Operation Recovery was underway. I spent the entire week in distraction mode, never letting Jake out of my sight, and making sure to cram every moment we had with the two things he liked the most: skating and acting. Most of the time, we did both at the same time.
“It helps to vary the setting you practice in,” Jake had told me before. “That way you get the lines down no matter what you’re doing; it frees you up for improvisation.”
With that in mind we’d started going over our lines whenever and wherever we were, and today, we were skating.
We didn’t go to the skate park. Lucas insisted that we hit some street terrain because he’d finally got that new lens for his camera and he wanted some dynamic new angles to record. So we caught the bus to Central Avenue, where another bus would take us to downtown Phoenix, as street as street terrain could get. Technically, skating was prohibited on private property, but so long as we didn’t loiter or get in anyone’s way we were usually left alone. And besides, who really could tell where private property ended and public began in a place as big as Phoenix?
“At this same ancient feast of the Capulet’s sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so loves,” I said as Jake and I lounged in our seats toward the middle of the bus, next to a pair of girls and a few guys I didn’t know. “With all the admired beauties of Verona. Go thither, and with unattainted eye compare her face with some that I shall show, and I will make thee think thy swan a crow.”
I had to keep reading from my script and my speech was choppy, but Jake didn’t criticize. It helped me when I translated what Benvolio was saying into modern English. Basically, here I was telling Romeo that I would show him girls way prettier than Rosaline.
“When the devout religion of mine eye maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires,” he said easily. “And these, who, often drowned, could never die, transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun ne’er saw her match since the world first begun.”
For clarity’s sake, I also translated Jake’s lines. Basically: there were no women more beautiful than Rosaline.
I heard whispering from behind us, and looked around. “Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“They’re watching you.”
“Who is?”
I nodded covertly to the two girls were sitting two seats behind us, who were now pretending not to have been looking at Jake. The braver of the pair smiled.
“Are you guys . . . quoting Romeo and Juliet?” she asked.
I held up my script. “Rehearsing for a play. Well, he is.”
“That’s so cool,” the girl said. She looked about our age. “Who are you playing?”
“He’s Romeo.”
The girl’s smile widened. “He looks like a Romeo.”
I could see Jake blushing from the corner of my eye. Our stop was coming up, and I tugged the cord. “Nice talking with you,” I said as the bus stopped and Jake and I filed off the bus. Both of them waved, and as I got off I heard one of them talking about how cute “he” was.
One guess as to who they were talking about.
Kyle and Liam were waiting for us at the Central stop. “What took you guys so long?” asked Kyle, waving a soda at us.
“Sorry,” said Jake.
“We weren’t even here that long,” said Liam, without looking up from his phone. “Elliott, is ‘sexiness’ a real word?”
“Yes.”
When we got to Central Station, we all were sure to carry our boards dutifully under our arms. There were tons of college kids riding their longboards downtown. But the station, at least, was a definite no trick zone; transit security here wouldn’t hesitate to confiscate a board the second it even looked like you might pop an ollie.
Lucas was on the other side of the station with his bulky camcorder, filming a bunch of pigeons fighting over a Dorito.
“Check this thing out,” he said, waving us over and hoisting his camera proudly. “Meet the .3x Ultra Fisheye. The Death Lens, as they call it. This sucker cost me an arm and a leg.”
“And you film birds with it?” Kyle asked.
“I think it’s awesome,” Jake said.
“Wait till you see the footage,” Lucas said.
We skated down Central. Aside from the college kids and the handful of tourists, there weren’t many people downtown on a Saturday. We pulled over to take turns flinging ourselves off a nice set of steps—six stairs, bare and wide—before finding a parking lot buttressed by a low rail to grind off of. I nailed a sweet nosegrind nollie flip—skating parallel to the rail, then flinging myself over it, slamming the nose of my board down and riding it out before bouncing away, flipping my board underneath me as I came down.
“It’s in the can!” Lucas shouted. The whole time he’d been crouched level with the rail, almost underneath me as I’d gone over.
We circled in the lot for a while, popping ollies or manuals, trying not to fall victim to the potholes and the rocks.
“Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,” I said as I wound around an old tire. “Herself poised with herself in either eye. But in that crystal scales let there be weighed your ladies love against some other maid.”
I had to stop to pull my script out of my knapsack. “That I will show you shining at the feat, and she shall scant show well that now shows best.”
The poetic way to say, “If you compared Rosaline to other girls I’m sure you’d see that she wasn’t all that pretty.”
“I’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,” said Jake without breaking stride as he kickflipped over a moldy stack of newspapers, “but to rejoice in splendor of mine own.”
Translation: I’ll go, but only to see Rosaline.
We ran through the scene a few more times.
“You aren’t half bad,” Jake said cheerily as we skated on. “You really should have auditioned for a role. I’m sure Ms. Wright would have cast you.”
“Yeah, right.”
Eventually we skated to a Walgreens. I waited outside with Lucas while the others went in to buy water and snacks. He didn’t say a word. It was rare for Lucas get quiet for more than a few moments at a time, but he suddenly went stone silent. It worried me.
“Hey, Elliott?” he said eventually. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something . . .”
“What’s up?” I asked nervously. But Lucas smiled, and while it wasn’t quite one of his cavalier, devil-may-care smiles, it was still encouraging.
“It’s about Nicole,” he said.
“Oh no,” I moaned. “Is she bothering you too now?”
“She asked me out, yeah.”
“Sorry about that. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I said yes.”
“Wait . . . what?” I must have heard wrong. I had to have heard wrong. Either that or this was some elaborate joke, which coming from Lucas wasn’t that surprising.
“I said yes,” he repeated. Completely straight faced. Not a drop of humor in his voice. My jaw dropped. “I wanted to be the one to tell you. I know you guys go way back, and I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything between you two. I mean, she said there wasn’t on her end, but I’d feel better hearing the same from you.”
I cracked up. “Really? You and Nicole? I mean—no, of course there’s nothing between us; there was never anything between us. There won’t ever be anything between us. But really? You two? What’s that about?”
This time it was Lucas who cracked up. “It’s about . . . I dunno, companionship.”
“Companionship? Lucas, you’ve got more friends than anyone else I know.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about a real, intimate relationship. Don’t tell me you haven’t looked at some of the couples we know and wanted what they have.”
“But you’ve had girlfriends before. And Nicole of all people? I wouldn’t think the two of you had anything in common.”
“Look, bro, I know how you feel about her, but has it ever occurred to you that maybe you don’t know people as well as you think you do? So she’s a little intense. Being passionate is a good thing. She knows what she wants and she goes for it. I can appreciate that. People spend so much time looking for the perfect girl that they look past the right one. I’m not going to do that.”
I shook my head at him. “Whatever you say.” I held up a hand, and we exchanged a fist bump.
“So, we’re cool, right? No hard feelings or weirdness?”
“Nope. I’m actually kind of relieved.”
“You should hang with us some time. Maybe now that she’s not trying to jump your bones you can see that she’s a really cool person.”
I wasn’t sure I was ready to play the third wheel again, so as the others came out of the store, I responded with an ambiguous, “Maybe.”
“The cashier was totally flirting with Mr. Cheekbones here,” said Kyle.
“And he didn’t even try to get her number,” added Liam.
“No, she wasn’t,” Jake said bashfully as he offered me a water bottle.
“Just as well,” said Kyle. “It’s not like he’s single anyway.”
“Or is it?” asked Liam. “Are you and Bridget a thing or are you not labelling it?”
Jake’s face darkened.
“Why don’t we keep going,” I blurted. “I think there are some nice stairs up ahead.”
“We aren’t anything,” Jake murmured.
I tossed him a shocked look and everyone froze, staring wide-eyed at him.
“What do you mean?” asked Liam. “Like, you were something but you’re not anymore, or you never were anything?”
“Just forget it,” I said.
“I don’t honestly know,” Jake admitted. He stared at the ground, kicking pebbles while everyone exchanged awkward looks.
“Sorry, bro,” said Lucas.
“We didn’t know,” said Kyle and Liam at the same time.
Jake shook his head and squared his shoulders. “It’s no big deal,” he said with a forced smile. “It’s done, either way. C’mon, I came here to shred.”
He dropped his board and kicked off. The others looked to me for a reaction. All I could do was shrug and skate after him. The others followed. So much for Operation Recovery.
* * *
Two days into the break, and Jake was still in denial. The only thing he ever wanted to talk about was the play. Watching him rehearse was its own show. It was hard to see him as my cousin when he was in his role; he simply became Romeo. And yet, there were times when I knew that the real Jake was seeping through. These instances were never more apparent than when he shared the stage with Juliet.
The first time I noticed this was while working through act one, scene five The Montagues were crashing the Capulet party, and Romeo had just laid eyes on Juliet for the first time. Jake’s face was exactly the way it had been back at Lucas’s party when he’d first met Bridget; the wide eyes, the look of amazement, the half-opened mouth. He froze, awestruck, as Juliet walked past with her entourage.
“What lady is that which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?” he asked. He took a slow step forward, orienting himself to Juliet as she walked on, staring at her with such longing that there was no doubt in my mind about who he was really thinking about, who he was really seeing when he looked at her. “Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows as yonder lady o’er her fellow shows.”
Watching from my seat, I noticed that the entire theater had fallen still as everyone braced for his next lines. “The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, and, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”
I looked to Tybalt, but he didn’t speak. Everyone seemed to have been caught up in Jake’s poetic delivery. The looks on many of the faces told me that he had just made himself a whole new set of admirers. Even Ms. Wright was wringing her script, hopping in place and smiling ecstatically. I looked at Jake, but he was in full Romeo mode now.
Juliet, at the very least, seemed to very much enjoy his delivery, and was watching him approvingly.
Maybe, I thought, there’s hope for Jake yet.
* * *
Four days into the weeklong break I learned that school being out didn’t free me from my obligations to The Quill when I got a text from Christian that had been sent to the entire paper staff. He wanted us all to meet at his house for a mandatory staff meeting. Whatever that meant.
Lucas called me a few minutes after I’d read the text, offering to pick me up. I accepted, only to immediately regret it when I remembered that Nicole would probably be with him. I had to admit though, that I was curious as to how they were doing. I still couldn’t picture the two of them together, and I was convinced that they wouldn’t last the whole break together. Despite what Lucas thought, I knew Nicole as well as I knew him, and I was certain they were not compatible. Pretty soon I’d be helping him get over a relationship gone sour, too.
It took him longer than it usually did to get to my house, and I was waiting in the driveway when he pulled up. Sure enough, Nicole was with him. I wondered how awkward our interactions would be now that she was officially off the market, but she gave me a perfectly polite, “Hey, Elliott,” and scooted over to make room for me.
Lucas’s truck had never seemed smaller. They were holding hands when I climbed in, which I tried to take as a good sign. I wondered what kind of sea creature she considered him to be.
We drove in silence for the first few minutes—just Lucas, Nicole, me, and the humongous elephant in the truck. I tried to figure out how to frame my questions so that I didn’t come across as a skeptic, but that was difficult, because I was absolutely a skeptic. Finally I decided on something generic.
“So . . .” I began, staring out the passenger window, “how are you both . . . enjoying the break?”
“It’s been spectacular,” said Nicole with as much conviction as she could squeeze out of her voice. “We’ve been having so much fun.”
I tried not to imagine what that meant, but found that even if I tried, I couldn’t. What could Lucas and Nicole possibly enjoy doing together?
“I’ve been reading the blog,” said Lucas as he drove. “You guys do some good work. Hey, did you know Nicole and I are trying to get into the same school?”
I frowned. “No . . .”
“The Art Institute of Phoenix,” she said excitedly. “He’s going for photography, I’m going for web design. Isn’t that weird?”
“How about that.” It was all I could say, because my first reaction—“That’s unfortunate, considering the two of you will have broken up long before then”—somehow didn’t feel appropriate.
Nicole gave the directions, and we pulled onto what I assumed to be Christian’s block, stopping outside a large house that looked like it was in the process of being swallowed by a garden. The front yard was a labyrinth of perfectly groomed bushes and shrubbery. There were flowers of all different colors, and trees that converged to form a canopy over the walkway. The few cacti disbursed among the plants were the only things that seemed to belong here, in the middle of a desert.
I climbed reluctantly out of the truck. “This is like the Little Shop of Horrors,” I said as we fought our way through the foliage. We made it unscathed to the door and rang. After thirty seconds of awkwardly standing there, the door cracked open, and Christian met us on the porch wearing a white linen shirt.
“So glad you could make it,” he said as he welcomed us inside, where we were hit by the icy blast of the AC.
Being inside Christian’s house reminded me of being at a tea party. The walls were a soft baby blue, the tables and chairs were milky white with floral designs etched into them, and there were lace trimmings on the curtains and tablecloths. To our left was a large bay window, and the right corner of the room was taken up with a grand piano. There were exotic-looking plants everywhere.
“That makes everyone, I believe,” Christian said. “We do have a new addition. You all know Darcy Fitzwilliam, I presume?”
My stomach dropped, but this time it had more to do with the frequency and improbability of our paths colliding—again—than any irritation by that fact.
The rest of the paper staff were here, scattered around the large foyer, and sure enough, there was Darcy, occupying the corner of a large, squishy-looking couch all by herself. She looked as uncomfortable as I had ever seen her, but when our eyes met something changed. She sat up straighter and her frown lost some of its severity. She watched me with a guarded expression as Christian gestured to two wicker chairs arranged facing Darcy’s couch and the piano, in front of which Christian seated himself.
“I’ve asked Miss Fitzwilliam here to join us as my assistant editor,” Christian explained. “Temporarily, of course. She has a keen and critical eye that I know will benefit us all.”
Critical eye. That was the understatement of the year.
Christian noticed me looking at the piano and patted it paternally. “Studies show that those who play instruments are, on average, smarter than those who don’t,” Christian said as he ran his fingers along the keys. Then he turned to me. “Do you play?”
“Do you?”
“In my youth,” he said with a rueful sigh, as if his youth was some bygone era lost to the mists of time. “I’m far too busy now, but had I stuck with it I’d be playing Carnegie Hall by now. I was most gifted, but my true talents lie in my ability to perceive greatness. Some have an eye for beauty, others for fashion, but I have an eye for uniqueness. That’s what drew me to Darcy. She, like myself, is of a unique pedigree.”
I stifled a laugh. “Which pedigree is that?”
Darcy didn’t respond, but Christian was all too eager to. “Darcy, for one, can hold an intelligent conversation. She is one of the few people I’ve met who does not bore me to tears. Normal things bore me; I simply find no delight in normalcy. For me, it must be unique, and Darcy is most definitely unique. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing sidelong at Darcy, who was watching me out of her peripheral, with her face toward the bay window. “Sure.”
“My brother plays the cello,” said Christian. “Andrew, bring me my laptop so we can get started. Maybe later you can play us something.”
“Cool,” said the big oaf as he dutifully snapped to attention and lumbered off. I still couldn’t picture him playing a cello of all things, and I almost wanted to see it for myself, just to be sure Christian wasn’t lying about it.
“It’s good to have a pair of strong arms around to do the heavy lifting for you,” he said. “Darcy, you’d do well to find yourself a strapping young man such as my brother.”
Darcy looked at me with a straight face and said, “I’ll be sure to do that.”
Christian’s eyes flickered to Darcy, then to me, and something he saw must have annoyed him because he gave a slight huff and said, “A unique personage such as Darcy here could only ever be matched with an equally unique individual, isn’t that right?” This time his question was directed solely at me.
“Oh, I couldn’t agree more,” I said with a grin. Christian was so over-the-top asinine that he was hilarious now instead of annoying. Beside me Lucas chuckled, and, though her hand concealed most of her mouth, I saw the edges of Darcy’s lips curled upwards.
Christian nodded obliviously, satisfied with my apparent agreement as Andrew returned with his Macbook. “Right, now, I’ve been reviewing the way we format our pages, and I think we need to give more attention to our images. We need visuals that pop, dynamic angles that complement the words. Now, Lucas, I know you’re the photographer, not me—although I think I have some skill there—and I’ve snapped a few examples for you, just so you can see what I’m envisioning.”
Lucas rolled his eyes, but he got up and stood behind Christian’s laptop so he could look. Judging by the way his nose wrinkled up I could only assume that Christian was not as gifted with the camera as he thought he was. Nicole stood beside him, recording every syllable that came out of his mouth, and Andrew was tinkering with his phone. Everyone else seemed to know what they needed to do and broke off into their little groups to work, leaving Darcy and myself as the only ones with nothing to do.
I took out my notepad and tried to write, but the words wouldn’t come. I was distracted, mostly by Darcy. After a while I gave up and started staring at the plants—the leaves, the stems, the flowers. Then I stared at the floor. I tried to write again, but I came up with nothing. All the while, Darcy was looking out the window. My throat was dry. I swallowed, and I could swear I heard the saliva. I tried counting down from a hundred. Then up to a hundred. Then reciting the multiples of eleven.
Suddenly Darcy got up and crossed the room to sit in the chair Lucas had vacated. “We’re not friends, Christian and I,” Darcy said in an almost whisper. “At least not in the real sense of the word. He prattles. And he’s been trying to convince me to go to this stupid Winter Formal with his brother for weeks now.”
I looked over at Andrew. A line of sweat had condensed on his upper lip. The thought of Darcy going dancing with him stirred an unfamiliar feeling inside me. I was almost . . . angry? “Why don’t you?”
“Not my type.”
“Right.” I laughed, “Your list.”
“Lists change,” she said, looking me square in the eyes as she said it.
“Do they?”
“I’m a girl. Of course they do.”
Change to what? I wondered. And I couldn’t help but hope that her revised list of expectations was more aligned with what I might be expected to achieve. For some reason Lucas’s words from before popped into my head. People spend too much time searching for the perfect person that they look right past the right one. Was that what Darcy was doing? Wasn’t the right person the perfect person? How did you know the difference?