Always Never Yours(14)
I turn to find Owen standing at the salad bar, understandably dissatisfied with the pizza. He squares his shoulders uneasily, uncomfortable to be singled out.
“I need a straight guy’s perspective,” Anthony continues. “The guy I like invited me to a party. Is it date, or is it just something straight guys do?”
Owen immediately turns endearingly thoughtful. His eyebrows go up, his eyes searching the room, bright like twin light bulbs. “I’ll need to weigh several factors,” he says finally. “How friendly is he? Did he invite other coworkers? What was his tone like?”
“Eric’s not very social with people here,” Anthony says, and I can hear him struggling to suppress the excitement in his voice. “I don’t think he invited anyone else.”
“This sounds good,” I offer.
Anthony’s excitement finally breaks through. “Good like, I should wear the navy blazer?”
“Whoa.” I put a hand on his arm. “I think it’s a bit early for the navy blazer.”
“I wore it on our second date,” Anthony fires back. “Remember? I cooked us carne asada—I seem to recall it going pretty well.”
It did, I remember. It was the first time I really made out with a guy, and the last time Anthony made out with a girl. His cooking is legendary. It might be literally impossible for a guy Anthony’s interested in—or girl, in the case of yours truly—to have his homemade carne asada and not fall for him. “You’re right,” I say. “That was an excellent date.”
I notice Owen’s startled expression. He’s looking between Anthony and me, slowly putting the pieces together. He squints skeptically. “Wait, you . . . you guys dated?”
“It was years ago,” I explain, watching Anthony, who looks lightly amused. “It was before Anthony admitted his love for sausage pizza.” Anthony bursts out laughing, collapsing onto the salad counter.
“Wow.” Owen’s watching me intently again, like he did in the woods. There’s endless depth to his dark eyes. “What you were telling me earlier, it’s real.”
“Oh, it’s real,” I say.
“We agree, then,” Anthony announces, ignoring Owen and me. He pushes himself off the counter. “Blazer it is.” The lady sitting in the booth behind him coughs pointedly, looking in our direction. “Shit,” Anthony mutters, glancing over his shoulder. “I have, like, three tables I should be waiting on.” He darts off, pulling out his ballpoint quill.
I walk with Owen back to the booth and sit down, taking out my phone to confirm the interview. Just reopening the email brings on a new wave of anxiety. I’m not the greatest student—I don’t have a 4.0 and a résumé full of extracurriculars. I’m not like Madeleine, with her AP tests and her volunteer work, or Tyler, who’s had recruiting scouts at his baseball games since sophomore year.
The only thing I really care about at school is directing, and when I think about college or the future, SOTI is pretty much everything. I wouldn’t be doing Romeo and Juliet if it weren’t. I know my directing credits put me up there with the best of applicants, but the interview is something else entirely—I’m not the most polished or poised conversationalist.
“Who’re you texting?” Cate Dawson’s voice interrupts my typing, and she winks when I look up.
“I bet it’s Tyler.” Courtney smiles suggestively.
“It’s definitely Sexy Stagehand Will,” Jenna chimes in.
“I’m not always texting a guy. I have real shit, too,” I snap before I can stop myself. The table goes quiet, and I immediately feel bad. It’s not like they said anything mean, and I do talk about guys constantly. I just wish they hadn’t assumed.
I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I’ve never been one to talk about real-life things like college or the future. It’s easier to be the Megan they expect me to be, to bear my disappointments in private. “I’ll be texting Will later,” I say, putting on a grin.
I watch them exchange glances, still too uncomfortable to laugh. I drop my eyes to my phone and try to pretend I don’t notice their silence.
“What if I organize a group FaceTime with Cosima? Will you believe me then?” Owen interjects. The group’s eyes light up. I release a relieved breath, glad the conversation’s moved on. Not unaware Owen’s brought back up a topic he dislikes in order to spare me, I gratefully give him a quick smile, then hit SEND on the email.
FIVE
JULIET: It is an honor that I dream not of.
I.iii.71
STILLMONT HIGH IS NOT A BIG PLACE. There’s one main building, a gym in the back—one of my favorite places because PE’s practically a flirting free-for-all—and an Arts Center that houses the drama room and a much cleaner orchestra room. Pines dot the quads in between the buildings, which aren’t large. There’s not a lot of ground to cover.
Paradoxically, the school gives us seven minutes to get from class to class. Seven minutes. That’s enough time to hook up in the band closet, or to hit up the vending machine, eat your snack, then hit up the vending machine again and still make it to class. I spend most passing periods consoling Madeleine about her AP workload or, recently, hearing about the latest chapter in the ongoing romance of her and Tyler.