An audience is gathered in the auditorium of Fulton Edge Academy. Nearly every seat is filled. Students, families, administrators, donors. The girl sits in a seat along the aisle in the back, her parents beside her. Her father hadn't wanted to come, blaming the thirty-dollar cost of the tickets, but the girl knew he wanted to steer clear tonight for other reasons. You.
Saturday evening. Drama Club’s production of Julius Caesar. There’s a rumbling in the audience. People are growing restless. The play was supposed to start ten minutes ago. Hastings frantically runs around, dressed in his elaborate costume. They’re scrambling as an announcement is made.
There has been a last-minute recast.
The role of Brutus will now be played by—
Not you.
The blue Porsche is parked in the parking lot. There’s a reserved spot up front for your father. Although his seat is empty, the limo arrived earlier—which means you’re both around, just not here.
The girl gets up from her seat as the play starts. Her father tries to stop her, but her mother doesn’t let him, saying, “Let her go, Michael.”
She runs out, heading toward the parking lot.
You’re out there. So is he. The two of you are standing in front of your car, your father’s security detail lurking as you argue.
The deadline to accept admission to Princeton was last night, so he accepted it on your behalf.
You tell him you’re not going. Becoming him isn’t your dream. He tells you to get your head out of the clouds—it’s time to be the man he raised you to be.
You tell him he didn’t raise you to be a man. He didn’t raise you at all. He’d have to be a father to take credit for that, but he’s not. He’s nothing but an egotistical asshole that only cares about his job. You tell him you’ll never be like him. Becoming him is your worst fucking nightmare.
The moment you say that, he loses his composure. He swings. He hits you. You’re braced for it. You knew it was coming, but you don’t expect the second hit... or the one after it.
He swings, again and again. You try to block the blows, but he’s not stopping, so you shove him off. That gives you a moment of reprieve, but it doesn’t last. He comes back at you, so you react.
You swing. You punch him right in the mouth.
It’s the first time you’ve ever struck back. Your father is stunned, staggering. You hit him hard. Security rushes over, restraining you.
Your father’s lip is busted. He runs his tongue along it. You’re bleeding—blood runs from your mouth. He stands in front of you, staring you in the eyes as he says, “You’d never amount to anything without me. A waste of a life, just like your mother.”
You spit in his face when he says that.
He blinks, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the blood off. The girl, she’s in front of the school, causing a scene as she screams for him to stop. Your father looks away, like he’s about to leave, but then he turns back.
BAM.
He punches you again, one last time, a blow right to the chest. Security lets go of you to escort your father away as he calls back at you, “Princeton’s nice, son. You’ll like it.”
You don’t stick around. People are coming out of the school. Julius Caesar is a mess without its Brutus. So you get in your car and speed away, not wanting to be there. You can’t face them right now.
You drive around.
You drive around for a long time.
Eventually, you end up in Bennett Landing.
It’s three o’clock in the morning. You’re standing on the sidewalk in front of the girl’s house.
You’re drunk. Not that drunk. Not drunk enough to forget. Not sure that’s even possible when you’re drinking champagne straight from the bottle. You swiped it from home before heading to the play. You thought you’d be celebrating with her tonight, but instead, it came to this.
She’s still awake. She sees you from her bedroom window. She sneaks downstairs and slips outside.
“You’re drinking,” she says, looking around. It’s the first time she’s seen you this way. “Please tell me you’re not driving like this.”
“My car’s at the park,” you say. “Drank there.”
“Without me?”
You hold the bottle of champagne out to her. “You can have some.”
She takes it, dumping it out, before tossing the bottle behind her on the grass. “I meant you went to the park without me.”
“Needed to think,” you say, staring at the discarded bottle as you run your hands through your hair. “Been a rough day.”
“I know.” Her hands press gently to your cheeks as she examines your face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say, kissing her, whispering against her lips, “I just needed to see you again… needed to tell you… that I, uh…”
I love you. You almost say it.
“Tell me,” she says.
“I’m leaving.”
Your voice is quiet.
She pulls away, blinking at you. “What?”
“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” you say, caressing her cheek as you smile softly. “Didn’t want to disappear on you. You’d never forgive me for pulling a Breezeo.”
You’re making light of it. You’re trying to make her smile. You’re trying to make this moment okay, but she’s panicking inside. Her hands are shaking. She inhales sharply. Tears are filling her eyes. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”
She asks that, but she knows what you mean.
“You can’t leave,” she says. “Where would you go? What would you even do?”
You’re heading to California, you tell her. Or maybe you’ll end up somewhere else. All you know is you have to follow your dreams and you have to do it now. It’s time. You’re going to go wherever life takes you, and as much as your chest aches at the thought of leaving her, at the thought of going through tomorrow without seeing her smile, at the idea of never again getting to hold her in your arms, you can’t stay, not even one more day. Because every day you stay just makes it harder for you to go, and come tomorrow you may lose your courage. You’ll end up at Princeton. You’ll become your father.
She stares at you as you say all that.
She’s starting to cry. “I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
You wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Do you think you’ll ever be ready?”
No, she won’t.
She grabs ahold of you, hugging you tightly. “I know you have to go… I know… and you have to follow your heart, but how can I follow mine if you’re gone? I love you, Jonathan. I love you so much.”
You wrap your arms around her, holding her as she cries. Always making the first move. I love you. A long moment passes before you say, “Come with me, K.”
She inhales sharply. “What?”
“You have a life here. You have a family. Fuck, you have finals on Monday. You’re about to graduate and go to college. And I’m probably about to fuck up my entire life, but I love you.”
She pulls back to look at you. “You love me?”
“More than anything,” you say. “More than drama club and dress rehearsals and Julius Caesar. More than annoying the shit out of Hastings. More than the goddamn park down the road. Hell, even more than I loved punching my father. I didn’t stick around here so long for any of that. I stayed for you. And if me loving you is enough—”
“It is,” she says.
“So come along,” you say. “Run away with me, baby.”
You don’t know this, but that girl? As she stands there, staring at you, seeing the light in your eyes and feeling so much love in her heart, she would’ve done anything you asked. Anything. She would’ve climbed any mountain and dug any hole. She would’ve lied, cheated, and stolen. That girl would’ve promised you forever. As long as you love her, for as long as you care, she’s yours. So walking to the park with you and climbing in that Porsche? Easiest decision she’s ever made.