Second Chance

by Katie Kacvinsky

  “Come the opening night of your show and be ready to market yourself,” she tells me. “Work the room. It’s a big deal when the artist takes the time to show up. People love having a face to go with the art they buy. It gives them more to talk about when they show it off.”

  “And you’re gorgeous,” Barb says. I feel my face redden at the compliment. “So get your face in the crowd. I think you’re the youngest photographer we’ve ever had.”

  “But I’d wear something more presentable,” Mary offers as she looks at my jeans and dirty flip flops. “A skirt will be fine. And some heels.”

  Gray nods. “Definitely a skirt,” he says.

  I try not to wince. I have to go clothes shopping?

  “I assume you’ll accept cash for these?” Mary asks. She taps the portfolio in her hand.

  “Cash works just fine,” I tell her.

  She coordinates a time for me to drop off the pictures and Gray is writing down all the details because I’ve lost all cognitive skills. My mind is floating in a dream-fog.

  We step out of the Desert Sky Gallery and I’m two-hundred and fifty dollars richer, but that doesn’t even compare with the fact that someone loves my pictures. And sees potential. And I have a show. My first gallery show.

  I grab Gray’s hand and pull him down the street, half skipping, and tell him we need to celebrate.

  “I have an idea,” I say. “Let’s have a Peep-eating contest. My treat.” I start rambling about how the bunny Peeps are better than the chicken Peeps, and how they’ve come out with chocolate mousse flavored Peeps that look disgusting but maybe we should give them a try. I wait for Gray to respond, but he’s looking at my hand wrapped around his and his eyebrows are raised. I hate that he’s so annoyed by my touch. I drop his hand with a frown.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Habit.”

  “It’s alright.” He walks a little ahead of me. I sigh as I watch the unnatural distance between us grow. This is ridiculous. Did we time warp back to eighth grade?

  “Oh, ow!” I yell and cover my mouth with my hand. Gray’s turning to unlock his car door but he stops and looks at me.

  “What?”

  “Ow,” I moan and I keep my hand tight on my mouth. “I just bit my lip.” I stop walking and Gray studies me.

  “You’re fine,” he says.

  “It really hurts. I taste blood.”

  He walks up to me and tries to move my hand but I keep it rigid against my mouth.

  “No,” I mutter through my fingers. He leans his head down to get a closer look and fights to pull my hand away, his eyes genuinely concerned. I wait until he’s an inch closer, then I drop my hand, arch my feet and press my lips against his. Before he can react, I wrap my arms around his neck to pull his head down closer to mine and try to hold my lips against his as long as it will last. It’s rough and forced and it’s not going to win an award for the most glamorous kiss of all times, but it’s a start. Gray yanks my hands off his neck and his blue eyes are inches from mine, shooting bullets.

  “You lying, manipulating little—”

  But he cuts himself off and slams his lips hard against mine and I can barely keep my legs steady because something powerful is rushing through my system. He drags me into the alley and we stumble and I can hear a radiator buzzing next to us. He pushes me against the brick wall. I pull him closer until his chest is pressed against mine. His baseball cap flops off his head and lands somewhere by our feet.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and I want to cry because this kiss doesn’t come close to my memory. It’s a million times better.

  ***

  By the time we make it back to his car, our faces are flushed and my legs are shaky. I steal glances at Gray while he drives me home. His lips are raw and red from making out for an hour.

  Only one thought fills my mind. That was amazing.

  I reach my hand out to touch his lips but Gray leans away from my fingers.

  “That was a mistake,” he says.

  His words snap me out of my trance and I stare at his defiant expression. True, I attacked him, but he definitely didn’t fight me. There were two people kissing back there, for an hour. And he has the nerve to call the greatest moment of the year a mistake? He pulls up to my driveway and I wait for him to look at me, but his eyes are focused out the window. Coward.

  “Should we talk about this?” I ask.

  Gray mumbles that he needs to get to practice. I stare out at my apartment. I don’t push it and I don’t argue because I know what he needs when his heart is warring with his mind. Time.

  I get out of the car and watch him peel out of the driveway. I hear rap music loudly curse the air. I can’t help but smile as his car disappears down the street. I noticed his hands adjust his shorts in the car, to hide something slightly obvious in his pants. Okay, so he’s still attracted to me. Check that one off my list. Now, time to bring down those walls.

  GRAY

  “If you want any control over this, then whatever you do, do not have sex with her,” Bubba warns me.

  We’re all sitting around the living room watching Transformers, which invariably leads to discussing having sex with Megan Fox, which broadens to sex talk in general. I stare at him. Bubba, of all people, is telling me to avoid sex? These are the most contradictory words he has ever spoken.

  “Don’t even think about having sex,” Bubba says. “It’s a dead end. She’ll get you right where she wants you and then she’ll start calling all the shots. Sex gives women complete control.”

  Miles throws a ratty couch pillow, hitting Bubba on the side of the head.

  “Are you hearing yourself?” Miles says. “You have no business dishing out advice you could never take.”

  “Women have three ultimate powers we will always succumb to,” Bubba insists. “Two boobs and one vagina.”

  “What?” I say.

  “It’s true. Their bodies are their number one weapon. They know we can’t get enough of them. No matter how big or small or round or skinny they are. We don’t care. We’re so simple minded, Gray. They think we’re so hard to figure out. Well, we’re not. We’re pathetically predictable. We just want unlimited access to their bodies, and we’ll do anything to get it. We’ll buy flowers and write poems and take dance classes and pretend we enjoy window shopping and act like we notice their haircuts, but in the end, we do it for the nookie. It’s how we’re wired.”

  “You’re nuts,” Todd says. Bubba ignores him and continues with his theory.

  “Then, when they’ve got us latched into their choke collars, they turn it all around

  and call sex love and love sex and they screw with our minds so we don’t know the difference. It’s all a cruel conspiracy, man.”

  I laugh out loud at this.

  “That’s really romantic,” Todd says. “It’s a wonder why you can’t maintain a healthy relationship.”

  “Hey, virgin boy, we’re talking about sex right now. Something you know nothing about, so you have no opinion on the matter.”

  “I think two you should get back together,” Miles says. “Dylan’s great. And she’s hot.”

  “You think all women are hot,” I say.

  “Dude, Dylan is a fox. Are you blind?” Bubba interjects. I raise my eyebrows at this. Are we talking about the same Dylan? My tall, gangly, hyper—

  “The hippie look is hot,” Bubba says.

  “She could be a model,” Miles says. I turn to see Todd nodding.

  “And she has no idea how good looking she is, which is extra hot,” Todd agrees.

  I look down at the floor, shocked. They’re actually talking about Dylan. My Dylan. She’s always been too busy trying to embarrass me in social situations for me to see this apparently unanimous fact.

  “Gray, I’m telling you, if you have sex, all it will do is remind you what you’re giving up. Sex always wins. It’s a survival mechanism for all relationships. Why do you think people get married?”

  “Because they’re in love?”
I reason.

  “No,” Bubba says. “It’s so they can get laid on a regular basis. Why do you think Todd’s rushing into his wedding with Liz? So he can pick out lampshades with someone?”

  Todd rolls his eyes, but I also notice he doesn’t argue.

  “Gray, if you don’t want anything to happen with Dylan, just say no. Pass on the ass. No love, not even with the glove. Block the cock.”

  “Okay, I get it,” I laugh. “No getting physical.”

  My phone beeps and I open it find a message from Kari. She asks me if I want to hang out this weekend. I groan and wonder out loud why she’s still pursuing this.

  Bubba frowns at me. “You’re dumping a girl after one bad date?” I nod and he shakes his head. “Dude, if you’re determined to get over Dylan, you’ve got to date,” he says. “Besides, first dates don’t count. They’re always lame, it’s like an interview.”

  I stare down at my phone and think about this. “So what’s the second date going to be like?” I ask.

  “Like a follow-up interview,” he says.

  “Sounds great,” I say. The memory of our first date still makes me shudder.

  “My first three dates with Amy were painful,” Bubba admits. “But we ended up dating for over a year.”

  “What changed after the third date?” I ask.

  “We had sex,” he said simply. I shake my head and think maybe I should reconsider taking any of Bubba’s relationship advice.

  DYLAN

  “This is so stupid,” I say. “Can’t he see we’re destined to be together?”

  Cat, Lenny and I are hanging out in Cat’s backyard. I’ve been trying to take pictures to get my mind off of Gray, but nothing helps. It’s been three days and I haven’t heard from him, seen him. Kissed him.

  “Sounds like a bad case of sexual tension,” Cat offers. “Maybe you just need to get to the meat of this. Pun intended.”

  I stop pacing and stare at her. “I need him to mildly like me first.”

  “What exactly do you want out of this, Dylan?” Lenny asks. She watches me with a cigarette poised between her fingers.

  I slump down on the grass. “I want him to give me a second chance. He hasn’t told me to leave, so I know he still feels something. It’s not over between us.”

  “Here’s the thing,” Cat says. “You two have already been intimate. So, if he’s really over you then the sex won’t compare to what it used to be. Either you’ll realize your feelings have faded and you’ll both be able to move on. Or,” she continues, “The more likely scenario, you’ll realize all the passion is still there and you’ll stop wasting time and get back together. It’s a win-win situation.”

  I curl my fingers around thick blades of grass until I rip out a clump in each of my hands. “I can’t have sex with him if it doesn’t love me,” I say. “Is there an option B?”

  “You could hook up with someone else. My mom always told me the best way to get over a guy is to get on top of another one,” Lenny says.

  “Your mother gave you that advice?” Cat asks.

  “Best advice she ever gave me.”

  “Lovely,” I say.

  “Make out with Travis,” Lenny says. “He thinks you’re hot.”

  I roll over on my side and glare at Lenny. “I am not touching Travis. He’s a tool. He probably has a mirror over his bed.”

  I sigh and stare up at the sky. I comment that one of the clouds looks like a bowl full of popcorn. They both ignore my observation.

  “What if you try to make Gray jealous?” Cat asks. “That might speed things up.” I glance at her doubtfully and ask how I’m supposed to do that.

  “Wait,” Lenny says and sits up straighter. “I know. Travis comes into the Brew House every day at the same time. If you just happen to be there and Gray just happens to walk in and see you two together...”

  Cat slams her hand on the grass. “Brilliant,” she says. Before I can open my mouth up to argue, they’re already discussing what I’m going to wear for my date of betrayal.

  GRAY

  Five days later I still can’t get Dylan out of my head. She planted a seed and it’s growing and invading my thoughts.

  But where is this going to go? I tried to stay away from her and that didn’t work. I tried to be just friends. Fail. What if we become friends with benefits? Just two quirky kids that meet up for a fling every summer? Can I make Dylan that easily interchangeable?

  I walk into the Brew House because I have to unload on someone, and I know Lenny will be only too happy to hear me admit I’m still in love with Dylan. When I walk in, Lenny has this weird look on her face, something close to guilt. I walk up to the counter and ask her what’s wrong.

  “You didn’t get my text?” she asks.

  I shake my head and tell her my phone’s turned off. She says she sent me a code red, which means I need to drop everything I’m doing and call her. She’s only used a code red on me twice—one night when she got a flat tire, and one morning when she had to perform a major walk of shame and needed emotional support (and an extra pair of shoes since she managed to lose hers).

  My mouth drops open and I think the worst. “Did you get fired?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I wish.”

  “Did you poison a football player?” (a threat she continually promises to follow through with).

  “Shh. No.” She shifts her eyes and I follow her stare to the back of the room. First I grin because I see Dylan, but then I blink and I swear she’s sitting at a table with Travis, but I must be seeing things. I blink again, but he’s still there so I blink one more time and then my eyes widen because I see his hand touch her fucking leg. My primitive caveman instinct slams into territorial mode. It’s war time.

  I glare at Lenny like this is all her fault.

  “Don’t look at me,” she says. “I don’t condone this kind of behavior. They didn’t show up together, if it makes you feel any better. But they’ve been sitting there for two hours so I thought it was time to combine forces.”

  I ball my hands into a fist and my blood is racing. I swear steam is rising from my body. Travis Toolshed Taylor? Is she serious?

  “Gray, take a few deep breaths. You have a little bit of an angry streak.”

  I ignore her as I walk towards the happy stupid couple. All these thoughts are racing through my head. Does Travis actually like Dylan? Or is he just using her to piss me off? Could Dylan be even remotely attracted to a self-absorbed prick like Travis? He could be the poster boy for Oscar Mayer, he’s such a meathead. And what does he see in Dylan? She’s not his type. He goes for tall, skinny, sexy… shit. She is completely his type.

  When I approach the table Dylan looks away from the laptop she and Toolshed were peering into. She smiles at me and it’s this innocent smile like she was hoping to run into me so I could be the third wheel on their little coffee date.

  “Hey!” she says. Travis turns around and he smiles too. As I stare back and forth between them, their future passes before my eyes like a montage sequence: A wedding invitation announcing Travis and Dylan’s wedding. A birth announcement arrives, introducing me to their healthy baby boy, Travis Jr. I see their dream house: a two story brick home with a red minivan in the driveway, a white picket fence and a mailbox with birds painted on it to receive all the happy mail for the Travis and Dylan happy abode.

  “Gray?” Dylan asks and there’s worry in her voice. “You okay?”

  I blink back at her and she tells me Travis is helping her build a website for her photography.

  “It’s not as hard as I thought,” she says and Travis leans in and smiles coolly.

  “You just have a good teacher,” he says. She turns to me and asks if I want to sit down.

  I can practically hear my blood rushing to my head. “Can I talk to you for a second?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady.

  “Sure.” She shifts her chair around until she faces me. She’s wearing a shirt that actually fits. It hugs her chest and bri
ngs out the green in her eyes. I don’t want Travis to have that kind of luxury view.

  “Outside,” I say.

  Dylan follows me out the door. I walk down the block because I need a few seconds to cool off. It doesn’t help. I still want to scream. I turn and glare at her when she catches up to me.

  “Travis Toolshed Taylor? Are you kidding me?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “That’s not really his middle name, is it?”

  I throw my hands up with exasperation. “Of all the guys in this state, you’re on a date with the one guy who’s so stupid—”

  She puts a hand on her hip. “First of all, it’s not a date. I was sitting there, minding my own business, well, actually eavesdropping on these two girls at the table next to me who were discussing this new salt-free diet they’re trying—”

  “Focus, Dylan,” I say. I press my fingers against my temples and close my eyes

  because I feel a brain aneurysm coming on.

  “Sorry. Anyway, he showed up and invited himself to sit down.”

  “And then he just happened to rub your leg,” I point out.

  “What?”

  “Why are you dressed like that?” I ask. Dylan stares down at her jeans, which I’m displeased to see also fit. She’s never worn jeans like that around me. They actually show off her body. She looks up at me like I’m insane.

  She explains Liz donated a bag of clothes to the dress-Dylan-fund. She tells me they’re all really nice and they actually fit. I have to interrupt her again because she’s diverting the conversation.

  “I don’t want you hanging around Travis,” I say. “He’s an asshole.”

  “He’s your teammate. You shouldn’t talk about him like that.”

  “If I ever see you alone with him again—”

  “Wait just one minute, Gray Thomas,” she holds her hand up to cut me off. “If I recall correctly, it was you who passed me off as single right in front of Travis, so this isn’t exactly my fault. Or his. It’s none of your business what I do with Travis Tooltime Taylor.”

  I glare at her and take a deep breath. “Toolshed,” I correct her. “Not Tooltime.”