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And maybe something else.
I don’t know. It’s so new. It’s so exciting. It’s so … weird.
I’ve settled on saying we’re friends. What do I even call it? We make out now and then. Mostly on the weekends, definitely. And sometimes during a rehearsal … behind a curtain when no one’s looking. Is this what people call being “friends with benefits”? It feels a bit cheap to describe him that way. Friends will have to do. Really close friends. Kissy friends. Cuddly friends. Comfy friends.
But not boyfriends. At least, not quite.
Would I even know if we are? What does Vann consider us? Is something supposed to be discussed? Do we decide whether we’re boyfriends now? It’s downright humiliating that I even have to ask myself these questions, that I don’t have any personal experience in this department at the ripe age of eighteen when I’m sure half of my class lost their virginity in the tenth grade. I can’t stomach the idea of asking Jimmy and having him tease me—or have him ask who the special someone is, then tell me what a bad idea Vann and I are as a couple. He just wouldn’t get it. And besides, a part of me really wants to figure this out on my own.
That same part of me is also getting better at grabbing hold of Vann’s shirt and planting a big one on him during scene four—in the middle of rehearsal, right there on the big stage, in front of Ms. Joy, Tamika, and the whole world I know. And the following weekend when Vann and I enjoy two more nights together in my shed—“rehearsing”—we make sure we’re more than comfortable with our lines, our chemistry … and our kisses.
After such a rocky start, I did not expect to leap into a handful of exhilarating, soul-feeding, glorious weeks of happiness. I feel absolutely untouchable. For the first time, I’m the one who is on top of the school, invincible to the day-to-day struggle of being a teenager in Spruce. Is this what I was missing out on all this time? Is this what Jimmy felt when he first kissed Bobby? Is this what Kelsey was talking about when she mentions her best friend Lucas and how he found his dream man against all odds?
That’s who I am: a lost soul in Spruce who just got a pie slice of happiness dropped from the heavens and right into his lap. Or dropped down from New York City, to be more accurate. Or maybe slid down a long table from California where he was born.
Maybe we could go on a little trip to the beach this summer. The Gulf of Mexico might not compare to California’s beaches, no doubt, but I think he’d like it anyway. Is this too premature? To make plans for the summer? Who cares! The thought makes me so happy, reason flies straight out my narrow shed window.
Homecoming rushes forth as September draws to a close, and the halls of Spruce High explode in streamers, oversized posters, and gaudy decorations. I narrowly dodge being steamrolled over by a band of cheerleaders and jocks on my way to third period one day, but that’s fine; nothing can possibly ruin my mood on the way to chemistry when I get to see Vann. “I swear, I don’t think the halls of this school can handle one more fricking football fan,” I gripe to him as we wait for the bell to ring. Vann eyes me. “We’re still doing the ‘fricking’ thing?” he deadpans, to which I smirk. But he seems to take the bit about football fans seriously, his eyebrows pulling together in thought. Then he asks if I still walk to school in the mornings with my stepbrother, to which I nod. That gets his wheels turning even more, piquing my suspicion.
My suspicions are put to rest the morning of the Homecoming game when I’ve just gotten dressed, ready to head off to school, and I hear the distant roar of a motorcycle. Lee comes out of the hallway, and the pair of us share a look. When I rush to the window and find Vann on his bike at the curb in his sleeveless leather jacket awaiting me, my heart swells. Lee makes a remark about how motorcycles are dangerous and Vann better not have any weed on him before I swipe my backpack off the couch and zip right out of the house. Vann grins when he sees me. He offers a quick kiss before I take a helmet from him, fasten it on, then get on right behind him. After he revs the engine, my front door flies open, and a very angry, slightly hungover Carl staggers onto the front step in a blue opened robe, revealing him in just his boxers underneath, hairy chest and belly exposed. “What’s all this loud business??” he shouts, red-faced. “Who’s that? Toby, you get back here right now! Who d’you think you are now, some big-shot biker poser?—Agh, that noise!—Get your sorry ass back here!”
