manicpixiedreamgirl Page 12

  “Wow. Sorry.” I stopped reaching for my phone.

  “No big. I didn’t even know who you were.”

  Ouch. Stabbed. Still—I was sitting on Becky Webb’s bed. Life could be worse. Who cared if she didn’t know me then? She knew me now.

  “Is that why you talked to me that day?” I asked.

  “Yep. If I was going to get into a catfight, I wanted to know who it was over.”

  We both laughed at the idea. Sydney wasn’t the catfight type. And—this was strange as hell—it was kind of cool Syd was concerned enough over stupid me to even say something like that to Becky.

  “Funny thing is,” Becky said, “I didn’t even know we were friends until she said it. Me and Sydney, I mean. She talked to me in drama, when we had to work together, but that was it.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yeah. I mean, me and you didn’t even know each other.”

  Becky typed a new sentence. Her report was almost done. I watched her, noting every crease of her clothing, every arch of her fingers. The silence was comfortable, which thrilled me. We didn’t always have to be talking. I took that as a very good sign. And I guess—well, I guess that’s why I didn’t spill my guts. We were friends. I was in her room. We talked, we laughed. If I opened my big idiot mouth now, it could ruin what I had. Better to remain silent and be thought a fool or whatnot.

  “So, what do you like about her?” Becky asked.

  I swallowed a handful of popcorn and tried not to choke again. “Sydney?”

  “No, Sparky, the queen of England. Yes, Sydney. What do you like about her?”

  Of all the conversations on planet Earth we could have, this was the absolute last one I wanted. “Well,” I said, trying not to sound like I was weighing my words too much, “she’s—”

  “And you can’t say ‘nice’!” Becky said.

  “—fun,” I said.

  “Fun how? Like, go to the sock hop fun, or graphic porno sex fun?”

  I tried very hard to force a laugh and couldn’t. Didn’t seem to matter; Becky wasn’t laughing either.

  “Uh … somewhere in the middle,” I said. I put the popcorn bowl aside. Wasn’t hungry anymore.

  “Are you happy?” Becky asked.

  “Are you asking me or are you running lines?” Her character in the one-act she was in, Jill, said that line several times during the show.

  “Asking,” Becky said, turning the chair to face me. “Although, I probably should run lines, too.”

  “At this particular moment in time, I’m extremely happy,” I said. Which was the truth. More truthful, in fact, than she could know. I chose the words deliberately, I think, to see if she’d catch my implication.

  But Becky only nodded thoughtfully. Over her shoulder, I could see her computer screen and the title of her book report. To Mill a Kockingbird. I had to smile at the intentional misspellings. Then wondered if they were intentional. Then called myself an idiot for even wondering.

  “Are you?” I asked. “Happy?”

  “For the most part? No. Not especially.” She shut one eye as the after-school sun poked through her window and lit up one side of her face. Sunlight traced gold along her profile, like she was the fairy queen Titania herself. “But at this particular moment in time, it’s all good.”

  I wanted to take my meaning of the same phrase and lend it to hers. So badly. That she was as happy to be here with me as I was with her. But I just couldn’t tell if she meant it the same way or not.

  Her parents’ voices trickled in from the kitchen. Low tones. No joy. Keys jingling. Heels clacking coldly on the tile.

  “Are they headed out?” I asked. Because every time we were here alone, I couldn’t help but wonder if one of my myriad dreams about Becky was going to come true. They never did, though.

  Becky shrugged. “Let’s find out.” She yelled toward the open bedroom door, “Bye, see you later, have fun tonight, I love you!”

  The noises in the kitchen didn’t change. Her parents didn’t respond. A minute later, I heard them at the front door, which opened and boomed closed a second later.

  “Does that answer your question?” Becky said, and turned back to her computer.

  I didn’t know which question she was referring to: whether she was happy, or whether her parents were leaving.

  But I could guess.

  Becky hit two keys on her keyboard simultaneously, then a third. The book report highlighted, then disappeared. She saved the empty document and closed the program.

  “Easy F,” she whispered, and twirled carelessly in her chair. “Wanna run lines with me?”

  Once Sydney’s car is out of sight, I call Becky back.

  “Hi,” she says when she picks up.

  “How you doing, Mustardseed?” I ask, starting to make my way back toward the table.

  “Swell.”

  I stop about halfway to the table. “Becky, what happened tonight? This isn’t just some random crankiness at your parents. Talk to me.”

  “My mom hates me.”

  “Becky, come on.”

  “Well, let’s see. I said, ‘I need my permission slip signed for the next show,’ and she said, ‘Ask your father,’ and I said, ‘But he’s not here and you are,’ and she said, ‘Well, that’s just fucktastic,’ and I said, ‘You shouldn’t swear in front of your children,’ and she said, ‘Rebecca, shut up. I hate you.’ So … yeah, think that settles it.”

  Goddamn it.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Don’t be. I could’ve tossed out the whole ‘He’s not my real dad’ routine, but that sounds so trite, don’t you think?”

  I wish I could laugh.

  “You know what I did almost say, though?” she goes on, and her pace picks up. Like she just can’t get it out fast enough. “I did almost ask why she bothered, why she even bothered having me, I mean. Why not just abort me when she had the chance, right? I mean—”

  She’s spinning out. I’ve never heard her like this. “Becky, stop …”

  “—why even go through all the pain and turmoil and expense of a kid when you can just dump it? Right? Why’d they even bother, huh?”

  “Stop, stop, please.” She’s killing me.

  Becky takes a sharp breath. There’s silence for a few moments. Then she lets the breath out and takes on a fake chipper tone.

  “Right. Sorry about that. Got a little carried away, huh? So, where are you?”

  “Still at the park.” I stop for a second, catching my breath. Shit, that outburst really scared me.

  But when she asks me, as if everything is perfectly fine, “You okay there, Sparky?” I say, “Yeah, good. I just broke up with Sydney,” so that I won’t have to tell her why I’m really sounding breathless, and then I realize what I just said and that it’s for real.

  “Wow,” Becky says. “That’s a big step.”

  It is a big step, but I’m not sure how Becky means it.

  “Was it because I called?” Becky asks.

  I think about this. Heart rate returning to normal now. “No,” I decide. “Not really. No.”

  “What was it?”

  “It was time. That’s about it.”

  “Fair enough. You all right?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. No big. So what now?”

  “What now what?”

  “What’re you going to do, what can I do, what’s going on …?”

  “I don’t know, man,” Becky says. “I don’t know. I’d go to bed but I’m so not tired. I want Starbucks.”

  “Everything’s pretty much closed or I’d bring you some.”

  “Aw. You’re sweet.”

  I love/hate when she says things like that.

  “I think I’ll just take a shower and read or something,” Becky goes on. “Stay the hell out of any other room in the house. Ponder the mystery of the universe or something.”

  “Are you alone?” I ask, and wince. What I should have said was, Are either of your parents home? My phrasing makes it so
und like I’m asking if there’s some guy there with her.

  “At the moment,” she says, which doesn’t exactly calm me down.

  “I can bring you ice cream,” I say.

  “Tyler,” Becky says, “you are my bestest friend in the whole world.”

  The one-act plays turned out awesome. Better than Mockingbird, in many ways. Becky’s show, called Jack & Jill & Bill & Phil, was a farce, I guess, with a lot of mistaken identities and double entendres. I hadn’t realized how great her timing was until the performance. She had the audience roaring.

  My show, Prophet, felt like kind of a bummer, because between Becky’s show and the third one—another comedy—mine wasn’t exactly hysterical. Humor wasn’t my thing. Still, I suppose the fact that no one laughed is a good thing; the audience sat quiet and still throughout the performance, no one yawning or shuffling in their seats. Plus, the actors got a great round of applause during the curtain call. And watching this girl Amy deliver Prophet’s final monologue about how the end of the world can also be a beginning … yeah, it was cheesy, but I have to admit, I loved seeing it brought to life. And Pete—the guy who’d almost killed me during Mockingbird—did a great job directing my play.

  I ran lights for all three one-acts. Since it was my second show with the department, I had a lot more fun; I knew my way around, I knew the other people involved—the girl with Neapolitan hair was named Danielle, it turned out—and I knew what I was doing, sort of, with the lights. I wouldn’t have predicted that it would be something I enjoyed, but I really did.

  After the show on opening night, I made sure I was in the drama department hallway when Becky came out of the girls’ dressing room. She’d already changed her clothes. I didn’t see her parents anywhere.

  “You want to get out of here?” I asked.

  We’d spent our breaks during rehearsal together often, just like during Mockingbird. Talking about this teacher, that teacher; this class, that class; this music, that music. Once she wore a blue Just This Once T-shirt with the Black Cymbal album cover printed on it. I downloaded the album that night and played it till I liked it. I did not tell her I did this, or tell her I remembered the logo patch safety-pinned to her freshman-year bag. I hadn’t even known for sure it was a band till she wore the shirt.

  “Yeah, let’s,” Becky said. “You want to go to my place?”

  Of course I did. I couldn’t imagine why she wanted me there, but I wasn’t about to argue.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I was hesitant to go back into the auditorium to do the idiot check, terrified that when I came back through, I’d find her with Matthew again, who had played the lead opposite Becky in her show. But when I got back to the hall, Becky was there waiting for me, off by herself.

  Relieved, I smiled at her, and she smiled back. Then I paused when I saw my sister racing toward me from the end of the hall, dodging all the family and friends gathered to congratulate the cast.

  Crap. Forgot about this part.

  “Hey!” Gabby cried, and wrapped me in a big hug. Because she’s my sister and I love her, I hugged her back. That didn’t mean I wasn’t surprised.

  “Uh … hey,” I said. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Seeing your show, dumbass,” Gabby said, letting me go.

  Over her shoulder I saw Becky sigh silently, duck her head, and turn to leave. No way I was going to let that happen.

  “I know Mom and Dad are coming tomorrow,” Gabby was saying, “but I’ve got that class—”

  “Becky!” I said, cutting Gabrielle off. “Hold up. This is my sister, Gabrielle.”

  Becky paused, and both she and my sister turned at the same time, facing each other. The look on Gabby’s face would’ve cracked me up if this situation hadn’t, you know, involved me. The look said, quite clearly, So you’re the notorious Becky I’ve heard so much about.

  “Becky,” Gabby said. “Hi. It’s, um … so nice to meet you.”

  She said it with a pleasant look on her face, but I’d known my sister fifteen years, and she was scanning Becky like a goddamn Terminator. Not that she didn’t like Becky, exactly. Just … checking her out.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” Becky said quietly. To me, she said, “So, I’m just going to head out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Wait, no,” I said. “I thought we were going to hang out.”

  Gabby made a show of clearing her throat to get my attention. She threw a hitchhiker thumb over one shoulder. “I left Sydney in the restroom,” she said. “She’ll be here in just a minute.”

  “… You brought Sydney with you?”

  “She wanted it to be a surprise,” Gabby said. She paused. “Surprise!”

  “I really should go,” Becky said. And maybe it was my imagination, or maybe it was only what I wanted to see, but I swear she looked disappointed.

  “Wait a second,” I said. “You don’t have to—”

  “Hey, Tyler, congratulations!” Sydney said from behind me.

  I spun around. She gave me a big hug, then a kiss, which I returned on instinct, and her hand slid down my arm to take mine.

  “Hey, Becky,” Syd said, sounding friendly enough, but definitely not releasing my hand. “You were so great in that show.”

  Beside us, Gabby snapped her fingers. “Wait, you were in that first one, right? The Fred and Bill and Jack thing?”

  “Jack & Jill & Bill & Phil,” Becky said. “I was Jill.”

  “Right!” Gabby said. “You were hysterical!”

  And like with Syd, I couldn’t tell if my sister was being sincere or not. I think she was. And I think Becky felt it too, because she finally smiled a little.

  “Thanks,” she said, and looked at the floor.

  “So, now what?” Sydney said. “You guys want to get something to eat?”

  Damn.

  “I was just heading out,” Becky said, oddly repeating the exact same thumb-over-the-shoulder gesture Gabby had used.

  Too much was happening way too fast. A checklist raced through my brain:

  1. Becky invited me to her house. At night. Good!

  2. Sydney is here, so that’s not going to happen. Bad.

  3. But she just invited Becky to go out to eat with us, like it’s no big deal, and that’s really cool of her. Good!

  4. Sydney didn’t exactly specify Becky by name, so maybe she didn’t mean to include her, and Becky’s probably not going to want to go anyway. Bad.

  And just when things couldn’t have gotten any weirder, two hands crashed down on my shoulders. God, I kept getting ambushed!

  “Well, look at this gorgeous grouping of humanity!” Robby shouted. Robby has no “indoor voice.”

  “Rob? Hey, man … what’re you doing here?”

  “Came to see your show, dude!” Robby said, moving to join our circle. Justin appeared next to him from the crowd, looking vaguely pissy.

  “It was awesome!” Rob said, then lowered his voice. “And who was that chick at the end? Is she around? ’Cause, man.”

  Slow down!

  That’s what I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, to everyone in the hall. Everything was happening too fast, way too fast, and someone was gonna get hurt.

  “We were just talking about going out for some food. You want to come?” Syd asked my friends.

  “Food? Uh, hello,” Robby said. “The trash compactor scene in Star Wars? Little-known fact: filmed in my stomach.”

  “Actually, I have no earthly clue what you’re talking about, but point taken,” Syd said, and laughed. So did Gabby. She thought Robby was hysterical.

  Normally, I did too. But Becky was already slowly sidestepping away from the group, blending into the crowd.

  “Becky,” I said.

  “I should get going,” she said quickly. “Get home, you know.”

  Watch carefully as I took masterful control of the situation by stating, “I thought we were going to hang out.”

  To what shall I compare the silence that f
ollowed? Oh, the hallway was loud and bustling, as always after a performance. But our little group turned to ice.

  The thing was, it wasn’t an accident. I said it on purpose. And I said it for one simple reason. I was standing there surrounded by my sister, my girlfriend, and my two best friends. Becky was surrounded by no one. And that, for me—for me and how I felt about her—was utter bullshit.

  “Well …,” Becky said softly, eyes darting to Syd.

  Syd locked her eyes on me. But if she was mad, she didn’t show it. Actually, mad might’ve been better.

  “You … made plans with her?” Syd asked.

  “Kind of,” I said.

  “Kind of,” Syd repeated.

  “Look, I didn’t know anybody was coming tonight,” I said. “Maybe if I’d known, we could’ve done something else.”

  “Oh, brother,” Gabby sighed, and I didn’t know if she meant it in a sibling way, or just to avoid cussing.

  Sydney searched my eyes. For what, I don’t know.

  But Becky had stopped inching away and stood watching Sydney and me now.

  Syd stared up at me for another few moments. “Okay,” she said finally. “That’s … cool.” She looked at my sister. “So. Coffee?”

  It came out pointed enough to stab flesh. Gabby nodded quickly. “Oh yeah, uh-huh,” she said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Robby crowed, apparently missing the drama swirling beneath the discussion. “Where at?”

  “Um, I think this is a girls’ night out,” Gabby said, squinting one eye toward me.

  “Oh,” Robby said. “Bummer. Well, does anyone know where that girl— There she is! Hey! Hi! I’m Robby!”

  He was off, smashing his way through the crowd.

  Justin, who’d barely moved this whole time, rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, I just wish we could go to a bar,” he muttered. “See ya later, man.”

  “Later,” I said as Justin squirreled between people to keep up with Robby.

  “So, um … I guess I’ll just … wait out front?” Becky said to me, like she wasn’t sure I was really going to show up there.