The Brightsiders

by Jen Wilde

  The three of us nod, smiling.

  Alfie takes another bite. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

  Ryan laughs, slapping Will on the shoulder. “You should know better than to call us Brightsiders strange, dude. We take it as a compliment.”

  “You know our album is called Strange Welcome, right?” I ask, chuckling.

  Will pushes his sunglasses up higher on his nose. “Doesn’t that mean, like, when you arrive somewhere and get a strange welcome? I thought it was referring to your fast rise to fame, and how strange Hollywood was to you at first. Like, a culture shock thing.”

  I shake my head. “It’s meant to be kind of like a double meaning thing. That’s one way to describe it, but it also means that strange people are welcome with us.”

  “Ohhh,” he says. “I get it.”

  Ryan cocks his head to the side. “Will, have you even listened to the album?”

  He blushes. “I’ve heard parts of it.”

  I laugh. “It’s okay. I haven’t seen the latest season of Silver Falls, so we’re even.”

  “I’ve seen every episode,” Ryan says. He starts telling us all about it, but at the same time, Alfie’s hand lets go of mine and moves to my thigh. My eyes widen, and I have to pretend to cough so that I don’t giggle and swoon and whimper. He’s looking at Ryan like he’s paying attention, but I can tell from the little smile on his face that his mind is elsewhere, too. His hand moves farther up my thigh, and my mouth goes dry. I pick up my glass of water, but I’m trembling so much I have to use two hands to hold it. I take a sip, and Alfie starts stroking my thigh with his thumb. The water catches in my throat and I spit it back into my glass. Alfie rests his elbow on the table and casually presses his fingers to his lips like he’s trying not to laugh.

  “Do I smell pancakes?” a voice calls from behind us. Alfie’s hand slides off me and we turn around to see Kass walking through the living area toward us.

  “Good morning!” I say.

  “Morning,” she says. She takes a seat next to me and puts an arm around me. “Where did you go last night?”

  “Nothing,” I say, much too quickly. “I mean, nowhere. Bed. I was tired.”

  She takes a sip of orange juice. “Well, you missed an awesome game of Guitar Hero. Ry won, of course.”

  I chuckle. “Of course.”

  Charlie and Alyssa join us next, glowing like they’ve just spent the last eight hours replacing sleep with sex. They can hardly keep their hands off each other, and it makes my heart ache and swoon at the same time. Then Chloe appears, humming cheerfully as they sit down and complete our circle. I look around at all the smiling faces of my friends, sitting here in the sunshine, the turquoise waters sparkling around us, and I feel the happiest I’ve felt in a long time.

  “I want to capture this moment,” I say, reaching for my phone in my pocket, but it’s not there. “I left my phone in my room. Be right back.” I get up and go inside. “Keep having fun!”

  I hurry down the spiral staircase to the lower floor, then run down the hall to my bedroom, finding my phone under my pillow. When I open my door to leave, Alfie is standing there, his hand resting against the wall and a smile on his face that can only mean one thing.

  I look behind him to make sure no one is around, then pull him inside and close the door. I push him up against it roughly, and he laughs.

  “Easy,” he says, smirking. “I’m fragile. Handle with care.”

  I kiss him, and he kisses me back hard, cupping my face in his hands.

  “Mmm,” he says, licking his lips. “You taste like maple strawberries.”

  “So do you,” I say before kissing him some more.

  Needless to say, I totally forget about taking a photo of our breakfast spread.

  * * *

  The next few days look like this …

  Breakfast.

  Jet skiing.

  Making out.

  Lunch.

  Epic game of Jenga.

  Making out.

  Dinner.

  Lip-synch rematch.

  Making out.

  Bed.

  Breakfast.

  Making out.

  Binge-watching Sense8 on Netflix.

  Lunch.

  Netflix.

  Netflix.

  Making out.

  Dinner.

  Netflix.

  Making out.

  Bed.

  Breakfast.

  Snorkeling.

  Making out.

  Lunch.

  Obligatory reenactment of Leo and Kate’s “King of the World” moment on the bow.

  Making out.

  Making out.

  Making out.

  Dinner.

  Making out.

  Bed.

  By the final day, we’re experts at stealing glances and know all the best hiding spots on the yacht to fool around. When we’re with our friends, we play it cool, and no one suspects a thing. I’m starting to think I might have a future in acting, too. As much as I hate keeping secrets from my friends, I have to admit there’s a rush to sneaking around like this.

  I’m packing my suitcase to leave when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I skip over to answer it, knowing before I open it that it’s Alfie.

  “Emmy,” he says, tipping the rim of his baseball cap to me.

  “Alfie,” I say before sneaking him inside.

  The sound of my door clicking closed has become our green light, our own Pavlov’s dog experiment. Every time we hear the turn of my lock, we start salivating, knowing it’s time to make out.

  But something’s different this time. He’s keeping his distance from me, his hands in the back pockets of his skinny jeans. I mirror his body language, not wanting to invade his space if he’s suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Um,” I say, going back to packing to alleviate some of the awkwardness. “What’s up?”

  He twists his cap backward. “We’re going back to LA today.”

  “Yeah,” I say, but it comes out more like a sad sigh.

  “I thought, maybe, we should talk?”

  Eep. That doesn’t sound good. I try to hide my nerves by pretending I’m heavily focused on where to place my makeup bag in my case. “Go for it.”

  Alfie walks over to my bed. “Mind if I sit?” I nod, watching him as he drops onto the bed and stares out the window.

  “What’s up?” Dammit. I already asked that.

  He stretches back on my bed, resting his head on his arms. His T-shirt slides up, and I try not to stare at the exposed skin of his hips.

  “We agreed to keep this … us … whatever this is, here,” he says. “Like, what happens on the yacht stays on the yacht.”

  “We did,” I say. I fold the same pair of shorts for the third time, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Once we get back to LA, no more make-out sessions.”

  “That’s what we agreed.”

  He nods. “So, we’ll stick to that.”

  I can’t tell if he’s asking me or telling me. “Yeah. Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  I narrow my eyes at him like it will somehow allow me to read his mind. It doesn’t work, and he just keeps staring blankly at the ceiling.

  “We’ll reel it in,” he says. “Go back to normal. Friends without benefits. Netflix but no chill. No more doing the no-pants dance.”

  That makes me laugh. “Well, to be fair, we didn’t do the ‘no-pants dance.’”

  He waggles his eyebrows at me. “There’s still time. We’re not in LA yet.”

  All the blood rushes to my cheeks. “We should be tapering off of each other, not going back for more.”

  He rolls his eyes jokingly. “Fine. Guess I’ll just have to keep imagining it.”

  “Keep imagining it?” Lord, he is not making this easy.

  He flashes a cheeky grin. “Oops. I’ve said too much.” He stands up quickly, feigning embarrassment. “I must go.”

  He’s about to walk past me w
hen I reach out and take his hand. His stops, locks eyes with me, and crushes his mouth to mine.

  I savor his taste, the feel of his body pressed against mine, the way he makes me moan. Because after today, it’s all over. Done and dusted. Mission accomplished. That’s all, folks. The end. Fin.

  It doesn’t matter how much fun it’s been, we agreed that what happens on the yacht stays on the yacht. So what if just the thought of not being able to touch him or kiss him again makes me feel sick to my stomach? Who cares that I might have replaced one bad binging habit with another? What does it matter if I’m drunk on Alfie? None of it matters. It’s one thing to fool around in secret corners of a yacht, where we have some privacy. But we have all eyes on us in LA, and if even one paparazzo catches the scent of this fling, we’ll be eaten alive. People will say I cheated on Jessie with Alfie even though I didn’t. They’ll call me greedy and sex obsessed and a liar. I’ll be slut-shamed and used as “proof” by bigots that bisexuals can’t be trusted. I’ll be branded a bad bisexual.

  And that’s just me! Who knows what lies they’ll spin about Alfie.

  Nope. I can’t let that happen.

  The second our plane lands on LA soil, things have to go back to normal.

  It all ends here.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  We leave the terminal at LAX to be greeted by dozens of paparazzi. I’m prepared: baseball cap pulled low, oversize sunglasses on, head down. Neutral. Just stay neutral. As usual, they flock to me like bees to a hive.

  “Emmy! Emmy! Look over here!”

  “How’s it feel to be out of the closet?”

  “People say you’re just going through a phase? What do you think?”

  “Smile! Come on, Emmy, smile!”

  “Any comment on the leaked tape?”

  “Where’s Jessie? Did you dump her for Alfie?”

  “Hey, Alfie, how does it feel to not be the only gay in the band?”

  I cringe at the barrage of problematic questions. The way the pap phrased that last one—“the only gay”—especially doesn’t sit well with me. It feels icky. And I feel bad for Alfie. It sucks enough that they’re already trying to erase my bisexuality and saying it’s “just a phase,” but Alfie has been out as pansexual and genderqueer since before we were famous. Only now, he’s dealing with invalidation and misgendering on a global level. I don’t know how he doesn’t snap at them after all this time.

  I step in front of Alfie so he’s not in any pictures and shove a hand in front of the nearest lens. “Give us some space.”

  Suddenly, a fresh batch of photographers notice us as we approach the exit, and they rush us. We’re surrounded. Ry, Will, and Alfie quickly move in front, trying to forge a path through. Chloe, Kass, Charlie, Alyssa, and I huddle together close behind them, shielding our eyes from the constant flashes of light.

  Chloe takes my hand, and Kassidy clutches the back of my jacket. I can hear Kass’s panicked whimpers as we’re knocked back and forth by the mass of men with cameras around us. This isn’t the life she chose. She’s not used to being bombarded like this. Hell, I’ve been doing it for a year, and I’m still shaken whenever it happens. But it’s not fair that she has to deal with this just to spend time with me.

  “I have to get to my flight back to Boston,” she says in my ear, her voice frantic. She gives me a quick hug. “I’m gonna make a run for it. I’ll text you!”

  “Love you,” I say.

  “You too.” Then she’s gone, shoving her way through the crowd and bolting through the airport like she’s escaping a pack of wolves.

  Finally, we break through the wall of people and run to our waiting SUV.

  “Next time,” Ry puffs once we’re safely inside, “we need to hire more security. We’re too famous to go incognito now.”

  Charlie stares at the lenses pushed against the windows, frowning. “Too famous is right. This is legit terrifying.” Someone smacks their hand on the window, making us all jump.

  “Back off, mate!” Charlie yells, her Australian accent thicker than usual.

  As the car pulls away from the curb, I worry about how many paparazzi are waiting for us outside Chloe’s house.

  I distract myself by going through photos on my phone. Pictures from Hawaii that already feel like they were taken so long ago. Then I look through all the screenshots of tweets, comments, and Tumblr messages I got from supportive fans, congratulating me on coming out. I’ve never seen so many rainbow heart emojis in my life. Before I know it, I’m smiling again.

  We pull up to Alfie’s house and he says his good-byes, and just before he gets out of the car, I catch his gaze. His eyes sparkle with that same intensity from Hawaii, and it sends a shiver down my back.

  When we drive away, I get a text.

  ALFIE: thanks for making this trip so memorable;)

  EM: My pleasure.

  ALFIE: mine too.

  EM: Thank YOU for helping to organize it. Best birthday ever.

  ALFIE: no problem.

  * * *

  That night in bed, I’m overcome with fantasies about Alfie. I relive our kisses in my head, imagine what it might have felt like to go further. I can’t help myself. It does not bode well that I haven’t even been back in LA for a whole day and I’m already craving him again. I’m so restless that I turn to writing music to ease some of my tension, and end up with new song.

  We’re in the city of glitz and glam …

  … and our names are up in lights.

  The stars are blazing …

  … I wanna see you in between my sheets …

  Come on over and flirt with me,

        roll around in the dirt with me,

  came from nowhere, now we’re on Sunset …

  Come so far, baby, we’re stars …

  … I’ll be their scandalous girl, their clickbait queen,

  … just a little fun, that’s what we said.

  Hmm. Writing that was a mistake. Now I’m even hotter under the collar. Then, like some sort of sign from the sex gods, I get a text from Alfie.

  ALFIE: bored.

  EM: Same.

  ALFIE: miss Hawaii already.

  EM: Same.

  ALFIE: let’s go back.

  EM: I’m in.

  ALFIE: we could just pretend we’re back on the yacht.

  EM: How?

  ALFIE: I could come over and show you.;)

  Oh man. This is not helping my restlessness at all.

  EM: Bad idea.

  EM: Tempting.

  EM: But still bad.

  EM: Dangerous.

  EM: Risky.

  ALFIE: danger is my middle name.

  EM: You don’t have a middle name.

  ALFIE: I do now. I just gave myself one. Alfie Danger Jones.

  EM:

  ALFIE: you said you’re tempted.

  EM: Did not.

  ALFIE: you did. I have receipts.

  He sends me a screenshot of my earlier text.

  EM: Okay, fine. I’m tempted. So what?

  ALFIE: so, I’m tempting to you, huh?

  EM: Not as tempting as I am to you

  ALFIE: probably true.

  He types for a while, and I lie in bed staring at the screen, biting my bottom lip so hard it hurts.

  ALFIE: I know we promised no more making out …

  EM:… We did.

  ALFIE: but maybe we can work around it.

  EM: I’m listening …

  ALFIE: I propose a new rule: sexy snaps are allowed. Thoughts?

  EM: Hmmm …

  ALFIE:?

  EM: I might need to see a sample before I cosign this.

  It only takes him a second to send me a snap. My jaw falls open when I see it: Alfie posing in front of his bathroom mirror, wearing only an oversize Rolling Stones T-shirt that’s riddled with holes.

  ALFIE: remember, that’s just a sample. You gotta say yes before the real fun starts.

  EM: Yes.

  ALFIE: that was
fast!

  EM: I’m not shy.

  ALFIE: prove it.

  I drop my phone next to me and bury my face in my pillow, squealing. I can’t believe we’re doing this. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I roll out of bed and race into my en suite with my phone. I’m in my unicorn onesie that I got when the band was in Tokyo. It’s baby blue with a pale pink tail and a fluffy mane on the hood, topped with a gold, plushy horn. I undo the snap buttons and slide it slightly off of one shoulder. After taking a minute or two to find the best lighting and pose, I take a photo and send it to Alfie.

  ALFIE: jesus. permission to screenshot?

  EM: NO!

  ALFIE: okay.

  ALFIE: I like this new rule.

  EM: Me too.

  We stay up late, sending more flirty snaps to each other. When I finally fall asleep, my dreams are filled with Alfie and his kisses.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Chloe is spending the day in their office space downtown, filming a series of vids for their channel, so I have the whole house to myself. I’m not going anywhere, but the urge to dress up strikes, so I paint glitter into my hair and do my makeup all fancy.

  Then I hook up my phone to the ceiling speakers and dance through the house, letting my faves fill me with their genius. First it’s Beyoncé, then Gaga and Adele, who are later joined by classics like Alanis Morissette, Joan Jett, Tina Turner, and Janis Joplin. Even though my relationship with my parents is rocky to say the least, music is the one thing we have in common. I’ll always be grateful that they introduced me to a wide variety of sounds. My dad was obsessed with bands like the Rolling Stones, Nirvana, and Green Day, while Mom never went a day without singing along to Bikini Kill’s “Rebel Girl” or Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know.” Alfie and I were the only kids in school who knew the words to Blink 182’s “All the Small Things,” and for that I’ll always be proud.

  Inspired by my idols, I get back to working on some new music. Once I have enough of “ILY” written, I invite Alfie and Ry over to hear it.

  EM: New song alert! Come to Chloe’s so we can test it out?

  ALFIE: Be there in ten.

  RYAN: Can’t. Busy. Sorry.

  Alfie shows up at the door with his guitar in one hand and an In-N-Out bag in the other.

  “In-N-Out?” I ask as he steps inside.

  “We always get the munchies during a writing sesh,” he explains. I follow him into the kitchen, grinning like a goofball. Just being in the same room as him now suddenly makes me feel like I’m about to burst out of my skin. He’s different around me, too. He’s flirty, more energized, and every now and then I catch him focusing on me like I’m a song he’s trying to memorize.