The Best Laid Plans(70)
I let all of my worries fade away, let my mind melt into a puddle from the heat, from his kiss, my chest fluttering with practiced excitement. This is what I need more than anything. Why did I let myself get so anxious about Andrew?
“Did you have fun on Saturday?” I ask, pulling away.
“It was fine,” he says.
Oh. Of course. Cue anxiety.
“Fine?”
“I mean, your friends are . . . just . . .” He trails off, not finishing his thought. Instead, he turns back to the counter and begins fiddling with some wires attached to the speakers. “I’m gonna find us an awesome soundtrack for today.”
“My friends are just what?” I ask, my voice sounding sharper than I intended. He plugs his phone into the speakers and shuffles through it.
“I mean, they’re just so . . . high school.” He clicks a button, and blaring trumpets and violins fill the room, triumphant. “John Williams.” He closes his eyes, letting the trumpets wash over him. “This guy has written, like, every single famous movie theme of all time. The man’s a genius. He takes good movies and makes them great; makes them fucking memorable. This one’s—”
“Jurassic Park,” I say. “I know. And what’s that supposed to mean? We are in high school.” I don’t like reminding him, but something about his tone is making me defensive.
“Rad,” he says. “Here I am trying to teach you what you already know.” Picking up his phone, he switches to another song, this one low and menacing. Ba dum. Ba dum.
“Jaws,” I say automatically. He lets it play behind us, building and building.
“I mean, when I’m with you, I just want to be with you. But your friends are just so involved. They want to know things. They want to feel like they’re a part of everything, when really it’s none of their business. I mean, the first time you came over you brought a whole squad. That’s what’s high school about it.” He taps on his phone and the music turns back into blaring horns. “If you don’t know this one, it’s just criminal. As store manager, I honestly don’t think I could let you work here, if you can’t name this—”
“It’s obviously Star Wars,” I say, shaking my head. “Okay, but your friends are involved. What about Cody?”
“But you don’t see me bringing Cody along with us to dinner. I’m not gonna invite Cody in the room to watch us make out.” He smirks. “Unless you’re into that.” He scrolls through his phone again.
“I’m not . . . I didn’t,” I stammer. The Star Wars theme still blasts triumphantly behind us. “You invited us all over after Giovanni’s. I thought we were having fun.”
“We were,” he says. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Life isn’t that dramatic. It’s just life.” He smiles, shaking his shoulders and arms like he’s letting the tension out of them. “Just let John Williams soothe you. Close your eyes and listen to the master.” He turns on the theme from Schindler’s List, which feels out of place in our hot, sunshiny little store.
Maybe he’s right and friends just complicate things. Andrew certainly has. Maybe it’s better to keep friends and relationships separate, like food on a tray that can’t spill over. One section for peas, another for mashed potatoes. Maybe that would keep my life from getting so messy.
TWENTY-FIVE
I NEVER THOUGHT I’d be thankful for finals, but suddenly it’s the last two weeks of school and everyone is so busy that all of the drama gets pushed to the side. I finally force myself to finish my history project, and then spend every night for the rest of the week making flash cards and studying for Greek mythology and French.
By the time the last day of school arrives, I’ve forgotten to worry about it. But when I walk out of my last test of the day, I’m hit with a wave of sadness. It’s funny how you can hate high school so much when it’s happening, but start to miss it before you’ve even left. All of a sudden, I’m hyper-aware that everything I’m doing is for the last time. The last time I’ll have to lean my shoulder into my locker door to get it unjammed, the last stale slice of cafeteria pizza, the last hours I’ll spend staring out the window, counting down the minutes until it’s all over. Somehow, even though every class seemed to last forever, the end has come way too fast.
It’s been a Prescott tradition for as long as anyone can remember for all the seniors to meet at the lookout point by the lake to take pictures and then pile into limos to go to the prom. Usually prom is a little farther away, but the Walcott is only about twelve minutes down the road on the other side of the water. Still, we’ve still rented limos because we don’t want to miss out on anything.
Danielle is having a party the last day of school—the night before prom—something she’s coined “the last supper” because she wants to cook for everyone and, in her words, every party needs a good theme. She’s invited the whole class, even Ryder and Simon Terst, who she’s been mad at for weeks. Now that school is over, it’s like all the arbitrary social boundary lines that have kept us all segregated don’t even exist. My cousin Beth, who is seven years older than me, told me it would be this way: that just a few months after high school ended, we wouldn’t care about who was popular, or who hooked up with who, or who we were supposed to hate. I didn’t believe her at the time, but now I do. It already feels like high school was ages ago even as I’m still cleaning out my locker.