Me You Us

by Aaron Karo

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t have to answer that.”

  I think she’s definitely flirting with me and will eventually want me to make a move. Yet we’ve never even hooked up and it seems like she’s already sizing up my boyfriend potential. I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth . . . but I also don’t want to put the cart before the horse. Basically any proverbs with horses are trouble.

  I decide to answer her honestly. “Yes. I have had my heart broken. Once. It was really bad.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t really know . . .”

  This is partially true. In some respects, I know exactly why Voldemort broke up with me. I lacked the maturity and confidence that girls expect, and I ran afoul of most of the flirting, grooming, and dating faux pas I now counsel my clients to avoid. But even though I’m aware of these things in my brain, in my heart I still want answers. One day Voldemort wanted me, and the next day she didn’t. What changed?

  “Are you okay?” Tristen asks.

  “Huh?”

  “You just trailed off and got really quiet.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. But I gotta say—the girl who broke your heart, whoever she is, didn’t deserve you.”

  Tristen is not shy. And she’s into me!

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’ve been having a really good time hanging out with you.”

  “Me too. I guess we have Anthony and Brooke to thank for that.”

  “You mean Hedgehog and Balloon?”

  She laughs. “Exactly.”

  “By the way, why is Brooke’s nickname Balloon? ­Hedgehog I get.”

  “Actually, I have no idea,” she says. “Maybe it’s better as a mystery.”

  Yeah, I say to myself, unlike when your parents are coming home.

  Tristen reaches the end of the list of On Demand movies.

  “Well, that’s all of them,” she says. “Nothing I really want to watch.”

  “Me neither.”

  She smiles and looks me in the eyes, then looks at my lips for a split second, then back to my eyes. That’s the signal!

  I put my left hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. Testing the waters. She doesn’t flinch. I can feel her bra clasp beneath her shirt.

  I lean to my left and move my face toward hers.

  She closes her eyes . . . and we kiss!

  Her lips are soft and interlock naturally with mine. I reach over and caress her face—her skin is really smooth, and I can feel her two little moles. She darts her tongue tentatively into my mouth and I respond in kind. The sloppiness factor is low; we have good kissing chemistry right off the bat.

  The world around us starts to get blurry. The specter of her family coming home, the books and clothing getting trampled beneath our feet, the stress and doubt I feel every day . . . gone.

  I trace a line with my hand down her cheek and to her neck. She presses her tongue deeper into my mouth and tenderly bites my lower lip. This has already been the best date ever, and the night could end right now and I would be thrilled, but I’m feeling bold, so I move my hand from her neck to her chest.

  She moans softly and wraps her arms around me.

  We continue kissing.

  Cherry ChapStick never tasted so good.

  19

  I WANDER INTO PERKIN’S BEANERY, where Tristen and I had our first date, and am immediately surprised to see Adam sitting at a table by himself. He’s cleaning his glasses when I walk up to him.

  “Yo, man.”

  “Hey, Shane.” He looks at me, puzzled, and shakes my hand.

  I notice he doesn’t have any coffee. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I’m actually meeting Jak,” he says.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I texted her to see if she wanted to get together. I offered to pick her up, but she said just to meet her here at four.”

  “Well that’s weird,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “Because Jak asked me to meet her here too.”

  “Huh? She double-booked us by accident?”

  Wait. It’s all starting to come together.

  “Ah. No. I don’t think it was an accident,” I say. “She told me to meet at 4:15. I’m just really early. I think she wanted me to show up and check in with her depending on how your date was going.”

  This is exactly what Marisol and Rebecca did to Reed.

  “So, like, as an excuse in case she wanted to bail?” Adam says.

  “Nah. More like just a friendly face in case she panics. I wouldn’t worry too much. You’ll be fine.”

  “Ah. Okay. Thanks. So . . . I guess you might as well sit down, then.”

  “Yeah, sure. I can’t wait to see the look on Jak’s face.”

  I take the seat across from Adam. He’s arranging and rearranging the napkin dispenser and container of stirrers on the table. Clearly nervous.

  I look around to make sure that Jak hasn’t arrived yet. “So I have to ask,” I say. “Why didn’t you tell me that Jak was the girl you had a crush on?”

  Adam grimaces. “I’m sorry. I feel really bad about that. Are you pissed?”

  “No, I’m not pissed at all.” At least I don’t think I am.

  “It’s just that,” he continues, “you made that whole speech about how I should just do it on my own and I didn’t need you anymore.”

  “Totally. I get it. But Jak is my best friend. I might have been able to help.”

  “I know. But I was afraid that if I started talking about it, I would lose my nerve. You know how I am. I think too much and freak out.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  “I feel bad. Are you sure you’re not mad?”

  “I’m sure. I’m just surprised it’s Jak.”

  “You told me I needed to move on. And I’ve always kind of had a thing for her.”

  “Okay. Well, listen, just treat her right.”

  “Absolutely. Of course. Thanks for being so cool about it.”

  Adam wipes a nonexistent smudge from the face of his watch and rearranges the napkin dispenser once more.

  Maybe I am a little peeved that Adam didn’t tell me about Jak. I mean, in a way I’m proud that he was able to approach her like that in school without my help. But a little heads-up would have been nice. Then again, now that Tristen and I are an item—not boyfriend and girlfriend, but definitely an item—maybe I should start taking my nose out of other ­people’s business and focus on my own.

  “She’s coming!” Adam says in a loud whisper.

  We observe Jak entering the coffee shop, absentmindedly playing with her Fitbit. Her hair is out of control. I feel like it’s close to brushing against the door frame as she passes. She’s wearing a thrift store Led Zeppelin T-shirt. I guarantee you she has no idea what Led Zeppelin is.

  She notices me and Adam sitting together and does a similar double take to the one she did when she ran into me and Tristen at the mall: what? followed by uh oh followed by the hell with it.

  Adam starts to fidget even more as Jak approaches.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I won’t stay long.”

  We both stand up.

  “Shane,” Jak says, trying to act surprised. “What are you doing here?” She is a terrible liar.

  “Really?” I say. “That’s the route you decided to take? Pretending not to know I was coming?”

  “I don’t know. I was making it up as I went along. You’re early.”

  I shrug. We high-five.

  She turns to Adam. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he says.

  “So, yeah,” Jak says, “I kinda invited Shane, too, but I thought he was gonna come later, and, I don’t know. I’m not good at this stuff.”

  “Don’t worry about it at all,” Adam says. “We just had a chance to catch up.”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna take off in a minute,” I say. Just long enough to make sure Jak is okay. And I figure it doesn’t hurt to see if t
hey have any chemistry.

  “Can I get you something?” Adam asks Jak.

  “Thanks. Yeah. I just need to think about what I want for a second.”

  Adam pulls out a chair for Jak and the three of us sit down.

  It’s quiet and a little awkward. I lob anything out there to break the silence.

  “Jak, are our moms still fighting?”

  I keep Adam in the loop: “Our moms are best friends. My mom forgot her mom’s birthday. It’s a whole thing.”

  “I think they made up,” Jak says.

  “Good,” I say.

  “Are you close with your mom?” Adam asks Jak.

  “Pretty close. She’s a little crazy.”

  I eye Jak.

  “I know,” she says instantly. “I’m a little crazy too.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say a word,” I add.

  Adam emits one of those fake giggles you do when you’re feeling left out of the conversation. I don’t really want to go, but I realize I’m stepping all over his game. When Jak and I are together, we tend to drown everybody else out.

  “Okay,” I say, standing up. “You guys enjoy.”

  I sense a flicker of disappointment in Jak’s eyes.

  “Take it easy, Shane,” Adam says. He shakes my hand.

  “Later, hater,” Jak says.

  I leave as she and Adam begin consulting the chalkboard menu.

  Jak smiles like a goofball.

  Adam, I can’t help thinking, is a lucky guy.

  20

  I’M SITTING WITH REED at one of the cement tables in the courtyard in front of school. He’s hit a bit of a rough patch in his quest for Marisol. Like Mr. Kimbrough, Reed made the mistake of not confirming a second date at the end of the first one. I blame myself for not hammering that into his head. But I thought he could recover and Marisol would be receptive to a return engagement. Instead she has been stonewalling him.

  I’ve decided to shake things up a bit. Unbeknownst to Reed, Tristen is meeting me here in a few minutes to say hello. She’s bringing along Marisol; they both run in the junior-class popular crowd. I’m hoping that getting Reed and Marisol talking face-to-face will jump-start things between them. It’s too easy for her to blow him off via Facebook or text. In person that bag of bones can be rather charming.

  Right now, though, Reed is pretty down in the dumps. I take my clients’ successes and failures personally—probably to an unhealthy degree—so I’m just as bummed as he is. But it’s my job to rise above and steer the ship.

  Reed is glumly looking through his little notebook for answers, but I tell him, “You’re not gonna find what you’re looking for in there.”

  “Maybe Marisol isn’t interested anymore,” Reed says. “Maybe that kiss on the cheek meant goodbye. Maybe she’s too good for me.”

  “Reed, Marisol puts her pants on one leg at a time, just like you. Stay positive. You’re doing great.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Listen, here’s what I want you to do the next time you see Marisol: Be yourself. Forget everything I’ve told you. Forget the Galgorithm. Forget your notebook.”

  “But I never got any girls being myself.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I know you pretty well by now, Reed. And you’re awesome. If you saw in yourself what I see in you, you’d be singing a whole different tune right now.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I say.

  Usually I tell my clients to try to remember everything I’ve taught them, not to forget it. But Reed is getting too bogged down. He needs to learn to think on his feet. Heck, in four months I’m graduating and he’s gonna have to fend for himself anyway.

  “By the way, I have some news for you,” I add.

  “What?”

  “I’m kinda sorta seeing Tristen Kellog.”

  Reed’s eyes light up.

  “Tristen? Like”—he makes the international symbol for big boobs with his hands—“Tristen?”

  “Yup.”

  “You, sir,” Reed continues, “are a god among men.”

  One fringe benefit of seeing Tristen is that it gives me even more credibility with all my clients. Not that Reed hadn’t already drunk the Kool-Aid.

  “How did that happen?” he asks.

  “I’ll tell you about it later. Oh, and another thing: Tristen is on her way right now, and she’s bringing Marisol.”

  “What?”

  Tristen and Marisol are indeed approaching us from the other side of the courtyard.

  “Is this an ambush?” he says.

  I feel bad, but I know that putting Reed on the spot is the right move. He needs to be taken out of his comfort zone.

  “Reed, don’t panic. Just be yourself. This may be your last chance, so do what your heart tells you to do. Okay?”

  “My heart is telling me to puke.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “It’s also telling me to run.”

  “Go with whatever your third instinct is.”

  Reed gulps. He hides his notebook, and we stand up as Tristen and Marisol arrive. I notice that Tristen and I are not on lip-kiss-hello terms yet. Marisol and Reed share a slightly awkward but still warm greeting.

  “Tristen,” I say, “have you met Reed?”

  “No, I don’t think I have. Nice to meet you, Reed.”

  Wow, there are still girls in Reed’s own class who ­actually don’t know he exists. It’s almost impressive. It also makes me wonder if Marisol has ever even mentioned him to ­Tristen before.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” Reed says to Tristen. “Marisol, you look pretty today. I like your shirt.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Marisol is not much of a blusher, but I definitely think I see a touch of red. Reed is not holding anything back. By the way, Marisol is wearing a plain white T-shirt, so that compliment came out of nowhere. I’ll take it.

  “What are you guys doing?” Tristen asks.

  “Just hanging out,” I say.

  “I was actually helping Shane with his Euro homework,” Reed interjects.

  “What?” I legitimately have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “You know, since you’re failing history, I need to tutor you.”

  “You’re failing history, Shane?” Tristen asks.

  “No. We’re not even in the same class.”

  “That’s how bad it is,” Reed says. “He didn’t know how long the Hundred Years’ War was.”

  This catches Marisol off guard. She giggles and almost spits out her gum.

  And now I realize what’s happening. Reed is turning the tables on me for his own benefit. Poking fun at me to make himself look good.

  “Right, Shane?”

  “Right,” I mutter. Now who’s getting ambushed?

  “He once told me it’s really freezing in Moscow, and that’s why they call it the Cold War.”

  Marisol laughs again at my expense.

  I must admit, Reed can be quite clever. And I’m happy to be the fall guy. But he’s testing my limits.

  “I mean, Tristen,” Reed continues, “what do you see in him? He thought World War One was started by Franz ­Ferdinand. The band.”

  Now Tristen and Marisol are both laughing with Reed and at me. I think that’s enough.

  I grab Tristen’s arm. “Why don’t we, uh, get outta here or take a walk or something?”

  “All right,” she says. Then, turning to Marisol, she adds, “He’s funny.” She’s talking about Reed.

  Pickup artists much more professional than me call this “social proof.” It’s basically when a girl gets approval about a guy from the people around her. Marisol just witnessed Reed getting social proof from Tristen, the prettiest girl in school. That’s no small accomplishment.

  Tristen and I say our goodbyes. Tristen and Marisol still have the giggles, and I can’t get out of there fast enough. I nod to Reed as we exit, as in: I did my part; now it’s time for you to do yours.

  As me and Tristen are walking away, Triste
n says to me, “Oh, that’s Reed. You know what, Marisol said she had gone out with a guy, but I didn’t realize that was him.”

  So Marisol did mention Reed after all. Even better.

  Tristen reaches out to hold my hand. In the moment, I almost don’t fully appreciate it.

  “You know he was kidding about me failing history,” I say.

  She doesn’t seem to care either way.

  When I casually glance back to see how Reed is getting along with Marisol by himself, I am absolutely astounded. They’ve been on their own for thirty seconds. We’re on school grounds. It’s the middle of the afternoon. And it’s now clear to me what Reed’s third instinct was, after puking and running.

  Reed and Marisol are making out!

  21

  JAK WOKE UP THIS MORNING to find two more complimentary passes to Sweat Republic in her e-mail. I figure it was either a display of persistent marketing or a misguided apology for our odd encounter with Sarah with an h. Regardless, Jak decided it was a sign that we should continue our workout kick. So we geared up in headbands and Under Armour, drove to the gym, walked the floor several times to determine just how we were gonna kick off this most sweat-tastic of days, and then beelined to the smoothie bar, having completed exactly zero exercise. My Fitbit just reads YOU DISGUST ME.

  We ordered our smoothies from a bewildering menu inside and are now drinking them outside, sitting in silver metal chairs under an umbrella on the sidewalk. From here we can observe our fellow Sweat Republicans—as I’m sure they’re not called—enter and exit the gym (sorry, more than just a gym).

  This QT is long overdue for several reasons. The rest of Jak and Adam’s coffee date went well, and they went out again. I’m happy for Jak but slightly concerned that things between us have been a little . . . let’s just say “off” lately. Certainly the presence of Tristen and Adam in our lives has begun to put a crunch on our already dwindling time together. But it’s more than that. Crushes have come and gone in the past, and it’s never before affected me and Jak’s status as partners-in-crime. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s wrong, but I’m glad we have this chance to catch up.

  “What did you end up getting?” Jak asks me.

  “Black pepper mango pumpkin.”