The Bro Code

by Elizabeth A. Seibert

  “You guys are up!”

  “If we’re not out in ten minutes,” I said to Eliza, “you know what to do.”

  “Bring the camera for evidence.” Carter tapped Hannah’s shoulder.

  Ms. O’Connor led us to the searing stage lights.

  Cassidy High’s stage wasn’t anything fancy: a classroom-sized wooden rectangle, like most high schools had. All Carter and I had to do was escort each other to the middle, strut to opposite sides, turn around, and strut back. The auditorium was about three-quarters full, and my parents hadn’t come. No pressure at all.

  Then why were my hands clammy?

  Hannah and Eliza waited in the wings on the opposite side of the stage. They both clapped when we walked, as the lights began to blaze like uncomfortable July heat. The crowd whistled as Carter and I made our entrance and their applause doubled when we donned our shades. At the middle of the stage, we removed our sunglasses, making confused gestures to have it look like they were malfunctioning. We swapped them, nodding satisfactorily when they worked. If Austin were there, he would have yelled out from the audience for us to kiss already (and he would have had to buy us some pizza later), but apparently, he had better things to do, leaving our routine to be pretty straightforward.

  Next, Eliza was escorted by some freshman I didn’t recognize. Since we’d already gone, Carter and I got to sit in the front row, still in our tuxes, and enjoy seeing our classmates be fancy. I loved that she was the center of everyone’s attention, so I had an excuse to take her in. Her shoulder was in line with the curves of her hips and seemed much less swollen than it had been yesterday. I wasn’t really looking at her shoulder anyway. Her face lit up the entire auditorium. Her curled hair perfectly framed her dark eyes, with her glossy smile the highlight of her ensemble.

  “Work it, girl!” I cheered when she walked in front of us, knowing she would’ve hated a whistle, no matter how much I wanted to give her one.

  An hour later, Hannah and Eliza joined us in the front row while Ms. O’Connor presented a speech on what the Parent Teacher Association meant to the students and the world, or something. It was hard to concentrate with Eliza sitting on my left and Carter on my right. I scrutinized every single movement Eliza made—every shift of her legs, every tap of her finger—I couldn’t help it. That made me hyperaware of Carter’s shifts and overall presence. And how his movements restricted mine.

  Ms. O’Connor’s speech marked the beginning of the reception. The parents milled about, ate some cupcakes, caught up on the latest gossip, and complimented the students who’d put on the show.

  I leaned to Carter to make a sarcastic comment about what Ms. O’Connor had said, about how the students here couldn’t function without the PTA and how she should have said PDA, to see that he was already in the middle of discussing it with Hannah. I couldn’t see his expression, but Hannah’s read like He. Was. Dazzling. Her.

  I turned to Eliza, moving close enough to whisper, “Now I get why you didn’t like me asking about Hannah.”

  She twiddled her thumbs. “Ya got me.”

  “Impressive . . . how much you seemed to care about the Bro Code when you knew Carter would break it anyway.”

  “A few weeks ago, she mentioned a sort-of interest in him, and he’s had this little crush on her basically since we moved here. You have no idea how annoying it’s been having to watch them figure out that they like each other. Especially since I’ve known for a while and I couldn’t tell either of them.”

  I know exactly how that feels.

  “What’s funny?” she asked as I chuckled.

  “I, um.”

  You could tell her, Nick. She gave you a good opening.

  “What?”

  “It’s nothing,” I said.

  Someone’s kid brother ran up to the stage. Even though the microphone was off, he stood on his tiptoes and tried to sing.

  “Little dude bailed you out, dork,” she said.

  “Did you just call me a dork?”

  “Huh?”

  “Ha. Okay.” The amount she stared at me was apparently inversely related to how articulate I could be. Figure it out, Maguire.

  Maybe I was being a dork.

  Before I could recover, she smoothed out her dress and said, “You want to get out of here? I sure do.” She pointed towards Carter and Hannah, who were still deep in some random conversation, probably about math or something.

  “You got it.” I offered her my arm. She looped her hand through it so gracefully that I almost felt like a proper Englishman.

  “Thank you, Nicholas.”

  “Of course. Where would milady like to go?”

  “Anywhere it’s not so hot.” She fanned herself with her hand, kids now crowding around us to each get their shot at the microphone.

  “Have you ever been to the roof?” I asked.

  “Our school has a roof? Weird. I never noticed.”

  “And you made it to junior year? I don’t know, Eliza. You might not be ready to see the roof. It’s kind of a secret. I can’t take just anyone up there.”

  We bumped against each other as I led her out of the auditorium, away from the microphone spectacle and (sadly) away from the cupcakes. The cooler air and emptiness outside the auditorium were worth it, however.

  She squeezed my arm. “No, I take it back. Can I see the roof? Please?”

  “You have to use the magic words.”

  “What magic words?”

  “It goes like this.” I cleared my throat for theatrical purposes. “Repeat after me: Oh wonderful and handsome Nick, who smells better than a rose in the summer, will you please show me the roof?”

  “You’re weird.”

  I released my arm and shoved my hands into my pockets. “Do you want to go to the roof or not?”

  “How about please?”

  “Perfect.” I smirked. “Right this way.”

  Eliza looped her arm back through mine, and I tried not to get too caught up in how natural it felt to be close to her. I led her to one of the secret ladders inside a [details redacted].

  “How did you even find this?” she asked. “Actually, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  The ladder whined as I pulled it down. I steadied her as she climbed on.

  “You gonna be okay in those shoes?” I asked, her high . . . whatever they’re called . . . seemed dangerous. But what do I know about shoes?

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I climbed close behind her, ready to help if she slipped, which she didn’t. Not even close.

  We stepped onto the roof, which overlooked the intercourse fields as well as the student parking lot. Eliza went to the railing overlooking the fields and leaned into it, resting. The only light catching her was a slim shadow from the parking lot and the starry sky, hanging over us like a blanket.

  She shivered—my cue to give her my jacket. Girls go crazy for things like that. Also, she needed it, and I wanted to be nice. “Here.” I draped it over her bare shoulders.

  “Really, Ni—”

  “It’s all right. You can have it.”

  “Thanks.” She wrapped it around her, wearing it way better than I ever did. “And to answer your question, it’s surprisingly gorgeous up here. I thought it would be mostly parking lot, and I didn’t think there was anything nice about this school. Clearly, I was wrong.”

  “What’s that like?” I joked.

  “Ha.” Eliza pressed against the railing, which was a yard’s length of cement around the roof. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “You mean another thing?”

  “What?”

  “Asking if you can ask me something is asking me something.”

  “Smartass.”

  I bowed. “At your service.”

  A hel
icopter flew overhead, casting a green glow over us, and making our hair go everywhere. Eliza attempted to comb hers back into place, eventually throwing down her hands in defeat, giving victory to the tangles. I settled against the railing, a few inches away from her.

  “What did you want to ask?” I said.

  “Oh, right. Why haven’t you ever had a girlfriend?”

  A sudden jolt of hot air filled my lungs, making it hard to breathe as I realized how much she was initiating here: leaving the auditorium, brushing against me, asking this . . . those weren’t all coincidences, right? Unfortunately, presuming with this girl would be fatal.

  “Can I phone a friend?”

  Do it, Nick, I commanded myself, dragging my fingers through my hair for the millionth time. Just tell her.

  “Kidding.” I patted the railing, dizziness buzzing in my brain. “I mean, there is this girl I like a lot, but it’s socially unacceptable for me to date her, since she’s my best friend’s sister and everything.”

  “Good one,” she said, and I couldn’t tell if she thought I was kidding. Either way, she leaned against my shoulder like she wanted to be close to me.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “You mean another thing?”

  With the way the moonlight shone on her face, it was impossible to look away.

  “Why did you break up with Josh?”

  She paused. “Remember at the beach, when we were in the water?”

  I nodded. I liked where this was going.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about that.” She turned around so her back was to the dark fields. Her fingertips lingered on my forearm. “I broke up with him, because I realized,” her voice softened, “he wasn’t the boy I should have been dating.”

  “I see.”

  We looked at each other in the way we hadn’t ever allowed ourselves to. Eliza fidgeted with my sleeve. I brushed the sides of her dress. My heart hammered harder with each of her slight movements, especially as her glimmering brown eyes vacillated between mine.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out how you felt for such a long time,” I admitted.

  Her laugh illuminated her face. “Same here.”

  “Except this isn’t some—” I caught myself. Easy, Nick.

  She tilted her head. “Not some what?”

  Ordinary crush. I shifted from the railing until I stood before her, a mere step away. I couldn’t take my eyes off her ever-so-slightly parted lips, or ignore my fingers, trembling with anticipation as I touched her cheek, about to ask the question I’d had on my mind all night.

  But she got there first. “Nick, will you please just kiss me?”

  “That’s the best thing you’ve ever said.” I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and drew her into me.

  I closed my eyes, making sure I’d remember this. The texture of her lips, and how slowly we started, testing the waters until it was clear that neither of us would pull away. I cupped her chin and pulled her closer, and Eliza tugged on the collar of my shirt, pushing things deeper, beginning to explore.

  I grinned into the kiss, making her giggle and grip me tighter.

  We eventually came up for air, but she stayed where she was—my arms locked around her, her dress flapping against my knees.

  “If I’d known kissing you would be like that . . .” she said.

  My fingers traced her collarbone. “Definitely worth two hours of shopping.” With Eliza’s knees woven between mine, I could not have asked for a better moment.

  Unfortunately, a second later, voices came up from the ladder. We had company. Eliza slid out from under me, dusting herself off. It seemed like she understood we’d have to keep the last five minutes a secret. For now.

  “Hey guys!” Hannah exclaimed, followed by Carter. “How is it up here?”

  Eliza shot a shiver up my spine as she answered. “It’s amazing.” Her face practically glowed in the dark.

  Something about her tone startled Carter, and his head whipped to us, eyeing the distance between me and his sister. Satisfied, seeing nothing off, Carter came over with Hannah following.

  “They’re almost out of cupcakes,” he said. “You guys should go if you wanted any.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of us, Carter?” asked Eliza, putting her hands on her hips.

  Hannah’s ears turned pink, though it was hard to see how pink in the dim atmosphere. Carter shuffled to the railing, hiding his reaction.

  “I, for one, would love another cupcake,” I said.

  “Another?” Eliza caught my subtext. “Oh. Right. Another. We should hurry.”

  “Definitely.” I led her to the ladder, climbing down first, ready to help her if she needed. She didn’t, but it gave us another few minutes to look at each other—really look—before it was time to go home.

  RULE NUMBER 11

  The forty-eight-hour rule.

  Eliza. It took me ten minutes to drink my orange juice the next morning because I kept zoning out, unable to focus on anything but her dress, her hand on my shirt . . . what it was like to be near her. To breathe her air.

  Gross.

  The best part of kissing her wasn’t how natural it seemed or the way her long legs had pressed against mine. The best part was that she’d kissed me back.

  I duct-taped my phone to the underside of my bed so I wouldn’t call Eliza or even text her. Every bro knows that after he hooks up with a girl, he has to wait forty-eight hours before he can ask to see her again. A long forty-eight hours. It would be worse than watching reality TV shows with my mom, which she’d made me sit through more than once.

  When I was done, the job I had done on my phone was probably more effective than the security system in Fort Knox. It would take some serious work if I ever wanted it in my hands again.

  A knock came on my bedroom door. “Nick?” my mom called. “Time to go.”

  Really? What time is it? I reached to pull my phone out of my pocket.

  I am an idiot.

  “Coming.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, my mom sat in the passenger seat of my car. Something had happened to the brakes in hers, and she had had to drop it off at the mechanic’s for who knew how long. Our town had one car mechanic, and we drove a few towns over to her client’s place where we’d get a discount. That was the town with the mall, three ice-cream places, the bowling alley, and the movie theater, which I used to go to before Carter got his own giant screen. I got to be the lucky chauffeur who’d escort her back to reality. My mom seized the twenty-minute car ride home as an opportunity to help me prep for my upcoming admissions interview.

  “Don’t forget, first impressions are everything. It starts with your shirt being tucked in, combed hair, and a good handshake. No one likes a flabby one.”

  “Got it,” I said. Without any traffic on this fine Saturday morning, it was actually pretty easy to listen to my mom. For better or for worse.

  “Your suit still fits?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  “Nick. If it doesn’t, we still have time—”

  “Yes, it still fits.”

  “Give an example in every answer. When they ask you what your strengths are, don’t only say leadership. Talk about a time you showed leadership in soccer.”

  “Okay.” My mom looked straight ahead and gestured with her hands. She was in her element and I was another one of the people that she coached.

  “Don’t say ‘um’ or ‘like.’ If you think you’re going to, slow down.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t ‘up-talk.’ That’s making sentences seem like questions? Like that?”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t mention your GPA.”

  Because mine’s not good enough. “What should I mention?”

  The light ahead turned to red, and my mom’s l
ecture stopped when my car did. “What do you think you should mention?”

  I tapped my foot against the brakes. “Maybe balancing school and soccer? How I like helping other people with injuries?” Those were the realest things I could think of. I could only hope they would be enough.

  “Great,” she said. The light turned green and I sailed through. “Make sure you ask them questions.”

  “Okay.”

  After ten more minutes of that, I pulled onto our street. “You’re going to do great,” said my mom.

  “Okay.”

  We arrived at our house to find none other than Austin Banks sitting like a garden gnome on the front lawn.

  “Go ahead,” Mom said. “I can take it from here.” I hopped out and she drove up the driveway.

  “Hey, man.” The too-long grass scratched my ankles as I approached. “What’s up?”

  “Are you okay?” he asked. The overcast, cloudy backdrop emphasized his worry.

  “Yeah . . . why wouldn’t I be? Are the Red Sox losing because last time I checked—”

  “Unfortunately, no, they’re not,” he interrupted. “You weren’t answering your phone. Which, if you were anyone else, I wouldn’t come all the way to your house for, but you told me that if there is ever a girl fight, and I text you about it, and you’re not there . . . I should come to your house immediately.”

  “Ah crap, sorry, I drove my mom and didn’t have my phone on me. Who was in it?”

  “Sophomores. I don’t know their names. It wasn’t that good, though. You didn’t really miss anything. That’s about it. Want to chill?”

  “It is Saturday.”

  He followed me to my room. It was a little small for hanging out, with an old-school 1980s TV.

  “Haven’t been up here in a minute,” said Austin. He flopped on my bed as I clicked on the TV. “Still have your Legos?”

  “Check the closet.” Playing Legos at my house had been a staple of our elementary school experience, before Carter and his toys moved to North Cassidy.

  I flipped through the channels, searching for basketball or soccer. Watching football or tennis would have been okay, still second choice. Austin checked out my closet but sharply spun around, squinting hard.