Writers & Lovers(78)

In the hallway after the bell rings, you can tell who’s been in improv for an hour and a half. Our bodies are looser, and everything is funny. We’re all moving in the same direction: to the front doors where the buses are idling in the circle. Lucille appears beside me with a Post-it.

‘We crossed the line.’



I hug her hard and feel her laughing. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

Then I burrow into the crowd to find Silas.

Outside I spot three Trevor Hills jackets getting onto one bus. Through the tinted window I can see a figure standing with a clipboard counting boys. Not Silas.

‘Casey!’

Victor Silva swoops over. ‘I have something for you.’ He hands me two tickets. David Byrne at the Strand in Providence, Rhode Island. ‘Mary Hand gave me a bunch of them.’

‘You were fantastic today,’ I say.

‘I liked that line about your mother’s outline in the bathtub.’

‘Thanks.’

‘See you in Rhode Island.’

The buses pull away. The circle empties. But down in the faculty parking lot something bright shimmers. Just a little green. A little green Le Car.

I run down the hill. His back is to me. I flail my arms. I howl his name. I am a fearless blue giraffe.

He turns and I am beside him. Despite my new long neck, he is still taller. And lovely, in his white shirt and loosened tie.

But he is withholding the chipped tooth.

‘I’m so sorry I missed lunch, Silas.’

He holds up his hand. ‘It’s fine. I know how it goes with you.’

‘No. No!’ I holler. ‘It doesn’t go like that with me! I wanted to have lunch with you. I did. So much. I needed to tell you things.’ My voice breaks. I swallow. I have to get it out. ‘First of all, your story about Star and the tree is very beautiful. I stole it from Oscar’s house, and I read it before bed most nights. I got my heart broken last spring, and I was scared of it happening again. I liked you so much, but you were risky. Oscar had this big hole that I thought maybe I could fill, but I kept thinking about kissing you. My whole body would go zing-zing-zing’—my hands run up and down my sides spastically—‘every time I thought about it. I broke up with him and I wanted to tell you that at lunch but I had to talk to these editors because we’re in an auction and we just crossed the line.’ I hold up the Post-it and start to cry. I start to sob, like a fearless blue giraffe.

He takes the Post-it. ‘Your book?’

I nod.

‘Casey.’ I feel his hand on my hair. I step closer to him. Slowly his arms pull me in. ‘I’m so happy for you.’ He squeezes more sobbing out of me. He doesn’t let go.

‘Will you come see David Byrne with me?’

He laughs. ‘David Byrne?’ He pulls back to look at me. The beautiful sliced tooth.

I show him the tickets crushed in my hand.

‘Sure.’ He’s so close and not moving away. He unsticks some of my hair from my cheek and bends down to whisper, ‘I think your boss is coming down the hill.’

‘It’s okay.’ His face is still close. ‘I’ll just be the new teacher making out in the parking lot.’

And I kiss him. A long uninterrupted kiss that goes straight through my body, ringing it in the very best way.





When we get to our section at the Strand, we are in a sea of Iris employees. Gory and Marcus are at the beginning of the row with Fabiana between them, then Dana and Tony and Yasmin. Dana is talking about her date the night before and how the guy put a clove in her mouth before kissing her. ‘What am I, a ham?’ she says as we slide past. Angus and Yasmin are arguing about how to pronounce ‘mischievous.’ Silas and I take seats next to Harry and James, who look like they’ve been making out, red lips and chafed cheeks. Mary Hand is in the row ahead of us, with Craig, Helene, and Victor Silva—the old guard. Thomas and his wife are there, too, with their baby girl who’s sound asleep.

We sit during the opening act but when David Byrne walks onstage in a bright pink mohair suit and says quietly into his mic, ‘I can’t seem to face up to the facts,’ Mary leaps up and we all follow her down to the small dance pit in front of the stage.

The crowd shrieks for the whole song. Next he sings ‘Making Flippy Floppy’ and ‘The Gates of Paradise’ from his new album, then ‘Take Me to the River,’ which makes people go crazy all over again. He makes quick costume changes, each time coming back onstage with fresh energy. He doesn’t speak to the audience until he picks up a guitar, slips the strap over his head, and steps up to the stationary mic in the center. He’s just performed ‘Miss America’ and is still wearing a kilt and black combat boots with knee socks. He starts picking out a slow melody I don’t recognize. ‘Hello, Pro-vi-dence.’ The crowd roars at the sound of his speaking voice. ‘I’m not known for love songs.’ He has to wait for more cheering to subside. ‘But I wrote this one a long time ago. A heartbreak song. Everyone has written at least one heartbreak song, haven’t they? This is for you, Mary.’

Everyone screams, but we from Iris scream the very loudest. She is in front of me, a little to my right, sandwiched between Victor and Craig, who both have their arms around her. I can see half her face. I look for regret or yearning, but she is just smirking her regular smirk at him, purple and red stage lights flashing across her skin.