Chaotic Good

by Whitney Gardner

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re going to South next year, right?” Why asks.

  “I think so? To be honest, I kind of totally forgot about high school.” CalArts feels more important than senior year, so I haven’t thought about going back to school at all this summer.

  “Shit. I wish I could.” He ducks his head and hides behind his mug. “I don’t know what it’s like in Portland, but everyone here is kind of…samey?” Why looks around at the other patrons and at the people walking by. I see what he means. No one looks like him. Everyone’s white; everyone is in cargo shorts and hiking sandals. Why is the chicest geek I’ve ever met, in his wrinkle-free button-up and round-framed sunglasses. He’s got too much style for this place, that’s for sure.

  “I feel like next year, though? With you and Cooper at South? It’s not gonna be so bad.”

  “Coop used to get bullied a lot. But it calmed down after a while.”

  “Oh, it’s not so much the haters. I was feeling lost. And then I met you, and you get me. Like really, you know?” Why smiles, and I want to crawl under the table and hide. Dig a hole straight to China and never tunnel back. What was I thinking, keeping my identity secret for so long? He trusts me and has no reason to.

  “About that…”

  “And your brother. He’s hilarious. I want to do a podcast with him. Do you think he’d be into that sort of thing?” Why asks.

  “Absolutely. Especially if it’s with you.” I ease into my explanation. “He really—”

  “Looking schlubby as ever, Cam.” Farrin’s voice snaps me out of the trenches. I whip my head around, and, sure enough, there he is.

  “What are you doing here?” I snipe at him through clenched teeth.

  “Just visiting. Who’s your boyfriend?” Farrin nods to Why.

  “Friend…we’re just friends.” I try to keep my voice deep. Farrin looks at me like I have two heads.

  “I’m Wyatt.”

  “Nice to meet you, just-a-friend Wyatt. I’m sure I’ll see you round, Cam.” And with a wave, he’s inside the coffee shop, about to order the snobbiest thing on the menu, no doubt. Farrin makes my skin crawl. Even after he cheated, his breakup with Cooper lasted months. Farrin kept dragging it out. He would cast Coop off, and then slowly but surely reel him in again. There’s no way I’m letting him keep this up any longer.

  “Gimme a sec? I’m so sorry.” I beg Why’s forgiveness.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’ll explain, I promise,” I say as I push in my chair and chase after Farrin.

  He’s waiting for his order and tapping something into his phone. Smiling, smug, and slimy.

  “Hey.” I get his attention as I saunter over to him. My boy clothes still make me feel brave. It doesn’t matter that Farrin knows what’s going on underneath them. “Leave Cooper alone already, okay? Just leave. Period.”

  “How about no,” Farrin yawns, not bothering to look up from his phone.

  “Shouldn’t you be in New York? Did you get kicked out of NYU already?” I jab, hoping to hit a soft spot.

  “Shouldn’t you be sewing some slutty catsuit, trying to get a boyfriend?” He hits one of mine instead.

  “Please?” I ask, trying to be sincere. Cooper’s been through enough. “Leave my brother alone.”

  “I came here to see him; I just want some closure. I’m entitled to that,” he says over the hiss of milk being heated. “What’s going on with you anyway? You look like the love child of Weird Al and Paul Bunyan.”

  “Low-fat, no whip, apple-graham, pumpkin iced latte? For Farrin?” the barista hollers. I love how they shout his order as if it’s a question, as if they don’t even know what the hell they just made. It’s the most ridiculous order I’ve ever heard. It sounds like the cup would be full of just syrups and ice. Nothing else would fit.

  “I asked for extra whip.”

  “It says no whip.”

  “Well, it’s wrong then,” Farrin spits. I lean back and look at Why out of the window. He flashes me a thumbs-up, followed by a thumbs-down. I hold up one finger and shrug. He nods.

  “Here.” The annoyed barista grabs a can of Reddi-wip and sprays on a tower of whipped cream so tall it starts to tip over. I give him a sympathetic glance, but he’s already working on the next order.

  “I’ll tell Cooper you say hi,” Farrin says, taking his “coffee” and pushing the door open with his hip.

  “You better not!” I call after him as he walks to his car. He doesn’t bother responding; he lazily rolls his eyes and slurps through his straw. “I’m serious!” My voice is deep and menacing.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “You drive your ass right back to New York. You’re not here for closure. You’re here for an opening.”

  * * *

  “We’re following him, right?” Why is already busing our mugs and saucers into the bin. He takes out his key fob and unlocks his car; his headlights flash nearby.

  “I don’t know, maybe we should—”

  “Get in,” Why demands happily. We both hustle into his car, worried we will lose sight of Farrin’s obviously pre-owned Mercedes. Why’s car is different. It’s got four seats, but it’s tiny. Really tiny.

  “Sorry, it’s smaller on the inside.” He laughs.

  He isn’t wrong. The car feels like a toy, but the inside is spectacular. He’s decorated every available inch. Rope lights border the ceiling, which is covered with those glow-in-the-dark star stickers. Why reaches into the backseat and takes a porkpie hat off a stack of board games and crime novels. He fixes the hat over his golden Afro, grins, and guns it.

  Next to the board games, there’s a pile of role-playing handbooks topped with unopened packages of silver miniature figurines. Sometimes Lincoln will use them in our D&D campaign to represent our characters or monsters. Why has enough back there to simulate a whole army.

  He plugs his phone into the center console, and the speakers blast some weird podcast. A low voice warns us about going to a dog park. He quickly turns the volume down with a few taps on the screen.

  “Your car is cool. Very high-tech-looking.” I point to the second display behind the wheel. Green arrows animate over a picture of his engine.

  “It’s electric!”

  “Seriously?” I ask, and he nods. We catch up to Farrin at a red light, but I don’t think he notices us.

  “He’s going to the mall,” I tell Why. It won’t matter if we tail Farrin the whole way there; I know exactly where he’s heading.

  “What else is there in this neighborhood? So, you gonna fill me in, or what?” He adjusts his sunglasses in the rearview.

  “Right. Sorry. He’s Cooper’s ex.”

  “Cooper dated him?” Why squints at Farrin’s car. “Wow.”

  “I know, right?”

  “He’s hot as hell.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding,” I sigh.

  “I’d kill for a boyfriend that hot. But, you know, it makes sense.”

  “In what universe does it make sense?” I try to follow Why’s logic, but I can’t.

  “Cooper’s hotter. So, you know, they’d make a hot couple.”

  “First of all, ew. He’s my brother. Secondly, Farrin is such a fake. You and Cooper could both do better than him.”

  “You think? Really? I don’t know. I bet Cooper could. He’s a writer! And smart, with the right taste in movies, and down for D and D. He’s a catch.”

  “So are you.”

  “Nah, I have bad, bad luck. No game, no dating mojo whatsoever.”

  There is a pause, so thick, so awkward, you’d have to stitch it with a wedge-point needle. I wish I didn’t like Why as much as I do. I wish he were more like Brody so I could at least try to ignore him, but he’s not. He’s hilarious and warm and exactly the kind of f
riend I was desperate for. The guilt is real; I don’t want to be responsible for breaking his heart.

  I have to come clean. Tell him I’m a girl, and then all this awkwardness will go away because he won’t be into me anymore. Not in that way. And we can settle on just friends and pretend that none of this ever happened. Especially the part where I lied for weeks.

  “Looks like you were right.” Why nods his head as Farrin pulls into the mall’s parking garage.

  “I wish I wasn’t.”

  “Heh, I hate the mall too.”

  “He’s going to Banana,” I say, trying to remind Why who works there.

  “No. No, he can’t just…” Why trails off as he parks his little electric car. We both race toward the entrance, hoping we’ll beat Farrin to Banana Republic and spare Cooper the drama, or at least give him some backup.

  Farrin casually meanders through Macy’s. He stops in the shoe department, checking the prices on the soles of some shoes. Why and I duck behind a rack of button-down shirts and watch him browse.

  “Maybe he’s just here to shop?” Why whispers.

  “At Macy’s? In Eugene?”

  “Point taken.”

  We dash from rack to rack, suppressing laughter and hiding between suit jackets and slacks. It feels like we are our characters, mischievous halflings on a mission to thwart an evil dark elf. If Farrin came to Eugene just to torture Cooper, he sure is taking his time. He even lets one of the salesmen spray him with a cloud of cologne.

  “This is what I mean,” Why chuckles. We hide behind a makeup display.

  “What?”

  “I seriously can’t wait to have you guys around for the school year. Eugene needs more of us.”

  “Us dorks?”

  “Exactly.” He holds out his fist, and I tap it with mine. It’s too much to take. I’m ending this.

  “Why. Listen—”

  “Wait, where did he go?”

  “I just wanted to tell you—”

  “Come on!” Why grabs my hand and pulls me out of the department store and into the mall. My palms are so sweaty he almost loses his grip. We run past kiosks, holding hands and our hats to our heads. By the time we reach Banana, we’re gasping for air as Farrin saunters right by us and into the store, followed by the chemical stench of cheap cologne.

  * * *

  We’re too late. If we barge in after Farrin, we’re only going to cause even more of a scene. I feel awful. We shouldn’t have goofed off in the department store. We should have come straight here and warned Cooper. I let him down.

  “Hurry, text him!” Why must sense my guilt. I take my phone out: it’s off. My hands tremble, remembering the last time it was on. How many more anons have tried calling me, left messages, since I turned it off? I don’t want to know. I’m not sure I can handle it.

  “It’s dead,” I tell him, and slide the phone back into my pocket.

  “What’s his number?” Why asks, taking his own phone out and unlocking it in a flash.

  “I–I have no idea.” Cooper has only told me his number once, when I was programming it into my phone. I had no reason to memorize it. I wonder if he knows mine.

  “Oh, please!” I hear Cooper’s voice ring out from the store. Why and I creep closer so we can watch through one of the windows. I can’t see Cooper. Farrin is blocking my view. “You really think that’s going to work? Now?” Cooper laughs.

  “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.” Farrin waves his arms in frustration. Cooper walks away from him and starts folding a messy pile of shirts.

  “I understand perfectly,” he says without looking up.

  “Oh my God. He’s wearing the vest,” I blurt out.

  “It suits him,” Why says with wide eyes.

  “I made it. For Jade,” I explain.

  “This is it, Cooper. Your last shot.” Farrin stands behind Cooper, looking over his shoulder. Haunting him like a level 9 Soul Eater. But Cooper has his vest, and with it he’s unstoppable. Even if he rolled a one, he’d slay.

  “Oh, Farrin. You’re adorable.” Cooper finishes one pile and moves on to the next. Farrin’s face shifts from pasty pale to deep pink, pissed that he isn’t getting the reaction he wanted. “You came all the way to Oregon, down to Eugene, to give me one last shot? Really?”

  “I thought that—”

  “I thought that you were in that super-exclusive summer program. It’s over already?”

  “We had a—”

  “And what about your new boy? I thought you were so in love or whatever.”

  “We weren’t—”

  “I don’t care.” Cooper rolls his eyes.

  “You used to.” Farrin spits back at him. He looks hurt. I wonder if Farrin really did want to get back together with Cooper.

  “Has Cooper always been so…so…” Why trails off, captivated by the drama.

  “I did care. I really, really did. And then you got bored. Just like you are now. Bored. So you came here to toy with me. And I’m done.”

  “Get over yourself.”

  “Nah. I’ll just get over you, if that’s okay.”

  “Oh shit!” Why and I cackle in unison. Farrin pushes over a pile of neatly folded sweaters and storms out. Cooper picks up after him without so much as a frown. My chest swells with pride. Seeing Cooper vanquish an enemy like that, it makes me feel like nothing is impossible. If he could be that strong, so can I.

  “Wyatt—” I turn to him, but he’s already walking into Banana, hands held high, cheering for Cooper.

  * * *

  “What in the hell was that?” I ask from the kitchen doorway. The lights are dimmed, and the table is littered with papers and pencils and dice. And there’s Dad—my dad—rolling a handful of d6s across the clutter. Everyone around the table whoops at the results.

  “That was epic,” my dad says, and leans back in his chair. He’s thrilled, surrounded by his friends. I only barely remember Dad’s professor pals. They would stop by our old apartment in Portland some nights, where they would grade midterms and finals together. I remember that dude in the ugly paisley shirt was really harsh. Wouldn’t let his students get away with anything, but expected them to take him seriously in those hideous shirts. This is the first time I’ve seen any of them in Eugene.

  “Well, that takes care of the dragon. For now, at least,” Lincoln says ominously from behind his Dungeon Master screen. I can’t believe I didn’t even notice him. He fits right in with the rest of the group. Geeking out and looking up at me over his laced fingers.

  “You’re—uh, um—gaming? With my dad?” I stammer, caught off guard.

  “Actually, Cooper, we’re doing my taxes,” my dad’s friend with terrible taste replies, to even more laughter.

  “It’s Cameron.” I frown and pull off my beanie. I’m getting tired of pretending to be someone else. It’s exhausting.

  “Oh, sorry, buddy,” he says. His nose flashes red with embarrassment.

  I take it all in. My dad with his cronies, cracking jokes and rolling dice. His old cardboard box, the one I helped him get from the closet, sits on the countertop. He must have taken it back from the studio. And Lincoln—my Lincoln—is hanging out in my kitchen, without me? I don’t think my kitchen has ever had so many dudes in it at once.

  “Lincoln is the best DM we’ve ever had,” Dad starts. “You don’t mind if we—if we finish up? Do you?” I forget about feeling jealous and move right on to feeling proud. Of course Lincoln is the best Dungeon Master—Lincoln is the best. Period.

  “Sure, Dad. Slay away. I have work to do anyway,” I say, and head up to my bedroom.

  “See you after?” Lincoln calls out, stopping me in my tracks.

  “Second door on the left.”

  * * *

  Cooper looked great in his vest today. It fit him
like a glove; I could sew clothes for him with one hand tied behind my back. I’ve already made him countless costumes. He was so brilliant at the mall. Not only did he manage to run Farrin off, he got Why to stick around and grab lunch with him. All I did was walk home. Alone.

  I need to feel productive. At anything. Today I failed at every single attempt. I wanted to tell Why the truth, to come clean and start our friendship off fresh and new, but Farrin had to come and ruin it. So then I wanted to save Cooper, and he went and saved himself. I hate feeling useless.

  My room is a dump, but I don’t want to work in the loft. I want to be under the same roof as Lincoln. I love hearing the muffled voices and laughter down in the kitchen. I’ll have to make do with what I have here. Which isn’t much.

  All the costumes I’ve designed are in the studio: Jade, Clover, Wizzy. I still have three left to meet the portfolio requirements, and I haven’t given those a second thought. I flip through my closet, hoping to be inspired by some cosplay I’ve already made. Something I could repurpose.

  A white plastic bag from Kozy Corner hangs there like a ghost. It taunts me. I can hear it whispering in a crinkly plastic voice:

  Tiffani.

  No. No way. I’m not making a costume for Brody’s character.

  Tiffani.

  He doesn’t deserve it. Neither does his character, for that matter. All she does is whine. I hear Lincoln’s voice murmuring downstairs, too low to hear what he’s saying. He punctuates his speech by pounding on the table. Suddenly I’m reliving the moment Tiffani sliced open that orc in our own game.

  Fine.

  I shake the deep blue satin out of the bag and lay it on the floor. I creep around the edges. My room isn’t as spacious as the studio, but I’m used to working in cramped quarters. Cooper would watch me puzzle out patterns from the top bunk in our old apartment. Now I tilt my head this way and that, alone, trying to picture the shapes of the dress all spread out flat.

  It should be floor-length, but not too tight. Tiffani is former royalty, so the dress should look rich and intricate. The fabric itself is gorgeous; it won’t need all that much adornment. I’m going to give her matching ballet flats, ones she can move around in. Nothing that would get wedged in cobblestone streets or rocky cliff sides.