by Leah Thomas
“She . . . she didn’t say no.” Not explicitly. But she will.
“I need to know soon. I’ll need to rent a suit.”
“Rent the suit anyway. You can go even if she turns you down.”
Phil’s derision is an actual snarl. “I will not attend the ball alone.”
“Not alone.” I say it as inconsequentially as possible, because I’m trying to determine if it is inconsequential to me. “You can go with me. For fun.”
“For fun?” We pull into the student lot. Phil races another van for the spot closest to the entrance. “Do you remember middle school? You don’t dance. I don’t dance. Fodder for the wolves, Gus. That’s all we’d be.”
Phil steals the spot and switches into park.
“Who cares?” I’m not sure what I want when I blurt, clearly, with no branches to block me, “Phil, come to homecoming with me.”
Without warning, Phil starts laughing.
Suddenly we’re not quite friends. Suddenly we’re back to the day second-grade Phil taught me that sometimes ch sounds like chuh and sometimes like kuh, and how fascinating was that? One thing could be two things at once. And I chuckled and told him I knew that already, because sweet-and-sour sauce exists. He laughed.
I never thought I could hate the sound of Phil’s laugh.
“Oh, come lively!” Phil undoes his seat belt. “You’ve made your point. I’ll rent the damn suit, but please. Tell her to keep me informed, and should she come to a conclusion, deliver it posthaste.”
As he opens the door, I murmur, “You tell her.”
Phil pauses. Autumn has stricken Samsboro, and through the open door I hear the crackle of leaves across pavement. The wind teases Phil’s straggly hair. “Really, Gus? I don’t even know where you’ve been meeting her. I thought I couldn’t be any less popular, but I’ve spent a lot of lunches alone.”
Kalyn never told me not to bring Phil to the kiln. But I never suggested it. Maybe I never actually wanted to bring them together.
Oh, god. Kalyn could be right. I could be in love with Phil. But Phil hasn’t even factored me in as someone who might be capable of a love confession.
“We’ve been over this. Nobody is interested in talking to me, girls least of all.”
“Then what are you planning to do at the dance, mime at her?” I bite my tongue, but Phil’s just rejected me. And the worst part is he doesn’t even realize it, and I’m angry at him, at myself, even at Kalyn for planting a seed I can’t water.
“You said you’d relay my charms. You’d make it easier.”
“Make what easier? Phil, she’s a person, not a puzzle.”
“I’m not an imbecile.”
“Okay. Okay. Just. Phil, I don’t like . . . um. If I talk to Kalyn, I want to talk to her because she’s my friend, not because you want something out of it.”
He tilts his head. “How long before you abandon her, too?”
“I haven’t abandoned you! I was doing this for—for—!” I can’t say the word, even though it’s right there. I smack myself in the forehead.
Phil pulls out his PSP. “ ‘Why bastard? Wherefore base,’ ” he mutters, setting something alight in a digital realm. “ ‘When my dimensions are as well compact, my mind as generous, and my shape as true . . . ?’ ”
“Phil. Please. Could you please cut the drama for once?”
Phil doesn’t look up. I’m not even the sidekick. It doesn’t matter that my shape isn’t true, that my dimensions have always been off, that my dead arm and leg are cramping again.
“I’ll take care to heed your advice.” Phil lets his PSP screen darken with a quiet click. “Lady Macbeth can give you a ride home tonight.”
I punch the dash and splinters travel up my arm. “Phil. Don’t, stop being—stop!”
Phil closes the door and lurches away, propelled by gusts of leaf-strewn wind. I get out as fast as I can, but it’s not fast enough. Phil knows exactly how fast he has to walk to be beyond my reach, and he’s doing double that pace now.
By the time I find my balance, I’m gritting my teeth and hobbling solo up the slight incline to Jefferson High’s entrance, hating myself for petrifying, for turning to stone, for speaking up, for that confusing invitation, for chasing Phil now, for cluttering my words, for not being Macbeth, because even a mad Scottish king might be preferable to this. In my head, Dad is tsking so loud my ears buzz, and I’m doing my best to pull this concrete pillar that used to be my right leg behind me—
Timber.
The tiny entranceway steps catch me for the first time in years.
Me and my inadvisable Doc Martens.
My fall is witnessed by a small crowd of Gagglers, loitering beside the flagpole. Now it’s a scene that should only exist in fiction: the dumbass with a disability eats pavement in front of his idols exactly as the bell rings.
My teeth smack together and there’s gravel on my tongue. I taste tinny blood.
Hands descend around me, palms out, beautiful living hands trying to lift me without allowing me a moment to lift myself, and as these hands descend, concerned voices follow in their wake, and the speakers aren’t listening when I tell them to leave me alone, maybe because I’m not saying the words aloud but still—
“HANDS OFF, RUBBERNECKERS!” The fingers flitter away. The holler softens. “I mean, please. I’ll take care of it. He’s my friend.”
What’s worse:
a. All those Gagglers helping me?
b. How quickly they stop?
Kalyn flops down beside me, all cascading gingham dress and braided knots of hair with flowers woven in, all crooked smile. For a while, we lie on our backs on the sidewalk. Kalyn uses her sickly lemonade Rose voice to shoo stragglers off as the last of the morning traffic passes us by.
“Freakin’ buzzards,” she grumbles.
My arm and leg threaten to spasm. If that happens, I won’t be getting up. My jaw aches, but I can’t open my mouth. I will myself to unwind.
The second bell sounds. Kalyn lifts herself up on one elbow. “Check it out, Gustulio. Stop eyeballin’ the sidewalk. That cloud looks like a urinal!”
I take a deep breath, push myself up on my good arm, and roll over. My jaw unclenches. “Huh.”
“Do you see it? It’s up there, to your left.”
I spit again and form my words carefully. “I don’t know, but yer-in-all I see.”
“Oh, Gus, I’m crippled with laughter.”
“If you were on my good side, I’d be, um, smashing, I mean, smacking you.”
It comes to my attention that there’s pressure in my hand. Without looking, this could mean anything. Astereognosis is another of my glorious menagerie of issues, and that excessive-looking word means I can’t always tell what things are just by touching them; I need to see them or hear them, too. “My hand feels weird.”
“That’s just me holdin’ it.”
“You should get up,” I say. “Your dress will get filthy.”
“It always does anyhow, Gus, if you haven’t worked that one out yet.”
“Rose won’t like that, will she?”
“She’s not here right now; leave a damn message.”
“. . . Kalyn?”
Her reply is soft. “Gus?”
“Um. We don’t have to worry about Phil and homecoming anymore.” I can’t see the urinal in the sky. I can’t see anything, with my eyes pinched shut. “Or, um, worry about Phil at all.”
“ ‘We’?” She sits up. “Aw, Gus. Is it my fault?”
“No.” I think about it. “Maybe. Not really?”
“Wow, I feel so reassured!” Kalyn hops to her feet, and god, do I envy the simple grace of it. “Do you want help, or not want help?”
I inhale, trying not to overthink it. “Would you ask most people that question?”
“Fuck if I know. I’m the sort who’d usually stomp over the bodies.”
“Okay.” I get up on my own steam. My nose is bleeding and so are my gums, and if I wipe
in earnest I’ll definitely just be smearing blood on that dress. My arm and leg are tight knots. After a moment, I tell Kalyn she can use me as a tardy excuse.
“It’s not even an excuse, man. You’re a gen-u-ine mess today.”
I thought we were alone, but now that I’m a little less dizzy and a little more upright, I notice that Garth of the Gaggle still watches us from under the flagpole. His best subject in school is the Art of Leaning Against Things. He takes a bubble pipe from between his lips and toasts me with it. His Docs match mine. Maybe I’m concussed.
“. . . earth to Gus? Hey? Guess this means dinner’s off?”
“Dinner is still on. In fact, wanna leave early?” I’m scrambling for my phone. It’s the same model as the old one. Grabbing it isn’t easy with scraped knuckles. Now that I’m loosening up, I’m beginning to sting and shake all over.
“You wanna skip?”
“Is it skipping if a mom approves?”
“Heck yes it is. I was skipping for about a year because of my mom, and that’s why I’m—never mind.”
She’s acting like me. Kalyn is struggling with words. I wait.
“Hell. Let’s do it. Take me, Gus!” She feigns a faint. While I call Tamara, Kalyn keeps pointing out shapes in the sky. She’s decided most of them are genitalia.
Within thirty seconds, Tamara caves. “I’m coming to get you right now.”
“I sound that bad?”
“Nah, Gus. You sound good. Do I hear a girl?”
I’m bleeding from the forehead and knuckles. My knees ache like they’ve been snapped in two. My best friend of ten years has just dumped me.
But I’m smiling.
“Yeah,” I tell Tamara. “Can’t wait for you to meet her.”
I hang up.
We wait on the steps. A teacher should be dragging us inside, but they let us be. It’s a miniature miracle. Kalyn picks at her elbow, which means she wants a cigarette. “What are you thinking about, Wondergus?”
I’m thinking about all the possible options I gave myself. My alphabetical list. About how no one but me decided those were my only possibilities, about how I never left an option for myself to be happy, side note or not, about how I never imagined an awful day could feel so close to okay, so long as someone was next to me.
I point at the sky. “That cloud looks like a witch’s titty in a brass bra.”
KALYN
THE FIRST THING I notice about Gus’s house isn’t his house at all.
It’s the yard, if you can call something that brand spankin’ glorious a yard. It’s like a goddamn secret garden, a land of downright whimsy. I expect to spot fairies, the way the ivy drapes from the front archway. Sculpted bushes line the walkway and ramp leading to the porch. Gus’s family has a koi pond. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a gator in there, tick-tocking; this place has to be Neverland.
“You could get married in a yard like this!”
“We did get married here.” It’s the first time Gus’s stepmom seems close to shy. Tamara is a riot in overalls, with a cracking laugh and about as much shame as a nudist. I could spend ten years in a car with her.
“Those weeds! Tenacious as hell!” Suddenly Tamara’s bent double over an innocent bed of lilies, yanking bits of green from the earth.
Gus laughs. “Another slaughter.”
I could spend ten years in a car with him, but it’d be a lot quieter. It might be enough to smirk at each other in the rearview.
He’s up to saying something now, working his face into a knot. Tamara smeared antibiotic over his scraped knuckles, stuck Band-Aids in an X in the middle of his forehead. Lifting his bangs makes him look like either Harry Potter or a cult leader.
“What gives, Gussie?” I’ll never guess his name, but his cheeks twitch when I try.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
These plant-smothered fences must muffle sound. I can hardly hear the neighbor’s sprinklers, but I almost hear leaves browning above us.
“Well, damn. Guess I’ll scoot.”
I mime an escape, but Gus tries for my hand. He mostly misses—coordination and Gus go together like ketchup and peanut butter—but his fingers find the tips of mine. “We never have people over. Thanks, Kalyn.”
“Nah, don’t thank—”
“Thanks, Kalyn,” Tamara says, without looking back.
“I—all right.” I know I’m red and whatnot.
Tamara pats her hands down her pants; I bet she wouldn’t recognize the weight of her fingers without soil under her fingernails. “You two wait out here a minute. I’ll go prepare your mother. Gus, you know she’s gonna suggest the cane.”
I have a feeling Gus’s “cane” isn’t the same as my “flyswatter.”
“Think you can argue her down?”
“Depends. What’s in it for me?”
“A weekend of free child labor?”
“Child labor? You’re seventeen, kid.”
“But you still call me kid, lady.”
“You looking for more holes to dig yourself out of?” Tamara winks.
That wink helps Gus’s posture unfurl. Seeing them banter almost hurts. Mom and me would be bickering already.
“Wait. Tam.” Gus leans forward to whisper words into her ear.
Tamara’s eyes get real big. “If you say so.” She heads inside without us.
Gus never pries about all my murderous poverty hints, so I cut him a break.
“So it’s real special, me coming over?”
You can see the grease in Gus’s wheels. “I only get to talk to you twenty minutes a day. It’s all coming up Rose the rest of the time.”
“I’m still me all day. I’m just playing dress-up.”
“You lay on the sidewalk with me. Kalyn would do that. Rose wouldn’t.”
Gus is getting at something true. We don’t hang out beyond secret kiln meetings. Minutes ago I thought I could spend a decade in a car with this guy, so what gives?
“I am stoked to be your friend.”
He’s still unconvinced. “Okay.”
“I mean it. I’d wear you like a hat if I could.”
Gus basically has pale Slinkies Gorilla-glued to his skull. Cocking his head sends them into a little frenzy. “I’m all about ecc, eco, eccentric accessories. But that’s going a little far.”
We wander up that ramp. The wood’s a bit worn down, and I can tell the treads have been replaced a few times. The porch is old but freshly painted, no cracks in sight. Some kind of heaven, this place. We sink into white patio chairs, the kind I always knew rich people would have. I try to make it look natural, but Gus sits in jerky stages. On the table between the chairs is a small jar of colorful, oddly shaped dice. “The infamous D&D arsenal?”
“Those are Phil’s.” Gus is redder than blood can be, a sunset on the porch when it’s only midmorning. “I screwed up today. What if he can’t forgive me?”
“Gus.” I lean forward to meet the wet wires of his eyes, pulling his forehead to mine, ignoring his tiny “ow” when I put pressure on the Band-Aid. “I fuck up every day. Fucking up actually makes you pretty good at figuring things out.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Gus says after a breath that might be mine. “It’s like I’ve been living in a picture frame, like my—but you broke the glass, Kalyn.”
When I visit Dad in prison, there’s usually a pane of reinforced glass between us. When you’re jailed for murder, they don’t always let you in the visitation room. Whenever there’s glass between Dad and me, we do the schmaltzy Spock thing where we line up our fingers, and Dad says, “You’re growing up,” because he’s watching through a screen and doesn’t know that I’m not at all, not really. I imagine I can feel the heat of his palm.
Gus doesn’t feel cold anymore. His forehead’s my fever. His Band-Aid might stick and transfer to me. “Christ, Gus, I’m gonna have to take you to my house.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re just . . . you’re very Gus.”<
br />
“And you’re very Kalyn.”
I don’t think that’s ever been a compliment before. It takes the air outta me.
I’m not sure how long Tamara’s been standing there, but she’s tactful about it. Gus pulls away and combs down his curls.
“All right. In you go.” I walk into the chilly air of the white house, and Gus follows. I stop the moment I get a good look at the walls.
My eyes go moony.
ACT THREE
Farewell, Friend
GUS
FACED WITH THE emptiness, Kalyn stills.
“You guys just move in?”
I don’t know how Tamara pulled it off so quickly.
The Dads that usually greet us in the entranceway have been tucked away, leaving naked walls behind. As we pass into the living room, Kalyn hanging back to stare at the high ceiling, I notice the Dads have also abandoned the mantelpiece.
“It’s kinda . . . blank in here.”
Tamara chortles, a little awkwardly. “Minimalist.”
“Mullet house,” Kalyn says. “Party on the outside, business on the inside?”
“Um, yeah,” I say.
“I like it!”
Tamara squeezes my shoulder. Dad’s been dead since before I was born, but he’s never been gone before. It’s okay, I tell him, I’m still holding you close.
I look at Kalyn, who’s testing the plumpness of our couch cushions. She’s mentioned her mom and grandma, but she never talks about her dad. Not today, but one day, we’ll have that conversation. I hope it won’t be weird for either of us.
“You didn’t tell me you had a damn mansion, Gus.”
I don’t think it’s a mansion, but maybe that’s her perspective. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Guess it wouldn’t, if you’d always lived in one.” Her tone is bleak.
“You kids want hot chocolate, get your butts in the kitchen.”
I groan. “Mom thinks I’m eternally seven.”
“Are you implying mature adults can’t enjoy hot chocolate?” Kalyn reaches the kitchen before me.
Mom’s wearing a white poncho. Her screen reflects the light of an empty page onto her glasses. It’s amazing we can see her, camouflaged in the ivory kitchen. She takes in the X on my forehead, and all at once I’m squeezed around the neck by a wooly arm. I catch Kalyn’s eye, ready to share an apologetic eye roll.