Marcus looks over and winks, and I’m surprised at the lift I feel inside me, a hopeful kick of emotion. That, or my organs are shifting inside me, which seems ominous.
“Zadie Cartwright,” Marcus says, both of us ignoring the fact that mere feet from us, Jason and Zadie are talking. Making a Memory. Marcus’s hair is pulled back today, and somehow, in an alarming reversal of roles, he looks less tousled than Jason. “Skydiving or paragliding?”
He has to talk loud over the wind.
I sigh, then surprise us both by answering. “What’s the difference again?”
Marcus seems more than happy to explain. “Skydiving, I’m pretty sure, is jumping out of a plane voluntarily and falling to your death,” he says. “Paragliding, on the other hand, is basically falling to your death while attached to some parachute-like situation.”
Leaning in so close his breath is warm against the back of my neck, he adds, “I don’t recommend either.”
My heart beats just a little faster at his nearness.
“Paragliding,” I bumble, “seems more…I don’t know, serene or something. Like there’s more floating and less falling.”
Marcus considers this. “More floating, less falling. I can see that.”
I try to steer us back (pun intended) to the reason we’re here: the Jason and Zadie of it all.
“I have no idea why this memory matters,” I tell Marcus, looking around the boat. “It was just a normal day. We had a nice time on the lake.”
My mind is racing ahead, already questioning what this dream might reveal.
“Yo, Captain! My Captain!” Holden yells from the back. “What’s the rush? Why can’t we do one more hour?”
“I told you! My dad already expected us back an hour ago,” Jason shouts. I remember that he is not-so-secretly pissed at Holden for smuggling booze onto the boat when that broke Jason’s dad’s number one rule.
“So what’s another hour then? Live a little!”
“My friends are such idiots,” Jason fumes, chin on Zadie’s shoulder.
“Amber and Mo would have brought lemonade,” Zadie teases, a whisper only Jason can hear. “I’m just saying.”
“She’s joking, but she’s also not,” I tell Marcus now as we watch them. “I’d asked Jason if Mo and Amber could come and he said there wasn’t any room, but there’s like eleven of his friends here.” I point toward the back of the boat where a full-on party is happening. “Sometimes I think…Never mind.”
“No,” Marcus insists. “Sometimes you think…”
“Sometimes I feel like Jay is weird with my friends. There are times when he’s normal and chill and it feels like everyone loves everyone. Other times, he only wants to hang with his friends. And if my friends are around, there’s this weird, like…undertone.”
Marcus kneads his thumb against his temple, and I wonder if he’s tired of talking about me and Jason. Tired of hearing about our drama. I can’t blame him if he is. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Jay likes everyone who likes him.”
“Everyone likes Jay,” I point out. “He’s going to be prom king for sure.”
“Yeah, but that’s all bullshit.”
I frown. “Which part?”
“The very concept of prom king, the campaigning, the voting. It’s a popularity contest.”
I have the same thought I did at the fundraiser; it’s something like jealousy at the way Marcus comes and goes in groups, the way he never takes anything, including himself, very seriously.
“There’s nothing wrong with popularity.” It comes out defensive.
“True. It’s just not real, that’s all I’m saying,” Marcus says, but his eyes are lasers as he looks at me, sharp and focused. Somehow it sounds a lot likeyou’renot real. It’s as if he’s seeing straight inside me, as if he can see all the effort to be liked, to be good, to betidy.
I put both hands on my hips in frustration. “So, everyone who cares how they’re perceived is shallow—is that it? Less authentic?”
Marcus sighs, sticks his hands deep into his pockets. “I thought we were talking about Jason.”
