more to it than just needing to work hard. Some of this is—” She pauses, skimming the page again. “You have moments where I can see how smart you are, and there are other sentences where you obviously let spell-check change every word and it turned into gibberish.”

“Spelling is, like, not my best.” My tongue is heavy in my mouth and my brain is working in slow motion so I can't even think of the right words.

“It's not just the spelling, though. It's the context and comprehension. There's so much more going on here.”

I know she's trying to make eye contact with me, like we're supposed to be having some kind of moment. But I can't. I stare outside and watch a squirrel hop around in a tree. I wouldn't mind going out there and joining him. Maybe just live in that tree for the rest of my life and learn English through the classroom window.

“I really don't want you to fail this marking period. Grades are due next week, and you're right on the cusp. An F isn't going to look great on your report card.”

“I know,” I say, still watching the little squirrel.

“It could mean summer school if you don't pull it together.”

I wince at the idea of more school. Especially since I found out last week I got accepted into a really prestigious basketball camp for this summer.

She gives me detailed instructions about what she wants me to do for extra credit, and I make sure I write everything down. I really don't want to have to worry about this.

“I believe you're a very smart kid who's having some problems,” she says after the world's longest instructions. “We will be able to come up with a solution. You are not a lost cause. I checked your grades, and I see you've done just fine in the past.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Masterson was a good teacher.”

She nods distractedly. “I have to wonder if there's something else going on.”

“Something else?” I ask.

“A personal problem, maybe? I'm not trying to pry. I want to understand what changed. It might help me.”

“No,” I say. “Nothing changed.”

“Everything's good at home?”

I nod and wipe my forehead. I feel sweaty and nervous and like I can't focus on anything.

“Okay, well,” she says.

I take that as the opportunity to leave without saying another word, because there's nothing else to say.

The halls are almost clear by the time I get to my locker, and Ruby's leaning on it, waiting for me.

“You okay?” she asks.

I blink hard. “Uh, yeah. I just had to stay and talk to Ms. Gupta for a second.”

“Oh, cool. I love her. Such a step up from Old Lady Masterson. That woman did not like me.”

I nod but decide to drop the topic while I grab what I need from my locker, and then I'm ready to go.

“You're really okay?” she asks as we turn down the hallway in the direction of the gym.

“Yeah, fine, just a lot on my mind.” We pause outside the locker rooms before parting ways. “I know we were supposed to go out tonight after practice, but I have to go home. My mom's on my ass about never being home for dinner.”

“Oh no, a nice home-cooked meal! That sounds terrible!” she says.

“You want to come over?” I ask, sort of hoping she'll say no. I have too much to think about. For starters, I need to work on this extra-credit thing for English.

“Nah, I think I'll skip this round of family fun time at the Kaminskys'.”

“Figured it was worth asking.”

“Thanks,” she says.

“See you after practice,” I say.

She kisses my cheek and turns to walk away, but I grab her hand, pulling her back. I kiss her harder and longer than I normally would in the middle of the hallway at school. But it just feels kind of right.

“Such an animal, Kaminsky. I like it,” she says.

I can't help but smile.

Ruby

By the time we're both done, it's getting dark outside and I don't really feel like dredging up whatever was making Kyle nervous earlier. When I meet up with him outside the gym, instead I lean up to kiss him on the cheek.

“You smell like sweaty boy,” I say.

“Well, probably because I am a sweaty boy.”

“So sassy lately, Kaminsky,” I say, swinging our hands between us as we walk out to his car.

“Why do you like me?” he asks a few minutes later as we pull out of the school parking lot.

I study his profile in the flitting glow of the passing streetlights.

I try to think of an exact reason, to pinpoint something that doesn't sound flimsy or trite. Because I like him for all those reasons you're supposed to like people. He's kind and warm and looks at me like I'm the coolest bitch on earth. And I am. But there's more to it.

“You don't have to answer that,” he mumbles after I've been quiet for too long. “It's not important.”

“I think part of why I like you is that you ask questions like that,” I finally say.

He licks his lips, waiting for me to go on, but when I don't, he babbles. “But why? Like, that doesn't really tell me anything. We've been together for six months and I've seen the way other guys look at you. You could have pretty much any of them.”

“I like that you gave me a chance.”

We're at my house by now and he pulls over, shutting off the car. “I gave you a chance?” he asks, turning fully to look at me.

“Yeah, you know. You don't talk to a lot of girls, but you talked to me. I didn't expect it. It made me feel special or something stupid like that.” God, this is too hard to talk about for some reason. I don't think I like this emotional crap.

“So if I tell you something kind of personal, and sort of weird, you'll still like me?” he asks.

“Of course,” I say, my voice quiet, remembering his discomfort earlier.

“So I'm bi,” he says.

“Huh?”

“Bi.”

“Are you telling me to leave?”

“What? No. I'm bisexual.”

“Cool,” I say.

“Cool?”

“Yeah, of course. I don't know what you want me to say, but that's cool. I'm cool with that.”

He rolls his neck and it cracks like a gunshot.

“So you were a little nervous about telling me that?” I ask, taking his chin in my hand and turning him toward me.

“I was. I don't tell a lot of people, but we're just, we've been getting closer? I felt like you should know or else it, you know, it felt like I was lying. And I really don't want to lie to anyone, but especially not you and—”

My mouth is on his, and it drowns out whatever other useless words were trying to claw their way out of his throat. He doesn't need to make excuses or overexplain with me. I hope he understands that.

His phone buzzes, and he leans his forehead on mine.

“That's definitely my mom. And I definitely need to go home.”

“It's cool. We have a date this weekend anyway.”

“Oh yeah, the dance,” he says.

“Hopefully it'll be a victory dance when you guys win tomorrow night,” I say, the cheerleader in me leaking out of my pores.

“Yeah, it should be fun.”

I look right at him, forcing his eyes to meet mine in the dim light. “Thanks for coming out to me.”

“You're welcome.”

I slide out of the car and run up the steps to my house, turning back to wave.

He always waits to make sure I'm safe.

Just one more reason to like him.

 

three

Kyle

Ruby and I walk into the gym like we own the place.

The basketball team won the state championships last night, so this dance feels like a serious victory lap.

She takes my hand and we do a circuit of the gym, where she says hello to people and I try to get a better look at the refreshments while fist-bumping and high-fiving people I'm not sure I've ever seen before. Do they even go to this school?

But there are leaf cookies on that table, and I want to eat all the pink ones. Ruby seems to be ignoring my soulful eye contact with the cookie table.

“Come on, let's slow dance,” she says, yanking me toward the front of the gym, where a bunch of couples sway to a song that sounds like a slow love ballad, but if you listen closely to the lyrics, it really isn't romantic. After threading our way through the crowd, she stops suddenly and turns, throwing her hands around my neck middle-school style.

“Kyle,” Ruby says in a singsong voice, “what are you thinking about?”

I only half hear her because I see someone make a move toward my cookies.

“God you're cute when you're barely listening to me.”

“Huh?” I say, hunching over to hear her better.

“You're cute,” she stage-whispers.

I smile.

“Aren't I cute?”

“You're better than cute,” I say. “You look awesome tonight, by the way, in case I haven't mentioned it.”

“Thanks.” She takes a deep breath and it's like every hair on my body stands up. Like I have a sixth sense that she's about to start a fight. “I don't want this to be a
thing
or whatever, but now that you've gotten through the big game, I just have a question.”

“Okay,” I say.

“How come you waited so long to tell me you were bi?”

That gets my attention away from the cookies. I blink at her, unsure of how to respond.

“I'm not offended, I just”—she pauses and cocks her head to the side—“I guess I don't understand why you waited until we were together for six months to tell me.”

I raise my eyebrows and open my mouth to say something, anything, because it seems like she's asking questions but they're also statements. She keeps talking before I can figure out what to say again.

“Really, it's not a big deal, but I kind of can't shake the feeling that you don't actually trust me.”

I stop dancing and step back from her. “Would you rather I hadn't told you?”

“No. That's not what I'm saying at all. I guess I don't understand why you decided to tell me now.”

“Because it's my choice when to tell someone personal things about me.”

“But I'm your girlfriend.”

“And that means you should know everything right away?”

“No, but I should know stuff like this before other people.”

I cross my arms. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Like, when did you tell Gideon?”

“I don't know. A long time ago. But Gideon's been my best friend since before kindergarten. Of course I would have told him.”

“So you've known the whole time we've been going out?”

“Yes.”

“And you never wanted to tell me before?” she asks, throwing up her hands in exasperation. She pulls away from me and walks off the dance floor. I catch up to her right by the refreshment table.

“I did, it just makes me really nervous,” I explain, hoping she'll get it. “Does it change something for you? Do you not like me anymore or something?”

“No. I still like you. I hate to sound like a broken record, but I don't understand why you wanted to tell me now. Why not sooner?”

She stares up at me, and I get the terrible feeling like she might cry. She chews on the inside of her lip, like she's just barely holding back her tears.

“I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings by not telling you sooner,” I say. It's the best I can do in that moment, because the whole situation boggles my mind.

“I know you said in the car that it was because you felt closer lately, but haven't we always been close? I'm your girlfriend.”

“Yes, you are. I guess I don't know what to say to you to make this better.”

“I just, I need a couple minutes,” she says, sniffling. She spins on her heel and speed-walks away. I'm left standing there by the refreshment table with my mouth hanging open.

And there's only one broken pink leaf cookie left.

Isn't that just the way life is sometimes?

Gideon

I sit up in the balcony completely stunned, watching the whole thing go down between Kyle and Ruby. I've never seen them so much as frown at each other before, but this is something different. This is an actual fight. Even from far away, I can tell that something is really wrong.

I don't know what Kyle's face looked like, because he had his back to me the whole time, but Ruby's was like a slide show of different kinds of emotions. Sad, angry, frustrated, very sad—it kept getting worse and worse.

You hear the phrase all the time, that someone raised their hackles, but I don't think I've ever seen it to actually identify the action. As Kyle stood there, his whole back, shoulders, and neck tensed up. It should have been hard to watch. But I couldn't look away.

I'm hanging out with my friends Maddie and Sawyer, the ultimate power couple of class politics, but they're totally unaware of the drama unfolding below. I'm glad neither of them notices that I completely checked out of the conversation several minutes ago.

I should stop watching. Their fight is none of my business. I know it, but I can't stop staring. I must sit there with my mouth hanging open for a good five minutes. I feel something welling up in my chest. It's something like hope, but I don't know why. And it makes me want to laugh for some reason, to the point where I have to put my hand over my mouth.