CHANGE 2–DAY 24

At Peregrine Review today, we waded through submissions for the Fall issue.

“This one’s not bad,” I say, holding up a pencil drawing of a bespectacled and backpack-wearing falcon in midair, grasping a bunch of pens with one talon, while writing on a scroll of paper with a quill in the other.

Audrey squints across the table, pinches up her nose.

Aaron glances over, does the same.

“And that’s a no,” I say, mostly to myself, tossing the cover illustration hopeful in the reject pile.

“I vote we stay classy, maybe go with a vintage photograph or something?” Audrey says like she’s asking, but I know better that she means it as a statement. As in, that’s what we’re going to do, no use arguing.

“I was thinking more along the lines of an airbrushed mountain-stream scene, maybe with a grizzly bear clenching a trout in his jaws, like on the side of a van,” I joke.

“Next issue maybe,” Audrey says, and goes back to reading the short story she’s in the middle of.

Aaron pulls out another submission from the pile. I notice the name: Michelle Hu.

“Oh, she’s a great girl,” I say to Aaron almost like a reflex, and Audrey lifts her head, curious. “Michelle Hu, you know her?”

Audrey nods and Aaron sort of nods too, but it’s clear he doesn’t actually know Michelle.

“You know who else is a great girl?” Aud asks suddenly, eyeing Aaron like they have some giant inside joke.

I glance back and forth between them.

“You?” I exclaim after a couple beats, totally serious.

Audrey half-smiles. “That’s not who I was thinking, but . . .” She trails off.

We all go back to perusing our submissions for a few seconds. I take a deep breath. Exhale. Ready, set, go: “I was sort of hoping to do this privately, but since you two Wonder Twins seem to have no secrets . . . I would like to ask if you would accompany me to a movie and dinner this weekend. What do you think?”

“Me?” Audrey spits, then starts cracking up in her endearing way.

“Uh, of course you . . . What? Did I not ask right?”

“No, that was fairly smooth-under-the-guise-of-being-humble. It’s just, my answer is no.”

“Ouch,” Aaron says.

“You have a girlfriend,” Audrey adds then, flatly.

At first I don’t know what she’s talking about, because I have never had a girlfriend, unless you count Audrey herself, but that was last year, when I was an entirely different person and can’t possibly be the reason Audrey has essentially shut me down from even a harmless movie and dinner out.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I finally say.

“Not what I heard,” Aud practically sings, shooting a glance at Aaron, who shrugs like, Don’t ask me, which makes it abundantly clear that he is in fact the source of her information.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I say, feeling a little creeped out that anybody has said anything about me to anyone. Not as creeped out as last year when Jason was spreading rumors about “that slut Drew” around school, but something along those lines.

“You’re not seeing the track star?” Aud asks.

What the hell? My brain is grinding gears trying to figure out exactly how we got here, how one person knew, and now it seems like everybody knows.

“Kenya? No. She’s a good friend, but we’re not going out or anything.” As the words come out I’m realizing how pointless they are. Audrey thinks what she thinks, Aaron thinks what he thinks, heard what he heard from Dashawn, from DJ, from the GD homeroom announcements over the PA this morning. Good morning, Central Falcons! Lunch today is pulled pork and beans. The Books and Blues fundraiser is coming up in two weeks, and, oh yes, Oryon and Kenya are totally a thing!

Audrey seems to sense she’s struck a nerve. “She seems really nice.” She’s trying to be cool, but it only serves to make me feel even more misunderstood than before. If that’s even possible for a Changer.

“She is,” I say. “But we’re not going out.”

Audrey just raises her eyebrows at me—like, what was that supposed to telegraph, that she still doesn’t believe me?—and then Mr. Crowell calls our attention to the front of the room where Chloe and Amanda are presenting some poems (mostly Chloe’s) for us for consider, so the matter is put to bed. For now.

* * *

When I got home, my folks asked if I wanted to go out for Indian after I finished my homework. Sure, why not. I couldn’t really ponder anything except Audrey, and her misconception about me and Kenya. I can’t believe all of the issues that arise from one random moment at a party. It’s making me crazy that Audrey thinks something that’s not true, and Kenya obviously thinks something else that’s not true, and there’s nothing I can do about any of it.

Chicks, man.

Yeah. I said it.

Before I checked my Chem homework online, I made a little deal with myself to log on to my secret e-mail account, or Drew’s e-mail account, for just thirty seconds, to see whether Audrey had written me/Drew back. She hadn’t. But I did, however, notice Aud was also logged in at that very moment. My hand and heart trumped my head and gut.

I opened an instant message and wrote: OMG. I’ve been looking to see when you’d be on here. You really there?

Audrey: Drewwwww!

Me/Drew: Yes it’s meeeee.

Audrey: How’s your new school? Central is sort of blowing, but there are a couple rays of light.

Me/Drew: It sucks. Completely. Without you.

Audrey: Have you made any friends?

Me/Drew: One or two. Not really. You?

Audrey: When I’m not cheering and he’s not playing football (which is almost never) I mostly hang w/Aaron. He’s so sad and lonely without Danny Boy.

Me/Drew: How are they doing?

Audrey: Good. They’re attempting an “open” relationship while Danny’s in Hotlanta. We’ll see how long that works out.

Me/Drew: Lol! Do you like anybody?

Audrey: Like-like?

Me/Drew: Yes, like-like.

There was a long gap in messaging, but I could see she was typing the whole time. Dot-dot-dot. I was prepping for a long response, but then finally:

Audrey: Kind of. Maybe. I’m not sure.

Holy shit. Who does she like-like? Maybe by some miracle or chasm in the universe, it’s me. Oh my god. But if it’s not me, even more Oh my god. Who is it? I have to know.

“Baby!” my dad is suddenly calling from the hall. Wow, I hate when he calls me that, a little habit he started last year when I was Drew and hasn’t really dropped since Oryon showed up. I mean, it’s a little disturbing for a dad to call his fifteen-year-old son baby. “Let’s go!”

“One sec!” I yell back at him through the door. Dang.

Me/Drew: What do you mean you’re not sure?

Audrey: [again after a long pause that practically kills me] I don’t know. It’s just weird, you know, with you, and us and stuff. I mean, it’s probably nothing. Just someone seems to sort of like me.

Me/Drew: Who is it? A guy? Or a girl?

“O!” Mom is now shouting from the hallway. How the heck am I supposed to care about naan and samosas when my own personal Bollywood soap opera is unfolding on a thirteen-inch screen right before me?

Audrey: Guy.

Me/Drew: What’s his name?

Audrey: Come on! I said it’s not even a thing. Tell me something about you.

Me/Drew: Who is this guy? I want all the details.

Audrey: Another time. Srsly, I want to talk about you. I miss you.

Me/Drew: I miss you too.

Audrey: So what are we going to do about that?

Me/Drew: I don’t know.

Audrey: Le sigh.

Me/Drew: Le sigh.

Audrey: I wish you were still at Central. Better yet, I wish I were a boarding student at your school so I didn’t have to live with my family.

Knock-knock-open: “Really? This is why you’re holding up the train?” Mom asks, as I slam the laptop shut for fear she sees Drew’s name and I get a spontaneous mini-lecture about honesty and authenticity and then reported to the Council for being normal.

“Sorry, just getting a homework assignment from a friend,” I try lamely.

“I completely believe that. Let’s go.”

“Be out in a sec,” I say, willing her to shut the door. Which she does after a meaningful stare that says something like, I’m pretty sure you’re lying to me, but I really don’t feel like getting into it now because I want to have a nice night and we’ve been getting along pretty well lately, so why ruin it with a giant discussion about some tiny issue that I hope my crazed teenager is going to do the right thing about anyway, so I’ll let him win this time and then kick myself later for letting it go when it comes back to bite all of us in the ass.

And she would probably be right if she were thinking that.

Regardless, I go back to typing:

Me/Drew: Sorry, Mom just burst in. GTG, but you’re telling me about this guy some other time. At least what he looks like.

Audrey: Why do you care what he looks like?

Me/Drew: I don’t. But. Is he hot?

I quit out of e-mail, cleared my history for good measure, then ran out to join my folks in the hallway, where they were waiting for me, right at the point before their annoyance tipped over into anger.

“What are y’all waiting for?” I shout, flashing Mom a smile and punching Dad on the shoulder before blowing by them toward the elevator. “Let’s keep calm and curry on!”