by Jen Klein
“I’m not too cool,” I assure him.
“I see that now,” he says, which I’m certain is intended to be a compliment.
I look at him sitting in the uncomfortable green chair, with shadows under his eyes, and I want to run to him, to hold him and let him hold me. To fix what’s broken in each of us, and if it can’t be fixed, to acknowledge its existence, laying it gently to the side so we can focus our attention elsewhere. On the good parts, the strong parts, the places where we work, both alone and together.
But it’s all jumbled and garbled in my head, and I don’t know how to say it.
“I know we said no secrets,” Ardy says. “But I should have been able to tell you this one when I was ready.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I know.” His mouth tenses the way it used to before he started smiling at me, and I start to lift off the uncomfortable orange chair. To go to him, to kiss him, to make him smile for real…but Ardy holds up a hand to stop me. “I need a minute, okay?” I drop back, my heart aching. He tilts his head, regarding me. “And maybe you should take a minute, too.”
I nod—because what else can I do—and he stands. He walks to the door, turns to give me a final tortured glance, and then goes.
Leaving me sitting there, feeling terrible for both of us.
Although Ardy and I manage to successfully avoid each other for the rest of the week, I catch glimpses of him at the ends of hallways and in English class and across cafeteria crowds. Every time I see him, he’s with Hope. They’re walking side by side with their heads bent close, or their chairs are practically touching at their lunch table. Even in class, they look only at each other. Never at me. The one time I managed to catch Hope’s gaze, she gave me a tiny shrug as if to say, Sorry, he’s my friend. I think about texting her to see how she’s doing after the whole Evan catastrophe, but I don’t.
Toward the end of the week, I run into Ardy in the south wing stairwell. We pause on the landing, staring at each other, ignoring the streams of people who have to alter their paths to go around us. His eyes look brighter than the last time I saw him, and the dark shadow around his mouth and on his chin is gone. I want to wrap my arms around him. The urge is so strong that it pushes words up through my body and out between my lips. “My minute’s up,” I tell him.
The edges of his mouth tense slightly, like he’s considering a smile that doesn’t quite make it into the world. “I’m close.”
It’s not great, but it’s better.
“Let me know when you’re there,” I tell him.
“I will.” This time the smile becomes more real. Then he ducks his head and edges around me, trotting up the stairs and leaving me to go down.
On Friday after school I meet Cooper at the mall. Of course I’ve told him what’s going on with Ardy, and of course Cooper doesn’t approve. “He’s still off,” he says when I plop across from him in the food court.
“He might be breaking up with me,” I tell him. “But for real this time.”
“Congratulations,” Cooper says. “That would make you a winner.”
I can’t do that conversation right now, so I pull Cooper’s fedora out of my backpack—somehow I ended up with it again—and instead of returning it to him, as I’d planned, I jam it onto my head. I make a face at him. “How’s the husband?”
Cooper returns the face. “We’re keeping it casual, remember?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Lark, I know.” Cooper slumps back in his seat with a sigh. “But I like him. Can’t you understand that?”
I can. Of course I can. But if I can understand it, Cooper needs to do the same for me. “I need you to get okay with Ardy,” I tell him.
“Then I need you to get okay with Ian.” Cooper leans across the table toward me. “I said the L word to him.”
“Shut up.” I whap him on the shoulder. “This is what happens when we don’t talk enough. I miss everything important. Did he say it back?”
“Yeah.” Cooper beams huge, like he’s also trying to channel Hope. “Lark, he’s so cute.”
“I’m going to puke,” I tell him.
“Me too. Puke with happiness.” Cooper’s smile goes goofy and wide and adorable, and I remember why we fell in friend-love with each other. “I’m going to go see him. Want to come?”
“No.” Ever since I ran into Ardy in the stairwell, I’ve been thinking about what I want to say to him, and right now I think I have it perfect in my head. I don’t want to wait any longer. “I have to do something,” I tell Cooper.
“Cool.” He stands, drops one of his Cooper kisses on the top of my head, and takes off. I pull out my phone and start composing a text—or, rather, a series of texts. I start and stop several times before sending them, but finally I think I have it perfect:
I make sure all the messages deliver, and then I shove my phone away, rising to my feet. It’s up to Ardy now.
I’m almost to the mall exit when I realize I’m wearing Cooper’s hat, and I execute an abrupt U-turn. He’s probably still visiting with Ian. I might as well run it back to him. I can practice trying to be nice to Ian, which should engender some goodwill among the three of us.
The boutique clothing store is basically dead. Ian is behind the cash register in his standard uniform at the crossroads of boring and bland. There’s one old lady browsing a rack of aprons and a dude with an assistant-manager pin hovering by her, I assume hoping to score a commission. Cooper is nowhere in sight.
Ian raises his hand in a greeting when he sees me, and I head up to the counter. “Cooper already left,” he says when I reach him.
“Bummer.” I pull Cooper’s fedora off my head and flop it toward Ian. “I was trying to give him this.”
Ian shoots me a weird look. “Why?”
“Because it’s his.” The minute the words are out of my mouth, I realize my mistake.
“Really?” Ian looks surprised, and I know I should find a way to backpedal, but…that seems crazy. And disingenuous. And wrong.
“Yeah. It looks great on him.”
Ian doesn’t answer; he only stares at me. The assistant manager arrives and gives him a nudge in the side. “Dude, can I get in here?”
Ian scoots over so his coworker can ring up the old lady’s purchase: a pink apron covered with little red owls. I meet Ian at the edge of the counter. He takes the fedora from me. “Great. I’ll take care of it,” he says. “I’ll see you later—”
“I know you don’t see this side of Cooper a lot,” I interrupt. “But your boyfriend has a personality that is big and fabulous and awesome.” Ian opens his mouth, but I railroad right over him, wanting him to understand how great Cooper truly is. “When he is quiet with you, when he’s demure, that’s not who he really is. He really is this hat.” I wave it in front of Ian’s face. “Please, check him out in it. You will love him in this hat.”
I flash him a smile, turning to include the assistant manager, the old lady, and the whole world in my new benevolent acceptance. “We should double-date.”
Ian nods but doesn’t say anything. Satisfied, I whirl and head for the door. There’s a chance Cooper will be crabby at me for meddling, but I’ve done the Lord’s work here.
* * *
Every time my phone—or, truthfully, anyone’s phone—makes a noise, I leap for it like a drowning person grabbing for a rope. But I don’t hear from Ardy while I drive home, while I do homework, while I eat dinner with Mom and Leo, or while I change into a long-sleeved pajama shirt that reaches my knees. It’s one I would never wear at a sleepover, because it’s so shapeless and unattractive, but it is the most comfortable thing I own. And tonight I need comfort.
It’s only eight o’clock when Mom heads upstairs to watch something on her bedroom TV. I go ahead and brush my teeth and wash my face, even though I figure I have at least
a couple of hours of dorking around online: reading romance advice, looking at fashion, and probably a tiny bit of checking up on Ardy via social media. I pull on my smooshiest socks, tug my hair into a messy tuft on the very top of my head, and am starting to settle into my bed with my laptop…
When my phone buzzes.
With a text from Ardy.
Are you home?
I type back immediately:
Yes. You?
Ardy:
Your front door.
I bolt up, shooting out of bed and knocking my laptop to the floor in the process. I start to pick it up and change my mind midbend, then lurch toward my bedroom door in a half squat. I’m out of my room and all the way to the front door of the house before I realize that I look a hot, hot mess.
I pause, but it’s too late to backtrack. I can see Ardy’s silhouette through the frosted glass of the center window, which means he can see mine, and that means I can’t rush away to fix myself up. So I don’t. I grit my teeth and open the door.
Ardy’s gaze travels from the hair fountain atop my head all the way down to my slouch-socked feet before returning to my face, completely devoid of makeup. I manage a weak smile, which he doesn’t return. He only looks at me, very serious, and says, “My minute ended.”
“It did?” My heart leaps, thudding against my rib cage like it’s trying to escape. I step back, swinging the door open wide, beckoning him to come in. As he does, I hear movement from upstairs—probably Mom going to the bathroom or Leo dorking around in his room—and I close the door very, very quietly. I don’t want to deal with any family member right now. With the questions and the rules about how long he can stay and where. I just want to talk to Ardy. Alone.
Which shouldn’t be a big deal.
I raise a finger to my lips, pulling him toward my bedroom.
“We’re not allowed,” he whispers.
“I know,” I whisper back, continuing to pull him. We make it inside, and I close my door. To be careful, I lock it, too. Then I turn to him.
Ardy’s hands are in his jacket pockets, and he’s leaning to one side, looking down at me. “Thanks for the text. I would have gotten through my minute without it, eventually, but still…thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He doesn’t move toward me, but it suddenly feels like we’re closer to each other. Like my bedroom got smaller, in a good way. Ardy looks me over again. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
Oh. That’s right. I’m in my friendless-tween mode.
Now Ardy does take a step toward me. He reaches up to the spray of hair on my head, and he runs his fingers over it. “It’s cute.” Which makes me laugh a little, because it absolutely is not. My laugh is cut short when Ardy moves his hand off my hair, first running it down the back of my head and neck to my collarbone, trickling off my shoulder before he drops it to his side again. We look at each other.
“What?” I ask, because I can’t exactly figure out what we’re trying to answer right now. Why it doesn’t feel normal yet. Why it isn’t mended.
“A week ago it seemed like if I wanted to reach out and touch you, I could just do it.” Ardy gives me a rueful smile. “Now I need permission.”
“You have permission.” I say it quickly, needing him to know I’m okay, that I want us to be okay. I take a step forward and reach for his hand. I squeeze it between my own hands for a moment, and then I bring it up to my neck. I slide his hand over my throat, where I’m vulnerable, and then I pull it down…a little farther. Ardy’s lips part in surprise, and I drop my hands, leaving his where I’d put it on my chest. He stands like that, almost frozen except for his thumb, which is moving in tiny circles against me. “Are you sure?” he whispers, and everything goes electric.
“I’m sure.” I gaze up at him, at his dark, intense eyes in the angles of his face. I want to kiss him—I’m dying to kiss him—but in this exact moment, I’m living in the anticipation of it. This endless moment of promise. He seems to want it, too, because he takes another step closer. He keeps his right hand where it is for a second, increasing the speed and friction of the tiny circles, until he pulls it away. He starts to take off his jacket, but then he stops.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes.” My voice has turned into a whisper. It has nothing to do with my mother upstairs and everything to do with the way Ardy keeps his eyes focused on mine as he shrugs out of his jacket and lays it at the foot of my bed. I let my eyes rove over his crisp white button-up and the sky-blue T-shirt underneath, and then I take a final step forward, touching the belt around his waist. I slide my hand upward, dragging my fingers across each button, and Ardy’s abdomen tenses. By the time my hands reach his shoulders, I can’t wait anymore. And I’ve stopped caring about my hair and my sleep shirt and my socks. All I want is Ardy, so I link my hands behind his neck and pull him to me. He comes willingly, and I close my eyes as his mouth covers mine.
Everything else drops away, and I’m lost in the touch and taste of him. Somehow we fumble our way onto my bed, hands and mouths in motion the entire time. Somehow Ardy’s shoes come off. His belt, too. Somehow my pajama shirt gets hiked up around my waist. With every new thing—every new movement, every change in an article of clothing—Ardy stops to whisper in my ear: “Is this okay?”
Every time I tell him yes.
“I don’t feel blurry,” he says between kisses.
“Crystal clear,” I manage to say in return.
We’re sliding against each other, kissing and rocking and entwining in a way that makes me need something I’ve never known before, when something breaks through the sound of our murmurs and movements. “What was that?” Ardy gasps, lifting his face from my neck.
“I don’t care,” I tell him, dragging his mouth back to where it belongs: the space just behind and below my left ear.
Ardy kisses me for a second longer before pulling away again. “Someone’s coming down the stairs.”
“The door’s locked,” I tell him. “Ignore it.” I hold his face directly above my own, assuming that surely I look as turned on as he does right now. “For the love of God, ignore it.”
I don’t want to stop what we’re doing. In fact, I’m fairly certain there’s a reasonable chance I could actually die if we do stop.
And then we both hear something familiar. It’s the muffled sound of Cooper’s voice.
“Shit!” It comes out of my mouth even as Ardy vaults from his position atop me. He looks around, panicked, grabbing his jacket and shoes.
“The closet,” I tell him in a hiss. “It opens to the TV room. Go through it and out the back door.”
He’s barely in there with the door closed when my doorknob jiggles. My mother’s voice floats from the other side. “Why is this locked?”
I yank my sleep shirt down and kick Ardy’s belt under the bed, trying to slow my breathing. I dive across the room to unlock the door, opening it slowly, feigning a yawn. “Sorry, I think I fell asleep. What’s up?”
Mom jerks a thumb toward Cooper, who stands behind her, hands on his hips. “No boys in your room. You’ll have to come out to talk.”
I step out, starting to pull the door closed behind me so Mom won’t hear Ardy opening the door on the other side of the closet, but Cooper holds up a hand. “No need.” He’s flushed and looks angry. “I can say everything right here. I’ll be fast, promise.”
Crap. This is not good.
“Why the hell did you go to Ian’s work?” I open my mouth to answer, but Cooper shakes his head. “Never mind, I don’t care. You ruined everything.”
“What?” Now it’s my turn to look outraged. “No I didn’t. I gave him back your hat and told him that you look great in it.”
“Yeah, you told him that his boyfriend looks great in it.”
“So?”
“So his brother was there.”
“Who?” The minute I ask, my memory of visiting Ian flashes before my eyes: the pink apron with owls, the old lady…the assistant manager.
I freeze the playback in my memory. The assistant manager, who is staring as I make my proclamation about Cooper…
“Ian’s brother. He didn’t know Ian’s gay, and he’s not cool with it.”
“Does he know what year this is?” It seems impossible that in this day and age, anyone could still give a crap who or how someone else loves.
“No, he’s an ass.” The next piece comes out of Cooper like an explosion. “But even if he wasn’t, Ian is supposed to be the one who gets to pick how and when to tell him.”
Just like Ardy.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know that was his brother. I didn’t know Ian wasn’t out.”
“Yeah, things don’t occur to you, do they?” Cooper is so far down the road of fury that, even though he’s looking straight at me, I can’t tell if he can see me. Behind him, I have a vague impression of my mother backing away, giving us our space, retreating to give the appearance of privacy while not actually giving us any privacy at all. “I was happy with him, and things were good, but that wasn’t enough. You wanted me to be miserable like you.”
“That is not fair—”
Irate, Cooper cuts me off again. “That’s why I agreed to your and Katie’s stupid game. As long as you could keep it together with some poor sucker, I’d slow my roll with Ian. That’s how much I care about you. That’s how much I love you. I was willing to forgo being with the person I love so you could prove your emotional prowess by making a weirdo love you and then break his heart. You were supposed to reel him in, screw around for a while, dump him, and see if he gave a shit. It was a game.”
“God, Cooper—it wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that.” Cooper’s cheeks blaze hotter. “You’re the ass, tracking down all those ex-girlfriends—”