Smash It!

  When people tell me I’m pretty, I feel like they’re just being nice, or flat out messing with me. I make sure to take jabs at myself before they do. Maybe constantly doing that is more than a shield—maybe it’s become a cage I can’t get out of. A way of doing that thing Dré does, hurting myself before anyone can beat me to it.

  Wow. I’m the girl version of Dré—sorta.

  I smile at him, because maybe he’s known that longer than me. “Thanks,” I say.

  “I’m not gonna lie, I don’t blame them. You’re filling out that dress.”

  “Dré.” My stomach tightens around the flurry inside of me. I’m supposed to learn to take a compliment, but I’m still getting used to this new version of us. This new version of me. Confidence is key—so I’ll just shove that crazy bitch, running around in circles like her hair is on fire, to the far back corner of my mind.

  “Liv. I can tell you these things now.” He hands me a guitar and kisses me. On the lips. “Spank Bank.”

  “I’m so done with you.” I’m laughing, but I don’t know what we’re doing. I thought it was just a one-time—or a one-day—thing. But he just kissed me on the lips. “We need rules.”

  “Lame,” he says, picking up wires for an amp. He and Eli are supposed to play Christmas songs after we eat—that’s the tradition—but who knows whether that’s a thing, given Eli’s been as MIA as the feral cat I used to feed. “I was hoping to avoid that.”

  “Well, we need them.” I start thinking. “No kissing.”

  “That doesn’t sound fun. If we’re not kissing, how do we get to the fucking?”

  “We don’t.”

  He pouts, but I don’t think he’s too bothered. He sits down on the amp. “Okay. One-time thing?”

  “I think so.”

  He’s staring at me, and I’m starting to realize we’ve leveled up as friends. Even though we’re talking about sex more, I feel like I’m one hundred percent me right now. I’m O the girl—I’m also Liv. Hell, I’m not even glancing away while his eyes do that really sexy, soul-searching thing. He’s been doing that for—years. I was the one looking away.

  He picks up the amp. “All right. No making eyes at me then—those eyes.” On the way out, he stops. “And while we’re making a list, don’t do that breathing thing.”

  He’s ridiculous. “I’m not going to stop breathing.”

  “No.” He leans into me and his mouth is by my ear. He kind of gasps and makes this raspy sound. It’s kind of sexy. “You do that when we’re on the phone, when I touch you, or when you’re thinking really hard. Instant boner. In fact—ninth grade, when we were in the practice room, you were helping me keep time, and I wouldn’t pick up my trumpet. Yeah. Raspy breath boner.”

  I’m blushing—full-on white-girl tomato. I should get a medal for the level of eye contact I’m holding while acting super chill. “I’ll try.”

  “Not too hard.” He winks over his shoulder as we head back into the party. The crazy chick in my head is rolling on the floor and screaming.

  Wow.

  The food is delicious. It’s always gorge-worthy. And Eli is still not here, so Dré asks me to sing with him. My mom pulls out her phone for video evidence because, in her words, “You’re a whole new person.”

  But when we’re in the middle of “Let It Snow,” Eli waltzes up, jaw clenched. I see Yosef making his way to say hi to Gloria, and I wonder if he dragged Eli here.

  He’s not looking at me. He’s staring at Dré. When the song is over, I try to talk to Eli, but he ices me out like I don’t even exist. “I want my old guitar back,” he says to Dré.

  “Dude. It’s in the fucking garage.”

  No one’s paying attention to us, but Gloria comes over and slaps Dré on the back of the head. “Language.”

  Eli looks at her like she bought him a dog and set it on fire. “You’re one to talk morals.”

  “What the fuck, dude?” Dré’s in his face, because we have another unspoken rule: we don’t trash-talk family. It’s never needed to be said out loud. Then again, none of our parents have ever broken up the other’s family.

  “Your mom is a fucking home wrecker, that’s what.” Eli’s stepping up to Dré, and I don’t know how I know this, because they’ve never done it before, but they’re going to fight.

  Dré punches him, and then they’re on the floor hitting each other.

  I’m screaming at them, both mortified that they’re doing this in front of all these people and terrified because I can feel the anger rolling off them.

  Some of Dré’s cousins pull them apart, and his uncle stops the cousins from getting into the fight, too.

  Dré’s rattling off in Spanish, and Eli is fighting against everyone until his dad grabs his arm.

  “Fuck you, Dré,” Eli yells. He pulls away from his dad, and everyone gives him space as he heads for the door. I’m running after him, because he’s spiraling. I’m not responsible for his feelings, but he is my friend. He’s hurting, and if the roles were reversed, he’d come after me.

  Dré’s behind me and his mom’s yelling at him to get back in the house. “Eli,” he yells.

  I don’t know if Dré’s trying to make it worse or not, but even I tell him to go back inside.

  Eli spins on us. “Fuck you, Dré. You take everything away from me. You knew how I felt and you—the one fucking person.”

  Dré spits blood out his mouth. “No. I didn’t. I’m not going to spend my whole fucking life guessing how you feel about everything.”

  “It was fucking obvious,” Eli yells back.

  Dré laughs, and it’s mean and angry. “No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to put it on me to figure out how you feel when you never asked how I felt. So go fucking cry about it.”

  Eli looks at me, and he’s shaking his head like he doesn’t know who I am or where he is. He’s backing away from us and down the street.

  “Eli, wait.” I turn to Dré. “Seriously?” And I’m replaying the words over and over in my head. You knew how I felt...the one fucking person.

  He won’t meet my eyes. “He talked about my mom.” His two older cousins come out to check on us; they look up and down the street for Eli, and when they’re satisfied he’s gone, they go inside.

  “I’m not going to leave him wandering the streets,” I say.

  “We live in the fucking suburbs, Liv.” He sighs. “Want me to drive?”

  I shake my head. I’ve got on flats, and Dré will only make it worse.

  “We’re cool?” he says to me. His eyes are searching me, asking if I’m cool with the fact that he sorta knew Eli liked me—and I don’t know how to process that right now.

  “Did you really know?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I thought, sometimes, yeah. And there was a time I thought you might like him, but then you started hanging out with Kai. He was talking to Kara. I didn’t feel like I had to check in with him on whether it was okay or not for me to feel the way I do.”

  I’m standing in between them again, but they’re going in opposite directions. I am an elastic band being tugged on both ends, and Dré doesn’t want to let go. “How do you feel?”

  Dré’s running his hand through his hair and he looks up at the evening sky. I feel like crying, because I think he lied about it being okay for things to be the way that they are. For us to just stay friends. He lied, but I need that lie to be real, because even though I love Dré, all I’m thinking about is Eli, walking down the road all alone.

  “It’s okay, Liv. You can go.” He goes back inside, and I go looking for Eli.

  * * *

  I’m running down the next block when I see him. He’s sitting on an electrical box on the corner.

  He sees me and starts cursing. “I can’t.” He’s standing up and pacing, like he’s some animal boxed in a cage.


  “We don’t have to talk. But—look, you’re coming to parties starting fights and—”

  He laughs, and it sounds crazy. I think he might be crying without tears. “Are you serious? She invited us like she didn’t fuck my dad—then I see you and Dré singing some fucking Christmas song together. Since when do you sing at parties?”

  He’s picking at things that aren’t relevant, but I take the bait because I’m petty. “What the fuck is wrong with me singing Christmas songs?”

  “I just didn’t realize your Year of Fuck It meant sing at parties and fuck everyone you know.”

  I take a step back. Shame coats my skin and I feel exposed and ugly—I don’t even know how he knows... I’ve got the Fuck It list taped to the mirror in my room.

  The list.

  I don’t even notice it anymore, but he must have seen it when he stayed with us. It feels like such an invasion of my privacy—and he just called me a ho—fuck him.

  “Liv.” Eli’s looking at me now, and I see a piece of him surface. “Liv, I’m sorry—don’t walk away. I’m sorry.”

  He grabs my hand, and I turn around and shove him. He looks like he wants me to do it again. Like he wants me to hit him so he can feel something. Jesus—

  “Fuck.” He pulls at his hair. “I’m sorry. And I realize you have no obligation to me, but why—” He’s staring at the sidewalk, and when he speaks again, his voice is broken and breathless. “Why not me?” He looks at me, eyes watering, and he rubs his face and the tears away. “Never mind. I get you don’t owe me an answer to that. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

  My heart is in my throat. I—I don’t know what to say. I’ve spent months hoping—dreaming—that he liked me. That he’d see me. “You like me?” I sound so stupid, but I need to hear him say it.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” His eyes are wild, and I want to tell him obviously fucking not but instead I walk over and sit on the electrical box. It’s cold on my legs.

  “You never said anything.” My heart’s squeezing, and it’s hard to sort out all the thoughts in my head.

  He lets out a breath that sounds like he’s dying. “I sent you love songs.”

  My stomach twists and turns. “You send everyone playlists.” And I didn’t think I was special enough for them to mean something. He never told me they meant something. I wanted him to, I gave him opportunities to, and he never said anything.

  “I sent you love songs. I wrote you love songs and posted them online. I called you every morning—I—Jesus Christ. What else was I supposed to do, Liv?” He says my name like it breaks him. Liv. Love. Liv. Love. It’s all falling apart.

  “You never told me, Eli.” I’m replaying everything in my head. I know I’m not crazy. “You were holding hands with Kara at the fucking movies.”

  “She held my hand and I—you looked me dead in my face and told me to move on.”

  I’m yelling at him, because I’m not taking the blame for this. I’m not taking the blame for breaking my own heart. “I was talking about me. I was telling myself to move on, because you were hung up on Kara!”

  He’s running his hands through his hair, staring at me wide-eyed. “I was talking about you.”

  I’m shaking my head. I’m not crazy. “You didn’t tell me, Eli.”

  “Did Dré tell you? Did he say it?”

  He did. He does. I’m realizing that even Kai said he liked me. I’ve been told I’m cared about by everyone except the one person I most wanted to hear it from...but I didn’t tell Eli either.

  Eli’s reading my face, but he’s misunderstanding me. “So that’s it. You guys are a thing.”

  “We aren’t.”

  He shakes his head. “Oh, give me a fucking break. You put out and you’re not even with him?”

  I really don’t give a rat’s ass how he’s feeling or if I was part of the problem, too. He just called me a slut—twice. I get up, and I leave him there on the corner. He’s calling after me, but I don’t care. I don’t know if Eli’s completely broken now, but I won’t let him break me, too.

  ACT FOUR

  ACT FIVE—Scene Two—

  Here I Come Reprise

  Othello:

  IT’S A SONG, IT CAN’T BE UNSUNG

  MY LOVE, HERE I COME

  Desdemona:

  (HUMS) MY LOVE, HERE I COME

  Othello:

  WELL, THE WINDS ARE HERE, NOW IT’S TIME TO FEEL THE CHANGE AND THE SHIFT

  Desdemona:

  CAN’T WE MAKE IT WORK OR WILL WE COMPLETELY CALL IT QUITS?

  Desdemona/Othello:

  THE WIND’S A ROARIN’, I CAN’T HEAR YOU, NOT THE SMALLEST, LITTLE BIT

  Iago:

  MY PLAN HAS FOUND ITS PLACE IN THE BEAT

  Desdemona (spoken):

  I believe in Othello. He’ll see that I am true and that I always have been.

  Emilia:

  Men are beasts. You’re too young to see it. But they are all the same.

  (Othello ENTER bedroom)

  Othello:

  EVEN THOUGH I’M SCARED, I’M COMMITTED TO THE FALL

  IT’S HERE AND NOW OR NEVER

  Desdemona:

  PLEASE REMEMBER OUR LOVE SONG

  Othello/Desdemona:

  I’M FALLING, BABY, I COULD DIE, I COULD DIE

  I’M FALLING, BABY, I COULD DIE

  I’M (YOU’RE) HURTIN, BABY, I CAN’T LIE, I CAN’T LIE

  I’M DYIN’ DOWN DEEP INSIDE

  Desdemona

  THEN LET THE SONG BE SUNG

  Othello:

  MY LOVE, HERE I COME

  Desdemona:

  MY LOVE, HERE YOU COME

  Othello:

  MY LOVE, HERE I COME

  MY LOVE, MY LOVE, HERE I COME

  IT CAN’T BE UNDONE

  THE LAST THING I HEAR

  ARE HER BREATHS DISAPPEAR

  SHE DIDN’T SCREAM OR HAVE FEAR

  I CAN’T UNWIND OUR BROKEN TIME

  MY LOVE, MY LOVE’S NO LONGER HERE

  Chapter 27

  The holidays are over. Christmas sucked balls, because I couldn’t explain to anyone why I was completely vacant. I’ll die before telling my mom that I got into a fight with Eli because I slept with Dré in an attempt to move on from the crush that turns out wasn’t unrequited.

  I also can’t tell Lennox or Jackie, because I don’t want to feel like sex with Dré was a mistake. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew Eli felt the same way I did—but I don’t regret it—which leaves me in this screwed-up quagmire. And then, my mind is stuck on what Eli called me. I know it’s not true, but I feel the label sticking to me the way pancake syrup sticks to my fingers.

  I saw Aida, and even Tony Award–worthy songs couldn’t wash away what Eli said.

  Just because he liked me doesn’t mean I owed him anything. Just because I had sex with someone I care about—someone who cares about me even though we’re not together—doesn’t make me anything but a girl with a body. I hate that, for a split second, he made me feel dirty. Like somehow I tarnished a prize that was his.

  Fuck labels. No, really, I wrote that down on my list: 10. Fuck labels.

  But that label is keeping me up at night, because... I kind of believe it. I went from almost losing my virginity in the back of a car to actually sleeping with someone else—and I know I went into sex not looking for a relationship with Dré, but what the hell am I doing?

  I keep seeing the way Eli’s face pulled in disgust when he implied I was a slut. Deep down inside—deep in there, I know I did nothing wrong. I was there for him while his life was falling apart, and how was I supposed to know how he felt when he never told me?

  Just because he liked me doesn’t mean I owed him my virginity. It was my first time to have with whoever I wanted to share it with.

>   I’m not trying to make it all about me. I’m not, but there is only so much emo-fuckboy attitude I can take. If I could go back and do it over again, I’d have left that stupid crush to sizzle up in the summer sun. I’d stop picking up all those damn phone calls like a moron, because I refuse to be in love with someone who makes me feel like this.

  I feel so stupid and now with school starting again, we have practice every day, on top of everything else going on in my life.

  As far as my band director is concerned, I’m just not giving my all when it comes to music and—well, obviously. I’m a high school student with a lot of fucking extracurriculars that all believe they deserve my undivided attention. And guess what? No one gets undivided attention—not even me. I don’t even know the last time I deep-conditioned my hair.

  The third day into this bullshit and I’ve got more drama in my life than this theatre can handle.

  I’m sitting next to Dré, pretending to do my homework. He’s doodling on my binder—a cartoon version of me freaking out over said homework. I’d laugh, but I’m so behind on everything already that it isn’t funny. Mrs. G doesn’t believe in us having free time. She brought in a vocal coach yesterday, and the lady is coming back today to criticize me some more. You’re not giving him what he’s giving you, honey.

  First of all, I’m not her honey. Second, Dré is ten times better than I am at singing, so of course I’m not as good as him.

  Dré taps me. Mrs. G is calling us to the stage to practice choreography. I’m in four dance routines. The thing about having such a small role is I’m also an extra in scenes my character isn’t in.

  If I’d known this, I wouldn’t have signed up to do this ridiculous musical, because now I’m getting onstage and I’m supposed to make eye contact with Eli as we celebrate the fact that he didn’t drown at sea. Honestly, he ends up smothering his wife, and he’s already called me a slut, so are we really happy?