Bright Lights, Dark Nights (12 page)

“Hipster—I love it. You got balls, Jake,” Lester said, cracking up. And to me, “Wally, is that what you are, a hipster? That's great; that's perfect.”

“I don't think so,” I said. “Just a little blind.”

Lester took out his cell to take some selfies with my glasses. “I need to listen to some indie music, play a guitar. This could be my new thing,” he said, posing for his pictures. “Naomi, you like hipsters?”

He was having fun at my expense, showing off for his friends. Trying to impress Naomi and definitely too concerned with what she thought of him. I did not like parties.

“Lester, seriously,” Naomi said. “Give him his glasses back. That's not funny.”

“I'm sorry, man,” Lester said, handing the glasses back. “I had to try them on. Here you go, good as new.” I put them back on. “Yeah, you look sharp, man,” Lester said, giving the okay sign with his hands. “Both of you, good-looking couple. Have fun.”

“See you around, Lester,” Naomi said, rolling her eyes. Lester joined Jake, and Naomi turned back toward the living room and I followed her. A couple came into the living room from the fire escape.

“Do you want fresh air?” I asked. It looked like a good idea. “I feel like I could use some fresh air.”

“Oh god, yes,” Naomi said, nodding.

“So you know Lester,” I said, eyebrows raised. The jury was out on how friendly he was, but friend or foe, he was intense to be around. I was sweating.

“A little. He's like a family friend,” Naomi said. “He was arrested the summer before high school for throwing some upperclassman through a door at a house party. He's got some anger issues, poor family, this and that. He did this mentoring program and my dad kinda took him under his wing. So he was around a lot this one summer. He's not a bad kid, just dealt a real bad lot in life.”

“I kinda feel sorry for him,” I said. I swayed my body a little, unsure how to stand or what to do with my hands. “Just a little, though.”

“I know, right?” Naomi said. “He's like a tiny, soft turtle in a big, giant shell. With spikes.”

Naomi shrugged, and it looked like a cold shrug to me. I took off my jacket and put it around her. I took off her hat and spun it around so it faced forward. Naomi smiled.

As we leaned on the railing, I moved my body a little closer to hers. I wished we could stay outside on the fire escape. I wished that was the party and the rest wasn't there. And everyone else would be gone by the time we went back in.

“Sorry about that, anyway,” Naomi said, glancing at me. “I kinda hate parties.”

“I'm not a huge fan, either,” I said. I played with my hair curl. “But I'm so popular, it's just a thing I have to do.”

“I have this social-anxiety thing,” Naomi said. “My parents keep me locked up, which I'm always grumbling about, but I kinda like it. I never know how to act. Hooray, party.” She pumped her fists up a bit. “I thought it might be fun if you were here, and it wouldn't be, like, a ‘party' and it'd just be—I don't know—more fun or something. I'm not even sure what I'm talking about.”

I could have turned her face to me and kissed her, right there with the lights of the city and the hat and my coat, and it would have been perfect. Instead, I chose option number two: doing nothing. The Walter Wilcox regular.

“It was fun,” I said, and we both laughed knowing it really wasn't. Neither of us was enjoying the party. But that's the Awkwardness of What's Next: it's always awkward—it has to be. That's the stage. “But it was. It is.”

“Yeah, it is,” Naomi agreed, still looking forward at the city but turning her eyes to see me. She copied my patented semigrin.

“This is a really nice view,” I said, looking around. A view I was aware I wouldn't have, standing right beside Naomi Mills, if I'd stayed home and had a traditional Walter Saturday night. “I want to pack it all up and stick it outside my window.”

“This is nothing,” Naomi said, shaking her head and squinting her eyes. “You ought to see where my sister used to take me some nights. You can see the whole city. I'll show you. Remind me. This is just a warm-up.”

So that's what's next
, I thought.

Naomi kissed me, a peck really, on the mouth. I hadn't expected it, and then it was over, my brain scrambling to grab the details.

“That was terrible,” she said, laughing at herself and backing away. She took off the hat and pushed her hair back with her hand. “I just kissed you like I kiss my aunt. That was like a three-year-old's kiss. I'm gonna jump off this fire escape, okay? I'm so embarrassed. Don't try to save me.”

“It wasn't bad,” I said. “Any kiss is a good one with you. But … I mean, if you weren't happy with it…”

I stepped closer and we kissed again, longer. This was better than the kiss after the concert. It wasn't a passing flash of a spark. I was able to savor it. I hadn't ever kissed another girl besides Naomi, but I found it hard to believe any girl kissed softer or sweeter.

She pulled away, put her hat back on. “Should we go back in?”

I nodded. “We need to get Maelynne off Brownface's lap.”

“They're so wrong,” Naomi said, and shook her head. “Everyone is so wrong.”

*   *   *

I didn't get home till almost midnight. I fell asleep right away and woke up after what felt like half an hour, though the sun was up, to an odd smell: breakfast being cooked. And there were sounds—clanking in the kitchen. This hadn't happened in years. Dad hadn't cooked breakfast since the whole family was still living together. Eggs were his specialty, fancy eggs with lots of stuff in them—cheeses and meats. Back then, he'd do it all the time.

“Where were you last night?” Dad asked as I shuffled into the kitchen.

“What's with the breakfast?” I asked him back, although I wasn't about to turn down any Belgian waffles.

There were smells of happiness and sunshine streaming in through the windows. I couldn't remember waking up feeling this good, this open to possibility. I had, like, 74 percent of a girlfriend. I still had to ask her out, but that was just a technicality. I mean, someone was out there in the world waking up this morning, feeling the same sun, maybe smiling, maybe thinking about me the way I was thinking about her. That was amazing.

“You still in your clothes from yesterday?” Dad said quizzically.

“What are you so happy for?”

“Is that lipstick on your collar?”

“Nice try, Dad,” I said.

“You win, I'll go first,” Dad said. “I had an interesting evening.” He bobbed his head a bit. This was proud Dad. “I'm on duty, around eight p.m., driving south down Broad Street, and see a car with a taillight out. No big deal, that's routine. Car's driving slow, though, so that's a little suspicious. I pull him over.”

Dad told me the story, how he pulls the kid over; the kid's nervous. He checks around the car and sees all the stuff that Rosie had tipped him on. The kid says it's his dad's. He brings up Rosie, what happened to her, mentions the details he knows, the stuff he's looking for, and the kid cracks and admits to everything.

“He's just a scared little punk,” Dad said, wrapping up the story. “I take him down to the station. I'm out by nine thirty—easiest case I ever solved.”

“Congrats,” I said. That was breakfast-worthy, I agreed.

“Yeah, this could be good, really good for me at work. I'm hoping,” Dad said. “And you? Good party?” He set down our food on the table, and we sat. I nodded. He gave me a suspicious eye, but Dad was feeling hopeful, and I was going to enjoy my waffles, because I felt hopeful, too.

 

Chapter Six

 

We still hadn't named this, whatever our relationship was. It was all new still. We'd kissed twice, so there was a closeness, but it was all unofficial. We were just a boy and a girl who kissed and liked each other. The next logical step in this budding romance was to meet up between every possible class, when we weren't on complete opposite sides of the school. A few times a day we could spend most of the two minutes allotted between periods to walk to one of our classes together.