"Hey," I said to Byron when we met up the next morning, walking to school.
He nodded, his head covered in this blue knit ski cap I'd never seen before.
"Hey."
Then I ran out of things to say.
Well, I mean, okay. The most obvious thing would've been to say, hey, sorry we keep making out for some reason, but I'm not like that; it's okay if you are, though. But…I don't know. Somehow I didn't think that was going to help all that much, and I kind of thought, maybe, maybe, if we didn't talk about it, it wouldn't have to be a big thing.
And anyway, if we talked about it I'd have probably hurled all over his shoes.
We walked for a while in silence before I decided to try conversation again.
"Uh…so, I heard the Bengals won yesterday."
"Yeah."
"Didn't see that coming."
"Hm."
"Think maybe they're the team to beat this season?"
"They're okay."
All right, awkward. And, well, his hat was freaking the hell out of me; it was pulled so low that I couldn't really see his eyes, just this narrow space above his nose that was probably just enough for him to watch his step and not fall and crack his head open in the gutter or something. It was driving me nuts, and I was having trouble concentrating, but I kept trying.
"Or the Colts."
"Yeah."
"Undefeated, right?"
"Yeah."
"Definitely need to pay attention to them."
"Yeah."
Jesus Christ, I don't even like football! But I was undeterred.
"Who do you like?" I asked, a little desperately. A direct question, asking for a specific answer – that was the ticket.
"I don't know," he answered hollowly.
Well, Jesus fuck. Okay, or maybe I was deterred; I gave up. We walked the rest of the way to school in silence, eventually parting in the hallway without saying goodbye.
Okay, I told myself as I sat down in homeroom. This is going to get better. I mean, he walked to school with me. That's something, at least .
But in the mean time, I was not going to think about it. No talking about it, no thinking about it. A damn fine plan. General Patton himself couldn't have thought up a strategy better than that.
I took really good notes in class that day.
Then, of course, came lunch. And, well…fuck.
Things started off badly. As soon as I sat down, Sara appeared out of no where, like the psycho killer in a horror movie, only without the menacing theme music, and sat down next to me. Like, next to me – she was practically in my fucking lap, and, well, all right, how the hell am I supposed to eat with one of my elbows pinned to my side?
"Hi!" she said, grinning at me, all big teeth.
"Um, hi," I answered, and squirmed away a little. I mean, I really wanted to eat my sprouts sandwich.
She edged right back up to me.
"Hi," she said again, giggling a little.
See, and I'd thought we'd covered that end of the conversation already.
"Yeah," I replied, and she laughed again, opening her lunch bag and pulling out a Slimfast. See, apparently you could do stuff like that when your dominant arm wasn't denied movement. I flexed my arm, bumping my elbow with hers.
"Sorry, but could – ?"
"Oh! Yeah, sorry, I – " and she moved about a half an inch away, still smiling like we had a secret or something. Well, it was a start at least.
I was just easing open the brown paper wrappings of my sandwich – paper's so much better for the environment than plastic – when James sat down at my other side. And I about flipped.
Okay, wait. Don't think James was a step away from being my Siamese twin, like Sara was – gross. I mean, the kid listens to Dashboard Confessional on a regular basis, for God's sake; I probably would have had to beat the crap out of him if he tried to make a pass at me, but luckily for both of us, that wasn't the case. There were a completely reasonable couple of inches between us. It's just –
Byron sat there. Or was supposed to.
But when I glanced down the table, weirdly panicked, I saw that he was already there, on the other side, talking to Scott and not paying any attention to me at all.
And Sara just kept smiling at me.
I couldn't finish my lunch.
After school, Byron walked with me again, but this time I didn't even attempt conversation. I asked if he wanted to come over to my house for a while, though, but he said no, he had other plans.
Well, maybe some space between us right now was a good thing.
Adam and Jordan caught me in the hall between classes the next day. Kind of literally. I was heading to my history class when they came out of nowhere (what were they, ninjas?) and flanked me.
"What's going on with you and Sara?" Adam demanded.
I did a double take; I hadn't noticed them, walking in step with me.
"I – "
"We saw you two at lunch yesterday," Jordan added.
"And I saw you two at lunch yesterday," I answered. "Funny how that works."
They rolled their eyes.
"Ha," Jordan said.
Somehow, without me even realizing how, they were backing me into a corner, between the wall and a section of lockers. It all seemed casual, but there was no room for escape. They were good. It was just going to be easier to give in, I realized. I mean, it wasn't like this was a big secret or anything.
"I asked her out," I mumbled, looking away.
"You asked Sara out?" Adam asked, eyebrows raising like it was necessary punctuation in the sentence or something.
"No, I asked your mom out," I answered, but they just ignored me.
"She said yes," Jordan said, didn't even have to ask.
"Of course," Adam agreed. "When?"
"Thursday." I said it like I usually say meatloaf or Stoneybrook, not exactly like I was on the edge of my figurative seat with excitement, but they didn't notice.
"A date on a Thursday?" Jordan said.
"She's going out of town this weekend," I said with a shrug. "So. Thursday."
"But where can you can you take her on a Thursday night?"
"Other than the library," Adam said.
I frowned. "Hadn't gotten that far yet. There's kind of nothing in Stoneybrook, is there?"
"You could always drive out to Stamford."
"Drive?"
Adam and Jordan glanced at each other.
"You did ask your parents to borrow a car, didn't you?"
"You can't make Sara drive. Then she'd totally be the guy!"
"Drive," I repeated to myself, just as next period's bell rang. "Shit!"
I kept waiting for an appropriate time to ask my mom – Mom, not Richard – about the car, but the night just wasn't going my way. When she got home, a news report on teen sexuality popped on the TV, and at dinner Richard started talking about these people his firm was defending, a couple suing for custody of their fourteen-year-old son's baby. Not really the best opportunities to ask, with great innocence, to borrow the car, considering what I'd come to be known for doing in the backseat.
After dinner, I did the dishes while Richard sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and supposedly looked over some notes. Really, I think he was trying to size up whether he thought he'd have to wash the dishes over again. But with my mom in the house, it's not like I could blame him for being paranoid; one time, after she'd washed them, I opened the cabinet and found half a tuna sandwich still on a plate.
Seriously though, not everyone from Mom's bloodline is a complete spacecase; after sixteen years of life, I was pretty capable of scraping food off a surface, thanks. At least Mom thought I was doing decently, because she walked in, gave me a sort of one-armed hug and said, "Such a good boy."
Carpe diem, I guess, or, well, carpe moment. Now was the time.
"Can I borrow the car Thursday night?" I asked.
Richard glanced up from his notes. Mom cocked her head a little.
"What for?"
"Oh, um," and I looked away to place a bowl in the rack, no big deal, no big deal. "I've got a date."
There was silence for a minute.
"Oh," she said eventually.
"Do you really think that's well-advised, considering?" Richard asked, and I swear, I swear to God, the only reason I didn't punch him right in the throat is because I was up to my elbows in lukewarm dishwater.
"Look," I said quickly, turning to Mom, my real parent. "It's not a big deal or anything, I promise. Like, dinner or a movie or something, that's it. It's just a first date."
If Mom really thought I'd fuck some girl in the backseat of her car, on a first date no less, I was going to – but the only thing I thought of was run away to Byron's house.
"With who?" she asked.
"Sara Hill," and God was I glad I picked a "nice" one this time.
"Sara Hill," Mom repeated. "Didn't Dawn used to baby-sit her?"
Jesus, she did? Who the fuck didn't my sisters baby-sit? But then I had to smile.
"You can remember who Dawn baby-sat, like, when she was thirteen, but I bet you don't know where you set your earring three minutes ago," I said.
Looking surprised, Mom reached up and touched her right earlobe, where a little dangling star still hung.
"Left," I said, and she tried again, found nothing, and laughed.
"That's just me, I guess," she said, smiling back.
"So, I mean, can I go?" I asked. "Please."
"We'll have to – " Richard started from the table, but Mom interrupted him.
"You can take my car," she said. "If you promise to be home by curfew."
"I have a curfew?" I asked blankly.
She frowned a little. "Did – didn't we go over this?"
I shook my head.
"I thought – "
"It's ten on a weeknight," Richard said tightly. I think he was kind of pissed that Mom just went over his head, but come on. It's not like he was in labor with me for twelve hours. "Same as it was for Mary Anne."
I thought about trying for a later time, but no, now was not the time. I wanted to walk away a winner this time.
"Okay, awesome, that works." I set down the last of the spoons and wiped my wet hands before giving my mother a hug. "Thanks. No big deal, I swear."
"I trust you," she said, giving me a squeeze back, and God, I really, really loved my mom right then.
"You put your earring in the breadbox," I told her, right before I ran out of the room, and right before Richard stood up, sighed, and rolled up his sleeves to do my dishwashing over again.
When Haley and Sara tried to sit down at lunch the next day, Adam shook his head and waved them off.
"Sorry, girls, not today. We need Guy Time," he said.
For a second I think they and I all had identical What? expressions, but then Sara looked from him to me and smiled, turning on her heel and heading for another table with exactly zero protest. Haley frowned, but followed.
In less than a minute, all the other guys, even Byron, were at the table, clustered around me and leaning in like we were about to plan the Kennedy assassination or something.
"So, did you get the car?" Jordan asked me in a hush tone.
Involuntarily, I looked at Byron, but all of his attention was focused on staring a hole into his lunch bag, apparently.
"Um, yeah, I," I started. "Wait, this is 'Guy Time'?"
"Well, duh," Adam said. "We're your friends, right? We want to help."
"Have you decided where to take her?" Jordan broke in.
"Not…no." I hadn't been thinking of anything, honestly. Trying not to, anyway. In fact, I'd watched three Lifetime original movies the night before, until I really thought I wouldn't be capable of thinking again.
"Dinner," Shea said. "That's a given, right? The Argo's pretty good."
"Or the Rosebud," James suggested.
"Gross," Jordan said, frowning.
"Renwick's is nice," Byron said softly, the first real thing he'd said to me all week.
I glanced over at him, and he met my eyes, and just. Just.
"Way too expensive," Scott said, tearing open a bag of Doritos. "For a first date. Take her to Pizza Express. It's pretty cheap."
A little shaken, I looked back at Byron, wanting to say, See, there's your hero, Scott Danby, but he'd already lowered his face and begun unwrapping his sandwich.
But seriously, Pizza Express? What kind of loser would take a girl to Pizza Express on a first date?
"No, look, I've thought this through," Adam said. "Stamford's really the way to go. It's not like she hasn't been to everywhere in town a million times anyway."
"Yeah. They could go to Lazer Tag," Shea said.
Adam rolled his eyes. "Seriously, you think Sara's going to be into that? Come on."
Feeling kind of overwhelmed, my stomach in a knot, I said, "Look, do you want to date her?"
"Please. Been there, done that."
That was something Byron hadn't told me. "Serious?"
"Yeah, for like a week. Not worth it. I mean, her dad's really protective. We had to tell him I was Byron before he'd let her go out with me."
"Thanks for that, by the way," Byron said dryly.
"But you, you're like a mystery man," Adam went on. "Nothing hanging over your head."
That you know of, I thought, and again I had to look at Byron, and this time he looked back, but only for a second.
"Anyway," Jordan said with great patience, bringing us back to the topic at hand. "I think you should take her to the Paragon."
"Good idea," Shea agreed, nodding.
"What's that?" I asked.
"It's a sixteen-and-over club," Shea explained. "Sometimes there are old guys hanging around, but otherwise it's pretty cool. You can dance, at least."
"Is…is Sara even sixteen yet?" I had no idea.
They all got quiet for a second.
"Well, even if she's not, they never card," Adam said. "Hell, we got James in that one time, and he looks like he's twelve."
"Hey!" James protested.
"She's sixteen," Byron sighed, but no matter how hard I stared at him, he didn't look at me again.
"Okay, so, awesome," Jordan said. "Take her to the Paragon."
"We'll give you directions," Adam added.
"But doesn't it have a cover charge?" Scott asked.
"I think I can handle it," I replied, sounding as tight as Richard had the night before. (Jesus Christ, was that disturbing to realize.) "Okay, cool. The Paragon. So it's settled."
Byron still wasn't looking at me, but over his shoulder, at the other table, Sara and Haley were both staring me down.
Yeah, sure. Settled.
That night, I couldn't get to sleep. I just kept staring at the ceiling, thinking about what the Paragon might be like, of Sara's plain brown eyes, and just how fucking nervous I was about this date.
I'd never, ever been nervous about a date before. It's not like I didn't know Sara, and not like she was intimidating, like, at all, and I mean, seriously, what was the big deal? Mostly dating was just hanging out, and you hang out with a girl the same as you do a guy, except sometimes you end up making out, or better.
Unlike with a guy. Usually.
I kept wanting to call Byron and let him reassure me, but we weren't really talking, he was barely even looking at me, and I was not going to think about this.
I took a pillow and pressed it over my face until my lungs burned, and that helped, a little.
"Come on, get in," Adam called.
I looked up in surprise. The bell had just rung, school ended, and I was about to congratulate myself about thinking about the date, Sara, and Byron only minimally – so what if I felt like I was going to vomit all day and I had to wait out lunch in the library to avoid them – by having the world's most awkward walk home with…Byron. Yeah, awesome.
But here I was, in front of SHS, staring blankly at the triplets' Honda and Adam sitting in the passenger's seat, waving me closer.
"Come on," he repeated.
I sort of looked around like an idiot. "Me?"
"Mother fuck…yes, you! Get in!"
"But I walk home," I called. "With," but when I looked around, I couldn't see Byron anywhere.
"We talked about this! I'm coming over to help you get ready."
"For what?"
"For – isn't today Thursday?"
"Oh," I said. Maybe I was more like Mom than I thought. "We talked about this?"
"At lunch yesterday! God, you're just – just come on, Jordan's going to drop us off."
Reluctantly, I walked over to the idling car and slid into the backseat.
"You don't have to do this," I said. "I'm pretty sure I can dress myself."
"Maybe for the beach," Adam replied. "But not for the Paragon."
"What, you're going to tie my shoes for me too?" I asked, rolling my eyes.
"If I have to," he shot back.
We turned onto Bradford Court, and there on the corner was Byron, making the walk on his own. It felt wrong to see him there - I should have been there with him, like I was almost every other day. It was like I was the goldfish, looking into the aquarium instead of out, and the old 'I'm-going-to-hurl' feeling came back with a vengeance.
I wasn't the only one who noticed him.
"Byron," Jordan muttered, and swerved abruptly to creep along by the sidewalk.
"Want a ride?" he called across Adam.
Byron looked up, startled, and opened his mouth to answer before slowly looking from them to me, and back again. His face went blank and he shrugged a little, tugging on his backpack straps.
"You know I walk," he said.
"What, for the exercise?" Adam asked sarcastically, and Byron frowned.
"It'll be faster," Jordan reasoned. "Didn't Mom want you to watch Claire today?"
"Yeah, I'm just going to rush home for that. I'll – "
"Come on," I said quietly, and he stopped, sighed, and walked over to the car. I slid into the next seat to make it easier for him.
He slammed the door shut, and Jordan started driving again, Adam fiddling with the radio.
"Are you nervous?" Byron asked, staring straight ahead.
"Kind of," I admitted, as equally interested in the back of Jordan's head.
"You'll be fine," he said softly, and it felt like half of the ten thousand butterflies in my stomach dropped dead on the spot.
It only took a few minutes to get to my house, and Adam and I slipped out, Jordan tearing off without even letting Byron shift into the front seat. I started to turn to watch them go, and I just barely caught a glimpse of someone's shaggy brown hair before Adam clapped my shoulder and started to sort of guide me up my own walk.
"Please tell me you've been shopping since you moved here," he said.
"What, my wetsuit's not going to work?" I asked, and shook my pockets for my keys.
Byron would've said something like, At least you'd make a splash, and I would've been like, That one's going straight in the old joke book, and he'd sort of wrinkle his nose and we'd laugh.
But Adam just muttered, "Ha ha, funny."
I opened the door and we dropped our backpacks in the middle of the hallway floor, heading right up the stairs toward my room. Adam sort of glanced around, and I realized that he probably hadn't been inside since we were kids.
"Your house is nice," he commented, and I just shrugged.
He gave my room the same brief once-over before walking to my closet and throwing it open. Immediately, about three tons of clothes spilled out at his feet.
"Jesus," he cried, and jumped a little.
"Don't worry, they're all clean," I said.
"This is what you're going to wear tonight?" he asked, waving at the pile. "I have to sort through this?"
"Well, I forgot you were coming." Okay, I'd never known he was coming. But I wanted to play it cool.
He sighed and muttered something that might've been, "You're worse than Nicky," under his breath, but I wasn't sure. He bent over and started to rifle gingerly through the clothes.
I just sat on my bed, cross-legged, and watched. Inexplicably, I missed Mrs. Bruen, but then she never would have let me get away with this.
"So, when are you picking her up?" he asked. I guess it was small talk time.
"Who?"
"…Jeff."
"Oh. Uh, seven."
"That late?" He picked up a white shirt, held it at arm's length, and frowned.
"That's what she wanted."
"And your curfew's when?"
"Ten," I sighed.
He glanced at me, dropping a pair of holey jeans. "That's cutting it close."
"I know. But it's, what, half an hour to Stamford?"
"Pretty much. Thirty minutes there, thirty back, two hours at the Paragon…you'll make it." He looked over toward my bed and did a quick double-take. "That's kind of morbid."
I had to lean over the side of the bed to see what he was talking out; it was Dawn's cracked, smiling dolphin statuette that I'd broken a while back. Byron said he had some glue we could use to fix it, but he kept forgetting to bring it over.
But I just answered, "Yeah."
Adam threw down a gray sweater and said, "God, how do you live like this?"
"Hey, I know where everything is in that closet," I protested.
"Not that," he said, but he shook his head too. "Well, okay, yeah, that, but it's so fucking quiet in this house. How do you think here?"
Easily, I wanted to reply, but didn't. Instead, I asked, "Want me to turn on the stereo?"
He nodded, a little gratefully, and I got up to find the remote. I'd never, ever had to put the stereo on when Byron was in my room, and when I turned it on, it was tuned into the oldies station Richard liked to groove to while he cleaned the house. It sort of made me angry, for whatever reason, and I ran through the stations until I found something loud and mean.
It made the time go faster, at least. When I wasn't staring blanking at the wall, doggedly not thinking about anything in particular, I was busy vehemently rejecting whatever friggin' psychotic thing Adam was insisting I wear. When he tried to talk me into a sweater that Mom had shrunk in the wash so it was a size too small and tight, I almost said, "And Byron's the gay one?" but for once, thank God, I bit my tongue.
"Jesus," he yelled, like it was a curse, kicking the sweater back into the pile. "You'd think you'd make it a little easier than this."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.
"I mean, you dress," and he paused, looking at me, like he was struggling for insight.
"You dress like a slob," he finished finally. "I didn't think you'd care so much."
Well, God. If wearing the same pair of jeans four days in a row is wrong, then I don't want to be right.
Eventually, we finally agreed that a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt with minimal tightness would be acceptable attire for the Paragon. By the time we went downstairs, we were both in a pretty bad mood.
"Are you hungry or something?" I asked reluctantly, ever the charming host.
"No, I need to go home for dinner," Adam answered, scowling, reaching for his backpack. "I have stuff to do."
Just then, my mother walked in the front door and promptly tripped over my bag, but recovered her balance so smoothly that you'd have thought she'd done it on purpose. If this were the Olympics, I'd have given her a nine at least, maybe a high eight if I were French.
"Sorry I'm late," she said without missing a beat. She looked at Adam and smiled. "Oh, hi, Byron."
I winced.
It was getting close to seven when I strolled back downstairs, freshly showered and dressed and whatever the hell is appropriate for a first date. No cologne, though; I had to draw the line somewhere.
Mom smiled when she saw me. "You look nice," she said.
"Is that outfit appropriate for a date?" Richard asked.
He probably wore a bowtie and slacks to his first date with Mom, but rather than call him on it, I just said, "Yeah."
"Oh. Well, you look…spiffy then," he replied, and my eyes wanted to roll so badly that they almost popped out of my head.
"Where are you taking Sara?" Mom asked.
"Just some place in Stamford," I answered, patting my back pocket to check for my wallet.
Mom frowned. "Oh, Jeff, no. Not Stamford. Not tonight."
That stopped me. "What?"
"Not on a school night. It's too far."
"Curfew's not for three hours!"
"Jeff – "
"I'll be fine."
"Jeff, if you want the car, you're staying in town, and that's final."
"Mom!"
"Jeffrey Charles," she said in this warning tone she never uses, not since, like, she told me I couldn't have a new Power Ranger or something after I begged and begged and begged. The voice that meant, 'that's it.'
"And we'll check the odometer," Richard added before the cogs in my mind could even start turning, and so, 'that's it,' really became, 'That's It.'
"Dammit!" I cursed as I slammed through the front door and stalked down the driveway. I got into Mom's car, buckled, adjusted the mirror, and all that, but the whole time I was thinking, Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.
It's not like I had a Plan B for this whole date thing. It was the Paragon, Paragon, Paragon…Christ, what were those restaurants the guys had been naming off? The only places we ever went to with any frequency were a take-out Chinese place and Cabbages and Kings, and I wasn't really sure Sara'd be into a plate of baked eggplant ziti.
As I made the quick drive to Sara's house – okay, really, what drive in Stoneybrook wasn't quick? – my mind was racing with things like, I-hate-Mom-now-what-ask-Byron-stop-don't-think-God-now-what-restaurants-movie-shit-shit-SHIT.
And then I was there, at her house. Pulled up smoothly, and according to my watch it was seven on the dot. The house was lit up, but quiet, and I started worrying if they expected me to run up and actually introduce myself, like I was freaking Ricky Nelson or someone, here to pick up Mary Lou. But then the door opened and Sara walked out, calling something over her shoulder before heading over to the car and hovering outside near my window.
"Hi," she said, a little breathless, like she was shy for some reason, and smiling. She was wearing…well, okay, I don't remember what she was wearing, but she was showing some cleavage.
"Hey," I answered, grinning back like I was a man with a plan. Doubtful.
We sort of waited, a little awkwardly, until finally she ran over to the side of the car and got in. I realized I should have gotten out and opened the door for her. Well, too late to be a gentleman now.
"How are you?" I asked as I pulled back onto her street, hoping that she'd have some long story so I'd have time to think over the situation.
"Good," she answered.
"Oh," I said. "Good."
"Good," and she giggled.
Jesus Christ.
Restaurants, I thought desperately.
I ended up taking her to Pizza Express.
"Oh," Sara said when we pulled up, in this funny little voice, like one you might use if you were expecting your sister to get you some imported surfboard wax for your birthday, but you end up getting a book on fun recycling tips instead. (Not that I know from personal experience or anything.)
"Look," I said, sighing, and turned to her as best I could in the driver's seat. "I was really going to take you…somewhere better than this, but…" My Mommy wouldn't let me. "My mom was being weird about it."
"Oh."
"This is the only place in town that's, like, okay, that I actually know where it is. If you want – "
"No," she interrupted. "This is fine. I…like it."
"Are you sure?"
"This is fine," she repeated, smiling like some brave little soldier, and God, I wondered how she fit her cross into her purse and why she wasn't carrying it around on her back like all the other martyrs.
Byron would've just told me about somewhere decent to go. Well, he already had – I just couldn't remember the name. No games or trying to impress me or whatever.
Stop.
Okay, so maybe I still wasn't in the best of moods. This was going to change. Food would help this situation.
But when we got inside, the place was packed with other kids our age, loud, and smelled like grease and sweat. I probably turned pale in the face of dozens of arteries being clogged simultaneously, but Sara apparently saw someone she knew, because she smiled and waved.
Renwick's, I thought suddenly. Too late.
Somehow, we found a table that wasn't currently being occupied by ninety screaming teenagers and sat down; I tried to make up for not opening the car door by mopping up a puddle of soda that'd been left in the middle of the plastic tablecloth, but I don't think Sara noticed, too busy looking around to see who else was there.
"There's always someone to see here," she said when she finally turned back to me, grinning.
"Yeah, I bet," I agreed, though I didn't really think seeing other people was exactly the point of a date.
"So you've been here before?" she asked, leaning forward.
"Just driven by," I answered.
"Oh, okay."
At least the conversation was riveting. Luckily, the waitress, who looked like she was about to fall asleep, came over and saved us.
"You two decided yet?" she asked, eyes drooping.
"Um." I turned to Sara. "What do you - ?"
"I'm not picky," she said quickly. "Whatever you want."
"Well. Okay. Do you like mushrooms?"
"Mushrooms is fine," she said with a big smile.
One time, Byron and I argued for almost an hour over pizza toppings – he'd wanted everything, with double pepperoni, and I'd wanted plain cheese. Eventually, we settled on black olives and onions, but both of us complained through every bite, even though the whole thing was gone in about ten minutes.
Stop.
"Medium," I told the waitress, blinking a little, stomach twisting again. "With mushrooms."
She scribbled something on her pad of paper. "And to drink?"
I looked at Sara, who said, "Diet Coke, no ice."
"Just water for me," I added.
"Won't be too long," the waitress said.
I looked around at the crowd. "Seriously?"
She shrugged.
"So they're just here for the ambience?" I asked, grinning a little, and the waitress smiled back.
"Moochers," she replied. "Just picking at breadsticks. Anyway, I'll go put in your order."
She walked away, and turned back to Sara; she was scowling at me.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," she answered quickly, but sat back and folded her arms across her chest.
I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. "Okay…Um." My mind raced, searching for something to talk about. "How was House of Blood?"
She relaxed a little at the suggestion and started to tell me about it. Apparently, it was as stupid and cheesy as just about any other horror movie ever made, and she was just getting to the spectacular scene where Cam Geary gets impaled right after the opening credits when the waitress came back with our drinks.
Absently, trying my best to pay attention to the movie play-by-play, I picked up my cup and took a sip. Immediately, I started coughing. Sara paused.
"Something wrong?"
"This is Sprite," I said, and I looked over at our waitress, who was giving some other table their bill.
She winked at me.
Oh Jesus.
"She really likes you," Sara commented, with the slightest edge to her voice. She stared down at her cup, which was probably ninety percent ice.
"I…told her I wanted water. I mean, do you want this?"
"I guess you get free things when you flirt."
"What?"
"Look – nothing."
"I wasn't flirting."
"Yeah, okay." She half-smiled, but it wasn't anywhere near genuine. "Sorry."
"Just – the movie. What happened next?"
She started up again, waving her hands for emphasis occasionally, but I wasn't really paying attention very well. I think it might have had to do with an Indian burial ground or something; I wasn't very sure.
I remembered that Byron liked Sprite.
Stop.
Okay, so, what I'm trying to put out there is that this was basically the worst date ever. I mean, for me, at least. It took Sara eight minutes to get through the thrilling saga that was House of Blood - yes, I counted, and no, I don't think I'm planning on cruising over to Blockbuster to rent it anytime soon – and then we just kind of drifted in and out of neutral topics. Stuff like:
"I really hate the book we're reading in English."
"Oh, me too. It's kind of lame."
"Totally. And what's it about, like, a bird? Who cares about that?"
"A bird?"
"Yeah. Don't you have Mr. Lerangis?"
"No, Miles. Our book's about some kid during World War I or something."
"Oh."
And then the conversations would just…die. Really, it was more humane to put them out of their misery, I think, and we'd just sit there, staring at each other or our hands or other people until one of us could think of something else completely stupid.
After almost an hour, the lying, cradle-robbing waitress finally showed up with our pizza. "Won't be too long," yeah, sure. The pizza was lukewarm and sort of droopy, and as I watched Sara pick every single mushroom off the one and a half slices she ate, it sort of dawned on me that I wasn't exactly looking at the future Mrs. Jeff Schafer.
It just wasn't working, and I didn't know how to make it work. I was sitting with a girl I'd had lunch with practically every day since I'd gotten to Stoneybrook, and I didn't even know enough about her to have a real conversation for more than two minutes without falling into dead silence and looking away awkwardly.
And I mean, what did she know about me? That she thought I was cute or something? It wasn't like she was enquiring into the deep inner workings of my mind, asking about my hopes, dreams, and aspirations or anything.
I was just really, incredibly spoiled, because I'd had Byron, who I could talk with and think and not think all at once. I knew him and he knew me, and that'd been sort of enough.
But now I was here, and he was, what, probably talking to Scott or someone right at this instant.
Stop, I tried telling myself, but I realized it hadn't stopped me any other time the whole night.
My stomach was starting to hurt again, a lot, all the butterflies trying to tear their way out of me. I finished about half a slice of pizza before I looked up at Sara and said, "I don't feel very good. I think I need to go home."
"Yeah," she said softly, looking just as embarrassed about everything as I felt.
We'd barely been there an hour, the pizza barely touched, but I asked for the check and left the money on the table. Sara offered to pay half, but I said no, because hell, it was still a date, even if it was the first and last one.
After I dropped Sara off – no goodnight kiss, believe it or not – I just sort of drove. I didn't even know what direction I was going. It wasn't very much past eight, and I kept thinking of how Sara was going to tell Haley how bad the date was, and Haley was going to tell the guys, and I was never going to hear the end of it.
I shouldn't have cared, I know, but I did. You just can't help it sometimes, I guess. And plus, I was going to get home way, way early, and Mom and Richard were still going to be up, and they'd ask me what I was doing back so soon, and then they'd think I was a total loser.
Richard, I mean, he was going to pity me. He'd probably, like, be nice to me because of it, and that I just couldn't live with.
But I knew that someone was going to understand. If he could stand to look at me for a minute or two.
I turned down a street, and suddenly I knew exactly where I was headed, and it wasn't home.
When I got to the Pike house, there were no cars in the driveway and it seemed unnaturally quiet, but there were a few lights on inside. Walking up the front steps, I didn't know whether I should be worried that no one was home or that Adam or Jordan were going to answer the door and demand to know why I wasn't at the fucking Paragon.
But when I knocked, it was Mrs. Pike who opened the door and greeted me.
"Oh, hi Jeff," she said, smiling.
"It's quiet," I replied without thinking. Immediately, I felt like a total idiot, but she just laughed.
"Almost everyone's gone," she told me, and then her voice dropped to a whisper. "It's my birthday this weekend, so they're out on a field trip to the mall. They think they're being sneaky."
"Oh…happy birthday." I still felt like an idiot, and my stomach hurt even more. 'The mall.' Huh.
"Thanks. Well, I don't know who you're here for, but Byron was watching Claire for me, so he's around." She sort of nodded toward the stairs. "You can go on up to his room, if you want."
"Yeah, okay, thanks," I said, and practically ran up the stairs like I was still a little kid. I felt…not excited. Relieved, maybe.
But from the hall, I could hear the shower running in the bathroom, and the bedroom Byron shared with his brothers was dark except for the nightlight in the corner. It filled the room with huge, looming shadows, and as I sat down on Byron's bottom bunk, I couldn't stop myself from thinking about pillow forts for a second.
When he came in a few minutes later, I could see the surprise in his face, even in the dark. He must've known he couldn't escape me there.
"Your mom said I could come up," I told him.
He nodded. He was wearing dark sweatpants and an undershirt with holes in the seams, so old and thin that I could see the dark hint of a nipple through the fabric. There was water still dripping from his hair, curling down his neck as he stared at me, and this, this I can remember even when I can't picture the color dress Sara was wearing.
"I thought you had a date right now," he said.
"It didn't go very well." And that I guess was the time when I could've gone into detail, poured out everything that'd been bothering me and that'd gone wrong that night. And I could've paused, and Byron could've patted me on the back or something, and I could've felt better. But the words just didn't come out.
"Well," Byron said, tilting his head a little. "At least you're dressed for a party."
I had to laugh at that, a little. "Adam said I dress like a slob."
"You dress like you don't care who's looking," he corrected, and then he looked away, and I could tell he was embarrassed.
He sat down next to me on the bed, I don't know if I actually thought he was going to lean over and kiss me or if I sort of hoped he would, but he didn't. Instead, he just said, "I'm sorry your date sucked."
Seriously, Byron was the last person who should've said something like that, and I don't know if he actually meant it or not, but he sounded like he did, and that was…I don't know, big. I don't think I could've said it, if our situations were reversed.
And maybe that was why, instead of, you know, saying thanks I blurted out, "Do you like Scott Danby?"
Byron's eyes widened. "What? "
He sounded shocked, but he couldn't have been more surprised than me. "Shit!" I said, stomach dropping. "Sorry! Sorry, I don't – God, my date went so bad," like that was an excuse, and I leaned forward a little and rubbed my face with my hands.
History's longest minute passed in silence. Then, out of nowhere, he said, "I don't."
I turned and looked at him, didn't say anything. He was staring at his hands, saying, "I mean, he's okay, he's my friend. But I don't like him."
This wasn't why I'd come over, I swear to God. I'd come over to talk out the bad date, be comforted, assured that Byron and I were still friends or whatever. I hadn't come for this, I don't even know how it happened, but here it was, just happened.
I guess I should have figured out that this had never been about Sara. It'd never been about anyone but him and me.
My heart was beating so, so hard, my face hot.
"So who do you like?" I asked, and it wasn't much more than a whisper.
"Jeff, this is stupid," he said, sounding sort of fed up, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Then he sighed, looked at me. "You know who I like."
"Yeah," I said, and we just looked at each other for a few seconds before I went on, painfully, "I just…this." I waved a hand vaguely between him and me. "I don't even know what to call this."
"It," Byron started, then stopped, bit his lip, thinking it over. "It doesn't always have to have a name."
And it – he was so Byron, sitting here in the dark in an old wet shirt, staring at me with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen, like he could see right into my skull. I thought of the one hundred and one times he'd probably crossed my mind that night alone, and how my stomach hurt so much every single time something went wrong with our friendship, and how, if he were to smile right at that instant, one of his bottom teeth would be crooked.
"I like you," I said suddenly. I had to fight back the urge to press my hand over my heart to keep it from thumping out of my chest. "I – I think."
Byron's eyes were big, and he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but closed it, just waited, listening.
"But – I've never – I've never done anything like this before," I added quickly, hoping I could be understood. "You know that. So it's – kind of weird."
"So…you just want to stay friends?" he asked slowly.
He was already more than that, but I couldn't, I just couldn't say that, so instead I just said, "I don't think so."
"Okay," he whispered, nodding a little.
Hesitating, Byron reached out and touched the back of my hand. I turned it, and our fingers laced, palms fitting together as perfectly as the broken pieces of a dolphin statuette.
"Slow," I said, but I couldn't stop staring at our hands. "I think we have to go slow."
"Okay," he repeated, and I didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling.
I really think he might've wanted to kiss me then, but the moment was already big, too much, and I probably would've exploded or something if he had.
"I should probably go," I said. "Curfew."
It was a stupid excuse; my curfew wasn't up for more than an hour. But I think he understood.
"Yeah," he replied. He let go of me and stood up, and I followed. "Do you want me to walk you to your car?"
"I think I'll make it," I said wryly. But he did walk me to his bedroom door, and I opened it a crack before I turned back to him; my hand had suddenly felt empty, so I reached out quickly and caught his.
Byron squeezed my hand, and from the light of the hallway he looked so solemn.
"Um," I said, feeling awkward, embarrassed by impulse. I let go, and then there was nothing right to say, so I just tapped the doorframe, nodded, and left.
When I got home, my stomach still hurt, but there was a new reason now. I decided that I didn't mind it so much.
I turned off the car, and only then did I put my hand on my heart, close my eyes, and let myself think.
To be continued.
Author's Note - Sorry for this chapter's extreme delay; I was busy graduating college. The next chapter should be along sooner.