Beyond Clueless (22 page)

Brianna had moved on to another story, this time involving something that had happened to her friend Shawna’s brother. I was trying to focus, but Felix’s sleepiness proved totally contagious. It didn’t help that the restaurant was about a billion degrees hot. Felix caught my eye and winked in sympathy, then patted my knee under the table. I drained the last of my Coke, hoping the caffeine and sugar would get me through Brianna’s next topic: how her neighbor’s dog farted all the time.

Felix’s hand remained on my leg.

“. . . and then I said to her, ‘Who the hell do you think you are, bumping me with your baby carriage?’” Brianna droned on, and Felix shifted in his seat. As he did so, his hand slid farther up my thigh.

His hand suddenly seemed a lot less charming. I felt the room wobble oppressively.

“. . . the whole thing was totally ridiculous. I mean, what the hell makes her so special? I was, like, this close to . . .”

I was frozen in place. I mean, what was I supposed to do? What, exactly, was Felix up to—I mean, we were in the middle of freakin’ Friendly’s, for God’s sake!

His hand crept farther, almost to my crotch, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

The waitress walked by, and I shot out of the booth, following her.

“Where are the restrooms?”

I pushed open the door and practically collapsed, grabbing onto the sink for support. I splashed my face with cold water, then stared hard at my unsteady reflection, trying to get control of myself. I was breathing really hard, but somehow I couldn’t get enough air. What had just happened? Why was I reacting this way? How had I gone from making out with Felix and being, like, “look at his abs” to suddenly feeling so . . . violated?

All I wanted to do now was go home. Just go home and curl up in bed. Be anywhere but here.

I cradled my cell phone, considering my options.

T
here is one very big drawback to being a really good, up-standing person: No one ever wants to disappoint you. I know that sounds like a good thing at first—I mean, Sister Mary Alice used that impulse to great effect in the musical, getting us all to work hard and do our best. But sometimes you need people who understand you. Obviously not my parents, who thought I was at rehearsal, anyway. I didn’t call Jimmy—I didn’t even know where we stood anymore. And I didn’t call Xiang. (Of course, what could Jimmy or Xiang have even done—asked their parents to come pick me up from Friendly’s? But, whatever, I’m trying to make a point here.)

And I didn’t call Oliver, either. Now, don’t get me wrong: It’s not that I thought he would have been all judgmental. And in my head, I knew that there wasn’t anything to be ashamed about. But I still
felt
that way, like somehow I had totally gotten myself into this situation with Felix, and that I’m such an immature weirdo for not knowing how to deal with it gracefully. I mean, I was sure that someone else—anyone else—would have known what to do. Hell, probably anybody else would have welcomed Felix’s advances and matched them. What was wrong with me, that I was having such a strong, basically physical reaction to something
that, really, was no big deal? Why couldn’t my brain stop my heart from racing or my palms from sweating?

I called Kirby. Somehow I just knew that he would understand. That he wouldn’t ask questions. That when I asked him to pick me up, he’d hear what I was really saying. That he’d come, and he’d find a way to get me the hell out of there.

And that’s exactly what he did.

I went back to the booth, where Matt and Brianna were flicking fries at each other and snorting with laughter.

Felix fixed me with a questioning stare. “So, are you feeling OK?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, I guess,” I said, fumbling for a convincing explanation for my long absence and coming up short. “I kind of have a headache. It’s been such a long day.” (When in doubt, try a cliché!)

He patted the booth next to him, and I slunk into a seated position. He put his arm around me, and I’m sure he meant it to be sympathetic and protective, but it only made me feel trapped.

What was wrong with me? How had my feelings for this guy turned so quickly? And how long would it take for Kirby to get here?

Thankfully, not too long—the Friendly’s wasn’t too far from Weeksburg High, where Kirby, Oliver, and Derek all went to school. I saw Kirby enter, and relief flooded through me. He first walked toward the bathroom but then backtracked when he spotted our booth.

I suddenly had the horrifying realization that I hadn’t thought to discuss a cover story with him. I mean, it would be totally obvious to my dinner companions that I’d called him from the bathroom, and that would be super-bizarre, right?

But Kirby is a pro. When he got within a few feet of me he feigned surprise—really convincingly; he totally should have auditioned!—and busted out with, “Holy shit, Marty? What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

I reddened, paralyzed.

But he didn’t wait for an answer. He came over and introduced himself to the others. “Hey, I’m Kirby. I live down the street from Marty here.” He turned to me. “Hey, yo, how are you gettin’ home? I’m just leaving. You need a ride?”

Oh, hallelujah. “Actually, that’s a great idea!” I said brightly. I sprang out of the booth, turning to the others and saying, “Sorry, guys. This has been great, but I’m totally bushed. Here’s a twenty—that should cover me.”

And—boom—we were out of there.

Kirby and I didn’t speak the whole way home. Once I tried, saying, “Kirby, look—” but he cut me off.

“Stop. It’s OK.”

So I settled back in my seat and exhaled.

When he pulled up to my house, it was getting close to midnight, which was stretching what my parents would find believable for a very late rehearsal. One more reason I was glad I’d left Friendly’s when I did.

Kirby turned off the engine.

“Look, I’m the last person in the world who should be giving advice about anything,” he said, all quiet and subdued, staring at the steering wheel. “It’s a lot easier to log on to a Web site and send some chat messages than it is to deal with real people in real life. I know that.”

Then he turned to look directly at me and held my gaze. “But it doesn’t have to be hard, either. If things don’t feel right to you, they probably aren’t.”

I smiled weakly in response.

“Thanks for—you know,” I said, and I got out.

There was one good thing about the humongous-disaster-that-was-my-first-date: It took my mind off the musical . . . a bit.

Actually, that’s a lie. It didn’t take my mind off the musical at all.

How was it that I could stress and obsess with my whole body and soul about what I could possibly say to Felix the next day that in any way made sense, yet
also
stress and obsess with my whole body and soul about the performance on Friday? It was as if my capacity for nervousness had doubled all of a sudden. Not good.

The next day was our final dress rehearsal, the last chance to screw up our lines, our blocking, or our cues without ruining our lives forever. It’s bad enough looking like a jackass in front of thirty people you’ve been working with for months—and screwing up the thing they’ve been working just as hard on. But it’s so much worse when the
entire school, basically, and all your family and friends—and enemies—are there watching. Oh, and recording it all, to make sure your grandchildren will also be able to ridicule you until the day you die.

I got a text from Felix during Mr. Dartagnan’s class.

U SEEMED A LTTL OUT OF IT LAST NITE. R WE OK?

Almost out of habit, I passed my phone to Xiang. She passed it back and didn’t say anything; she just gave me a concerned look.

I suddenly regretted showing her the message. I like melodrama, not pity; there’s a difference.

At lunch, she cut right to the chase. “So spill. What happened ‘last night’?” She literally did air quotes with her fingers.

“Oh, nothing. I don’t even know why I showed you that. I was just tired last night.” I took a big gulp of soy milk.

“Tired,” she said. “On your first real,
public
date with Felix Peroni, a boy you’ve been obsessing over for weeks.”

“I just . . . I dunno. I just—” And suddenly tears were streaming down my face.

Xiang sprang into action, grabbing my arm and dragging me away from my lunch, out of the cafeteria, and into the nearest restroom.

She checked to make sure all the stalls were empty, then sat me down on the radiator.

I was a full-blown mess by this point, all red-faced and shuddering.

“What. Happened.”

“We went to Friendly’s, that’s all,” I choked out. “With his friend Matt and some girl from Holy Name. At some point Felix just . . . got . . . you know, affectionate. Frisky.”

“Be specific.” Xiang was stone serious.

“He put his hand on my leg. And moved it up a little. No big deal.”

“Well, it’s a big deal if it makes you cry at lunch, Marty,” she pressed. I had never seen Xiang like this—no zingers, no sarcasm.

“I’m just tired. And stressed about the musical. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not
nothing
, Marty,” she shot back. “You obviously didn’t want him to do that. You weren’t ready.”

In retrospect, I’m sure Xiang meant that in a supportive way, but something about the way she said
ready
rubbed me the wrong way. Like because she smokes cigarettes or is someone who does more than just kiss, that means she’s way more sophisticated than me? When I thought about it, she was always full of advice, lecturing me, telling me why people are the way they are and how I should act.

I flailed my arms. “What the hell does that mean?
You’re
almost having sex. Why wouldn’t
I
be ‘ready’?”

Xiang reared back. “Whoa. This isn’t about me, Marty. This is about you. Actually, it’s about Felix.” She did an eye-roll maneuver. “It’s not some
competition
.”

My tears were still flowing, and somehow all my swirling emotions had channeled themselves into anger. Embarrassed, frustrated, confused rage.

“You know what? Fuck you,” I said, pushing past her and back into the cafeteria. I grabbed my abandoned lunch as I passed our table, dropping it into the garbage on my way out. In the parking lot, I pulled out my phone.

Sorry about last nite, just a weird combo of exhaustion and nerves. We’re gr8. CU soon. xoxo
.

Send.

When I walked into Jerry Hall for rehearsal a few classes later, Xiang was already in the orchestra pit, giggling over something with Parker. Her eyes met mine, and she froze. I could feel her gaze follow me as I walked up to Felix and wrapped my arms around him, drawing him into a big ol’ French kiss.

As we broke away from each other, Felix was left with a wolfish grin, and his hand lingered on my hip.

Not ready, my ass, I thought to myself.

As I looked around, it became clear that our PDA had surprised everyone. Not just Xiang and Jimmy, who knew our secret, but Oliver and Kate and Jenny McCafferty—and Sister Mary Alice, who for once looked truly at a loss for words. Was it really such a shock, Felix and me together?

Jenny ended the awkward moment, clearing her throat loudly. “All right, people—places. This is the final run-through, so it has to be flawless. Flaw. Less.”

We shuffled off backstage, and Felix kept his hand on my waist. He pulled me into a corner behind the curtain and pressed himself against me, kissing me deeply.

“Well, I guess we’re out now,” he breathed. “You are so hot today.”

“Oh,” I said, “about last night—”

“No worries,” he said. “Let’s just enjoy the time we’ve got left.”

My miscomprehension must have shown, because he smiled broadly. “In the musical. The time left together here in the show.” With a quick nibble on my ear, he bounded out of our corner toward the stairs to the dressing rooms.

Suddenly Jimmy was at my side, pulling on my elbow.

“What was
that
?” he hissed.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s like I don’t even know you. Why would you go and do
that
?”

“I can hear the words leaving your mouth, but I have no idea what you are saying.”

The overhead lights flashed twice, Jenny’s signal for the show start.

Jimmy held both his palms up in front of my face. “Whatever. I can’t deal with this—with you—right now,” he said and then sprinted off to the sound booth.

I stood there, stunned. I didn’t know what to think. Yes, I’d made out with Felix. Big deal! He makes out with Derek all the time! And he knew I’d hooked up with Felix before, so was this just because it was in front of other people?

AARGH. Like I don’t have enough drama right now
with the show and Xiang probably never speaking to me again. Shake it off, Marty, I told myself as I headed to wardrobe.

But just before I got to the bottom of the stairs, Oliver appeared, blocking my path.

“Hey,” he said. He didn’t look too happy, but I couldn’t really be sure, since his face was deeply shadowed by the light pouring out from behind him.

“Hi. What’s up? Shouldn’t you be at the curtain controls? Jenny will totally—”