CHANGE 2–DAY 221

“And do you two know from personal experience,” the reporter asked, “what true love is?” She quickly glanced down to make sure her recorder was indeed taping for what she seemed to hope would be the juiciest part of her Nashville Times interview with us in Principal Redwine’s office.

Audrey and I made eye contact for a split-second before both looking away.

“Uh,” Aud groaned.

“Uh,” I grunted at precisely the same time.

Then the three of us—Audrey, me, and the nice reporter with the long (fake) eyelashes and meticulous bob—all laughed nervously together for way too long.

“Well?” she prompted us again, not letting it go. “Do I take that as a yes?”

“Off the record?” I thought to ask, voice warbly.

“Well, that’s not my preference,” she replied, and I could feel Audrey’s eyes boring a shame hole into the side of my face.

“Yes, go on, by all means,” Aud finally said, making a point of kicking back in the principal’s cozy leather recliner and knitting her fingers together behind her head.

“Off the record . . .” I started, but just couldn’t seem to finish.

And mercifully, after a few more uncomfortable wordless seconds of Audrey and I squirming and giggling and being worse interview subjects than Justin Bieber, the reporter moved on to some other topic, something bland and generic and way easier to blab about than our FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER. That’s why the greeting card industry exists, lady. Geez.

Later we were excused from class so a photographer could pose us awkwardly in various staged settings: Aud pointing at a list of literary terms on the chalkboard and me sitting on a desk in front of her clutching a clipboard and pen; us walking up the front steps of school, me toting my skateboard, Aud with a backpack slung over her shoulder acting like I’d just uttered the funniest quip in all of high school-dom; and finally, the two of us juggling giant stacks of the Spring edition of Peregrine—passing out issues in the hallway to a handful of preselected kids supposedly living for it. (A bit of a departure, obviously, from the less family-friendly reality of what went down when we actually distributed copies of the magazine in the hallway a few days earlier. On that note, with Jason banished from campus for his suspension, it was as though a foreboding, Axe body spray–scented fog had completely lifted from Central High, and both Audrey and I could breathe completely unencumbered for the first time all year. Maybe ever, at least on campus. Man, that felt good.)

* * *

But none of that is what I want to be Chronicling about right now. Maybe I’m trying to get it down and out of the way because it’s concrete, it actually happened. I saw the shots on the photographer’s digital camera, and the reporter confirmed that her story would indeed appear in next Sunday’s Education supplement of the newspaper.

While what’s happening NOW, as I’m thinking this, as I’m Chronicling this, is completely UNREAL and abstract, even though I’m awake living and breathing it, lying here trying to be completely still while holding her so close to me, hearing the ever-so-slight whistle of air rushing in and out of Audrey’s adorable nose which is currently hovering over the general vicinity of my right pectoral muscle. I’m trying not to twitch or stir or even look down so as not to wake this perfect angel who is sleeping so peacefully with her cheek against my bare skin.

Hold up, back up, rewind, right?

Let me try to unpack the whole wonder of it all. Deep breath. And . . . here . . . we . . . go!

Basically: Dad called and said Nana was out of the hospital and resting comfortably in her condo. She told them she “didn’t want to croak anywhere but my own bed,” which, while dramatic, definitely shut down the assisted-living conversation. I assured Dad I’d be fine staying alone through the weekend. Mom got on the line and equivocated, worrying that I’d be bored, scared, or possibly feel abandoned. I insisted none of these things were the case, that I was fine, was really enjoying some time alone, Snoopy was watered and fed, I’d eaten two bananas, all was under control and would remain so. If I felt lonesome I’d have dinner with Tracy and Mr. Crowell. (There was no way the latter was happening, but saying it seemed to make Mom feel better.)

They promised one of them would be back by Sunday night, Monday at the latest. So I was going to be on my own until then. Or was I?

Feeling high after Audrey’s and my Central High literary victory tour earlier today, I scribbled a quick, reckless note and passed it to her after school when we were saying goodbye:

 

My parents are gone this weekend. I’m all alone. [Sad face] Can you make an excuse to sleep out tonight? Not assuming anything (I’ll stay on the couch!), just want to cuddle up with you and my dog and about a hundred bags of mildly burned microwave popcorn with the fake butter and watch the shizz out of some old-time movies. Whatdya say, little lady? [Hopeful face]

 

She scanned the note quickly in front of me, both of us by habit keeping watch around us for fear of Jason or his crew popping up and running their redneck interference. But nobody seemed to pay us any mind during the rush of the Friday-afternoon jailbreak, and then, to my incalculable surprise, as soon as Audrey finished the note, she folded it up and stuck it back in her pocket and said quietly, “Okay.”

Just like that.

And, just like that, I was on the verge of breaching yet another Changer tenet, and this one’s a doozie: Don’t bring anybody to your place of residence, because that may be your home for all four years of high school, and you need to be on the DL, since four different people can’t be living in the same house or apartment now, can they? (That’s my paraphrase of the tenet, anyway.)

Oh well, I quickly made a deal with myself, I’ll just not bring her home any other year. Who even knows if she’ll want to be friends with me as my future Vs, and to be honest, who the heck cares? We could all slip in the bathroom and have brain aneurysms or get hit by the proverbial bus and there I would be, skipping the dessert cart for no good reason. There was no way I was going to consider anything but the present, and how Audrey’s face betrayed just the hint of a mischievous smile when she whispered, “Give me a couple hours to figure it out. Meet you at Starbucks at seven.”

Which is how I’ve ended up where I am right this second, with Audrey pressed up against me in my bed, the room completely quiet, still, and dark—but for the occasional passing headlight I can spot through the slits in the blinds. Snoopy’s curled at our feet, snoring, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world for Audrey to be sharing the bed with us like this.

Please note: I shall be following Nana’s afore-Chronicled gentlemanly rule to the word here.

But . . .

OH MY FRACKING GOD, it felt good. To be so completely and utterly—so undeniably—close to Audrey. Nobody, nothing between us.

Sure, neither of us knew what in Yeezus’s name we were doing, but once we admitted that to one another and starting laughing our butts off instead of trying to take every little maneuver and moment so seriously like they do in the movies, simply put: Audrey and I fit perfectly. Like I knew we would from the second Drew set eyes on her in homeroom last year. Together we made a new color. And that transcended who I happen to be right now, a guy who was a girl who was really a guy who was in love with a girl.

It’s getting downright Shakespearean in here, but my point is that love is not about gender or sex, or whatever you want to call it. As in, Mom was kind of right, Tracy was kind of right, and I’m sure The Changers Bible, in its way, is right, though they probably wouldn’t exactly approve of how I’m learning the lesson.

It’s almost eerie: I’m not Oryon or Drew or even Ethan as I’m with Audrey right now, and she isn’t really Audrey either. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she is Audrey, which makes me feel all manner of things I never knew imaginable in one body, much less three, but I guess what I’m saying is, what I’m thinking as I’m lying here next to her with my arm hooked around her like this, is—

Wait, what am I thinking?

What am I doing thinking at all? I’m just feeling. Feeling the most satisfied I’ve ever felt in my life.

Who cares whether I feel like Drew or Oryon or freaking Ryan Gosling holding Audrey?

Oh man. She’s stirring now. What do I do? She jerks, as though awakening from a nightmare, then rolls to face me.

“Are you thirsty?” I ask super quietly, like I’m green-side at a golf tournament.

“A little, I guess,” she whispers back, her voice scratchy.

I gently pull my arm out from under her neck and she rolls in the opposite direction so I can get out of bed and scramble to yank on my crumpled boxers.

“Shy,” she says.

I stand up and look back down at her, just her face on the pillow visible beneath the covers she’d yanked up after me.

“You are the most beautiful perfect thing I’ve ever seen or known of in this world,” I say.

“Shut up!” she chides, and for a second I am crushed, but then she’s laughing again, and I’m laughing again, and bounding off toward the kitchen to fetch her a nice, tall drink of water.

“What happened to your butt?” she shouts when I reach the door.

Oh shite. My Changers emblem.

“I bit it skating the other day,” I recover. “You know, ripped my shorts.”

God, I hate lying to her—especially after . . .

“Be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” Audrey answers, turning over to make kissy-face noises at Snoopy, who wags his tail while commando-creeping to the warm spot I just vacated beside her. I certainly can’t blame him.