The Secrets of Boys (9 page)

Cassidy was in her boyfriend’s arms and it didn’t feel the same as it did a few weeks ago.

* * *

Cassidy and Eric spent the next four hours settling in at the pier. The sunset had been beautiful—the pink and purple hues in the sky blended together beautifully—and now twilight was upon them. Eric’s friends had marked an area of sand with tiki torches and dug a deep fire pit, filling it with coals and erecting a makeshift spit above.

A whole pig turned slowly on the spit, the fat dripping off and into the crackling fire below. A bright red apple glowed in its open mouth.

The sound of Don Ho’s music blared from the open trunk of a Lexus RX, and a few tipsy girls were trying to spin hula hoops on their gyrating hips. Cassidy saw their faces, flushed and laughing, in the glow of the fire.

“Hungry?” Eric asked her. “That pig looks great!”

Cassidy didn’t feel too fabulous about eating a creature when she could still look it in the eyes. Instead she took a bottle of Heineken out of a blue plastic cooler and sipped it as Eric ran off to join an impromptu game of coconut volleyball. Obviously he was relieved after their little talk. She found a dry patch of beach away from the fire to sit on before removing the white strappy kitten-heeled Marc Jacobs sandals she’d worn to class and wiggled her toes in the cool sand.

Taking a long swallow of beer, she tilted her head back to stare up at the stars. It was so clear out she could see the Milky Way. She’d learned in science class that it was actually millions of stars that were quite far apart, but because of the way the galaxy curved, people saw it as a stripe across the sky. Like the Seurat: millions of tiny dots that made a picture when you looked at them the right way. Thinking of the painting made her daydream of Zach, which made her run her hands up and down her goose-bumpy arms, feeling the silky hairs stand up against her palm.

“Hey, babe.” Eric stood above her, stretching out his hands and pulling her to her feet. “I brought you something.”

He settled a garland of brightly colored cloth flowers around her neck, gently lifting her hair up over it. “You looked like you needed to get lei’d.”

Cassidy laughed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her toward him. “You are so beautiful,”

he murmured. “I’m so lucky to have you, Cassidy. I can’t wait until our anniversary. I have a special surprise in the works.”

The last time she’d heard the word
surprise
, it turned out to be summer school. But looking up into Eric’s eager brown eyes, she knew it would be something good. Maybe even an “I love you.” And if it was, would she be ready—and willing—to say those words back to him? If someone had asked Cassidy that a month ago, she would have said yes. As the image of Zach’s sexy grin floated through her brain for the eighty-eighth time that week (not that she was counting or anything), Cassidy realized that she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of much of anything anymore.

Eric’s kiss was warm and sweet. Cassidy felt herself melt—it was that good. All her thoughts from earlier that day (the stars and the Milky Way, the Seurat and Zach and the movie they were supposed to see together, Zach’s breath on her neck) ran out through her loose, buzzing limbs and down the beach, disappearing into the dark, gentle waves lapping at the sand.

All except one.

I wonder if kissing Zach would feel better than this.

June 30

Ma chère Cassidy,

Your parents tell me you are studying French this
summer. How wonderful! So you will be fluent when
you come to stay with me in college, non? I hope you
will consider it. I have a lovely house by the sea in
Nice, and there is a guest room overlooking the beach.

There is also a very nice young man next door who I
would like you to meet. His name is François, and he
is studying to be a doctor. You could do worse… .

Love,

Aunt Geraldine

Cassidy stared into the mirror and frowned. In her black silk ABS blouse and knee-length Calvin Klein skirt, she looked like she was going to the opera or a funeral, not out to a movie with a friend. She sighed, unzipped the skirt, and tossed it onto the growing pile of rejected clothes on her bed.

Why was it so hard to figure out what to wear? Oh, right. Larissa wasn’t around to advise her on the cre-ation of the perfect “I’m going on a kinda, sorta date with my kinda, sorta teacher” ensemble. She’d texted Larissa three times already; the most recent one was actually just the number 911. Larissa was kind enough to write back: U R NOT DYING. IT MUST WAIT. SS MADNESS!

Apparently Cassidy would have to face the music without her. This wasn’t cool at all.

As she dug her way to the back of her closet, Cassidy’s eyes lit on the tight spaghetti-strap tank top Larissa had insisted she buy the last time they hit Bebe.

It was cut just low enough to reveal a tiny bit of cleavage, and if she wore it with low-slung denim capris, it would show off a sliver of her stomach too. She added her favorite woven straw wedges from Nine West and turned sideways to look in the mirror.

She had to admit, she looked pretty hot. Kind of a sassy 1950s look, like Audrey Hepburn but crossed with some twenty-first-century attitude.

Not that it matters,
she admonished herself even as she reached for her L’Oreal Double Extend mascara, which Larissa always said made her lashes so long she could trip over them.
This is
not
a date. You’re just going on an
educational outing with your TA.

Regardless, Cassidy could feel the mascara wand shivering slightly in her hand. She had told Eric that she had to spend the evening boning up for a French exam.

She felt pretty bad lying, even though it was really only half a lie. She
was
going to see a French film, which could sort of be construed as preparing for a test.

Cassidy stared at herself full on in the mirror. She got closer so that she could examine her face. And when she did, she could hear Joe’s voice in her head.

You’re the kind of girl who could never tell a lie.

Thankfully, her parents were at a book publicity function—the last thing she wanted to do was lie to them about who she was spending her evening with.

* * *

“You look great!” Zach said, kissing her lightly on both cheeks outside the vintage-looking Aero Theatre in Santa Monica. Cassidy mindlessly touched the spot on her right cheek where Zach had kissed her, which was practically on the corner of her lips. Then she realized that this was something a schoolgirl would do if she lusted after her teacher, so she pretended to brush a

strand of hair out of her face. By the way Zach was still eyeing her, she doubted that he was fooled.

Speaking of eyefuls,
Cassidy thought as she noticed how great Zach looked too. He’d swapped his usual black button-down shirt for a formfitting plain white T-shirt that hugged every curve on his chest and shoulders. There was no doubt about this—the guy worked out and
damn
, did it show. The other thing that showed was his tattoo—the sleeves were only covering a small portion of it, and now Cassidy’s gaze became fixated on the hottest-looking arm she’d ever seen in her life.

“What is this?” she asked, pointing to his bicep. “I’ve been curious about it since day one.”

Zach obligingly pushed up his sleeve, revealing an abstract design of interlocked squares and circles.

“It’s nothing, really,” he said. “My friend Pierre designed it. He’s a student at the Paris Academy of Art. I got drunk one night and said I wanted him to make me a tattoo, and then when I sobered up, I felt bad telling him I changed my mind, so I just went ahead and got it.”

Cassidy laughed as he ushered her into the cool, red-velvet lobby of the revival house. “Don’t you feel weird having something on your skin forever that you didn’t even choose?” she asked.

“Nah,” he said. “It’s like fate, you know? It’s just a part of me.”

“That’s crazy,” Cassidy said, impressed. Nobody she knew would do something like that. Eric was a take-things-as-they-come kind of guy, but he didn’t have that kind of wild streak, the kind where he’d let someone else decide what was going to go on his skin forever.

“Do you really think it’s crazy?” Zach asked, escort-ing her toward the popcorn stand.

“Not
bad
crazy,” Cassidy assured him. “Just crazy like—that’s not something anyone I know would do. I think it’s cool, though.”

“Thanks.” Zach beamed. He insisted on buying them popcorn (and slathering it in gooey butter), but Cassidy’s stomach was so jumpy from being within fifty yards of him that she was sure she wouldn’t be able to eat.

“You’re going to love this film,” Zach said confidently. Cassidy just loved how that self-assuredness oozed out of him whenever he spoke or stood silently.

In fact, she figured that it probably oozed out even when he slept. “It’s very strange, but beautiful. If you’re an artist, you’ll definitely be into it.”

Just as the lights began to dim, she caught Zach throwing her a thin, glimmering smile. She was so antsy, she could feel her knee bobbing up and down uncontrollably. Then she began crossing her legs and uncrossing them, which lasted all the way through the previews. Zach was so calm and secure, though. He was just grinning knowingly and munching on his popcorn, as if he anticipated that something wonderful was about to happen.

Once Cassidy tapped into Zach’s vibe—an hour later—she was finally relaxed enough to pay attention to the movie, which was called
Une femme est une femme
. It was possibly the weirdest thing she’d ever seen. The French couple fought, then suddenly broke into a tune-less song, then went dancing down the streets. None of it made much sense, but she loved the bright, vibrant colors and the air of playfulness permeating the story.

Then something caught in Cassidy’s throat. It wasn’t a piece of popcorn—she hadn’t had one bite all night. It wasn’t gum or any other food-type product. It was air, of all things. Cassidy was feeling like an asthmatic in the peak of pollen season. Strangely enough, this little brush with hyperventilation started the moment the French couple began to take their clothes off while walking down a long stretch of beach.

Cassidy shuddered. Not that they were ugly or disfigured or anything. The French man was actually quite gorgeous, and the woman was very easy on the eyes too. But she was sitting there with Zach—her TA—
watching naked
people
! As soon as the man and woman began to hungrily kiss each other, Cassidy’s nerves went into overdrive.

This was insanity. How was she supposed to remain cool and collected when the sight of full frontal nudity and the sound of lip smacking was reverberating all around her? There was only one thing to do—cover her eyes. She knew this would make her look like a little kid, but she didn’t feel like she had any choice. If she didn’t, her esophagus would close up and she would pass out and never get to see the ending. She had begun to bring her hands up to her eyes when she inadvertently knocked against Zach’s arm in the process.

“Sorry,” she whispered, beginning to move her arm away.

“No.” Zach placed his hand over hers, sending electric shocks flying up her arm. “I’m sorry. I totally forgot this scene was in here. Do you want to leave?”

That was all she needed to feel better. The second she felt his touch, it was as if he’d made every ounce of dis-comfort vanish. And before she knew it, the couple were fully clothed again and drinking espresso at a café.

“That’s okay. I’m fine,” Cassidy replied breathlessly.

When he moved his hand away, she could still feel the warmth of his palm imprinted like a tattoo. As he settled deeper into his seat, his forearm touched hers and stayed there. Her skin felt hypersensitive to the con-trast between the soft, ribbed material of his T-shirt and the smooth skin underneath, and the closeness made her dizzy. Could Zach hear the measured, deliberate pattern of her breath? She glanced sideways at him and he caught her eye and smiled, raising his eyebrow toward the screen as if to ask if she were enjoying the movie. She nodded slightly and looked ahead again, trying to seem as fascinated by the actors as she was by him. She knew she should probably move her arm, but would that seem too obvious? She didn’t want Zach to know how aware she was of his proximity and the way it was making her feel inside. Cassidy was embarrassed to admit it even to herself, but just being next to him in this completely casual way was turning her on.

Zach shifted again, brushing his arm against hers, and a shiver went through her body.

“You sure you’re all right?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yeah,” she whispered back, finally moving her arm away to cross it in front of her chest. “Just a little cold.”

Which sounded ludicrous because the theater was perfectly climate-controlled.

“I could go ask them to turn down the AC or something.”

“No, really. Don’t worry about it,” she assured him.

The elderly woman behind them leaned forward and shushed them loudly, sending spittle spraying over the backs of their necks. They simultaneously put their hands over their mouths, suppressing giggles, and returned their attention to the screen, where the French couple was crying and saying good-bye.

* * *

“What’d you think?” Zach asked, turning to her when it was over. His eyes were bright with expectation.

“It was great!” Cassidy gushed, not wanting him to know how confused she’d been by the plot or how freaked out she’d been by the gratuitous exposing of flesh. Maybe it was the kind of thing you understood after you’d been in college for a year or two. Just the thought of that made Cassidy feel unsophisticated and stupid.

Zach smirked as they got up from their seats and made their way out into the warm, humid night. “It doesn’t really make much sense, does it?” he asked.

“Nope.” Cassidy shook her head, laughing. “Not a bit.”

She was surprised that she didn’t feel more embarrassed when she admitted that. Actually, Zach seemed happy she was so honest.

“This is the third time I’ve seen it and I’m still trying to figure out why the woman gives the guy a glass turtle,” Zach said.