The Romantics(3)

Sure, Anika may not have said the words back yet, but she seemed to say it in other ways: when she texted him last thing before she went to sleep; when she reminded him of the AP calculus homework whenever he forgot to write it down; when she laced her fingers in his and gave his hand the tiniest squeeze . . .

(Difficult truth time: If people want to say “I love you” back, they will.)

Gael and Anika sometimes drove to school together, but she told him yesterday that all week she’d be getting there a half an hour early to practice her flute—she was going for first chair and the tryouts were on Friday. Today, however, he’d decided to surprise her and drive in early himself—and with flowers, no less. Red carnations. Anika loved red.

Gael crossed the mostly empty parking lot and headed through the courtyard and the back double doors, whose squeaks seemed extra loud in the morning quiet. The school felt weirdly calm this early. The hallways looked bigger in the absence of people; the lockers were all uniformly shut. Footprints in the dusty linoleum provided the only proof that hundreds of kids were normally packed in. Gael headed toward the main hallway and took a right toward the band room, flowers proudly in hand, but the bright, cluttered space held only a couple of guys on trumpet—no Anika. Gael put his sax away, adjusted the straps of his backpack, and looked at his watch. He was sure she said she’d be here by now, and he wondered if maybe she’d left something in the car.

Gael’s steps were still light as he headed back through the double doors and traipsed across the concrete to the parking lot. It was brisk but sunny, a good day to be in love and do something nice for your girlfriend.

Anika’s car was a few rows behind his—a beat-up butter-yellow Volvo that suited her perfectly—but she wasn’t in it.

By the time he got back to the band room—where Anika still wasn’t—more people were arriving and the halls were slowly and sleepily coming to life. He decided to try her locker.

Gael spotted her from down the hall. Her hair was down: long and loose and wavy. Anika’s ever-changing hair was one of the things that delighted Gael most about her.

As he picked up the pace, he saw someone standing behind Anika. Tall and muscly, with wide goofy eyes, shaggy hair, and a slightly slouched posture—Mason, Gael’s best friend. Mason never got to school early. He was normally five to ten minutes late to first period and somehow got away with it because he was Mason, and everyone loved Mason.

Mason and Anika were looking at each other as Anika shut the door to her locker. She was so focused on him that she didn’t even see Gael standing just a few feet away.

Gael had never been in a car wreck, but it was exactly how people described it—everything slowed down, all the details stood out—the time on the clock and the auto-tuned voice on the radio and the drawn-out screech before the crunch of aluminum and the smell of burning rubber and the flash of white.

That’s how it was when his parents had told him they were separating.

And that’s how it was now.

There was the slam of other lockers, clacking one after another; there were the piercing shrieks of a group of freshman girls; and there were Gael’s eyes locked on Mason, as Mason leaned in, slowly, surely, and directly—like the swing of a pendulum going farther than it ever had before—and kissed Anika right on the lips.

(For what it’s worth, I’d tried to soften the blow for dear Gael. The fifteen-minute warning bell rang exactly twelve seconds earlier than it should have, and at about twice its usual volume. But it didn’t make a difference. Anika and Mason couldn’t take their eyes off each other.)

After countless agonizing seconds of kissing, Anika pulled back and said, “Stop it. I didn’t talk to Gael yet.”

Gael’s body was rigid, and the words were out of his mouth almost without his control. “I’m right here.”

Anika and Mason whipped around like misbehaving schoolchildren.

“Gael,” Anika blurted out. “What are you doing here? You’re never here this early.”

“Neither is he.” Gael spit the words at his friend. “I came to surprise you.”

“Oh,” she said, looking down at the flowers in Gael’s hand. They were pointed at the floor, like even they had lost hope—Gael instantly felt ridiculous. He opened his backpack and shoved them in—he couldn’t look at them anymore.

Mason shifted on his huge, long legs. “Listen, man . . .”

Anika snapped into action. “Gael, we should probably talk alone.”

Mason hesitated, but then Anika narrowed her eyes at him and drew her lips together just like she did when she wanted Gael to stop talking about classic movies—apparently, the wordless language Gael and Anika shared belonged to Mason now.

Mason nodded and shuffled away. Part of Gael wanted to chase after him, grab him, ask him what the hell he thought he was doing with her, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Anika.

She took a deep breath, running her finger along the top slat of her locker. Then, fixing her eyes on him and holding his gaze, she gave him her “let’s talk” face. It was one of the things Gael liked about her most, how serious she could be. Anika had gumption. Not a lot of high school girls had gumption.

Enough gumption to cheat on her boyfriend with his best friend, Gael wondered.

“What is going on?” he asked. “Are you, like, with Mason now? Are you joking?” To his embarrassment, he realized his voice was trembling.