Aaron doesn’t leave immediately. Maybe he wants to talk for whatever reason. Well, I don’t have many people to talk to, and I might as well try to kill time until I meet up with R. He said that he’ll email me later once he’s found a secure place.
“I’m surprised you’re not drinking,” I say. “You seem like the party type.”
He frowns.
“I mean, since your friends are,” I try to explain. “And you just look like that kind of guy.”
“What kind of guy?”
I shrug. “The type to party, watch football, drink beer, and go to the gym…”
I’m painting a picture of what I think the average eighteen-year-old in Easton would be like, but Aaron’s frown deepens, like I’m insulting him.
“You shouldn’t make assumptions,” he says in a quiet voice that makes me feel guilty. Why did I say that? I’m essentially calling him basic and unoriginal. How would I feel if someone called me an uptight nerd? Sure, it might be somewhat true, but it’s way too much of an oversimplification.
“Sorry. I didn’t —” I cut myself off. “You look good,” I finish helplessly.
His eyes flash wide for a second. “Right. Sure.”
“I mean it. I like your top.” God, what am I saying? Usually, I’m way more in control of myself.
“Yeah, okay.” He turns away and I grab his arm.
“Aaron. Listen. We haven’t really talked since that time we had pizza, and it was so helpful of you to get me that job, and I paid you back by being hostile to you and your friends, and I’msorry. And I apologise for calling you unattractive — I just said it because I felt like I was on the spot, and I really didn’t mean it —”
“It’s okay,” he says, gently pulling his arm from my grip. “You don’t have to say all this.”
“But I mean it,” I insist. I’m freaking him out with my sincerity, but everything’s rushing out of me now. “You’re not unattractive —”
“Jude,” he interrupts. His eyes soften, but there’s a deep sadness to them, and I feel as if he’s physically reaching into my body and squeezing my heart. “It’s okay. I’ll…” he doesn’t finish the sentence. I watch him walk away.
Later, I’m thoroughly feeling like a piece of shit, which is compounded by the fact I still haven’t received an email from R. Everyone around me is rowdier than ever, and a few minutes ago, Mimi climbed onto the top of the dining table and announced that in half an hour, it would be time to cut the cake and everyone better come to sing happy birthday.
I take out my phone and whip out a quick email.
Hey, just wondering if we’re still meeting tonight? I’m here.
After sending it, I look around at the faces. People’s mouths open as they laugh, shout, or sing, and others feast at the food tables outside. Beyond that, the tennis court has turned into a stage for a dance battle.
One of the people here is R.
About fifteen minutes later, I receive a response.
Hey. Took me a little while to find a place. Come upstairs, down the hallway, to the door at the end. Knock three times, so I know it’s you, and I’ll unlock the door. Close your eyes, then come inside.
My stomach swoops. It’s happening. I force myself to head upstairs slowly and steadily rather than running like a madman.
Coming now. F. x, I type as I walk down the hallway.
At the last door, I knock three times. My heart pounds.
The door clicks as it’s unlocked, and I close my eyes, push the door open, leaving the smallest gap possible for me to slip in, enter, and then shut the door behind me.
When I open my eyes, there’s nothing to see but charcoal black. The curtains are drawn, but Mimi’s house is extra fancy because it has manual shutters to block out all light. In the storage closet, there’d be enough light to make out shadows, but this is even darker.
“R?” I ask.
“I’m here.” He reaches past me, fiddling with the door handle to lock it.
