I shrug. “Maybe.”
He’s quiet again, then says, “I don’t think biology matters that much, though. I’m nothing like anyone in my family. And I don’t fit in.”
I snort. “Are you serious? You absolutely fit in with your family. You and your mom, you’re like, best friends. And you and her and Kyle are always teasing each other and laughing. You have actual fun together.”
He glances at me as he slows for a red light.
“Is that what fitting in is?” he asks.
“What do you think it is?”
“Being with people who think like you do,” he says.
“But I don’t think like you, do I?” I ask.
“No.”
Ouch. I look out the window.
“But, I mean, that’s okay,” he says. “I’m not sure if it’s a me thing or an Asperger’s thing, but the people with Asperger’s I’ve met online—we have a lot of similarities, so I think it’s that. But you get me. Mostly. You and my mom and Kyle. And Serena, too.”
I let his words sink in. And now I feel bad that I’ve put him in this position—where he’s not speaking to one of the people who gets him most.
“What do you think fitting in means?” he asks.
“I think it means feeling accepted and loved. Being with people who care about you, with people who like you the way you are. Unconditionally.”
Jay takes a left onto my road and then drives in silence until he pulls into my driveway. He puts the car in park, turns off the engine, and then looks at me, stares into my eyes. I can probably count on one hand the number of times in the few years I’ve known him that he’s looked into my eyes for this long.
“Then you fit in with me,” he says. His eyes are hot. I’ve never thought of eyes that way, but right now, I feel like his are burning into mine, searing. Not in a bad way—in a delicious way. I feel a rush of adrenaline the way I used to when Reed was about to kiss me.
“Jay,” I say.
He keeps staring. I know if I don’t say something now, he never will.
“Are we—are we feeling the same thing here?” I ask, and my voice feels suddenly not my own. “I mean, I think so, but like you said, I’m not in your head. And I don’t want to mess anything up.”
I feel like this moment has been building for a long time. Something had started growing silently between the two of us when Serena first joined the cheerleading team last September, but then Reed showed up and I pushed the idea of Jay and me out of my mind. In the time since Reed left, though, and now with Serena ditching us, the something is back even stronger than before.
He doesn’t say anything, but he breaks eye contact, and I’m pretty sure he’s looking at my mouth now.
“Is it weird that I want to kiss you?” I ask, and my pulse is racing.
Jay shifts in his seat, moves his eyes to the steering wheel. He isn’t feeling it. I made up those mutual feelings in my head. Just like I must have made up Reed’s feelings for me.
“Um,” I say, the ball of fire in my chest signaling tears are on their way. “Let’s forget I ever said that.”
I turn my back to him and reach for the door handle. Humiliated. The tears burn behind my eyes.
“Hold on,” Jay says. I feel his hand, heavy and warm, on my shoulder. “I just …” He clears his throat, but he doesn’t take his hand away. “I can’t. I don’t know how to explain …”
I turn to him and his hand slips off my shoulder and back onto his lap. He looks down at it. I’m glad he isn’t looking at me so he can’t see the tear that leaks out of my eye. I swipe it with my finger.
I thought he wanted it as much as I did. It felt like one of those things that was inevitable, like when you bike up to the top of a hill and down is the only possible next move. So, I need to know why he’s putting the brakes on just as we’re about to get going down the hill.
“You don’t know how to explain that you’re not interested?” I say, trying so hard not to let my voice crack.
A surprised look passes over his face. “I made you cry?”
“Nope. I did that all by myself.”
He takes a deep breath and then stares at me again. I know he’s using all his reserves to do that. It can’t be easy for him to look directly at me right now.
“I’m interested,” he says. “I think about you all the time.”
“Okay then,” I say. “Me too.” My breath comes out shaky. My heart pounds. His lips part a little. He thinks about me all the time. He does want to kiss me. He just needs prompting.
This is it. I lean forward just slightly, hoping my lips aren’t chapped. I stare at his lips and I want to know what they feel like on mine.
“I can’t,” he says.
I freeze and lean back against the door, deflated.
“Rach, please. This is hard for me.”
I look straight out the windshield.
“Please just look at me.” He’s never asked me that before, so I do it. His eyes are solidly on mine again.
“I want to,” he says. “I really do, Rach. It’s that—you know I haven’t kissed anyone before. I doubt I’d be very good at it. Can we wait until—I don’t know, until—”
“What? Until you can watch a how-to video on kissing? It’s not something you can research on YouTube. There’s no step-by-step process.”
“I wasn’t going to watch a video. I’m just trying to be honest.”
“Sorry,” I say. God, why am I being so nasty? I just want him to be unable to resist me. Why aren’t I irresistible?
“Rach,” he says, exasperated. “You went out with an older guy who doesn’t even live with his parents. You hooked up with Sawyer Baskin. Can’t you see how that might be slightly intimidating for me?”
I feel sick. I hate myself.
“That’s not—that has nothing to do with you—with us,” I say.
“Right. I’ve got to go,” he says. He’s dismissing me.
I open the door. I get out, slam it shut, and go inside.
After a few minutes, I hear Jay’s car start and then drive off.
NINETEEN
Love is the flower you’ve got to let grow.
—John Lennon (musician)
Mom is in the back room with Sue. I can hear them talking about topics for the quarterly meeting. I say hi, grab a sleeve of crackers, and go to my room.
I try not to think about Jay and his “I’ve got to go,” which sounded so cold. It’s my fault. I pushed him and I hurt him.
I have another American Lit paper to write. It’s due in two days, but I still haven’t dealt with getting my laptop fixed, so I’m trying to finish it so I can type it up in the computer lab during my free period tomorrow. I have to find all the examples of similarities and differences between Stella and Blanche in A Streetcar Named Desire. Mom calls up to say that she and Sue are heading out to Eastham for a bite. Mom hates running into people from when she lived here before I was born. She usually sticks to the bigger towns like Hyannis and Orleans, but occasionally she doesn’t feel like driving so far, so she compromises with Eastham.
Their voices die out after the slamming of car doors. I put up my hair and get back to work.
By the time I finish my conclusion, I’m squinting, trying to see my paper in the almost-dark. A sudden loud pounding comes from outside. It’s almost seven. Too late for construction, and besides, no one here in the off-season has any money to do construction.
I head down the hall to the front door. The pounding is coming from right outside. I slide open the door and find Jay kneeling on my steps, holding a hammer above the broken step that I now realize Mom must have forgotten about.
“What are you doing?” Which is the dumbest question, because it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing. He gives me a look that says just that.
I sit on the top step. I cross my arms over my chest tightly—today’s warmth disappeared with the sun. I watch the muscles of his shoulder move beneath his canvas jacket. Up and down goes the ha
mmer as he holds the board in place. I just watch. When he finishes, he sits on the repaired board.
“It’ll hold up for a while, but not that much longer. It’s rotted out.”
“Who knew you were so handy,” I say.
He shrugs. “Nails, a hammer. Pretty much it. When I dropped you off before, I noticed it was still sticking up.”
I laugh a little at the fact that Jay could take note of a broken step at my house while we were arguing.
“Well, thanks,” I say. “You coming in? Just finished my American Lit paper and my mom and Sue went out to dinner.”
He nods and follows me inside.
I make two peanut butter sandwiches and we eat standing at the counter.
“Since I’m here, I can look at your laptop, if you want,” he says.
“Okay.”
Jay has been in my room a million times but never after we’ve talked about kissing. Maybe this isn’t a good idea because I still want to kiss him and it seems like he isn’t ever planning to. It’s not like I can undo what I’ve done with Reed or Sawyer.
I quickly sweep cracker crumbs off my comforter. He goes to my desk, which is just big enough for my laptop, lamp, and pencil jar. The ceiling slopes near the desk, and he has to duck when he gets near it. He looks so much bigger in my room. When he sits on my chair, I’m almost afraid it’ll break under his weight.
He turns the computer on and it dings. I sit on my bed and read over my paper. Jay types, clicks, and clicks some more.
“All good,” he says after a few minutes.
“What was wrong with it?” I ask.
“No idea, but it’s fixed now.”
“What if it happens again? How do I fix it?”
He smiles. “I don’t know. If it happens again, I guess you’ll just have to call me.”
I smile back and then it hits me. The just-a-friend Jay from before this afternoon probably wouldn’t have come over to fix my stairs or my laptop. He’s here now as the maybe-something-more Jay, the one who said he wanted to kiss me but is now making things strange and awkward by not kissing me. I let my realization be enough for me. For now.
I walk him to his car. Then I go back up to type my report.
The next morning, I wait at the end of my driveway for Jay. It’s chilly, and a fine mist is frizzing up my hair. When he finally pulls up, I’m shivering. I get into the car quickly, relieved that he has the heat on full-blast.
“You’re late,” I say.
“The bus always comes on time,” he says, and I see the little dimple above the corner of his mouth appear.
Even before, when it was Jay and Serena and me, it was always just the two of us on the way to school since Serena has her own car. But it feels different now, being alone in Jay’s car with this new thing between us. It’s like this crisp, fresh feeling in the air, like the first day there’s a cool breeze and the leaves make a certain rustling sound and you know fall is on its way.
Jay pulls into the junior lot and clears his throat loudly, startling me. We got to school without my even noticing.
“You zoned out,” he says.
“Yeah.” I smile. “Just feeling pretty good today, I guess.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Kids are streaming in through the front doors, which means that the homeroom bell is about to ring. We both get out of the car and close our doors at the same time.
Jay slings his backpack over his shoulder.
I see Serena, Rylin, and Lindsay in the sea of people. All three are staring at their phones. Serena looks up at us, and for a second it looks like she’s about to say hi but then stops herself and looks back down at her phone.
Some of my good feelings disintegrate.
When we reach the top of the steps to the open door, the noise and chaos spill out, exactly the way we left it the day before.
I stand with Jay for a minute while he lets his eyes adjust to the fluorescent light, and the blur of the moving swarms of people. He’s doing the trick he told me about where he tries to click off his ears to the buzz of everyone.
I follow closely behind him toward our lockers. When he’s in this mode, he won’t talk. He walks quickly, staying close to the wall until we get to our row. After he opens his locker, he turns to me.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay, what?” I don’t remember if we’d been in the middle of a conversation when we entered the building.
“I want to try. Today. I was afraid. It was dumb and I—”
“Wait,” I say. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”
“Is that bad? You changed your mind?”
“No. Of course not. It’s just the timing is weird right now.”
He looks in his locker, starts moving things around. A group of girls down the hall laugh loudly, almost screeching, and then a teacher comes out of his classroom and tells them to move along to their homerooms.
I duck under Jay’s arm and block his locker so he’ll look at me. I’m only inches in front of him, so I have to tilt my head back to see him.
“Yeah, okay,” I say.
“Pizza for lunch? We’ll talk then?” he asks.
I nod enthusiastically.
“Meet you at your car after fourth,” I say, and I head to class, smiling.
TWENTY
Pizza makes me think that anything is possible.
—Henry Rollins (musician)
After fourth, I head out to Jay’s car so we can go out for pizza and our “talk.” I finally remember where he parked his car this morning, and, of course, as punctuality isn’t Jay’s thing, he isn’t here yet. I should’ve met him at his locker. Now I’m stuck waiting in the cold. After yesterday’s warm weather, we’re back to the regular April that feels like winter. I pace around his car.
A loud beep-beep sound of a car unlocking nearby makes me jump. You’re only allowed to go off school grounds during the day if you’re eighteen. Everyone does it anyway, but I don’t want to be the one who gets caught.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Sawyer Baskin is walking toward me, his keys in his hand. He points at his car, which is parked a few spots away.
He stands in front of me.
“Listen,” he says. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Wade’s always looking for a fight. He’s like in a constant state of ’roid rage.”
“Well, that’s a scary thought. Does he really take steroids?” Truthfully, I don’t care that much, but I’m curious because I didn’t think anyone actually did that.
“Nah, he’s clean. I’m just joking. But really. I’m sorry. About that and Lindsay and everything. I’ve always thought you were cool and, I don’t know, I just don’t want you to hate me.”
“I don’t,” I say.
He smiles, and I experience a sudden flash of touching that tiny gap in his front teeth with my tongue.
“Oh, hey,” Sawyer says, but he isn’t looking at me. Jay’s coming toward us, looking frazzled, his key in his hand.
“Hey,” Jay says, not making eye contact with either of us, and unlocks his car.
“See you later,” I say to Sawyer.
I get into Jay’s car, hoping his temperamental heater will cooperate.
We park in the Fairhaven Pizza lot. On the way in to the restaurant, two guys walk by us. One of them stares at Jay, then turns to his friend and says something that sounds like “Hey, that’s K.O., isn’t it?”
The friend looks at us and shrugs before getting into his car.
The muscle in Jay’s jaw works up and down.
“Do you know those guys?” I ask.
“No.” He holds the door to the restaurant open for me.
“Why’d they call you K.O.?”
He shrugs and goes right to the counter and orders, so I order, too.
We settle at a table with our slices of pizza and sodas.
I look at the peeling wood paneling next to me, the scratches in the table. Fairhaven needs a facelift. Since I started th
inking about re-doing the garage, I’ve been noticing things like this more and more. The way places are built. What can be done to make them look better.
I pick a piece of pepperoni off his pizza.
“You could’ve just ordered pepperoni yourself,” he says.
“I wanted plain.”
“Then why are you stealing my pepperoni?” he asks.
“You used to be so good at sharing.”
He pushes his pizza toward me.
“No thanks,” I say.
He shrugs, pulling the plate back in front of him.
His phone buzzes five times. He looks at it and groans.
“Kyle’s such a pain in my ass,” he says. “He wants me to drive him and his dickhead friends places. He’s starting to act like them now. Neanderthals in shoulder pads.”
I stare at him, annoyed that he’s avoiding the subject we came here to discuss: us.
Jay kneads the back of his head. “Rach, you know I can’t do that. Well, I can, but I don’t have the energy for it right now.”
“Do what?”
“That thing where I have to figure out what you’re thinking. You have to tell me or I’ll just assume everything’s okay and I’ll start talking about Kyle and yesterday’s ride on the ambulance or how I just saw a guy without a helmet on his motorcycle and I know we’ll be picking him up at some point in the next year, hopefully not as a DOA. But if I talk about that stuff then you’ll get more pissed but pretend you’re fine, and then you’ll raise your voice at me and I’ll freak out a little and then I’ll shut down and … you see where I’m going with this?”
“This is why I love you,” I say—and immediately wish I could take it back. That’s the kind of thing you can say to a friend, but not a friend who you’ve talked with about the possibility of kissing each other only the day before and haven’t figured out what it means yet.
Jay’s cheeks redden a little.
“I mean, because you’re no bullshit,” I say. “Anyway. I’m annoyed because you’re avoiding the conversation we should have about this whole thing.” I gesture between us.
“Oh that,” he says. “Yeah. I want to do this whole thing.”
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