Дэвид Левитан - Boy Meets Boy

I leave the scroll of words and definitions at Noah's locker at the beginning of the day. At the end of the day, I find a scrap of paper in my own locker. Noah has given me a word of his own invention. literogratumerrimen— thanks for the words On the third day, I give him space.

It's Saturday, and I decide to leave him alone. I put a letter in his mailbox wishing him a good day. I don't want to overwhelm him with everything. I also want to give him (and myself) time to think.

On the fourth day, I give him a song.

Zeke has come -down to the dance hall because he's going to favor us with some tunes for next weekend's dance. I explain my situation to him, and he offers me some of his troubadour vibe. He asks me how I feel about Noah, and I tell him all my thoughts — from the goofy to the sublime, the ridiculous to the tried-and-true. I give him materials of longing, materials of hope, and, like an expert quiltmaker, he sews them together into something grand and entire.

The whole dance committee (all but Kyle, who's opted out of the day) pauses to listen, then breaks out in applause when Zeke is through. Triumphant, he gathers us in his notes and leads us from the school gym into the streets, proud pied piper, swaying and grooving to his strum until we are all on Noah's doorstep, a parade of well-wished well-wishers delivering a song.

Amber pushes me to the front, next to Zeke.

"But I can't sing," I whisper to him.

"I think he'll know it's not from me, even if I'm the one who sings."

We call up to the bedroom. Claudia comes to the door, shoots us all an evil glare, then says Noah is in his studio. We prevail upon her to get him. Finally he comes to his bedroom window.

Zeke's voice fills the air with sweetness. there is a once when I never think twice you give me that, boy you give me that there is a kind which is much more than nice you give me that, boy you give me that and now it's time for me to reveal all the parts of me you've helped become real to feel there is a go that turns into a stay you give me that, boy you give me that there is a dream which goes its own way you give me that, boy you give me that and still sometimes I feel so much fear there are parts of me I want to make clear from here there is a true which never rings wrong I'll give you that, boy I'll give you that there is a word in search of a song I'll give you that, boy I'll give you thatlet me give you that I promise I promise to give you that a dream, a song' a never of wrong a once, a twice a much more of nice a love, a love a floating of love I'll give you that, boy I promise I promise to give you that Throughout the song, Noah looks at me and looks at Zeke. When he looks at Zeke, I study him like you study a baby, waiting for its next expression. When he looks at me, I quickly look away. I cannot hold his glance, not until I know he's meaning for me to have it.

When the song is over, Noah smiles and applauds. Zeke bows slightly, then leads everyone back to the gym. I am the last one to go, watching Noah fade back behind his blinds. I walk slowly, wondering what to do next.

He catches up to me and touches my shoulder.

"You don't have to do this," he says.

I tell him I do.

"I'm showing you," I say.

"Okay," he says.

We leave it at that.

On the fifth day, I give him film.

I use money I've saved to buy twenty rolls of film, some of them black-and-white, some of them bright outdoor color. On the top of each container I write a word from a quote I'd found from an old photographer: Whether looking to mountains or studying the shaofa branch, it is always best to keep your vision clear.

In order to give the film to Noah in a creative way, I need willing accomplices. Tony, Infinite Darlene, Amber, Emily, Amy, Laura, and Trilby are more than happy to help. Even my brother gets into the act, offering to be a delivery boy after I tell him my plan.

Each accomplice gives Noah the film in a unique way Tony starts it all off by calling Noah's cell phone and leaving a riddle that leads him to the first roll, which I've left sitting atop seat

4U in the school auditorium. Infinite Darlene makes fake-fur stoles for her containers and delicately hands them over throughout the day. Amber creates a Kodak-sized slingshot and fires the rolls into Noah's bag when he's not looking (and sometimes when he is). Emily and Amy draw faces on their canisters and give them to Noah as a family unit. Laura places the film in mysterious places where she knows Noah will find it (like stuck to the bottom of his desk). Trilby paints her canister the school colors. My brother, bless his heart, simply walks up to Noah and says, "Here, my brother wanted me to give you this." Perfect.

Even Ted offers to help. He still looks a little unsteady—rumor has it that he's looking for a rebound from his rebound. I've already distributed all the film, so I promise him he's my #1 sub if anyone falls through. Neither of us mentions Joni, but she's there in our every encounter.

It still feels strange not to have Joni on my side. (It's not that she's joined someone else's side — she's just left the field entirely.) I wonder if anyone's told her what's going on. I see her in the halls, always with Chuck, never really looking at me. At this time last year, she was helping me hang signs for the Dowager's Dance, telling me when I'd taped up the posters crooked and helping me fix them. If I could get a sense from her that she missed me — or, at the very least, that she missed our past—.1 would feel better. But this total shutting off makes even the past seem sad and doomed.

On the sixth day, I write him letters.

I know I only have a day left. I know when he leaves me a note thanking me for the film that the time will soon come to talk to him, to see if I have a chance. But instead of confronting it right out, I decide to write him back. At first it starts as a note, telling him I'm sure he'll put the film to good use. Then it turns itself into a letter. I can't stop writing to him. I barely pay attention in any of my classes, pausing only to notice images and incidents that I can share with Noah in the letter. It isn't entirely different from when I was writing him notes in class, before everything happened. But it feels more intense. A note is an update or an entertainment. A letter is giving of a part of your life — an insight into your thoughts beyond mere observations.

I finish the first letter. I bum an envelope off my guidance counselor and seal the pages inside.

Instead of relying on my friends, I deliver it to Noah myself. He seems a little surprised, but not un-receptive. I immediately start the second letter, beginning with the moment I handed him the first letter and what was going through my mind. Suddenly the whole week begins to explain itself—I am telling instead of showing, but that seems okay, since I've already tried to show so much.

I am writing my third letter to Noah in study hall when Kyle sits down across from me. Ever since the cemetery incident, he's dodged me. But now it's clear he wants to talk. I cover the letter I'm writing and say hello.

He's nervous.

"Look," he says, "I don't want it to be this way again."

"Neither do I."

"So what are we going to do?"

I realize at this moment that Kyle is brave, too. I want to be worth his courage.

"We're going to be cool with each other," I say carefully. "We're going to be friends. And I really mean that. Just because I don't think we'd be good together doesn't mean we have to be apart. Does that make sense?"

Kyle nods. "Yeah. The last couple of days I've been talking to Tony. But you probably know that. At first when he called, I thought, what's going on here? It was probably the first time he'd ever called me, except for the times you were over and he was calling for you. I didn't know what to say to him, and he totally understood that. We've been talking a lot now, and the funny thing is that part of me is glad that all this happened, because if I become friends with him and I'm really friends with you, then it's like the good coming out of the bad. And the bad isn't really that bad. I feel silly about the other day. I thought something was there that wasn't. But now maybe I think something's there that's actually there."