We’re silent on the walk home. We stay on the other side of the street, opposite the park.
Back in the dorm, Adam and Max have joined Rory and Felix in front of the TV. While Rory and Felix are sitting on the futon with eyes glued to the set, Adam is sitting on a leather beanbag chair and Max is lying on the floor in front of him, leaning against Adam’s legs. Adam’s got his left arm draped across Max’s chest, and Max grabs it with both hands like he wants to press it closer to his heart. I suddenly miss Ian. Or maybe not the Ian part. Just the having-someone-care part.
Dylan spreads an Indian-print tapestry on the floor and we unpack the meal, enough food for all of us and perhaps two more suites. We just wanted to seem like good guests.
I eat a little, quickly, because I’m ravenous but also want to get the camera going as soon as possible. I put it on the coffee table and frame the shot so we’re all in there, pretty much. It’s close enough so there’s decent audio. Look at me, saying words like audio.
Dinner is fun. Dylan and his friends talk about college, about their courses and their professors and some of the student films in the works. They ask us about Five at Sixteen, and Nate tells the story of the retreat weekend and everything it set in motion.
“How much did they shoot before this weekend?” asks Adam.
“Several weeks’ worth,” says Nate, so casually it’s almost obvious he’s leaving something out. “I think they spent a decent amount of time with each of us so far.”
“Will they shoot more once you get back?” asks Dylan.
Nate looks at me, as if I know the answer, and I just shrug. It’s something I haven’t thought about.
The whole time we’re eating, Felix and Rory have not said a word.
We’re almost done with dinner when the fourth roommate, Kyle, arrives. He has no reaction whatsoever to the presence of strangers in his suite.
“Hey,” says Dylan. “You got my text about our visitors?”
“Yeah,” says Kyle distractedly, like who cares. “I just ran into Vijay and he said they’re having a party tonight.”
“Cool,” says Dylan. He turns to Nate and me, beaming. “Vijay and his suitemates throw the best parties. You guys picked the right night to hang here.”
It’s been an hour, and Dylan and his friends are still getting ready to go out. Granted, there’s just one bathroom and all four of them need to shower. But by contrast, I was ready in five minutes. That simply involved changing into a sweater, the only nonslob item I packed for the weekend, and running the girly brush through my hair. Even if I had my eyeliner with me, I’m not sure I’d put it on. At least I’ve got the pink streaks. I’m beginning to see them as built-in fashion accessories.
Parties are just not my thing. I tried drinking once. It messed up my stomach for two days. When you’re totally sober and everyone around you is totally not, you feel like an alien who’s landed on a planet of shouting idiots. I wonder if that’s how it is for Rory wherever she goes: like she’s always the only nonwasted person in the room.
Nate has opted to wait his turn for a shower, so he finally takes one, and Felix and Rory are watching TV again. They’ve made no indications that they’re getting ready to go to a college party in the middle of Greenwich Village in the middle of New York City. Very possibly the coolest thing they will get a chance to do all year. Then again, maybe I’m biased because I can already see the shooting possibilities.
“You guys are coming, right?” I say, keeping my voice as light as possible.
“I would like to come, yes,” replies Rory. “I’m curious to see what it’ll be like. As long as I can leave whenever I want.”
“I’m not sure,” says Felix.
“How can you say that?” I ask, smiling. “When else are you going to have an opportunity like this?”
A phone rings from somewhere deep inside Nate’s backpack, which is sitting on the floor of the common room.
Nate comes out of the bathroom, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with Iron Man on it. His hair sticks out on all sides and frankly, he looks adorable. I just want to reach out and smooth it down, or at least give him my hairbrush again. He whizzes past me and the smell of clean boy almost knocks me over as he digs into his backpack, finds his phone, and answers it.
“Hello?” he says hopefully. A pause, then: “Oh. Yes. She’s here.” He flicks his eyes toward Rory. “She’s totally fine. Do you want to talk to her? . . . Okay. I’ll tell her. . . . Yes, as soon as we can. We’ll be in touch.”
Nate hangs up his phone and turns to Rory. “Your mom wants to remind you to take your meds,” he says.
“Already did,” says Rory. “Thanks, Mom.”
Rory smiles at her microjoke, and we all laugh nervously. Nate does a good job of hiding his disappointment. Surely he thought we’d hear from Keira by now.
I can’t stop the urge to reach out toward him. My hand takes off and lands, gingerly, just the fingertip, on his wrist.
“She’ll call,” I tell him.
“I think I should try her now,” he says.
“She knows we’re here, right? Then let her be. Let’s give it until ten o’clock before we try her. That’s a reasonable time to be checking up on someone.”
I’m not sure how these words, which make actual sense, came out of my mouth. But suddenly, the rest of the evening rolls out before me. I can see exactly how it should go, and there’s no reason why it can’t go like that.
Ten minutes later, our hosts are ready and we’re all headed out the door. Rory pulls herself off the couch, but Felix does not. I go over to him and kneel down, rest my chin on his thigh.
“Come on, Felix. You’ll hate yourself if you don’t at least go for a little while. You’ll always wonder.”
“I know,” he says sadly.
“Besides,” I add, “I think Rory needs you there.” God, I’m awful. Playing the cards I know will beat him.
Felix takes a deep breath, turns off the TV, then nods without meeting my eyes and stands up. I follow him out the door.
TWENTY-ONE
I do have to hand it to Vijay and Company, because this is one hell of a party.
The suite is identical to Dylan’s, except decorated much more ornately, every square inch of wall covered with posters, strings of colorful plastic beads draped everywhere. The ceiling is covered with shimmery CDs and old vinyl records, and a layer of little white Christmas lights that shine up into them reflects a galaxy of electric stars.
I’m standing with Felix and Rory against one wall, shooting the room. Dylan’s been introducing us as freshmen. “She’s just getting some B-roll for a student film,” he said, pointing to me. I get the feeling they’re used to this kind of thing and don’t care that they’re getting caught on camera as underage drinkers.
There’s actually a DJ spinning in the corner, and I’m told this is one of Vijay’s suitemates, hence the assumed awesomeness of the event. His gifts, apparently, are related to being able to produce great sounds at minimal volume so as not to break dorm rules.
The room is small, so it feels more crowded than it really is, and already a dozen people are dancing. Adam and Max are grooving together and not even touching, but their attraction, their chemistry, is so loud I can almost hear it buzz along the bass line of the music. Felix watches them, his face all curiosity and examination. He’s barely looked at these two so far, but now, it’s as if he’s the only person at a private screening of the Adam and Max movie.
Something about it seems off and decidedly un-Felix. When I think he won’t notice me, I get a shot of his expression, then pan to the guys.
But he notices me.
“Why did you just do that?” snaps Felix.
“Why are you staring at them?”
“I’m not . . .” He stops, knowing he can’t deny it. Embarrassed, and a little vulnerable, maybe. He adds, “Justine, don’t shoot me anymore. Not here. Okay?”
“Okay.” I put the camera on pause, then look over at
Rory. Even I feel overstimulated in this place, and there are bodies coming dangerously close to her every 1.4 seconds, but her curiosity seems to be overriding all that.
“What do you think?” I ask her.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen people having so much fun,” she says, glancing quickly at me and then down to the floor. “Real fun. Not fake fun.”
I smile, thinking of the gatherings I used to attend with Ian. Everybody trying to look like they were having a great time, constantly glancing around to see who was noticing them looking like they were having a great time. But there’s something pure about this party. The people here seem to have crossed over some bullshit barrier.
I haven’t seen Nate since we first got here. He disappeared into one of the bedrooms with Dylan and Kyle, and I’m trying not to get mad about it. What’s happening in there? It’s sort of obvious. They’re smoking a joint, or doing shots, or something worse. It’s not like I want to be included. Two days ago, I wouldn’t have expected anything less from Nate. But tonight, it feels like a betrayal of who he is now, to me.
Nate reappears, looking worried. He comes over to stand with us, taking a place against the wall next to me as if we’re all in a police lineup. After a minute, he leans in close to my ear and says something that sounds like, “You wanna dance?”
There’s no way he could be saying that, so I move my ear closer and ask, “What?”
He breathes in and out, and I can feel his breath on my skin. “I said, do you wanna dance?”
“With you?” This just escapes me. A reflex, like a blink, or my knee after being hit with the doctor’s mallet.
Nate looks hurt. “Never mind. I’m just not one for standing here.”
He doesn’t seem drunk or stoned. “What were you doing in that room?” I ask, before I chicken out.
Nate glances in the direction of the room, and I can’t read his expression. Finally he leans down again. His breath, again. “Rabbit.”
“Rabbit?”
“One of the guys who lives here has a rabbit. It won’t eat. Dylan remembered that I used to raise them, so he asked me to take a look.”
Nate’s voice even saying the word rabbit seems unnatural, like he has trouble wrapping himself around the sound. It’s the first time I’ve seen him connect himself directly to the person he used to be.
I must look really shocked, because he adds, “You thought I was drinking or smoking or snorting something. Right?” When I don’t answer, he shakes his head and mutters a word I can’t hear, then launches himself off the wall. Walks over to Rory. I see him hold out his hand, and she shakes her head. Then he holds out his other hand and says something else to her, and she smiles shyly. Rory grabs on to both his hands and he pulls her, walking backward, to the very edge of the dance cluster. They start to move.
Why didn’t I say yes to dancing with him? Here, of all places, it would have been okay. More than okay. But I can’t seem to break us out of our old boxes, despite everything we’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours.
I don’t have too much time to dwell on this, though, because in the middle of the floor, Adam and Max have suddenly frozen. Adam whispers something in Max’s ear, Max nods. Max steps around a few people to get to the wall. Where Felix is.
“Hey, man,” says Max, holding out his hand with an earnest smile. “Come dance with us.”
Felix looks so terrified, Max may as well be holding a wooden stake against his chest. He doesn’t even speak.
“You’ve been watching us all night,” adds Max. “It seems like you really want to.” He nods ever so slightly, as if giving Felix permission for something.
Felix glares at Nate. Quick, but whoa. Intense and hateful. Nate’s so focused on Rory, moving side to side with her the way ten-year-olds do at a painful school social, he doesn’t notice. Then Felix looks back at Max, still offering his open palm.
Something happens to me here. It’s like my brain has been wrapped in a fog that’s now lifting, moving across the night to reveal a crystal clear, oh-so-obvious moon.
Felix pushes Max away, both hands against his chest, sending him stumbling into a group of people, then bolts from the room.
Nate and Rory freeze, but I take off after him, gripping the camera. In the hallway, above the noise of the party, I can hear footsteps in the stairwell. Ping ping ping.
“Leave me alone!” I hear Felix call before a door opens and booms shut, and there’s something in his voice that tells me he’s not sure exactly who’s chasing him. I don’t yell that it’s me, in case that means he’ll just run faster.
Now I’m at the door and I throw myself through it. It puts me out in another hallway, but I see the building lobby up ahead, and Felix at the front door, rushing outside. By the time I’m outside too, I just get a glimpse of him at the corner, crossing the street into the park. He’s not running anymore. He slows to a walk, deliberate, angry. Each hard footstomp on the pavement is like a silent shout.
I keep up my speed, though, and I’m able to get across the street during the same traffic light. I don’t have to go too far into the park to find Felix. He must have grabbed the first empty bench he saw, but it’s a nice one, right under a streetlamp. He sits hugging his knees to his chest and when he sees me approach, he doesn’t react. He just watches me. I slide into the bench next to him and struggle to catch my breath.
“I thought it was you,” Felix says flatly.
We’re silent for a little while, breathing together, as we watch a pair of young women with identical shopping bags walk by. Elsewhere in the park, someone’s playing a clarinet.
“Go ahead,” he finally says. “Ask what you want to ask.” The first part of his sentence comes out casually, but by the end of it, his voice is shaking, breaking down.
I don’t ask what I want to ask. I ask something else. “When you asked Rory what helps, I thought that was brilliant, really. Can I steal that? Can I just ask how I can help you?”
“You can’t help me, but thanks anyway.” Felix shakes his head. “Goddamn Nate. He planned this whole thing.”
I assume he means the trip to find Keira. “It was my idea, originally. Remember? But he does seem to be in charge at the moment.”
“I mean, coming here to Dylan’s. We could have hung out in a park or gone to Macy’s or something while we waited.”
“I think he wanted to find a place where we could borrow money and sleep, if it got too late . . .”
But Felix is not listening to me. “Nate knew Dylan is . . . out,” he continues, “and that his friends were probably like that.” He turns to me now, tears welling up in his eyes. “But I’m not. You know that, right? I’m not. I can’t be.”
“You mean gay.”
Felix shrivels at the sound of the word, into a smaller version of himself. I don’t want to ruin this. The camera’s off, but this must continue. I draw a mental line back to what he said about Nate, then connect that conversation to the rest of what just happened.
“Felix, why would Nate think you’re gay?”
Now Felix is really crying. He puts his hands over his eyes and sobs. They are little-boy-lost sobs, the-world-is-ending sobs. I rest my hand on his knee.
“Felix?” I prod.
Felix sucks in a deep breath, and the sobs disappear into it.
“Because maybe I am.” He raises his eyes only halfway to me, and I still can’t see his face.
I want to ask something practical here, like, Why? Are you attracted to men? But I decide to take a different tack.
“And how would Nate know that?” I keep my voice easy. Totally nonjudgmental.
For this one, Felix has to turn his head so he’s looking away from me, toward the music, wherever it is.
“Something happened. When we were kids.”
I wait for him to go on. I’m tired of filling in the blank spaces with questions.
“We were eleven. It wasn’t long after they shot Five at Eleven, but before the movie came out.”
“Can you tell me what it was?”
“No. I don’t want you having that image in your head. God knows it’s burned into mine.” He pauses, then slowly pivots toward me, still not meeting my glance. “Let’s just say we were messing around, wrestling, you know, and I had this overwhelming need to see what would happen if—” He stops dead, jammed against the thing in his mind that blocks him from going further. But I don’t need him to go past it right now. It’s all making so much sense. Felix’s eagerness for us to start dating. All the cryptic things Nate said.
Seeing Felix every day, right in front of me, but not seeing him at all.
“Wow,” I say. “I really had no clue. You’re going through all this and you kept it completely hidden? Impressive. Terribly unhealthy, but impressive.”
Felix shrugs. “Well. That’s something, I guess.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t think you could tell me. It would have been fine.”
“But if I didn’t tell anyone, then it didn’t have to be true. I can’t be gay, Justine. I just can’t.”
“Why not?”
Now, at last, Felix looks me in the eye. “Do you know what my dad would do? He would kick me out of the house. And my mom . . . she’d kill herself, if she didn’t die of a broken heart first.”
“I think you’re being a little overdramatic.”
“You don’t know what it’s like, with my family. We may as well be living in the eighteenth century when it comes to certain things.” Felix’s face takes on a sadness that’s so raw, so unself-conscious, it pierces me. “Then there’s everyone else. The whole freaking world. You think I want to open myself up to that kind of persecution from total strangers?”
“You could look at it a different way. If Lance and Leslie were aware of this, you’d be the focus of the film no matter how angry they were. It would be a great story. Inspirational, even.”
Felix shakes his head, hard. “If I’m going to come out, it’s not going to be for public consumption. Even I’m not that much of a media whore.”
You Look Different in Real Life Page 20