Between You & Me (18 page)

ME

This looks like crap!

You smile.

You're not supposed to agree.

YOU

Here.

You take the brush from my hand and add a few choice lines of darker shadow. Miraculously, it already looks more like a shutter. I take the paintbrush back and sweep a thin streak across your cheek.

ME

Thanks, I was just getting to that!

I turn away triumphantly. Greeted by too long a silence, I peer back at you. You've pressed your entire palm into my palette of paint and are coming toward me. Shrieking, I run for it.

The rehearsal schedule for today lists my scene with Gabe near the end of play. Mia and I are alone, waiting in the theater courtyard. We're here under the sky because the scene is outdoors and Mia says we should rehearse in an open space. We're sitting on the wall beneath the arch. Gabe is fifteen minutes late. She looks over her shoulder for him, and I watch the tendons spring in her graceful neck. She hops down off the wall.

MIA

Well, as you've taken the time to be here, let's rehearse.

I look at her, filled with nerves. The sun has come out between the treetops behind her, giving her a halo-like
glow. I stand up and we move beneath the evergreen laurel trees lining the path. The undersides of the leaves are so peaceful, pale and vulnerable like the belly of a tortoise.

Standing face-to-face in the dappled light, we are closer together than ever before. I can see her necklace at her open collar. I have never seen it this close and she notices me looking.

MIA

Cassiopeia.

I meet her eyes.

My necklace.

She clasps it delicately between finger and thumb, and I feel the thrill of being let in on something personal.

ME

Where did you get it?

MIA

It was a gift.

She doesn't say who from, but I'm guessing
boyfriend
. I step even closer.

ME

Can I see?

She nods and raises her chin. She lets go before I have the necklace properly between my fingers, giving me the chance to lift it gently from the notch in her collarbone where it falls. I realize with a quickening pulse that it's the first time I've touched her. I tilt the tiny constellation to look at it in the sunlight, a delicate twist of silver.

MIA

She was beautiful and vain, Cassiopeia.

ME

So nothing like you. I mean, not vain.

Help. I think I just called her beautiful!

MIA

Nothing like me—

—She smiles.

I wear it as a reminder that vanity can be a downfall.

I nod my head wisely, then speak entirely without thinking.

ME

I have a Cassiopeia in freckles.

MIA

You do?

I'm still holding her necklace so she can't move away but she doesn't seem to mind. My skin is mostly clear so I've always thought it funny that five freckles should arrange themselves exactly like a constellation. I come to my senses and let the necklace rest back against her neck.

MIA

Can I see?

I hesitate, wondering why in the world I mentioned it.

ME

Oh, it's on my body—I mean, not immediately visible.

Left to the imagination it's just sounding worse so I realize it's probably better to show her. I carefully lift my shirt—hoping my slim-cut jeans are doing me justice—and on my left side is the small and exact replica of the “W.” She looks closer.

MIA

That's amazing. Perfect alignment!

She can't see my nod as her face is inches from my body.

ME

Best yet, I don't need a necklace to be reminded of the perils of vanity.

She laughs, and I almost stop breathing. I'm so aware of her. Can she feel how aware I am? She has to. I can almost see the tentacles of blue electricity flaring off my body and reaching for her, like the globes in science. She straightens up, still smiling, and it takes me a second to realize I haven't let go of my shirt. Now I'm just voluntarily holding it in the air! I quickly smooth it back into place, feeling ridiculous. I fill the millisecond of silence.

ME

So there we go!

She brings us coolly back to the play with a comment about Lily's vanity masking her insecurity, and we run through the scene. Mia turns to me thoughtfully at the end.

MIA

What's she really saying here?

My senses are working overtime, I can feel everything. The ground beneath my feet. Gravity. The breeze. The sun filtering through the trees. Mia's gaze.

ME

She's trying to give the impression that she doesn't have feelings for him. She'd never want him to know. I'm not sure she even fully admits it to herself. But there's a part of her that has to accept it. She loves him, and she wishes she could take a chance, that he feels it too.

She smiles.

MIA

Good. So, say the lines as if you want him to believe them but remember that we can't ever help giving away a little of how we really feel.

When we play the scene again, I give myself the freedom to say everything I've wanted to. The words are the same but I stop repressing every self-conscious gesture that gives me away. I let my eyes express what I pretend not to feel at every moment. When we reach the end of the scene, she nods, suspended, engaged. And in that second, I wish she knew everything that I feel. She smiles breezily.

MIA

Excellent! See how interesting it becomes?

As she turns away, I reach out and touch her arm. She looks back at me, her eyes wider than usual, waiting for me to say something. I don't speak. I haven't thought of what I would say.

MIA

Phy?

My hand is still on her arm. I search for words to go with the gesture. After a second, she puts her hand gently over mine, moving it from her arm, but holding it warmly for a second.

MIA

You okay?

ME

Yeah. Fine. I … Thanks, for your help.

MIA

Need a ride home?

We stop by the teachers' lounge so she can pick up her bag.
I'll just be a minute
, she says, smiling over her shoulder as
she pushes open the door. I peer after her into the empty room: the view from the door, the only view I've ever had. I picture the other side that I'll never see. A place becomes so much more fascinating when you can't go in. Then you have to imagine it. I'm sure that imagining is sometimes a lot more exciting than the reality. The hall is deserted and the door is still open a crack. I wonder what she would do if I just followed her in. There's nothing to stop me, just the little voice in my head reminding me I am
not supposed to
. I wonder how different I would be in a world with no consequences. Will the voice telling me what's right always be so loud? I'm still wondering when she reappears, her bag over her shoulder, and we head toward the gate.

Watching the trees rush by behind her, I wonder how vividly I'll be able to relive this moment—if I'll be able to remember exactly how I feel
right here, right now
. I lean against the window of Mia's car, my head turned so I can look at her. Cassiopeia twinkles in the light. The golden afternoon sun makes her narrow her eyes sleepily against the glow, and in the unfiltered light her white shirt is semitranslucent. From this angle, I can see the length of her collarbone to the curve of her shoulder. Music is playing quietly
on the radio. There's no need to talk. She sees me watching her and smiles with sincerity. Being with her makes me feel like an adult, like we're stealing away together. Seeing the blur of streets go by, I imagine the possibility that she won't take me home. That she'll keep going. She'll drive away with me to a place where we can be together and she can tell me how she really feels. So soon, it seems, she pulls over in front of my house. She'll be gone in a minute, it's happened too fast. I sit in the car for a moment, and when she looks at me again, I don't look away. Shall I tell her I love her? Mom waves from the window. Mia waves back warmly.

Standing at the curb, I stoop to say my thanks through the open window, and in the cover of a blinding sunset, I watch the taillights of the car pull away. I wonder for a second if she's watching me in the rearview mirror. Blinking away the sun spots from my eyes, I walk up the path to the front door with one thought. Mia knows where I live. I'll feel differently every time the doorbell rings because of the new 1 percent chance it could be her.

MY BEDROOM. THAT EVENING.

I flop onto my bed. My heart is still somewhere between the drive home and the rehearsal under the trees. I close my
eyes to imagine my way back there, like when you wake up from the perfect dream and squeeze away awake in favor of asleep. The phone rings—I pick it up and it's you.
Hey
, I sing, lightness and heaviness balled up together in my heart so it doesn't know whether to sink or float.
Hey
, you say, with less enthusiasm. I sit up:

ME

What's wrong?

Check the school website, you say. Check Got Gossip. So I do, fingers shaking. I click on the header, apprehension flooding my body. My breath stops in my throat and I feel sick. The page shows a photograph, of me. A photograph of this afternoon.
Mia on Phyre?
I can barely bring myself to read on.

A certain ex-hot-lister seen here wrapped up in private drama with her very own teacher: new flame or is Phyre just carrying a torch for her? Can the heat be sustained? Check back for more.

I stare at the screen, wondering whether I'll die so I won't have to go to school tomorrow. For a second, it seems like nothing will ever be the same. We're standing so close in the photograph, in the shadow of the trees, my hand reaching for her. She's just a shape in the foreground but it's as if the camera has captured every ounce of my longing. Reddening
with anger and embarrassment, I fight a sudden pang of isolation. Can they really do that? I've been so careful not to give anything away and in the single moment that I let it show,
snap
.