The Book of Matthew (The Alex Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

That statement I couldn’t deny. Sure, we would dance and hang out with friends and socialize and gossip and do all the things you’re supposed to do at high school functions. And yes, we’d have a good time. But I was more concerned about what was going to happen
after
the Spring Formal. That’s when the real fun would begin, when we’d really be having a good time. Bobby would no doubt comment on my dress, but by the end of the evening he’d be more interested in what was
under
the dress, and I would be more than willing to show him.

My mother’s voice jarred me out of my hormone-induced haze.

“Aren’t you going to smoke?”

I looked up at her, still lost inside my own thoughts. “What?”

“Are you going to smoke?”

My shoulders tensed up. I had been so distracted by the thought of going all the way with Bobby at the Spring Formal that it had slipped my mind to keep up the smoking-is-cool charade. Why did I have to open my mouth? I sucked hard at my straw, hoping that a creative answer would swirl up from the bottom of the glass and through the plastic tube to greet my lips.

Nothing.

I swallowed and cleared my throat to stall for more time. “Nah,” I finally said,

waving the thought away with my hand. “I don’t feel like it.”

I stared down at my milkshake and stirred it vigorously, desperately trying to think of something else to say. But I couldn’t think of anything else. There was a brief pause when neither of us spoke, an uncomfortable silence, and when I finally looked up, my mother was watching me with narrow eyes.

This was it, I thought. My mother had figured me out, discovered that I was lying all along about smoking, knew that I was a phony. She was about to call me out.

“I want to strike a deal with you,” she said.

“Um, okay.”

“I won’t make you go to the psychiatrist anymore if you promise to quit smoking.”

I was relieved. Did I have her convinced all along?

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

“Yes, I’m serious.”

“But I’ve only seen Dr. Cramer once. What about all that crap about him trying to help us, and you trying to help me?”

“You said you didn’t need help, remember?” she said. “You’re fine.”

I shrank back in my seat. It hurt to get a taste of my own medicine.

She must have sensed it because her shoulders relaxed and her eyes softened. “Besides, it’s more important to me that you quit smoking.”

Pretending her comment hadn’t stung was the best way to get through the conversation, I’d decided. That, and a little dose of sarcasm. “You can’t make me stop seeing Dr. Cramer now,” I said. “I was just starting to like him.”

My mother sighed, then reached across the table and took my hand. “I’m offering you a deal. Just take it, okay?”

I pulled my hand away from her grasp. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

She smiled weakly. “Good.”

I was emotionally exhausted. I wondered when I would break, how long it would be until I could no longer pretend that everything was fine.

Whenever that time finally did come, I was sure that I
would
need a shrink.

I.

I awoke peacefully to the humming buzz of my alarm clock, as I had countless days before in Kessler Hall.

It was 7:00 a.m.

The sun was starting to shine, but it wasn’t quite high enough in the sky to reach the third floor window of my dorm. The room was bathed in a hazy gray.

I looked across the room at the other bed. The pillows were firmly plumped and a teddy bear lay in the middle of the neatly folded bedspread. Lisa was out for her morning jog with Adam.

Then I looked over at Matt, fast asleep next to me. We were both fully clothed, socks and shoes and all, lying on top of my bed. He was on his stomach, his head turned away from me. The alarm failed to wake him.

My neck was stiff. I had slept all night with my body pushed up against the concrete wall, my head turned at a weird angle. Twin-sized mattresses, standard issue in college dorm rooms, were never meant for two people.

I inched my way slowly towards the bottom of the bed, stood, and stretched. Taking two steps forward to silence the radio, I nearly tripped over Matt’s book bag and his research paper lying on top:
Sex Through the Ages: A Brief History
.

I reached to turn off the alarm clock. Matt still didn’t stir. His back rose and fell rhythmically to the cycle of his breathing.

Matt had abruptly excused himself after the group guitar lesson the night before with barely a goodbye for anyone. Half an hour later he showed up unannounced at my dorm, called me from the outdoor intercom, and asked to come up to my room. I was relieved, thinking that Matt had come to discuss our mutual attraction, the sex we’d had, and figure out what to do next, to talk about whether we should take our relationship to the next level. Instead, he unzipped his book bag and pulled out a research paper. He had come to collect on my promise to edit his psychology paper in exchange for the guitar lessons.

Ironically, his research paper on sex had bored us both to sleep. Good thing he was a finance major.

Matt slowly stirred awake. Dark green irises appeared where once there were pale eyelids. He sat up, stretched, and scratched his hair.

“Hi,” I said.

He grinned and nodded. “What time is it?”

“7:05.”

“What?” His eyes darted over to my alarm clock. “We slept through the night?”

“Looks that way.”

He got up from the bed and quickly gathered his things. “I gotta go.”

I massaged my aching neck. “Okay.”

“Did you like my paper?” he asked, slinging his book bag over his shoulder.

“It was good.”

“Just good?”

I thought a moment, hatching a plan. Finally, I took a step forward and whispered seductively, “It was great.”

He looked at me funny and took a step back. “So you’d give me a passing grade?”

I had tried to decipher the meaning of his crooked smiles and came up empty. I searched for the truth concealed behind the beauty of his dark green eyes and found nothing. And I’d assigned meaning to the sex we’d had the night before, when it was unclear as to what it meant to him. Now it was time I gave him a comeuppance. I wanted him to not know what I was thinking, to dig for the truth and search for the meaning of
my
words.

He must act out a part in his own waking dream.

“Your intro is well conceived and your body is tight in form,” I said. “But your conclusion is a little sloppy and you have a dangling participle or two. Overall, however, your topic was abundantly informative and it left me extremely enlightened and wanting more.”

“You were…
enlightened
?”

“Naturally,” I said.

“Okay…”

“And left wanting more. Don’t forget that part.”

Matt stared at me, his brows furrowed, silent.

“I made some notes in the margin for you to refer to,” I said.

We stood there for a moment, a confused look on his face, a smug look on mine.

“Thanks,” he finally said. “See you next week.”

He brushed past me with a muffled goodbye and bolted out the door.

Touché, Matthew Levine. Touché.

It would not be the last time I left him near speechless.

II.

I inhaled real deep. There was stretching and bending and finally a zip. The burgundy dress was on.

I slipped on my new black shoes with a one inch heel, took a step back, and looked at myself in the full-length mirror that hung on my bedroom wall. Then I turned around and craned my neck to look at myself from the rear. Then I spun around to look at the front again. Before I knew it, I was twirling around my bedroom like an out-of-control ballerina.

The knock on my bedroom door startled me, but I kept spinning and twirling.

“Alex? Can I come in?”

It was my mother.

I didn’t respond, and there was no need; she would come in anyway.

“Practicing to be a Whirling Dervish?” she asked.

I stopped spinning. The room didn’t. “A what?”

“Never mind.” She looked at her watch. “You’re dressed early.”

“I know.”

“Bobby’s not due for another half hour.”

I flared my nostrils at her. “I. Know.”

“Such a curious habit you have—being early for everything.”

“Your point?”

“Just an observation. Let me get a good look at you.” She scanned me head to toe. “You’re not wearing lipstick.”

I wrinkled my face at her. “I hate lipstick. It turns my teeth pink.”

“I know. But you have to wear something to accent your pretty face.”

“I have makeup on.”

“Yes, I see that. But you need a little more or you’ll look pale as a ghost in your pictures.” She walked over to my dresser to look through my skimpy collection of makeup.

“I don’t want to look like a whore,” I mumbled under my breath.

She picked up blush and a black eyeliner pen. “What’s that, my dear?”

“I said, I hope this night’s not a bore.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”

There was no doubt about that. But it wasn’t the dance that I was most looking forward to. It was the party we were going to afterwards that would be the highlight of my evening.

Bobby and I never got much alone time. Neither of us drove so we depended on our parents to take us everywhere. When we were at each other’s houses, there was always a parent in the next room. We’d kiss and grope but not much else, always afraid someone would walk in on us. There’s only so much you can do underneath football bleachers, and we weren’t exactly the popular type that got invited to parties. We could never really be free, get in the moment, let ourselves go.

And so, after five months of waiting, on this night, the night of the Spring Formal, I was hoping to really let go. I would get to know Bobby a little more intimately. I would give myself to the boy I loved, and he would accept my body as a token of my trust. In doing so, it would ensure that no other man would ever forsake me again.

My mother walked back over to me and noticed the dress wasn’t zipped all the way to the top. She put the blush and eyeliner pen down on the bed. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Once the dress was zipped entirely, it completely enclosed my midsection like a corset. I felt every rib when I breathed. No matter. If all went well, I wouldn’t have it on for very long.

I.

I hadn’t seen or talked to Matt in a week. I had doubts as to whether I should show up for our second private guitar lesson, considering how weird things were. Ultimately, I said screw it. I’ll go. Things couldn’t get much worse.

Each step that got me closer to Kentmore Hall made the knot in my stomach grow tighter. What was it about this guy? We weren’t exactly friends, but we weren’t lovers, either. We weren’t anything.

As I crossed Main Street, I glanced up briefly and saw the front door of Kentmore Hall swing closed. I hadn’t seen who entered. I jogged the rest of the way to the door, found it unlocked, and walked inside.

I saw Matt first. Then I saw the other boy. He was tall and thin with long legs, and his hair was blonde and wavy. I had never seen him before, and he wasn’t one of the guys who took guitar lessons. A band mate, perhaps?

They stood several feet apart in the middle of the lobby, arguing. Matt had his arms crossed; the other had his hands on his hips.

“No, I don’t!” the young man said.

“Yes, you do!” Matt replied.

The young man rolled his eyes. “Whatever, dude.”

Upon hearing the door close, they both jumped and looked at me, their eyes wide. The young man walked away without another word and disappeared into the darkness.

Matt took a few steps in my direction. “Hey, Alex.”

I stood just inside the door, unsure of what to say. “Uh, hi.”

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. Everything all right with
you
?”

“It’s nothing. An issue with the band.”

“Okay.” I paused, waiting for more of an explanation, but none came.

“Ready for another lesson?” he asked.

I nodded and we were off. When we reached the kitchen, Matt turned and headed up the steps. But I was unable to do the same. The kitchen door was like a roadblock. The same force that urged me to enter the kitchen the week before was now beckoning me back inside. I had to confront our “relationship” in the very room where it had started. I wanted to grab Matt by the scruff, march him into the kitchen, and finish this. I needed—

“Are you coming?” Matt called, his echoing voice interrupting my thoughts.

I clenched my fists, turned to face him and…decided to do nothing.

I ascended the steps behind Matt to the practice room, threw my coat over a chair, and retrieved a guitar from the cabinet. Then I sat on the floor and nestled it in my lap.

After Matt retrieved his guitar from the cabinet, he sat down in front of me. “All right.” He grinned. “Where should we start?”

…

Weeks passed. Things carried on much the same. Every Monday evening Matt would teach me a little more about the guitar. I would sit, watch, and pretend to care about learning to play, hoping that maybe this was the week he’d break his silence.

But that day was long in coming.

Week after week I told myself to cut him some slack; he just wasn’t ready to talk. He’d come around when he was ready. I just needed to be patient. And so I continued to go to the lessons. Because the time I didn’t go, the night I decided to cancel because I couldn’t take any more silence, would be the night Matt was ready to talk.

It was a week and a half before Christmas break. Lisa and I were supposed to be studying for finals. Instead, she was peeling holiday decorations made of construction paper from our dorm room window. I sat on the floor in the middle of the room with a book propped open in front of me, attempting to study. But I couldn’t concentrate. I was thinking about Matt.