Дэвид Левитан - Boy Meets Boy

Molly Ringwald makes me think of Kyle. Judd Nelson makes me think of Kyle. Even the goddamn principal makes me think of Kyle.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Then I realize something. Noah seems just as distracted. After Ally Sheedy throws her ham at the statue, I leave the room to reheat the pizza. Noah follows me.

"What's up?" I ask, scared that he's caught on to me, that he's going to boot me out for mental disloyalty.

"I have a confession to make," he says. "It's hard for me to watch that movie."

"Why?"

"The first time I went over to . . . well, Pitt's house, we watched it."

I look at his pained, solemn expression. And then I burst out laughing. Not because it's funny (although in many ways it is). Because I feel a release.

"I know exactly how you feel," I say, briefly mentioning Kyle (not by name, and not including more recent events).

The night is saved.

We stay in the kitchen for the rest of the video. Noah breaks out a Winnie the Pooh cookbook and we decide to make lemon squares.

"You two are insane," Claudia pronounces when the movie is over and she comes into the kitchen to find us covered with powdered sugar and flour.

"Why, thank you," Noah says. I curtsy. Claudia says she's going to sleep.

Perhaps it's Claudia's presence right over our heads, but Noah and I keep our affections quiet for the rest of the night. We relish the briefest of touches—brushing against each other as we take the lemon squares out of the oven, skimming hand over hand when we reach to turn off the oven, pressing arm against arm as we wash out the mixing bowls.

His parents aren't home yet when it's time for me to leave. Tiredness has crept into our conversation.

"Meet me before the morning bell," I say, reaching up to touch his hair.

"I'll be there," he replies, ruffling me back, kissing me good-bye.

As I walk back outside, I take a deep breath. Sure, Kyle's still in the back of my mind. But I think I can manage to keep Noah in the front.

Things Unsaid

When I see Noah on Monday morning, I can tell that something has shifted within me, within him, and within us. Before, it was all about hope and anticipation. Now it's about hope, anticipation, and proximity. I want to be close to him—not out of some vague notion of what it would be like, but because I have already been close to him and I don't want that to stop.

We talk about our mornings and leave so many things unsaid: the choreography of our note passing, our happiness in seeing each other, a little of our fear, our desire to keep our displays of affection private. The first bell rings, and I'm not sure what we'll do—is there a way to acknowledge our newfound closeness without being one of those couples who can't get through the day without a loud hallway snog?

It's Noah who finds the answer, without me having to ask the question. "I'll see you later," he says, and as he does, he runs his finger briefly over my wrist. It passes over me like air, and makes me shiver like a kiss.

I walk into French class feeling very, very lucky.

"Good weekend?" Joni asks once I sit down in front of her.

"Great weekend," I reply.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you. I was with Chuck."

Of course you were.

Before she can say any more, Ms. Kaplansky begins her conjugations. We continue our conversation in folded, college-ruled form.

Chuck and I went to the driving range. I wanted to mini-golf, but he said that was for wusses.

So he taught me how to swing. After a while, he started calling me his eighteenth hole. Then he took me to the nicest place for dinner, and he was so sweet about it. He tried to order us drinks, but the waitress just laughed. Chuck was steamed for a while about that, but I cheered him up. Did you go out with your lover boy?

Yes. Noah and I spent Saturday together. It was groovy. I like him a lot.

I want juicy details.

I had Tropicana for breakfast this morning. Without pulp.

That's not what I meant. Fine. Be secretive. Like I keep anything from you. By the way, Ted's started to stalk me. Chuck and I are very upset by it.

What do you mean?

I mean, he keeps calling me and dropping by my house. One time I was there with Chuck, and Chuck almost pummeled him. I mean, doesn't Ted get it? I'm through with him. Through.

Perhaps he's hurting. [I am thinking for a moment of Kyle] Yes, he's hurting ME and my relationship with Chuck.

At this point, Ms. Kaplansky announces a pop quiz. We all groan and clear off our desks. Ms.

Kaplansky has an uncanny habit of asking us to translate phrases into French that we would never, ever use in English.

1. Sir, are you familiar with the works of Australifl immaker Gillian Armstrong?

2. He was predisposed to believe that she had a candigfiestion.

3. I am amazed by the size of that ostrich.

When Ms. Kaplansky is distracted, I turn and look at Joni. I don't see any softness there. I know it's Ted and not me she's angry with. But the anger still surprises me. If I can still feel vulnerability and tenderness towards Kyle (who dumped my sorry ass), then why can't Joni feel something less than hostility towards Ted, who she's left behind?

These questions haunt me throughout the day. Noah and I pass notes between every period, little observation installments to tide us over until the next real conversation. I see Ted and he looks awful— sleepless and dressed to depress. He mumbles a near-silent hello to me, then passes like a defeated shadow. I would rather have him tease me. I would rather have him yell.

Lyssa Ling makes an announcement during homeroom that the committee sign-ups for the Dowager Dance have been posted along side the jukebox in the cafeteria. Infinite Darlene confides in me that she was the first to sign up for my committee, and that she's already planning what to wear for the first meeting. (I assume this means I should figure out when the first meeting will be; I haven't thought that far ahead.) She spits some venom about Joni and Chuck, who she's decided to call Truck, "since the other alternative is just too obscene for a lady like myself." Later in the day, Chuck walks past me. Out of allegiance to Joni, I say hello. He doesn't acknowledge me. I turn to watch him walk away. A minute later, Joni comes bounding into his arms. He acknowledges her . . . but not as much as she is acknowledging him. She is too enthusiastic to notice. Or perhaps I'm reading him wrong.

I don't encounter Kyle until our planned meeting in the chem lab after school. When I told Noah I would be meeting him thirty minutes later than usual, he didn't even ask me why. I feel guilty, both because of the truth I didn't volunteer and because I know that if I had been in his place, I would've asked.

Kyle and I sit at one of the chem tables; the words of our conversation will fall from the air into empty glass beakers, awaiting invisible measure. Behind Kyle, the equation-strewn board hangs like cryptic wallpaper. Neither Kyle nor I take chemistry. I figured this would be neutral ground.

I study his face—the close-cropped black hair, the scatter-freckles, the shadow-hint stubble.

He looks different than when I last really knew him. His features have lost some fierceness.

His angles are not so sure of themselves.

"I'm sorry for springing that on you in the video store," he begins, his voice steady and low.

"That's not how I'd planned it to be."

"How did you plan it to be?" I ask, not to be snarky but because I am genuinely curious.

"I planned it to be a million different things," he replies. "And in the end, I couldn't figure which one it should be."

"But now you've told me." Part of me is still expecting him to take it all back, for this to be his one last cruel trick on my mind.