by Jen Klein
“How’d you do?” she asks, scooting her chair to the side and patting a spot beside her at the table.
“Fine.” I sit, mustering up an awkward smile for Ardy, who looks like he’s trying to do the same for me. “Garden burgers, hard to screw up.”
“You’d be surprised,” Ardy says, pointing to the half-eaten garden burger on his own tray. “I think one of the main ingredients is glue.”
Hope shakes her head. “I meant the calc test.”
“A-minus,” I tell her.
“B-plus,” she says, nudging her water bottle against mine in a toast. For some reason, her grade annoys me. It’s like Hope is so perfect that her imperfections only add to the overall picture. It would be annoying if she got all A’s all the time, but instead she gets the occasional B just to make her even more perfect.
If that makes any sense at all.
I take a big bite of my burger so I can get this lunch over with. Sadly, Ardy is right about the recipe. I look at him, and he immediately wrinkles his nose. It makes me realize I’m doing the same thing in reaction to my glue-burger. It also makes me smile. Which makes him smile.
“What?” says Hope.
I don’t know why Ardy doesn’t answer, but I don’t because I seem to have lost control of my face. My smile is too wide to allow me to make words, and suddenly I’m worried I might have food in my teeth. I grab a napkin and wipe my mouth, abruptly rising to my feet. “I just remembered I have to make up a test,” I say from behind the napkin.
Hope gives me a quizzical look, and I glance at Ardy. He swipes another napkin and holds it to his face. “Okay,” he says from behind it.
I want to laugh, but I’m too busy fleeing.
* * *
After the final bell rings, I’m heading out to find Leo when I run into Dax Santos in the stairwell. He stops on the landing, catching my arm. “Hey, Lark, are we good?”
I blink at him for a moment because the fact that he ended our non-relationship had already escaped my mind. I quickly adopt a look of nostalgia and nod regretfully.
“Cool.” He leans over and gives me a quick peck on the head. “It was fun, huh?”
“While it lasted,” I say with as much sorrow as I can muster. Dax nods, giving me a final smile before leaving, and I continue on my way, hiding my own smile about how easy it had been. All I had to do was tell beef-loving Dax that I was going vegan, and he was out.
I head to where Leo and I always meet, which happens to be where everyone else meets, too: the flagpoles in front of the school. There are two—the American flag and the school flag. The school one is turquoise with a big bright yellow sun in the middle. Those are the colors of REACH: yellow for sunshine and turquoise for the ocean. So California.
It takes me a minute to find Leo in the crowd, but I do. Right after I grab him, Hope grabs me. “Hey,” she says, sounding flustered. “Lark, you’re perfect.”
“Thank you?”
“No, I mean—are you leaving? In your car?”
It’s a weird question, but…“Yes. What’s up?”
“I carpooled with Ardy,” she tells me. “But I remembered I have a French meeting that’s going to last awhile. I don’t want to make him wait for me. Do you think you could drop him off?”
It’s like the fates are conspiring against my composure. Sure, I agreed to this thing with Cooper and Katie, but it’s supposed to be on my terms.
“That’s fine,” I say just as Ardy arrives with his leather satchel slung across his body. He looks from me to Leo to Hope.
“Lark’s offered to take you home,” Hope says as an explanation. “I’ve got le français.”
Which, for some reason, makes Ardy’s eyebrows dart together. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells me.
“I don’t mind.” It’s true. Unless Ardy hates the idea of being with me, in which case I mind a lot.
“I can wait.” Ardy looks super awkward. “Or get a ride with someone else.”
He does mind. Fantastic.
“She’s right here,” Hope says. “She’s going now. And I’m late.”
She scurries off, leaving us standing there with Leo. “I’m parked on Oak,” I say.
“Cool,” says Ardy.
“Come on,” I tell them both.
* * *
Leo grumbles about being relegated to the back so that Ardy can sit up front in my car, but I tell him that seniority wins out. Leo says that family should win out, and Ardy says he doesn’t mind sitting in the back, but the hell if I’m going to have Ardy behind me, staring at my ponytail. This is already weird enough. Besides, I think Ardy would have a tough time folding his long legs into the tiny backseat.
As we pull away from the curb, Ardy motions to the left. “That way, like you’re going to Magnolia.”
Leo’s hand snakes up to tap Ardy on the shoulder. “Is Ardy a family name?” he asks. “I’ve never heard it before.”
“It’s short for Gerard,” Ardy answers him. “It started when I was little and it kind of…stuck.”
He seems embarrassed by the explanation, but I can’t help thinking it’s cute. “Leo used to call me La-La,” I say, hoping it will make Ardy feel more comfortable.
“That was dumb,” Leo says from the backseat.
“Shut up,” I tell him.
“Hope is the one who started calling me Ardy,” Ardy says, and just like that, it’s awkward again. I don’t say anything, and the moment stretches until Ardy feels like he has to say something else, I guess. “We were little.”
“Cool.” My single syllable is an obvious lie.
Ardy’s house is two miles from school. Two miles in which no one says much of anything. I’m hyperaware of Ardy sitting on the other side of the emergency brake, his long pale fingers resting against his dark jeans. I imagine how those fingers would feel sliding between mine, and then I quickly pull back from the thought. Nothing about this game is set in stone.
Yet.
His neighborhood isn’t far from mine, and yet I’ve never been to it before. It’s only a couple of blocks off Magnolia Boulevard, but it feels like a state away. The houses are cute and well kept, and as we drive, I count four people walking dogs and three pushing babies in strollers. Several of the houses are flying high school flags from their porches. “Your hood is adorable,” I tell Ardy. “You moved here last year, right?”
“No, I was born here,” he says. “Last year is just when I transferred to REACH—turn left.” I do as he says, and then take one more left to land on Ardy’s street. He points. “I’m past the one with the red door. That’s Hope’s house.”
Of course it is.
But out loud, all I say is “Oh, you’re actual neighbors. Like, side-by-side neighbors.”
“Yeah, she and her dads moved in when we were toddlers.”
So to be clear: Ardy is basically mute for the whole drive, and then when he talks, it’s about Hope. Fantastic.
I pull to the curb in front of his house, and Ardy opens his door. “Thanks for the ride,” he says, before swinging out of the car.
“No problem.” I wait for him to pull the seat forward so Leo can dislodge himself from the back and reclaim the front.
Then all hell breaks loose.
From somewhere nearby, there’s the sound of a screen door slamming, followed by a bunch of high-pitched squealing. Two dogs bolt across the lawn on the other side of Ardy’s house and take off down the sidewalk. They’re followed by a horde of shrieking kids.
“Dammit.” Ardy sags for a moment before slinging his leather satchel onto the grass. “The Watson kids let the dogs out again.” And he takes off after the horde. I crane my neck to watch him loping away. He spins around—catching me watching him—and yells back to me, “Thanks again!”
“Come on,” I start to tell Leo…but he’s b
usy grabbing Ardy’s satchel and throwing it back into the car, onto the passenger seat.
“We should help,” he says, before barreling down the street after Ardy and the kids and the dogs.
I’m a few minutes behind because I have to close the windows and turn off my car and lock it, but eventually I’m jogging down the sidewalk, too. It’s not like I have something important to get to. Not to mention that it feels like a very strange, obvious metaphor for the new game in my life: me chasing after Ardy while he—totally oblivious—chases after something else.
* * *
Later, after a very exciting sprint through the neighborhood, the Watson kids and the Watson dogs are all safely ensconced in their home and I’m sitting across from Leo at Ardy’s family’s retro table. The top is made out of white Formica, and the chairs are sky-blue vinyl with chrome legs. The furniture is only made more adorable by the fact that the rest of the kitchen also looks like it belongs in a 1950s soda shop: black-and-white-checkered floor, white-painted cabinets with blue interiors, sunshine-yellow tea towels. If my house were this cute and calm and peaceful, I would never want to leave it.
Ardy sets three cans of carbonated lemonade on the table and sits down with us. “Thanks for helping.”
“Are your parents going to come home and be weirded out by us being here?” I ask him.
“No.” Ardy gives me a strange look. “Why would parents be weirded out?”
Oh, right. It’s my parents who are like that.
“Well, they don’t know us or anything.”
“It’s fine.” Ardy shrugs. “And I only have one parent. My mom.”
“What happened to your dad?” Leo asks the question and then visibly flinches when I kick him under the table.
“It’s okay,” Ardy says. “He died when I was little.”
“Sucks,” says Leo as he rises to his feet. “Where’s your bathroom?”
Ardy jerks a thumb to the hallway behind him. “Second door on the right.”
“Sorry about him,” I say once Leo is gone.
“It really is okay,” says Ardy. “I was little. I don’t remember him. I don’t know much except that he rode a motorcycle, and I only know that because that’s why he’s dead.” He takes a sip of his lemonade, and I do the same. “You know what ER docs call motorcyclists?”
I shake my head, not sure how to contribute to this conversation.
“Eyeball donors,” Ardy says. “When they die in accidents, their bodies are so destroyed that their organs can’t be donated. The only parts that can be used for other people are their eyeballs, because they’re protected in the helmets. That’s all that’s left.”
“So did he?” The question pops out before I can stop it, and once it’s out there, I have to keep going. “Your mom, I mean. Did she donate his eyeballs?”
Ardy looks thoughtful. “I don’t actually know that. I’ll have to ask her.”
I’m relieved when Leo comes back into the room. Even though he’s as annoying as every other little brother in the world, I like having him here as a buffer. As it is now, we’re three people hanging out. If it were only Ardy and me, the mood would be more charged. At least, it would be for me. Who knows about Ardy. He’s unreadable, which I guess is partially why I’ve always found him intriguing.
“Where’s your mom, then?” Leo asks as he drops into his seat, like the conversation never stopped.
“On set,” Ardy answers. “She works in production.”
“Oh.” Leo and I grew up in Los Angeles; we understand about television jobs. “So you basically live alone during the week?”
“Basically,” Ardy says.
Being in production means you work around the clock—unless you’re between jobs or on hiatus. Ardy’s mom probably leaves at sunrise and comes home at midnight. It’s why we natives don’t think Hollywood is as glamorous as the rest of the world does.
“Well, I like your neighborhood,” Leo says. “You hang out with the people who live on both sides of you.”
“And the ones across the street,” says Ardy. “And behind us, and three doors down. We know everyone. I can’t get away with anything.”
We don’t know any of our neighbors, so I can’t imagine that sense of community. “Was it always like that?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s basically a street full of hippies,” Ardy says. “All the parents had a babysitting co-op when we were kids. They would trade us back and forth like we were books at a library. We had playdates all the time. It was only when I got older that I realized that part of the reason I got to play with my friends so much was that our parents were all drinking wine together.”
“It sounds like your parents were the ones having the playdates.”
“Exactly.” It seems like fun, having a family that socializes with the world around them. I realize I’m jealous of Ardy’s childhood. “Some of the kids moved away because their parents wanted bigger houses, but I’m an only child, and so is Hope—we didn’t need more room.”
Right. Hope. Ardy can’t get through a conversation without mentioning her.
I don’t say that out loud. Obviously.
Leo is relegated to the backseat again so that I can bring Cooper home with us after school the next day. I’m planning to drop Leo at the house so Cooper and I can go hang, but my mom is out front when we arrive. Aunt Beth—who must have driven up from Venice for the day—is there, too, helping Mom pull weeds from the front flower bed. They wave when we arrive, which means we all have to get out of the car and greet them.
“It’s fine,” Cooper tells me. “I have to pee, anyway.”
“You’re taller,” Aunt Beth says to Leo after hugging him. “You’re going to catch up with your sister.”
“Dare to dream,” says Leo, and heads into the house.
“We’re going to run in, too,” I tell Mom. “And then we’re going out.”
I start to follow Cooper inside when Mom calls me back. “Lark, remember—” I return to her side, and she drops her voice. “Not in your bedroom.”
“He’s gay,” I remind her.
“Beth was straight in high school,” Mom tells me. “People can switch sides.”
I cringe at her cluelessness as, behind her, Beth makes a face. “Different story,” she says.
“I know,” I tell her, before returning my attention to my mother. “By that logic I can’t have anyone in my room, boys or girls.”
“Everyone is a threat,” Aunt Beth says dramatically, which makes me laugh.
My mother—predictably—does not laugh.
Twenty minutes later Cooper and I have wended our way along the road between golf courses in Griffith Park to a field scattered with picnic tables. We’re sitting on one, our feet on the bench, two smoothies between us. “Spill,” he says. “How’s it going with Ardy?”
I take a sip of my citrus mango smoothie, trying to figure out how to explain the situation. “I don’t think he’s into me.”
“Dude.” Cooper gives me a gentle elbow to the ribs. “He doesn’t know you yet.”
“I don’t know if he wants to.” It hurts to say it, more than I thought it would. “I can’t tell if he’s only being nice because Hope is suddenly acting like my friend.”
“But what about hashtag Heaven?” It’s his favorite way of mentioning Hope and Evan. “He obviously knows they’re together.”
“Yeah, but if Ardy’s all star-crossed about her, maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he figures it’s high school and nothing lasts, so Heaven will crumble at some point. Maybe he thinks he’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
“God, I wish I had that kind of optimism,” Cooper says.
“Me too.” I’m quiet while Cooper drains his strawberry smoothie and picks up mine. “Unless he’s gay,” I say. “What if Ardy is Hope’s Cooper?”
�
��I don’t think so,” Cooper says. “I’ve never gotten that vibe from him, have you?”
“No. But, seriously—what do I know? I’m not getting any vibe from him at all.”
“Well, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m the arbiter of everything gay everywhere. You know—”
“There’s no such thing as gaydar.” I say it with him as a reflex, and we both laugh. “I did try,” I continue. “I thought I was obvious, but maybe I wasn’t.”
“Is he playing hard to get?”
“But why would he?” I’m frustrated by my inability to understand what’s going on with Ardy. Usually boys are so easy. Cooper’s right—reeling Ardy in wasn’t supposed to be the challenging part of the puzzle. “I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend, have you? Do you think he’s dating someone from his last school?”
Cooper pulls his leg up, crooking his knee onto the table between us so he’s facing me. He reaches for my hands to still them from their tapping against the table edge. “I have a fascinating proposal.”
“Bring it.”
“It’s an innovative approach. Do you think you can deal with that?”
“Yes.” I’ll try anything right about now.
“Okay—buckle up, because this is going to blow you away.”
“I think I can handle it.”
Cooper peers into my eyes. “Instead of worrying about if Ardy likes you, maybe take a second and figure out if you really like him.”
I pull my hands away, placing them behind me and leaning back so I can look out over the grass. Why am I attracted to Ardy? I knew he was new this year. Our school isn’t small, by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re still vaguely aware of who’s there, who’s missing, who’s arrived. You know when an unfamiliar face appears in the midst of it all….
Especially if that someone is tall and lanky with dark brown eyes. Especially if you’re at your locker and they’re moving easily between the clumps of people in the hallway, walking right past you without the slightest notice. And if they’re wearing a ragged screen-printed T-shirt under an open plaid button-up. And especially if their hair has some sort of product in it that makes it stand up messy in front.