A few feet away, Cameron stands rigid, staring at the list, Philip’s arm around his waist. Then he turns, and for a second his eyes meet mine, big and shiny like he wants to cry. His lip even quivers.
And for the briefest of moments, I remember what it was like when we were together, and he got into a nasty fight with his brother and cried on my shoulder. Or his mom threatened to ground him for getting a C on an Algebra II test.
But then his expression hardens. He keeps his eyes fixed on me while he whispers something that makes Philip chuckle. And then they both skulk off toward the stairs.
Whatever. I’m used to it. I ignore them and push my way toward the board.
Sure enough:Mary Magdalene–Tori Tanner.
And just above that:Judas Iscariot–Cameron Haller.
And at the very top:Jesus Christ–Liam Coquyt.
A shoulder brushes against mine. Liam. He’s looking pale, eyes wide with panic, mouth hanging open.
“Hey. The list is up,” I tell him, as if he wasn’t staring at it unblinking.
He nods, silently mouthsJesus Christ. Slowly the shock melts into a smile like the sunrise, and I find myself smiling in sympathy. He deserves this. As he turns to face me, smile even broader somehow, I laugh and say, “I guess I owe you some shmoodies.”
6
Jasmine drops me off at Bowie’s Saturday afternoon, but before I can get out she taps my shoulder.
“Huh?”
“What happened with the play? Did Liam get a part?”
“Musical. And yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask?”
She’s never cared about Theatre before. This crush must be serious.
“You like him.”
“What? No. I just...” She sighs, and it turns into this sweet smile. “He’s really cute.”
“I thought you were focusing on yourself this year.”
She straightens in her seat. “I am. Forget I asked.”
I wave as she drives off. But she definitely doth protest too much.
Jasmine’s never had a crush on one of my friends before. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Still, he’d be a big improvement over her past boyfriends: in personality, and in hygiene, and yeah, in looks too.
Bowie answers the door, dressed in a black crop-top sweaterand black shorts that are almost capris, showing off the rich, dark brown of their legs and stomach. They’ve always been in good shape from swimming, lithe and long, but this last year they’ve actually started to get some abs showing. I try not to be jealous.
They’ve also done their makeup, metallic purple eye shadow and equally vibrant aquamarine lipstick. A plain black headband holds back their twists.
Bowie’s really good-looking, which is maybe why people always think we’re dating. Like, because they’re good-looking, they should want to date people. And like, because Bowie is beautiful, I can’t be just friends with them. According to Bowie, last year, one of the other GSA kids actually told them, to their face, that they “couldn’t wait for you and Jackson to finally hook up.”
I sign hello to Bowie’s mom as we pass the kitchen. Both of their parents are deaf, and I learned ASL from all the afternoons and weekends spent at their house. Well, technically it’s a mix of ASL and BASL, Black American Sign Language, which I didn’t realize until I started talking to white signers, and people said I had an accent. Bowie’s mom had to explain it to me.
She greets me back, asks about school and how Dad and Amy are doing. Her skin is the same rich brown as Bowie’s, and her head is shaved. She has the perfectly shaped head for it. Her hands are small and deft as we talk.
“Mail came,” she tells Bowie as I grab a bag of snack-size Twizzlers from the pantry. The Andersons have started stocking up on Halloween candy early.
