Authors: Gail Nall
Harrison follows my outstretched finger. “What are you pointing at?”
“Them!” I wave my finger. Amanda is walking toward the parking lot with . . . Trevor. Amanda said she was going home to memorize lines. What is she doing with Trevor?
There
has
to be a rational explanation. Maybe they’re walking to their separate cars together. Except I know for a fact that Trevor doesn’t have his car today, because he was complaining to Johnny and Steve-o earlier about having to take it to the garage.
Harrison looks at Amanda and Trevor. “I bet they’re going to work on lines.” He turns back to me. “So what? We don’t care about that anymore . . . right?”
Harrison is so clueless. “The
problem
is that we used to be together. You don’t just go hang out with your best friend’s ex-whatever without saying anything. Because that’s weird. I mean—”
Harrison holds up a hand. “Don’t want to know about it.”
He is the worst most-likely-gay friend a girl could have when it
comes to sort-of-relationship—or ex-sort-of-relationship—advice. I take off toward the parking lot, Harrison on my heels. I just have to know if they get in the car together.
“Slow down,” he complains. “We didn’t have cross-country on that list.”
I pull up sharply behind someone’s hand-me-down SUV and watch as Amanda and Trevor get into her new Jetta, laughing about something. They drive off just as Harrison chugs up behind me, completely out of breath.
“Seriously, Case. No running. Please. I’m losing a lung here.” He leans forward, hands on his knees.
“You’re the one in a hurry to get to the elementary school,” I snap at him. I instantly feel like a jerk. “Sorry. I’m just in a mood now.”
“Well, that’s nice. Can we go now, or are you still stalking Trevor?”
“I am
not
stalking him.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I refocus my anger into planning our Art Takeover tomorrow. What’s important right now is me getting my life back on track, not Trevor. But it’s a little hard to refocus when your best friend for all eternity is giving secret rides home to the one guy in school you have a long and complicated history with.
It’s
got
to be completely innocent. He probably just asked her for a ride, and, nice as she is, she couldn’t tell him no. That’s all.
I’m sure it is.
I need something that says Artist. Something to make the Bohemian Brigade take me seriously. I’ve pulled out everything in my closet. I go back through the pile on my bed and pick a long, flower-printed skirt I’d bought when I method-acted an old woman last year, an oversized white button-down top, and black ballet flats. The only thing I’m missing is a beret. Instead, I pull my brown hair into a loose braid. For a second, I consider splattering some paint onto my shirt. But that’s probably trying too hard.
Mom doesn’t give me a second glance. She’s used to me by now. And Eric wouldn’t notice if I showed up to breakfast in a sequined formal. And Dad—well, he’s not here.
The morning drags on as I try not to think of what might have happened between Amanda and Trevor yesterday. I wait for her to mention it to me—
Oh, by the way, I drove Trevor home yesterday, and then I stuck around to run lines, and we kinda hooked up. Hope you don’t mind!
But she doesn’t say anything about him. By lunch, I’ve imagined pretty much every possibility.
I watch Amanda, looking for any signs that she feels the need to tell me something. But all she does is chew on a carrot and talk to Kelly about the play.
“I’ve decided to sit with you drama nerds today instead of the band guys,” Chris announces as he drops his lunch bag and open drink next to Amanda. Diet Coke splashes onto the scuffed orange table. Amanda wipes it up with her napkin. It is biologically impossible for her to ignore a mess.
“The band guys are way geekier than we could ever be,” Amanda
says as she deposits the napkin on her tray.
“Yeah, I mean, look at them.” Kelly points across the cafeteria with her fork at the band table, where a couple of guys are hard at work building a Leaning Tower of Food while another empties the spit valve on his tuba. “Gross.”
“Speaking of gross . . . what
is
that?” I can’t tear my eyes away from the thing Chris has unwrapped from foil.
“Half a pizza.” He rolls what is approximately six slices of pizza into something resembling a burrito. Then proceeds to eat about a third of it in one bite. “Dude, Casey, what’s up with the hippie clothes?” Chris asks through a mouthful of food.
I shrug. “Just felt like it.”
“But I thought you were Hippie Chick the first week of school,” Amanda says.
“I was. I felt like wearing this outfit. Is that okay with everyone?” I jab my spoon into my soup bowl. Droplets of chicken broth shoot across the table.
“Oookay . . . just asking, that’s all,” Chris says.
I just wish Amanda would
say
something already. The fact that she’s keeping it secret makes me pretty sure that 1) something happened between them, or 2) she wishes something would happen. This whole thing is weird. Because since when does Amanda like Trevor?
My
Trevor?
“Is everything all right?” Amanda asks.
“Yeah,” I lie. “But I’m over people picking on my clothes. I’m a big girl. I can wear whatever I want.”
Amanda looks at me for a second, like she isn’t sure who I am. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me,” she says in a low voice.
“I’m fine.” I know I should ask her about Trevor and get it over with, but part of me wants her to own up to it without me pushing.
“Is it about the play?”
“No.” And that’s actually the truth for a change.
“Is it your dad?”
“No.”
“Promise?” Amanda asks.
I draw an X over my chest and do halfhearted jazz hands.
She gives me a slight, fake smile. I can tell she’s still worried. I don’t say anything else, and she turns back to Kelly.
Harrison drops his lunch bag on the other side of the table. He pulls out an apple, motions to me, and says, “Come on.”
“Where are you going?” Chris asks.
“We have to talk to Alexa,” Harrison says before he takes a bite of the apple.
“Alexa? Bohemian Brigade Alexa?” Chris searches the cafeteria until his eyes land on the table in the middle. It’s hard to miss. The Bohemian Brigade don’t know the meaning of the word muted when it comes to clothes.
I should fit in perfectly.
I follow Harrison through the crowd, barely hearing Chris ask, “Why are they going to talk to Alexa?”
We pass Trevor’s table, and I try to catch his eye. If I can see how he reacts, maybe then I’ll know the truth. Of course, he’s looking
down at his food and doesn’t even see me. Instead, I get a weird little grin from Johnny Grimaldi, as his brother kicks him and says, “Don’t be a fuckwit.”
“Casey, come on.” Harrison looks back over his shoulder.
I refocus my attention on the table straight ahead. Alexa’s in the middle, wild curly hair and hot pink dress over black leggings. “How exactly do you know her?” I ask Harrison. I mean, I know
of
Alexa, but I don’t know her.
“Our parents are friends.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup,” he says. “They’re both equally uptight. They get along great.”
“Huh.” Somehow, I pictured Alexa living in a yurt with parents who make goat cheese and think of school as optional.
“Hey, Lex,” Harrison says once we reach the table.
“Harry!” She leaps up and gives him a bear hug.
First,
Harry
? Second, how in the world did I not know that Harrison and Alexa were such good friends?
Alexa nudges her friends down the table. Harrison and I slip into seats, smack in the middle of the Bohemian Brigade.
“I like your skirt,” the girl next to me says in a dreamy voice.
“Oh . . . thanks? I like your, um, necklace.” I point to the giant beaded necklace the girl has wrapped twice around her neck.
She gives me a floaty smile. Her T-shirt is covered in splatters of blue paint. I knew I should’ve added that finishing touch.
I’ve completely missed what Harrison’s said to Alexa, but I catch
her asking, “What kind of art?”
“Um, what are the options?” Harrison replies.
Alexa smiles. “What
aren’t
the options? There are so many ways to express yourself. Charcoal, fabrics, pottery—we’re having a Throw-In on Friday. You should come! Both of you.”
“We don’t have rehearsal. We’ll be there!” I say, maybe a little too enthusiastically. The guy straight across from me, who was—what? Asleep? Passed out? Dead?—jerks up. Necklace Girl reaches over the table and pats his hand.
“We’ll see you Friday, then,” Alexa says. She gives Harrison another hug as we stand up to leave.
Necklace Girl unwinds the beads from her neck. “Here,” she says, lowering the strand over my head. “They’ll bring you peace and inspiration.”
“Oh . . .” I run my fingers over the heavy, colorful orbs. I suppose I look like I need some peace and inspiration. “Thanks. I’ll see you at the Throw-In.”
“The what?” Necklace Girl asks. But before I can answer, she’s humming something completely out of tune and sketching on a notepad.
“They’re . . . interesting,” I say to Harrison as we walk back to our friends. I try to imagine myself as a member of the Bohemian Brigade, wearing flowy, colorful clothes all the time and never being entirely sure where I am or what day of the week it is.
“Nice necklace,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply in my best floaty voice.
“You know, we don’t have to become one of them to be artists.”
“Says you.” I gesture at his jeans and wrinkle-free oxford shirt. “If I’m going take up pottery, I’m going all the way. Good-bye Theater Casey, and hello Potter Casey. Hey, do you think there are any art colleges that give scholarships to late bloomers with iffy grades?”
“Here comes your boyfriend,” Harrison says instead, as we rejoin our table.
I look around so fast I almost give myself whiplash. “He’s
not
my boyfriend,” I say automatically. “But maybe now I can get the truth.”
“Why don’t you just
ask
Amanda?” Harrison says.
“Hey, everyone.” Trevor’s velvet voice wafts over the table.
I rearrange my new giant necklace and say, as normally as possible, “Hi, Trevor.”
He gives me the smile that made me nearly lose my mind freshman year.
“Ready for rehearsal?” I ask.
“The rest of us don’t have to be off-book yet even if you are.” And that would be him getting defensive, which is about how half of our conversations go.
I didn’t say you had to
is about to slip off my tongue, but I swallow the words, flip my too-short braid over my shoulder, and say, “Of course not” with a pasted-on smile. Picking a fight is not going to get me the answers I want right now.
He softens, and I try not to look into his big brown eyes.
“So, hey, Amanda.” Trevor’s gaze shifts from me to her. “Here’s that movie I was telling you about yesterday. Let me know what you
think.” He hands her a DVD.
I watch as Amanda gives him a shy smile. She reaches out and takes it from him. Their fingers touch, just ever so slightly. I fight the urge to jump up and grab the movie.
“Thanks.” She’s so quiet I can barely hear her.
“Bye, Casey. See you guys later.” Trevor waves at the table and leaves.
I narrow my eyes at Amanda. He’s lending her movies now? Her family has every available streaming service. It’s not like she probably couldn’t find the movie in all that—she doesn’t need a DVD.
But even worse, they had a heart-to-heart talk about it? That’s it, I have to know what happened yesterday. If she was just honest about it, maybe I wouldn’t even care. Maybe.
Amanda puts the disc in her bag and goes back to eating, like nothing has happened. “Where’d you get that necklace?” she asks.
“From a friend. So, um, what was that about with Trevor?” I ask her as I break a cracker into my cold soup.
“Nothing, really,” Amanda says. “He’s just lending me this movie he likes.”
“Oh.” I drop my voice. “It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend. I saw you guys walking out to the parking lot together yesterday.” I side-eye Amanda to see her reaction.
She smooths her jeans. Aha. Not good. Flattening out nonexistent wrinkles in her clothes is her go-to nervous tic. “He needed a ride home. I wouldn’t have offered, Case, but he asked me. It seemed really rude to say no since it was on my way.”
I brush cracker crumbs from my fingers and consider my options. Direct seems like the best approach. “Do you like him?”
“I . . . no, of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Amanda smooths her shirt. Definitely not good if she’s moved on to other articles of clothing.
“Well, it wouldn’t matter. I certainly don’t want him back.” I dropped Trevor for a reason. Now that my college plans are well, nonexistent now, I have an even bigger reason to stay away from him. I have to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life.
“Are you sure?” Amanda asks.
I let go of my spoon and look right at her. Why is she asking me that? Because she thinks I still have feelings for him, or because she wants him? “I’m sure,” I say as evenly as I can.
Amanda smiles. “Okay, you had me worried for a second. You made me promise not to let you get back together with him, after all. Which I agree with, by the way. Now, do you want to watch this movie with me?”
I shrug. “Sure, why not.”
He needed a ride, and she happened to be there. Then they talked about a movie. No big deal.
And
, even if it was a big deal, I need to trust Amanda enough not to let it go anywhere. She’s been friends with me since before I thought Trevor was an annoying fourth-grader who put gum in my hair.
“Why don’t you stay over? I’ll get some pizza and we can have a girls’ night,” Amanda says. “Now, are you going to fill me in on what you and Harrison were doing with the Bohemian Brigade?”
“Oh. It’s not important. Harrison wants to go to this Throw-In thing Friday right after school.”
Harrison raises his eyebrows at me from across the table. I don’t know why, but I don’t feel like explaining The List to anyone. Even Amanda. I’ve just always been so sure of who I am and where I’m going. Now I’m not, and I don’t know that I want everyone to know that.