You and Me and Him (16 page)

“So,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice. “The other night
you said I owed you a tidbit of embarrassing personal history.”

“In fact,” Tom says, “you owe me several. I have shared much and received little.”

“Well, it’s time for me to settle my debt.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Okay, let’s see . . . when I was five, my parents told me that we were going to Canada and that we would ride a ferry to get there.”

“So far not embarrassing or humiliating in any way,” Tom says.

“It gets better. I was giddy about the trip, worried about what I would wear, what the weather would be like—the whole deal was making me frantic. And my parents couldn’t figure out why.”

“Go on.”

“Turns out I thought I was riding a fairy, you know, with wings and magic and the whole thing.” I wait for his reaction.

“Super cute, but not at all humiliating,” Tom says. “Next.”

“Wait, what do you mean? That’s embarrassing!” I say. “I’m not sure you understand: I believed I was going to ride an actual fairy. A sprite. A pixie.”

“You were five. It’s adorable. Next.”

I contemplate the volumes of embarrassing incidents I could pull from and decide to bring out some bigger guns. Besides, maybe a solid dose of self-sabotage will pull me back from the abyss of whatever I’ve let myself imagine is going on with Tom. I take a deep breath and spill.

“All right: sixth grade graduation. Everyone’s there. The chorus goes up to sing a song, and I have a solo. It’s only a couple lines long, but it’s my big moment, you know? Anyway, the time comes, I step forward, and from the first note I know I’m singing in the wrong key. Half the sixth grade class is
oooh
ing and
ahhh
ing behind me, the other half is watching, and I am not even close. Disaster.”

“That’s better,” Tom says.

“Clincher? I’m beet red; everyone else is horrified by my performance and relieved it’s over. As I turn to walk back to my place on the risers, I trip and fall, taking our music teacher and her music stand down with me.”

“Wow. That works,” Tom says. “Um, did anyone get hurt?”

“Mrs. Harper: whiplash and a sprained wrist. And I had the rare privilege of an entirely public humiliation.” I look at Tom. “So are we even? Have I abased myself sufficiently for whatever arcane rules of friendship you live by?”

“Well, it’s pretty good—or bad, I guess I should say. But I’m not sure a moment of klutziness when you were eleven is on the same scale as months of immersion in Dungeons and Dragons culture. Just in terms of personal flaws and life choices. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“Failed again,” I say. I search my memory for something that will tip the scales. “Third time’s a charm. But this one stays here. I need your solemn vow on that.”

Tom holds up his right hand. “You, me, and the geese.”

“Freshman year I went through a pretty heavy Jane Austen phase. Read the books over and over, repeated viewings of the BBC
Pride and Prejudice
miniseries.”

“Repeated viewings of a miniseries?”

“Yeah, well, I was very committed. Anyway, one day I was bored in science and started doodling in my notebook.”

“Doodling?”

“Okay, not exactly doodling. I made a list.”

“Of?”

“Of my possible Mr. Darcys.”

“Who’s Mr. Darcy?”

I stare at him. “Seriously?”

“Sorry. Jane Austen falls into the ‘old and boring’ classification. Not a fan.”

“You’re making this really difficult.”

“Sorry, again.”

“Mr. Darcy is the man Elizabeth Bennett—”

“That’s you in this scenario?”

“Yes. Anyway, eventually Elizabeth loves him, but for most of the book, they hate each other.”

“Ahhhh. Okay, I get it. Continue.”

“So I thought of all the guys that I sort of loathed but also thought might be secretly wonderful and put them on my list of Darcys.”

“And?”

“And my lab partner saw the list, ripped it out, and spread it all over school.”

“Not good.”

“Not good at all,” I say. “Needless to say, I have not committed a single bit of my inner life to paper since.”

“But that’s someone else being mean. That’s not about you.”

“It sure felt like it was about me.” A breeze sends riffles down the lake. It disturbs the geese, who ruffle their wings, honking, before resettling into their gentle gliding.

Tom looks at me. “Okay, we’re even.”

“Finally!” I slap my hands on my knees and stand up. “I’ll be able to sleep at night. Well, I have homework to do. Thanks for the, well, not a hike exactly. It was nice. Humbling, but nice.” He stands too, close enough for me to register a slight duskiness on his jaw; he didn’t shave today.

“I like seeing you in the woods,” Tom says.

“Good,” I say, “because it’s kind of becoming a regular thing.”

“You seem more . . . sort of . . .
you
here.”

Tom’s eyes wander over my face as I try to focus on homework, geese, anything but Tom’s face inches from mine. I feel myself reaching for him, searching over and around the moment, trying to discover a way things could be different, a way that this could work. But there are no cracks, no seams to get ahold of. Tom is the guy my best friend likes, wants, whatever. That means hands off, whether Tom likes Nash or not. And besides, Tom’s attention is too universal. I have the feeling anyone standing in this place with Tom would believe they had a chance with him.

But then Tom bends his face to mine and kisses my forehead. His lips are soft, his kisses feathery. I close my eyes, and one of his hands moves lower, pulling my body into the contours of his. I stiffen at first, not wanting Tom touching my fleshy waist, worried he’ll regret this when his hands move over my curves and bumps.

And then he’s kissing me. Really, really kissing me. Arms around me, tongue in my mouth, kissing me. It’s gentle, but there is enough pressure that I know he means it. At first my eyes pop open, and my brain is spinning, and I’m trying to figure out what the hell is happening. But it feels good, so I close my eyes and then I’m kissing him back, and every piece of my body is short-circuiting all at once. I let everything disappear for a moment except the feel of Tom’s lips on mine, his hands on my back.

Our bodies touch at a hundred contact points, but somehow he pulls me in even closer, making it a thousand, moving the kiss to another level. I press myself into him, and for once I really don’t care that there is more of me than I want there to be. Running my hands between his shoulder blades makes him kiss me even more enthusiastically, which I wouldn’t have thought was actually possible. But then the geese spook at something, flapping and honking as they take off from the lake.

We break apart, and I am all at once shy. We stand watching the geese moving away from us over the lake.

“Walk you to your car?”

I nod, and Tom takes my hand as we head back down the trail. I can still feel the pressure of his lips on mine. As we emerge from the trees, the trail narrows and he has to let go of my hand. When we get to the parking lot, my car is the only one there.

“Do you need a ride?” I ask, unlocking my door.

“Nah. I’ll walk. Especially since I got distracted from our hike.” Tom smiles and my face flushes hot. “But I’ll see you later?”

I nod. Watching Tom walk away, I try to hang on to the remnants of the kiss. But the feeling is fading, and thoughts of Nash and Kayla are crowding in. Things just got complicated.

Nash and Tom are both home sick Monday, so I get an extra day to wrestle with my guilt before I have to face them. I’m not working, so Cece and I decide to have coffee after school. It’s her idea, and she tries to act casual, but I can tell she really wants to talk about something. I hope it’s AP English and not Nash. I order an americano, slide into a booth, and wait. Cece comes in a few minutes later. She orders some blended chocolate, hazelnutty monstrosity with extra whipped cream.

“How can you drink that stuff?” I ask. “You can’t even taste the coffee.”

“Hence the appeal,” Cece says. She takes a long slurp and relaxes into the seat. “So, how are things? Since Tom moved to town, I hardly see you!”

“What do you mean? I don’t hang out with Tom that much.” I stare into my coffee cup, scared if I meet her eyes, she’ll know.

“It’s okay,” Cece says. “I get it. He’s new, and cute, and way more interesting than almost anyone in Cedar Ridge.” She takes the straw out of the drink, licks it clean, and then puts it back in. She starts chewing on it. “Is Nash spending a lot of time with Tom?” she asks.

“They’ve done some hanging out.”

Cece nods and gives a little smile. “I guess Nash thinks he’s more interesting than anyone in Cedar Ridge too?”

“Cece,” I say, but she holds up her hand.

“I know it’s dumb to like someone who won’t ever like me back, but I don’t know how to stop.” She smiles again and takes a long drink through her flattened straw.

“Nash is . . . Nash,” I say. “I understand the appeal—after all, he’s my best friend, so obviously I find him lovable. But honestly, Cece, on the gay-to-straight continuum, Nash is unambiguously gay. You’re amazing, and I know Nash cares about you, but you simply don’t have the right equipment.”

Cece blushes at this, and I can’t tell if it’s because I mentioned her equipment or because I finally told her to get over Nash. “I know,” she says. She slurps down her drink, and I wonder what effect that volume of caffeine and sugar will have on Cece’s slight frame. I fold my napkin into a little fan, smooth it out, fold it again.

“Cece, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Cece licks the last of the whipped cream off the end of the straw.

“Have you ever done something . . . Have you ever made a decision . . . ?”

Cece looks at me, the straw forgotten. “Maggie? What’s going on?”

I stare at my coffee and feel my courage leave me like a soufflé collapsing. I’ve done something shitty to Nash. And Cece will hate me for hurting him. I can’t tell her. I look up to see Kayla through the window. She air-kisses a couple other girls before she comes inside. “Oh look! There’s Kayla.”

Kayla waves when she sees me. “Mind if I sit?”

Cece looks at me like I’m a box she’s trying to unlock. “Be my guest,” she says to Kayla. “I have to go anyway.” Cece stands up and throws her heavy book bag over her shoulder. “We’ll talk later?”

I nod and Cece leaves.

Kayla tosses some shopping bags on the seat and collapses into the booth. “Sorry,” she says. “I hope I didn’t chase her away?”

“No. She’s fine.” I’m a little ashamed at how glad I am Cece’s gone.

Kayla waits, looking at me like she expects me to say something more.

“You getting coffee?” I ask.

“Maybe later,” she says. “I had something with Kelsey and Amy.”

I guess it’s my turn again. “Did you guys go shopping?” I indicate the bags.

“Picked up a few things on the way down. They gave me a ride from school and Amy had to stop to buy some tights, so I made use of my mom’s credit card.”

I wonder what it must be like to be able to cruise through a store and know everything will fit.

“So, that was fun on Saturday,” I say when Kayla doesn’t speak again. “In a few short weeks, we’ve already tripled the amount of time we’ve spent together in high school. Kind of weird, huh?”

“What’s weird about it?” She picks at a spot of something brown on the table. “I like hanging out with you, and you seem like you could use a friend of the female persuasion right now.”

“I have friends, Kayla. Don’t do me any favors.”

“I know you have friends. That’s not what I meant,” Kayla says. “The timing seemed good for you, and the vibe seemed good to me, so . . .” She’s trying to find words that won’t offend me.

“I just don’t want to be anyone’s good deed.” My guilt is making me edgy. I know I’m being an asshole, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

Kayla grabs a napkin and wipes Cece’s side of the table clean of whipped cream, scrubbing briefly at a spot of chocolate before balling up the napkin and tossing it aside.

“Look, it seems like you’ve enjoyed hanging out with someone besides Nash,” she says. “And personally I’m a little sick of shopping and friends and talking about shopping and friends.”

“Yeah, fine. But I’m still not sure what you want from me.”

“I’m not sure either,” Kayla says. “But I’m trying here. If you can’t see that I need this right now too, then maybe we should continue to ignore each other and call it a failed experiment.” She grabs her bags and purse and starts to slide out of the booth.

I drop my forehead to the table. “Wait,” I say. “Wait. Okay . . . I’m sorry. I’m really bad at this, and I haven’t made a new friend for a long, long time. Since, like, third grade? Anyway, I know I can be a little cranky.”

Kayla pauses with her butt hovering over the seat. “Cranky?” she asks. She crosses her arms and waits.

I squirm a bit, then give in. “Distant? Guarded? Cautious?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of brutally honest and unreasonably suspicious.”

“Okay. Wow.”

“Relax, Maggie. I’m kidding. This is called joking around. Ever done it before?”

I force a laugh. Nash and I have been friends so long that we know which buttons to push and which lines not to cross. Feeling this out with someone new is exhausting. Our laughter fades and we sit in awkward silence again.

“Besides, I don’t believe that shit about not being good at making friends,” Kayla says. “Cece seems nice, and you’ve certainly hit it off with Tom. So no more false modesty about your social skills.” This sounds more like the Kayla I’ve been talking to the last few weeks. “Maggie, I don’t think you realize how much I envy you.”

“Envy me?”

“You’re so . . . you’re always totally and completely yourself. You don’t care what people think. I wish I could be more like that.”

I watch her for a minute, trying to decide if this is just flattery. “Give me a break, Kayla. You have everything anyone could want,” I say, leaning in. “You’re thin, and beautiful; you have money, clothes, friends, guys. I, on the other hand, have a less-than-ideal body, I’m hopelessly geeky, and I work in a record store listening to music nobody else has even heard of. By every possible measure, you have won the jackpot and I didn’t even get a lottery ticket.”