We Are the Goldens

by Dana Reinhardt

  “No. Just give it to me straight.” I sat down next to him.

  “Sam shot his mouth off about what happened at his party. With you. Upstairs. He told anyone who’d listen.”

  Maybe this sounds perverse, but my first reaction was delight. My logic trapped someplace between He remembered! and He’s not embarrassed! But of course I know there’s talking and there’s talking. There’s telling and there’s telling.

  “The worst part is, it’s like … he doesn’t even realize you’re my best friend. How could he not bother noticing that?” He shook his head. “If he didn’t outweigh me by twenty-five pounds, I’d have punched him in his preternaturally good-looking face.”

  I looked down at my feet. My mind in overdrive, like that little spinning rainbow wheel you get on the computer. Searching for some way this would all be okay.

  I could feel Felix staring at me.

  “You’re not saying anything.”

  I shrugged.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked quietly. “I mean, I’m not, like, mad, or judging you or anything, but why did you have sex with Sam Fitzpayne?”

  “What?”

  “You hardly knew him.”

  I stood up and starting walking toward the park. Then jogging. Then running.

  “Nell!” Felix shouted.

  I didn’t turn to see if he was coming after me, though I must have known he would.

  I scrambled through the thick ivy to the jogging trail that wound through the woods. I could hear shouting and laughter coming from the playground in the distance. Kids with their flimsy cardboard squares shooting down that goddamn rock slide. The path spilled out onto the back of a baseball diamond. I kept going. Not looking back. I finally lost steam around the soccer fields, hurled my backpack to the ground, and collapsed on the grass. Felix joined me, planted his head between his knees, and tried to catch his breath.

  “Meanie. You know I’m out of shape. I’m not a jock like you.”

  “You didn’t have to follow me.” I struggled with my breath too. “And I didn’t have sex with Sam.”

  He leaned backward into the goal and stretched out his legs. I lay down next to him. The net divided the sky above us into perfect little squares.

  “You don’t know how much I want that to be true.”

  “It is true, Felix.”

  He propped up his head and turned over onto his side, facing me.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Felix stared at me. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “That might be a little extreme.” I liked the way I sounded. Nonchalant. Able to crack a joke. Inside, a sick storm blew mercilessly.

  “So nothing happened?” he asked. “You were up there for a pretty long time.”

  I thought about pressing myself against that cold window. The view of the bridge. The twinkling lights.

  “I didn’t say nothing happened. I just said I didn’t have sex with him.”

  How did you feel, Layla? When you knew people were talking about you? Staring at you? Whispering your name?

  You would say—you did say—that you didn’t care. That you didn’t give a crap. And maybe it’s because what they said about you, what they thought about you as they stared at you in the hall, it was true.

  But for me it was all lies. And I cared. I gave a crap. I couldn’t help it.

  I guess it’s not fair that this was the moment the vacation spell began to lift. You probably think it’s because of what Sam did to me. That I’m jealous you were loved while I was used—you had real love, I had nothing. Maybe you think I wanted some company in my heap of ruin, but I’d never wish for that.

  It’s just that I started to wonder. To look more carefully at the perfect picture you’d painted.

  It’s like that quote you parroted at me. Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.

  Your version of what was happening with Mr. B. was your opinion, Layla. Your perspective, one I was able to share for those fleeting weeks, because you are a master at getting me to see things your way. Through your eyes.

  But as we reentered the world, I began to do what City Day was supposed to teach me.

  I began to think for myself.

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS were hellish.

  You probably heard the sobbing I saved for the night, my bedroom door latched. I cried until my eyes felt like leather.

  He’s just a boy, Duncan said. He can’t be worth all this.

  Parker tried too. I guarantee he doesn’t even know he’s hurt you. He doesn’t understand his power. That’s the thing about beautiful boys. They don’t know. They don’t understand.

  The Creed brothers never would have done something like this to me. Never.

  They looked at each other and shrugged. We barely knew you.

  They weren’t making me feel any better.

  You knocked. “Nell?”

  I sat still. The room emptied. I couldn’t even hear my own breath.

  “Nell?”

  There was no use fighting it. You know how to make me unlock doors.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “How can you possibly not know?”

  “Is this some sort of trick question?”

  I climbed back into bed and grabbed hold of my elephant, my last remaining stuffed animal. Cupcake. Honey. Maisy. Rufus. Violet. Bob. Its name and gender had changed many times over the years.

  “Sam told everyone, everyone, that I had sex with him.”

  “He didn’t tell me.”

  “Well, I guess you’re the only one he didn’t tell. And you must be deaf to gossip.”

  You sat down on the bed’s edge. “I told you I didn’t trust Sam. And I don’t pay attention to what people say at school.”

  “I didn’t …” I buried my face in my nameless, genderless elephant. “I didn’t have sex with Sam.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you wouldn’t.”

  Layla, I could see that you were trying to comfort me, but this made it so much worse. How different we’d become: You could. I wouldn’t. And why wouldn’t I? Because I’m so much less mature than you? Because I don’t know how to find real love?

  “This is exactly why I steer clear of high school boys,” you said.

  What happened to be patient? What happened to he doesn’t know what he’s feeling yet? You’d said all that only to get me on your side. To win my allegiance. And now you were judging me. You would never … You steer clear … Your life was so perfect. You had all the answers in that pretty head.

  She has a good head on her shoulders.

  I wiped my face on my comforter.

  “You really think Mr. B. is the answer? A teacher? An adult?”

  “I know he is.”

  “What about the others?”

  “What others?”

  “Hazel Porter? Yelli Rothman?”

  “He was never with either of them. Never. Those were rumors. He’s never been with a student before. I swear it.”

  Oh, Layla. I know that voice. The way we sound when we’re trying to convince ourselves of something we know isn’t true. As Shakespeare might say: the lady doth protest too much.

  Yes, I was angry. And yes, I suppose I wanted to hurt you in that moment. But actually, I do believe that you are the first student, the one who made him cross the line. How do I know this? I don’t really, but I just believe that if the rumors about either Hazel or Yelli were true, there would have been some collateral damage. I guess in that way, I’m still a child. I believe that grown-ups get punished when they do something wrong. And I believe that if those girls had been like you, desperately clinging to the conviction that it was real love, an ending wouldn’t have come gently. There would have been a reckoning. Everyone would have known.

  “Nell,” you
were pleading. For what, I wasn’t sure. “He loves me. I am the only one. What we have … it’s forever.”

  I could see your future, Layla, and it wasn’t pretty. I didn’t even need your palm. There was no way through this. He’d crossed that line for you and now there was no good end. You were in too deep.

  “What’s happening with you and Mr. Barr—it’s not right.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not normal. It’s wrong.”

  You stood up and backed away.

  “Look, Nell, I get that you’re upset. I get that Sam Fitzpayne is an asshole. I as much as told you he was. But this has nothing to do with me or my life.”

  “It’s wrong, Layla. He’s an adult. A teacher! You’re a kid. You’re seventeen.”

  “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “You’re the one who’s not thinking clearly. If you were, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

  “I thought you understood.” Your eyes burned wild.

  “I want to understand, I do, but look at you. You’re panicking. Layla, you don’t panic.”

  “One guy screws you over and suddenly you’re an expert at relationships. Of course Sam dumped you. You don’t understand anything. You’re a baby.” You turned toward my door, showing me your back. Your short shorts and skimpy tank top.

  “Not true.” My voice cracked.

  “Stay out of my life.”

  The first thing I did the next morning was go to the registrar’s office. Since we were only a few days into the second semester, I was allowed to drop or add nonmandatory classes. The only reasons I’d continued on in Visual Arts were because I got an A first semester (being your sister has its privileges) and also, Felix had transferred into my section.

  I dropped it and added Music Appreciation.

  Ms. Bellweather, the school registrar, squinted at my form. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a student drop one of Mr. Barr’s classes. Usually they fight tooth and nail to get in.”

  I shrugged. “I like music.”

  “Who doesn’t? But Mr. B. could be teaching chemistry. Or Latin. Kids would still line up to take his classes.” She winked at me. “Especially the girls.”

  Can I just say: ewwww.

  Felix was equally confounded when I told him over lunch. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I like music.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I do.”

  “Mr. B.’s class kicks ass. He kicks ass.”

  “Whatever. He’s overrated. And his class is lame.”

  “Is this about Layla and the rumors? I told you those rumors always happen. Occupational hazard. They’re never true.”

  It took all my willpower not to tell him he was wrong. “Can’t I just have my own opinion? Sorry I haven’t drunk the Kool-Aid like you and everybody else.”

  “Did you have Frosted Grumpy Flakes for breakfast?”

  “No.”

  “Captain Cranky Crunch?”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed irritably. Then I tried to smile at him. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know that I’d started to draw a new line.

  That night Mom took us out for dinner. Sushi, which meant: big news. Probably that she’d met someone she thought had potential.

  Despite Mom’s rules about no texting at dinner, you kept your phone in your pocket and continued to check it every few minutes in a way I’m sure you thought was stealthy. Mom would have called you out on it if she hadn’t been feeling so jovial.

  With the arrival of our unagi rolls, you checked again. Your eyes widened.

  Mom was in the middle of telling us about him—a venture capitalist, shorter than she usually goes for but still had his hair—when you interrupted.

  “You dropped Visual Arts?”

  “Yeah. So?” I glared. Do you really want to do this now?

  “You dropped art, sweetie? But you’re so talented.”

  Mom thinks we’re good at everything.

  “Yeah, I dropped Visual Arts. I don’t like Mr. Barr. I think he’s a dick. A cock. A prick. A wiener.”

  Mom slapped my wrist playfully. This new guy had definitely sanded off some of her edge. “Don’t say that. It’s crude. I thought you loved Mr. Barr.”

  “Me?”

  I know how you were looking at me, but I kept my eyes on Mom. I wasn’t going to wilt under your glare.

  “Isn’t he everyone’s favorite teacher?”

  “Not mine.”

  When we got up to leave the restaurant, you grabbed my arm and pinched me hard.

  “Ow!”

  “What?” Mom asked.

  “Layla pinched me.”

  Mom laughed and patted me on the back. “You girls.”

  Somehow I made it through the week without seeing Sam. I did everything in my power to avoid him, and clearly he made no effort to find me. People still stared. Still whispered. I imagined confronting him, grabbing him hard at his shoulders. Calling him a liar. A coward. But I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. That’s not who I am. That’s not how these stories go. I just kept my head down and tried to put the whole mess behind me. I told myself it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

  I decamped to Felix’s Saturday night. We had the place to ourselves. Angel and Julia had gone to Napa for their twentieth anniversary. Two days before his surgery.

  Though I’d always envied Felix his parents’ happy marriage, I never envied his lack of a sibling. I wondered if he didn’t feel left out, lonely, sometimes.

  We watched Family Guy reruns and I just enjoyed the feeling of being with someone safe. Someone who mattered. Who had my best interests at heart. Who wasn’t testing my limits. Someone with whom I could split a six-pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade.

  “You don’t mind spending the evening with City Day’s resident slut?” I asked.

  “If only that were true.”

  I threw a pillow at him. “Seriously, wouldn’t you rather be with someone else? Like that girl Andie from the cafeteria?”

  He shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Why?” I was fishing, for sure. Feeling a little low. And a little drunk.

  “Because, she may be cute and everything, but I love you.”

  “Shut up, Felix.”

  My phone rang. When I saw it was you, I picked it up and took it outside onto the back deck.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “What?”

  “Now George is totally freaking out.”

  “About?”

  “About how you dropped his class. And how you told me things between us are wrong. And he’s freaked out that you know about us, because I hadn’t even told him I’d told you, but then I had to tell him after you dropped the class, and now he’s worried you’re going to do something stupid, and he said we need to think things over. That’s what he said. We need to think things over. And that’s not good.”

  “Thinking isn’t good?”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

  Felix peeked his head out the door and shot me a You okay? look. I waved him back inside.

  “Look, Layla …”

  “You sound weird,” you said.

  “You sound weird.” I tried not to slur my words but I was failing.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “So?”

  “I blame you,” you said.

  “For what?”

  “No, I blame me. This is all my fault. I never should have told you anything. I never should have trusted you.”

  “You can trust me, Layla.”

  “Obviously, I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. But you can’t count on me to tell you something is right when I think it’s wrong.”

  “Yeah, well, it probably wasn’t right for you to sleep with Sam Fitzpayne.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “That’s not what people say.”

  I felt the sting of tears, and I could hear you trying to stifle yours on the other end of the line.

  There was a long silen
ce. We’d never had a fight like this one.

  “I’m sorry,” you said. I know I was supposed to say that too, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t done anything but drop a class with someone whose face, cool clothes, and stupid tattoo I couldn’t bear to look at.

  “I have to go.”

  “He’s freaking out,” you said. “And now I’m freaking out. He wouldn’t even see me this weekend. He said we need to think things over. I don’t have any thinking to do. I just need him.”

  “Take a deep breath.”

  “Can you come home? Please? I’m really freaking out.”

  Much as I felt the magnetic pull of your desire, I knew that it wasn’t me you really wanted. I didn’t like the way you sounded—so desperate—yet there was the matter of those three bottles of Mike’s Hard Lemonade and Dad’s impeccable nose.

  “I’m staying here tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow. We can talk then. Promise.”

  We hung up and I went back inside. Felix was in the kitchen sulking and drinking a beer. The hard lemonade was all gone.

  “Who was that?”

  “Layla.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “What?”

  “If it was Layla, why’d you have to take the phone outside?”

  I snatched the bottle from his hands and took a long swig even though I hate the taste of beer. “Who’d you think it was?”

  He shrugged.

  “Felix?”

  “What? Okay, so I thought it was Sam, the way you snuck outside and all. The whispering and whatever. Anyway … I just don’t want you letting him off the hook. I don’t want him using his charms to weasel his way back into your life.”

  “That wasn’t Sam. You know Sam doesn’t call me. Ever. He can’t weasel his way back into my life because he was never in my life in the first place. Sam doesn’t care about me. Sam used me. Sam humiliated me. Sam lied about me. Sam …”

  I started to cry. Felix stood up and took me in his arms. I wept into his T-shirt. He smoothed my hair. He whispered in my ear: shh shh shh. And then he lifted my face, and he looked at me, and I knew.

  Felix De La Cruz was going to kiss me.

  I jumped back.

  “Hey!”

  “What?”

  “What was that?”