Zach glances up at me, his eyes twinkling like Iget it.“Yes,” he says, a tremor of excitement in his voice. “Exactly like Ciano.”
To say that my heart is experiencing a steady fall downward is an understatement. “That’s awesome.” I hope I at least sound enthusiastic.
“Well, I have to work on the accent. And the handlebar mustache,” he says, chuckling. “Did you watch the behind-the-scenes commentary, by the way? Did you expect him to look like that? I love how he plays into all the clichés. Even in the way helooks.Like, that little Italian director twiddling his handlebar mustache. Who comes up with that shit?”
I smile. “You wanted to ask me something.”
“Yes,” Zach says. “I’m working on a little film this summer. My friend Raj and I wrote the script, and I was wondering if maybe you’d be in it?”
“Me?”There’s obviously no one else around, but of all the outrageous things I thought Zach might ask me—for a date, maybe, or even my hand in marriage—I would not have expected this, and I can’t help wondering if someone else has popped up behind me.
He nods, smiling at me until my shock wears off.
“I can’t act!”
“Exactly,” he laughs. “I mean, not that youcan’tact. That has yet to be determined, but you saw Ciano’s stuff. No skill required.”
“But…” I try to come up with an excuse, any excuse.
“I think you’d be perfect for it,” Zach says, and ugh, his eyes find mine. I don’t have the sense to look away.
“I could…I mean, I can try, I guess.”
“Perfect,” Zach says as we reenter the main area of the store. I follow him around to the counter. “Here. We’ll be shooting it at my house, so I’ll write down where I live, and today’s Wednesday. Does Saturday work for you to do a test run, and then we’ll start on Monday?” He pulls out a piece of paper, some faded old receipt, and scribbles on it. It’s the first time I notice that he is left-handed.
While he’s sliding it over to me, a customer—an older man in a business suit, picking something up during his lunch break—comes up to check out a stack of movies. Zach turns away to help him, but the man doesn’t have an account, so they have to set up a new one. I’m holding on to the receipt, waiting for Zach to finish, when an idea pops into my head.
I don’t know if it makes me desperate or brave or nothing at all, but I decide that, short of straight-up asking him out, there’s really only one way to know if Zach even remotely likes me. I mean, maybe he’s this friendly and charming to anyone.
So while he’s busy inputting the man’s details, I tear off the bottom of the receipt he gave me and scribble my cell number on it. Maybe he won’t even see it. Maybe he’ll think it’s just in case he needs to reach me, even though he never asked for it, and my mom’s number is on the store’s computer system. But before I can change my mind, before I can convince myself that this isn’t the kind of thing I would normally do, I put the note down on the counter, stick the pen over it, call goodbye to Zach, and head out.
For the first time in over a week, I leave At Home Movies DVD-less. But with Zach’s number and address. A starring role in his slasher film. And an open invitation for him to callme.
AFTER
January
I write the note on a piece of paper torn from the back of my Spanish notebook.
Sometimes I write down things I’m desperate to remember. My sheet music is full of notes and PSs to myself.
If I’m asking, then I can’t be,is what this one says.
Crazy,is what it doesn’t.
Is it true that if you suspect you are, then you can’t be insane?
I hope it is, so I keep the note folded in my pocket for six days. For reassurance.
I can’t be crazy.
Crazy means stuck here in this town.
But crazy is seeing a boy nobody else can. A person who doesn’t exist.
I haven’t seen him since Thursday in the Cineplex with Katy, but I am determined not to again.
I steal two sleeping pills from Mom’s cabinet and try them, one at a time, because I am still lying awake at night, mind swirling with spinning buses and trees. And now invisible boys. It helps with the sleep, but not the unshakable feeling that something is wrong.
