If I'm Being Honest(42)

I’m working up the courage to brush my arm against his when a curly-haired head emerges over the crowd.

Brendan weaves his way through the courtyard. I watch him elbow gently past our classmates, hardly registering them. Not a single person waves him over. He’s solitary, a person-shaped space moving through groups of junior girls laughing excitedly and guys swapping stats on athletic programs. Gone from his face is the enthusiasm of his conversation with the MIT representative, and I’m left wondering again why he’s forever isolated if he has such charm in him. Wondering whether it’s entirely my fault.

“I thought you said you don’t care about appearances,” Andrew says, his voice a razor. I turn back to him, uncomprehending. He nods in Brendan’s direction, and I realize I’ve been watching Brendan with a frown on my face.

I round on Andrew. “You know, by saying that you’ve made it clear what you think of Brendan. I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

Andrew pauses, caught off guard. “He’s Brendan now?” he asks after a moment. “What happened to BB?”

“He’s Brendan now,” I repeat firmly, realizing I haven’t thought of him as BB in a while. It gives me an idea. Andrew’s not going to dictate who I am, and I want him to know who I’m becoming. With a quick look at Andrew, I wave and catch Brendan’s eye. He’s confused, I can tell, but I beckon him over.

With what looks like reluctance, Brendan navigates the crowd over to us. I press into the back of the person in front of me to make room, earning a grumble from ahead of me, which I ignore. While keeping Andrew in the corner of my eye, I face Brendan and put every ounce of enthusiasm I have into my voice. “How was MIT? Looked like you were killing it with the rep,” I say.

Brendan watches me warily, though not without a hint of humor. “Were you spying on me?”

“Get over it.” I roll my eyes. “I’m giving you a compliment.”

“That’s a first,” he replies. “MIT was . . . fine. My dad’s decided I’m going there regardless of what I want. I just wish they had a program for”—he glances quickly at Andrew—“what I’m interested in.”

“Video games?” I ask.

Brendan nods. “Video game development,” he corrects lightly. “It sounds more professional that way.”

“You want to study video games in college?” Andrew interjects doubtfully.

Brendan goes quiet, his features growing guarded. I speak for him. “Brendan’s designing his own video game. It’s, like, really impressive.” Brendan flushes, but not, I have to guess, with embarrassment. “I can’t imagine the initiative, the hard work . . .” I give Andrew a pointed look I know he notices.

“It’s really not—” Brendan begins.

“What will you do with the game when you’re done?” I interrupt before he can downplay his project.

“There’s this, um, contest at UCLA,” he says haltingly. “The winners get internships with Naughty Dog.”

This time I’m the one puzzled. Andrew, however, looks impressed. “Whoa, dude, that’s cool.”

“What’s Naughty Dog?” I butt in. “Please tell me it’s not porn.”

Finally, Brendan smiles. “It’s not porn,” he confirms, sounding a little more at ease. “It’s a video game developer. Their games are really innovative while being fun in traditional ways. They’ve pioneered in-depth narratives, they’ve won every award . . . Working there would basically be a dream come true.” He’s rambling a bit. It’s kind of cute. But his eyes close off, as if he’s just remembered where he is. “It probably sounds geeky to you guys,” he mutters.

“No,” I rush to say. “It sounds incredible.” I mean it, too. I didn’t even know Brendan made video games weeks ago. Now I find out he’s kind of legit.

I realize the instant after I’ve said it, I’d actually forgotten Andrew was next to me. Brendan smiles again. The crowd pushes in on us suddenly, and Andrew’s arm is pressed into mine. I wait for him to step away. Instead, he remains, and a pleased flush heats my cheeks.

“How’s it going with Grant and Hannah?” Brendan asks.

I’m jolted from the happy daze of Andrew’s skin on mine. “Um,” I say, recollecting myself. “No progress yet.” I look at Andrew, whose face is almost irresistibly close. “I’m going to get Grant and Hannah back together,” I inform him. “I won’t be deterred, though,” I tell Brendan. “You may not know this about me, but I’m very persistent.”

“Oh, I know,” Brendan says wryly.

Andrew’s head jerks in his direction, like he’s startled by the familiarity in Brendan’s voice. I wonder momentarily if Brendan’s going to bring up my repeated efforts to apologize to him.

Instead, he continues, “I remember when I was in eighth grade, you got mandatory swim P.E. cancelled for the entire school.”

I laugh, a little pleased Brendan remembers, until I hear Andrew chuckle coldly next to me. “Yeah, because you didn’t want your perfect hair and makeup wrecked.”

“No.” I round on Andrew. “It was because Elle didn’t want her hair and makeup wrecked. She was just starting her channel then, and her parents wouldn’t let her wear makeup when she was home. She had to film everything at lunch. Think she would’ve hit fifteen million subscribers if she’d had chlorine hair in her first videos?” Andrew falls silent, and it occurs to me I might’ve come on a little harsh. I’m just sick of him judging every word I say. “It wasn’t entirely altruistic, I’ll admit,” I add. “I didn’t want my perfect hair and makeup wrecked either.”