“No thanks,” Claudia says. Somehow, she’s able to act like everything is normal. It’s a skill of hers. “We have a GSA meeting.”
My eyes snap up. She’s smiling, but I can’t bring myself to return the favor.
“I forgot,” I say, voice falling flat. “But you can still come, if Miles doesn’t care.”
Claudia presses her lips together but says nothing. We both know that I don’t actually expect her to come. I can tell by the twitch under her eye, the way that Lydia nervously glances at her. Can they blame me, though? It’s not a secret that we haven’t been spending as much time together as we used to, but it’s not like I’m ignoring them. Hell, I’m allowed to have lunch with someone other than Claudia. It’s not just about having a boyfriend.
“We could go to my house,” Miles offers. His words are hesitant, like he knows he’s stepping into a fight. “It’s close, and we have sandwich stuff.”
“No, it’s fine. We have to go to GSA,” Lydia says, jabbing Claudia’s ribs. “Right, Claude?”
“Sure,” she says. Her eyes don’t move from my face. I’m not sure when this happened, or why it has to happen right this second. “You guys go. Have a great time.”
I roll my eyes, shrugging on my coat.
Lydia frowns. Claudia walks down the hall, not sparing me a second glance.
CHAPTER 23
“Do I get any hints?”
“None,” Miles says on the other end of the line. “Just trust me. And meet me at Dolores Park in an hour. But don’t bring any chairs!”
“I wasn’t planning on bringing chairs.”
“Good,” he says. “I’ll see you then.”
I’m a little bit suspicious, mostly because he spent all of yesterday sending me weird texts (What’s your favorite snack? On a scale from one to ten, how do you feel about Hugh Jackman?) and was grinning at me during Saturday rehearsal this morning. I mean, he usually smiles at me, but this was way different.
“Make sure you text me when you get there,” Pops orders. “It’s always busy on Saturdays and I don’t like all of this secrecy.”
“Well,” I say, grabbing my bag. “It’s just the park.”
“Right.” He narrows his eyes. “Is that a new slang term?”
“Ugh,” I say. “Bye, Pops.”
It’s not unusual for Dolores Park to be busy, since tons of people hang out here. What’s unusual is all the people with picnic baskets and blankets. Did everyone collectively decide to have a gigantic picnic or something? I wouldn’t put it past San Francisco.
Miles is waiting near the entrance when I walk up. He has a picnic basket, too. I bite my lip to hide my smile.
“Are we having a collective picnic with everyone in the park?”
“What?” His face scrunches up. “No. I mean, I guess you could think of it that way, but that’s really not what it is. Just come on.”
I’m not sure how long the surprise is supposed to last. We’re only walking for a minute or two before the giant outdoor screen comes into view. People are sprawled out on blankets in front of it, talking and eating.
“Oh wow,” I say, gazing up at the screen. “I didn’t know they did this.”
“They alternate parks, so it’s not always here,” Miles says. He hesitates and some people move past us. “Wait, are you actually surprised? I thought the texts would give it away.”
“Um, no way.” Laughter seeps into my voice. “Come on, how would I get it? Don’t bring a chair? I had no idea what to think.”
“You’re not allowed to bring chairs!” he says, gesturing to everyone sitting on the blankets. “I thought that was obviously about the park.”
“Oh my God.” I snort. “Why would I bring a chair to the park in the first place?”
“I don’t know,” he says, going quiet. “I just wanted to make sure it’d be good.”
My heart sort of melts.
“Well, it will be,” I say, voice soft. “As long as they aren’t showing something horrible, like Cats.”
“Is there even a Cats movie?”
“God,” I say. “I hope not.”
We find a spot in the corner and spread out on a blue-and-green blanket. I still can’t believe he brought a picnic basket, one that looks like it’s from The Sound of Music. I want to take a picture of it and send it to Claudia and Lydia, but I can’t because of our stupid fight. I’ll settle for grinning until my face falls off.
“So we have pre-popped popcorn,” Miles says, pulling food out and laying it on the blanket. “Orange soda.”
“The best of sodas.”
“Absolutely,” he says, grinning. “And I tried to make turkey sandwiches, but they might be horrible.”
I glance at the aluminum foil–wrapped phallic object and try not to laugh.
“How do you mess up a sandwich?”
“Well.” He huffs. “You’re just full of questions today, aren’t you?”
I want to ask something else—namely, when he started planning this—but then the screen starts to flicker.
“Wait,” I say. “What movie is it?”
“Simone.” Miles puts his hand on his chest. “You want me to spoil the surprise?”
“You’re not spoiling it,” I protest. “We’re already here.”
“I’m not telling you,” he says, shoving some popcorn into his mouth. The screen is still flickering, but the crowd has started to cheer. “If you hate it, I don’t want to know until the end.”
“I promise I won’t hate it,” I say. “I couldn’t.”
He smiles at me then, and I grin back like a little kid.
“Dolores Park!” a voice declares. I glance up to see someone standing in front of the screen. “Welcome to Movie Night! Are you ready for the incredible Les Misérables?”
The crowd cheers again. I was expecting something more uplifting and crowd friendly, like Mamma Mia! I glance at Miles in surprise.
“I don’t know if you’re into it,” he says, spreading out on the blanket. “But Hugh Jackman is a pretty good Jean Valjean—”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “You know who Jean Valjean is?”
“I’m not that clueless,” he says, a rueful smile on his face. “Google is a thing.”
The opening violins begin and everyone starts to quiet down. Everyone except me, anyway.
“But you said Hugh Jackman did a pretty good job.” I grin, pointing a finger at his chest. “Did you watch a musical without me?”
“I’ve done it before—”
“Shhh,” a woman next to us hisses. “It’s starting!”
Miles flashes an apologetic smile, but I ignore her.
“There’s a big difference between Grease and Les Mis, Miles.” Little stuff like this reminds me why I was excited to hang out in the first place. “I’m so proud of you. You’re moving up in the theater world! Okay, wait. Pop quiz.”
He rolls his eyes, but cocks his head to the side, waiting.
I lower my voice to a whisper. “Why did Jean Valjean end up in prison?”
“Because he stole a loaf of bread.”
“He stole a loaf of bread!” I clap my hands together. The lady next to us glares, practically seething. “You’re right! Okay, another one.”
“Simone—”
“What was his number?”
“24601.” Miles shakes his head, grabbing his sandwich. “Actually, I’m regretting the whole Les Mis thing right about now.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, lying down next to him. “I didn’t even ask about Javert.”
This is actually the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Saying “thank you” doesn’t feel like enough, but I don’t know what else to do. I wish I could just focus on the movie. Miles makes my entire insides feel warm, and it’s hard to believe I do the same
for him.
“Miles?”
He doesn’t glance over.
“Hey,” I try again, a little louder. “Miles.”
“Hm?” His eyes are glued to the screen. “What’s up?”
Oh, come on. Hugh Jackman is great and all, but the vocals in this version are totally weak when compared to any decent stage production. That’s what happens when only three members of your cast have musical theater experience. And yet, Miles is completely into it. What a rookie.
Fine. I lean over and kiss his cheek.
His eyebrows rise. “What’s that for?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Well—for this. It’s really nice. I’m—you’re—”
More than I expected. Better than I expected. So, so good.
“You’re great,” I finish. “Thank you.”
“It’s cool,” he says. “I’m glad you like it.”
He takes my hand, turning it over. My brown fades into his.
CHAPTER 24
“I just don’t get why your gay parents would send you to a Catholic boarding school. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Brie,” Julie admonishes, stopping in front of our group. “This is a judgment-free zone, remember?”
“Who said I was judging her?” Brie lifts her shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I just said what we’re all thinking.”
I snort, tilting my head back. Julie split us up into smaller groups so we could discuss some article she printed out. Obviously, that’s not happening. Group is livelier than usual tonight, most likely because Julie bought one of those big-ass bags of candy they sell at Target. There’s just something about fun-size candy bars that makes people want to participate.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I say, reaching for the big orange bag as it goes around again. Somehow, in between talking about friends and school, the attention ended up on me. “I know it sounds pretty weird. It’s just that my dad is Catholic and wanted to ‘share the experience’ with me or something.”
Julie sighs, shaking her head as she walks away.
“You weren’t, like, worried about going?” Jack asks, dutifully holding the article in both hands. “That sounds intense.”
Brie’s folding her article up so that it looks like a bizarre crab with legs coming out of its head. Ralph isn’t here today—Thank God.
“I mean, they never really saw my parents at Our Lady of Lourdes because it was, like, two hours away,” I say, organizing my candy by color. Orange Starbursts go on top of my article, while I rest the actual good flavors on my lap. “And I was little when I started, like eleven or twelve, so I thought it would be like Zoey 101.”
“I haven’t seen that show in ages.” Jack shakes his head. Somehow, he manages to make it seem like he’s interested in everything everyone has to say. “Was your school actually like that?”
“Uh, no.” I unwrap a candy and pop it in my mouth. “It was just girls and we had prayer hour and stuff. No cool motorbikes or lounges or anything.”
“I don’t know how you did it.” Brie sets down her crab, swiping one of the orange Starbursts. Poor misguided soul. “My parents try to drag me to mass all the time, but mostly as punishment. Like that time I tried to steal my dad’s car.”
“What?” Jack’s eyes snap up, eyebrows pushed to his hairline. Brie just shrugs again, but I notice the way the corners of her mouth turn up. Scaring boys with stories of theft is a nice way to flirt; I won’t deny her that.
“It wasn’t a punishment, really,” I say around a blob of candy. “I don’t know. They asked me if I wanted to go and my dad said it was really important to him, so I did it. It’s not like they made me.”
“Okay.” Brie rolls her eyes. “And you’re telling me that it was completely fine? That you just spent, like, all of middle school there and no one found out about your parents?”
I bite my lip. No one found out about my parents while I was at Our Lady of Lourdes, but they found out about me being positive, and I’m not sure which is worse. I don’t know what to say, so I start unwrapping another piece of candy.
“It wasn’t just middle school.” I decide to look at Jack instead of Brie. His face is open and kind. Brie isn’t evil or anything, not like Ralph, but she doesn’t always come across as the most compassionate. “I actually didn’t leave until last year. I go to a different school now.”
“Oh,” Jack says. At the same time, Brie asks, “Why?”
They lock eyes. I can’t tell if they’re having a romantic moment or silently sparring each other. Maybe it’s a little of both.
“Well, I…” My voice trails off. Because, really, what am I going to say?
I could tell them a lie and they’d probably go along with it. It’s just that I’m tired of keeping secrets. I’m tired of being alone, wading through this shitfest by myself.
“Have you guys ever had trouble at school?” I clear my throat. Maybe this is closer to Julie’s original topic than I intended to go. “Like, with people finding out that you’re positive or anything?”
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Brie look sorry.
“Oh shit,” Jack says. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Jack curse.
“It’s just…” My throat is tightening, making my voice croak out. “It sucks.”
Brie scoots her chair over so that her shoulder is pressed against mine. Jack gets up, returning with the entire bag of candy. If I wasn’t holding back tears before, I am now. People shouldn’t be allowed to be this nice.
“No one’s ever found out about me,” Brie says as I grab a mini Snickers. “But I get how shitty it can be. Like, in health class, my teacher just spent an entire period ranting about HIV ravaging Africa and how life-threatening it is. No mention of the pills you can take to keep you alive or how doctors can stop it from being transmitted, you know?”
I nod, but I don’t feel like talking more. Maybe it’s because I don’t like to rehash the details of what happened at Our Lady of Lourdes or what’s happening now. It’s comforting enough to just be around people who really, truly get it.
“I hate that,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I try to correct teachers when they’re wrong, but we shouldn’t have that sort of responsibility placed on us. If they aren’t going to present all the facts, they shouldn’t have an HIV unit at all.”
“Wait, imagine Dr. Khan talking to my teacher,” Brie orders. “She would kick his ass with all twelve of her degrees, I swear to God.”
I’m giggling so hard I might choke on my candy.
“Hey,” Jack says in between snickers. “Don’t say that around Simone. She’s Catholic. It’s impolite.”
“I don’t care,” I say, shaking my head. “Seriously.”
“Screw polite,” Brie says. “Simone doesn’t care if I’m polite.”
“I don’t. You don’t have to worry, Jack,” I say, popping another Starburst in my mouth. “I’m just using you guys for candy.”
Jack’s cheeks are red from laughing. Brie’s elbow is hard as she jabs it in my side. I laugh anyway. Maybe Group isn’t so bad.
CHAPTER 25
By the time sixth period rolls around the next day, I’ve decided I should go out for lunch with Miles every day and stop trying to get on Claudia’s good side. We’re standing in the middle of a sidewalk near his house, strawberry ice cream dribbling down my arm, and my chest is filled with the warmest, most pleasant feeling.
“Hey.” He nudges me, careful not to drip any of his own cone. “Yours is melting.”
Licking streams of melted ice cream off my hand will probably leave a sticky mess, but I do it anyway. Miles shakes his head. There are lots of awesome aspects to the whole dating thing—namely, the fact that Miles always pays, even if I pretend that I don’t want him to. Maybe it makes me less of a fem
inist, but whatever. Paying for our dates can be Miles’s version of the Pink Tax. Now the relationship is automatically more equal.
But, besides money, the best part of dating is being able to look at him during moments like these: his chest shaking in laughter, eyes crinkled.
I know blowing off my friends for lunch is just making things worse, but I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to do. Claudia doesn’t answer my texts and Lydia does, but it’s always hours after my first message. Maybe this doesn’t exactly count as a fight. But it’s the first time we’ve ever been weird.
“Come on,” Miles says, tugging at my arm. “You can wash your hands at my place.”
We’re supposed to stop at his house, so it works out. Apparently, Miles offered to pick up some tools from his garage for the crew to use at rehearsal later today. He didn’t need a chaperone, but I ended up taking the trolley here anyway.
I still don’t know if we’re just here to get tools. After all, “grabbing tools” could be a euphemism. According to the extremely reliable resource of internet porn, all kinds of situations can lead to sex: making salad, tutoring, playing soccer…The possibilities are endless. The question isn’t if Miles watches porn, but whether or not we watch the same things.
It doesn’t take long to get to his house, but I spend the entire time looking over my shoulder. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see—Eric, recording videos of us on his phone, or maybe one of his friends. Maybe he just hears gossip and leaves letters based on that. I don’t know what sets him off.
I want to spend time with Miles, to get ice cream and watch musicals and leave school together. But is that more important than keeping my secret safe?
“God, Simone,” Miles says, opening the door. “The point of ice cream is to eat it, not drink it.”
Miles’s house looks large enough to fit a much bigger family, with a garage and everything. Compared to his place, ours looks more like a bungalow. I guess working in business has some perks.
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