“Done it for me,” I said. “Just for me.”
His arms were around me then, drawing me to his chest. He said something soothing, but it was merely sound. All I really heard was the deep submarine thump of his heart.
When I finally stepped outside it felt like walking into a different world. A million new roads stretched before me that I’d never seen before. We put our sunglasses back on in the car, grinning at each other. He took his off when he almost hit a streetlight. I laughed, and said maybe he should let me drive, and surprisingly, he did. It felt both wrong and amazing to be driving my teacher’s car. I stopped at a McDonald’s and ordered fries and vanilla shakes, parking in an empty lot under the stars. Evan said he’d make a special syllabus to prep me for film school.
“Private tutoring?” I said, dipping a fry in my shake. “How scandalous.”
He smiled, but after a moment his eyes went distant.
“How is it going to be on Thursday?” I said.
“I don’t know. I was hoping I’d figure out some way to freeze time.”
I gestured with my fry. “I’ll be discreet. No one will know. I won’t risk your job.”
He looked at me. “It’s not just about me. In fact, it’s less about me than it is about you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I won’t risk your future, or your happiness, or your sanity.”
“Good thing I only have one of those.”
“I’m serious.” He frowned. “Which one do you have?”
“Happiness,” I said, and leaned over and kissed him. Vanilla and salt.
He looked at me a long time when I pulled away. It wasn’t until later that I realized he’d hoped I’d say future. That’s how you know someone loves you. When they want you to be happy even in the part of your life they’ll never see. But right then I was too stuck in the moment, in the visceral pleasure of it all.
“Let’s figure out our battle plan, comrade,” I said.
I didn’t get home till midnight, and getting out of that car was harder than it had ever been. He made me hug the stuffed pony until it smelled like me again. I sat there until I’d finished every last fry. I was ravenous, insatiable. I’d done nothing but f**k him all day and wanted to do nothing else for the rest of this week. Month. Life. When he drove away I took a picture of the receding tail lights, and after his car was gone I stood there holding the photo up to the street, pretending. What is this feeling? I wondered. What is this hunger that grows worse the more I feed it?
They’d come up with a name for it a long time ago. But you already know what it’s called, don’t you?
—4—
Wesley had texted me about eight zillion times.
“Where were you yesterday?” he said at lunch. “I texted you about eight zillion times.”
I looked at him philosophically, brandishing a mozzarella stick. “Where is anyone, really? In a quantum sense, I was everywhere and nowhere.”
“Are you high?”
I smiled.
“You’re obligated to share with me, you know.”
“I’m high on life. Take all you want. It’s free.”
His eyes narrowed. “You got laid.”
I bit the tip of my cheese stick suggestively.
“Was it an old guy?”
“What is age, really?” I said, and Wesley groaned.
Before we went to our fifth period classes, I grabbed his arm.
“I want to start working seriously on our movie.”
“Okay.”
“So I’m coming to your house after school.”
“Okay.”
“So hide your socks and titty posters.”
“That’s a sexist stereotype,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Okay,” he sighed.
I saw Mr. Wilke completely by accident. I didn’t know he was here today—maybe they’d called him in as a sub—and I was walking between classes on the first floor when we spotted each other in the hall. We both stopped. It was as if the lights dimmed on the river of bodies streaming around us, and we were the only two people left in full color. Fiery, radiant color, singeing the screen. All noise and motion blurred away. It felt like a camera circled us, capturing this movie-perfect moment. I started forward again and so did he. We passed each other slowly. We didn’t stop or speak. But our arms brushed, and for half a second our fingers curled together, then slipped free, like a secret handshake.
Leaves shook out of the trees and fluttered around me in gold and green flakes of summer. I rode slowly so Wesley could keep up, pushing my bike with my feet. The soft clack of the spokes, the groggy drone of bees and locusts, the honey-thick sunlight drizzling over us—I was in love with the world today. A big dumb smile climbed onto my face every time my mind drifted. The air tasted like sherry, sweet and light, a pleasant sting on my tongue.
Wesley gave me a weird look, but didn’t deflate my good mood.
At his house, I leaned my bike in the rose bushes and leapt up the stairs to the porch. There was a snap in my limbs like the lazy twang of a guitar, like when I’m drunk. Their place was huge and all painted wood, white and tomato red, with a wraparound veranda. As soon as I stepped foot inside I could tell what kind of mom he had: the kind who gave a shit. Braided rugs on polished oak floors. Couches more comfy-looking than chic. Family photos parading across the mantel, end tables, hallway shelves. I imagined opening a closet and getting swept away in an avalanche of cheesy frames: seashells for beach pics, little baby blocks spelling out WESLEY and NATALIE.