Enzo’s is the pizza place down the street from school. It’s like a giant Italian restaurant cliché—red plastic tablecloths and a wall of old wine bottles stacked in rows—but the food is really good. During the day kids come here to get a slice for lunch, but in the evening it’s a whole different crowd, families from the neighborhood and couples on dates.
And techies.
When I walk in, the crew is sitting around a big table, laughing and talking loudly with pizzas in front of them. I start to back up, but it’s too late. Reach sees me.
He jumps out of his seat and rushes over, a huge smile on his face.
“You made it out!” he says. “To what do we owe the honor?”
He looks over my shoulder. Grace is ordering at the front counter.
The smile disappears.
“What am I seeing?” Reach says. “Are you on a date?”
“It’s not a date. I told you I’m not interested in her.”
“Then what’s she doing here?”
“She’s getting her mom something,” I say.
“Not cool, dude.”
Grace sees us and waves.
“Please be nice to her,” I say. “She’ll make a great techie.”
“Is it that important to you?” Reach says.
Before I can answer, Grace walks up.
“Hi, Reach,” she says.
Reach looks at me, upset.
“The crew is here getting some food,” I tell Grace.
“Are you going to stay?” Grace says.
“I guess I will,” I say. “Want to sit down with us for a minute, Grace? While you wait for your pie?”
She looks to Reach. He forces a half smile.
“Whatever,” he says, and goes back to the techie table.
“Forget it,” Grace says. “He doesn’t want me here.”
“He wants you. He just doesn’t know it yet. None of them do.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” Grace says.
“We’re already here,” I say. “Let’s go break the ice.”
I drag Grace to the table where the techies are in mid-conversation.
“Hey, guys,” I say. “You know Grace, right?”
Nobody says a word.
“Pull up a couple chairs,” Reach says.
That eases the tension a bit. I sit down and put Grace next to me.
“We’re playing Worst Accidents,” Benno says, bringing me up to date. “I was just talking about a time my screwdriver went into an electrical outlet.”
“One-ten volt?” Half Crack says.
“Yeah,” Benno says.
“Ha! That’s nothing,” Half Crack says. “Once I was working on my mom’s dryer, and I went right into the two-twenty line by mistake.”
“Did it get you?” Reach says.
“Sure did. And let me tell you, you feel that shit. When I came to, I was lying across the room with all the hair standing up on my arm.”
“What about your johnson?” Reach says.
“That did not stand up,” Half Crack says.
“I was referring to pubic hair,” Reach says. “If all the hair on your body reacts, it stands to reason that your pubic hair would, too.”
“You’re assuming he has pubic hair,” Grace says.
“Whoa,” Benno says.
The table goes silent.
“Maybe you didn’t get the memo,” Half Crack says to her, “but I’m known for my pubes. I’ve got a long-haired dachshund between my legs.”
“You’re sure it’s not one of those Egyptian dogs?” Grace says. “You know, the little bald ones?”
“Slam!” Benno says.
The techies laugh.
“I like this girl,” Benno says.
Half Crack gives her a dirty look, but then he laughs, too.
“You’re pretty tough,” he says.
“Of course I’m tough. I’m a techie,” Grace says.
That earns a roar of agreement from the guys. This is going better than I had hoped.
The waitress brings a fresh pizza, and the techies dig in.
“Hey Z, when’s the last time you came out with us?” Benno says.
“A month maybe?” I say.
“It’s been, like, a year,” Reach says.
“No way.”
“You’ve been very standoffish since you got leprosy,” Reach says.
Could it be a whole year? I try to remember the last time I was out so I can prove to Reach that it wasn’t so long ago. I search my memory, but I don’t come up with anything.
That gets me thinking about how long it’s been since Dad died. I count the months on my fingers under the table.
Twenty-two and a half.
Almost twenty-three.
A long time. And no time at all.
“Why don’t you ever go out?” Grace asks me.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“He’s like a Cirque du Soleil performer,” Reach says. “He prefers to be alone in the air.”
“I’ve got a leotard on instead of underwear,” I say to Reach. “Should I take off my pants and show you?”
“I’m allergic to sausage,” Reach says.
The techies laugh.
“I think we should get him out more,” Grace says.
“That we should,” Reach says with a nod.
He spins the pizza tray so an available slice comes up in front of her.
“You want a slice, Grace?”
“I can throw in a couple bucks,” she says.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you covered,” Reach says.
Grace takes the slice.
“Is this your kinder, gentler side?” I say to Reach.
“Don’t get used to it,” he says.
“Check it out. We’ve got company,” Benno says.
He points towards the front door where the actors are entering in a big group. Summer is with them.
Reach says, “Check your ammo, gentlemen.”
Conversation dwindles to nothing as the actors pass by.
There’s an uncomfortable moment when it seems like nobody is going to say anything. We’re going to pretend we don’t know each other.
Then Johanna breaks the ice.
“How’s it going, techies?” she says.
“I prefer the term stagehands,” Benno says. He twirls a mutton chop and stares at her boobs.
“Don’t even talk to her,” Reach says.
“Screw you, Reach,” she says. “I’m trying to be decent.”
Reach glares at her. While it’s true we don’t get along with actors, Reach and Johanna are mortal enemies. I’ve never understood why.
I look at Summer. I don’t want her to see me hating actors with the rest of the techies. I smile so I seem a little different than everyone else.
“Are you laughing at us?” Jazmin says to me.
“I wasn’t laughing,” I say.
She looks at the pizza in front of me.
“You know cheese is bad for acne,” she says. “All that oil.”
I cover my face, embarrassed.
“At least we’re buying the pizza and not serving it,” Reach says. “Like you’ll be doing after you graduate.”
“I’ll be acting,” Jazmin says. “On Broadway.”
“Right. There are, like, three roles and three million actors,” Reach says.
“If we’re not working, you’re not working,” Johanna says.
“That’s why God made puppets and animatronics,” Reach says. “Because he loves techies and wants us to work, even if you’re not.”
Wesley snorts. “Let’s not waste our time,” he says, and he puts his arms around Johanna’s shoulders.
“I can walk by myself,” she says, and she shrugs him off and stamps away.
“You’d better go tame your shrew,” Reach says to Wesley, “and leave us to enjoy our dinner.”
Wesley flips him the finger, then runs after Johanna. The rest of the actors follow. I try to make eye contact with Summer, but she’s carried away by the group.
“You were a little hard on them, weren’t you?” I say to Reach when they’re gone.
“Seriously, Reach,” Grace says, “why do you hate actors so much?”
“I don’t hate them,” Reach says. “They’re an annoyance. Like jock itch. With good diction.”
Grace laughs.
“Besides, they think they’re better than us,” Reach says.
“We think we’re better than them,” Half Crack says.
“But we are. They’re delusional,” Reach says.
While the techies argue with each other, I lean back, glancing across the room at the actors’ table. Summer is in the middle of the group looking a little uncomfortable.
Grace leans over and whispers to me.
“Why don’t you speak to her?”
“Speak to who?” I say.
“Come on. I see you staring,” she says. “Talk to her and get it over with.”
“I don’t know how to talk to women,” I say.
“News flash: you’re talking to me.”
“But you’re a techie.”
“I’m a female techie. Remember these babies?”
Grace sticks out her chest.
“Remember them? I almost lost an eye,” I say.
Reach notices Grace’s chest, gives it a quick once-over, then goes back to talking with the techies.
Grace says, “This whole story about not being able to talk to girls? Old news.”
I look back at Summer. She’s sitting in a booth with actors all around her.
I try to come up with some excuse for walking over to the table and pulling her away. What would I say? I think of different plays I’ve seen, the way men talk to women in those plays. But I can’t imagine myself saying any of those things.
I stand up.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say.
Grace looks disappointed.
I address the table in a fake Shakespearean accent.
“Gentlemen, I will away in haste to the can.”
That’s a techie tradition. All matters pertaining to the bathroom should be discussed loudly and often.
“Get thee to a lavatory!” Benno says.
“Give the toilet my regards,” Reach says. “The way this pepperoni is hitting my gut, we’re going to be spending quality time together in the near future.”
For an Indian kid, Reach has no stomach for spicy foods. It’s an embarrassment to his family. And it makes being in a stall next to him a less-than-attractive proposition.
“I’ve got toilet paper in my backpack if anyone needs,” Half Crack says.
“Who carries their own TP?” Reach says.
“I love three-ply. Don’t give me a hard time about it,” Half Crack says.
“Okay, guys. I got to get this done,” I say, and I head off.
I stop midway across the restaurant. There’s no way to get to the bathroom without passing by the actors’ table.
I glance back to the techies. Reach is preoccupied, showing some new iPhone app to Half Crack. Grace is looking over his shoulder.
I look back to the actor’s table, and Summer looks up, noticing me.
That’s when I have a brainstorm.
I take out my phone and pretend I’m getting a call. It’s a great distraction when you’re uncomfortable. You can hold the phone to your ear and wave to people, and everyone thinks you’re busy.
I press the phone hard to my ear. I pretend I’m talking to Josh.
“Hey, bro!” I say to the dead phone. “Great to hear from you again!”
I keep talking while I walk quickly towards the bathroom.
“What’s up at Cornell?” I say to the phone. “I hear that place is party central.”
I rush past the actors’ table.
“Where’s the fire?” Wesley says.
“In his pants,” Peter says.
I ignore them, running down the hall and slamming the restroom door behind me.