Call the Shots (30 page)

“Look, mister.” Dad levels his gaze at me. “We didn’t just spring this move on you, okay? We told you it was going to happen weeks ago. You’re not the only one having to make sacrifices here. The whole family is pitching in. Because that’s what families do. They work as a team. And if you expect us to be accepting of who you are, then we expect the same courtesy.”

“Oh, my God!” I throw my head back. “How did this get turned into a conversation about me being gay? I’m
not
gay. You don’t have to accept anything! We’re talking about
you
making me move out of
my
room.”

“You mean the ‘curse’s’ room.” Mom is now full-on sobbing. She takes a Kleenex from the pocket of her paisley maternity dress and blows her nose. “I’m sorry. I can’t deal with this.”

Mom turns and waddles off down the hall.

Dad glowers at me. “I hope you’re happy, mister. Now I’m going to have to spend the next hour talking her down from this.” He glances over his shoulder at the bedroom. “Finish moving your stuff and then you can come downstairs and apologize.”

And with that, Dad goes after Mom, leaving me standing there alone.

I take a closer look around the room. There’s an indentation in the carpet where my bed used to be. My books are gone from the bookcase. The closet door is open, a row of empty hangers on the rod.

My throat tightens and my eyes start to tear up again. A miserable ache settles in the center of my chest. I can’t believe this is actually happening. A thousand different memories of my room flicker in my head. Hanging out with my friends, listening to music, reading my books in bed, sneaking out the window onto the roof, practicing my lightsaber moves.

Everything I’ve ever done in my life is somehow connected to this place.

I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes. Damn it. I knew it was going to suck having to move into Cathy’s room. I just didn’t realize how much I was going to miss my own.

A little while later, I slog into Cathy’s bedroom, carrying my replica swords wrapped carefully in the brown Jedi cloak I wore for Halloween a few years ago — and for a few imagined lightsaber battles after that.

My parents have split the place in two, stringing a heavy curtain down the middle and rearranging things so that my bed is positioned on one side, with my Lord of the Rings poster hung on the wall and all my Star Wars books arranged in a tall bookcase. It’s like they’ve shrunk down my old bedroom and tucked it into the corner of this one.

I flop on my bed, my anger at this sucky situation still boiling over. I can’t believe how a day that was turning out so well could just spin on a dime and end up being so miserable. It’s an about-face that would even make Evelyn proud.

INT. HOUSE ATTIC — NIGHT

Rogart and Nashira are huddled close under a blanket. SCREAMS can be heard outside.

Nashira pulls a cross necklace out from under her shirt.

Cathy stomps into our bedroom without saying a word to me, slams the door behind her — like she’s been doing the entire last week — then goes to her side of the room behind the heavy curtain, turns on Joy Division at full volume, and opens the window to let in the cold air. These are her battle tactics, meant to torment me till I move out of the house and in with one of my friends.

I’d hurl some salvos back at her — blast a few of my own songs, maybe some Arnold Murphy’s Bologna Dare for her listening pleasure, or perhaps ask her if the cranking whiny death music means that she doesn’t have a date for Valentine’s Day — but I am far too swamped keeping all my movie and girlfriend balls in the air to be bothered.

At this very moment, I’m on my bed, e-mailing Nessa the changes to the latest few pages we’ve been working on. We haven’t been able to get together recently because of Cathy’s work schedule, which is making things really difficult. It wouldn’t be so bad if we were actually going to use Evelyn and Nick’s takes because it’s taking forever to film anything with them. But since Leyna and Hunter are amazingly efficient — not to mention really good — there’s a chance we’ll be caught up with everything I’ve gotten written in less than a week.

My e-mail bings. It’s Nessa again.
Nice detail with Nashira’s cross, but Rogart is too passive in this scene. He needs to take charge of the situation from the start. Keep up the good work. Hey, just ate a candy heart that said
I’M HORNY
. What are the odds? :)

Ugh. I don’t know what I’m more annoyed with: having to rewrite this scene
again
or Nessa’s incessant pretend come-ons.

Actually, Cathy’s pounding music trumps both of those things in the irritation department.

I glance at the Death Star. Six thirty. Nick’s picking me up for my dinner with Evelyn in fifteen. I better get dressed. It shouldn’t take me too long. I’ve only got one suit that I wore to my cousin’s wedding two years ago.

I shut my computer down and grab my phone off the bed. I flip it off vibrate and glance at the screen to see I’ve got a message. It’s from Leyna. Or, as she’s entered in my phone, Leon, for security’s sake.

Hppy <3 dA. hOp ur hving fn. Wtnd u 2 c ths. hEr’s my lttl mffn. wht do u thnk?

There’s a picture attached. I click on it to get a better look.

It’s slightly out of focus. And it’s dark. And hairy. And . . .

Whoa, hey, now. Is that . . . Is that what I think it is? Nooo. It can’t be, can it? I squint hard at the photo. Trying to will it into focus.

Oh, my God. I think . . . I think Leyna just sexted me for Valentine’s Day.

L
E CHAT NOIR
is the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever been to. There are dimly lit chandeliers all around, white tablecloths, candles, wineglasses, soft almost-inaudible classical music playing in the background. And waiters wearing tuxedos and white gloves.

Evelyn and I are the only kids in the entire place. All the other couples are old. Like, my grandparents old. And it’s so hushed in here. Like a church or something. Like you’re afraid to even lift your silverware for fear of making any kind of clatter.

The whole atmosphere makes me feel as uncomfortable as a Trekkie at a cotillion.

Well, the atmosphere, along with my waist-strangling floodsies and my motion-constricting suit jacket, which makes it impossible for me to reach out for the bread basket. I should have tried on these clothes as soon as I knew I was going to have to wear them. Now all I can do is hold in my stomach and lean down anytime I want to take a sip of water.

“I can’t believe you set this all up,” Evelyn says, smiling at me from across the table. “It’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Yeah, well.” I try a humble shrug, but my shoulders are pinned in. “I just thought, you know, Valentine’s Day and all.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I’m thinking of Leyna’s picture again. Her Valentine’s present to me. I dart my eyes to the side to see if I can locate the bathroom. Maybe I can sneak off and have another peek. Just to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.

Just then our waiter appears at the table and hands us our leather-bound menus. “
Bonjour, monsieur. Mademoiselle.
Will we be having a virgin cocktail before we eat? Perhaps a glass of sparkling cider?”

Evelyn smiles at me. “Ooh, let’s, okay? So we can toast to our undying devotion.”

I look up at the waiter, who looms over me, his nose in the air, his mouth turned down, like I’m some sort of dirty cretin. “Two sparkling ciders. Yes. Thank you.”

“C’est bon.”
The waiter gives a curt little bow and marches off.

“I’m so excited.” Evelyn’s vibrating in her chair as she lifts the towering menu. “I’ve never been to such a fine restaurant. I wonder what they have.”

“Yeah,” I say, hefting my own menu and cracking it open, wondering if I’ll be able to make sense of any of the French.

Holy shit!
I may not know many of the words, but the numbers I recognize. Eighteen dollars for . . . onion soup? Thirteen dollars for what I think might be salad? And . . . And . . . Fuuuck me! Steak and French fries — I’m sorry,
frites
— for forty-three bucks! My stomach churns. This whole night is going to cost me a fortune.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down without resorting to sniffing my palm. But it only makes my jacket tighter, which makes it harder to breathe, in part because the stupid earrings box that’s jammed in my inside jacket pocket feels like it’s digging in to my heart. Okay. Don’t panic. Maybe Evelyn will see the prices and take mercy on me.

“I’m ravenous,” she says. “I haven’t eaten all day in anticipation of tonight. It all looks so good. I want
everything.
”

“Really?” I laugh nervously behind the cover of my menu. “I don’t know. I’m actually having a hard time deciding. And I had a big lunch — a
really
big lunch — so . . .”

“Well,
I’m
ordering the five-course tasting menu. And since the whole table has to order it, I guess that’s what you’re having too. It’ll be fun. We’ll get to try a little bit of a lot of things.” She snaps her menu shut like it’s already a done deal.

I glance over at the tasting menu and nearly fall off my chair. Sixty dollars per person. That’s . . .
a hundred and twenty bucks
! Plus tax. Plus tip. Holy cannoli, there goes the rest of our movie budget. I think I’m going to cry.

“I . . . I don’t know, Evelyn,” I squeak. “That’s . . . It’s . . . maybe too much food.”

“Oh, poo on you.” She paddles my words out of the air with the back of her hand. “This is a special night. It’s our first Valentine’s Day together. We’re going to remember this for the rest of our lives.”

Our waiter returns with our flutes of sparkling apple juice. He places them carefully on the table, then stands tall. “
Monsieur. Mademoiselle.
Have we decided on dinner?”

“Yes,” Evelyn blurts. “We’re having the tasting menu, please.” She holds up her menu and the waiter takes it from her. “Both of us.”

The waiter turns and smiles at me, suddenly much happier than he was a moment ago. He nods and removes my menu from the table. “I will get that started for you,
tout de suite.
”

As soon as the waiter is gone, Evelyn hoists her glass in the air. “To us.”

“Right,” I say, clinking her glass with mine.

I’m about to take a sip of my cider when Evelyn continues, “To trust. To honesty. To seventy-six more Valentine’s Days spent together. To best friends, partners, and soul mates.”

“Okay.” I raise my glass again, thinking,
Yes, it’ll be great to find all that someday. With someone. Someone who’s not at this table.
I bring my glass to my lips but apparently Evelyn’s not finished yet.

“To being there for each other. In thick and thin.” She stares at me over her glass. Her eyes wide and intense. “To never
ever
cheating on each other. To being true and faithful. To listening to each other. And respecting each other. And being supportive in every way possible.”

Jesus Christ, it’s like wedding vows from hell.

“Mm-hm.” I quickly bend forward and take a sip of my juice before she can say anything else. I set my glass down and try to think of a way to change the subject. “So, um, yeah. I guess . . . I sort of . . . have something for you.” I reach for my inside jacket pocket, but I’m so sausaged into my suit that it’s nearly impossible. “It’s . . . a gift.” I have to swivel my entire body around, and even then I can only just grasp the top edge of the pocket. The threads on my sleeves make a straining sound as the tips of my fingers just graze the top of the box wedged inside the pocket.