by Jen Klein
Never Have I Ever is my hill to die on.
Awesome.
The next day as I go into work, I do all my normal things: parking lot, trail down to the backstage area, food from the kitchen. Milo avoids me everywhere. Last night, he left midway through the game. I don’t even know when it happened. One minute I was talking to Ella about whether Gretchen noticed that we’d both kissed her boyfriend (which Ella did sometime last year at a theater party), and the next minute we looked up and Milo was gone. I know his departure had something to do with my admission about Tuck—I’m not an idiot—but I can’t figure out why, exactly. Every girl in that room has kissed Tuck before. Even if Milo is desperately soulmate-forever-in-love with me (and I’d bet money that he’s not), why would he give a crap that I’ve kissed Tuck? This is theater, for crying out loud. Everyone here has kissed everyone else. By Milo’s own admission, it’s a thing. If he has feelings for me, he still doesn’t get to own my history. He can’t be upset about things I did that came before him. That’s not fair.
After all, he had his thing with Ella, and I’m not being a jerk about that. And if he does have feelings for me, he can’t be mad if he hasn’t done anything about it.
Which he shouldn’t do.
Which he definitely should not do.
I finally meet up with Milo on the walkway. And by “meet up with,” I mean “accost.” He’s hanging around the backstage right entrance—which is, of course, the one farthest from the girls’ dressing room—when I march up to him. “Hello.” I purposefully say it in a challenging way.
“Hey.” His eyes touch on mine before skating away.
“Why did you leave so fast last night?”
“I didn’t. I walked at a normal pace,” he says. I might have smiled if he sounded like he was trying to be funny instead of sarcastic. “My sister left this morning. I didn’t want to sleep in and miss her.”
“Better to go home and get your beauty rest?”
“Something like that.” He folds his arms in front of his body and gives me a long, level look. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“I don’t,” I tell him. “I really don’t.” Because if he’s jealous about Tuck—if he wants me—I’m sure as hell not going to be the first one to mention it. That’s his job.
“You called me a cheater.”
Wait, what?
“Your whole shit fit about how cheating is awful.” Milo’s gaze darkens. “When all along, you’ve hooked up with Tuck.”
“I didn’t ‘hook up’ with him. It was a kiss, all right? One kiss.” I fold my arms, mimicking his stance. “And why do you even care?”
Yeah, why? Tell me.
Please.
But he doesn’t.
“Hook up, make out, whatever it was.” Milo leans closer to me, lowering his voice. “You did it while he was with Gretchen.”
“Milo, it wasn’t anything—”
“You were mean.” He glares at me. “You called me a villain for cheating on Ella when I didn’t even do it, and meanwhile you’re sitting around, playing Tuck’s mistress!”
It takes my breath away, the accusation. That he is this mad at me. I stare up into the angry angles of his face, my face flushed and my heart pounding. “It’s none of your business what I do with anyone,” I retort. Milo can’t claim me. He doesn’t own me. “Don’t slut-shame me!”
“Ha!” Milo’s laugh is loud and scornful. It rings out against the rock retaining wall between the path and the amphitheater. “Kiss whoever you want. Hook up with whoever you want. I’m not slut-shaming you, I’m liar-shaming you. I’m hypocrite-shaming you. And guess what—you deserve it.”
“Wait.” Something is bumping me, edging against the back of my brain. “Tuck and I go to the same school. Maybe I kissed him in ninth grade. Maybe I kissed him in kindergarten. Why do you just assume I never kissed him before this summer?” It’s not that he’s wrong; it’s that I want to know why he’s right. How he knows. Because if Milo knows my history with (or without) Tuck, it means he must have gotten it from somewhere. He must have gotten it from—
“Tuck told me.” Milo looks almost victorious. “At Wendell’s party.”
My hands fly to my hips. “Why was Tuck telling you anything about me?”
“Because I asked him, okay?” Milo’s eyes are dark and furious. “You were pretty and I didn’t know you, so I asked if you were interesting.”
I stare at him. Finally, we’re getting somewhere. Finally, he’s admitting he has feelings for me. Finally—
“But, as it turns out, you’re not.” He shakes his head, and the weight of his disapproval lands on me like a wet, heavy blanket. “You’re just another girl chasing after the guy at the center of the stage. Giving lip service to what’s right and wrong unless it’s not what you want. You’re a piece of work, Rainie.”
“You’re jealous.” It’s not a strong comeback, but it’s the only one that manages to make it through the painful fog in my brain to escape from my mouth. Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s true.
“Yeah, I guess I was for a second.” Milo cocks his head to the side, regarding me. Sizing me up. “But there’s no reason to be.” He shrugs. “Cat was right. I shouldn’t have come here again.”
His voice is bitter, and this time before he glances away, I see the pain in his eyes, barely visible through a crack in the anger. I’m reminded of the way he looks in the last scene of the show, when he slides off Tuck’s sword and curls forward to collapse onto the dirt. I ache to slide my arms around him, to feel the warmth of his skin and the hardness of his rib cage beneath it. I’ve hurt him, and now, seeing his pain, I’m hurt too.
I’m touching him before I even realize I’ve stretched my arm out. His eyes dart down to look at my fingers clenched around his wrist, and then his gaze returns to my face. I take a step toward him. “Milo, please. Just listen.”
But he shakes his head and pulls away. “I think I’m tired of listening.”
And then he’s gone.
•••
We don’t have a huge audience, which is why there aren’t very many people to notice that in Act I, Scene 3, a certain crow and a certain rabbit don’t talk to each other when they meet in the middle of the Grecian forest.
Marin and Sarah arrive three days later, and we all do a bunch of squealing and hugging and giggling in the apartment parking lot. When we’re done, Marin points to the spray-painted dumpster. “Please tell me those are the gang signs.”
I follow her finger. “Yeah. Although I’ve never seen any illegal activity—”
But Marin and Sarah have doubled over in a gale of laughter. Sarah finally pulls herself together enough to explain to me. “Those are fraternity letters, dumbass.”
“Ever heard of the Greek alphabet?” Marin asks.
Huh. Well, that’s good to know.
“I took Spanish,” I inform them both. Once again, there are signs right in front of my eyes that are clearly readable to others, but I’ve somehow missed the memo.
Sarah gestures to the apartments. “This is amazing. You’re living on your own, like a real person.”
“Yeah.” Marin grins at me. “You’re so lucky.”
I stare at the building—at the candles and wind chimes, the giant tie-dyed sheet—and manage a smile. If my heart weren’t heavy about Milo, I’d probably agree.
Ella’s uncle Rob was so kind as to hold tickets for my friends at the box office, but unfortunately we can’t reserve seats on the amphitheater benches. Because of this inconvenience, Sarah and Marin insisted on arriving early. It’s preshow, and I’m on the backstage deck, peering out between two wooden slats. I locate my friends in the third row, munching on hot dogs and chips. I wonder—as I’ve been wondering all day—what their reactions will be. A ton of people have poured their hearts and their time and their energy into this production. I hope Marin and Sarah will be kind.
I’m able to pay attention to the third row for most of the first act. During the woodland
scene, as the three goddesses are fighting over their golden apple, I wander closer to the audience than usual. I do a little extra hopping and carrot waggling, earning some squeals of amusement from Marin and Sarah. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Milo flapping around at the center of the stage.
Once we’re past intermission, I can’t see the third row, because the sun has gone down. Torch flames and stage lights illuminate the fictional land I’m occupying, which always helps me feel like I’m really in ancient Greece. By the time Milo and Tuck are nothing but corpses and the rest of us are mid-dirge and mid-trudge, I’m again caught up in the drama of it all. When I trot back onstage with the rest of the cast for our group curtain call, I find my friends’ faces in the audience and flash them a giant smile before taking my bow with everyone else.
Even though I’m not scheduled for the postshow meet and greet tonight, I go onstage, still in costume. Marin and Sarah rush across the stage and fling their arms around me.
“You never told us you’d be dressed as a rabbit,” Sarah says.
“Yeah, and I didn’t know you would dance!” Marin pokes me in the toga. “By the way, what are you wearing under that thing?”
“Grecian panties,” I tell her.
“Dobbs in the house!” It’s Tuck’s voice, booming from over my shoulder, and then he’s right there with hugs for Marin and Sarah. “You drove up to see me, right?”
He’s joking…I think.
“Totally,” Marin assures him.
“We didn’t even know Rainie was here,” Sarah says.
“McKay’s tonight,” Tuck tells me. I don’t answer, because I’m distracted by the sight of Milo. He’s heading into the wings, removing his armor as he goes. His wiry, tight muscles are clearly visible under his thin linen shirt, which is now damp from exertion and is clinging to his back.
“Rain?” I jerk my gaze back to Tuck, who’s staring down at me.
“Right, McKay’s.” I look at Marin and Sarah. “Sure, if they want to go.”
“You have to take them. It’s part of the authentic Olympus experience.”
I vaguely remember that talk of authenticity was part of what got me into this mess in the first place, but I shrug away the memory of Wendell’s party, along with the image of Milo’s retreating body.
•••
“I have a lot of questions,” Sarah says as she and Marin and Ella and I walk into the familiar raucousness that is McKay’s.
“Yeah, like are we supposed to believe the hot chick fell in love with a swan?” Marin is clearly amused by the plot of the show. “And has sex with it?”
“She has sex with the ruler of the Olympian gods,” I inform them both. “He just happens to be disguised as a swan at the time.”
“But, like, how is that even physically possible?” Marin wants to know. “Which one is on top?”
“I’ve always assumed it was the swan on top,” Ella says.
“But what about all those feathers?” Sarah asks. “How would you even find his—”
“Gross!” I elbow her before she can complete the sentence. “Let’s remember that I know the actual man who plays Zeus.”
“Yeah, and he’s roughly a million years old,” Ella chimes in. “We don’t like to think about where to find anything of his.”
“Maybe he has a very talented beak,” Sarah says, and the rest of us groan.
Ella and I lead everyone through the front of the restaurant—where we know people at most of the tables—to our favorite booth. I sit down, and Ella immediately slides in beside me. Marin and Sarah take the opposite side, grabbing menus. “What’s good?” Marin asks.
“The McKay’s special,” Ella says before I can answer, which bugs me a little. After all, I’m trying to spend time with my two best friends. Ella’s only here because I always drive her home after the show, and it seemed rude not to invite her along. “We’ll need at least two.”
Sarah sets her menu aside. “Okay, walk me through this. Because the chick screws a swan, her children are born from eggs.”
“You should stop calling her a chick,” Ella says. “It makes for a confusing metaphor.”
“I don’t understand why her kids are full-grown adults when they hatch,” Marin chimes in.
“Technically, they’re half gods,” I explain, which—judging by the looks on Marin’s and Sarah’s faces—isn’t enough of an explanation.
“Okay, then how come the Trojans don’t think twice about hauling that horse into their village?” Sarah asks. “Haven’t they ever heard of a Trojan horse?” She stops as Marin and I giggle. “Never mind. That was a stupid question.”
After the server has come and gone and our two McKay’s specials with four forks have arrived in front of us, Marin brings up the obvious topic of conversation. “So can we ask about the Tuck thing?”
“Yeah, where is he?” says Sarah. “I thought he was going to be here.”
I’d seen Tuck in the theater parking lot as we were walking to my car, but I hadn’t totally registered him. Now, as I think back, I realize he was having some sort of intense conversation with Gretchen. “I don’t know,” I tell my friends. “Maybe he changed his mind.”
“The Tuck thing is good.” Ella leans over the table toward Sarah and Marin. “Not, like, asking-Rainie-to-prom good, but it’s definitely getting-to-know-her good.”
“He’s hot in a toga,” Marin says. “And you know I don’t usually like boys in togas.”
I flick a glance at Ella before I give my own answer to my own friends. “It’s fine. He still has the girlfriend, so…whatever. It is what it is.”
What it is, is weird. Tuck is the whole reason I packed up my life and came here for the summer, and now I’m not even thinking about him. Instead, I’m thinking about Ella’s pissed-off, cheating, hurt ex-boyfriend. Which is something I could talk to Marin and Sarah about if Ella weren’t here.
Ugh.
Tuck never shows at McKay’s (and neither does Milo), so we eventually head back to the apartment. Annette is nowhere to be found—as usual—when we all troop into the living room. Marin immediately drops to her knees beside her backpack, still in a pile of stuff on the floor where she and Sarah dumped it when they arrived earlier today. “You know Zeva from art class? She’s waiting tables at that Italian place downtown.” Marin pulls out a bottle of red wine. “The bartender lets her buy from him.”
Sarah nudges me. “Yeah, and Marin has a thing for Zeva.”
“Shut up,” Marin says. “I do not. Anyway, this is supposed to be good. It’s Chianti. They drink it in Italy.”
It takes me a minute to find a bottle opener in one of the kitchen drawers, and when I return with it plus three glasses, Ella is sitting cross-legged on the living room floor. “Oops.” I set the glasses on the coffee table and turn to her. “Do you want one?”
Ella looks from me to Sarah and Marin on the couch, and then back to me again. “Actually, no. I’m tired.”
“Okay.” I hope my relief doesn’t come through in my voice. It doesn’t seem like so much to ask that I have a little alone time with my friends. “I’ll come get my comforter and pillow now so I don’t wake you up.”
Ella looks startled. “Are you sleeping out here?”
“Yeah.” I see her look of surprise but don’t know what to do about it. I haven’t seen my two best friends in six weeks. Why wouldn’t I want to stay out here with them?
Later, when Ella has left us alone and we’ve all brushed our teeth after managing to grimace our way through a half glass of wine each (the Chianti was really sour), I’m sprawled atop my comforter on the floor beside Sarah. Marin is already asleep on the couch.
“So really.” Sarah rolls up onto one elbow to face me. “You and Tuck. Nothing?”
“Not nothing,” I tell her. “But it’s not something either. I guess we’re kind of friends, but he’s with this other girl who knows how to tie cherry stems with her tongue.”
“The cherry stem thing is learnable.�
�� It’s not so dark that I can’t see Sarah’s smile. “I could teach you.”
“Jesus, does everyone know how to do that but me?”
“It’s a survival skill. Like knowing how to swim.”
I take my pillow out from under my head so I can whap her with it. Sarah squeals and I quickly shush her. “Dude, people are sleeping.” I pause and then decide to tell her a little more of the truth. “Tuck and I might be a thing eventually. Like, later. After the summer.”
“Huh?” Sarah looks surprised. “Did he say that?”
“Kind of. I mean, we talked about how we have some mutual interest.” As the words come out, I realize how absurd they sound. “But there’s this other guy and…I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Who’s the other guy?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s Ella’s ex and—”
“So?”
“So you don’t date your friend’s exes.”
There’s a moment of silence before Sarah jostles me. “You and Ella are friends now?”
“Yeah?” It sounds like a question. I try again. “Yeah, I think so. Anyway, that guy is friends with Tuck, too, and I think Tuck might be weird about me hanging out with him, so—”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Sarah jostles again. “Let Tuck see what he’s missing. You know how guys are when they get compete-y.”
It’s easier to get a job when you have a job.
It’s easier to get a life when you have a life.
Is it easier to get a boy when you have a boy?
“Maybe,” I tell Sarah. “But I still don’t want to make it weird with Ella.”
Sarah makes a snorting sound. “Ella’s weird.”
Two months ago, I would have agreed with her. Tonight, though, I don’t. I just wait a second before rolling over and nestling against my pillow. “Good night,” I tell Sarah.
Homesickness sets in about a week after Marin and Sarah leave. Maybe it’s because Tuesday will be my birthday and I’ve never been away from home on my birthday. Or maybe it’s because of what my friends said before they left. We were all out in the parking lot and had just finished a round of hugs. Sarah squeezed my arm and said, “You seem different.”