Between You & Me

by Marisa Calin

  ME

  That’s just great! I’m waiting for her and she was looking for me.

  YOU

  You were waiting for her? I’m confused.

  ME

  At what point in the twisty-turny plot did I lose you?!

  My exasperation escaped too fast. Here I am taking it out on you again. We’re paused in the hallway on that knife-edge: where everything is aggravating me but I should just let it go. I rest my forehead on your shoulder with a groan.

  ME

  Sorry. Never mind. I was just hoping to see her, that’s all.

  You seem to be trying to understand but your forehead is still creased. We start toward class and I seize a fleeting moment of resolve.

  ME

  I don’t know if I want to be her or kiss her but I know my heart is ready to explode.

  We’re still walking. Everything looks the same. We’re both still here. The world didn’t go up in a puff of smoke. I can’t bring myself to look at you for a second but when I turn—

  YOU

  Bang!

  I grab your arm, pressed warmly against mine, and laugh and laugh.

  HOMEROOM. THE NEXT WEEK.

  People are taking their seats as I come into homeroom and cross to my chair. There on my desk is something waiting for me! Not even taking the time to wave in your direction, I tuck my chair in behind me and pick up what looks like a book. I run my fingertips over the textured cover, examining the clasp keeping the pages together. It says nothing on the front so I release the clasp and open it to the first page. There, in calligraphy, in the top corner: Lily Price. 1950. It really is for me! I look more closely. It’s like something from the fifties, the creamy pages blank, but each edged with a curly pattern. I look up, a smile spread across my face, and you’re smiling back. We have a minute before first bell and I hold it up, beckoning you over. You look excited as you come toward me and I haven’t even shown it to you yet! I present it, gleeful.

  ME

  I think it must be from Mia. It was right here on my desk!

  Everything’s falling into place.

  Remember, she said we should write a journal in character. Its perfect, isn’t it? Look how beautiful!

  Struck by her kindness, I’m filled with a feeling of closeness to her. I hold it up to let you see. You look blankly over the cover.

  YOU

  No … Yeah, it’s great. I mean, I hope it’s helpful.

  I nod my head, holding the book to my chest, overcome with pleasure at this moment in my life and happy that you’re here with me.

  ME

  This play is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  You nod.

  YOU

  I’m glad you like it so much.

  I’m already formulating in my head the first words that Lily would have put down on paper in 1950 as you return to your desk.

  THEATER. AFTER SCHOOL. THE NEXT DAY.

  At the end of rehearsal, I snatch up the first chance I’ve had to thank Mia for the journal. There was no time to mention it at the beginning with everyone here, so I coolly approach, with more familiarity than I usually have the courage for.

  ME

  Hey.

  Holding the journal, I press my hand to its cover.

  I’ve been writing as Lily in my journal, and I can’t tell you how helpful it’s been.

  MIA

  Oh, that’s a great idea! I try to encourage it. I’m so glad it’s something that you thought would work for you. And I’m always pleased to see initiative. Let me know how it goes.

  I assure her I will and, replaying her words, tuck the book back into my bag as I walk out of the room. Great idea. I swallow, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Great idea. She was full of warmth, sincerity, and not the slightest twinkle of recognition. Pushing thoughts from my head, I check the time and, turning down the hall, go straight to where I know you will be.

  SCHOOL GYM. MINUTES LATER.

  Basketball seems to have just finished as I get to the gym. I haven’t even reached the doors when you and Cara push through toward me. I smile quickly at Cara, then take hold of your wrist and pull you to the side so we’re not swallowed in a stream of traffic.

  ME

  Mia didn’t give me the journal.

  YOU

  I know.

  Just hearing the way you say it makes me feel sick. The framework that holds me together turns to jelly as I take a swing at your arm, and my voice comes out as a whine I don’t recognize.

  ME

  Why didn’t you tell me it was from you?

  YOU

  Because you seemed so much happier when you thought it was from her.

  I fall a little farther. The matter-of-fact way you say it only makes it worse.

  ME

  No! I would have loved it just as much if I’d thought it was from you.

  My voice comes out in a fraught tangle as I try to believe that’s the truth. You’re taken aback by the strength of my emotion.

  YOU

  Okay, okay, I know. You still would have liked it. It’s all right.

  I take a breath and try to pull it together.

  ME

  I wish you’d said something.

  YOU

  I didn’t want to make you feel …

  ME

  … Stupid!

  I almost lose it again. When someone tries to save you from your own stupidity it only proves that they think you are. Letting the rest of my air escape, I put my face in my hands. Slowly, I feel your arm around me, which makes no sense. How can you be so forgiving when I make these kinds of mistakes?

  ME

  Sorry, I just feel like an idiot.

  Reluctantly, I think back. There was nothing to suggest that it was from Mia. Nothing at all. That’s just what I let myself believe, for no reason. And I was so convinced! With a deeper pang of embarrassment I remember how you came toward me, probably because you expected the thanks that you deserved. You squeeze my shoulder gently.

  YOU

  Hey, Phy. Not everyone is staring yet. You wanna try and bag the last two?

  I almost smile as you gesture toward the only faces not looking this way. We turn toward the courtyard and, with my eyes still on the ground, I let out my best strangled wail.

  ME

  Did I get ’em?

  YOU

  You got ’em!

  Side by side, we start walking, and despite your efforts my thoughts return to the journal.

  ME

  I love it anyway—

  I repeat it twice more, and you nod as convincingly as you can as we head to the gate.

  HALLWAY. MORNING BREAK. THE NEXT WEEK.

  I’m ambling slowly to class, past the theater notice board. There’s a voice behind me. I spin around to see Tony coming toward me. I haven’t seen him with Elle recently—I think their love lasted all of two weeks! The customary:

  TONY

  Hey!

  ME

  Hey!

  TONY

  So, I hear you’re doing the play.

  ME

  Yep.

  TONY

  I was going to try out but it clashed with football.

  Ryan, barreling down the hallway toward us, interrupts the moment as always.

  RYAN

  Hey, Tony. You’re persistent!

  Tony blushes and Ryan thumps him on the back.

  Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to embarrass you.

  The conversation fizzles out and Ryan throws his arm around Tony’s neck in a semi-headlock as they turn away.

  RYAN

  Forget it, man. She’s cold.

  Tony shrugs him off as you appear. For a vivid second, I imagine punching Ryan in the face (Tweety Birds circling). Or I could fling my arms around Tony’s neck and kiss him like everyone else—to protect myself from comments like that. I choose neither. And in my hesitation you find your protective streak.

  YOU

  Don’t talk about he
r like that!

  Ryan stops. I can see him toying with the idea of sarcasm, or something really eloquent like “shut up.”

  RYAN

  Come on, I’m just playing.

  YOU

  Yeah, you’re funny. Go play with someone else.

  Ryan scoffs but I can tell it’s because you got to him. Tony turns back, trying to regain the tone he started with.

  TONY

  Well, good luck in the play.

  It doesn’t work. He leaves with a smile but it’s half-assed and I wonder if this time he really will give up. The hallway is quiet again.

  YOU

  You okay?

  ME

  (Lying)

  Fine!

  THEATER. AFTER SCHOOL. THE NEXT DAY.

  Everyone is in the theater. Sarah, in character as usual, gives me a kiss on the top of the head on her way past. I look to see if Mia is here yet, as if that were necessary. I can see her without looking because of the place in my consciousness that is reserved just for her. She pushes through the door, her mind sweetly engaged by something far away, but she smiles when she sees me looking. I watch her set down her bag as I climb up onstage behind Sarah. Is Lily’s life any simpler than mine? Maybe hers will put mine into perspective. My moments of perspective seem only to last until the next time I see Mia.

  THE PRICE HOUSE. SATURDAY EVENING.

  Lily’s mother stands at the sink, humming. Outside, Bobby arrives nervously at the front door in a suit and tie, with his hair neatly combed and a bunch of flowers in his hands. He rings the doorbell. As Mom crosses to open it, she sees him from the window brushing his shoes against the bristles of the hedgehog boot cleaner. She opens the door:

  MOM

  Well now, don’t you look handsome. And such clean shoes!

  BOBBY

  Thanks, Mrs. Price. I heard that Miss Price didn’t have the best of evenings yesterday, so I thought she might like me to take her to the pictures.

  Lily, having heard the doorbell, skips downstairs and peeks around the kitchen wall. She can’t see past her mother.

  MOM

  (Calling)

  Lily. Someone’s here to see you. A very dashing young man, if I may say so.

  Lily sails around the corner and stops short.

  LILY

  Oh. It’s you!

  Bobby’s face drops.

  MOM

  Give us a moment, Bobby.

  Lily’s mother lets the screen door swing shut. Bobby turns and sits down on the front step.

  Honey—

  LILY

  Mom, I’m not going anywhere with Bobby. I couldn’t. To be seen with Bobby—

  MOM

  I’m surprised. That’s just how Michael treated you and you didn’t like it very much.

  Lily starts up the stairs.

  But it’s as you wish.

  Mom turns back toward the front door.

  Can’t see the harm in an evening out, myself, and on such a nice night. Oo, but if you’re going to be home, we could play cribbage. I’ll tell him to be getting along—

  LILY

  I suppose I could give him a chance.

  MOM

  Well, I suppose.

  Lily looks at Bobby on the step, picking at the bouquet of flowers.

  MOM

  Then shall I let him in?

  Lily is all at once agitated.

  LILY

  Wait, I have to get ready. I can’t go out like this.

  Her mom suppresses a smile.

  MOM

  So run upstairs. He’ll be here when you come down.

  Lily nods and runs upstairs. Mrs. Price returns to the front door. She winks at Bobby.

  Looks like you got yourself a date.

  Gabe is still standing on stage at the end of rehearsal. I go over to him since he seems to be waiting. Being around him makes me nervous, maybe because I still find the line between him and his character a little hazy. Maybe because he’s always smiling and stands really close so that when I look up at him my chin practically rests on his chest. As it does now:

  ME

  Hey.

  I am super-aware of the closeness. His T-shirt smells unexpectedly nice. When we’re next to each other he has a good six inches on me and seems to enjoy it. I feel safe in scenes with him at least, like he won’t forget the words because they’re his own. But in these unscripted moments, I’m more nervous …

  Case in point:

  OUTSIDE PEELE’S. EARLY EVENING.

  There’s something about Gabe. He didn’t ask me out like other people have, he kind of told me we had a date and I never corrected him. It’s a refreshing change and even though I’m not sure it’s a good idea, here I am! He swept me up in the idea, saying that it would help us get into character, which kind of makes sense. And with Ryan’s comment in the hall, I didn’t think it would hurt. Gabe met me after my shift, in a crisply pressed shirt—cute—and so far, I’ve had a surprisingly good time. You have karate tonight, so I haven’t even had the chance to tell you I’m here with him yet. I have thought about Mia once or twice but otherwise I’m all here.

  It’s getting dark earlier, and fairy lights frame the windows of Peele’s. Gabe is standing as close as usual and I can actually see the lights glinting in his eyes. As we walk, he’s finding reason to be near me. He makes a joke semi at my expense so he can playfully push me and when I go flying he pulls me in toward him like a yo-yo. Aside from this athletic flirting, I like how I feel around him—girlish, desired, and I can’t remember feeling that recently. The street is empty and the sun is setting so that everything glows amber. I’m thinking about making some comment about it but, when I turn around, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me! It’s firm and warm. I think I make a small noise, more from surprise than enjoyment. Not that I’m not enjoying it but my heart isn’t beating out of my chest as even my imagination can cause it to. There are no fireworks, no butterflies. It’s nice but just not quite right. Putting my hands against his chest, I gently push away. He smiles.

  GABE

  Sorry, misread the moment maybe?

  ME

  Yep!

  A semi-awkward, interesting pause.

  Sorry. I like you, Gabe, and it’s nice to have spent time together, but …

  GABE

  Say no more, babe.

  There’s the “babe” I was expecting!

  ME

  Really? So we’re okay.

  GABE

  Sure.

  That was easy. He’s still relaxed, smiling! Maybe it’s a girl thing to die of embarrassment after suddenly kissing someone. (And a normal thing!) Guys have it easy. When they’re not embarrassed, it actually seems less embarrassing. I kissed you. So what’s the problem? I feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth as I imagine just kissing people when I wanted to. There’d be mayhem.

  He’s still gazing at me and I picture us silhouetted in the fading light. If only it was the most magical moment of my life. He looks like he might tuck a strand of hair behind my ear if one were going rogue but fortunately I’m uncharacteristically put together and he settles for running a fingertip under my chin.

  GABE

  I just looked at you, and the way you looked against the sunset, I knew I had to kiss you.

  I’m torn between laughing out loud at the extreme schmaltz, and kissing him again. He hasn’t stepped away and I wouldn’t have to move far to be touching him. Part of me considers it: letting him press into me with his soft mouth and firm body, because he makes me feel sexy … feminine. But that’s not a good enough reason.

  ME

  Sweet talk will get you nowhere, pal.

  No one’s said “pal” since the fifties but if he can get away with kissing me, I think I can get away with “pal.” I push him to arm’s length with a fingertip and then nudge him in the ribs with an elbow as we start walking, a nudge that says, “Ya big charmer, but enough of the kissing!” The gesture makes me think of you.