Now and Forever

by Susane Colasanti

  “Honey badger don’t care.”

  “It just takes what it wants.”

  “And of course what does the honey badger have to eat for the next two weeks?”

  “Cobra!” we both yell.

  We were on the floor the first time we saw that video. I don’t know what’s so hysterical about it. But we were dying. We were also dying over that video of the race car. The race car isn’t even moving. It’s just a picture of a race car. Some guy is making race-car sound effects over it like, “Rinnnng neee neee nee nee neeeee!” Again, way more hysterical than it should be.

  Ethan scrunches even closer to me. He holds me tight.

  “I have to get up,” he says. “But I don’t want to get up.”

  “I don’t want you to stop hugging me.”

  “They need to invent a tool to pry us apart.”

  He’s right. It’s like we have to touch each other all the time or we’ll die or something. “They should call it the peeler-offer.”

  “OXO should make one.”

  “I was just going to say that!” OXO is one of my favorite brands of kitchen tools. They’re into form plus function. Which is the best combo for cooking supplies.

  Drew and Stefan shuffle over to talk to Ethan before they leave. I go inside. The last thing I want to be is the lead singer’s clingy girlfriend.

  3

  [18,736 FOLLOWERS]

  Being a culinary geek means that no shiny new kitchen appliance fails to catch my eye. Or shiny new utensil. Or shiny new tableware. Which is why Crate & Barrel is my mecca.

  I’m meeting my best friend, Georgia, for brunch in twenty minutes. The brunch place is across the street. There’s no way I could resist coming here first. Not to get anything. There’s just something about walking around the kitchen section, admiring how the dazzling light glints off every single glass surface and which spatula colors are the hot trend this season and seeing what new cupcake sprinkles they have, that is incredibly soothing. It makes me happy. And it makes me excited for my future self, who will own most of this stuff.

  “May I help you find something?” an employee asks. She has bright red lipstick, a sky-high, gold-streaked ponytail; and enough perky energy to power the entire store.

  “No, thanks. I’m just looking.”

  “For anything in particular?”

  “Not really.” It’s hard to explain what I’m doing here. It’s actually kind of embarrassing to try explaining my obsession out loud.

  “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right over there.” She points to an island of registers.

  “Okay. Thanks.” Something sparkly catches my eye behind the registers. I dart over to find out what is so sparkly. Snow-cone cups with neon stripes are stacked in glittering containers. A super profesh snow-cone machine sits next to them along with an array of syrups. The summery display makes me smile. School just ended. I have the whole summer to chill. Cooking and reading are definitely on the agenda. I’ve recently gotten back into yoga, working on being present in the moment. I want to be more focused, less preoccupied. There will be lots of time to hang out with Georgia and Miles and our other friends. And there will be lots of late nights with Ethan. . . .

  A typed sign hanging behind one of the registers says:

  DO NOT CLOSE THIS DRAWER. HINGE IS LOSE.

  See, that’s just depressing. A typo anywhere is insulting. But a typo at Crate & Barrel is personally offensive. I rely on Crate & Barrel to dispense information in their signature smooth, bold font that is both accurate and charmingly lyrical. True, this sign was done by an employee, not corporate. But that’s no excuse for ignorance. To bother going to the trouble of typing the sign? And then hanging it where everyone can see?

  Ms. Perky swings around behind a register. “Ready to check out?” she asks.

  “No, sorry. I was just . . .” There’s really no way to explain myself. First with the Crate & Barrel obsession. Now with the typo obsession. I know I’m not normal. But I can’t help who I am.

  It all started with a vegetable.

  My cooking class went to New Haven last year for Restaurant Week. There was a tasting menu at a restaurant where our teacher knew the executive chef. We got to see how they prepped for the dinner rush. When we were walking around earlier that day, we went into a deli for drinks. The deli had an awning that looked brand-new. The awning was green. The awning was huge. And this is what the awning said right across the front:

  DELI, GROCERIES, BEER, SNACKS, VEGETABLE

  Dude. They only had one vegetable.

  I pointed out the typo to a girl from my class. She was like, “We better run in quick and snatch that vegetable up before someone else gets it!”

  After the vegetable debacle, I started noticing typos everywhere. On handwritten signs in store windows. At school. Even on billboards that people had paid a lot of money for. One time when my mom and I were at the grocery store, I saw a handwritten sign on an employees only door that said OPEN “SLOWLY.” Those stupid quotation marks annoyed me the whole time I was pushing our cart around. I almost ran over an old lady, I was so annoyed. While Mom was checking out, I went up to the customer service desk.

  “How can I help you?” the smiling guy behind the counter said.

  “You can actually help everybody. See that sign?” I pointed at the crooked piece of paper on the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Notice anything strange about it?”

  His smile vanished. He looked again.

  “What are you getting at?” he accused.

  “See those quotation marks around slowly?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why are they there?”

  “We’ve been having problems with the door. People are opening it too fast and slamming into people.”

  “You don’t need those quotation marks,” I explained. “The sign should just read ‘open slowly.’”

  “You serious?” He laughed. “Why are you wasting my time with this?”

  I was two seconds away from grabbing the black marker from his desk, marching over to the sign, and scribbling out the quotation marks. But I restrained myself from looking like a lunatic at ShopRite.

  “You should correct the sign,” I said. Then I walked away.

  Walking away is not my thing.

  For a while after the Open “Slowly” Incident, I corrected any typo I saw on a sign. No sign was safe. I did it on the DL so I wouldn’t offend anyone directly. It was my way of trying to make the world a smarter place. But whipping out a marker to change “their” to “there” in “Their are two lanes open” wasn’t enough. Not even close.

  That’s why I want to be a book publisher. The decline of our society’s collective intelligence is sad. I mean, really, is this the best we can do? Not that I should talk. I didn’t take school seriously up until last year. School was just something I had to endure until I could graduate and focus on real life. But now that I have a career goal I feel passionate about, I’m putting a lot more energy into my classes. I want to show other people that knowledge is a good thing. As a publisher, I’ll have the power to share quality work that can change the world. I can make a much greater impact by publishing books that advance our collective intelligence than I can correcting a few random signs three people might notice. My mom is in full support of my career goal. She has a severe dislike for pop culture and what it’s doing to our society. She loves that I want to help preserve the English language.

  When I see the ridiculous comments posted on Ethan’s pages with their typos and misspellings, I want to comment back how stupid they sound. But of course I would never do that. Restraint is just one way I support Ethan’s big dream.

  4

  [103,204 FOLLOWERS]

  “Look at this,” Ethan says.

  Something about being in Ethan’s room puts me in a warm, fuzzy trance. Maybe it’s how everything is so familiar. Or how it smells like him, a mix of Gucci Guilty and vanilla. I always feel so comfortable here
. This is where Ethan grew up. His room knows all his secrets. His true feelings. His desires. I could stay on his bed reading for days. But I pry myself up and go over to his desk. What he’s pointing at on the huge computer screen is incredible.

  He has 103,204 followers.

  “That’s over five hundred more than yesterday,” he says.

  “Of course it is. You’re amazing.”

  Ethan reaches up and pulls me down on his lap. He slides his fingers through my wet hair.

  “You’re amazing,” he says.

  We just came in from Ethan’s pool out back. It’s one of the many reasons I love coming over to his house. His house is so massive, you wouldn’t even know his parents and little sister live here, too. I’ve come over lots of times without seeing any of them, even when they’re all home.

  We read the comments on the new video he posted today. Or Ethan reads while I watch our reflection in the mirror above his desk. I love how good we look together. Ethan is athletic lean with big blue eyes and dark brown hair. He has the kind of look that makes girls melty. I’ve melted in many locations just because he looked at me in that intense boyfriend way. His eyes are almost the same shade of dark blue as mine. It’s weird seeing my hair so dark in the mirror. I changed my hair right before summer vacay. I’m still getting used to it being black with a jade streak.

  Ethan pulls me closer. Right when he’s about to kiss me, his computer pings with new comments.

  How can you look so sexy without even trying? You gangsta now :D

  Hot video. Scorching. En fuego.

  OMG!!!!!! we luv u in richmond, Ethan! Do a show hre pleeeeeze???

  The very first comments Ethan got when he started posting videos two years ago were exciting. He told me he used to write everyone back. That was before I knew him. It’s so weird how I didn’t even talk to him back then. Ethan still reads and appreciates every comment, but now there are way too many for him to write back to everyone. He would if he could, though. The boy has serious love for his fans.

  This new video is getting more views and comments than ever. Ethan’s mom hired a professional filmmaker to do his last three videos. Then Ethan hooked up with Red Bedroom Records, an indie label that’s all about discovering stellar new talent. He recorded his first album with them. Forever is about to drop. Red Bedroom only wanted Ethan, so he recorded Forever without The Invincibles. He’s hoping that attention for the album will inspire attention for the band. Ethan’s stoked that Zeke signed him in the spring. That gave Zeke time to hustle enough to make sure Forever will be huge.

  Red Bedroom is releasing the song for this video, “Night on Fire,” as Ethan’s first single off the album. The video is fierce. Instead of the standard overproduced video format, Ethan wanted to go with something more relatable to his fans. He filmed most of the video himself with a handheld camera. The filmmaker recorded the longer shots of Ethan and did the editing. “Night on Fire” is about one magical summer night when a boy and girl meet. They have this immediate connection. It’s love at first sight. In the video, they spend the whole night together in downtown Manhattan, playing mini golf on a pier in Tribeca, getting Italian ices at Rocco’s, and walking along the Hudson River. He kisses her on the rooftop of a building they sneak into, sparkles of city lights all around them. Watching the sunrise, they realize that no matter what happens, they will always have this one night to remember forever. The fire of their passion will never die.

  Obviously, this video is speaking to a lot of girls. More melting the first time I saw it.

  Ethan isn’t a typical teen rock star. His music has a quality and depth that boy bands typically lack. You can totally hear Ethan’s influences in his music. His sound is a combination of pop and hip-hop mostly inspired by The Beatles, Elvis, and Michael Jackson. Ethan believes they were the musicians who made music what it is today. He’s also into contemporary artists like Eminem, Usher, and Justin Timberlake. Ethan’s musical style is hard to describe. He has a unique sound no one else has ever created before. Even though his music is so original, its tone is familiar. His songs somehow relate to everyone. They just feel like home. His lyrics achieve the impossible by being both catchy and deep. His target demographic is girls ages twelve to twenty-four. But nine-year-old girls and grandmas also love him. Plus he has lots of guy fans. Basically, Ethan makes the kind of music generations have been waiting for. It’s obvious why he has such widespread appeal.

  More comments pop up.

  Brazil LOVES YOU!!! Te amo xxx

  Where can I get a night on fire?

  Ahhhhh how are you so perfect? <3

  “That last comment was obviously meant for you,” Ethan tells me.

  “You’re the one who’s perfect. I should know. I’m your biggest fan.”

  “Hmm.” Ethan scans the comments. “I wonder why my biggest fan didn’t comment?”

  “All of my comments are private.”

  “But you like the video, right?”

  “I love it. You’re so hot I can’t believe the screen didn’t ignite.”

  Ethan kisses me. When Ethan kisses me, every part of me ignites.

  “Ahem,” goes a voice in the doorway.

  “Nice knock,” Ethan says.

  “Um, your door was open?” Sydney says with tone. Sydney is Ethan’s little sister. She is thirteen and not at all impressed with Ethan. Which is ironic considering she’s in his target demographic. If Ethan becomes even half as famous as he’s hoping, Sydney’s friends will be dying that he’s her brother.

  “What can I do for you?” Ethan asks.

  “Mom wants to know where Sterling put the garlic press.”

  “Then why don’t you ask her?”

  Sydney’s detached gaze flicks over to me. I’m still sitting on Ethan’s lap. She’s clearly wondering why I’m even remotely interested in her brother.

  “It’s in the second drawer by the refrigerator,” I tell her. “The one with the big utensils.”

  “That’s not where it goes.”

  “Oh, sorry. I thought it was.”

  Sydney retreats, shaking her head at the floor over my audacity at presuming to shove a garlic press where it does not belong. She plods downstairs to rectify my outlandish behavior.

  “How dare you,” Ethan says.

  “I thought that’s where it went.”

  “Garlic presses don’t like to be misplaced.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Know what happens to people who put garlic presses in the wrong drawer?”

  “What?”

  “Tickling.”

  “No tickling.”

  Ethan presses his fingers against my sides.

  “No tickling!” I spring up from his lap, laughing hysterically even though the tickling never started. Even the threat of tickling makes me hyper.

  More pings from Ethan’s computer. More comments from girls all over the world raving about how cute and sexy and talented he is. Ethan scrolls down to read the new ones.

  I want to stay in Ethan’s room forever. Every time I leave, it feels like I’m leaving part of myself behind. Tonight, with the summer breeze drifting in the windows and the smell of dinner cooking downstairs and senior year about to start, I’m overcome by warm contentment.

  I guess I’m just feeling nostalgic tonight. But also excited about the possibility of Ethan becoming a huge rock star. He’s worked so hard for this. How much time has Ethan spent in his room, in the garage practicing with his band, in jam sessions, in studios, building the dream? Enough for this to be his time.

  Something tells me that the way we are right now at the end of summer, on the edge of everything, is a way we will never be again.

  Something tells me our whole world is about to change.

  5

  [189,472 FOLLOWERS]

  I breeze by the nurses’ station with my brightly colored bunch of balloons, waving to one of the nurses I know. I make sure the tissue paper sticking out of the gift bag I’m carrying isn’t
crushed. Then I go in.

  “Hi, Gram!”

  My grandma smiles when she sees me. She always smiles when she sees me.

  “There’s my girl,” she says from her bed by the windows. She was originally assigned the other bed by the door. But when I was pushing her wheelchair here from the recovery room after her heart surgery and saw that both beds were empty, I asked one of the nurses if we could take the other bed. I am so relieved she let us. This part of the room is much better. Not only does it have sunlight and views, it’s large enough for a reclining chair. A reclining chair I’ve been camping out in every day since Gram’s surgery.

  “What’s all this?” Gram gestures to the gifts.

  “Your balloons needed refreshing.” The bunch of three “get well soon” balloons I tied to her bed rail the first day I visited is floating halfway down. I untie them and tie the new bunch where they were. Then I bring the gift bag over to Gram.

  She gestures at the bed’s control panel. This means she wants me to raise the bed so she can sit up. When we get the bed the way she wants, she looks at the gift bag.

  “You shouldn’t have spent your money on me,” she says. She says this about everything. Even if you try to give her a paper clip, she will insist she is unworthy.

  “I didn’t. It’s Mom’s money.”

  “Oh, well. That’s different,” Gram jokes. Her hands are shaky as she takes the bag. She lifts out the sparkly blue tissue paper and reaches inside.

  “It’s just something little.”

  Gram takes out a deck of cards. They have pictures of Elvis on the back.

  “Elvis!” she raves. Gram is a huge Elvis fan. She’s convinced he’s still alive somewhere, enjoying his peanut butter and banana sandwiches in a remote hideaway.

  “Do you want to play?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I wheel over her bed tray. Then I sit on the side of her bed and rip the plastic wrap off the cards.

  “Rummy 500?” I ask.

  “What else?”