Call the Shots (41 page)

Just as the lights in the theater dim, I glance over and see Helen grab Coop’s hand.

And Matt put his arm around Valerie.

I sink into my seat and try to focus on the movie rather than the lump that seems to be caught in my throat.

The first thing I realize is that, while video shot on a cell phone doesn’t look too bad on a laptop, it looks absolutely horrible when blown up to movie-screen proportions. Fuzzy and blurry and shaky and pretty almost impossible to look at.

The next thing I notice is Nessa.

And how even blurry and fuzzy and shaky, she still looks amazing. She’s got a face made for the big screen; even when shot in super-lo-res, her eyes find you and are totally expressive, and her cheekbones are killer. And those lips . . . wow! How did I ever think Leyna was the girl of my gamer dreams? She couldn’t hold a candle to Nessa.

I’m so transfixed by her that it takes me a minute to realize that almost everyone in the theater is laughing hysterically. Uncle Doug just came on screen, and while I’ll grant you that he’s no Ian McKellen, I didn’t think he was
that
laughable as Dr. Schmaloogan. But when the scene shifts and it’s me and Nessa up on the screen, acting our little hearts out, and they’re
still
laughing, I finally get it: they think it’s a farce. The scare-your-pants-off horror film that we’ve all been slaving over for months is getting bigger laughs from this crowd than
The Hangover.

Of course, I immediately turn to look at Nessa, to share in this bizarre but kind of awesome twist with her. Only she’s not there. Because I yelled at her. And told her she didn’t care about the movie. That she wasn’t welcome here.

And before I know it, I’m up and out of my seat.

Running toward the exits.

Charging through the theater doors. Into the lobby. Then out on the street. Searching for the nearest subway station.

M
Y BODY WAS ON THE SUBWAY
. And then the train. And the bus. And finally on my bike pedaling like crazy through the streets of Lower Rockville. But my mind was on Nessa the whole time. Thinking about what I want to say to her. Questions I want to ask. Things I hope she says to me.

And now here I am. In front of her house. Having built up this elaborate end-of-the-movie fall-into-each-other’s-arms finale in my imagination. And I’m suddenly wondering if showing up unannounced like this — after having publicly told Nessa off — is a cool Han Solo move or just another one of my Jar Jar Binks-isms.

I mean, sure,
maybe
she was going to apologize profusely and confess her undying love for me when I cut her off.

But maybe she was just going to apologize. And give me the old “Can’t we please just be friends” speech.

My stomach sours. Oh, good Gandalf. Of course that’s what she was going to say. Just like it was with Leyna. What the hell was I thinking? I’m such an idiot.

Forget it. I’ll just go home. Hop into bed. Tell everyone I was feeling sick and that’s why I ran out of the theater. Nobody has to know. If I get out of here now I can save myself bucketfuls of humiliation.

I look around to make sure nobody’s seen me. Hop on my bike. Set my foot on the pedal. And am just about to make my escape when I feel Nessa’s necklace thump against my chest.

I stop, remembering what she said about crossroads and choosing our paths. Do I really want to be the guy lying in the cemetery who let everyone else make his choices for him? Or do I want to take charge of my life, do what
I
want to do? Okay, sure, maybe I’ll be humiliated. Maybe Nessa will shoot me down and I’ll cringe every time I see her for the next couple of months.

But at least I’ll know I tried. That I took a chance — a chance Maggie Stillman never got to take.

I muster my courage, my heart slamming so hard in my chest it feels like I might actually die, and force myself to swing my leg off the bike.

As I do, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I slide it out and see a text from Nessa:
gt the hll n here alrdy, wld ya!

I look up and see Nessa staring down at me from her window. How long as she been standing there, watching me choose my fate?

I don’t know why this makes me smile, but it does. I quickly text her back:
b rIt thr.

I start to jog my bike toward the back of her house.

“Drop it on the front lawn,” Nessa calls out her window. “I think we’re past all the clandestine stuff, don’t you? Just come in. The door’s open.”

I do as I’m told and am standing in front of Nessa’s mystical magical fairy-tale bedroom door in under thirty seconds, my stomach all twisted in pretzels. Does she want me in here so she can yell at me for totally losing it earlier and barring her from the screening? Or could she actually be as excited to see me as I am to be standing here, a door’s width away from each other?

Nessa opens the heavy wooden door and ushers me in. “I have to say, I’m kind of surprised to see you. Isn’t your movie screening at this very moment?”

“
Our
movie,” I say quickly. “Look, Nessa, I’m really sorr —”

“Don’t,” she says, looking pained. I flash back to Leyna’s living room, to my awkward confession of love — well, lust, really — and how horribly I misread that whole situation. Nessa’s screwed-up face hits me harder than any rejection from Leyna ever could. The tears that I’d suppressed earlier come screaming back. If I don’t get the hell out of here
right now,
I’m afraid I’ll give Nessa all the ammunition she and Cathy need to mock me for the rest of my life.

I reach behind me, fumbling for the doorknob. “I should go,” I say quickly. “I don’t know why I —”

“Sean, wait.”

I look up and finally meet Nessa’s gaze. That pained expression that I thought was revulsion actually looks more like . . . regret. “You still haven’t let me apologize,” she says. “I never meant to hurt you. Cathy and I . . . we just thought we’d have a little fun, that you’d show zero interest in me and Cathy would know that she wasn’t alone, you know? That you were just like her. But it was pretty clear from the start that you weren’t gay. I should have stopped as soon as I realized it, but I kind of
liked
hanging around you. I thought your movie was awesome, and I was flattered that you seemed to think my ideas were helpful. And I was also flattered that you . . . seemed to find me attractive.” Her pale neck blots pink as she admits this, and as amazing and adorable and hot as I’ve found Nessa in the past, seeing her neck flush with pleasure and embarrassment totally does me in. I’m but a humble Padawan to her Jedi Masteress.

“I like you, Sean,” she says. “And I’m so sorry that I hurt you.”

So, here it is: time for me to put all my cards on the table. I stand up straight and try to take a deep breath, though I can’t seem to get much air. “I like you too, Nessa. And . . . not just as a friend. Or my sister’s friend. I
like you
like you. Like,
really
like you.”

And just like that, it’s as though I’ve shrugged a three-hundred-pound wampa off my shoulders. I blink, feeling like I can breathe again. The rest comes easily. “I was in the theater, watching you up on screen, and you were
amazing.
Like, truly, truly amazing. And I started thinking about this past week and how much fun we had. And kissing you. But even before that, when we were writing the script together. I mean, sure, sometimes you were a total pain in my ass and you made me work
way
harder than I’d wanted to. But the movie wouldn’t have been half as good as it is without you pushing me and adding your own ideas to the script.”

Nessa smiles shyly. “We did have fun, didn’t we?”

“Are you kidding? Being with you has been the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. Hands down.”

Nessa laughs, and there’s a hint of her old teasing self when she says, “Come on, even more fun than when you and Matt and Coop dressed in drag? You know, we still have those pictures saved on Cathy’s comp —”

“You do not,” I say, a pleased tingling surging through my body despite the very heinous threat in her words.

“If you’re nice to me, I might just go in and delete it once and for all.”

I smile, and soon we’re both standing there smiling at each other just like we were yesterday, when we were wrapping up shooting. “Hey, can I ask you something?” I say at last.

“Anything.”

“When did it change? I mean, when did it . . . you know . . . stop being a game?”

She winces at the word
game.
“It’s hard to say. I think it sort of started when I found you in the dumpster. You looked so . . . I don’t know . . . vulnerable. And not entirely bad in just your boxer shorts,” she adds with a wicked grin. Now it’s my turn to blush. “But maybe it was before then. Hanging out and getting to know each other. You’re really sweet, Sean. I never really noticed that side of you before.”

I take a step toward her, my heart thumping in my chest. But I stop a few inches from her.

“It’s funny,” I say, glancing around. “I still half expect Cathy to come out of your closet, laughing hysterically and snapping pictures that she can post on Facebook.”

“Cathy coming out of the closet? Are we making gay jokes, now, Sean? Just when I thought you were so sweet and sensitive.”

“What? No. No, that’s not what I —”

Nessa laughs and the sound fills me. “Man, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Nessa closes the space between us, reaching up and touching my cheek. Her intense green eyes lock onto mine in a way that is desperately hot.

And before I know what’s happening, I’m kissing her beautiful soft lips again. But for real this time. And if I thought those movie kisses were good, well, forget about it. Because this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. Her licorice smell, the taste of her tongue, the gentle sound of her breathing, the metallic brush of her lip ring, the heavy warmth of her cross pendant against my chest. All my senses wonderfully amplified.

Minutes pass. Or maybe it’s hours. Anything seems possible when you’re kissing Nessa in her fairy-tale bedroom.

But at some point, the real world intrudes.

“Whoa, Sean.” Nessa pulls back, her cheeks pink. “Maybe we need to slow down.”

“Oh. No. That’s my cell phone,” I say, reaching into my pocket to try to shut off the vibrations.

“And here I thought it was me,” Nessa teases. “You’d better answer it, though. Maybe they’re calling from the theater to tell you who won.”

“Tell
us,
” I remind her. “And given how hard people were laughing when I left, I highly doubt that.” But I pull the phone from my pocket and squint at the screen. “It’s my dad.” I frown and click the answer button. “Hello?”

“Sean, where are you?” Dad shouts, sounding like he’s out of breath. “Everybody was looking for you.”

“I’m with Nessa,” I say. “It’s . . . a long story.”

“Well, I don’t even have time for a short story. We’re headed to Walker Medical Center. Your mom was laughing so hard at your movie that her water broke. She’s in labor. Can you take a taxi and meet us there?”

Suddenly my knees go weak. “Yeah, okay, sure. No problem,” I ramble. “Is she . . . ? Is everything okay?”

“She’s fine. She’s good.” Dad sounds like he might start crying. “Keep breathing, hon,” he calls away from the phone, then says to me, “I’ve got to go. We’re having a baby, Sean! You’re going to be a big brother!”

And then the line goes dead.

Nessa’s looking at me with these big wide what’s-going-on eyes. “So?” she says.

“It’s my mom. We’ve got to go to the hospital. She’s having the baby.”

“D
O YOU WANT TO HOLD HER?”
Mom asks me as I stand by the side of her bed, staring in awe at the tiny little baby girl she has nestled on her chest.

Mom — who looks both sweaty-exhausted and happy-glowing at the same time — has asked that only one person visit her at a time. And since Dad and Cathy were actually in the delivery room for the birth — I didn’t think I could handle seeing what I thought I might see — I get to be the first one to visit with the cleaned-up and swaddled baby.

“I . . . um . . . I don’t know if I . . .” I swallow the thick lump that’s congealed in my throat. A thousand different emotions are careening through me. They’ve been slamming up against one another like a multicar pileup on the freeway ever since I stepped into the room.