Chaotic Good

by Whitney Gardner

  “What’s he doing south of Sellwood?” I ask, bile in my throat.

  “He came to brag about the stupid summer program.”

  “NYU? He applied?”

  “Of course. And apparently, he’s the one who beat me. Took my spot.”

  “So, what? He came all the way down here just to gloat?” I sink into the beanbag next to him.

  “Pretty much. Though he framed it like some sort of tearful goodbye.”

  “I can’t even with him, Cooper.”

  “Me either.”

  “Is he staying down here? What did he say? When does the program start?” I have a million more questions, but Cooper cuts me off.

  “I don’t know, Snip, okay?”

  “Screw him, and screw NYU. If they chose him over you, they can go sit on a pancake. You know he can’t write. You know his films might as well be crappy home movies.”

  “Yeah, well, he brought his script with him.”

  “Exsqueeze moi? Please tell me you framed him for shoplifting and got him arrested.”

  “Ughhhhh.” Cooper rolls over on the beanbag and reaches into his messenger bag. He produces a thick stack of papers and holds it out. “He wants me to read it before he takes it to New York next week.”

  “Fireplace or fire pit?” I take the stack from him and hold it over an imaginary flame. “Shall I just chuck it out the window and let it compost in Dad’s pile?” I stroll over to the window and hold it outside.

  “Stop! Don’t!” He scrambles to his feet to rescue the obviously overwritten script. No producer would glance at a stack of paper that thick. Even an intern would burn it.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Look. I know he sucks, and the script probably sucks, but what, I’m just supposed to ignore him?” Cooper whines.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t get it.”

  “Try me.”

  “You’ve never— I mean, I know you’ve, like, hooked up with guys, but you never…” Cooper trails off. He knows not to finish the thought. He doesn’t need to. So I’ve never said I love you, never had a real boyfriend. Not one that stuck around for longer than a week before fizzling out because I happen to find perfecting my catch stitch to be a better use of my time. But why should that matter?

  It’s just never lined up; I can’t seem to make a relationship click in all the right places. Every guy I’ve liked has been either too dense or too fast. I want to find someone it’s just easy with. I think about Lincoln far too often, considering the size of the roadblock I’ve put between us. I mean, he’s never even met me, only the guy I’m supposed to be now. How do you even begin a relationship from that kind of a starting point?

  Cooper keeps running his fingers over the cover of the script. It’s enough to make me want to rip it to shreds. He needs a new boyfriend, and even if things are complicated for me and Lincoln, they don’t have to be for Cooper.

  “You wanna come to Lucky Noodle? I’m meeting Why there.”

  “You are? For what?”

  “For noodles.”

  * * *

  Cooper caved and lent me another shirt to wear. This one is covered in little anchors. He says I can keep it, that it’s so last year. I filled in my brows so they look thicker, untamed. On our way to Lucky Noodle I watch every boy who walks by us. I watch their sway, their step, their swagger. I lean back; I hook my thumbs into my belt loops, cock my head to the side. So unconcerned and casual. Cooper tries not to laugh.

  There’s never a wait at Lucky’s, unlike Pok Pok in Portland, where you could end up waiting three hours on a sunny summer Saturday. And you can’t even get pad thai there, so what’s the point? If I could eat only one food for the rest of my life, it’d be those sweet and savory noodles. More lime, more tamarind, more bean sprouts. We sit at a table on the sidewalk and wait for Why. He’s late.

  “Two Thai iced teas.” Coop orders for us both. I don’t bother looking at the menu. I know what I want. “He’s coming, right?” he asks.

  “My company isn’t enough for you?” I poke him with a plastic chopstick.

  “Can’t I crush on a cute boy in peace?”

  “I don’t think he’s gay, Snap,” I say as we both watch Why cross the street. His gait is steady, with a little bounce out of the bottom. His hair moves with each step, an extension of his golden aura. He looks like the friendliest, happiest person on the planet. He beams when he sees us.

  “He better be,” Cooper sighs.

  “Heyo!” Why plops down in the seat between Cooper and me.

  “Coop’s having a bad day. He needs some noodle nurturing.” I catch my reflection in Why’s sunglasses, and I barely recognize myself. I look more like a cheap cosplay version of my brother. I look like a liar, and I almost lose my appetite.

  “Sure, sure, sure,” Why says, flipping through the plastic-coated menu pages.

  “Ex-boyfriend drama. I’m sure you know.” Cooper fishes.

  “Eh.” Why shrugs his shoulders. “Who doesn’t?” He doesn’t take the bait.

  The waiter brings us two tall glasses full of that lovely orange ombré liquid. Deep burnt umber at the bottom and creamy pale peach at the top. Cooper stirs his up and dives in. I dip my straw in and slowly swirl, letting the flavors mix together gradually. We all order, pad thai for me and Why, pad see ew for the traitor, Cooper. None of us bother with the Italian selections from the menu. Whoever thought to mix the two cuisines under the same roof must have been tripping on mushrooms they got from some stoner at Reed.

  “You guys were great at D and D. Naturals.” Why smiles at me.

  “I felt so awkward. I don’t know if I can keep it up,” Cooper says, straw between his teeth.

  “Are you kidding? Nah, man, no. You were so golden. I can tell you’re gonna have a big part to play.” This makes Cooper so goofy happy he just about spills his drink.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’ll only get better,” Why assures him.

  “Yeah, you write monologues and dialogue all the time. Think of it like that. Like improvising a scene,” I remind Cooper.

  “I’m a writer, not an actor,” he corrects me for the millionth time.

  “Whoa, hold up. You write scripts? Like, movies?” Why shifts back in his chair to look at Cooper.

  “I want to. Indie stuff. Short films.”

  “I’m not normally into indie stuff, but I did like that one trippy Duplass flick. The one where this couple goes on vacation to…Oh, I don’t want to spoil it for you.”

  “The one with the guesthouse? Yeah, it blew my mind!”

  “Seriously. I think I watched it three times in a row. You wanna make movies like that?” Why asks, leaning on his elbows. I’m hoping right along with Coop that Why will catch some feelings for him. Cooper deserves someone like Why, someone chill and silly. Someone less self-obsessed. They’d make a cute couple, and I don’t mind playing matchmaker. Anything, as long as Farrin stays far away from him.

  “I’d love to. That’s the goal, at least. I write the scripts; Cam makes the costumes.” If Why weren’t sitting between us, I’d have kicked Coop’s shins purple. What kind of dude sews costumes? He’s gonna blow this whole thing for me. Why’s my first new friend in town, not to mention my in with Lincoln. And the minute he finds out I’m a girl, it’s all over. I feel bad about the charade, but I’ve learned that boys don’t want to be just friends with girls. Brody made that quite clear. I shoot a vicious scowl at Coop across the plates of noodles and limes and tofu.

  “Y’all are like the wonder twins,” Why says, his mouth stuffed. “Are you identical?”

  “Not possible,” I reply. It’s a knee-jerk response. A question we have been asked again and again. No, boy-girl twins can’t be identical. You know, he’s got an outie and I’ve got an innie—that’s a pretty huge
nonidentical difference.

  “Why not?” he asks. Crap. Now that Cooper and I are supposedly both on Team Outie, there’s no real reason why we couldn’t be identical.

  “The whole in-vitro thing,” Coop lies, and I hope Why is gullible enough to fall for it.

  “Oh. Right.” He looks confused, but it doesn’t stop him from taking another huge mouthful of noodles.

  “I love your character. He’s so fun,” I tell Why. Though I’m not about to tell him that I’m sizing him up so I can finish making Wizzy’s outfit later.

  “I love playing wizards.” Why makes finger guns and pretends to shoot lightning at me. “Pew! Pew! Pew!” I deflate into the chair.

  “Ahh! You got me.”

  “Dorks,” Cooper groans.

  “I wouldn’t talk, Jade Everwood.” Why elbows Coop. The waiter brings by the check and sighs when he has to split it three ways on three separate debit cards.

  * * *

  “That was epic.” Why stares at Cooper. We all stare at him. He pulled that speech out of nowhere.

  “Thanks.” He sheepishly accepts the praise. But I can tell, because I know Coop like I know myself, that he’s feeling high as hell.

  “So,” Lincoln jumps back in, “you follow Jade through the catacombs. Weaving through crevices, barely able to see by the light of his enchanted torch.”

  “Thanks again, Wiz.” Cooper nods to Why.

  “All of a sudden the cavern opens up, stalactites reaching down from twenty feet up above. You all stand at the edge of Qiris Spring. It’s a deep, sparkling, midnight blue. If you didn’t know any better, you might think you were looking down at the night sky. Cracks in the ceiling of the cave admit beams of light that dance across the water, reflecting stars and comets on its glassy surface.” Goddamn, Lincoln can build worlds out of thin air. “Everyone roll a perception check for me.”

  We all grab our d20s and roll them around in our palms before casting them across the table. Mine lands on eighteen.

  “Whose is that? Who rolled the eighteen?” Lincoln leans over the divider. I raise my hand. “Hm. Well, all right, then. Cam, can you go into the back for a few minutes?”

  “Wait—what? What did I do?” I panic.

  “The story is going to split off. Something is going to happen that only certain people can know about.”

  “So just…leave?”

  “Just chill in the back; I’ll come get you when he’s done. There’s some rare Spideys back there if you get bored,” Brody offers. I’m surprised by his somewhat kindness.

  “It happens all the time,” Why assures me. Cooper looks up at me and smiles. Like it wouldn’t bother him to be kicked out of the room. I push open the door—STAFF ONLY—and wait.

  I don’t bother looking for the rare Spider-Man issues; I wait by the door and try to listen in. It’s heavy, with a push bar that I pretend is red-hot. Can’t touch it, can’t let them know I’m eavesdropping. Or attempting to, anyway. Their voices are deep and muffled. Occasionally I hear Lincoln’s laugh, and my heart beats faster.

  The back room is much bigger than I had thought, and packed tight with cardboard boxes. I give up on trying to listen in and follow the path winding between the stacks. How is it that I still end up being the odd man out? Half the lights back here are busted, and it feels like I’m actually wandering through the cold, dark elven caverns, except I’m all on my own. No magic, no brother, no friends.

  The last turn through the boxes is the darkest, and I forget to mask my voice, no time to consider who I’m pretending to be, when I scream my head off, leaping back from the silhouetted figure standing in the shadows of the storeroom.

  I speed around the boxes and crash through the door. Everyone at the table stops and looks at me like my hair is on fire.

  “There’s someone back there,” I pant.

  “What?!” Brody stands up and blows past me into the storeroom. Everyone follows on his heels, and I bring up the rear, hands shaking.

  “Dude, are you kidding me?” He emerges with a life-size cutout of a comic character with a creepy goatee and cape. “You afraid of Dr. Strange?” Brody cracks up. Why groans. I’m embarrassed beyond belief. Like, pee-your-pants-at-a-sleepover embarrassed. It wasn’t even photographic. I was scared by a literal cartoon character.

  “You scream like a little bitch,” Brody snarks, and goes back to the table. An invisible seam ripper tears three stitches from my heart when Why laughs along as Brody imitates my scream.

  “Come on, it’s your turn anyway.” Lincoln calls me back into the storeroom. Once I realize it’s just going to be Lincoln and me, all alone, I don’t feel so bad about my little side quest.

  * * *

  “So, now what? I forgot my book; should I go grab it? Do I need to write anything down? I didn’t even bring my dice, I’m sorry, I don’t know what—” I ramble, patting my pockets down, looking for I don’t even know what. I keep replaying my scream in my head; each time it’s shriller and more humiliating than the last.

  “I got you.” Lincoln holds up his stack of supplies. “You okay?” he asks, skeptical.

  “Yeah, sure.” I slump back down into the cold folding chair. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “You know this is just a game, right? It’s supposed to be fun.”

  “Yeah, obviously. I mean. I just—I want to be good at it,” I tell him. Lincoln leans back in his chair and sighs. He looks right at me, his eyebrows inching closer together. He’s not judging like Brody did; he’s just taking it all in. There’s no harshness in his gaze. It’s all softness. Everything about Lincoln is soft. Normally, the awkwardness of the silence would make my skin crawl, but Lincoln is comfortable. He scribbles something down in his notebook and circles it.

  “You’re gonna be great,” he reassures me.

  “If you say so.”

  “Now.” Lincoln flips back a page or two in his book. “There was some debate—well, an argument—about who was going to dive into Qiris Spring. Tiffani didn’t want to get her hair wet—” Lincoln rolls his eyes at this and takes a breath. I snicker. He snickers. We both bust up laughing at the sheer stupidity of Brody’s character.

  “Sorry, it’s just so…cliché,” I say, getting my breath back.

  “Seriously, he’s not fooling anyone. Brina wasn’t that bad. Her character was a little strange, but she was a beginner too.”

  “She used to play with you guys?” I ask a little too quickly. They played with a girl? I wonder how long she lasted before Brody ran her off.

  “Yeah. She was our token girl for a little while. But she quit, and Brody got all…”

  “Ah.” She was just a girl, just trying to play a game. At least she had the ovaries to show up as herself and not some low-rent Amanda Bynes, She’s the Man version.

  “Yeah.” Lincoln angles his notebook away from me, ready to continue the campaign, but I want to talk more; I don’t need to jump back into the game. I want to ask him about Dotty and what his major is and if he likes pad thai and everything. “Anyway. While everyone in your band of travelers argues, you hear something. A laugh.”

  “A laugh?”

  “A giggle, to be more precise. It’s coming from behind you.”

  Lincoln leans forward on the edge of the metal folding chair. He closes his notebook with a satisfied sigh. I’m so impressed by the story he’s weaving. How he’s just making up dialogue on the spot. I want to impress him too, but I feel like I keep coming up short.

  “Well then, I, uh, how much is it, um…I mean, we’ll just see if I decide to—” Cameron, you dummy. It’s hard for me to keep in character. Lincoln is sitting a little too close, and the storeroom is a little too private, with the exception of Dr. Strange, who looks down his nose at us, grinning wickedly through his creepy goatee. I’m tongue-tied, Lincoln’s smiling, and I’m suddenly very
aware of just how much of a girl I am.

  “Bindi retreats back into her hideaway just in time for you to notice a very mad and very wet Tiffani emerge, empty-handed, from the spring.”

  “Back to the table?”

  “Back to the table,” Lincoln echoes, but he pauses at the door. “Be nice to Why, okay?” he asks before turning back around.

  “Are you kidding? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be nice to him?”

  “Just don’t play games with him—he’s been through a lot lately, and I feel like he’s finally getting back to normal.”

  “So have I.” Lincoln doesn’t even know the half of it. Dressed up as one of the bros, ignoring the hate pile in my inbox. Why would he be asking me to play nice? I am nice.

  “I’m—I’m sorry. This is coming out all wrong,” Lincoln stammers.

  “Why is my friend; I think he’s great.”

  “But do you like him?” He looks me over, not really judging, but like he’s trying to tell if I’m about to lie. I don’t understand what he’s so nervous about. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think Why was cool, if I didn’t plan on being friends with him. “Of course I like him; I like all of you guys,” I lie a little. Lincoln should be asking me if I like Brody; he’s the only guy here I have an issue with.

  “Look, I don’t mean to be a busybody,” he explains. I can’t help but smile at the phrase. I’m sure he picked it up from Dotty. “But we haven’t played in so long. I’ve missed it.” Lincoln smiles too, his eyebrows arching, like a puppy dog.

  “No worries. Why’s great, you’re great, everything is great. I really needed some friends down here.” I try to reassure him.

  “You might want to tell Why that. Just be clear. You know, things get messy, get weird.” He nervously brushes his hair behind his ears. My eyes follow the path of his fingertips, and I wish mine could do the same.

  “No kidding.” He doesn’t know the half of it. “S’all good,” I say, imitating so many boys I’ve heard say the same. “It’s D and D—what could go wrong?” Lincoln laughs, and I unravel at the sound. He pushes the door and holds it open for me. “Thanks, Link.” I try not to smile as I pass in front of him, but I’ve never had a decent poker face. He looks puzzled and I feel giddy. He has no idea I have his phone number tucked into my pocket.