Always Never Yours(30)

I’m leaning forward to kiss him when there’s a horrible retching sound next to us. We both startle back to find Jeremy Handler, head between his knees, spewing an acrid beige outpouring onto the grass. “Wow . . .” Will mumbles.

“Yeah. We have to find a better place for this.”

“What was it you said about a bluff with a view?” he asks, a smile returning to his eyes.

“Yes.” I grab his hand. “Perfect.”

The path begins behind the pool, and it’s startling how quickly the backyard full of beer cans—and now vomit—disappears on our way up. Hardly a five-minute walk up the trail, it feels like Will and I have stepped into a starlit night completely our own. I lead him to the rocky edge of the bluff. The view is unbelievable, sweeping over the sparse lights of Stillmont and the moon reflected in Hudson Lake.

“I don’t want to be the kind of guy who fishes for compliments,” Will speaks up after a moment of looking out on the view, “but what’d you think of the band?”

I grin and face him, my hand still in his. “I think you’re a great vocalist,” I say not untruthfully. I take a step closer. “And Sexy Stagehand Will is an understatement.”

His eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. “Is that what people call me?”

I close the distance between us. “Certain people,” I say in a hushed voice. Then my lips are on his. He stills and pulls back after a second, looking at me questioningly. “You said you liked that I got right to the point,” I whisper. “This was the point, wasn’t it?”

Will’s uncertainty fades, replaced by something that stops my breath. “Yes. It definitely was.”

For a single heartbeat, I look into Will’s eyes and wonder if I’m doing this right. If I shouldn’t slow down and get to know him before beginning this. The whisper of an idea slips into my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t begin every relationship with the expectation it’ll end. Maybe it could last if— I bury the thought. I don’t have time to waste. I’m going to enjoy every second I have with Will before it’s over.

He pulls me in this time and kisses me hard. Even though we’re a long way from the ocean, it feels like waves crashing.



* * *





I glance in the mirror once I’ve gotten back in my car, and holy shit, is my hair messed up. It’s fifteen minutes past my curfew, but there’s someone I have to text before I go home and have my phone taken away for the weekend. I haven’t texted Owen before, but we exchanged numbers after our first play-brainstorming session.

went gr8. Thx ur the best, I send him with a kissy emoji.

Who is this? he replies.

u didnt put my # in ur phone??? megan, I shoot back.

It’s a couple moments before my phone buzzes again.

Forgive me for not recognizing you through the grammar of a sixth grader from 2001. Is this how you write everything, or are you very drunk?

Smiling to myself, I return, NOT drunk. who do U usually text w/? david foster wallace?

David Foster Wallace is dead, Megan. I WISH I texted with David Foster Wallace.

I find I’m grinning wider.

back 2 point: Will!!! (RIP david foster wallace)

My phone buzzes seconds after I’ve hit SEND.

Punctuation! Like rain in the desert!

keep it in ur pants, Owen, I fire back.

I watch the typing bubble for a half minute before I receive his reply.

I’m happy for you about Will. I hope you still want advice, though, because my play’s nowhere near done.

I know this is probably just Owen being a Serious Writer, but still I’m touched he wants to hang out. I send back, dnt worry, Im not going anywhere.





TEN




JULIET: O, swear not by the moon, th’ inconstant moon,





That monthly changes in her circled orb,


    Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.


II.ii.114–6


WILL’S WAITING FOR ME OUTSIDE ENGLISH WHEN lunch begins. I wasn’t expecting him, and I beam when I notice him leaning on the lockers. It’s nearly been a week, and we haven’t had the conversation where we “define the relationship.” But it doesn’t matter if we’re dating, or hooking up, or just friends with benefits, even if it’s only PG for now. Whatever we are, I’m enjoying it.

He reaches for my hand as we walk down the hallway. Momentarily surprised, I jerk to face him. “Handholding? I’ll take it,” I say coyly. In the past couple days, we’ve jumped straight to the more physical, more private forms of contact, skipping over the simple stuff like holding hands.

“I’m not moving too fast, right?” He flashes me his irresistible smile.

I play along. “I don’t know, Will. It’s bold of you.”

“Megan Harper talking to me about being bold?” He releases my hand and spins to walk backward facing me.

I laugh. “I haven’t a clue what you’re implying.”

“Oh really?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Even with what happened yesterday after rehearsal?”

My stomach clenches deliciously at the memory of a Grade-A make-out session in the green room, complete with a costume rack knocked over and a shattered prop lamp.