“You think I don’t c—” He pushes a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I’m heartless. So what’s happening here?”
I focus on the pep rally again. “It’s Kiss Cam Day,” I tell Marcus, beaming.
“Kiss Cam Day?” he repeats.
“Remember what I said about Zadie not wanting everyone to know yet about her and Jason?”
“Yes?”
“Well…” Right on cue, the catchiest bubblegum pop song bursts from the huge speakers mounted in the corners of the gym. It’s “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer, and immediately, a live video of people in the gym is projected onto the screen. At any given time, the camera seems to target the most awkward pairing of people sitting or standing side by side. Megan Shu and Clark Howie, Braden Young and Hunter G, Vice Principal Moon and Coach Kyle.
And last but not least…
I watch through the spaces between my fingers as the camerapans to Jason and Other Zadie. When the camera lands on them, blowing up their interaction for everyone to see, Zadie looks horrified. She’s already shaking her head when Jason laughs, cups her face, and kisses her.
It is decidedly not a kiss between strangers.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, feeling like it’s happening all over again. I’ve never been kissed like that in my life. From the vibration of the music to the softness of Jason’s lips to the awareness of every passing second and people gaping and the crowd now catcalling and whistling and clapping. It feels like the cameras stay on Jason and Zadie for an eternity. Long enough for the kiss to end, and for her to finally, sheepishly crack a smile. Jason, on the other hand, looks like he always does. Completely unflustered and in control.
I don’t know how I manage to tear my gaze away from them for long enough to see Marcus—the Marcus in the dream—enter the gym. He’s wearing a backpack that could not look more decorative (read: empty) if it tried, old jeans, and a gray sweatshirt, hood up over his head. He slows as he senses the commotion, finds the screen showing Zadie’s and Jason’s grinning faces, comes to a complete stop, then turns around and walks back out of the gym.
“Hey, why did you leave?” I’m asking the Marcus beside me, but I never hear what he says because, suddenly, the gym is very, very loud.
Marcus tries to tell me something, maybe in answer to my question, but I just shake my head and point to my ears. “I can’t hear you!”
The dream is ending.
It’s an undignified ending, like being sucked up by a vacuum, and I’m fighting it, trying to get Marcus and myself to stay in thisone perfect memory. But the force pulling us out of the present moment is much, much stronger. Soon, I feel like my legs are disappearing, like bit by bit I am unbecoming.
Reaching for Marcus is a last-ditch effort, but to my surprise, when my hand grazes his, he catches my finger. Holding, holding,holding.
And then we are gone.
Twelve
I squint awake to a brand-new morning.
Immediately, I try to fall asleep again. I feel greedy. I want more memories, and I want them now, but it doesn’t work. I’m that little kid closing fluttering eyelids at bedtime and hoping it counts as sleep.
I try chamomile tea, a meditation app, even reading the most boring book on Mr.Tan’s syllabus, but nothing makes a difference.
“Seriously?” I whisper after one deeply unsuccessful hour. It’s frustrating because I have nothing but time today. Nothing but time and college apps and homework. And then it hits me. “Oh God,” I groan as soon as I remember.
Today is our very first fundraiser for senior prom. As the vice to his president, I’m co-organizing with Tyler. Could I fake sick?
For the first time in possibly my whole life, I consider not going. Just pulling a total no-show. But not only would that be completely irresponsible, it would also make me feel even more guilty than I already do for all the things I’m lying about.
“Shit,” I mutter as I make peace with the fact that not only do I have to go but that Iamgoing. Because I’m so late, I won’t even have a chance to see Jason this morning. And I didn’t see him yesterday either.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
I glance at the time and run around my room, trying to pulltogether an outfit for the day and do my makeup. I should have chosen my clothes yesterday. I hate that I’ve been so disorganized lately.
Mom sticks her head into my room while I’m hustling and frowns.
“Where’s the fire?”
“Senior fundraiser is today,” I say as I put on eyeliner, which for some reason I have only learned to do open-mouthed.
