And right at that moment the doorbell rings. Seb has arrived, ready to witness my fucked up family situation.
“Crap. That’s him,” I say.
Harlow and Dad are both off the couch now, accompanying me to the front door.
“I don’t like this,” Dad mutters behind me.
“Go easy on her, Raf,” Harlow says in her yogi voice. He mutters something unintelligible.
I open the door, and Sebastian Matias is standing on our doorstep. It’s jarring, like someone Photoshopped him in there, blocking my usual view of our driveway and the yellow house across the street.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says. His sneakers today are a bright lime green. I’m convinced he has a collection at home, shoes in every ugly color of the rainbow.
With my eyes I try to send him a stern message to never call me “sweetheart” again, but he shrugs it off.
“Hello,” I say. I pull the door open wider and motion for him to come in. We don’t hug or give each other a peck on the cheek, like a real couple would.
We will never pull this off.
“Hi, Sebastian. So happy to meet you!” Harlow says, pulling him in for a hug. Harlow, unlike me, is a hugger. She is completely at ease in situations like this.
“Nice to meet you too,” Seb says. He notices my dad hovering behind her and straightens up. Seb is taller than Dad by a few inches, but Dad is a lot scarier than Seb is. They shake hands roughly.
“Sir,” Seb says with a nod.
Dad nods in return.
I stand there, unable to move, unsure of what the rules are. Can Seb and I hang out in my room? Do we stay down here, with Dad and Harlow awkwardly lurking around?
“Analee, why don’t you take Seb upstairs?” Harlow says, as if reading my mind. “We’ll be down here if you need anything.”
“Um, okay,” I say. I start for the stairs, wondering whether I should take Seb by the hand, then deciding against it when he follows me.
“No cierres la puerta,” Dad tells me sternly, reminding me to leave the door open.
Before I can answer him, Seb jumps into the conversation.
“Claro que no,” he replies in beautifully pronounced Spanish. I stop halfway up the stairs. It never occurred to me that Seb would speak Spanish too. Judging from the expression on Dad’s face, he’s equally surprised.
“Dominican on my dad’s side, Puerto Rican on my mom’s,” Seb says to us before we can ask.
“We’ll keep the door open,” I reassure Dad.
He nods, then stands there until Harlow pulls him back over to the couch.
As soon as Seb and I enter my room, I realize I forgot to hide Hello Kitty under the bed. Seb looks around my room, stopping to examine a picture of me and Lily from our weekend in Key West years ago. Then he heads straight for Hello Kitty, picks her up, and tosses her into the air.
“Be careful with her!” I say before I can stop myself.
His lips twitch. “Her?”
“It,” I correct myself quickly.
Seb bites his lip midgrin. He sets Hello Kitty back against my pillows, then sits on the corner of my bed. I take a seat at my desk.
“You know,” he says, “you’ll probably have to come within three feet of me if this relationship is going to work.”
“I just . . . I’m having second thoughts about this whole thing.”
“You’re making it too big a deal.”
“It will be a big deal,” I say. “Do you realize that our school hangs on your every move?”
“So?”
“So they’re all going to wonder what you’re doing with me. Matt McKinley will have a field day.”
“Matt will be too busy with his raging boner for Chloe,” Seb says.
A laugh escapes from me, even though picturing Matt with a boner triggers my vomit reflex. Seb smiles a little.
“Sit down,” he says. He rubs the space beside him on my comforter.
I shake my head. “I prefer to work from here.”
He rolls his eyes, kicks off his sneakers. Seb has been in my room for one minute and already feels more comfortable in it than I do. He goes through life the same way, kicking off his metaphorical shoes and making himself at home no matter where he is.
I pick up my trusty notebook and flip to a new page. “So what’s the plan? What’s our backstory? We have to get our lies straight if we want to pull this off.”
“Hmm.” Seb falls back onto my bed. His feet still touch the floor. “You’ve been in love with me since the moment you laid eyes on me?”
“Try again.”
“You came over to my house one day, wearing only a trench coat.”
“God, Seb! Be serious.”
“Just trying to make it interesting.” He shrugs. “Okay. How about . . . we were working on our science project after school. Just the two of us.”
“Go on.”
“Both of us leaned over to read our report, and our lips were so close, they were practically touching. Then . . .”
I scribble this in my notebook. I can’t look at him right now. My face is on fire. “Then what?” I ask without lifting my gaze.
“You pounced.”
I look up.
“I am not the one who pounced,” I say, laughing.
“Fine. I pounced.”
“You kissed me,” I clarify. I write this in my notebook, Seb kissed me, underlining his name three times for emphasis.
“I did,” Seb says. “And you liked it.”
It is a furnace in here. It’s at least ninety degrees right now.
I clear my throat. “When did this happen?”
“Last week?”
“When you were groveling for Chloe’s affection in the library? I don’t think so.”
“Couple of days ago, then.”
I jot this down, then close my notebook. “What happens tomorrow?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“I mean . . . do you walk me to class? Do we eat lunch together?”
He sits back up. “Maybe. Yeah, probably.”
“Well, which one?”
He laughs to himself, some joke I’m not understanding.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He fixes his face into a neutral expression. “Will you come sit on the damn bed? I’m cootie-free, I promise.”
“No.”
“Analee. You’re going to have to pull the stick out of your ass at some point.”
“Ugh, fine.” I don’t know why I’m being childish. I get up and sit on the opposite side of the bed.
“Hold my hand,” he says.
“What? No.”
“If you’re scared to touch me, no one’s going to take this seriously.”
It’s not that I’m scared of touching him. It’s that I don’t let anyone touch me.
He does have a point, though, so I let my hand flop onto the bed, palm-up. I feel him looking at me, but I stare at my hand, zeroing in on the lifeline that runs down to my wrist. My entire body, down to that lifeline, feels shaky. I see his hand slide across the comforter, and then his palm is pressing against mine, soft and warm. When he intertwines his fingers with my own, I feel an embarrassing urge to cry. It’s been a long time since I held hands with someone, and it feels so nice, even if it’s pretend.
“You’re freezing,” he says. He uses his other hand to rub the back of mine. I don’t know how my body is cold when my organs currently feel like hot coals. We sit on my bed, quietly, only the sound of friction from his hand rubbing mine.
“About tomorrow . . . ,” Seb says. “People will say what they want to say. Your job is to relax.”
“I’m relaxed,” I insist.
“You won’t even look at me.”
So, I do. I worry he’s going to laugh at me again, but his face is serious. No cheeky smile in sight.
“What’s the name of that guy you like? Your almost-boyfriend?” he asks.
Seb is stroking the inside of my wrist now
, and it’s causing my memory to lapse. What is he talking about? I can no longer understand the English language. Focus, focus, focus, Analee. Stop being stupid.
“Harris,” I say, too suddenly.
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.” I answer without hesitation, because it’s true. No matter how tingly Seb is making me right now, no matter how good he is with his hands, Harris gets me like no one else.
“Tomorrow you pretend I’m Harris. Okay?”
“Okay.” And it strikes me that one day maybe Harris will be the one holding my hand and stroking my wrist, and I won’t have to pretend that what I’m feeling is real.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I WAS A DUMB SIXTH grader when I first saw Seb Matias, too dumb to understand that hot guys are not worth anyone’s time—and that being hot doesn’t equal being smart, or kind, or funny.
I walked into homeroom, and there he was, slouched in the back row. He was skinnier back then, and he had a mouth full of braces like me, but he was still one of the cutest boys I had ever seen. I thought for sure he was a model or a celebrity trying to live like a commoner. Maybe it was some kind of bizarre social experiment, like a handsome prince had traveled to East Bay, Florida, to wear a middle schooler’s disguise.
He looked up at me when I walked through the door. He smiled, and even with his metal mouth, my legs turned to jelly. The seat next to him was empty, which to me seemed miraculous. How had no one rushed to take it? It was the briefest window of time when Seb was another new kid in school, before Chloe and the hordes of pretty girls latched on to him.
“Analee! Over here!” I saw Lily waving at me from the second row. She hadn’t learned how to do her hair yet—that didn’t happen until freshman year of high school. In sixth grade it stayed in a frizzy ponytail most of the time.
I smiled and took the seat beside my best friend, turning my back on Seb.
Matt McKinley ended up taking that seat next to Seb. The Anally nickname came a few minutes later, and I never looked at Seb the same way again. Lily and I became us, while Seb and the others became them.
Mom picked me up from school that day like she did every day. We went to McDonald’s and shared a carton of greasy french fries.
“¿Como te fue?” She’d ask me, always in Spanish, how my day was. Unlike the typical teenager, I would tell her. Often in full paragraphs. That day I bitched to her about my name.
“ ‘Analee’ was your great-grandmother’s name,” she said. “And your great-grandmother was a badass.”
“Okay, well I am not a badass,” I replied. “So the name doesn’t make sense for me.”
If I were truly a badass, Matt McKinley wouldn’t have chosen to make fun of me. Seb wouldn’t have laughed.
Mom waved a french fry at me. “What do you mean you’re not a badass? I take offense at that!”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my daughter, and you’re an extension of me.”
“You could have just named me Ana. My life would be much easier.”
“You’re questioning your name because of one stupid boy?”
“Two,” I corrected. “Two stupid boys.”
“Comemierdas. Do you want me to come after them? Because I’ll do it.”
Mom cursed like a sailor, but only in Spanish. She was also prone to threats of violence, mostly when someone messed with me. I obviously never took her up on it, but it was comforting to have the option.
“Analee,” she said. She nudged the fries in my direction. “Assholes will always find something to pick apart. If not your name, they move on to something else.”
“That is so not helpful. Aren’t you supposed to tell me that it’ll get better?”
“If I were a liar, I might.”
Today is the day everything changes. I got two hours of uninterrupted sleep last night. I know because I spent most of the night staring at the time and calculating how much sleep I’d get if I drifted off right at that moment. But then that gave me performance anxiety, which made it even harder to fall asleep.
On the way to school, I convince myself that Seb will call the whole thing off. Maybe he stayed up most of the night too, realizing what a mistake this was. But when I get to school, he’s waiting by my locker, holding two paper cups.
“Good morning,” he says, handing me one.
“Are we really doing this?” I say in response. The East Bay population is already taking note. The mere presence of Seb talking to me by my locker is drawing attention.
“It’s not too late to back out,” he says.
I see Lily on the other side of the hallway, chatting with Chloe, Colton, and Matt. None of them has spotted us yet.
“I’m not backing out,” I say. Famous last words. I sniff at the cup he’s handed me. “Is this coffee?”
“It’s a nonfat vanilla latte. Chloe’s favorite.”
“Can I be honest?” I enter my locker combo with one hand, and the door clicks open. “I, um . . . I kind of hate coffee.”
“But it’s a latte,” Seb protests.
“I know, but even milk can’t hide the gross coffee flavor.”
“Have you even tried it?”
“I don’t need to try it.”
“You are so . . .” Seb makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “Just try it, please.”
“I’m telling you, Seb, I don’t like it.”
“It takes ten tries of a new food before you know if you like it.”
I glare at him suspiciously. “Is that true?”
“Yes.”
I raise the cup to my lips and take a small sip. It’s not horrible. There’s the bitter aftertaste of coffee that I hate, but there’s also the milky vanilla flavor that isn’t totally unpleasant.
“Well?” He grins at me.
“It’s drinkable, I guess.”
Seb takes my folder and textbook from my hand.
“You don’t have to—” I start.
“In case you didn’t know, Analee, this is what boyfriends do. And I’m really good at boyfriending.”
“I can see that.” I shut my locker door and stare down the hallway. It seems impossibly long and crowded right now. I want to crawl into my locker until everyone goes to class. Seb may be good at boyfriending, but he’s making me feel totally inadequate at girlfriending. If this whole thing falls apart, the blame will rest squarely on my shoulders.
“Analee? What’s wrong?”
“I’ve temporarily lost all movement in my limbs,” I squeak. “Give me a second.”
“Huddle.” Seb pulls me aside, blocking my view of the hall with his body. If I weren’t so freaked out, I would point out that we’re not on a soccer field right now. “I’m walking you to homeroom. That’s all. Okay?”
Walking. Toddlers do it all the time. I can handle walking.
“Okay.” I straighten up. I take another sip of my not-gross-but-not-good latte.
Seb and I walk in step down the hall, closer and closer to them. I focus on placing one foot in front of the other. I don’t look at anyone.
Slowly, unexpectedly, Seb links his hand with mine.
There’s no turning back now. I don’t have to look at anyone to realize the enormity of Seb’s move. There are literally gasps that echo through the hall. I hear his name repeated in whispers, so frequently that they blend together into one long hiss.
Seb, Seb, Seb, Sssssssssss.
I let myself look only as we’re passing. Tiny, quick glances. Lily’s half-open mouth. Colton’s unfazed expression. Matt’s arm around Chloe’s shoulders. Chloe’s furrowed eyebrows. When we finally walk by them, I let out my breath. My whole body is trembling, my coffee cup threatening to spill all over the hallway.
“Holy shit,” Seb says out of the side of his mouth. “Did you see their faces? Analee?”
Only a few more steps, and we’ll be at the classroom. We round the corner, and Seb lets go of my hand when we reach the class’s entrance.
“Oh my God
,” I say.
“I know! This is totally going to work.”
“Did you see how they were looking?”
“Uh, yeah. That was the best part.”
“I’m not good with that. People looking at me.”
“Really?” Clearly, not wanting to be the center of attention is a foreign concept to him. Popular people think that being popular is everyone’s goal. I’ve never had the desire to be one of them—being respected would be enough.
“Really,” I say. “It makes me feel like a goldfish.”
Even as I speak, I notice the glances thrown in our direction. Some people outright stare, not even bothering to hide it.
“It’s happening now,” I whisper to Seb.
“Let them look,” he says. “That’s the point.”
It goes against all my natural instincts. For so long, I’ve done everything in my power to be invisible. Stay quiet, hide away, avoid all other humans. All attention is negative attention.
“We having lunch today?” he asks.
I don’t know if I’m up to lunch. Holding his hand in the hallway caused enough of a commotion.
“I can’t,” I lie. A girl I’ve never seen before points at me and whispers something to her friend. I force myself to look at Seb. “I have work to do.”
“Do you want me to bring you something? I can swipe some pizza from the cafeteria.”
“I’m okay,” I say. I smile. “You really are good at boyfriending.”
“Please. This is the tip of the iceberg.” I notice that he’s watching the girls next to us. It’s so subtle, the way his eyes flit from them to me.
“Is that so?”
“You’ll see.” And then his gaze is somewhere else entirely. Not on me, not on the girls. “Though, Chloe took it for granted.”
I want to ask him what makes Chloe worth all of this. I want to know why they broke up, what made Chloe give up morning lattes and holding hands.
No, wait. Scratch that. I don’t care. Seb and I have entered into a mutually beneficial contract. I scratch his metaphorical back, he scratches mine.
“I won’t take it for granted,” I reassure him. I take another sip of latte for good measure. It’s not so bad, actually. I might kinda like it.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, handing me my books. “It’s not real.”
Analee, in Real Life Page 8