The Boy Next Story

by Tiffany Schmidt

  “No more museums. I’m arted out. I bet you never thought you’d hear me say that.”

  He laughed and slid his fingers through mine. Even though it was glove-to-glove, I still got tingles. But should I? He’d said a lot of things that were almosts; almost declarations, almost clear, almost enough to believe in. I didn’t want to live in almost—I wanted absolute. I gnawed on my lip. “I don’t have any great ideas for any big adventures—I can’t come up with them that fast. We can’t all be Merri.”

  “No,” he said, pulling me to a stop and out of the flow of foot traffic so he could meet my eyes. “And I wouldn’t want you to be. Please don’t be anyone but you. Merri . . . she’s pepper. You’re salt.”

  “Explain,” I demanded. Was this some sort of food version of rubber and glue? It did nothing to calm the energy skittering across my skin and within my veins.

  “Pepper—you can’t ignore it. It’s spicy and demands attention. A little goes a long way, and it can overpower everything around it if you lose the right balance.” Toby squeezed my hand. We sidestepped out of the way of a man pushing a dolly full of boxes and found ourselves backed against construction scaffolding. “Fielding needs spice and excitement. He’s better for it. He’s so much happier since he met your sister.”

  “And you? Or me? What’s salt?”

  He stared at me with eyes blazing. “Salt enhances everything around it. It brings out the best in natural flavors. Makes sweet things sweeter and pretty much everything taste better.”

  I got that those were compliments—kinda? But whether they were about me or the spice or how this analogy applied to my personality wasn’t quite clear. But if this was how he wanted to ease into this conversation, I’d follow his lead. “Salt is bad for the heart.”

  “Not my heart. At least, I hope not. I mean it has—you have—the power to destroy me like no one else ever could, but . . .”

  I sucked in a breath because now that he was done speaking in spices, my body flooded with hope. “But?”

  “You know what you said about songs?” he asked, bracing one hand on the scaffolding behind him. “It’s your songs I hum when I’m scared. When I’m lonely. When I’m happy. When I’m falling asleep or trying to wake myself up. When I’m brushing my teeth. When I’m driving. It’s your songs that are always in my head. And no, they don’t make me cry. Because you make me so happy. And to be one hundred percent clear—back in my car, I knew which Campbell sister I was kissing.”

  “I’m not sure—” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence or how to sort through my thoughts or how to convince myself to believe this could be true. I wasn’t that five-year-old in the sandbox anymore. Or the ten-year-old darting from her bus stop to give him an origami star, or the first-day-of-school freshman who’d blushed at the mere thought of getting into his car. But he still gave me tingles and tangled my tongue. “Toby, what do you want?”

  He took a deep breath. “First, I want to kiss you.”

  “Oh.” There was my favorite word again, but the way he was watching my mouth as I said it, the way he licked his lips and his eyes darkened, made it clear he wasn’t currently debating my limited vocabulary.

  “I should have asked last time. Should’ve made it clear it was you I wanted to kiss, that I’ve been waiting and wanting to: at the concert, when you taught me yoga and drawing, at the lake, and a million times over your math book. But I couldn’t tell if you—and I thought Huck . . .” He exhaled. “May I?”

  I nodded and made the briefest of mental notes to tell Eliza she was right—asking for consent was so attractive. I closed my eyes but opened them again when no lips-touching happened. Instead Toby kept talking. “I was going to wait until midnight—but that feels like the coward’s way out. I don’t want you to feel like you have to kiss me for superstition or luck or whatever the whole midnight kiss thing means. And I didn’t want you to have any doubts or second-guess what it meant to me.” He leaned closer, until his lips were brushing mine. “Everything”—it was a caress and a promise I could taste.

  I shut my eyes and pressed up on my toes, closing any remaining gap between our mouths. My tote bag landed on my boots as I dropped it to wrap my arms around him. Toby’s hat joined it after I pulled it from his head so I could slide my fingers through his hair. My scarf was dangling off one shoulder because he’d unwound it when he brushed his hand across my neck.

  Dear Gustav Klimt, I get it. Why you used all that gold and glow and detail.

  I needed a print of The Kiss to hang in my bedroom, but even that masterpiece didn’t come close to capturing the emotion of this. I was aware of his hands, his lips, his skin and hair beneath my fingers—but I couldn’t have told you a thing about the street or the world around us. At least not until a little kid on a scooter knocked into us, breaking our lips apart so we could smile giddily at each other while catching our breath.

  “You said, ‘First, I want to kiss you.’” I tilted my head and beamed up at Toby. “Was there a second? And just because we didn’t first kiss at midnight doesn’t mean we can’t kiss then too, right?”

  He laughed. Deep and long and full of real joy. “Go ahead and kiss me whenever you want. You have my full permission.” He demonstrated this by pressing his laughing lips to each of my cheeks, my nose, my forehead, then nuzzling against my neck until I was ticklish and laughing too. “And second, I just want you. And me. Together. Boyfriend-girlfriend, seeing each other, dating—you pick the label. I want to be yours.”

  My giggles dried up at the earnestness of his voice. “I want that too.”

  “Good,” he answered, nodding twice. “Then let’s go. There’s someplace I want to show you—adventures to be had.”

  Toby wouldn’t tell me where he was taking me. “It’s a surprise,” he said.

  The subway was packed with the usual traffic, plus people starting their New Year’s celebration eight hours early. Normally I’d feel claustrophobic and panicked in that crush of bodies shoving in and out at every stop, the layers of loud conversations and perfume and beer and sweat and city, but Toby wrapped both of his arms around me to hold the subway pole I was holding, creating a barrier between me and all the elbows and intrusions. I leaned into his warmth, feeling the path of his breath against my ear. “Almost there.”

  We emerged blinking into the late afternoon sun at Battery Park and were immediately greeted by people holding out brochures and asking, “Tickets? Do you have your tickets? Last boat of the day to see the statue.”

  “We’re going to see the Statue of Liberty?” I hoped I wouldn’t get seasick. Or freeze. I pulled my scarf a little tighter.

  He shook his head, both at my question and at the ticket hawkers who’d started to close in. “Nope. Now stop trying to spoil the surprise. It’s just over here.”

  The flower beds were all brown where they peeked out of snowdrifts, and the lawn was blocked off by temporary fences. But the weak sun reflected off the buildings and the water, and the white trees stretched toward a cloudless sky. New Year’s Eve was supposed to be an ending, but this felt like a beginning.

  The building he led me toward was round. Glass sides, with a metallic swirl on top. It looked like a flatter version of a soft-serve ice cream cone . . . or an abstract version of the fishbowl in my room. As we got closer, I saw the walls weren’t actually round; they were flat panels of glass in overlapping panes. Music spilled out—and my eyes grew wide as I saw what was inside.

  “What is this place?” Besides somewhere I wanted to live forever. I was already fumbling for my phone and taking picture after picture.

  “It’s the SeaGlass Carousel,” said Toby. “It seemed like you.” I squeezed his hand so tightly he winced. “Is that a yes?”

  “We have to come back!” I said. “In the summer, we have to come back so I can bring paints.” This was built for watercolors and ink. The carousel didn’t have horses but fish—each with a round opening for the rider to sit inside. And the colors were incandesce
nt, iridescent, pearlized. I wanted to capture the way it all glowed with its own type of magic.

  “I’ll bring you back, I promise.” Toby grinned. “But since we’re already here, do you maybe want to ride it?”

  I didn’t answer, just pulled him toward the line, his laughter chasing us both.

  I put my phone away while we rode. I wanted to capture it all in my memory. The way some fish went up and down and others stayed still—and we’d strategized in line about picking ones that rotated together. The fish each had their own source of illumination, which bounced off the sequins and sparkles inside the pearlized plastic. The speaker in the front of each fish played old-timey songs and I laughed as we spun and Toby’s smile rotated in and out of my orbit. When the ride ended, he was by my angelfish’s side before I’d unclicked my seat belt. “So?” he asked.

  “Again,” I answered.

  57

  By nine o’clock my mind was more crowd than kissing.

  I was glad we hadn’t waited until midnight to lock lips, because while I wanted it to be romantic to have a Times Square New Year’s Eve moment, the reality was not measuring up.

  The crowds apparently started gathering before noon and we hadn’t shown up until after dinner—which meant fewer hours waiting in the cold but also that we weren’t up with the good views or among the orderly, prepared spectators I’d seen on TV. Not that we were prepared. My toes, fingers, and nose burned with cold. I appreciated the aesthetic of it all but not the energy. The elbows rose as the glitter fell—people pulling out party crackers and pockets full of streamers at random. There was trash and confetti under our feet, and my boots—my fabulous New Yorker boots—kept stumbling over debris and getting stepped on by the strangers pushing in from all sides, like getting an inch or two closer was going to improve their viewing experience.

  I turned away from the glass ball on an LED screen. I couldn’t see the actual thing. I didn’t care if it dropped, stuck, or shattered—as long as I didn’t have to stare at it for another three hours. I didn’t want to celebrate with a million strangers—there was only one person here who I cared about, and it was too loud to talk to him. People kept tugging on my tote bag and I was sure Toby would have similar bruises from people snagging on my duffel, which he had slung around his neck.

  “Toby, I’m tired.” And I had to pee. There were no bathrooms. I’d seen one mom tell her small son, “Just go on the street, try not to hit anyone.”

  I knew Merri would’ve been instigating an all-night adventure. She’d leave this corner with numbers from all her new friends and invitations to three different after-parties. Or she’d charm her way into a jazz club, smiling and laughing until she was onstage.

  But then again, I’d be leaving the corner with Toby. And I didn’t want strangers’ numbers in my phone or to attend an after-party. I wasn’t her, and I didn’t want to be.

  But I still missed her. I wished we were grouped around the Monopoly board. She was always the dog and Lillian was the wheelbarrow. Mom was the race car and Dad was the bucking horse. I was the thimble.

  But all those pieces were sitting in the box, our ice cream in the freezer. Lilly was getting married . . . and I wasn’t there. I hated that Merri would have that memory and I wouldn’t. I hated that we’d texted yesterday and she hadn’t even hinted.

  I also hated every drunken part of this shouting revelry. Maybe other places in the crowd were kinder or calmer, but our corner had air horns and I had confetti in my hair, mouth, and ears. I was done.

  Toby’s eyes scanned my face and he grazed his lips across my forehead. “Okay, Roar. I’ve got you.”

  For a heartbeat I worried he was disappointed, but when his eyes met mine, they were smiling. He put his arm around my waist and began to push through a mob that was only too happy to let us pass if it gave them the chance to be a few cubic inches closer.

  Once we were back through the barriers, I took my first deep breath in hours. We passed groups in party hats, sparkly paper tiaras, and sunglasses shaped like the new year. Noisemakers. Bottles of champagne and sloshing flasks stuffed inside coats.

  People shook cowbells and blew whistles as we passed. “Happy New Year!”

  And now that I didn’t have to be smushed among them, I was happy to shout back “Happy New Year,” because it was going to be a great one.

  Penn Station was busy, groups pouring off the trains in sparkly dresses and paper hats. Our train was rowdy with revelers too, but Toby offered me the inside seat and put his arm around me. “Well, now we know that’s one of those things that looks better on TV,” he said.

  “Agreed. But this part’s pretty great.” I curled tighter in his arms. “Do you think Merri and Lilly are home? There’s nothing on Merri’s iLive yet.”

  “No.” Toby dropped a kiss on my head. “Fielding texted me that they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. He told his dad ahead of time and got permission. Though it sounds like he leaned heavy on the ‘May I accompany Merri to her sister’s wedding to the senator’s son?’ and didn’t mention it was an elopement and they’d be the only guests.”

  I dropped my phone back in my pocket, then stuck my hands inside Toby’s coat. They felt icy, all of me did. Fielding had had enough notice to ask permission. He’d had time today to text an update to his friend . . . but I hadn’t heard from either of my sisters.

  “You have to tell them, Roar,” Toby said gently. He ran his hand through my hair and looked down at me with eyes so kind and sympathetic, it felt safe to let mine well. “You have to let them know it hurts when they exclude you.”

  I sniffed and wiped my eyes on my scarf. “But what if they don’t listen?”

  His jaw hardened but his eyes stayed soft. “Then you keep talking. They love you—but they’re clueless. You have to tell them, Roar. No hiding behind snark and insults.”

  My lower lip trembled, but I nodded. He was right. Ms. Gregoire was right: “When you keep your fears locked inside they have power, but when you confront them, you give yourself the power to fix them.”

  Though this wasn’t the way the book went. I sob-snorted. He lifted a curious eyebrow and I tried to explain. “At least no one is dead. When you first said you had news, I thought we had a Beth March situation. I think elopement is way better than death.”

  His forehead was a map of befuddlement, but he smiled. “Me too.”

  58

  We were in his car at midnight. I was fiddling with heat vents and he was telling me his realizations about music. “I thought about what you said—about wanting it enough—and I don’t know if I do, but I know I want to try. I’m looking at composition programs for the summer—and I already emailed my music teacher to sign me up for the spring showcase.”

  I squeezed his arm and smiled. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.” He was smiling back when our phones began to chirp. I looked at the dashboard clock and at the red light above us—then stretched over to give him a quick New Year’s kiss. “Begin as you mean to go on, right?” I sassed as I sat back in my seat.

  He grinned. “Then it’s going to be a good year.”

  I took out my phone and he handed me his to read and respond. Mine were from my parents, Clara, Huck, and even Molly, Greta, Gemma, Elinor, Iris, and Boy Byron.

  Toby had the same group text from my parents—We are so lucky to be starting another year surrounded by those we love. Happy New Year. Seeing it on his phone made me bite my lip, because it was among messages from his teammates and friends, not his own parents.

  And maybe he sensed that was why I wasn’t reading them aloud, because he said, “Hey, my mom won’t send one for another three hours—California midnight. And Dad thinks texting is impersonal. He’ll say something when I see him tomorrow night.”

  I nodded and scrolled through to find some to make him smile. “Um, Curtis says Happy Nude Rear, and there’s a picture.”

  “What?” Toby attempted to grab the phone from my hand, but I laughed and tugged it away.


  “It’s a cartoon. But it’s started quite the GIF thread.”

  In between responding, I kept checking my own phone for the two missing texts. Finally, one came through from Lilly: Happy New Year! I’ve got news . . . I waited for her to complete the ellipsis, but she didn’t. And Merri, who was in the group message, didn’t say a word. I ground my teeth, then put the phone down. We weren’t going to do this over text, so there wasn’t any point in torturing myself.

  Toby pulled into his garage and I looked in the rearview mirror at the sliver of my house and driveway disappearing as the door lowered. “Dangit, I don’t want to go home,” I whined. “I’d sneak in, but . . .”

  “I’ve met your dogs.” He grinned at me. “No explanation necessary. So stay here. Your parents think you’re coming back tomorrow—well, later today. I’ll crash on the couch or in the spare room. You can have my bed.”

  I blinked at him and bit the inside of my lip. This didn’t have to be a major thing. I didn’t have to freak out—but given a choice, my brain was hardwired to panic. I inhaled deeply through my nose, forcing the air down into my lungs and imagining the oxygen spreading throughout my body like I did in meditation. Then I smiled and said in a voice much calmer than I felt, “Okay.”

  “Wait.” I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “Is it white? Tell me it’s not all white.” I’d spent hours imagining the room on the other side of this door—my jealousy amped by the fact that Merri had such free access to it. If I were the type of person who made inspiration boards on iLive, I totally would’ve had an inspiration board about Toby’s room—set to private, of course. Imaginary creepy-stalker me wasn’t stupid.

  He laughed and closed his hand over mine. “Not all white, but the most colorful things in my room come from you.”

  White walls, white blinds, but the hallway’s white carpet had changed to dark hardwood. His furniture matched. His bedspread was light gray. His pillowcases white. It would’ve been a boring room, if it weren’t for splashes of color and personality—a Batman cosplay mask I’d made for him hung on the wall beside a framed picture of his lacrosse team. A shelf full of trophies—Hero High red and gleaming gold and silver. A white binder full of sheet music sat on his keyboard, but slipped inside the cover’s pocket was a drawing from when I couldn’t have been more than ten—Toby in a Beethoven wig sitting at a grand piano. It was no masterpiece—done in cartoon style and marker. It had a Batman sticker in the corner.