If We Were Us

by K. L. Walther

  “I know,” I told him. “You think I don’t know that?”

  Nick backed off, but tried again a couple of minutes later. “So, uh, where are you applying?”

  I cleared my throat. “Nowhere near here.”

  Nick laughed. “Very funny.”

  I didn’t say anything. Instead, I picked at what was left of the birthday cake. When he stopped laughing, I wondered if he’d gotten the message. I didn’t want to go to college in New England. I didn’t want to graduate from Bexley just to move to another small campus a state or few away.

  “I want something different,” I’d told Luke. “I’m tired. I’m tired of being in a fishbowl.” My voice sort of cracked. “I need something different.”

  I’d thought he’d laugh at me, the person whose name everyone knew, but he didn’t. He nodded thoughtfully. “You want a big pond,” he said. “You want to be swallowed up.”

  I nodded back. “Exactly.”

  Now, I rubbed my forehead. “I’m sorry.”

  “What?” Nick gave me a look. “Are you kidding? Don’t be. Yeah, it’ll be weird if you’re far away, but we knew we weren’t gonna end up at the same place…” He paused. “You should tell Mom and Dad, though.”

  I sighed. “I think that’s Future Charlie’s problem.”

  “How about Tomorrow Charlie’s problem?”

  “Okay, fine. But only if Tomorrow Nick is there for moral support.”

  “Sure, I’ve got you.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course,” he said, mid-­yawn. “You’re my twin. I’ve always got you.”

  * * *

  Nick fell asleep on the couch, hugging Sundance close. Cass followed me upstairs after I cleaned up any incriminating evidence and shut off the downstairs lights. He made himself at home on the foot of my bed while I brushed my teeth, and then I stripped down to my boxers and pulled back the covers. It was only October, but Mom had already put on my flannel sheets. She knew I liked them best.

  My room at home was silent, so silent that you could hear my watch ticking from over on my dresser. Sage’s nickname for it was the tomb. She sometimes slept over when we were home on break, usually when one of us was upset about something. I remembered in sixth grade, when her parents said they were getting a divorce. She was really torn up about it, so I’d snuck into her house after they went to sleep and hugged her while she cried.

  Cass instantly passed out, and I listened to his heavy breathing for a couple of minutes before I reached for my phone. I swiped and tapped and then waited.

  He picked up after two rings. “Hello?”

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Oh, hey…”

  “Did I wake you up?” I asked—­his voice sounded off. I wouldn’t have called him if I thought he’d be asleep. It was just past 1:00 a.m., and Luke told me that his bedtime was around 2:00 on Saturday nights.

  “I just fuck around on my computer,” he’d explained. “One minute, I’ll be on YouTube watching a Jimmy Kimmel interview with Matt Damon, and then a half hour later, I’ll be on Wikipedia reading about the history of vampires.” I’d since dubbed his nocturnal activities “Saturday-Night Spirals,” and now woke up to random facts on Sunday mornings.

  Abraham Lincoln was a fan of imported oysters, he’d messaged me last week.

  “No.” He released a deep breath. “I wasn’t asleep.”

  “You okay, though?”

  There was a second or two of silence, but then I heard him clear his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, voice low. “I’m just not great at talking on the phone. My sisters never even let me order the pizza.”

  I grinned. “But you’re not ordering pizza. You’re talking to me.”

  Another moment of quiet, before: “I guess that’s true.”

  “How was your day?” I asked, rolling onto my back. Cass didn’t react when I accidentally kicked his side. He slept like the dead.

  “It was obviously a Saturday,” Luke replied. “I went to class, and then took a nap…”

  I smiled. Luke never went to lunch on Wednesdays or Saturdays, both half days. Instead, he went back to his room to get some shut-­eye before cross-country in the afternoon.

  “…and I had this nightmare where a ham was chasing me.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Wait, come again? A ham was chasing you?”

  “Yeah, it’s this recurring thing from when I was a kid.”

  “Are we talking a honey-­glazed ham? Or…”

  “A slice of deli meat, with Mickey Mouse hands and feet.”

  I shook my head. “You are so weird.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  I laughed. “I don’t think I’m qualified to answer that.”

  “You aren’t the leading expert in dream interpretation?”

  “If only.”

  He didn’t respond, probably smirking.

  “Okay, moving on.” I grabbed one of my pillows and hugged it. “What happened post-­siesta?”

  “I had a very nutritional lunch from Tuck: a chocolate muffin. And then I stopped by the mail room—­”

  “For your Halloween care package?” I interrupted. So far this year, Luke’s mom had sent him two care packages, and apparently she hinted that the next several were going to be festive.

  “No, not the care package,” he said. “We’re two days into October. Calm down.”

  “Three,” I corrected. “It’s past midnight. Three days into October.”

  “And you are now eighteen,” Luke said.

  I nodded, even though he couldn’t see. “As of 9:26 p.m.”

  “That’s a good time.”

  “Thanks. When were you born?” I knew Luke’s birthday was back in August. He looked younger, but was definitely older than most of our grade. A lot of PGs were.

  “8:15 a.m.”

  “Wait, you were born at 8:15 on 8/15?”

  “Yup.”

  “Creepy.”

  “Or a moment of perfect symmetry?”

  I opened my mouth, but didn’t respond, hearing something out in the hall. Nick zombie-­walking off to bed, I determined. I didn’t speak until I heard his door shut. “So,” I whispered, “what did you pick up from the mail room?”

  Luke’s voice dropped to a whisper too. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it would ruin the surprise.”

  It took a second, but then it clicked. “Did you get me a birthday present?”

  “It’s nothing big.”

  “Well, return it then.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I only accept big presents.”

  Luke laughed, and I hugged my pillow tighter. He had the best laugh, one that could always make you smile. One you wanted to record so you could use it as your ringtone. “What did your parents give you?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Nick and I always ask for Rangers tickets. We’re not very creative.”

  “For Christmas too?”

  “No, that’s when we put the thinking caps on.”

  “Good. You can’t make it too easy on them.”

  “We don’t,” I joked. “That’s why they sent us to boarding school.”

  More laughter.

  “How about you?” I asked. “What did your mom get you for the big one-eight?”

  He cleared his throat. “An American Express card.”

  “Wow,” I said. “She must really trust you.”

  “More like she wants to track me. I think she has the account set up so that she gets notified every time I use it.”

  “So a weekend jaunt to Paris isn’t in the cards?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  I laughed, and then asked how the dance was. This week’s was called the “Eurotrash Bash.” The other day, Nina had talked a
bout bleaching her hair, and Sage had mentioned something about a pair of leopard-­print boots.

  “Oh,” Luke said. “I didn’t go.”

  “You didn’t? No leather pants for you?”

  “Nope. I just kind of stayed in… It’s tiring, you know? Being around people all the time?”

  “That’s Bexley for you,” I said. “You’re never not around people.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I’m figuring that out. I’m jealous that you’re at home right now.”

  “Eh, it’s not that great.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I smiled. “Okay, it’s pretty nice.”

  Luke groaned. “And I bet your mom’s gonna make you French toast tomorrow.”

  My smile grew. “It’s her specialty.”

  “You’re the worst,” he mumbled, and I half-­laughed, half-­yawned in response. “Well, it might be time for me to hang up,” he said after. “Sounds like the birthday boy’s all tuckered out.”

  “No.” I shifted so I was back on my side, sleep mode. “Keep talking.” I yawned again. “I like hearing you talk.”

  “Really?” He sounded amused.

  I nodded against my pillow. “Yeah.”

  “I’m not completely hopeless on the phone?”

  I let my eyes drift shut and nodded again, too tired to realize that Luke couldn’t see me.

  “You still there?” I heard him ask a few beats later. Distantly, like in a dream.

  So I answered like maybe it really was all a dream. “I wish you were here,” I said. “It would’ve been better with you here.”

  And by then, I was too out of it to fully grasp his reply, but it sounded a lot like, “I miss you too.”

  Chapter 11

  Sage

  Parents’ Weekend was supposed to be a picturesque late October weekend on campus, with blue skies and leaves the color of the twins’ hair fluttering to the ground. But this year, it was no such thing. Instead, it was raining. Umbrellas bounced up and down Belmont Way as our parents attended teacher conferences, with the students getting Saturday off from classes. Most people were hanging out in Knowles Basement, but Luke and I decided to hunker down in my room.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked him at one point, noticing he was biting his lip.

  “How much I want to clean this place,” he said, gesturing around. My room was a mess. “It looks like a war zone.”

  I laughed as my phone chimed. Nicholas! was displayed on the screen.

  “If it’s Nina,” Luke said, “I’m not here.”

  “It’s not her.” I giggled. Nick’s message said: Rain, rain, go away…

  “Ah, so it’s the other Carmichael, your secret boyfriend.”

  My head jerked up. “What are you talking about?”

  Luke gave me a look. “Nick Carmichael is who you run off to meet on Saturday nights.” He shook his head. “It’s not that hard to put together. Whenever he walks into Addison, you automatically fix your hair and try your best not to stare at him every ten seconds, and when you’re not looking at him, he’s looking at you.” He laughed. “And whenever you guys do make eye contact, you smile and look at the floor.”

  Damn you, Luke Morrissey! I thought. Why do you have to be so observant?

  I nodded, but reluctantly. “Yeah, but he’s not my boyfriend. Someday, maybe. But not today.”

  Luke’s eyebrows furrowed, but my phone pinged again before he could say anything else. This time, it really was Nina. I swiped to read: Do you think Luke would go to homecoming with me?

  Yikes, I thought, and must’ve blanched because Luke sighed.

  “That’s Nina getting your opinion on asking me to homecoming, right?”

  The look on his face made it impossible for me to hold back: “Can I ask you something personal?”

  “Sure.”

  I hesitated, unsure what to say. I’d never asked anyone what I was about to ask before. Was there a right or wrong way to say it? “Um…” I grasped at the extra hairband on my wrist. “Are you gay?”

  I glanced up to find a bemused smile on Luke’s face. Suddenly, my cheeks were a thousand degrees and probably as red as Taylor Swift’s lipstick.

  “Oh my god!” I exclaimed, completely frazzled, and desperately wanting a do-­over. “You’re not, are you? I’m such an idiot. You really just don’t like Nina. Luke, I’m so—­”

  “Hey, hey,” he interrupted, laughing. “Calm down.”

  “I’m so embarrassed,” I groaned.

  “You don’t need to be embarrassed!”

  “So if you don’t like her, what type of girls do you like?”

  The laughter stopped. “I don’t like girls.”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

  “You were right,” Luke said. “I think boys are just as cute as you do.”

  “Then why are you laughing?”

  “Because you’re the first person to ever outright ask me that question.”

  I grabbed one of my pillows and hugged it close. “You mean nobody else knows?”

  “No, no.” He shook his head. “My mom and my sisters know and some friends…and Charlie’s aunt and uncle do too. I told my mom before she ever asked, but, you know, didn’t get the chance to tell my dad…” He shrugged, a slight sadness in it. “So, yeah.”

  “When did you tell your mom?” I leaned forward, fascinated. My uncle Eric was gay, but I didn’t know how or when he came out.

  “Three years ago, when I was fifteen,” he said.

  “How’d you do it?” I asked, then, “Sorry if I’m prying!”

  “No, it’s fine. I actually wrote her a letter…I’ve written her letters ever since I was a little kid. Some were about stupid stuff like asking if we could get ice cream that day, some were to complain about Bec using my bike without asking, but most of them were just to tell her how awesome she is and how much I love her.” He went silent for a moment. “I left it on her desk, and later that night, I found a letter from her in my room.”

  I smiled at him. “She sounds like the best.”

  He nodded, grinning. “Keiko Morrissey is the cat’s pajamas.” He trailed off. “But, Sage?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s fine that you know. Actually, I’m happy you do…but can you not tell anyone else yet? I just…don’t want them to treat me differently. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but I don’t want it to be this big deal or anything. I’d rather be known as the ‘cross-country PG’ or the ‘PG from Michigan’ than the ‘gay PG.’”

  “Of course,” I agreed, incredibly touched that he’d shared all this with me. “And for the record, Luke Morrissey, I happen to think you’re the cat’s pajamas.”

  He blushed.

  “So tell me.” I grinned. “Do you like anyone?”

  Luke adjusted his glasses. “Sorry, Sage, but you gotta give me a whole lot of maraschino cherries to get me to answer that one.”

  * * *

  Since Nick’s afternoon soccer game had been canceled along with all the others, Into The Woods had become the main event.

  “Okay, what’s this about?” my dad had asked once we’d snagged seats.

  My mom was cradling a bouquet of roses for Charlie. “A crossover event with all the classic fairy-­tale figures?”

  Now after a spectacular musical, it was still downpouring, so everyone had retreated inside for the night. The girls and I were listening to Nina pluck out “Sparks Fly” on her guitar while rummaging through Reese’s nail polish basket. C’mon, Nick texted after I Snapchatted him some possible color choices. Come hang?

  I sent him another color instead of a text. He wanted me to brave the rain to chill in Mortimer’s common room, but I couldn’t. No other girls would be there tonight. Even though I wanted to go, I knew it would just be me, and how obvious w
ould that be?

  Nick didn’t respond right away, so I locked my phone and applauded Nina before deciding on a blue Essie shade: “After School Boy Blazer.” I smiled—­it was such a familiar color, so easy to picture Bexley boys in their coats and ties on special occasions. My phone didn’t buzz again until my second coat of polish was dry. Nick, again: Password?

  With a winky-face emoji.

  And there he was once I’d raced downstairs, standing outside the back door. Only Mortimer had a password, but our student IDs beeped us into just our own dorms.

  “What’re you doing here?” I pushed open the door, shouting over the storm. Soaking wet, he was shivering on the stoop. “No umbrella?”

  Nick didn’t say anything, pulling me in close. Raindrops dripped from his hair onto my cheeks. “I wanted to see you,” he said. “And you weren’t gonna come to me, so…”

  I couldn’t help but grin. “You’re like the guy in that Taylor Swift song. The one who kisses her in the rain.”

  Nick chuckled. “Which song?” He kissed my forehead. “She sings a lot about the rain.”

  “Very true,” I agreed. Nick wasn’t shy about his devotion to Country Taylor. I took his arm to tug him upstairs. I’d text the girls that Charlie had come over or something. They left us alone whenever he did.

  But Nick hesitated. It was too late in the night to get parietal permission from my housemaster, so we’d get in trouble if he was caught in my room. Detention, for sure. Maybe even a Major (shorthand for major school rule violation). “I don’t know, Morgan…”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “Charlie does it all the time, and nobody ever finds out.” I laughed. “Only one close call—­Mrs. Butler knocked on my door, so he hid under my covers and I piled pillows on top of him.”

  In the stairwell’s dim light, Nick’s jaw tightened.

  I tugged him again. “We can watch a movie, and I have chocolate…”

  “You do?” Nick had a huge sweet tooth.

  “We made these ridiculously yummy pretzel-­M&M things last night.”

  “Mmm,” Nick said, groaning. “Those things are epic.”