Thirty-Four
SENIOR YEAR
It’s almost a shame that Noah and I mutually friend-zoned each other, because with his dark hair and smoldering eyes and his suit, the boy cleans up like he stepped right out of an Armani ad.
He’s unusually quiet as a group gathers to take pictures in front of the fountains near the town hall green. The clouds are backlit and turning pink with the sun’s descent, the perfect backdrop for what’s supposed to be a perfect night. Every time a camera or cell phone clicks, I envision the next wave of Ridgedale’s Finest photos. The smiling faces, the arching water, arms around shoulders and hands touching waists. And then I think about what no one else will notice. Like the concerted effort that Ben and Meredith are making to keep as many people between us as possible. Ben never did respond to my text about the bulletin board, and I wonder if he’s angry at me too. Again.
I watch Noah, hooking his finger into the collar of his shirt every five minutes like it’s suffocating him. I wonder if everyone sees it, if they assume it’s because it’s too starched or too tight, or if they have any idea that he doesn’t want to be here.
At least not with me.
I point my lens at the sky to capture one thing that actually is perfect tonight. As I lower my camera, ready to cap it and leave it in Noah’s car in favor of my less cumbersome cell phone camera, I notice someone standing at the edge of the fountain, his own cell phone aimed at the pink plumes. My breath catches when Ben turns around as if he felt my stare. His mouth turns up into a smile, like he knew we’d be thinking the same thing. Like we’re in on the same secret. And I bring my camera to my eye, freezing one more perfect image forever.
* * *
It isn’t long before we’re all filing into the gym entrance. I shoulder my way through the crowd to the bulletin board. Taking in the whole thing, it really is a work of art. Almost the entire school is represented: Athletics, arts, teachers, coaches, and lunch ladies all make appearances in the four-by-four squares. It’s a colorful mosaic, spotlighting the high points of everyday life.
And I get that that’s the point.
Still, I can’t stop myself from zeroing in on that one photo, the memory of Ben and me that has existed only inside my head for the past year. It makes me feel like no time has passed at all, even though the entire board is evidence of the contrary.
“Oh, I see it,” Jadie says, coming up behind me. She motions at the picture with a hand that’s intertwined with Tyrell’s. “No wonder Meredith’s mad. That is ridiculously cute.” She shoots a glance at Noah. “No offense, Pirate Booty.”
Noah smirks. “I was actually thinking the same thing.”
Jadie leans in and, more quietly, says, “Do you want me to take it down?”
I consider it. But in that same second, I spot Ben over Jadie’s shoulder. He eyes the photo, and the Charlotte Brontë quote beneath it: The human heart has hidden treasures, in secret kept, in silence sealed. The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, whose charms were broken if revealed.
His eyes find mine again, and I tell Jadie to leave the picture where it is. And then we let ourselves be carried off by the current of bodies making their way insto the gym.
* * *
Meredith and her crew did a fantastic job with the decorations. I take in the spectacular sight of metallic teal-and-silver streamers twisting and curling from every corner of the room, meeting at the giant disco ball in the center. White Christmas lights twinkle everywhere, and silver and teal balloons float around the room like ghosts.
Noah bats one away as we grab a seat in the bleachers. “Are you sure you’re okay being here?” I ask. “You seem a little out of it.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be here.” But the way he pulls at his collar again makes it hard to believe. “I can’t stop thinking about last night. I wouldn’t blame you for hating me, Mace.”
“Well, I don’t, okay? It’s like I told Joel: Everybody makes mistakes. Let’s deal with it and move on.”
Still, my eyes dart into the crowd, scanning for Meredith. I hope the mention of Joel prevents him from noticing.
“You talked to Joel again?”
I nod. “I can’t make any promises, but I think he’s coming around. He cares a lot about you.”
“He also cares way too much about what other people think. I mean, I get it. I do. I’m bi, and I feel like that’s even harder for people to wrap their heads around. I hid for a while too, because I knew coming out meant facing people who have to make everything a shit show. But Joel is so convinced that his dad is one of them, and he hasn’t even tried to talk to him yet. He spends so much time reading into every little thing his father says, of course he’s going to psych himself out. I just— Would someone really waste all that effort to reverse-psychology their kid into staying in the closet?”
I twist the skirt of my dress around my finger, recalling the way Mr. Hargrove told me that my troubles with algebra were only a matter of “making the wires connect.”
“Obviously I can’t say for sure. But Joel’s dad does have a tendency to make you feel like there’s only one right way to do things.”
No sooner have I finished the thought than Renata and Criselle walk by with their fingers intertwined, mercifully oblivious to the two boys snickering behind their hands in their wake. Realization comes over Noah’s face like the dawn. He drags a hand across his forehead like he’s angry at himself for even asking the question.
“He’s right, isn’t he? My parents didn’t freak out, but that doesn’t mean I know what his are thinking. And then on top of it, I came here and messed with his head even more.” He drops his face into his hands. “Why am I such a dick, Mace?”
I curl my hand into the crook of his arm. “Hey. Quit talking about my friend that way.” I pull gently. “Let’s go take a walk.”
Noah shifts in his seat, but before he can get up, his eyes fall on something near the main doors. I follow his stare right over to Meredith and Ben.
“I need to talk to her,” he says. He stands, despite my best efforts to keep him on the bleacher.
“Don’t. Please? What good will it do to confess now?”
“I’ll leave you out of it. Don’t worry.”
I get to my feet, a good three inches taller than usual, thanks to my shoes. “It’s not that. We both ruined homecoming for her last year. Can we at least pick a different night?”
“What is this ‘we’ crap, Macy? We’ve been over this, and it’s my fault, not yours. Besides, what difference does it make if the damage is already done?” He hazards another glance over his shoulder. “I’m going. After the way Collins looked at you when he walked in, I think he’ll be grateful if I keep her busy for a few minutes anyway.”
He takes off in the direction of one set of doors, and I take the opportunity to slip out through another. The bulletin board has been pulling me like a magnet since I arrived, and I seize the chance to take another look, to really study the stories laid out by Jadie and Renata and Criselle.
But when my gaze falls on a picture of Joel and his dad standing behind a podium on a makeshift stage in the middle of the football field, I have to wonder: what about the stories these pictures have left untold?
“I got us in trouble again,” a voice says behind me, making me jump. I turn to see Ben coming toward me, his hands in the pockets of his tan suit pants.
“Ben. What are you talking about?”
He nods to the bulletin board. “That picture. Why are you acting like you don’t know how it got there?”
The question miffs me. “Because I don’t. It wasn’t part of the project, and that’s the last picture I would put on display knowing that Meredith would see it.”
Ben’s eyes narrow in equal parts confusion and annoyance. “Macy, I slipped that picture into your locker the day of the homecoming game. To—answer your question. About what didn’t happen that night.” He looks from me to the board. “How could it get from there to here without you knowing?”
An image of a pile of photographs landing with a smack at my feet flashes through my mind, and suddenly at least one thing makes sense.
“I already had all the other pictures in my locker. Everything fell out when I opened the door, and I was in a rush, so I stuffed them into a bag without really looking. Then I had to leave before the board was finished. But”—I turn to the image of me kissing his smiling face—“how does that answer my question?”
So tell me, Ben. What didn’t happen that night?
He shakes his head. “The answer’s not in the picture. It’s on it. I wrote something on the back.” He gives a short laugh. “Something you managed not to see.”
“I’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t—” My head swivels from him to the photo. “What did it say?”
“It’s stupid.”
And suddenly I’m seeing his face, not the way it looks right now but a year ago when we had a conversation almost exactly like this one. Right after Joel asked me to homecoming.
Ben? What’s wrong?
Nothing. It’s pointless.
Only, this time I know better than to believe him.
I spot a hall monitor’s desk beneath the trophy case on the opposite side of the entryway, and stride toward it.
“Macy, don’t.” Ben tries to block me, but I swerve around him, dragging the metal legs across the linoleum and up against the cinder blocks beneath the bulletin board. When I throw my clutch down and try to step up onto the desk’s attached seat, his arms circle my waist and he sets me back on the floor. “Look, the way this has all turned out, it’s pretty much a sign that I should never open my mouth. So leave it alone, okay? Tonight’s not the time or the place.”
It’s basically what I said to Noah a few minutes ago. Only, Noah didn’t heed my wishes. But Ben’s looking at me pleadingly, and when his eyes flick down to the locket around my neck, I can’t bring myself to follow in Noah’s defiant footsteps.
At least not in front of Ben.
“Wait until after the dance,” he says. “Can you do that?”
“I think I can handle that.”
“Thank you. Can we go back inside now?”
“Actually, I’m waiting for Noah. We’re going for a walk. If you see him, tell him to meet me outside?” I scoop up my bag and half turn toward the door.
Ben’s shoulders relax, and he nods. “Yeah. I should get back to Meredith anyway.”
He tries to be subtle about checking over his shoulder as he walks away. I wait until the door to the gym slams shut behind him, and then I waste no time kicking off my shoes and scrambling back onto the desk. I chip my nail polish freeing the picture of its staples, but I don’t care. As it comes loose, my clutch vibrates against the surface of the desk. I bend down and pull my phone out to see that Joel has finally responded to the question I texted after he left my bedroom.
I’d asked, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THE LOCKET BELONGED TO A KID?
When I see what he’s written, my heart stops.
BECAUSE IT HAD A PICTURE OF THE SUPERMAN SYMBOL INSIDE.
I steady myself against the wall, holding my phone against the same spot where Ben once drew an S inside the center of a heart. With my other hand, I pull free the photo of Ben and me and turn it over. There, in Ben’s skinny handwriting, is one simple sentence:
I should have kissed you the first time I had the chance.