The Start of Me and You (21 page)

I sent the obligatory text to my parents, then started scouring the fiction shelves. Using book lover’s math, I quickly calculated that the gift card could get me five paperbacks, three hardcovers, or one hardcover and three paperbacks. In half an hour, I selected eight contenders. I stacked them in my arms, balancing the unwieldy pile as I made my way to the seats in the coffee shop. There, I could take my time reviewing them, maybe reading first chapters to see which most compelled me.

People were packed into every table—couples leaning over their hot chocolates to talk in quiet tones, older folks with their noses buried in autobiographies. I stood in the center of the seating area, pressing my chin into the top book to keep the stack upright. Then, in a near booth, I saw a familiar face half buried in a book.

“Max!” I said, gripping my books as I made my way
toward him. He looked up, a smile springing to his face. “Hey!”

“Hey, girl,” he said, standing up from the booth. He relieved me of a few books in my pile and set them on the table. “Sit.”

Max wore a green knit sweater over a white collared shirt, and I smiled at the idea that he got kind of dressed up for a date with a pile of books.

“Thanks.” I slid into the seat. “I guess a lot of people had the same idea. I thought I’d be the only loser here on a Friday night.”

“I’m often a loser here on a Friday night.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said, unraveling the scarf from my neck.

“I know. I’ve actually seen you here once or twice before.”

I frowned. “Why didn’t you say hi?”

“Oh, it was when I was at Coventry. Last year. I was here hanging out with a friend. I just remember because a nearby couple was having the nastiest, loudest breakup. Right over there.” He gestured toward the table a few over from ours. “Everyone in the store was gaping at them, including me. But then I saw you, sitting in the corner booth.”

“I was here?”

“Yeah,” he said, with a laugh. “I remember because you were reading a book with Lucille Ball on the cover, and you didn’t even notice them.”

“Really?” I laughed, too. “I don’t remember that.”

He shook his head. “Of course you don’t. You were in another world, completely occupied with whatever you were reading. And you just had this
look
…”

“I had a look?”

“Yeah. Totally.”

“What look?”

Max thought hard, his eyes moving away from me. He blinked and then returned his gaze to mine. “Like you had been drowning, and the book was air.”

I was quiet, caught in the surreal moment of having my feelings described so exactly. That was how it felt to me, to live in other worlds—books or TV—like breathing became second nature again within their safety.

“Oh my God,” he said, covering his mouth. His expression warped until he looked as though he was about to get sick. “Paige, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about what I just said.”

“What?” I clearly hadn’t thought of it either. The realization hit me like a hardcover book to the chest. “Oh.”

Drowning. Maybe Ryan told him because it came up at the lunch table. Maybe he overheard at school. Before that moment, I wanted to believe Max didn’t know about Aaron. It made things so simple. “I didn’t know that you knew.”

“I—um. Yeah.”

“Oh.” I wondered how long he had known, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to lose my candor with Max just because I felt a little vulnerable. Clearing my throat, I pushed my bangs out of my face. “You don’t have to apologize or tiptoe around me. I never even notice until people stop themselves. They’ll start to say something like ‘I’d rather die than …’ and then look at me like I’m going to cry. They’re almost
too
considerate, out of pity.”

“I don’t pity—”

“I know you don’t,” I said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s okay.”

“Okay.” He looked down at his hands. Glancing up at me, he added, “But you can talk to me about it, you know. If you ever want to.”

“Thanks. But I’ve talked about it a lot. To my friends, my grandma, to a therapist,” I said, smiling. Then I pulled the top book from my pile and set it in front of me, ready for review. “Okay, I’m going up for coffee.”

By the time I returned with my latte, Ryan Chase was sitting in our booth, red-faced in his Oakhurst track sweatshirt. I commanded myself to play it cool, even though my mouth wanted to form a slap-happy grin.

“Hey, Ryan,” I said, settling into my side of the booth.

Ryan looked between me and Max. “Seriously? You’re both just sitting here reading? I thought you were joking when I texted you.”

He glanced at Max, who just shrugged.

“Ugh,” Ryan said. “Maybe I’ll just go back to the Y and work out more. Sounds more fun that whatever it is you’re doing here.”

This time, it was me who shrugged. I mean, it wasn’t my coolest moment, but there was no hiding it. Max and I were sitting at a table with no less than a dozen books.

“Hey,” Ryan said suddenly, looking at me. “You wanna hang out two weekends from now?”

“Sure,” I said, and I swallowed back the urge to say,
If by “hang out,” you mean “make out.”
I tried not to stare at his lips.

“Sweet,” he said. “Since this loser and Tessa will be off seeing the Whatever Brothers.”

“The Baxter Brothers,” Max corrected. I barely heard him, as I realized that Ryan meant it would only be the two of us hanging out.

“Whatever,” Ryan replied.

“Are they a band?” I asked.

Max nodded. “Tessa got me tickets.”

“Oh yeah. She told me that.” I’d been surprised when Tessa told me she was taking Max to the Carmichael—her spot. When I pointed out to her that he’d need a fake ID, she rolled her eyes and told me not to worry about it. Her life was, in some ways, a mystery to me. “For your birthday, right?”

“Yeah. It’s not till early March, but the concert is before then, and we’re both dying to see them live.”

“Cool,” I said.

“We’ll do something cooler,” Ryan said, nodding assuredly at me. I grinned like a deranged idiot, fluttering my eyelashes so fast that they could have taken flight off my face.

Max rolled his eyes. “You’re just jealous because Tessa thought of an awesome gift, and you don’t know if you can compete with it.”

“Am not,” Ryan said, indignant.

Max looked at me, ignoring Ryan. “He takes serious pride in his gift-giving abilities.”

“Hey.” Ryan held up his hands in mock arrogance. “When you got it, you got it.”

“I’ve got it,” Ryan announced nearly two weeks later. It was February 14th, which is why my heart completely stopped. I stood frozen at my locker, staring into those baby blues.

“Got what?” I said when I finally found words. I didn’t actually believe that he had come over to confess his love. But on Valentine’s Day, it’s easy to give in to the stupid hope that life will become a romantic comedy.

“Okay,” he said, leaning closer to me. “I have a proposition for you.”

Dear God, let it be marriage
, I thought. My heart sputtered along, waiting for his next words.

“A surprise party.” He glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “For Max.”

I should have known this would be about Max: the one thing that Ryan Chase and I had in common. I nodded. If my life had TV sound effects, a sad trombone would have
womp-womp
ed overhead. “Oh. Okay. Yeah.”

“My parents are going to visit my sister at college two weekends from now,” he continued. “But they said I could have people over, as long as it’s just our friends.”

Our friends. I smiled at the idea that I belonged to a group of friends that included Ryan Chase. Even though we’d been hanging out for a few months, I was still getting used to it.

“So you’ll help me plan it?”

“Of course.”

“Sweet,” he said. “Okay, we can plan everything while Max and Tessa are at the concert on Friday. He already knows we’re hanging out then, so he’ll never suspect anything.”

“Great. It’s a plan.”
And so
, I thought,
are you
.

The next weekend, I attached my sample script and clicked Submit on my summer program application. Ms. Pepper
had mailed her recommendation, I’d asked the school to send a transcript, and I’d winced as I typed in my account number, thereby parting with the one-hundred-dollar application fee.

Congratulations!
the next page said.
Your application has been received!

I printed the confirmation page.

I couldn’t wait to tell my grandmother during our Sunday visit. My mind buzzed as I drove my mom’s car over, chest tight with anticipation.

My grandmother and I talked about TV and screen writing all the time, but she never remembered what I’d told her a few months before: that I was trying my hand at writing.

After she told me about Madelyn Pugh and
I Love Lucy
, I watched more and more shows—especially in the quiet days after my parents’ divorce. But, freshman year, I took it a step further. Whether I loved an episode or hated it, I analyzed: What worked? What didn’t? What were the most powerful character moments? Where did the conflict come from? I watched classic sitcoms from my parents’ generation; I kept up with all the shows my friends were watching. I found a website where original TV scripts were archived, and I read through all the dialogue and cues.

It wasn’t until after Aaron died that I bought
Screen Writing for Beginners
. I learned that aspiring screen writers
often draft episodes of currently running TV shows, called “spec scripts”—like a writing audition. I figured I understood
The Mission District
well enough to emulate it. So I started writing late at night, and it wasn’t very good at first. But I knew it wasn’t good because I knew what good writing sounded like. So I fixed it, little by little.

My friends teased me about my intent viewing of so many shows, joking that I should be writing columns for
TV Guide
. Most people think watching a lot of TV is just lazy, that TV is a lowbrow form of entertainment. It seemed like a weird thing to be truly passionate about. But my grandmother understood, and I knew she’d understand about the screen-writing program, too.

I let myself into her apartment and called out my hello. She stayed in bed for most of our visits, no longer bothering to “put on her face” beforehand. I did it for her last time, smiling as I applied red lipstick on her now-lopsided mouth. She laughed when I put the mirror up and accused me of making her look “saucy.”

“Hi, Grammy,” I said.

“There’s my girl.” She sat up, and I cozied on the bed beside her.

I’d printed out the program page, detailing the basics, and I placed it in her good hand. Her eyes moved left to right, left to right, slower than usual. She turned to me. “Oh, honey, how fabulous. You’re thinking about it?”

I handed her the page confirming my application, and she gasped, delighted.

“I doubt I’ll get in, though. And there’s no way Mom will let me go. Especially because of how expensive it is.”

“I couldn’t be happier, sweet girl. This is exactly what I needed today.”

We sat in her bed and talked about everything—the details of my application, the classes offered. She told me about her trips to New York, about all the places I could see. I held her paralyzed left hand as we daydreamed out loud together, and for once I didn’t stop myself with how unlikely it was that my dreams would ever come true.

Chapter Sixteen

I never expected that my first almost-date with Ryan Chase would end at the grocery store. We started the evening at his favorite pizza joint, conspiring over a medium-size deep-dish pie. Ryan laughed a lot, draining several sodas as we mapped out the party plans. We decided we’d lure Max to Ryan’s house under the guise of picking him up for a movie. We texted everyone the details, including where they should park so Max wouldn’t suspect anything. By the time the check came, we’d spent two hours talking about things Max would like and laughing over the idiosyncrasies that were familiar to both of us.

After dinner, we roamed the aisles of the grocery store together like an old married couple, if old married couples
bought lots of party decorations and soda. I smiled as we passed the cereal aisle, feeling our relationship had come full circle. It would be perfect, if only he actually
knew
about said relationship.