In Real Life

by Jessica Love

  This is the first time I see Nick being sweet and playful with Frankie, the way he always is with me on the phone, and their intimacy stings.

  But why? I can almost imagine Grace asking me this. He lied to you. He pretended to be something he wasn’t. He kept things from you. Why would you want to be with a guy like that?

  How could I explain to her that despite everything that happened tonight, he is still my best friend? That I can’t just turn off four years of friendship like a light switch.

  I remember what Nick said a long time ago, how he is “bad at real life.” I never really understood what he’d meant, and thought it was just a thing he said to people. I mean, he dresses the part of this smooth guy, with his messy hair and leather jacket-hoodie combo and skinny jeans. But being here with him in person, I think his “look” is all part of a costume. Like he’s wearing a mask, hiding behind the band and his brother. The real him is private and awkward and bad at expressing himself, just like he told me he was.

  So, which Nick is my Nick?

  Frankie snaps me out of my thoughts. “It looks like we lost Grace and Alex.” They’ve slipped into a photo booth, only their legs visible from under the bottom of the curtain. Grace appears to be sitting on his lap, and she giggles each time the flash goes off. I’m glad this isn’t one of those booths that shows the photos on the outside, because the last thing I need to see immortalized on camera is Alex’s tongue down my sister’s throat.

  “Let’s take some pictures next!” Lo drags Oscar to the booth, and Frankie does her little jumpy clap.

  “We can take pictures on our phones,” I say. “We don’t need to pay money to take them in a booth.”

  “But this is more fun, Hannah!” Frankie is trying so hard to be nice and get me to like her.

  I almost feel bad when I scowl at the back of her head.

  If we’re all taking couple pictures, I’ll be left out again. This is getting really freaking old, and I’m sick of complaining about it, but I’m also sick of it happening. Sick of being left out. Sick of following the rules and getting nothing for my trouble. Sick of being the only solo act here in a crowd of duets. I thought this trip would finally be my turn to get something to go right for me, but it looks like I’m more empty and alone than ever.

  Grace and Alex step out of the booth, and their pictures pop out after a few seconds. Their heads come together over the strips and they smile, but then they both slip the strips into their back pockets, not sharing with us. Frankie pulls Nick into the empty booth after that, and I make a point to watch their legs. She’s not sitting on his lap the way Grace was sitting on Alex’s. But she does wrap one of her Chuck Taylors around his ankle. I try not to imagine what’s going on in there, but I can’t help it. My mind takes more pictures than the photo booth itself does, each image worse than the one before. Frankie kissing Nick. Nick kissing Frankie back. Of course they kiss. They’ve been together for three months. They’ve kissed a lot, I’m sure. And done other stuff.

  No. No. No.

  I grab Lo and yank her away from Oscar. “Do you think Nick and Frankie have had sex?” The one and only time I talked about the subject with him, he told me he was a virgin. There’s no way he’d keep a huge status change like that from me. He couldn’t.

  But if he could keep Frankie from me, if he could lie to me about the band all this time, if he could keep these two parts of his life so separate, then how do I know what else he’s capable of hiding?

  Lo looks quickly at Oscar and jerks her head over to the side, and we scoot away from the group.

  “Are you freaking out right now? Keep it together, Hannah.” She wraps her hands around my arms and gives me a comforting squeeze.

  “I’m trying, but I’m about to lose it. They’ve been together three months. Do you think they’ve done it?”

  “Is that the kind of thing he’d tell you about?”

  “He didn’t even tell me he had a girlfriend in the first place!”

  She gives me a light shake, and I glance over her shoulder and notice Oscar watching us.

  She opens her mouth to reply, but I cut her off. “We’ll talk later. They’re coming out now.”

  Nick and Frankie emerge from the photo booth. Well, Nick emerges. Frankie explodes. I’m noticing she doesn’t do things the way a normal person does. And she must feed off my discomfort like a parasite, because the more unsettled I feel, the more she’s acting like this is the best night of her freaking life.

  Oscar raises an eyebrow at Lo, and they take their turn in the photo booth. Nice to see she’s having a good spring break.

  Frankie takes her pictures from the slot when they pop out and hands one to Nick, who is standing near me but not too near, and is moving his weight from one leg to the other and back again. “Here’re our pics, Boy-friend,” she singsongs. “So cute, huh?”

  I wince at Frankie’s obnoxious—and totally uncreative—name for Nick as he scans the photo strip. I wince again as he smiles, then sticks it in his back pocket the way Alex and Grace, who are now tucked close together up against the back of the booth, whispering to each other, did with their pictures.

  “Hello! Rude!” Frankie says, smacking his chest with her tiny hand. “Aren’t you going to show Hannah?”

  I’m about to tell her I’d rather ride the roller coaster naked than look at their photos when she shoves the strip in my face. Four coupley pictures of Nick and Frankie. Oh, boy. I take it from her hand, and while all I want to do is throw a polite glance at the strip and hand it back, I find myself studying it. I can’t help myself. Nick looking so much like the Nick I know from our video chats and all the photos I’ve seen over the past few years. If I stare long enough at it, I can almost forget the Nick standing next to me, the one who kept secrets and has a girlfriend. Nick of the photos would never do that to me. Phone Nick would never lie.

  Then there’s Frankie. In one picture, Nick’s eyes crinkle up as she kisses him on the cheek. In another picture, Frankie makes a crazy face at the camera while he laughs at her silliness. In the third one, they both have huge, over-the-top grins, eyes open as wide as possible. And in the last one, his forehead is leaned down to hers. Their heads touch and they’re looking at each other seriously. It’s an intimate picture. It makes me feel like an intruder.

  I guess I am.

  “Cute,” I say, handing the strip back to Frankie. I want to turn to look at Nick, but after seeing that last photo, I can’t handle it.

  Frankie takes her phone out from her pocket and snaps a photo of the strip. “I’m posting this right now.”

  Nick groans. “Frankie, no. Please don’t.”

  “Why? It’s totally Insta-worthy. Look how perfect we look. And it’s a great teaser for my recap of tonight!”

  “Recap?” I ask.

  Nick lets out a long, tortured breath. “Anytime we go out and do something, Frankie recaps it on her blog. Every single evening is written up and posted online in great detail. Complete with pictures.”

  “Even our dates!” Frankie says this like she thinks it’s the best thing in the world, photographing and blogging every minute of their time together, everything she does. But one look at Nick makes it clear he doesn’t share her excitement.

  She’s still captioning the photo on her phone when Lo and Oscar climb out of the photo booth. I wasn’t even paying attention to their leg body language, but with the way Lo is blushing, I go ahead and assume there was some smooching happening in there. Great. Now I’m officially the only one not getting kissed on this trip.

  Frankie doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Boyfriend, you and Hannah should take some long-distance bestie pictures in the booth now!”

  “Oh no, we don’t need to,” I say at the same time Nick says, “Uhhhhh.”

  She snaps her head up. “Come on, you guys. You have to.” Then this tiny girl actually puts her palm on my back and pushes me toward the booth. “Go.”

  Nick and I shuffle over to the photo booth.
“We don’t have to do this,” he mumbles. But he doesn’t stop walking.

  I cross my arms at my chest and stare at my shoes. “It’s fine.” I’m trying to come up with an excuse to get us out of it anyway, but then he clears his throat and I see he’s already sitting there, waiting for me.

  The inside of the booth is small, and the bench against the back wall doesn’t leave much room for personal space. I can see why Grace was on Alex’s lap. Nick scoots over and I wedge myself into the free space next to him, pressing my hip as close to the wall as it can go in an attempt to keep a little room between the two of us. I know how to diagram a sentence and solve differential equations and Photoshop an entire person into a club photo they were absent for, but I have no idea how to navigate being alone with Nick. Can I touch him? Should I be so close? Probably not, better scoot over more. Too bad I can’t climb up the wall.

  He leans forward and pushes three dollar bills through the money slot, and the directions pop up on the screen. There’s a square our faces have to squeeze into so we can fit in the frame, and my deliberate space bubble means only half my head is going to show up.

  “Scoot in,” Nick says. “Pretend like you like me.” I scoot toward him, and our legs smoosh up against each other from hip to knee, sending a lightning bolt through my body. Our arms smash awkwardly together, so he adjusts his shoulder, pushing his arm behind my body. I can feel him hesitate just slightly; then he moves his arm so it wraps around my shoulder and he pulls me even closer.

  I die. Oh my God, I die.

  “There,” he says. “Much better, don’t you think?” My heart beats like crazy, and I wonder if he can feel the vibration. I know this doesn’t mean anything romantic, his arm around me like this. He’s pulling me against him only so we both fit in the picture.

  But knowing it doesn’t mean anything; it doesn’t change the way his body feels when it’s so close to mine. Like pulsating energy and slow-burning fire.

  He leans forward and hits the OK button, and the countdown to the first picture begins.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  “Should have thought about that before I pressed the button, huh? The pressure is on!”

  “Make a funny face, I guess.” I put my hands on the sides of my face and push all the skin forward. Then I purse my lips. Nick squints, wrinkles his nose, and sticks out his tongue. But he pulls me closer again with his arm, and we both dissolve into giggles as the countdown ends, and I’m leaning my head on his shoulder when the flash goes off.

  For picture two, I turn to him, hands raised in an attack position, and make a scary face. He puts his hands up to his cheeks and opens his mouth like he’s screaming. Picture three, I snatch his glasses from his face and put them on, and we both put our hands under our chins and stare stone-faced at the camera.

  “Last one,” I say, handing his glasses back. Much of the weirdness we’d brought into the booth with us is gone now, and we’re having fun, the way I’d always hoped we would when we met for real. “What now?”

  I watch him in the screen as various poses run through my head. Finger guns, normal faces, peace signs. I wave my hands around in panic as the countdown gets smaller. He stares back at me via the screen, and the silliness of previous moments is gone. He looks serious now, which takes me by surprise.

  Right when the countdown hits one, he curves his arm around my head gently, pushing on my ear so my head leans in close. The heat of his breath tickles my neck, and he softly whispers in my ear, “God, Ghost. You’re even more beautiful in real life,” right as the flash goes off and the booth snaps our final photo.

  It’s the only picture where I’m smiling.

  CHAPTER

  15

  I don’t want to leave the photo booth. The screen loops back to its welcome message, and I know it’ll be less than a minute before our pictures pop out. We can’t stay in here forever.

  But I want to.

  I had a glimpse of My Nick when I first said hi to him. When I hugged him and buried my face in his jacket. Then when we had coffee and he put his hand over mine. And I got it again just now, when he pulled my head into his and he whispered in my ear.

  Tapping into that Nick is key. That Nick, who wouldn’t get all weird; and that Nick, who would never lie to me; and that Nick, who would make me feel better about this incredibly bizarre situation we’ve found ourselves in.

  But after he lets go of my head and leaves the photo booth, I realize that Nick has gone into hiding again.

  I climb out of the booth and he’s waiting by the slot for our strips to come out. When they do, he hands me mine, then takes a few seconds to stare at his.

  “Our first picture together.” He doesn’t look at me, but he gives the strip a small smile. “I always wondered if we’d ever get one.”

  “Pretty fitting we look like weirdos in all of them, huh?” I try to joke because I’m still feeling the pressure of his hand on the side of my face and the lightness of his whisper in my ear and the weirdness of this whole encounter.

  He finally looks at me. “Not in the last one.”

  Of course, that’s when Frankie bounds up to us. “Boyfriend!” she calls again, making me recoil like I’ve been hit. Is she trying to be that obnoxious, or does it come naturally for her? “Your brother called Jordy and invited him along. He’s going to meet us here in, like, twenty. Want to Skee-Ball with me while we wait?” She notices the photo strip in his hand. “Look at this adorableness. You two are the cutest pair of friends in the world.” She smiles at me. No, she beams at me. She’s absolutely freaking thrilled that I am Nick’s friend and that I’m here. “What is he saying to you in this last picture?”

  “That I was glad she came out to surprise me.” Nick’s eyes lock with mine, and he squints the tiniest bit behind his glasses. Is that what he does when he’s lying?

  “Aww,” Frankie says.

  “Did Alex seriously invite Jordy?” The question feels completely out of the blue, and the lightness in Nick’s voice drops away. Before either Frankie or I have a chance to say anything, Nick yells for his brother and stomps off, looking for him, leaving the two of us alone.

  “Those two. I swear. It’s always something with them. I get it, though. I have a twin brother, and he drives me bonkers.” Frankie crinkles up her nose at Nick’s back as he walks away in search of Alex. “Anyway. Wanna Skee-Ball with me, Hannah? We’ve hardly had a chance to talk.”

  Spending quality time with Frankie is literally the last thing I want to do right now, especially after what Nick said in the photo booth. I want to find Lo and go back to the room and girl-talk out this whole evening. It’s bad enough we got dragged on this buddy-buddy tour of Vegas without a chance to debrief, but she also had to go pair up with Oscar and run off to who knows where in this arcade, leaving me alone to get pounced on by Frankie. But I look around and I don’t even see Lo. Or Grace.

  And there’s some saying about keeping your enemies close or something, so I should probably play nice with Frankie, even though I sort of want to drop-kick her across the arcade.

  “Fine,” I say. “Let’s play.” What else am I supposed to say?

  Frankie has a pocket full of quarters, so she drops some into each of our Skee-Ball aisles, and the balls release along the side and slam down by my leg. I’m not big on these games, and I can’t help wondering how many gross, sticky fingers have touched those balls. I wipe my hand on my shirt, like that’ll help, and pick up the first ball.

  I toss it up the ramp as I struggle to think of something to say. How do you start casual conversation with the secret girlfriend of the guy you think you’re in love with? Luckily, silence doesn’t last long with Frankie, and I don’t have to come up with anything. “Well, the good thing about Jordy showing up is that it’ll even up our numbers.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “He’s single, you know. Jordy.”

  “Oh, um.” I’m at a loss for how to respond to this information. “I don’t know if he’s my type.�
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  “Jordy is everyone’s type. Trust me.”

  From the stories Nick’s told me about Jordy’s long list of girlfriends, I don’t doubt that. “Yeah, the guy can sing,” Nick told me once, “but he’s only in the band to get chicks. And it works.”

  I pick up another ball, toss it up the ramp again, and it drops into 10. I watch Frankie, and she lands the 100 without even trying.

  “Nice shot,” I say. “I think I’m pretty bad at this.” I add Skee-Ball to my long mental list of things I plan on never doing again in my life.

  Frankie laughs—at either my comment or my Skee-Ball score, I’m not sure. “Six years of softball,” she says. “I have good hand–eye coordination. Comes in handy every now and then.”

  I figure getting her talking about her blog will be a good way to keep us from drifting into uncomfortable silence, so I open my mouth to ask her about it. But before I get a chance to say anything, I hear a squeal from behind us. “Oh my God! Frankie!”

  We both turn around, and there’s a couple standing there. They look to be about our age, and the girl jumps up and down while the guy looks bored and mildly annoyed. “I thought that was you!” the girl squeals again. “I told him, I said, ‘Oh my God, I think that’s Frankie over there, from Underage Vegas.’ And he said it probably wasn’t. But I knew it was.” She turns to her boyfriend and pushes him playfully on the arm as he rolls his eyes. “I told you it was her!”

  Frankie’s face explodes with the biggest grin I’ve seen on her all night. “You read my blog?” she says in this “What? Me? Really?” voice. She told me she has thousands of followers and she’s already been recognized twice in the couple of hours I’ve been with her. There’s no way this is surprising to her every time it happens.

  The girl, who introduces herself as Ashley, gushes to Frankie about her love for the blog, and how she was at the flash mob in the Barnes & Noble parking lot last month, while her boyfriend, Reese, a buff guy in a flannel, plays on his cell phone. Frankie beams some more, hugs Ashley, and then turns to me, holding out her phone.