by Ted Michael
DUKE
You know what’ll go down in history?
NIGEL
(to me)
Henry, if we just ignore him, maybe he’ll disappear.
ME
My brain hurts. I need a break.
I fall down on my bed and pretend to be asleep. Nigel is sitting in the chair at my computer, and Duke has sunk into the beanbag chair next to my closet.
ME
Put on some music.
NIGEL
What do you wanna listen to? There’s this new song I like called “Everyone at School Saw You Having Lunch with Garrett Yesterday.”
I open my eyes.
ME
Never heard of it.
DUKE
Henry, dude. Seriously. Lunch in the courtyard? What were you thinking?
ME
It was just lunch.
I don’t mention the fact that I’m taking Garrett on an actual date tomorrow night.
ME (cont.)
It’s not a big deal.
NIGEL
Yes it is. Nothing is ever just lunch. Next thing we know you’ll be holding hands in the hallway or something else absolutely revolting. You have to stop this before it’s too late.
ME
Why don’t you guys just chill out and mind your own business?
DUKE
You are our business!
NIGEL
You’re our best friend, Henry, and this girl is no good for you. No good.
ME
You don’t even know her.
NIGEL
Neither do you! And you already hooked up with her … what else is there to do?
I should tell them that originally, back at the Sweet Sixteen in August, we didn’t hook up. That I lied to them. That I let them think we hooked up because I didn’t know what else to say. But I don’t. I’d rather have them think I’m a coward than a liar.
ME
You know, some guys actually like hooking up with the same girl more than once.
Duke and Nigel wince as though I’ve said something incredibly offensive.
NIGEL
Oh, Henry. What’s happened to you?
INT.—EAST SHORE HIGH SCHOOL, FRIDAY MORNING
Today is the big day. I’m taking Garrett somewhere I know she will love. I look sharp (I always do, but today especially) and I’ve written her a note saying to meet me after school in the student parking lot.
I leave Garrett’s locker, and I’m walking down the senior hallway when someone taps my shoulder.
LONDON
Henry.
ME
Uh, hey.
Here’s the deal with London: she’s hot, scary, and I lost my virginity to her. It happened about two years ago. I was still a total wreck from my mom having left. London’s mom isn’t in the picture either—we sort of bonded over that. And she was sweet. After, though, she wanted to be my girlfriend and I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. I broke it off. Then she turned into this hard-core biddy and became insanely popular and created the J Squad. We haven’t had an actual conversation since.
I feel bad about what happened with London, and I still think about it sometimes. Realizing I suck at relationships is one of the reasons I started crashing Sweet Sixteens. It’s clear to me that I hurt her, that I didn’t handle things well, but I didn’t know any better. And besides, that was years ago. I’m sure she’s over it by now.
ME (cont.)
How are you? I’m surprised to see you alone. You usually travel in a pack.
LONDON
Let’s not bother with small talk. We’re past that. And you’re not very funny.
ME
Okay …
LONDON
I just wanted to say that I saw you.
ME
Saw me what?
She motions to Garrett’s locker.
ME
I was just—
LONDON
Do you like her?
ME
Garrett?
LONDON
Of course. Do you? Like her?
I’m silent.
LONDON (cont.)
Well?
ME
Why does it matter to you?
LONDON
(scowling)
If that’s how you want to play this, Henry, then fine.
But I’m on to you.
She stomps away, and I am incredibly confused by what just happened. Why are girls so crazy?
Later, I’m waiting in Garrett’s driveway when there’s a tap on my car window. It’s Garrett. I open the door and let her inside; Ryan Adams’s album Easy Tiger is playing on my stereo. I am nervous but happy.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
“How was your day?”
“It was good,” I tell her. “Better now that you’re here.”
She laughs, and I laugh too. Who is this person talking? Better now that you’re here? I can’t believe I just said those words, let alone meant them.
Garrett is wearing a simple black dress. She looks incredible. Something makes me want to take her in my arms and kiss her.
I do.
Then she looks at me in a way I don’t think anyone has ever really looked at me before.
“So, are you ready for tonight?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “Where are we going? This is such a mystery!”
“What would you say if I told you I was taking you somewhere I can guarantee you’ve never been?”
She smiles. “I would say let’s go.”
“This is so cool,” Garrett says as we pull into the parking lot and find a spot. I’ve taken her to one—and my favorite—of the only drive-in movie theaters on Long Island. They’re basically extinct, save a few classics that refuse to shut down. Most of the time they play old romantic comedies or horror flicks. Tonight? They’re playing Night of the Living Dead.
“I hope this is okay,” I tell her. “I didn’t know if you liked scary movies, but I thought I’d take a chance.”
She messes up my hair with her fingers. “It’s great.”
“Are you sure? I’ve never, um, you know. Been on a date before. Not, like, a real one, anyway. Do you wanna go someplace fancy for dinner instead?”
“I have simple tastes, Henry. Give me a movie and some popcorn and I’m good to go.”
“My kind of girl,” I say, relieved. “I’ll be right back.”
I buy us popcorn, soda, and some Swedish Fish; when I get back, the movie is about to start.
“I asked for champagne but all they had was Diet Coke.”
“What drive-in movie theater doesn’t serve champagne to minors?” Garrett asks. “Who do they think they are?”
“I know, right? I’ll have to file a complaint with the manager.”
“If he’s anything like Roger, it’s probably not worth your time.”
“I don’t think anyone is like Roger,” I say. My car is warm and the popcorn is incredibly buttery. Garrett takes a handful and licks her fingers clean.
“What are you looking at?” she asks.
“You.”
“Why?”
“I’m just thinking about all the things I’d change about your face.”
“What?” She slaps me on the arm—playfully. “Henry!”
“I’m kidding,” I say. “You know you’re beautiful.”
“I’m already out with you, Henry. You don’t have to lie.”
“You do know how beautiful you are, right? I mean, you’re gorgeous.”
She blushes. “Okay, okay, Casanova. How about we focus on the movie, huh?”
Night of the Living Dead is gross. Garrett rests her head on my shoulder the entire time. Occasionally, she’ll scream and her hand will touch my leg or mine will touch hers and I swear to God it’s electric. Our connection isn’t just physical, either. I anticipate her every reaction: which parts of the movie she’ll laugh at because she’ll think they’re stupid, which parts she’ll c
lose her eyes during because they’re too grotesque, which parts she’ll be totally consumed by. And I know how she’s going to respond because it’s the exact same way I do.
There’s a moment when one of the characters discovers that her daughter has been turned into one of the living dead; even though there’s nothing sexy or romantic or anything remotely like that about this particular scene, I watch Garrett watching the movie, feel her holding my hand, and look up at the roof of my car. I pretend I can see right through the padding and the metal into the night and whisper Thank you.
“Did you have a nice time?” I ask. The movie is over and we’re about to say goodbye. I don’t want the night to end, but it’s late and, well, nothing lasts forever.
“I had a wonderful time,” she says, resting her head on the window. The sky is so dark it looks black. My iPod is hooked up to my stereo and I’m playing Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon.”
“Do you like this song?”
“Yeah,” Garrett says. “Of course.”
“Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars,” I croon, turning my hand into a microphone and doing my best Sinatra impression.
Garret chimes in: “In other words, please be trueeee! In other words, I love you.”
The song ends, and we both sit there. “You have a great voice,” I say.
“You’re sweet. But no, I don’t. I’m like … a step away from tone-deaf.”
She smiles, and I can’t help myself: I kiss her. Softly at first, and then I search for her tongue with mine. Eventually we break for air, and she says, “Next time we go to the movies, we should get our popcorn with less butter.” Then she kisses me again and says, “It’s time for me to go.”
“Not yet,” I say. “Just a little longer.”
“Sorry, kiddo, but I have a curfew. You don’t want me to turn into a pumpkin, do you?”
I have never really understood why people call it falling in love but now, tonight, I do. Because when I drop Garrett off and watch her wave goodbye, I feel like I am furiously out of control and falling fast. But also I feel like I’m flying, like there is wind and air beneath me. I don’t think you can fall and fly at the same time, though; I don’t understand how it would work. It seems that eventually one will win out over the other, and I’m pretty sure it’s much easier to crash than it is to soar.
GARRETT
“There’s something different about you,” my mother tells me. Henry and I have been spending every afternoon together for the past week, but I came home from school on my own today because the J Squad wants to have an early dinner at this Italian place called Baci.
“What do you mean?”
Mom is wearing a bandana and a magenta leotard. She just got back from the gym and is dripping with sweat. “Are you pregnant?”
“What? No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because I’m really too young to be a grandmother,” she says, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge and downing it.
“You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”
“Good. So what do you want for dinner? Turkey? Not like I cooked a turkey. I do have cold cuts, though. I could make you a sandwich.”
“That’s okay. I’m eating dinner with some friends from school.”
“Those girls you’ve been talking about?” She looks at me as though I’ve been lying about the J Squad these past few weeks.
“Yes, Mother. Those girls. Don’t look so surprised.”
“I’m not. Or rather, I am a little bit, but I’m glad you’re making friends. Friends who don’t have penises. Can I meet them? Just to make sure they don’t only exist in your head?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll embarrass me. And these are new friends. I don’t want to scare them away.”
“You know,” she says, taking off the bandana and dabbing the back of her neck with it, “when I was in high school I had dozens of friends. Millions. I was friend central. No one thought I was embarrassing then!”
“Yeah, well, times change. What can I tell you. I’ve gotta get ready.”
“Have you spoken to Amy recently?” she yells as I’m running up the stairs. “How’s she doing?”
“Fine,” I say, even though I have no idea if this is actually true.
“Tell her I say yodelay hee hoo! the next time you talk to her,” Mom screeches.
Sure. And I’ll tell her a whole lot more than that.
I almost forget how mad I am at Amy for dropping the ball on our friendship, because dinner with the J Squad is really “Fabulous” (Paul McCartney, 1999). I never realized how silly things can get with a few girls, some pasta, and a cute waiter.
“How come I’ve never seen you guys at any parties?” Devin, our waiter, asks us. When he’d mentioned that he went to Hofstra, we’d told him we were first-semester sophomores there.
“We don’t really party,” Jyllian says. “We mostly stay in and play with my Ouija board.”
“Really?” he asks.
“We’re trying to communicate with the ghost of my dead twin,” London says. “She was trampled by a horse.”
Devin looks really sad. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay,” London says casually. “She was fat. Can I have another Diet Coke?”
“Uh, sure.”
“I love messing with waiters,” she says once he’s gone. “They’re all so … gullible.”
“You know what else are gullible? Fish,” I say, pretending my hands are gills.
No one laughs.
“So I’ve narrowed down my dress options for Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen,” Jyllian says. The invitations came in the mail the other day—I was invited!—and according to the J Squad, figuring out what to wear is going to occupy pretty much the entire month of October.
“What color scheme are you going with?” Jessica asks, biting into a breadstick and slipping another one into her purse. “Rainbow?”
“Black,” Jyllian says. “I want something classic and slutty, but not slutty slutty, you know? Classy slutty. Clutty. I want guys watching MTV to want me, not think I’m a whore.”
“But you are a whore,” London says. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Jyllian says, turning to me and shrugging. “I kind of am.”
“I want to wear something lavish and purple,” London says, “but not bright purple. Sort of a dull purple.”
“Lavender?” Jessica asks.
“Absolutely not,” London says, looking horrified. “Lavender is for freaks. That color is so rusty.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
“What about you, Garrett?”
I haven’t thought much about my dress yet, but I like things that are simple and elegant. And somewhat affordable. “I actually saw a dress at Anthropologie the other day that was really cute. It was teal, but not in a tacky way.”
“OMG,” Jessica says, “I know exactly which dress you’re talking about. It would look lavish on you. You have to get it.”
“I think I will.”
Amy is (was—are we even friends anymore?) kind of tomboyish; she plays lacrosse and soccer, and her idea of dressing up is not wearing a pair of cleats. I can’t even begin to imagine talking about Sweet Sixteens and dresses and shopping with her. While those things aren’t my entire life, they are part of my life. It’s nice to have girlfriends to share that with.
“So,” London says while we’re figuring out what to order for dessert, “what’s the latest Henry update?”
“He’s in my gym class, and this morning we were doing sit-ups, and I wasn’t his partner but I was next to his partner, and I peeked over while he was doing them—he can do so many—and I’m not sure but, like, I think I saw his balls,” Jyllian says without stopping to breathe.
London smacks her. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Garrett.”
Jyllian giggles. “Oh. Right.” She leans forward and says,
“If they were his balls, then they’re huge.”
“That’s enough,” London says. “Really.”
I can’t help but laugh. One of the reasons I like the J Squad is because, well, they’re outrageous. “Henry’s good,” I say. “Things are good.”
“Details!” Jessica demands, taking a straw out of her purse and dropping it into her drink. “Juicy ones!”
I tell them about our “date” to the drive-in. What I don’t tell them is how much we’ve spoken since then—every night—and how oddly special the time we spend together is. When I agreed to the J Squad’s bet, I never imagined Henry would turn into someone I could actually see myself dating. Of course, there’s my personal mantra: I don’t want a boyfriend. Only, Henry makes me wonder if said mantra is actually true.
“I cannot believe Henry Arlington took you on a date,” Jyllian says. “He’s never done that. For anyone. And I mean anyone.” She shoots London a sideways glance. “Not even you.”
Not even you? What does that mean? I stare at London for a hint, but she doesn’t provide one.
“What’s he like?” Jessica asks, sighing. “I mean, what’s he really like? When you’re alone together.”
I don’t want to reveal too much, but I also want them to know how far along I am in this “LoveGame” (Lady Gaga, 2008). “He’s very sweet,” I tell them, “and he really likes movies. He’s very smart about film in general.”
“More!” Jessica says. “Tell us more!”
I notice that London is completely silent.
Finally, she says: “I heard he crashed a Sweet Sixteen in Carle Place the other night.”
He did?
“Are you sure?” I ask.