by Adam Silvera
His walls are rust-orange, a shade that might look red when sunlight isn’t pouring through his white-framed windows. I’m pretty sure the gigantic bed in the center of the room is king-size. What goes without question is I’ve never seen any bed piled high with a mountain of clothes like his is. I notice his closet door and dresser drawers are wide open; packing for a trip while grieving must suck. There’s a little bed in the corner, which I’m guessing is for Chloe and not guests like me. There are bookshelves with very few books but plenty of card games and their expansion packs.
“This is it,” Jackson says, tossing his bags onto the floor. “Bedroom one of two. What do you think?”
There are five movie posters on the wall from classic films, but I’ve only seen Edward Scissorhands (which I hated). The other four—The Goonies, The Shining, Scream, A Nightmare on Elm Street—I haven’t, so when I group them like that, it’s not bad. Still, the fifth movie poster haunts me. “Guess I’ll be sleeping in the living room.”
“Why? There’s plenty of room on the bed . . .”
“Once you move every article of clothing you own? I have a thing against Edward Scissorhands.” I’m actually not entirely making excuses for my OCD; that poster is seriously creepy, and so was the movie.
“What is this thing you have against my favorite Johnny Depp movie?”
“I saw it as a kid and it scared the shit out of me. I had a nightmare he came to my school cafeteria in a straitjacket and wanted to cut me,” I confess.
“But he’s in a straitjacket.”
“First off, anyone approaching me in a straitjacket is scary enough. Let’s factor in the fact that Edward has blades for hands, and what you’re left with is ten-year-old Griffin so scared his parents had to give the DVD away to a neighbor because he couldn’t stand having it in the house.” I point at the poster. “And now I’m faced with my enemy again, twenty times bigger than the DVD case.”
“We should watch it again while you’re here.”
“I will leave today if you think that’s going to happen.”
Jackson walks over to this little desk he has in the corner. “How are you going to unlock the door if you’re in a straitjacket?”
“Not funny.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Jackson raises one hand up in surrender. Then he quickly reveals the other from behind his back, holding a pair of scissors and clipping at air. He takes a step toward me and laughs before he can get too close—too close to my raised fist, that is. He puts the scissors back down on the desk. “Truce?”
“Truce.” I put my bag down beside his. “This room is huge.” Twice the size of mine, I would guess.
“Yeah, out of the three bedrooms, my mom let me take the master bedroom. I guess she didn’t see any reason to be in the room meant for two parents. I also think she wanted me to have some victory after the divorce, so big room it is,” Jackson says, opening his window as Chloe comes in and settles herself into her bed.
I walk around, spotting the same photo of you and Jackson on his desk that was in your room where ours used to be. Jackson folds some of his clothes. I help him out until I notice some writing on the wall in the corner of the room. I walk over and it’s faded, but I can make it out: THEODORE + JACK. His name is in your handwriting and yours is in his.
“What’s this?” I don’t mean for my tone to be so accusatory.
Jackson stops balling up some socks. “We did that after our first fight. And yeah, we were fighting about you.”
He tells me the story; it’s the first I’m hearing of this. You and Jackson were hanging out in Venice Beach after classes. You were both mimicking the lifts and flips the other muscular guys were doing, and you were failing spectacularly. In the middle of Jackson’s cartwheel, I called you and you answered. Jackson thought you were going to tell me you’d call me back, but you sat down in the sand and kept talking.
“It bothered me so much,” Jackson said. “But I couldn’t say anything bad about you. I refused to say anything at all after he finally got off the phone twenty minutes later. Theo hated that silence.”
What you don’t understand, Theo, is silence is sometimes better than someone speaking before they’re ready. That is how lies slip out.
“I drove us back here so I could give him back his stuff, and I was going to break up with him. Anika didn’t believe me when I told her that, but I was serious. I didn’t want to keep competing against his past. Theo told me to stop being so silent and tell him what’s wrong. I told him it was you. He grabbed a marker and said he was going to prove his allegiance.”
Jackson closes the shades and turns off the lights. THEODORE + JACK comes alive, glowing ocean blue in the dark. I can only imagine how bright the words will become when it’s actually pitch-black out. I feel something unpleasant stir inside me.
“He had no idea it was an old glow-in-the-dark marker Veronika left behind. He said if I actually cared about him, I would write his name down. I got down there with him and did it.” Jackson stares at your names, his voice softening. “Then he said he loved me. First time. I said it back.”
I don’t say anything. My silence is crushing. You used to tell me about all these fights, fights I used to find happiness in, but you never told me this one ended the way it did; you never told me about this one at all.
“We need to get out of here,” I hear myself say. “If I’m going to be in trouble in California, I’m going to make the most of it. Where can we go? What can we go do? Anything.”
“How about a drive?” Jackson asks, flipping on the light so that your names fade instantly.
“Good battle plan,” I say.
But very little planning actually goes into this mini road trip. Jackson doesn’t swap out his sneakers for sandals to be more Californian (or at least what I understand Californians to be like); he doesn’t pack a cooler with sandwiches and water bottles; and he doesn’t grab suntan lotion in case we end up outside longer than expected. He tells Ms. Lane we’re heading out for a drive, but that’s it. Jackson takes me outside to the connecting garage, where a black Toyota Camry is waiting for him. Jackson gets into the driver’s seat and so I automatically go to the back, sitting in the center, opposite the rearview mirror, where some sort of spy pen is dangling.
“You don’t want to sit shotgun?” Jackson asks. “Oh. Wait, so how does that work? Do you never sit in the front?”
“I’ll sit in the front when I learn how to drive or move to London,” I say. Or if I manage to break out of this compulsion, but let’s be realistic: here I come, London.
“Noted.”
Jackson presses a button and all four windows are automatically lowered. That ocean breeze fills the car. He pulls out of the garage, the gate shutting behind him, turns sharply right, and sets off down the road, wind flying into my face in the most relaxing way possible. I’m about to shout to ask Jackson where we’re going first, when he turns on the radio, blasting the first pop-heavy station that comes on.
Before I know it, he’s beautifully singing this terrible song about pregaming on a Friday night. He drives with one arm resting on the window frame and occasionally throws his head back with closed eyes to carry a tune I would slaughter if I dared to lose myself in a moment like he does. But it’s fun for me, watching him sing, just like it was fun watching you sing in the car with your parents or in your bedroom. I look to the front passenger seat, imagining you sitting on Jackson’s right, singing with him. I picture you turning around to find me, reaching a hand back here to shake my shoulder until I sang with you.
There’s an alternate universe where we’re a crew of three, so tight and unbreakable we don’t need a fourth to even it out for me. Where a fourth would only be trouble. Jackson drives, you’re sitting shotgun, I’m yelling at you both to turn up the volume when our anthem comes on, and we all sing so loudly the radio doesn’t stand a chance against
our slightly off-key, comfortable chorus. But that’s not a universe any of us lives in, unfortunately.
HISTORY
Friday, September 18th, 2015
It’s been a little difficult keeping up with these Skype dates because of Theo’s college schedule and the time zone difference, but we’re managing. On Fridays he’s free from class by two, and we’re able to chat around four, once I’m home from school. But we only have an hour to do so because of his tutoring gig.
I call the moment I’m home, and he answers immediately.
“You’re late,” laptop-screen-sized Theo says.
“By two minutes,” I say.
“You’ve screwed yourself out of two minutes with me. And . . .” Theo holds up the care package I mailed him earlier this week. “That’s two extra minutes I’ve had to wait to open whatever this is! Is it you? Are you in the box?” He shakes the box, and I sway back and forth.
“Open it!”
His roommate Manuel, shirtless as usual, pops up behind Theo as he opens the box. “Hey, man.” He waves to me before asking Theo if he can see what’s in the package.
“Is it safe?” Theo asks.
“It’s not a flipbook of me undressing.”
“Damn it. Now that you’ve put that idea in my head, whatever is in here will be inferior. You are your own downfall, okay?” Theo opens the box anyway, of course, and pulls out two adult coloring books—one of Star Wars, the other of X-Men—and a pirate bobblehead. “Okay, the bobblehead is pretty awesome.”
Manuel takes the X-Men coloring book. “Theo, man, a coloring book isn’t going to help you fit in here.”
“I’ll start giving a shit when you start wearing shirts.” Theo snatches the coloring book back. “Thanks, Griff.”
Theo and I talk enough that I wouldn’t ever say we’re not catching up. His schedule for school and tutoring can be pretty demanding, but he always makes time for these Skype dates. Part of me knows we shouldn’t be calling them dates since we’re not technically dating anymore, but we’re still pretty affectionate to each other, and it’s clear neither of us is trying to move on. Knowing he loves me is the one thing keeping me from going completely insane without him.
Thursday, October 29th, 2015
Theo is twenty minutes late for our Skype call, so I shoot him a text. The message gets delivered, but he doesn’t reply back immediately. I know he had his tutoring session this afternoon—this junior at a local high school is apparently summer school–bound if Theo can’t help him turn his grades around—but whenever he stays late, he always lets me know so I’m not sitting in front of my laptop like some pathetic, lovesick asshole.
Like right now.
Except I am a pathetic, lovesick asshole, dressed up like Han Solo because I wanted to surprise Theo with a sneak peek of my Halloween costume. Maybe he’s still walking home and doesn’t want to get his phone wet. He mentioned it was raining pretty bad earlier.
Saturday, October 31st, 2015
“It’s crazy how one year ago today, you were helping me out with the essay that got me here,” Theo says, already dressed for Halloween minus the Wolverine claws he’s pulling on this second. “Everything can change overnight.”
“I wouldn’t call a year overnight, but yeah. You being out there is my fault,” I say, putting Han Solo’s pistol to my head. “I should’ve let you submit your first essay.”
“I probably would’ve still gotten in,” Theo says.
I frown at the screen. “I don’t remember that arrogance last year when we missed the party. College going to your head?” I’m joking. At least I think I am.
“Like I said, everything can change overnight. Anyway, sorry that today is a bit of a drive-by Skype hang-out. The party is off-campus, but I hear the Jell-O shots will give me whiplash.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“We’ll see.”
I feel like he’s choosing Jell-O over me, but I let it go because I know he’s choosing socializing and fun for his sanity. There are only so many times someone can talk to his ex-boyfriend slash best friend via Skype and not want more. I always forget all about more in these moments, but it’s possible it’s not enough for him.
“It’s all good,” I say. “I have to run out and see Wade soon anyway. Have you spoken to him recently?”
Theo’s eyebrows meet. “It’s been a couple of days since I texted with Wade, but I haven’t heard back.”
“I’ll tell him to hit you back today.”
Theo flexes his hand and his plastic claws—six total—look kick-ass. “Don’t worry about it, Han.” He winks. The door knocks and he hops up. “And there goes Manuel without his damn key again. One sec.” Theo gets up and shouts as he gets closer to the door. “You shouldn’t dress down as Tarzan if it means you won’t have a pocket for your—Oh. Hey.”
“Surprise!” I don’t know this voice, and I’m not sure Theo does either.
“Hey,” Theo greets.
“Yellow is a good look on you,” the guy says. “And it’s an even better fit.”
Theo doesn’t respond.
“Is this a bad time?”
I’m overhearing something I feel isn’t my business, but I’m not logging out.
“No, I’m on a Skype hang-out. I just got to say bye to my friend. Wait out here a minute?”
Theo closes the door and returns, blushing. “Sorry, that’s my friend Jackson. He’s my ride tonight. I should head out.”
“Yeah.”
“You still going to be around tomorrow for a chat?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, Griffin. Be safe out there. May the Force be with you.”
“You too, Theo. Good night.” I don’t remind him that Han Solo didn’t believe in the Force, at least not at first. He clenches his fist and throws on a smile I’m not really buying before logging out.
I sort of don’t want to go out anymore.
I can’t get it out of my head that Theo called it a Skype hang-out and not a Skype date. Or that I was just his “friend” and nothing more.
Saturday, November 7th, 2015
Another Saturday, another Skype call. Theo is telling me all about this pinball arcade he visited last night with Manuel—along with that Jackson guy from Halloween and a couple of other freshmen. I don’t think I should be reading between the lines here because all I can make out is a warning for me to brace myself. I’ve known Theo for years; I can tell when he’s about to lead into a big speech about some change. And I don’t get the feeling it’s going to be as good as when he grabbed my hand on the train and told me his feelings for me.
“Who won?”
“Manuel,” Theo says. “Dude is a beast. It’s one of the few things that can get him to throw on a shirt and hang with everyone.”
“Sounds like you got a squad growing out there.”
“Nothing like you guys,” Theo says. “You know how it goes. You go to school with some people and then you never talk to them again.” He catches himself. “Not going to happen to you two. I swear.”
But it’s already happening. Wade and Theo got into one of their little fights again—no one’s owning up to what it’s about, probably because it’s that stupid—so I’m Theo’s only real link to the squad. Even then, Wade and I hardly count as a squad. Theo is our glue, our center.
“Jackson is cool, though. There, uh . . . there might be something going on there with him,” Theo says. Now he’s completely avoiding eye contact. He is confessing something I’ve suspected since Halloween. But suspicion isn’t enough to stop the room from spinning. Suspicion isn’t the same as confirmation. “I don’t know. It’s still early.”
“Cool,” I lie. It’s a small lie, but I know even then the lies will grow as long as Theo’s time with Jackson does.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for
about a week. It’s just really confusing, because I know I’m not over you. But I like hanging out with Jackson,” Theo says. Hearing Jackson’s name is suffocating, only I can’t show any weakness, because Theo is now looking at me. “I want us to be able to talk about this, Griff. You’re still my favorite person. You’re extremely important to me, but if you don’t want to hear any of this, I can’t get mad at you. What are you thinking?”
I nod like everything’s okay. Even my movements are lies. “Of course I want to be here for you, Theo. Look, we’re not dating. I broke up with you because I imagined that this might happen. You’re not doing anything wrong.” Except spitting in the face of everything we were by moving on two months later. “How’d you guys meet?”
“It was actually on that day where I was late to our Skype chat. It was raining and Jackson pulled over and offered to give me a lift. He gave me a shirt from the back to dry off with, and it was an SMC shirt. We got to talking and we met up that night in the lounge to keep talking.” There’s a lightness to his voice, relief from getting this off his chest. “I think you’d like him, actually.”
I fake a smile. “You tend to have good taste,” I joke instead of screaming. “So you really weren’t expecting Jackson on Halloween?”
“Not at all,” Theo says, almost in one breath. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“What did he dress up as?”
“Cyclops,” Theo answers. “He grew up with a Wolverine and Cyclops fantasy, so we thought it would be funny.”
I don’t see how it’s funny to do a couples costume thing when you’re not dating someone, but okay. “Hey, I actually have to call Wade back,” I lie. “But you should text me a photo from Halloween if you have any. I want to see what this guy looks like.” It’s probably the most honest thing I’ve said.
“Will do. We still good for our call tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” There’s no fucking way I’m ever having another video chat with him as long as Jackson is in his life. I put on an okay show tonight, but my face is bound to betray me. Only phone chats from here on out, where he won’t be able to see me dealing with any of my tics. “Don’t forget to send that photo. See you, Theo.”