Читать книгу A Secret Edge - Robin Reardon - Страница 8

The date is a total disaster. At least, from my point of view. For everyone else, I think it’s a huge success.

It’s easy for me to follow the plot of the movie, as I’d predicted. I know all the characters, what their roles are, and what’s going to happen. This turns into a problem for me; if I were distracted by the tension of not knowing the outcome already, maybe I wouldn’t be so affected by the Frodo character. As soon as I see him, I’m lost. He pulls at me, pulls at my head, my heart, my—well, all of me. I was fidgeting so much Meg probably thought I was trying to get my arm behind her, but that was not on my mind at the time. Elijah Wood, playing Frodo, had my full attention.

I recover a little over dinner, forced into conversation by the fact that Robert is so overwhelmed at the idea of being on a date with a cutie like Debbie that he can’t think of anything to say. I keep feeding him lines, asking him questions. He warms up after a while, once I start teasing him about his size, making sure what I say is actually flattering. And Debbie smiles at him a lot, which helps.

At one point, Meg whispers in my ear that she hasn’t seen the first two movies, and she hasn’t read any of the books either. This sends us into a private fit of the giggles.

But all this congeniality leads to my biggest problem. Robert, driving, takes it upon himself to stop in a rather deserted area near a ball field. I can see the side of Debbie’s face in the front seat, pretending astonishment and gentle outrage, really wanting Robert to reach for her. He does.

So Meg and I sit in the back, and I can’t tell what she wants. My mind is back on Frodo. I look at Meg, though it’s hard to see much in that light, and her dark hair and very light skin send my mind flashing to the scene in the movie where Samwise Gamgee is trying to free Frodo from the spider cocoon he’s in, and all you can see is that sweet, sweet, very pale face and the very dark eyebrows and eyelashes. I open my mouth and lean toward Meg’s face, and she leans toward me. I don’t want to do this. It feels strange, wrong. And it’s not fair to Meg. I mean, how would I feel if right this minute, she were imagining not me but—I don’t know—Orlando Bloom leaning toward her? Actually, maybe that would be okay. And the truth is, it isn’t Elijah Wood I want. It’s Raj. But—hell, Meg’s here. Raj isn’t. And I’m in the backseat of a car, on a date with a terrific girl, the air thick with expectations. I have no choice here.

At first it seems okay, kind of like kissing Rebecca. But then things change. Rebecca and I really are practicing. Who knows, maybe she’s a lesbian, and she’s using me for cover same as I’m using her. Whatever, I don’t remember ever feeling anything like passion from Rebecca. But Meg wants me. I can feel it.

Her fingers go into my hair, and I think: Oh yeah, that’s right, I’m supposed to reach for her too. So I do. I say to myself, Pretend you’re with Rebecca. And it kind of works, except that after a few minutes, things kind of stall out. For us, anyway. Robert and Debbie are not experiencing any shortage of ideas, based on the sounds coming from the front seat.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now? How do you fake passion when you don’t even know what you’re supposed to do if it’s real?

I start to panic. This makes my breathing quicken, which Meg—bless her heart—misinterprets. She takes my head in her hands and looks into my eyes. She smiles and says, “Are you okay?”

No. Yes. How do I answer that?

Think, Jason; pretend you’re writing this scene. Pretend it’s fiction. I say, “I don’t want to get carried away. I don’t want to take advantage of you.” This second statement is true enough.

She lifts a lock of hair off my forehead with a finger. “That’s sweet. Why don’t you sit back and close your eyes for a minute.”

This seems like a terrific idea to me, so I do. Meg cuddles up next to me and leans against my chest, stroking my face, my shoulder, my neck. After a minute, I’m calmer; this could be worse. I open my eyes and look down at her, and she looks up at me, and then we’re kissing again. But it’s not passionate. It’s not desperate. It’s just sweet.

We get a little more into it for a bit, but then we back off again. I’m feeling really, really grateful to Meg by now, but I’m also starting to wonder how much longer the front seat will be bouncing around.

My voice low, I ask Meg, “Do you want to walk for a bit?”

She glances toward the front. “They might like to be left alone, but I’m not sure they should be.”

She’s right. I decide it’s time to be a man, time to do something decisive. So I lean forward, rest my arms on the back of the seat in front of me, and take in the sight of Debbie’s sweater pushed up around her neck and one breast barely showing from under Robert’s large hand. Her bra is in there someplace, but it’s kind of tangled. I clear my throat.

There’s a frantic rush to get themselves together. I can hear Meg trying to smother giggles. Once Robert and Debbie are in some semblance of order again, Robert running a distracted hand through his hair, I ask, “How about a short walk around the ball field before we head home?”

It’s kind of hard to tell whether they think this is a good idea or a lousy one, but they sort of say, “Sure. Fine.” And we all tumble out of the car.

Nobody says much as we walk. I take Meg’s hand, and she smiles at me. And suddenly it hits me that this is the first date I’ve been on with a girl other than Rebecca. It’s like I’ve taken some kind of step, and I’m pretty sure it’s the wrong one. So it’s scary for that reason, but it’s also scary for another: this step involves someone other than me.

In one sense, tonight has been a rousing success. Robert not only gets his first real date, but also he makes out with someone he likes. I have to say it looks like Debbie has enjoyed herself. And Meg and I—well, we’ve done whatever it is we’ve done. But I feel like a real shit, like I’m just using Meg. And not in a way that’s fair.

I’m not being very fair to myself either. I got through this evening by pretending. First by pretending Meg was Elijah. Then pretending Meg was Rebecca. Then pretending the whole thing was a fictional scene I was writing. To be fair to me, what I should have been pretending was that I was with Raj.

Yeah. Right. Like that’s fair? If I’m going to be fair to myself, it would have to be Raj.

Once around the field is enough to bring everyone back to earth. I’m the only one who seems to have landed with a thud, but there’s not much I can do about that. Robert drives to Meg’s house first, not because it’s closer, but I think because he wants Debbie beside him as long as possible.

I walk Meg to her door. The overhead light is on, and it’s bright, and there’s a light on inside too. I imagine we’re being monitored, even if it’s only because they know we’re here.

What I want to say is this: “I’m so sorry, Meg. I like you so much. You are a really terrific girl, and you deserve the best boyfriend in the world. And I wish it could be me, but it can’t. Please don’t hate me.”

But this is what I say. “You’re terrific, Meg.” I kiss her forehead. She smiles, real sweet, and squeezes my hand. I watch as she turns and opens the door, and as she’s about to close it she turns her smile on me again.

The message from her is pretty clear, isn’t it?

Idiot, I tell myself later as I lie sleepless in bed. What did I expect would happen? In a car? Two teenaged couples? And what would I have done with Raj anyway, even if he’d been there? What do I know about making out with another boy? Plus, I don’t even know if he feels the same way. I don’t know whether he dreams about me.

I torture myself all Sunday, wondering how I’m going to behave toward Meg this week in school, how she’ll behave toward me. Robert and Debbie I have no doubts about. At one point I realize I’m wearing the same jeans I’d had on when Robert and I had been cruising at the mall. I reach into my back pocket and pull out a piece of paper. No name, just a telephone number. Doreen had said I was cute. If I called this number, what would I say? What would I do? But I don’t fret too much over Doreen; she’s probably not really my type anyway.

But Meg could be. I know I like her. But how much? In what way? I enjoyed kissing her, but I didn’t do much else, and I don’t really think she wanted me to. Not on the first date. But will she expect a second? There’s not much doubt in my mind about that, either. And then, what else? I can barely focus on the book I’m reading as I lie on my bed and try to pretend I’m not obsessing about this situation.

Finally I can’t take inactivity any longer. I put on some track duds, add some warm-up pants and a sweatshirt, and call to my aunt as I’m heading for the door.

“Going for some practice runs, Aunt Aud. What time is dinner?”

“The usual. Around six.”

Uncle Steve calls from his easy chair, long legs extending from under the newspaper that hides his face: “Finished your homework?”

“All but a few math problems I’ll do after dinner. See you later.”

I’ve done about five laps around the school track almost before I know it, my mind’s so busy. But suddenly I have no more energy. Interesting: I’m right at the high-jump pit. I walk around it a few times, cooling down, and then go and sit off to the side of where the jumpers land. Right in front of me is where Raj’s body had settled so gracefully.

After maybe fifteen minutes there are scores of shredded grass blades on the ground bordered by my crossed legs, where I’ve been dropping them after tearing them up. I’m looking sightlessly before me, creating my own images, when I see another boy. He’s under the trees on the other side of the chain link fence that surrounds the track field. He looks like Raj.

“Yeah, right,” I say to myself, believing it to be a mirage like last time, like the dash where I barely beat Jimmy Walsh. But then I refocus my eyes.

It is him. It’s Raj. He’s really standing there, and he’s looking right at me. There’s this timeless moment, and then I stand. And then I’m moving.

As I get closer, I can see his hands are on the fence, fingers curling over the wires. We’re so close now. I have to look up a little to see his eyes; he’s taller than me. And then I reach my hands up, on my side of the fence, and I curl my fingers over his.

He doesn’t move.

We don’t speak. There’s no need. What would we say?

Slowly he pulls his hands away, his eyes still on mine, and he backs off a little. And I find my voice.

“Raj!”

He stops.

“Wait,” I tell him. “Just stay there.”

I run as fast as I can to where I’ve dropped my outer clothes and then back. He’s still there! I throw my things over the top of the fence. As I’m struggling up the chain links, I see him bend over to pick up my clothes.

I don’t think I’ve ever climbed as fast as that. Raj holds out my pants to me, and I lean against him as I struggle to work my track shoes through the cloth. One leg through, I start on the next, and then I slow down, feeling the warmth of his body, knowing he’s feeling warmth from me as well. Never climbed so fast; never dressed so slowly.

Eventually I have to admit I’ve finished this task, and he hands me the sweatshirt. Putting it on, though, my vision is blocked and I can’t see him, so I want to hurry again. In my haste I get the hem all caught, but this has an advantage; Raj laughs and then reaches around behind me, his face mere inches from mine, to pull the resisting cloth into place.

I don’t dare do it. But I do it anyway. My arms are around him before I can stop them, and we stand there in an embrace so sweet I could die and be happy about it.

We walk for a few minutes, aimlessly, not speaking. We’re pretty hidden from the road, and from the track, among the trees. By some silent arrangement we sit down and lean against the trunks of two trees that are so close their bodies have grown together. My thigh and Raj’s touch.

He speaks first. “How long have you known?”

I panic. Known what? Known how I feel about him? Or about myself? I parry. “I’m not sure what I know.”

“No?” He sounds almost amused. “I’ve known for a long time.”

So he means about being gay. He thinks I’m gay. I guess I know I am, really. I inhale deeply and let the breath out, calming myself. If being gay means being with Raj, well, that’s something I can take. But it’s not necessarily something I want to talk about.

I ask, “Why haven’t I seen you before?”

“I keep a low profile.”

“Why?”

I feel him shrug. “It’s hard to make friends. And I’m not into a lot of things the other guys seem to like.”

“You mean girls?”

He laughs, and I love the sound. “I was referring to things like video games, contact sports, drinking beer, talking trash.”

I could listen to him talk all day. His voice sings, and he makes consonants sound like something he’s trying to taste with just the tip of his tongue.

And then he speaks again. “Have you ever been with a girl?”

My chuckle comes out more like a snort. “I’ve never been with anyone.”

“Who is Robert?”

Robert? So he really had thought that Robert and I were together. I almost laugh, but I don’t want Raj to think I’m laughing at him. “He’s a friend, that’s all. I’m helping him. With English Lit. It’s one of my favorite subjects.”

“Why are you helping him?”

I glance at the side of Raj’s face; he doesn’t turn toward me. I think he’s still trying to figure out if he should be jealous. I reach for a dead pine twig and decide to tell him the story.

“He saved my ass. After tryouts the other day, these two goons were waiting for me. Just over there.” I point with my twig to where I’d been accosted and then rescued, and Raj looks that way. “Robert had been looking for me to ask for my help. But I needed his first, and he gave it.”

He looks at me. “Which goons are those? There are so many.”

“Jimmy Walsh and Dane Caldwell. Two of my favorite goons.”

“Dane jumps like a dog.”

I have this image of a clumsy Saint Bernard throwing himself through the air and trying to land without hitting his heavy head on the ground.

I reply, “And Jimmy runs like a rabbit. Ever notice how a rabbit stops and starts, and stops again? Jimmy’s fast, but—” I don’t have to finish. I can see Raj’s head nod in agreement.

“You’re good,” he says.

“You’re fantastic,” I counter, looking at him.

He turns toward me, and then his hand reaches behind my neck. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t move. He kisses me. Lightly, sweetly.

Something pops inside my head. Just as strange and wrong as it had felt kissing Meg last night? It feels every bit as perfect and right and oh, so fucking wonderful when it’s Raj’s lips on mine.

Why couldn’t it have been you in that car last night? This is what I want to ask him. Where were you when I needed you? Where was your mouth, your face? Why wasn’t it your hand reaching for me?

And then, alongside the tension, underneath the butterflies (yes, there they were!), there’s this feeling of relief. No more pretending.

But I don’t know what to do with this. It’s what I’ve dreamed about, but now that it’s here…I hide behind words.

“You move fast.”

“We have to. We won’t get much time, and we won’t get any encouragement.”

He waits just long enough to see if I have anything else to say, and then he pulls my face to his again. Before I know it, we’re lying on the ground, breathing hard, hands everywhere.

I have to pull away. I’m not ready for this. I lean against the tree again, feeling shaky.

“You okay?” he says, still lying on the ground near my feet.

I try a smile, but it wobbles. “Yeah.”

“Is this a new idea for you?”

I shake my head. “No. Just a new reality.”

“Sorry. I guess I thought you were—you know. Ready. You seem so confident.”

“What?”

“Like just now, at the fence. And in the tryouts. And when I saw you in the store. It was like you knew exactly what you were doing, what you wanted. I felt like the shy one.” He half sits up, leaning on an elbow. “And I’m not shy.”

I laugh out loud. “No. I can tell. But if I seem confident, it’s because I’ve had to. It’s either that or run away all the time.”

He nods, and I can tell he understands. “I chose aloof.”

“You don’t seem aloof now.”

He gets up onto his knees and moves toward me. “No.” He leans forward but stops before he touches my mouth, his lips so close I can almost feel them move. “Do you want me to be?”

“No.”

This time the kiss isn’t just a light, sweet test. This time he doesn’t wait to see what I’ll say, to see what I want. He knows.

It’s funny, but when you’re in the right place with the right person doing something like this, it’s so different from how it had been for me last night. I’d had to remind myself that I was supposed to reach for Meg. With Raj, I don’t think about reaching. I just reach. I want him as close to me as I can get him. Did I open my mouth, or did it just land against his that way? Did I reach for him with my tongue, or has it always been twisted together with his like this?

He pulls his mouth away from mine, and at first I want to shout No! More! But then he buries his face against my neck and kisses and bites and moistens every inch of skin he can reach. Somehow I’ve pulled his clothing open at the back of his waist, and one hand moves up while the other moves down.

And then his mouth is on mine again. Hell, it’s practically in mine.

This is joy. This is rapture. This is the way it’s supposed to feel.

In the end we don’t do much more than lie on the ground, touching each other’s faces, kissing from time to time. I don’t want the sun to set. Or the temperature to fall. Or my dinner to be ready, or my aunt and uncle to be waiting. I chuckle.

“What?” he wants to know, smiling at me.

“It’s my aunt. She has this policy where she meets my friends before I’m allowed to go anywhere with them. But she doesn’t know about you!” I’m laughing now, holding my sides, rolling around. Bits of twigs are poking at me through my clothing, and it feels good. Everything feels good.

Raj waits until I’m still and then kisses me again. “Should she?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d say. ‘Aunt Audrey, I’d like you to meet Nagaraju Burugapalli. Now may I go and roll around in the woods with him?’ Can you see it?”

His face is hovering over mine. I can barely see it in the dusky light. But I can see he’s smiling.

“Kiss me again,” I beg.

He does.