Page 67 of My Own Kind of Person

“I kinda wanted to say it outside at The Moth, but I was too nervous. Then I thought all those performers had the stage as a space to present a cohesive statement, and I thought maybe that’s what I should do.”

He laughs a little, and it’s possible that he’s laughing at me, but in a sweet way. “That makes sense.” He looks up at Mazzei because scores are being taken, and he says, declaratively, possibly proudly, “Ten.”

I don’t hesitate. “This might be a ridiculous question,” I say, and lean so close we’re almost touching, “but would you like to be my boyfriend?”

“That’s not a ridiculous question. I would love to be your boyfriend.”

I nod. “Great.” I nod several more times. “The whole class is behind us, or I’d give you a kiss.”

He leans closer. “Then I guess we have something to look forward to.”

Steph Rooney says the average score is a ten out of ten, and the room cheers, and I stay looking at Elijah, at the long lines of his eyelashes.

“But could I hold your hand for now?” he asks.

I reach over and put my hand in his, but the armrest between our seats props up my elbow in a weird way, so I try putting my elbow on my side of the armrest, but that makes my hand twist in his, so I try putting my elbow on his side of the armrest, but then I’m jabbing him in the ribs.

“This is a disaster,” I whisper.

He laughs. “It’s just right.”

And I fall for him all over again.

Chapter 22

When I get to Tony’s house for rehearsal, he’s standing at his garage door with his hands clasped.

I bow to him. “Good day, Mr. Zitolo.”

“I—” He turns to the garage door and back. “Well—” He turns and turns back again. “Okay.”

He goes to a keypad and enters a code, and with a quiet whirr the garage door lifts away.

Inside, three green folding chairs face a green stage. Green curtains hang across the back wall. A microphone stands center-stage beside a speaker painted, oddly, yellow.

“You did this?”

Tony makes himself taller. “With my dad. My mom found someone selling the speaker.”

I take the two stairs up the side of the stage, brushing my hand along the curtains. “You could hold open mics here. You could start your own all-ages club.”

“That is a long-term goal.” He points to a pile of boards and screws under a piece of paper with hand-drawn diagrams. “I’m trying to do an IKEA hack to turn that wood into a podium for checking in patrons, but I haven’t figured out how yet.”

“This is so cool, Tony.” I’m suddenly overwhelmed by appreciation for him. I’ve known him since before we learned how to read. He taught me how to tie my shoes. One day life may take us in different directions but right now he is here, in front of me. I haven’t lost my chance to appreciate this moment, this person. “You know we’ve known each other since before we learned how to read? You taught me how to tie my shoes.”

His cheeks are red. “Let’s get down to business. I’d like to run through the first—”

“I invited Andi. I hope that’s all right.”

“That’s awesome. Just remember that Andi’s scowls don’t represent the reactions of most Long Islanders.”

“That’s what I’m interested in.” I walk to the microphone and my voice booms. “I invited someone else too.”

“Someone else?”

I step back from the mic. “Have you met Elijah Summers?”

“Why would I have met Elijah Summers? There are only three chairs here.”