“Yeah,” she said. “I definitely can.”
GABBY
Saturday night, by the combined miracle of lying and luck, Gabby found herself alone with Shay in an empty house, watching Shay whisk together carbonara with terrifying efficiency while Gabby fidgeted and tried not to swallow her own tongue.
“I think you should do it,” Shay said, oblivious. She meant the summer program. Gabby had made the mistake of mentioning it—just as a throwaway,isn’t that a cool funny thing I will never really do—and now Shay wouldn’t let it go. “Really, Gabby-Girl, I think it would be good for you.”
“Goodfor me?” Gabby asked, making a face. “I don’t even want to go, remember? Also, you sound like my guidance counselor.”
Shay grinned. “Mood killer?”
“No,” Gabby said immediately, then looked down at the cheese grater so Shay wouldn’t see her blush. “Seriously though, this is overkill,” she heard herself repeat for the third time, gesturing around them at the food and the dimmed lights and two juice glasses full of siphoned wine.“You don’t have to, like, romance me.”
“Idefinitelyhave to romance you,” Shay said, shoving a mass of hair out of her face and frowning at the pasta. She was wearing more makeup than usual too, a slick of deep, purply lipstick that matched the wine. Gabby shivered and grated more cheese.
“Wait,” Shay said, pointing the whisk at Gabby. “Hang on. Do you mean I don’t have to romance you in a ‘Shay, I’m embarrassed’ way, or a ‘Shay, I want to skip dinner’ way?” She looked startled, as if the second meaning had never occurred to her. She’d refused to stand still for even a second since Gabby got here, flitting around the kitchen like a very tall, very nervous bird. She was wearing her heels and a strappy black top Gabby had never seen before.
Gabby laughed, and suddenly it was easy. “Shay, I want to skip dinner.”
Shay blew out a long breath and reached over to chug her wine. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
She led Gabby upstairs by the hand, the whole house silent and breathless and waiting. When Gabby had first come over she’d thought it looked like something out of a Wes Anderson movie, all dark wood trim and hidden cupboards and glass doorknobs; if you craned your neck you could see the Hudson River from the window in the third-floor bath. There were knickknacks on every available surface, antique vases and a giant kaleidoscope and a marble bust of some Victorian countess holding court on the built-ins beside theTV. The clutter would have made Gabby’s mom insane, but Gabby herself kind of loved it.
Of course, that could have been because Shay lived here.
Her room was up on the third floor like a treehouse, fluffy white duvet cover and an ancient papasan chair loaded with pillows, her cello leaning up against one corner in its case. “You know you don’t have to, right?” she asked when they reached her bedroom door. Her eyes were mascara-wide.
Gabby laughed. “What, you think you’re pressuring me?” They’d been together a year now, but for whatever reason Shay had decided that since she was a senior and had slept with girls before it meant she was the one in pursuit here, wheedling Gabby to take her bra off at the end of prom night. Standing here in front of Shay and her fancy heels, Gabby kind of thought she had that backward. “Lie down,” she said, and for just a minute she wondered if this was what it was like to be Ryan, talking girls out of their clothes.
The two of them landed in a heap on the mattress, both giggling as Shay wriggled out of her dark, skinny jeans. The first time Gabby had pulled Shay’s shirt off, she’d been expecting to find grown-up underwear beneath, satin or lace or all-black, but instead Shay’s bra had been neon pink and printed with peace signs. It made Gabby feel deeply, frighteningly fond of her. “Nice bottoms,” she said now, helping Shay off with them—baby blue with tiny pugs.
“Thanks,” Shay murmured. “Keeping the romancealive.” Her lipstick was smudged all down her chin but somehow it only made her look better. Gabby’s heart was kicking in a door deep inside her chest.
“Is this okay?” she asked after a few minutes, resting her cheek against Shay’s inner thigh. “I mean, am I doing it right?”
Shay reached down and traced the line of Gabby’s jaw gently. “Yeah, Gabby,” she promised, her voice pleasingly breathless. “You’re doing it right.”
Afterward they hid out under the covers and watched Netflix, sharing a carton of ice cream Shay had scavenged from downstairs. “I kind of love you,” Shay said quietly, lacing their fingers together. Her nail polish was chipping, a floss-thin ring around her thumb.
Gabby propped herself up on one elbow. “Kind of?”
“Not kind of,” Shay amended. “I—yeah. Not kind of.”
“That’s convenient, then,” Gabby mumbled, burying her face in Shay’s warm, lavender-smelling neck and closing her eyes, wanting to stay here forever. “Because I love you back.”
RYAN
In a cavernous function room at a Knights of Columbus hall on the other side of Colson, Ryan was attempting to finagle himself a second slice of birthday cake from a cater waiter when Chelsea put her carefully manicured hands on hisshoulders. “Come on,” she said cheerfully, then sang along with the song the DJ was blaring: “‘I will teach you the Electric Slide.’”
Ryan laughed, tilting his head back to look at her. “You will, huh?”
“I will!” Chelsea crowed, pulling him toward the middle of the scrum on the dance floor. The DJ swirled purple lights around the crowded parquet, illuminating a sea of girls in tight dresses and dudes in badly-knotted ties. AHappy Sweet Sixteen, Taliabanner was strung up along one wall. “It’s electric.”
“Boogie-woogie-woogie,” Ryan answered dutifully, but he was smiling. He knew the Electric Slide, actually—he and his mom used to do it in their socks in the living room when his dad was out, the two of them eating popcorn for dinner and watchingFinding Nemoon DVD—but he let Chelsea show him anyhow. He liked that she wanted to: it was maybe the thing he liked most about her, how she was confident enough to let herself look silly in front of other people in the name of a good time.
Well, Ryan thought, gazing at the lacy blue dress she was wearing, her strappy sandals. There were some other things he liked more than that, possibly.
“Ryan,” Chelsea said, and Ryan realized he hadn’t been listening.
