Take Me There (16 page)

And then he’s like, “You’ve never thought about going out of state?”

And I’m like, “I just love it here so much. It’s like . . . the energy is so amazing, you know?”

Then he nods and I say, “Well, I can’t wait to move out, of course,” and he laughs, and I’m just having the best time. I can’t remember ever having this much fun with Danny, just sitting around talking and laughing like there’s no one else you’d rather be with. With Danny it was always about having fun for a while, but then it usually turned into him ranting about how so many people in the States can’t afford health insurance or how all these people are starving around the world while we have hot-dog-eating contests on Coney Island.

Mr. Farrell says how he loves the energy here in the Village. So I’m like, “Yeah, same here. Rhiannon lives down the street, so I hang out here a lot.”

And he’s like, “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you around, then. I’m here a lot, too. New York is like the smallest town on the planet with”—and I have to interrupt him and go—“running into people! I know!” Because it’s totally freaky how like eight million people live here, but you could be walking down some random street at a time when you’re never out and you turn a corner and all of a sudden you run into some kid you went to elementary school with a lifetime ago. It’s so weird how that happens. I used to think it only happened to me, like I have some kind of special power to make those kinds of things work. But maybe it happens to a lot of people. Or maybe it’s just us and we both have the special power.

I look down at my textbook and wonder if we’re ever getting back to tutoring. Not that I want to, but it’s interesting how Mr. Farrell is just talking like this as if we’re sitting in some café or something. Like he wants to know me just as much as I want to know him. But then I get scared that he’s noticing me looking at the book, and I don’t want him to think that I want to get back to doing problems or anything.

So then we compare places we like to hang out and it feels totally comfortable and like we could be really good friends in another life. And I ask where he lives and he says Upper West Side so I say, “Me, too! I’m on West Seventy-third Street, near the park.”

And I say how I love to hang out in the park when it’s all nice out like this. Then he says how he chills in the park a lot. So I tell him about going to Strawberry Fields to work on my screenplay sometimes or to listen to the guys with guitars play old Beatles songs. Or to Café Lalo for Heath Bar Cheesecake, and just to Barnes & Noble and coffeehouses and stuff.

And he gets all excited again and says how he loves Café Lalo and have I ever been to Crumbs and I’m like, “I
live
at Crumbs!” So we debate about which cupcakes are the best there and he says how he has a major sweet tooth and I’m like, “No one has a bigger sweet tooth than me!” And we argue about who has a bigger sweet tooth for a while, but he keeps insisting that he does. I can’t believe we have so much in common, but of course we do. This would kind of feel like we were on our first date if it wasn’t in school.

But then I get paranoid, like what if he thinks I’m only talking to him for some grade enhancement? And the custodian comes in to empty the garbage can, and I look up at the clock and it’s 4:45. Which is so weird, because I came in here right after school at 3:10 and it feels like we’ve only been talking for five minutes.

Mr. Farrell’s like, “Wow. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

And I’m thinking,
You’re having fun? Sweet!
And then I swallow way too loudly.

Out in the hall I hear someone say hi to James and then James walks in and wants to know where Rhiannon is. And I can’t even answer him because I’m wondering how long he’s been standing there. But then I’m like,
Why am I being so paranoid? He obviously stopped by just now to pick her up.

So Mr. Farrell tells him that tutoring was canceled and Rhiannon went to the library, and James gives me this look like,
If tutoring was canceled, what are you doing here?
But you know. Maybe I’m just imagining things.

The only thing I was allowed to know about what we’re doing tonight is that I was supposed to bring a flashlight. But now Rhiannon’s explaining about Operation Steve and it’s obvious that I have to tell her now, and I’m kicking myself for not telling her sooner.

She goes, “It’s not like I’m signing it or anything, so I should be okay, right? And Steve’s really the only one who’s going to know what it means, because who else is into chem like that?” And she’s all using big Italian hand gestures the way she gets when she’s excited, and I can’t believe how daring it sounds. I love Ree forever, but this is the last thing I’d expect her to think up.

I’m like, “Ree.”

She quits with the gesturing.

I go, “There’s something I have to tell you. And I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

So she’s like, “What’s going on?”

And then I tell her everything. About hearing the rumor from Joni but thinking it was bogus. About seeing them kissing in the hall. About going up to Steve and what an ass he was.

Ree stands there, staring at the sidewalk. She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes.

Then she goes, “I guess we should just go home then.”

I don’t know what to tell her. I mean, I obviously don’t want her to do something that will probably be totally humiliating tomorrow, but I don’t think it’s that simple. True, Steve was a total jerk when I talked to him, but there’s obviously more to it than what we know for him to give Ree those roses. And then deny it like that. I just get the feeling there’s more going on, especially since he was acting all weird with me.

But it’s totally up to her. So I say, “If you want.”

Ree’s like, “What’s the point of doing this? He’s with Gloria now.”

But she’s not walking away or anything, so I just wait with her. I can tell she’s still thinking about it.

She goes, “Or maybe not.”

I’m like, “True.”

And Ree’s all, “Maybe he denied about the roses because he was mad at me for not saying thanks. Or maybe he thought I got you to go up to him because I was avoiding him. Like I didn’t want to talk to him or something.”

I go, “Yeah maybe,” because I’m liking this exciting new Ree. I’m really passionate about expressing yourself, and Ree was majorly psyched about doing this. And I just think that if you believe in something and you want it so much and you’re not hurting anyone else, you have to go for it. Which sometimes means taking a risk, even if it’s scary. But the thing you want most to happen doesn’t stand a chance unless you give it one.

She says, “So then he probably thought I didn’t want him back, so he denied about the roses to save face.”

I’m like, “And one kiss in the hall doesn’t mean anything. Especially with a skank like Gloria who, P.S., is probably just trying to get you back and doesn’t even
like
Steve. She just took advantage of the situation to make it look like Steve broke up with you for her.”

“Isn’t that what he did?”

“No. We have no idea what Steve’s problem is right now. When I talked to him before? It was like . . . he was a different person. I swear you would
not
have recognized him.”

“At first I wanted to do this so I could prove to Steve that I could be more exciting. But now it’s like . . . I just want to do it for me. To prove it to myself, you know?”

“Totally.”

“And if whatever it is with Gloria is nothing now but it might turn into something, then this could be my only chance to get him back.”

I don’t want to see her get hurt even more, but if she doesn’t do this, she’ll always regret it and wonder What If. And the What Ifs are the worst.

Ree takes out two packs of sidewalk chalk from her bag. She’s like, “Remember that episode of
Sex and the City
when Carrie says how anything is possible in New York? This is what she’s talking about! Right now!”

I go, “Rock on! So . . . we’re doing this?”

Ree rips open the sidewalk chalk. She looks around the courtyard.

Then she goes, “Yeah. We are.”

I’m stoked. If she didn’t do this now, she’d regret it forever. And if Steve doesn’t come back to her, then she’ll get the closure she needs to move on. She’s not going to move on just because James and I are telling her to. She’s not going to let go until she sees for herself that there’s nothing left to hold on to.

IT’S ABSURD TO
walk by a thirteen-million-dollar brownstone with some homeless guy sleeping on the sidewalk right outside. Something like that really makes you think about how the world works.

I live in this really upscale neighborhood. Which is a joke, because if you saw my crappy rent-stabilized apartment, you would never assume this. Especially with the roaches in the kitchen we can never seem to get rid of and the noise that never ends.

Incessant noise.

Like right now. I’m trying to get this Industrial Design report done, but the beeping is driving me crazy. And it’s not going to stop until I make it stop. Our insane neighbor who blasts the TV at three in the morning doesn’t help things, either.

It’s not like our apartment has other features to make up for the constant noise. Highlights of our “living room,” which is technically a converted space where Ma strategically placed screens to create a separate living room and dining room, include a pool of candle wax on the ancient radiator, a lamp from 1964 with a broken shade, and a dusty philodendron hanging in the window. The window, of course, overlooks an alley, in which the classier guys pee when they get too drunk at the bar next door. And that would be why we keep the window closed.

Whenever the smoke detector goes off like this, it’s the same story. Ma wildly smacks at it and swings a towel around in a frenzied fit, knowing the whole time that both methods are entirely ineffective. The smoke detector goes off when it’s having a bad day and/or the oven’s been on for at least twenty minutes. And since Ma is currently baking bread, the alarm naturally decides to go off.

I pull on some jeans and yank a T-shirt over my head, pulling it down as I walk to the kitchen. The alarm sounds like an air-raid alert.

“Sheesh!” Ma’s towel frantically jabs at the air. “James! Can you—?”

“I’m on it.” I drag a chair across the floor so it’s under the smoke detector. Then I stand on it and snag the detector’s cover so hard I crack the plastic. I guess you could say I have some repressed anger. Or maybe not so repressed. I grab the batteries and throw them on the floor.

Silence. Finally.

“Thanks, hon,” Ma says.

“Anytime.”

Except, really, it’s more like all the time. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. Sharing a room with my little brother. Never more than three consecutive seconds of quiet. The neighbors with the music playing all night. The other neighbors with the loud sex. In fact, the only redeeming neighbor around here is Mrs. Schaffer.

My parents mean well. Ma nags because she cares about me. I get it. But that doesn’t make it any easier to live here. It’s just too suffocating when all I want is some time to myself, to do what I want without everyone on top of me all the time.

I’m sick of never being able to do homework without being interrupted. Or work on my computer projects. Or even think clearly.