The Boy Next Story

by Tiffany Schmidt

  I pointed. “I don’t remember giving you that.”

  “You didn’t.” He grinned with impish glee. “I stole it off your fridge.”

  Something I had actually given him was suspended on a thin string from the top of his mirror. Its tie-dyed print was likely the most colorful thing in this room, and seeing it made my heart fold in on itself with creases as crisp as those on the object. My hand was too shaky to point, so I nodded at it instead. “You kept that?”

  It was a little girl’s crush captured in paper. It was the gift that caused me to be one short when I reached my fifth-grade class—so that I stood up to Stella and was paid back in humiliation.

  Toby stepped behind me, wrapping his arms around my stomach and leaning his chin down on my shoulder. His gaze was also on the tie-dyed origami star. “You were so proud of it,” he told me. “And you gave it to me right at the time when we were starting to get so busy that we didn’t hang out as much anymore. Different schools, and I had lacrosse and piano, you had art. I missed you—but I was a stupid twelve-year-old boy and didn’t know how to get over myself and admit that. Merri and I still had the fanfics we wrote and the cosplays we did—but I didn’t know how to fit you in my life when I was supposed to stop swinging on swings and playing tag. Everyone kept telling me to grow up and be a middle schooler; I thought that meant leaving you behind.”

  I hugged my arms over his. “Don’t let me go again.”

  “Never.” He punctuated the statement with a kiss on my temple.

  I sniffed a few times and took some deep breaths, not wanting to spoil everything by crying. Glancing around the room, I saw one other colorful item—a white vase filled with slightly wilted sunflowers sitting on the table beside his keyboard. “Who are those from?”

  “Me. They were for you—they still are for you—but I was going to give them to you Christmas Eve.” Toby spun me around to face him and cupped my chin so I had to meet his eyes. “Roar, I didn’t blow you off because I wanted to spend time with Merri. She needed my help, and I wanted to tell her I was going to ask you out. Not because I wanted her permission or anything—but because I needed to make it clear you were never my second choice or a replacement or anything like that. I wanted to make sure Merri knew I’d moved on—I didn’t ever want her to throw that in your face or say something that made you doubt us.”

  He paused to kiss me and I think he meant it as a dash or ellipsis or some other temporary punctuation, but I pressed up on my toes and made it an exclamation point. We were both breathing hard by the time we broke apart. He tipped his forehead against mine and exhaled the rest of his words across my nose. “The way I feel about you is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It crept up on me slowly and then I was in it so deep I couldn’t breathe. And it scared me. Because if it hurt to be rejected by other people . . . You can destroy me, Roar. If you wanted to, you could pulverize me. Please, don’t.”

  I echoed his answer from earlier, “Never,” then sealed the promise with a stamp of a kiss, pulling back quickly before I yawned in his face. As much as I wanted to stand there and hear him profess his feelings until sunrise, I was swaying with exhaustion.

  Toby laughed nervously. “Aren’t you going to say anything back? I really don’t know how you’re feeling right now.”

  I snorted. “Then I have a much better poker face than I thought.” I pointed to the origami star above his mirror. “I gave you my heart in fifth grade. I’m glad to see you finally noticed.” It was a glib response that made him grin, but it wasn’t the full truth. “But . . . I also outgrew that schoolgirl crush and fell for you the person, not you the idea sometime this fall. You can thank Ms. Gregoire for that.”

  Toby raised his eyebrows. “I’m not even going to ask. Unless you really want to tell me.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.” I toasted with my water glass from his bedside table. “Here’s to Ms. Gregoire, and Louisa May Alcott, and math tutoring, and carpooling.”

  Toby picked up where I left off. “And the St. Joe’s defender who whacked my knee. And Mockingburger. And Knight Lights.”

  “Speaking of Knight Lights . . .” I held up a one-minute finger while I yawned. “Can I hear the Lake Song yet?”

  “Sure. Climb into bed. I’m going to go take my contacts out, but then I’ll play until you fall asleep.” He winked at me. “Someone once told me I looked hot in my glasses.”

  I threw a pillow at him. “I didn’t tell you, I told your dad . . . Wait, that just sounds weird.”

  I could hear him laughing all the way to the bathroom.

  By the time he came back, I’d tucked myself in with his flannel covers pulled up past my chin. The blankets, the pillow, the sheets all smelled like him. Licorice and mint and Toby. I hoped they all would infiltrate my dreams. And his music too.

  “Ready?” Toby asked from his seat in front of his keyboard, and even with his back to me, I could tell he was nervous. His shoulders were too high, his voice gruff. He cleared his throat. “And if you hate it, that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. Pretend to fall asleep or something.”

  “I won’t,” I assured him, nestling deeper into his pillow. “Play, maestro, play.”

  He laughed and began, the notes tripping blithely over each other in ways that made me picture us going through the woods. The flirty pokes, the tree roots, the teasing. The feelings we were both feeling but not admitting. The tempo increased, the notes building and building until they gasped into tranquility—the quiet of the lakeside, the water lapping, the sun blazing off its surface. I closed my eyes to soak it all in and bring myself back to that rocky shore with a boy on a mossy log. A boy who was now mine. My thoughts snagged on that daydream made real, and it took a few moments for me to catch up when the tune shifted again.

  “That’s”—yawn—“Harry Potter”—yawn. “You didn’t write that.”

  I heard Toby chuckle but didn’t open my eyes to see his smile. “Just checking to see if you’re still with me. Want to hear a few of your songs before you completely pass out?”

  I think I nodded. I meant to. Because I did. I really, really wanted to hear and memorize them. See what it sounded like to make him happy. But that would have to happen some other day, because the pull of sleep was too strong. Happiness was straight-up exhausting.

  59

  I woke up to fierce sun and fiercer bedhead. I looked like the cover of Merri’s copy of Ramona Quimby, Age 8—my bobbed hair sticking out straight in all directions. I attempted to flatten it while searching for my phone.

  I found it in my shoe: 11:17 a.m.

  I hastily made the bed and gave his pillow one last creeper sniff before I headed down the stairs to find its MIA owner.

  “Happy New Year!” Toby stood from his stool at the kitchen island and turned to greet me. But where our greetings before had always been words, this one involved lips . . . in a non-speaking manner. Which would’ve been great if I hadn’t left my toothbrush down here with all my other toiletries.

  I clamped a hand over his mouth before it made it all the way to mine. When his eyebrows shot up, I turned to the side and explained, “Morning breath. Where did you move my bag?”

  He pointed and I removed my hand. While digging out my toothbrush I dug out my brush-brush too. And deodorant, because why not? Buried beneath these were the presents I’d collected for him in the city. “Catch!” I tossed him a small bag that had gotten surprisingly heavy. “More colorful things—for the kitchen this time.”

  He dumped the bag onto the counter, laughing as he turned over the bright magnets one at a time. Art and buildings and the ubiquitous I♥NY. He put them up on the fridge immediately. “This is perfect. I love them.”

  “Good. Can you bring me to the store?” I called from the bathroom doorway. “I want to see my parents, and they’ve got to already be at work.”

  “They are.” Toby came to stand in the foyer. “I saw their car leave earlier. Lilly and Merri haven’t come home yet ei
ther.”

  I nodded, relieved. I wasn’t quite ready to see them. “Then let’s definitely go to the store.”

  Right as I shut the bathroom door Toby asked, “Can we tell them about us?”

  I figured I had at least three minutes before I had to open the door and answer, which was good because I needed all three minutes to tame my expression. I’d never known how hard it would be to brush my teeth while beaming. When my hair was slightly less horizontal, my armpits smelled powder-fresh, and my teeth arctic-icy, I opened the door. Toby was still leaning against the wall, but the relaxation had drained from his posture. He looked like Gatsby when I told him to sit while holding up a cookie. As in, his self-control was fraying. “We can tell them if you want.”

  He was still nodding when he kissed me.

  “Aurora!” Dad shouted as the door chimes announced our arrival. “That’s my baby girl—back from a week in New York!”

  The customer buying an LED leash smiled politely. Mom shoved a receipt at her and barreled from behind the counter to hug me. “Let me look at you! Do you look more grown up? George, does she? Did you have fun? Were you safe?”

  “Mom, we talked every day. Stop fussing.” I ducked away from her and rubbed lipstick off my cheek.

  “Not yesterday,” Dad said, pulling me into his own hug. “I need a recap of your past twenty-four hours. What’s new?”

  “We’re dating now,” Toby blurted out, reaching for my hand as soon as Dad let go. “That’s new. Me and Rory. Aurora and me. Together . . . I asked.”

  Mom and Dad exchanged a glance and I wondered if they were thinking the same thing I was—about the time nine-year-old Toby had announced to Major May, “Me and Rory—Rory and me—we ate a whole watermelon!” It had been at a joint cookout between our backyards. My parents had laughed and wished us the best of luck with whatever stomachaches came our way. Major May had narrowed his eyes and asked why Toby was interrupting. Why do you think I’d want to know that? I hoped he wouldn’t have the same response if Toby told him this latest news.

  But if he did, I hoped my parents’ reaction buoyed him through it. Because Mom hugged him and Dad did too. Lots of “We couldn’t imagine anyone better for our littlest girl.”

  “Excuse me one second.” Mom ducked into the backroom and came back with her wallet.

  “Did you make a bet about us or something?” I asked.

  “No, not quite . . .” Mom’s wallets were always fat things, the snap closures stretched to their ultimate limit to hold the chaos of receipts and bills and discount cards and pictures she carted around. This time she fished out the three photo bundles that sat behind her money. Each was bound with a flat hair band and contained wallet-size pictures starting with us as newborns and continuing to our latest school year. I bet Lilly’s top picture was about to be updated, from college graduation to wedding. But she put Lilly’s and Merri’s bundles to the side and unbound mine. Paging back to the beginning of the stack, she pulled out a photograph and handed it to me. Its edges were worn soft and clearly it had been a bigger picture that was trimmed down to match all the others, but the image was clear: small Toby and smaller me. In the sandbox. Kissing.

  I turned to show Toby, but he was already peering over my head. He put a hand on my hip and the other on my shoulder to anchor me as I leaned back and smiled up at him. “Pretty good first kiss,” I told him.

  “Turn it over,” said Mom. “I don’t need to say I told you so to your dad, if you read the inscription out loud.”

  I flipped it over and squeaked. It was Toby who read out the words in his deep voice: “Rory’s first kiss with Toby next door. I predict it won’t be their last . . .”

  “So you’ll have to excuse me for not being more surprised. Your dad and I have known this for ages. We’ve been waiting for you two to catch on to the fact that you’re inevitable.”

  “But no eloping.” Dad’s attempt at a joke fell flat and I could see the pain in his and Mom’s forced smiles. “I’ve got to walk at least one of you down the aisle.”

  I took the photo from Toby and handed it back without saying a word. Because what were the right words for your parents telling your boyfriend of less than twenty-four hours that they’ve been predicting this for more than a decade?

  None. There were none. So I used none. I buried my face in Toby’s shirt. He chuckled. “Um, I think that’s Rory’s way of saying she’s tired and wants to head home.”

  “No,” Dad corrected. “That’s Rory’s way of saying we’re embarrassing her. Sorry, pumpkin. But why don’t you go ahead and take her home. I know she’s impatient to see the surprise Huck and Clara left in her room.”

  “Call us if the wayward Campbells come home,” said Mom, her voice full of forced cheer. “We’ll close the store and be there ASAP.”

  “Wayward Campbell,” I said softly. “One of them is a Rhodes now.”

  No one had an answer for that, so I slipped my hand in Toby’s and we headed home.

  60

  Merri was sitting at the kitchen table when we walked in. All my plans for bringing Toby upstairs to show him Huck and Clara’s project and grab a minute of make-out time vanished when she bounced out of her seat. “Do you know? Because I’m not allowed to spoil it, but if you already know . . .”

  “I know.”

  She squealed. “Lilly’s dropping Trent off, but then she’ll be back. They both decided to ‘face the music’ with their own parents, then all six of them are doing a big ol’ dinner tonight.”

  “Oh” was the only thing I could think to say, so I said it twice. “Oh.”

  Toby twisted his fingers between mine.

  “Did you know you can elope to places other than Vegas? When Lilly asked me to be her witness, I assumed we’d be getting on a plane and being high rollers at some drive-through wedding chapel.” She shrugged. “I was pretty disappointed until I realized eloping to Philly meant I got to bring Fielding along.”

  “Oh.”

  “Also, they had the officiant meet them at the Liberty Bell. So it was pretty amazing—especially for history nerds like them. All the trees had twinkle lights still up and the photos Fielding got are incredible.”

  I knew I should ask to see them, but I couldn’t. Merri went on about how Lilly’s dress had been ready at the fitting and hers had just needed a strap tightened, so they’d picked them up on the way. “It was super easy to buy some fake fur stoles from that boutique by Haute Dog. And Trent owns a tux. Apparently that’s a thing you can do. You don’t just rent them.”

  Toby stepped closer until our arms were touching from shoulder to knuckle. I couldn’t turn my head to look at him. I could barely make my chin bob up and down to acknowledge Merri’s words.

  “And for her bouquet I got the florist to make one with lilies—duh—mixed with holly and mistletoe. I make a pretty good MoH, if I do say so myself.” Merri paused to roll her eyes. “Even if I had to give my toast with cream soda at Reading Terminal Market instead of champagne at the country club. From the moment she decided to do this until we left we had less than forty-eight hours, and we pulled it off without anyone knowing.”

  “Yeah,” I bit out. “Including me.”

  Toby switched hands, lacing his left through my left so he could step even closer and put his right hand on my shoulder, his thumb resting right over the pulse point that was racing and telling me to escape. He was the only thing keeping me in place, because my toes curled with the urge to run upstairs and hide in a sketchbook until I could plaster some bland I don’t care emotion over all the hurt on my face.

  “Hey.” Lilly glided into the room, radiant with happiness. “What’s going on in here?”

  Toby squeezed my hand, a gentle pressure that helped me open my mouth and tell the truth. “I’m glad you got your dream wedding, Lilly—but I’m heartbroken that me being there wasn’t part of it. And that neither you nor Merri thought I’d want to be.” There it was. Clear and calm and true.

  Lilly put he
r keys on the table and turned to me with a puzzled expression. “But . . . I’m honestly shocked you cared. Of course I wanted you there, but I didn’t think you’d want to miss any of your art workshop. And you’ve been so . . . blasé about everything wedding.”

  I clamped my hand tighter on Toby’s. “How else was I supposed to react when you made Merri maid of honor and me just a regular bridesmaid?”

  Lilly crinkled her nose. “You’d want to be maid of honor and give a speech?”

  “No. I wouldn’t want to, but I would do it.” My voice began to crumble away with all the anger I’d been clutching. “You’re my sister, of course I would. And this whole thing—helping to pay for the Snipes workshop—was that just to get me out of the way? Send me to New York so I couldn’t interfere?”

  Lilly looked like she might vomit. Her mouth gaped open and she clasped a hand over it. Merri ran for the trash can mumbling about the “Campbell curse” and “stupid stress-puking.”

  “No,” Lilly managed, and at first I thought she was responding to Merri, because she was pushing away the bin. “Rory, you can’t really think that. Really?”

  “Why wouldn’t I think that? You guys are always doing stuff without me. How many times have I heard you halfway down the stairs to go for a manicure or shopping or lunch or whatever and one of you says, ‘Oh, we should get Rory.’ I’m an afterthought at best, and at worst . . . sometimes you don’t turn around and knock on my door.”