“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Dre had said.
I remember smiling and telling him I thought he was a good person. And it was true. He was one of the most honest, genuine people I’d ever met. I hated that I’d given him reason to doubt me, but I also appreciated that he hadn’t written me off because we didn’t necessarily believe the same things.
I don’t remember reaching out and putting my hand on his. At first, I couldn’t figure out why his eyes had widened and bulged like a lemur’s. Not until he glanced down, which made me glance down, and then I yanked my hand away and said, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!”
Dre looked like he was going to laugh or cry. Perhaps laugh and then cry or laugh and cry at the same time. I had no idea what to do, so I stood and said we should return to work and then promptly returned to the house. Dre didn’t follow for a few minutes.
Pretending it hadn’t happened was probably the wisest course of action, but I got the impression that Dre wasn’t the type of person to simply forget something, and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
“Once,” I said, “I was at my great-uncle’s funeral—we all called him Uncle Bob. He was a bit of a black sheep.” I looked over my shoulder to see if Dre was paying attention, and when he caught me looking, I coughed and cleared my throat.
“Anyway, I was fourteen, and I hadn’t known Uncle Bob particularly well, but the whole family had used the opportunity to have an impromptu reunion, so there were a lot of relatives I’d never met in attendance. I was, however, expected to be the perfect son and shake their hands and smile, which I’d been doing for a while and was therefore quite good at. One of my mom’s cousins had cornered me, and I’d finally managed to make an escape, and as I was leaving, I shook her hand and said, ‘Love you too.’
“We just stared at each other for a minute while my face turned very, very red, and then I walked away.”
“Cool story,” Dre said. There was a cautious edge to his voice.
“Right. Well, the point is that sometimes we say or do things we don’t mean because . . . well, because we just do. I don’t . . . I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“What idea would that be?”
“Nothing,” I said. “It didn’t mean anything.”
That had gone as well as I had any right to expect. The problem was that I wasn’t sure whether I was being honest with Dre or with myself. I might have touched his hand because it was something my mother did when she was campaigning and someone was telling her a story—a small gesture that let the other person feel like my mother was listening and that she cared.
And I did care because Dre had given me a lot to consider. I didn’t necessarily think he was being fair assuming that I supported every single one of my mother’s beliefs because I supported her. There had to be room for me to think she could do a lot of good for the country even if I didn’t agree with her on some issues.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I grabbed it in case it was my mother or Nora, but it was a notification from Promethean. From Dre. I glanced over my shoulder, but he was still painting.
The first message included a photo of me from the back.
DreOfTheDead: from this angle you might actually be a seven
DreOfTheDead: would it be bad if it meant something to me?
PrezMamasBoy: I don’t know.
PrezMamasBoy: I don’t think so.
PrezMamasBoy: However, I’m not sure it would mean the same thing to you that it did to me.
Dre leaned his roller against the wall and turned around. “I thought it didn’t mean anything.”
We were alone in the room but not alone in the house. There were people on the other side of each wall, so I lowered my voice to make sure they couldn’t hear me. “You know how I am.”
“I know who you are, Dean. Maybe better than anyone else. And I’m not sure I’m saying what you think I’m saying.”
“What are you saying?”
“Just that I like hanging out with you. That’s it. Nothing more. More would be bananas, right? You’re not into anyone like that, and our parents are sworn enemies.”
Dre’s hyperbolic nature was a constant source of amusement. He could probably make grocery shopping sound like an adventure at the end of the world. “First of all, our parents are political rivals, not Montagues and Capulets.”
“So I brought my dueling sword for nothing?”
“Second,” I said, ignoring him. “It’s not as if I’ve never been attracted to anyone before. I have had crushes.”
“Oh.”
I had thought that knowledge would make Dre feel better, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. He wore an expression that looked like I’d mugged him for his phone and wallet.
“Fine,” Dre said. “Whatever. It’s still not like we can hang out like friends or whatever.”
“We’re hanging out now.”
“But this was a one-time thing.”
“We are two bright young men,” I said. “Surely we can concoct a way to run into one another again. We could arrange a different volunteer opportunity.”
Dre picked up his roller and continued working. “How many times do you think we can pull this off? It’s not like we’re in the same state that often.”
“It happens more than you think,” I said.
A devious gleam crept into Dre’s eyes, and he got out his phone. “Where are you next week? I’m in Iowa on Monday.”
I shook my head. “Wisconsin.”
“Lucky you. How about Tuesday?”
“Pennsylvania.”
Dre’s smile began to fade. “California.”
“I’m in Georgia on Wednesday and Boston on Thursday.”
“Chicago on Wednesday.” Dre stopped. “Boston?”
I nodded. “My mother’s meeting with a group of women in the tech industry. I’m not sure I’m even going.”
“You have to go,” Dre said.
“Okay,” I said. “Why?”
Dre looked like he was going to begin bouncing off the walls. “Because I’m going to be in Rhode Island checking out RISD. My dad was gonna go with me, but he’s gotta be in DC that day. I’ll be by myself.”
“I still don’t see how that helps us.”
Dre threw up his hands in exasperation. “You applied to Harvard, right?”
“Obviously.”
“Then go to Boston with your mom, but tell her you want to tour the school.” Dre kept pausing like he thought I was going to finish his thoughts, but I had no idea where he was going with this.
“So we’ll both be touring a school,” I said. “Then what.”
Dre pressed his lips together and looked at me like I was a shelter dog nobody wanted. “We’re not going to do the tours,” he said. “Boston is, like, less than an hour by train from Rhode Island. We’ll ditch the tours and meet up, and then we’ll have the whole day to spend together.”
In theory, I saw how it could work, but before Dre had finished explaining his plan, I had already come up with a dozen reasons it wouldn’t work. “I don’t know. What if someone recognized us?”
“We’ll wear disguises.”
“What if my mother finds out I didn’t go on the tour?”
Dre laughed. “Harvard isn’t going to call your mom and rat you out for ditching the tour.”
The idea of spending more time with Dre was appealing, even if it was also slightly confusing, but using a college tour as a cover was a solid plan. “It’s risky.”
“If you don’t want to, then just say so.”
“It’s not that!”
“Then let’s make this happen!” Dre was so eager it was infectious.
“Okay,” I said. “But can we agree to put the politics aside? I want to spend time with my friend Dre, not Andre the son of my mother’s enemy.”
“I’m not sure it works like that,” he said. “But we can try.”
“Then I will make the arrangements.” I let a cauti
ous smile sneak onto my face. The day hadn’t gone as smoothly as I’d hoped. There was a lot we didn’t agree on and I was confused about my feelings for Dre, but I still didn’t want the day to end. It made me feel better knowing I’d get to see him again in a week.
“Hey,” Dre said. “I think you’re a good person too, though it might just be that I’ve been breathing paint fumes all day.” He winked at me and turned back to his work.
Next week couldn’t arrive quickly enough.
Dre
THE DESIGN MEL and I had settled on for the Fantasy Fish photo shoot was Ursula from the The Little Mermaid if she had been imagined by Guillermo del Toro. Mel’s skin was a mottled shade of violet with some bioluminescent streaks, and each of her thick tentacles spread open like a flower to reveal layered rows of needle-like teeth.
“You’ve never looked more lovely,” I said, standing back and admiring my work. “Or more terrifying.”
“Take the pictures, Dre. This shit is hot.”
Mel had seemingly forgiven me, though she wasn’t her normal chatty self. When I showed up, she didn’t want to gossip. She just wanted to get right to work, which was fine. I was used to Mel’s cold fronts, and I deserved it this time. I’d already been taking pictures for twenty minutes, and I’d sent a couple of samples to Dean to show him what I was up to, though he hadn’t messaged back, which, whatever, right? I wasn’t gonna turn into one of those people who freaked out because the boy I had a crush on and who probably definitely didn’t have reciprocal feelings for me wasn’t haunting his phone waiting for me to write him so that he could reply immediately.
(You’re right. I was already that person. Damn.)
I dipped into my bag and grabbed the water bottle Dean had given me and handed it to Mel. “It’s important to stay hydrated.”
Mel carefully drank, but she noticed the campaign slogan on the bottle before giving it back. “Switching sides?”
I swiped the bottle from her and tossed it on my bag. “Dean gave it to me when I did the Habitat for Humanity thing.”
“And you kept it?”
“No reason to throw away a perfectly good bottle. I’ll find a sticker to cover it with or something.” I held up the camera. “Ready? Give me underwater soccer mom who’s had a little too much rosé.”
“Could you take this seriously, please.”
“I am.”
It could have just been the makeup, but Mel was starting to actually look scary. “Maybe this is a joke to you, but not all of us have the money or connections to go to school wherever the hell we want. Some of us have to save money from our shitty minimum-wage jobs and spend our free time doing work we hope will help us get what you take for granted.”
“Clearly you’re still mad at me for forgetting the shoot Wednesday.”
Mel threw up her tentacles. “Yes! I’m still mad!”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Would you like me to burn my apology into the grass on the football field at school?”
“How about you take these tentacles and see how many of them you can shove up your ass?”
Honestly, I was okay with Mel blowing her top at me. Fights with Mel were like puking—best to get them out and over with quickly.
“I get it,” I said. “I’m an asshole, but you were the one always telling me to be more active in this stuff, right?”
Mel laughed, which was scary coming from her eyeless, puckered fish face. “I wanted you to fight for things that matter, but the only reason you do anything is to get attention or piss off your dad. I don’t know why you’re suddenly all about the campaign, but I’m not buying your patriotic act.”
Mel tried to turn around, but one of her tentacles caught on a lamp and sent it toppling over, busting the bulb and pulling down the sheet we’d hung for a backdrop. She stood in the center of the destruction for a moment and then flapped around and yelled, “Just get me out of this thing!”
I helped Mel out of the bodysuit and cleaned up the garage while she removed the makeup. When I was done, I wondered if I should take off, but I hated leaving with Mel so pissed. I found her in her room, sitting on her bed in front of a plate of snickerdoodles her mom had baked. She’d changed into sweats and an oversize The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. T-shirt and was totally giving off a “disapproving mom catches son watching porn” vibe.
I leaned against the doorway, unsure whether I was welcome in her room. “You ever choose between Andy and Tade?”
“I chose neither because boys are assholes and I don’t need one to be happy.”
“What happened?”
Mel shoved a cookie in her mouth. The smell was making my stomach rumble. Normally I would’ve grabbed one, but I was scared Mel would literally bite my hand off if I tried. “Tade, as it turned out, already had a girlfriend. Two, actually.”
“And Andy?”
“Asked how soon was too soon to tell someone he loved them.”
“That’s not so bad, maybe.”
“And was also proud that he’d never read a comic book with a girl main character.”
“Fuck that guy.”
Mel rolled her eyes. “It’s whatever. Between work and Dreadful Dressup and college applications and finishing senior year without my best friend, the last thing I need is boyfriend drama.”
I took a chance, dropped my bag on the floor, and moved closer to the bed. When Mel didn’t immediately murder me, I sat on the edge, but I steered clear of her cookies. “I’ve been so wrapped up trying to figure out how to help my dad while still being pissed at him, doing all the campaign stuff, and dealing with my own drama, that I didn’t think how this was affecting you.”
“I used to be able to depend on you, Dre.”
“You still can. Mostly.”
Mel’s tone was softer, a little warmer. “Just . . . don’t promise things you can’t deliver. If you say you’re gonna be there for me, be there.”
“I will,” I said. “I promise. Pinkie promise. Find me a knife and I’ll make it a blood oath.”
Mel pushed the plate of cookies toward me, and I gratefully grabbed one. Mel’s mom made the best cookies in the world. There was nothing they couldn’t mend.
“So what’s your drama?” Mel asked while I savored my cookie.
I talked with my mouth full, ignoring Mel’s look of disgust. “My dad’s freaking out because McMann’s gonna be in the next debate. After the last debate, he was excited for a rematch with Arnault, but throwing McMann into the mix has him shook. When he’s not at rallies and stuff, he’s doing nonstop debate prep. But we’re doing this trapeze class tomorrow night and I’m so excited!”
Mel’s eyes were a little glazed over. “I meant the other stuff. What about the guy you were talking to? You ever settle that?”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing there. Maybe. I don’t know. I was all psyched up to accept that he didn’t like me and then there was this moment where I thought he did, but then it was gone and he was acting like it was nothing when I was sure it was something.”
“Why won’t you tell me who it is?” she asked.
“It’s complicated.”
Mel’s face lit up conspiratorially. “Is he married? Is he older? Like a teacher?”
“No, no, and hell no.”
“Okay,” Mel said. “But if you don’t think he’s into you, why are you bent outta shape about him?” Before I could answer, she raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh. You really like him, don’t you? You’ve, like, already planned your wedding and the next twenty years of your lives together.”
I tried my best to look indignant. “Have not.”
“What’re your kids’ names?”
“Darius, Kayla, and Jorge, but that’s not the point.”
Mel’s expression shifted quickly to pity. “Don’t do this to yourself again, Dre.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Falling for a boy you can’t have? That’s basically your brand. The more he isn’t into you, the more likely you
are to be into him. I’ve seen this show before.”
“Just forget it.”
“Justin Chen.”
“Drop it, Mel.”
“Luis Cantero.”
“Mel!”
“Daniel Grant.”
I stood, nearly knocking over the plate of cookies, but Mel rescued them at the last second.
“I don’t want you getting hurt, Dre.”
“I won’t get hurt.”
“You always get hurt because you throw your heart out like it’s a life preserver when really it’s just chum for sharks.”
I could’ve pretended to be offended, but Mel was right. I was setting myself up for heartbreak. “I don’t know what to do.” I slumped back down on the bed beside her.
Mel wrapped her arm around my shoulders and hugged me. “Are you sure he isn’t into you?”
“There’s a chance,” I said. “It’s tiny. Super tiny. But even if he is, and it’s likely he’s not, we’re so different.”
“How?” Mel asked. “Like you’re a Leo and he’s a Pisces or like you enjoy charming British comedies and he’s into gore-porn horror movies?”
“Worse.” I leaned into Mel.
“Who is this mystery guy?”
“I can’t tell you.” I got off the bed and went to my bag for water. The cookies had left my mouth a little dry; mostly, though, I was trying to avoid looking Mel in the eye. But as I finished drinking and was closing the lid on the bottle, I noticed Mel staring at me, her eyes bulging. “What?”
“Oh my God.”
“Mel?”
“It really is Dean Arnault, isn’t it?”
“Mel, I—”
Mel covered her mouth with her hand. “You told me and I didn’t believe you, but that’s it, isn’t it? He’s the mystery guy?”
I was panicking. I tried to laugh and roll my eyes and play like it was a joke, but I knew I was busted. “You can’t tell anyone, Mel. I’m serious.”
“It makes sense,” she said, still working it out for herself. “You met at the debate and, is that where it started?”
“Kind of,” I said. “We’ve been talking on Promethean.”
“Of course!”
Dean was going to kill me. I trusted Mel not to tell anyone, and playing coy at this point would only make her dig deeper and could lead to her unintentionally exposing Dean. “But there’s nothing going on.”
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