Inside the Mind of Gideon Rayburn (22 page)

"Okay, well," Molly says brightly, "I'll see you at seven-thirty." She puts the dog snout into his open hand, then
closes his fingers around it. "I entrust you with this."

"She's got a pretty nice ass," Cullen says as she walks away. There's something weird about the way he says
it, though. It's a compliment, but I can tell that the frozen diet cheesecake thing got under his skin. There's a part of
him, I would bet, that's trying to put her in her place. There's a little muscle under Cullen's neck that's pulsating in and out. Molly, Gid sees, got to him. She found a chink in his golden armor. A chink made of Splenda and fat-free cream
cheese. He thinks about her ass. It's not just her ass. It's the way she walks. She walks like she's having a good
time. Like no one's watching.

_{first base}

Rushing along the stretch of Route 215 that leads to the theater, buoyant from having turned in a paper on
Moby-Dick
that he actually thinks might not be that bad, Gid is struck with a revelation at once so brilliant and so
obvious that he leaps into the air. And this is it: After five rehearsals, it's time to do the script for real. Which means
making out. Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Gideon Rayburn, he says to himself, laughing appreciatively at his
idea, and we are
off-book.

Hey, I'm more than ready for sexual tension to become sexual. My feelings about Gideon aside, it's just how
things are supposed to progress. And after all, pretentious Spanish playwrights don't just write sensual stage
directions for their fucking
salud
(health).

When he arrives at the theater, Molly's sitting on one of the little Plexiglas cubes in the lobby, waiting, mouthing words over the script. Gideon's plan is so good that it even includes an opening line
—not an especially inspired one
but a start nonetheless—"Pollard Theater is a really ugly building."

But Molly holds off conversation with a raised finger.
"Que nunca olvides este cancion, la cancion de la guerra, la
cancion de los muertos"
(That we never forget the song, the song of the war, the song of the dead), she murmurs.
"God, what a load of crap." She closes the script and sets it down on her knee. Another skirt tonight, brown and soft
against the whiteness of her skin. Her eyes soften to let Gid know she's ready to converse. "Pollard Theater," Molly
says, "ugly indeed. Edie says it looks like an ice-cube tray fucked a roulette wheel."

Gid frowns. "That sounds a little dirty for Edie."

Molly fans herself with the script. "I think the 'fuck' part might be mine. But the sentiment, it's all her." She takes
the script and taps him on the shoulder. (Molly's enjoying this whole actress thing. She might be wearing the skirt
because she's into Gid, but mostly, I think she feels a little like a star and wants to dress the part.) "I suppose I
should tell you that Liam is lying on the floor of the practice space, drunk."

Molly stands up. Gid notices she has cute ankles. Is he forcing himself to notice she has cute ankles? No, he
decides, walking behind her, watching them as she walks. They're not quite as exciting as Pilar's breasts, but ankles have their charms. As a girl, I would pick ankles over breasts any day. I mean it. They last longer.

Liam rolls to one side and waves when they walk in. Even covered in dust from the floor and wearing a dog snout, he looks very handsome. Gid actually has a benevolent thought about his handsomeness. He sends out a
silent wish for Liam Wu: Life is hard. May your totally unfair share of beauty make yours just a little easier. He's
feeling generous, confident. He can do this.

"Hey, uh, Molly," he says, "I think that we need to start, you know, doing the play more as it's written. I think we
need to get, uh, used to the..."

And here, he actually lifts one eyebrow, somewhat sexily.

"The physical parts," he finishes. He doesn't know if he's saying the right things, but he knows one thing: He's
moving forward. Finally.

This moment isn't lost on Liam, who, alcohol-soaked as he is, begins to stir. His unfocused eyes sharpen ever so slightly with a sort of lascivious curiosity. He senses a plan, designs of sex and intrigue.

As far as Gideon goes, he could give a fuck. Here's what he sees. Molly likes his suggestion.

"Okay," Molly says, and Gid will be damned if he can't hear her trying to steady her voice, "let's get going,
then."

Liam takes a giant swig from his flask, slips on his plastic snout, and, after walking a few feet across the room,
slumps at their feet in a canine heap. Molly and Gideon put on their plastic snouts.
"El Perro que Compartimos,"
Liam
slurs.

The first scene doesn't require any physical contact. At least not with each other. It does require that they
stand over Liam taking turns patting him and exchanging observations about the quality of his coat.

"It is glossy."

"It harbors fleas."

"It is warm."

"When wet, it steams and festers."

"Hey," Gideon says when the scene ends, "I think I get what you said about the fascist stuff now."

"God," Molly says, "I thought you got it the other day."

Gid shakes his head. "You always think people know what you're talking about, and it makes it kind of hard to
interrupt," he says. It's hard to talk with the plastic snout on. He takes it off and brushes plastic-smelling perspiration from his face. Shit. They're going to have to kiss with these things on. That's not going to be very sexy.

'Thanks," Molly says. "I mean...oh." She takes off her snout too.

They stand there, looking at their snouts. "Fuck," Liam moans. "I'm fucking bored. Come on, let's do the next
scene."

Molly looks at the floor with more shyness than Gid has ever seen her display, and then quickly, like she's jumping into water, throws her arms around Gideon's waist. Strange, but with a girl's arms around him like this, he
can really feel how his body has hardened. He feels happy, fulfilled, accomplished.

"Scene," says Molly.

Liam starts to giggle.

"Heel," Molly says.

Liam giggles some more.

If they do their little doggie-owner routine, Gid thinks, I will kill myself.

They don't.

It's a good thing that Gid doesn't really know what he's saying, because it's hard to concentrate on anything
except the fact that he's got his arms wrapped around Molly McGarry. He always thought she was kind of small, but
now he feels that she's surprisingly heavy, like a bullet. But not bad heavy, not like, "Hey, you should take up
race-walking" heavy, just like, "She'd be sort of hard to pick up" heavy.

Td
eres el dueno del
pe/ro/'he says. (You are the owner of the dog.)

"Si tu me amas, el perro sea el tuyo tambien/'
Molly says. (If you love me, the dog is yours too). She's actually
not a bad actress. She's not seething with talent or anything, but at least you kind of believe what she's saying. Gid,
by the way, is totally aware that he sucks, but he's smart enough not to add "lacks acting talent" to the list of personal
shortcomings that are constantly piling up in his head.

"Now the dog is our friend, we are together, and the dog gives us something to talk about," Molly says.

And this is one of the places in the script where
"Oscary Lucia se besan con pasion."

Molly and Gideon
se besan con pasion.

This is a moment where being inside Gid's head is pretty weird. Because if I am Molly, of course, I know what
to do. I know if he's not liking the kiss, and I can adjust. But what if I'm someone else, and Gid is kissing another girl, and liking it? I wouldn't like that. And he
is
liking it. Every aspect of it. The firm pressure of her hand on his back, the
lighter pressure of her knee against the outside of his calf, the kiss itself
—he doesn't know who started the tongue
thing. Or if it's just part of acting. But it's definitely going on.

Over the kissing sounds, Gid hears Liam say, "Wow."

The
pasion
ends. Gid and Molly sort of pat themselves, arranging their clothes and hair.

Liam gets up and stumbles out of the room. He pauses for a second at the door. "I think that we might get in
trouble for that. I'm definitely not needed here." They look at each other as they hear Liam make his way down the
hall and groan as he opens the heavy glass door and disappears into the night.

"Let me be the first to tell you," Molly says, "we're going to get an A."

At first he thinks she means that they're going to get an A for kissing. And he's about to grab her, he's really about to, when he sees that she's getting ready to go. "Uh, I should really walk you home," he says. "It's probably
best."

Molly pulls her hair free from under the collar of her sweater, which Gid notes is white and soft, and she
shakes it out. "You don't need to walk me home," she says. "I mean, what, are you afraid the JV tennis team's going
to pull a train on me?"

Gid reddens and looks at his feet.

"Oh, come on," Molly says. "Let's go."

They take the path that goes through the woods, site of Gideon's high-stakes crime night. He checks her for
signs that the kiss has left her ruffled
—he doesn't know whether to jump up in the air or puke—but she's totally
smooth. She reminds Gideon of...a sailboat. That's stupid. Yes, it is, Gideon, you're right. Sailboat is stupid. At any
rate, she seems utterly fine with the silence between them, but Gid, desperate to fill it, and vaguely hoping her
answer will illuminate how she feels about him, asks, "So, what was it about the play that made you think we're going
to get an A? I mean, you said yourself it's a dumb play."

"I know, because my parents are teachers. Anytime kids do something like this, without laughing, they're
impressed. I mean, we're making out with plastic snouts on. How easy is that? Ms. San Video's going to think that we
see some sort of symbolism in the whole thing. She's going to brag to all her friends at dinner parties how insightful
we are. It's genius." Here, she stops and puts a mittened hand to her head. "I salute Liam Wu, in absentia, for
picking this play."

"I don't know," Gid says. "I think that the kiss..." Molly puts her hands on his shoulders. He's pleased that she's
touching him but knows it doesn't necessarily mean anything.

"Seriously," she says, "my sister's in college, and she just gave a presentation in her art history class
comparing vaginas to hurricanes. Total bullshit. She got an A. The teacher told her she was, and I quote, 'one of the
most brilliant students I ever had.'"

He was hoping that bringing up the kiss would lead to more talking about the kiss. Not this. Hurricanes and vaginas. These are two things he does not want to associate. Their walk back up Route 215, after this, is silent. And
it's a girl silence, meaning she decides she wants it to be quiet. A boy silence is what happens all the time. Girl
silences mean something. In this case, Gid hopes it means she's processing. Recovering.

Maybe she is. Maybe Gid's kiss just wrecked her.

Back at Molly's dorm, they settle themselves on a little cement step under the door to the basement. "Here we
are again," she says. Molly wraps her arms around herself. Reflexively, Gid takes off his coat and tucks it around
her shoulders. So now he's cold. He reminds himself sacrifice is part of the bet. "If you don't mind me asking," he
says, going down another road altogether, "how did you end up coming to school here? i mean, if your parents are
teachers?" Okay, Gid, this is a good question. Direct, curious. Girls like this. Have you noticed that Gid really does
just as well on his own as he does following the "expert" advice of his roommates?

"Thanks for the coat. That was nice and, once again, very Buffalo. I assume you were asking how I can go
here because my parents don't make a lot of money, right?"

Gid wags his head from side to side, wishing to get around this, but Molly waves him off.

"When I was around four, my dad took me to a movie. We got popcorn, and lo and behold, we get to the bottom
and a half-eaten bagel is lying there. Like with teeth marks. So we sued. And here I am with you fancy people!"

"Molly," Gid says, "I read that article the other day too." He actually reads the entire
Boston Globe
almost every day, at lunch. It's a good way of reminding himself that there are people in the world who have worse problems than
being the new kid at Midvale Academy.

"You did? Damn. Anyway. I think the father's totally overreacting. The girl had all these shots and vaccinations.
It's not like the bagel was soaked in human blood. Anyway, I thought it was a really good lie."

"It was only an okay lie," Gideon says. "Kind of adolescent."

Totally adolescent.

Now Molly reddens. "I...The truth is that my parents teach at the school I would go to, and they don't want me
to go there, so they just use most of my mother's salary to send me here. Buffalo's not exactly expensive." She
pokes at some gravel with her foot. "I feel a little stupid that I am always joking around," she confesses. "I sort of
exhaust myself. But I just get nervous, and the only thing that makes me feel better is cracking jokes. Except then I
get more nervous."