If I'm Being Honest(91)
I toe my sneaker distractedly on the curb as we wait for Paige, Brendan’s hand in mine. I’m only giving up an afternoon to this theater because Kowalski promised us extra points if we went to a Shakespeare performance. I wouldn’t have chosen The Taming of the Shrew, personally, but I lost a bet to Paige over her newest hairstyle. In return, she’s forcing me to watch my favorite play because she thinks it’s hilarious.
Pulling out my phone, I send a text to my mom confirming I’ll be home in time for dinner. She’s invited over her new boyfriend, a photographer who does headshots for the students where she works. I’m honestly really excited to meet him. My mom’s been paying the rent on her own, and when my dad was in town in March, she didn’t even try to contact him. I never told him I got into UPenn. UCLA has given me enough loans and scholarships that I don’t need to go to him for tuition.
“Paige is never this late,” Brendan mutters beside me.
He’s wearing his Naughty Dog T-shirt, which I’ve noticed he’s worn no less than once a week since he placed second in the contest and won an internship. His first day is in a couple weeks, right after the school year ends.
His hand tenses in mine. I look up and find Paige walking toward us, the reason for her lateness immediately obvious.
Her hand’s clasped in Andrew’s. There’s an uncharacteristic exhilaration on her face.
Brendan groans. “Tell me they’re not a thing.”
I elbow him playfully. “Be happy for your sister.”
When they reach us, they nonchalantly unlink hands as if we didn’t just totally observe the giddy epilogue of what was probably a pretty epic makeout session. I give Andrew a teasingly raised eyebrow. “It took you long enough, dude.” I’ve watched the unbelievably slow burn of Paige and Andrew for the past six months. The glances in class, the hangouts to which Andrew was first innocuously and then conspicuously invited, the precise seating order for movie nights and restaurant booths.
“Go easy on him, Bright,” Paige says dryly. She winks, and her warning isn’t enough to hide how obviously thrilled she is. Her cheeks are bright pink, in contrast to her newly platinum blonde hair—the hairstyle that lost me the bet. I didn’t think she’d really go through with it, not with how conventional and stereotypical a hair color it is. But she did.
“We running tomorrow?” Andrew asks me.
“Of course,” I reply easily. “I found the most brutal hill, if you’re up for it.” Andrew’s eyes spark to the challenge. In the months since we decided we weren’t right for each other, we’ve both made efforts to become real friends. He read my essay, and over coffee, we talked about the play and about us. Weeks later, he told me he wanted to ask Paige out but didn’t know how, and I eagerly took on the role of matchmaker.
“Brendan?” Paige says, eyeing her brother. “Is there a problem?”
I turn to find my boyfriend badly covering a scowl. I exchange amused glances with Paige, while Brendan fidgets uncomfortably. “Isn’t it a little weird?” he asks. “Earlier this year you walked in on Andrew and Cameron making out.”
“I’m glad she did,” Andrew says gracefully, wrapping an arm around Paige and pulling her to him, “otherwise this wouldn’t be happening.” He nods to Brendan. “And Cameron definitely wouldn’t be dating you, either. If you think about it, you should be thanking me for making out with your girlfriend.”
My eyes return to Brendan, who does not appear to appreciate this observation.
I thread my fingers through his. “Besides,” I say, “I made out with Paige, too. That wasn’t a problem.” Brendan shudders exaggeratedly, and I leave the thought hanging, jokingly contemplative.
Andrew only laughs, opening the door to the theater. They walk in, leaving me and an unamused Brendan, who rolls his eyes at me and pulls me inside like he’s afraid of what I’ll say next.
The lobby is packed. I recognize a few faces from school, including Morgan and Brad near an obnoxiously vintage concessions counter on the other end of the room. Morgan gives me a soft smile, which I return. Our friendship hasn’t been the same since Elle, but we do hang out occasionally.
People begin to file through the heavy double doors into the theater. The play’s supposed to start in a few minutes. “I’m going to run to the bathroom,” I tell Brendan. “Save me a seat?” Brendan nods, his gaze still fixed protectively on Paige and Andrew. I roll my eyes and head for the bathroom.
Finding the bathroom empty, I hurry into a stall. When I come out to wash my hands, a harried brunette rushes in wearing a medieval gown she’s somehow twisted halfway inside out. Startled, I stare.
“Said I was never going to do this again,” the girl grumbles feverishly, struggling with her straps in the mirror. “But no. SOTI just had to have an acting requirement. This is ridiculous,” she gasps, wrenching a piece of skirt from her waist.
“Um,” I finally interject, “do you need help?”
For the first time, the girl seems to register my presence. Her eyes find mine in the mirror, and she doesn’t look even a little embarrassed to have been caught talking to herself. “Could you go find the extremely hot Japanese guy with the great cheekbones waiting in the lobby?” she asks without hesitation.
I consider requesting a more helpful description until the girl begins waging war on her straps once more, and I decide it’s best not to interrupt. I return to the steadily emptying lobby, where I’m mildly surprised I can immediately pick out the boy she wants. He’s wearing a well-fitting gray sweater and black jeans. While he leans on the concessions counter, he’s writing with ink-stained fingers in a worn notebook.