Draw the Line
Page 16
Lev sees me every day, so what’s the big deal? I mean, he knows what I look like.
Qapla’! Qapla’! comes my Klingon new-message alert from the computer.
Maybe another from . . . No. It’s Audrey. Seems she’s not quite done with me yet. The message only says Serves you right. Oh, god, what now? There’s a link. I click.
What? No way.
It’s a Tumblr page. At the top is my art of Graphite’s eyes! With DOUG, WE’RE WATCHING YOU all in huge letters.
What the hell?
There are tons of photos and gifs of last night’s game, with Doug front and center. The unstoppable Doug kills it off the Richter Scale for a major win! Video loop of the whole crowd chanting my damn phrase!
They stole my art and my words and created a Doug fan page?
I slam the desk and pace. Harley’s now on alert.
Those assholes.
Okay, fine. Fine! So my attempt to actually do something on my own damn terms was a big fail. I’m so glad freakin’ Audrey is so freakin’ happy about it.
Qapla’! Qapla’!
Come on. I can’t take any more.
Oh—a new message from Kobe: You got some nerve talkin behind my back to my friends. They just showed up outta nowhere yesterday. Nurse Piper strikes again. What am I gonna do with you?
I blink. I think he means that in a good way. Carmen must have gone to see him. Finally some good news.
I reply: Watch it or it may happen again. Send.
That’s one less thing to worry about. I hope.
Shoot! Lev’ll be here in fifteen minutes.
Okay, I gotta clear my head. I scoop up Harley and calm her after my little freak-out. Just cuddling her calms me, too.
No it doesn’t. I’m about to go on my first date!
I put her down, brush my teeth, then put on my best-fitting pair of jeans and paw through the shirt pile.
Stripes. Lev wears stripes, right? He must like them. I slip on my blue-and-yellow-striped shirt with the white collar. I look over my beat-up shoes, but none of them say “date.” Wait. From the back of my closet I pull out the red sneakers, my hiding place for Doug’s keys. With a clanky thud, I toss those in the back of the closet, then put on the shoes and check myself in the mirror. Between the blue-and-yellow shirt and red shoes I’m all the primary colors.
“Harley, what do you think?”
From her pillow, she lifts her back leg and licks herself.
“That good, huh? You’re a big help.”
AHH! The doorbell. Why didn’t he just honk?
“I got it! I’ll answer!” I scream.
Shoving my wallet and keys in my pockets, I hustle down the hall, then slow up so Dad thinks it’s probably just Audrey or Trent. I’m sure “freaked-out-and-going-on-a-date” is written all over my face and I’m not going to hand him a “Hey, I’m gay” clue.
I get to the door and peer through the peephole. There he is. Damn, Lev’s crazy handsome even through this little eye tunnel.
“Who’s at the door?” Dad says from his chair.
Shoot. “It’s all right, it’s for me. Just a friend.”
One last check in the hall mirror. Crap. My hair is sticking up all over.
I grip the doorknob with my shaky hand.
Well, here we go.
I EASE OPEN THE DOOR. Right here outside my own house, backed by the softest peachy-orange sunset: Lev.
Hands clasped in front of him, he shrugs. “Hi!”
How can a simple shrug be so freakin’ adorable? I lean on the doorframe. His wavy Renaissance hair falls to his shoulders. Deep-purple V-neck shirt with one slim pale-blue line traveling across his chest. Ironed (!) khakis. Blue Nikes. Stunning, head to toe.
Sloppy-dressed me is so not worthy of that much hotness. He must think I’m such a geek. Well, guess I am. Too late to change now. Can’t help the huge grin spreading over my face. “Hi.”
I turn to tell Dad I’m—ahh! He’s right behind me.
“Who is it, Ade?”
Heart palpitating, I squeeze between the open door and frame. “Just a friend. Off to study.”
He peers around the door. “Don’t know this one, do I?”
I sigh, then open the door wider and try to sound casual. “Lev, this is my dad. Dad, this is Lev. From my French class. We’re gonna study.”
Dad nods at Lev, but Lev reaches past me to shake hands. “Hi, Mr. Piper. Lev Cohen.”
Since Dad uses his right hand for his cane, he shakes with his left. “Do you want to come in for a minute? Got a great game on.”
What?
“No, Dad, we really need to go.” And I’m glad Mom is at work. She’d probably ask us to stay for milk and cookies.
Dad looks from me to Lev. “French class. Never had an ear for languages, myself. Apart from speaking Texan, heh-heh.”
Obi-Wan, help.
Lev polite-laughs. “My grandmother was born in New York and she really does think Texan is its own language.”
Smiling, Dad steps into the doorway more. “Guess it’s the only one I know.”
Lev pulls his hair behind his ears. “Other than some not-so-good French, me too.”
I step next to Lev. “See ya later, Dad!”
“Where’re you guys studying tonight?”
Whoa—where’s all this I’m-so-interested-in-what-you’re-up-to coming from?
Lev looks at me, then says, “Probably just at a Starbucks or something.”
Good answer.
I’m already halfway across the front yard when Dad waves. “Have fun, guys. Bon voyage and à la mode!” He hobbles inside and shuts the door.
I roll my eyes at Lev. “Sorry about that.”
“No, your dad’s funny.”
Mortifying is the word I’d use.
He goes to open my door for me.
“That’s okay, I got it,” I say, checking to be sure Dad’s not watching from the window.
Lev zips around to the driver’s side and gets in. We both buckle up. He clears his throat. “Ready?”
I glance at my house. “Please!”
He accelerates down my street. I check the neighbors’ yards but not a soul in sight. I forgot that his car is a lemon-yellow Beetle. Might as well be in a clown car with a neon sign saying LOOK AT ME!
Wow. So near him, so enclosed in this little car. Alone. Just us.
It’s getting hard to breathe.
“Is your—” His voice cracks. “Is your dad, like, okay?”
I swallow. “He doesn’t know about me. Neither of my parents do.”
“What I meant is, he has a cane. . . . You don’t have to talk about it.”
“Oh. It’s okay. Bad car wreck, couple years ago.”
“Must be, well, anyway . . .” He glances at me. “I kinda figured you aren’t out to your dad from the way you freaked.” Hopeful smile. “Sorry about ringing the bell—”
“Oh, no,” I say, “I should have said to honk. If I hadn’t just broken my phone, like, just a few days ago, I would’ve texted. Need to pick up a new one a-sap.”
He stops at the red light at the end of my street. “My grandmother doesn’t know about me, thank god, but my parents are cool with me being gay and all. Hope I didn’t say anything to, you know, make it weird for you?”
“No, he was just being nosey. Good save there with the studying-at-Starbucks line, though.”
His cologne is spicy. And this car is spotless. This can’t just be for me, right?
“Um”—I turn to him—“we’re not really going to Starbucks, are we?”
He cracks up, then exhales deep like he was storing up his breath. “No. That’d be pretty lame, wouldn’t it?”
I nod. “Hashtag Truth.”
Oh, god, that sounded stupid.
He smiles. “That’s cute.”
I point ahead. “Light’s green.”
“Oops,” he says, and we’re off, engine humming like a toy car.
I run my palm over the smooth yello
w metal doorframe by my shoulder. “I was wondering what your car would be like inside. Guess the one time I had the chance to look I was slightly distracted.” I eye him. “Being in excruciating pain between my legs and all.”
His face goes red.
I hold up my hand. “Oh, god, didn’t mean to—wasn’t your fault! Well, kinda was, but . . . mine, too.” I nervous-laugh. “The pain did go away. All’s okay there . . . now . . .” Just shut up, Adrian.
I stare out the window.
He makes a complete stop at the stop sign before turning, unlike Audrey, who practically rolls right through.
The longer neither of us talks, the harder it is to think of what to say. Did I just screw it all up?
I’m so dying to know where we’re going but have no clue when’s the right time to ask. I’m not breathing. Gotta calm down, here. I catch my reflection in the side mirror and my hair is terrifying. Casually, I attempt to smooth it down.
We zoom down Mission Road. I scan the cars we pass to see if there’s anyone I recognize—or anyone who recognizes me. People definitely stare at this car.
He puts on a song and the speakers blare. “Whoops!” He spins the volume button and it quiets down. “Sorry.”
Jazz. Least I think it is. The beat is fast-paced, boppy and peppy. It’s just instruments, no vocals.
“Is this music all right?” he says. “I can change it.”
“No, it’s fun.” I smile. “And it’s your car.”
He smiles back. “You’re here too.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch his amazing jawline . . . those sexy hands gripping the wheel . . . his wide shoulders bopping to the beat.
Crap, why are these jeans so tight? They’re getting tighter . . . again. Now they’re way too tight. I know I’m a teen guy and all, but this is almost becoming a recurring medical condition.
“Uh, what music is this?” My voice cracks. I pretend to adjust my seat belt as I shift things around. Oh, man, that’s better. Too obvious?
“It’s Django Reinhardt,” he says. “Know him? From the 1930s and ’40s. It’s like stepping back in time. Something about the rhythms is so calming. I’m always running and running . . .” He shakes his head. “Anyway, not important . . .”
“I really like it.” And you.
We stop again at a red light. He faces me. “What do you listen to?”
I cross my arms. “Well, you probably wouldn’t like what I like. Do you play video games?”
“Uh, not so much. Why?”
Crap. I inhale. “You’ll probably think it’s stupid, but my favorite music is video game soundtracks. And movie soundtracks, but epic, sweeping, transformative stuff. I can’t handle the violent, killing, bloody, gory games. Too much of all that in real life.”
He glances at me, then grins. “To quote your friend, ‘Understatement of the century, sister.’ ”
I smile but cringe inside. I don’t want to talk about Audrey right now.
“The music I like is dreamy,” I say. “Powerful. It’s mysterious and strong and takes me places. In my head, I mean. Guess that’s kinda obvious. Heh-heh.” I check out his reaction, but he just listens. “It’s not like I actually go somewhere. You know, like physically . . .” God, I’m babbling. My face is on fire. Just shut up, Adrian.
He tilts his head at me. “No, I get it. And I like how you talk about it.”
Beeeep!
“Oh!” I grab the door handle.
“Sorry!” he yells through the window at the car he almost sideswiped in the next lane. He stares ahead. “Guess I should keep my eyes on the road. Instead of on, well . . . I’m not so good at this. Date thing, I mean. Driving I’m good at, but not—oh, boy.” He sighs.
Date thing. Wow. I like the sound of that.
Me. On a date thing.
He reaches out to steady the mess of badges and pendants swinging from his rearview mirror.
I talk over the new song that just came on with a fun, fast guitar sound. “What’s this one?” I point to a dangling plastic badge that says NFTY SUMMER RETREAT.
Barely taking his eyes off the road, he glances at it. “Oh. From my temple youth group last summer. It was okay.”
I scan the other pendants and stuff. Pep Club, Poetry Club, Key Club, French Club . . . so many. “You sure do a lot of clubbing.”
He rolls his eyes. “Way too much. Those are all tangled, aren’t they?”
I lift up one shaped like a piece of pie. “Wait, there’s a Baking Club?”
“That’s a fun one. You like cupcakes? I make a mean pumpkin spice cupcake.”
“When do you find the time?”
He frowns.
I’m ruining this again. I have to change the subject, quick. “We’re coming up on my favorite tree.” I point out the window to the right.
He slows down. “Where?”
The one car behind us lays on its horn and swerves around.
“Sorry!” He signals and pulls into a parking lot. Stops. “Think I need to get off the road for a minute.”
Damn. I’m so screwing this up. “I didn’t mean to almost get us in a wreck.”
“Wasn’t you. It’s just, well . . .” A big smile spreads across his face. “You are so friggin’ cute.”
I swallow.
He reaches over, touches my cheek. As he leans in, his lips get close to mine.
“Not here.” I pull back and scan around. We’re in a Taco Bueno lot and a group of people are heading our way.
He glances out the window and nods. Then, trying to not be too obvious, he adjusts himself.
Seems we share the same medical condition.
Clearing his throat, he says, “So, you have a favorite tree?”
“Over there, in front of the library.”
He drives through the lot, which connects all the stores on this block; he parks in front of the library and turns off the car.
“Show me.”
Wow. “Okay.”
Good, barely anyone here. Just a few old people going inside and a mom leaving with a kid.
We get out and I lead him to the most wonderful old elm tree in the big grassy area off to the side. We stop underneath it and I put my palm against the rough, ridged bark. My shoulders relax.
He cranes his neck. “So tall. Never noticed it before.”
I run my fingers through the bumpy bark ridges. “I used to ride my bike here when I was little. I’d check out books and sit right there in the shade to read. See how all those massive branches up there are like these wild, dancing arms? So free and strong, going wherever the hell they want to, finding the sunlight.”
He steps closer to me, leans on the trunk, and gazes up.
I pick up a fallen leaf. “They can be the most vibrant gold this time of year. Even if it’s been a dry summer. I love this transition of pale green into bright yellow.”
He takes it and smiles. “Mind if I keep it?”
I look around, but no one is nearby. “Sure?”
He opens his wallet and slides the leaf next to his license.
“Does your tree have a name?” he asks.
“How did you know?”
“Well, if I had a favorite tree, I’d name it.”
Damn he’s sweet. “Promise not to tell? Or laugh?”
He touches the trunk. “Promise.”
“You’re gonna think it’s weird. But I was, like, ten years old, okay? His name is Roald Dahl.”
Big smile. “Me like.” He pulls out his phone for a selfie, puts his arm around me and pulls close. My insides heat up. He angles the phone so we’ll be in the photo with the twisting branches above.
I clear my throat. “Um, you won’t post this photo, right? Like, anywhere. And I mean anywhere.”
“No. Just for me. And you, of course. Really.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Here we are. You, me, and Roald Dahl.”
He taps the button and captures us.
Then turns to me and says, “So, do you like drag queens?”
“Okay,” I say, “let me get this straight.”
“Straight?” Lev grins.
“You’re taking me to something called Teen Drag Queen Bingo? This really exists?”
Enough of this wind. I roll up the window.
He rolls his up too and turns down the jazz music some. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. It was just an idea I wanted to surprise you with.”
Well, bingo, you did.
“Like I said,” he continues, “I’ve been before and we’re really gonna have fun.” He reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Trust me?”
Two days ago I didn’t even suspect Lev was gay and now he’s setting my knee on fire and taking me to play bingo with a drag queen at an LGBT community center?
He glances at me with a hopeful expression. My brain wants to say, Don’t hate me, but holy crap, this is so not my thing, but my knee and the rest of my body win out and I actually say, “Okay, why not?”
“Good! Ohmygod, just wait till you meet LaTrina. She’s the drag hostess with the mostest. She’s not, like, RuPaul level or anything, but she’s hysterical. Just hope she doesn’t pick on you, though. LaTrina can be fierce.” He grins.
I gaze at the clear purple sky. Obi-Wan, oh, why hast thou forsaken me?
The dials and monitors in the dashboard glow a futuristic blue, which should be calming but makes me think of being abducted in an alien ship. At least it’s a gay one.
Lev looks over his shoulder, then changes lanes when it’s clear. I look over my shoulder to be sure some hidden reality show van isn’t trailing us.
As we drive on to what surely will be certain doom, Lev asks me about Kobe and what really happened at Boo. He says he and Kathleen couldn’t see from where they stood that night and he’s been dying to know the truth.
At last, someone wants the truth. So I tell him about that night, the cops, and even when I visited Kobe at home.
He interrupts with questions and a lot of no way!s but wants to hear it all.
I leave out some details, like Doug’s keys and, of course, Graphite’s eyes, but I spill a lot.