THE TEST
“MORNING, CINDERELLA,” DANI GREETS ME, already sitting in her spot when I walk into the classroom the next morning. We’re the first ones to arrive, even before Dr. Robinson. She smiles as I set my things down next to her. And there goes my heart again, speeding up like I’ve just had a shot of espresso injected directly into my bloodstream.
“Hey.” I decided I would try to act like nothing had happened between us yesterday afternoon. “Good morning,” I add. Because, after all, nothing really did happen. As I sit down, she looks at me like I should be saying something. “How are you?” I try.
She wrinkles her forehead and smirks at me as if that’s a ridiculous question. Then she sits up straight, interlaces her fingers so her hands are folded together neatly on top of her desk, and says, “I’m fine, Brooke,” her tone stiff and edgy. “How are you this morning?” she adds, an automated quality to her voice.
“Um . . . okay,” I tell her, uncertain about this tension I feel coming off her. “What?”
Her posture slumps back down and she unlocks her hands, running one through her hair. “Nothing, you just . . .” She stops herself, like she decided against whatever was to come next. “Never mind.”
I begin pulling my things out of my backpack, but I can feel her eyes piercing me the whole time.
“So, you ready?” she finally asks, almost her normal tone again.
“Ready?” I repeat.
“For the test.”
“Oh. Right.” I try to laugh, but it sounds like this demented gurgling in my throat. “Let’s hope I am.”
“Hey, you never told me, where is this mysterious workplace, anyway?” she asks, a strange change of topic.
“You wouldn’t know it.”
“Or you don’t want me to know it,” she counters, that edge back in her voice. “Is it classified information, or what? Top secret?”
“No, it’s not that. You can know. I only meant that it’s in my neighborhood, and I wouldn’t imagine you’d even know where it is.”
“Yet you’re still not telling me!” she says, her eyes wide, looking like they’re changing from blue to green to brown every time she raises her voice. “I thought we were finally getting to be friends?”
“We are.”
“Well, this is the kind of basic information friends tend to know about each other. Where they live, where they work, hobbies, interests, et cetera,” she says.
“Why do you sound like you’re mad at me?”
“Because every time I see you, it’s like we’re starting from scratch. We have this big moment yesterday, and then you come in here acting like it’s the first time we’ve ever seen each other—it’s impossible to get to know you!” She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, looking straight ahead.
It takes several seconds for her words to sink in, for me to understand what they mean. I’ve never had anyone want to know me so much that they would get mad about it.
“Okay, fine. I work at Jackie’s Coffee and Bakeshop. It’s over by Riverside Park. And I live in an apartment two blocks from there.”
“Fine. Thank you.” She unfolds her arms and pivots toward me once again. “And you’re right, I’m not sure where that is!” she shouts, though a smile brightens her eyes. “I live ten minutes north of here in one of those obnoxious subdivisions with big houses that all look alike! And I don’t have a job because I’m spoiled and my parents give me an allowance!” She pauses and takes a breath. “There, now wasn’t that fun?” she yells, throwing her arms up in the air.
I can’t stop myself from grinning. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”
“Well, that’s the perfect amount, isn’t it?” she says.
“You’re the only person I know who can yell and laugh at the same time!”
“It’s only because you happen to be adorable and incredibly frustrating all at once!”
I open my mouth, not sure how to answer, but just at that moment Dr. Robinson appears in front of us. “Good morning, ladies.” She holds up a thick manila folder, bursting with photocopies, which I imagine can only be the test. Giving the folder a little shake, this delightful twinkle in her eye, she asks us, “So. Are we terrified yet?”
Hell, yes.
After the bell rings, and everyone is scrambling to leave, Dani waits for me by the door, and asks, “How did we do?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her as we exit the room and spill out into the noisy hallway. “At first I thought I did okay, but then after I handed my test in, I started thinking some of those were trick questions.”
“Yes, exactly!” she says, her voice carrying over the hallway chatter and the echo of lockers clanging. She walks next to me, her pace too leisurely for my comfort. “Like some of it was too logical? But then I started thinking maybe that was the trick. To make us think that what we thought was right was too simple so we would change our answer to something more complicated, when really we had it right the first time. If that even makes sense.”
“Frighteningly, I completely followed that.”
“See? That’s why this works,” she tells me, waving her hand back and forth between the two of us. And she looks at me in this way, like she’s saying something more than what her words are telling me.
I can do nothing more than look down at my hands, studying my fingers like they’re foreign objects, the way they’re interlaced, squeezing together, twisting around one another, bone against bone.
“So, are you going to homecoming on Friday?” she asks.
I snort, thinking she has to be joking. “No, definitely not.”
“Perfect. Then, it’s settled. You’re coming out with us. Me and Tyler. Every year we go to this big party at the Spot. And usually my sister goes with us. But this is the first year she’s not here—she’s away at college—and we really need a third person. You in?”
“What’s the Spot?” I ask her.
Dani grabs my arm, making us both grind to a halt. “You’ve never been to the Spot? Okay, now you have to come,” she says, nudging me in the arm. “Every year they do this crazy alternative homecoming—I’m telling you, you haven’t lived until you’ve attended the Spot’s annual unhomecoming.”
I open my mouth to answer—no is my default setting—but I don’t know how I’m supposed to say no to her, especially when there’s a small part of me that can actually imagine myself being there with her—that is, if I were someone else entirely. “Thanks, but I really probably can’t make it, Dani.”
“Why not?” She lets go of my arm, but she’s not about to let me off the hook that easily.
“It’s just hard for me to get out. I have to take the bus, and it’s a long trip, and if I don’t time it exactly right, then I’m basically stranded, so . . .” I trail off, because when I look up and meet her eyes, I’m unable make the words come out. Not when she’s standing this close, with her eyes not letting me look away, her right arm brushing up against my left, activating this total-body power surge sequence that immobilizes my brain. She squints at me like I’m still speaking, like she’s still listening.
“Okay,” she begins. “Well, I have a car and I’d be more than happy to drive us. So, that problem’s solved. What’s the next one?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I get the feeling you have at least four or five more complications lined up.” She lowers her chin and raises her eyebrows at me. “And unless one of those complications is that you can’t stand me and you don’t want anything to do with me, then let’s save ourselves some breath, not to mention mental energy.” She stares at me, waiting for a response. “That’s not the real problem, is it?” she finally asks.
“No,” I tell her. “Of course not. That’s not it at all.”
“Okay, then. It’s settled! I’ll pick you up at eight.” She starts walking away before I can say anything else.
“I’ll try, all right?” My voice gets lost in the noise of the hall, so I’m not sure if she hears me, until she turns around.
From the other side of the hall she yells, “Something tells me if you really try, you’ll make it happen.”
“Do I have to dress up?” I call out.
“Nope,” she answers. She’s grinning now—she knows she has me. “Adorably frustrating!” she calls out as she rounds the corner.
“So, are you actually going to this homecoming thing?” Tyler whispers next to me in chem lab as the teacher writes out formulas for our experiment on the board at the front of the room.
“I don’t know, probably not.” I glance over at him for a second while I try to decipher the numbers and letters and symbols on the board.
“That’s not what Dani says.” He twists in his chair so that he’s facing me, not even pretending to pay attention.
“She doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer.”
I can feel him staring at the side of my face. When I turn to look at him again, he’s narrowing his eyes at me.
“What?”
“Can I just ask you something, once and for all?” he whispers, leaning in.
I shrug. “I guess.”
He hesitates but then says, “Are you?”
“Am I . . . what?” I whisper back, keeping my eyes on the board.
He scowls, letting out this loud sigh that turns heads in our direction. “Are. You?”
“Am I what?” I repeat, getting annoyed that he’s distracting me from my notes.
“Shhh!” someone hisses from the front of the room.
“Oh man,” he breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose like his eyes hurt from staring at me so intently. “Okay. I am,” he says pointedly, which finally makes me look up at him.
“You are . . . ?”
“Oh my God,” he gasps. “Gay, Brooke. You knew that, right? Please tell me you’re not that clueless.”
“Oh.” I look down at my notes, then back to the board, anywhere but at him. “Right. Yeah. I mean, I guess. I mean, I guess I didn’t really think about it,” I lie.
“So?” He nods slowly. “I’m asking, are you?”
“You’re asking if I’m—if I’m g-g-g—” The word gets stuck in my throat, and then I can’t finish because he bursts out laughing. Loudly.
“I’m sorry if my lesson is getting in the way of comedy hour back there!” our teacher yells, hand on hip. “Don’t make me separate you—this isn’t preschool!”
“We’re sorry,” Tyler apologizes, still giggling. “Won’t happen again.” When she turns back around, he stutters, “G-g-g-g-g—” accompanied by a full-body shudder, like he’s being electrocuted.
“Shut up,” I whisper, people turning to stare at us again.
“So, are you?” he whispers so quietly I can barely hear him, even though I’m right next to him.
I open my mouth, but I have no idea what to say. “I don’t know,” I finally tell him.
He raises his eyebrows and turns his head slightly, looking at me like that’s not a real answer. Except that’s the only answer I can give him. To say no would be a lie, but yes would be to cross that line between fantasy and reality, and I’m pretty sure that there would be no turning back. I don’t think I’m ready to be that real yet.
“I don’t know, okay?” Now someone shushes me. “Is that not allowed?” I ask, feeling defensive, hearing it in my voice.
“It’s allowed. Just a friendly inquiry,” he says, pivoting in his seat to face the front of the room again. He hitches his chin in the direction of the board. “Hey, quit messing around and pay attention, will you? My life is in your hands, remember?” he jokes, laughing quietly to himself.