Chapter Fourteen
Bailey
There’s a lull in the express lane when the text comes through. I don’t check it immediately because of my extreme work ethic. Whenever I start to think I’m overdoing it, I remember that drive and dedication is exactly what I need to win an Oscar by the time I’m thirty. I want to get it for Best Director, or Cinematographer, or even Best Original Screenplay, though Director would be a dream.
No, not a dream. Dreams happen. You go to sleep and pow, there they are. This is a goal, and goals are achievable with hard work. So I wipe down the scanner and the conveyor belt and prepare the next round of plastic bags so I can fill them in express fashion. Only when all that is done do I allow myself to fish my phone out of my pocket and see what’s up.
Alex wants me to come over tonight.
Crap. I wipe my suddenly sweaty hands on the front of my bright green smock. I barely slept last night thinking of that “dance” in the closet. It was awful and amazing. It was excruciating. Not kissing him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Now I’m so glad I resisted the urge.
It would have been a disaster. He might have gone along with it, maybe things could have happened in that closet that would shock people—but then what? I know myself. I would have wanted more. Alex will never truly want more, even if he convinces himself he could. So we’d probably pretend that it was a one-time thing, then it would be awkward between us, and then I’d ask Caleb to the prom, and then it’s very likely that Alex and I would just…end.
The thought makes my stomach churn.
I quickly text Alex back.
I look across the store and sigh. It’s not very busy this afternoon, which is good and bad. I’m thinking too much about things I shouldn’t. It takes more effort than I expect, but I’m finally able to turn my thoughts to my short film. It’s coming together really well. I caught wind of a promposal that was going to happen at school today and got it on camera. The guy, Sam, asked this girl, Lily, by spelling out the word “PROM?” in pizza boxes across the entire gym floor. There were like a hundred of them. Her friends blindfolded her and led her to the top of the bleachers. She started crying and nodding, and he ran up the steps in true romantic hero fashion, swept her up in a kiss that resulted in many people cheering and shouting, “Get a room!” Then everyone went nuts because there were actual pizzas in all those pizza boxes.
On my break later, I interview Edna, who works the customer service desk. She’s old, in her seventies, and I thought it would be an interesting angle to hear about what things were like in her day. She went to the prom in 1963. She’s usually very cranky, so I’m a little wary going in. The interview goes something like this:
Me: Do you know what a promposal is?
Edna: (glaring at me over her reading glasses) “If that’s what I think it is, it’s just another thing you kids have ruined. Making a fuss over asking a girl to a dance? Like it’s an actual proposal?” She leans closer to me. “News flash, it’s only a dance.”
I purposely don’t comment on what she says.
“How were you asked to the prom?”
I can see she’s fighting a smile that’s trying to turn up her wrinkly lips. “Eddie—that was my boyfriend at the time—he asked me after a movie. Just asked me, with words,” she snarls. “And I said yes.” There it is, a smile. I move the camera closer in to her face. Somewhere under there, for a brief moment, I swear I can see teenaged Edna. And then she’s frowning again. “That was it. No big deal.”
I pan out again with the camera.
“Do you remember what movie you saw?”
One corner of her mouth quirks upward, and her eyes are literally sparkling. “As if we watched the movie.” A wink, and a few more grumbles about kids these days, and the interview (and my break) is over.
That’s the magic of film right there. Making a cranky almost-eighty year old remember sexy times in the movie theater with her prom date, Eddie. That ought to pack a punch with the NYU admissions board. Now I need Caleb to say yes so I can bring the film full-circle.
I’m trying not to think of the alternative. If that happens, if he says no, I’ll probably need to run away and live like a hermit in the woods. Except I’d take my cameras and a laptop to edit my films on.
Of course, I think as I wave across the store at one of the retiree baggers, if this weren’t a documentary-style film, if it was fiction, I might write the story differently. In that movie, Alex and I might have actually had a chance. Our personalities are polar opposites, but I could make that work in a screenplay. There are plenty of on-screen couples who don’t make sense in the real world. In the movies, it doesn’t matter, though. Like Jack and Rose in Titanic. I know they didn’t exactly work out, thanks to the iceberg, but my point is, they were very different, and they totally fell in love.
Real life isn’t a movie, I know that. That’s why I love them so much. That’s why I want to make them. I want to make the impossible, possible, if only for a hundred and twenty minutes in a dark theater.
That’s what we are, me and Alex. Impossible. So tonight, I’ll hang out with my totally platonic friend in the real world, and Friday, I’ll ask an almost total stranger to prom. On a cow. With glitter.
I slip my phone into my vest pocket and look up from my scanner to see Devon McGill getting in my line. Great. She’s not who I want to see right now. I contemplate flicking off my “open” light, but then she’s already putting her stuff on the belt. Tube of toothpaste, a box of Cheerios, and two pieces of poster board.
Shit.
Poster board. No glitter, no glue, no giant markers, but I know exactly what it’s for. Besides science fair time, the only time we sell any volume in poster board is during promposal season.
“Hi.” I smile, because: customer service.
“Hey.” She seems distracted, which is good. I did my job with the initial greeting and don’t feel compelled to take the conversation further.
“Wait, don’t you work at the coffee place?” She looks sort of angry when she says this, curling up one end of her perfectly lipsticked mouth, as if my job history is somehow making her life difficult.
“Yep.” I can get through this, running the poster boards over the scanner. Of course it’s not reading the bar codes.
“Did you quit?”
I grab the wand and try to get them that way. “Nope.”
She’s silent for a few seconds, and finally, the frigging things scan.
“You have two jobs?” she asks.
I smile. No, I beam at her. I seriously couldn’t smile any bigger. “Seems like your math skills have improved.” Yeah, that’s why she dropped out of AP Physics. Girl didn’t even know her multiplication tables. I know, what I just said was terrible customer service, but she’s so freaking condescending, I can’t help myself. “$9.89, please.”
She runs her card, and it finally catches up to her that I’ve been a total bitch.
“What? Why would I assume you have two jobs?” She laughs. “I don’t know anyone with two jobs.”
I tear the receipt off the register and hand her the poster boards. “Aren’t you the luckiest girl in the world?”
She huffs and leaves. I watch out of the corner of my eye, half expecting her to stop at customer service and lodge a complaint, but honestly, I don’t think she’s smart enough to consider that an option.
She’ll hate me forever, which is fine. It’s not like we were friends to begin with—and what a bitch to call me out for having two jobs. Who does that?
I glance over as she flounces out the automatic doors, poster board wedged under her am. She is going to ask Alex to the prom, and he might say yes, and he can have her. They make sense together in the real world, and like I said, Alex and I do not.
Seriously, you can have a boyfriend. You can have a secret friend. You can have a secret crush. You can’t have all three. It’ll drive you—me—crazy.
…
I drive through the deserted streets of Edinburgh after my shift, unable to stop obsessing about Devon and the poster board.
What if she asked him tonight? What if he opens the door and tells me he’s going with her? At the four-way stop, I glance into the rearview mirror and practice my “so happy for you” smile, but it looks more like I’m about to puke. I keep practicing, though, because why shouldn’t they go together? I’m sure they’d make a lovely prom couple.
God, just thinking about them together actually does make me nauseous.
Caleb! Think about Caleb. Come on, girl! He’s so handsome, and sweet, and not a ladies’ man who doesn’t want anything serious. We’re a great match. Even Love Guru Alex thinks so, or why would he be helping me?
Caleb. Don’t think about Alex’s hands on your bare arms. Do not think about his breath in your ear, singing in that whispery voice that made every single nerve in your body twist and zing and converge in a perfect storm of wanting him.
Caleb. Caleb. Caleb. He’s all that matters from now on. Unless he says no, which would be okay, too, because I’ve the whole hermit in the woods with film equipment backup plan. So yeah! It’s all good!
I pull into the driveway, and the house is dark. I get out and lift a fist to the door. Lately he’s been opening up before I can even knock, so I let my hand hang in the air for a while.
Nothing.
Finally, I do knock. No one answers, so I ring the doorbell, which is obnoxiously loud but at this point seems necessary.
I wait for what seems like forever and am about to text him when he opens the door. “Hey. Sorry. Fell asleep.” He pushes back his hair; his eyes are droopy, and yes, he looks good. So good.
I am 100 percent certain that I have no business at all being here, but I walk past him and into the house anyway because I’m an idiot.
“How was work?” he asks.
“Good. Long. I’m tired,” I say, taking off my shoes by the door and sweeping all my urges and yearnings for this hot boy under the priceless antique rug at my feet.
Caleb. Caleb. Caleb.
“Yeah.” He scratches his head and walks into the house. “I’m glad you came, though.”
“Well.” I follow him. “I was promised pot pie. And cookies.”
He chuckles. That chuckle, the one that just came out of him, is one of my favorite things about him. Low and even and from somewhere deep inside. There’s nothing phony about it; it’s all genuine Alex.
“And I will deliver on that promise,” he says.
The kitchen, as usual, smells amazing. My mouth waters as he dishes out a few plates of the steaming, creamy veggie and chicken mixture.
“Lots of crust,” I demand. God, I love crust.
He smiles. “She’s craving the crust, people.”
He hands me the bowl and a fork, and I take it, gratefully, making sure not to touch his fingers as I do. “So what’s the occasion?”
“Occasion?”
I dig in, but it’s too hot to eat. “The cookies?” You can’t miss them. There’s about forty of them in the bouquet.
He stretches, arms above his head, showing off a sliver of his finely tuned abs. “Phil and Deidre’s way of saying, ‘Sorry we’re missing your Senior Night.’ So, child abandonment? Is that an occasion?”
A sour taste fills my mouth. They seem like nice people, but I wonder why they have to constantly let down their only kid. “Oh no.”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I knew they weren’t coming, but I thought maybe they’d surprise me. They claim they want to be here, but there’s something wrong with the plane; they can’t get a part. They were going to try for a commercial flight, but there’s a village nearby that they want to visit. So I don’t know, do they really want to?” He takes a swig of water. “Anyway. No big deal.”
“Isn’t it?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. “How’s the film coming?” he asks.
“Ah,” I say, “very subtle change of subject there.”
He smiles and keeps eating, waiting for me to talk.
“It’s going okay. I lucked out and got the pizza promposal today. Did you hear about it?” I didn’t see him there.
“Didn’t see it, but Sam and Lily—that was all me.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“Good job, Love Guru,” I say. “It was great. After that, on break at the store, I interviewed Edna. She’s old and cranky and hilarious. She talked about what prom was like when she was in high school, and when I told her about Friday night and the cow, she thought I was nuts. She thinks we’re all a bunch of spoiled jerks, I think.”
“Edna’s smart,” he says.
I squint at him. I’m not spoiled, but I shake that off. “I asked my friend Ashley if she’ll film the promposal. She said yes.”
“Oh,” he says with zero enthusiasm. “Great. Sounds like you’re all ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. To ask a guy to prom. From on top of a cow. With a soundtrack.” I cringe thinking about it. “Do I actually have to sit on the cow?”
“Of course you do.” He lifts an eyebrow. “With the hat. And the bandanna.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. Can I really pull this off?
“You want it to be memorable, right?”
I nod.
“Well, sitting on a cow is way more memorable than standing next to a cow.”
He’s right.
“And also I found a vest. You’ll wear that, too.”
I straighten up and lean across the counter. “No. I draw the line at hat and bandanna. Trust me, he’ll get the cowboy reference. If he doesn’t, he’s a big idiot and I’m taking back the promposal.”
He smiles. “Oof, that’s harsh.”
I heave myself off of the stool. “I do have standards,” I say. I have a thought that I should leave now. It would probably be the best thing, but… “So, are we watching a movie tonight?” I ask, officially losing control of my senses.
He doesn’t answer immediately, and there’s a twisty feeling in my chest. God, does he want me to leave? I should want to leave.
“Thought you could only stay for a bit,” he says.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I bite my bottom lip. “You’re tired. Me too. It’s okay.” I manage a laugh. “I’ll go.”
In that instant, I know the truth. Our weird friendship/my fantasy crush thing has run its course. Friday night, the bubble bursts. Everything will change. As it should, as much as it’ll kill me. I grab my purse, hike it up onto my shoulder, and turn away.
“I don’t want you to go,” he says, quietly, to my back.
I turn around again. His eyes are soft, and his sad smile melts me. I wish it didn’t.
“Then I’ll stay,” I say. I know this is a bad decision, but I make it anyway. For a few more hours, he can be my leading man, and I’ll be the sassy heroine, and then the credits will roll, and our story will end.