In Real Life (19 page)

But Nick and I do silence just as well as we do talking.

He clears his throat. “So, it's pretty crazy that Grace had to come out here of all places for her internship.”

Oh yeah. I wish he would stop bringing up that lie. “Yeah, she's been pitching these story ideas. She wants to do something on the Vegas local scene or something. I don't even know. I didn't think interns got to do this kind of stuff, but apparently, she's some kind of prodigy.”

“She should interview Frankie about her blog.” I know I'm not imagining a hardening in his voice; I'm just not sure if it's because of Frankie or because of her blog. Or both.

“That's a good idea. I bet they'd love something like that. Teen blogger, local scene—sounds right up their alley.” I turn around and lean my back against the cage. I've almost completely forgotten how scary it is up here. “Mind telling me why you sounded like you ate a bug right now when you brought it up?”

He turns so we are facing the same direction, our backs to the city. He seems to have gotten closer, and my body is back on high alert again.

“Don't get me wrong,” he says. “You should see this thing. She's a total tech wizard, and her Web site looks like it belongs in a commercial. I knew about it before I ever knew Frankie, and I think it's ridiculously awesome what she's done with it. I'm proud of what she's done, so I don't want you to think I'm hating on her success. I'm not.”

“So what
are
you hating on?”

He lets out a long sigh. “You know me, Ghost. I have my profile online only because you made it for me. If I didn't have you to talk to, I'd probably cancel it. You know how private I am. Having people all up in my business is the worst.”

I do know him. I had to force him to add a profile picture that wasn't the House Stark logo from
Game of Thrones.
He had hardly any personal information on his page and added only a small handful of friends. He wasn't constantly updating his status like all my friends at school, who post duck-faced selfies and fill update after update with pictures of their boring lunches.

When I'd sent him the link and password after I set it up for him back in ninth grade, he'd chatted me right away, whining.

“Why do I even need this?” he'd said. “I already send you all my pictures.” I joked that I wanted to be able to comment on them, so his friends could see how funny and witty I was, but he still hardly posted any, anyway. I'd acted all insulted, but a part of me has always liked how private he is. Nick's natural reserve makes me feel like I've really earned his friendship over the past few years.

That I have something with him no one else does.

“Frankie puts everything online. You should go look at her blog when you get a chance. You'll know her life story within five minutes.” He lets out another long sigh. “But what bothers me most is that she talks about me on there. Posts my picture, says where I hang out. People knowing that stuff about me … ugh, it makes me so uncomfortable. And I tell her how I feel, but she won't stop doing it.” He lowers his voice to a mumble. “It's the only thing we fight about, really. But we fight about it all the time.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, which causes his elbow to land against my arm.

I lean into him ever so slightly, just an inch, and I watch out of the corner of my eye to see if he notices the contact. If he does, he doesn't move away, so I lean an inch more.

“Like, last week? I was out picking up dinner with Alex, and while we were waiting for our food, this weird-looking guy comes up to me. He seriously looks like a hobbit. And he says, ‘Nick?' And I'm trying to figure out how I know this guy. He's way too old to be from school. Some party I went to with Alex? Did I sell him a T-shirt at some show?” He stops and turns straight ahead, kicking his heel against the cage behind us. “Well, it turns out, he reads Frankie's blog. He knows we're together and he starts asking me about her, like he's my buddy and like I'm going to set him up on a date with my girlfriend or something.”

“That's so scary,” I say. “And dangerous for her, if people always know where she is all the time. People can be such weirdos, you know?” I think back to her fans in the arcade and wonder how that same encounter would have gone if Ashley hadn't been so nice.

“Exactly. I get all worried when she runs off by herself or some guy is talking to her or whatever. Who knows what freaks are reading that blog of hers. It
is
Vegas, you know.”

I feel a pull inside at the tenderness in his voice when he talks about her. It makes me flash back to the night of that party, on the phone. He had that same tenderness in his voice then, but directed at me.

“Anyway,” he said, “enough about that. It makes me mad, and I don't want to be mad when you're here.”

I feel like I should give him some advice. That's what Hannah on the phone would do. But do I want to help him smooth things over with Frankie? I'm not sure, and I'm even less sure how I feel about this Evil Hannah who seems to be coming to light, so I change the subject.

I turn back around, scanning the Las Vegas skyline. “So, where is your house from here?”

“Well, I'm technically in Green Valley. So we'd have to go over there to see my house.” He points to the other side of the platform, facing away from the Strip. “You think you can handle that journey?”

I've become comfortable in our little spot, and the idea of walking over to the other side doesn't sound at all appealing. “Er.”

“Come on, Ghost,” he says, and reaches out his hand again. “You can do this. I've got you.”

My hand folds around his, and he leads me slowly to the other side of the platform. It's not as scary as it was when I first stepped out of the elevator, and with Nick's hand wrapped around mine and his jacket on my shoulders and his general closeness, I'm almost able to forget about the height and the general wobbliness of the Eiffel Tower Experience. It's a decent trade-off.

“That wasn't so bad, was it?” he says when we lean forward against the railing facing out to the rest of Nevada.

He hasn't let go of my hand.

It's not like we're holding hands like boyfriend–girlfriend. Our fingers aren't interlocked. His hand is folded around mine, which has caused my hand to fold back on his. It's totally innocent, I tell myself. He's comforting me. It's not like I'm making a move on him. It's not like he's making a move on me.

But it's not like I'd do this in front of Frankie, either.

“So, where is Casa de Cooper?”

The view from this side is different. Lights and buildings and cars stretch out on both sides of us when we are facing the Strip. There are still lights here, but the view is darker. Less dramatic. Normal. The Strip's frenetic energy isn't all Las Vegas has to offer. Las Vegas Boulevard isn't Nick's Vegas. This is.

He points off into the distance to a spattering of lights. “I'm right over there. Obviously, if it were daytime, you could see it all better.”

I warm at the thought of seeing Nick's house, where he sits at his computer and chats with me while he works on his homework. Where he flops down on his bed and talks to me until all hours of the night. “I always picture your house in my head when you tell me stories. I'd love to see how the real thing compares.”

He clears his throat. “Well, Alex is having some people over tomorrow for a barbecue. It's his friend's birthday,” he says, his voice tentative. “You should come.”

I turn from the view and back toward Nick to find him staring at me. His eyes wide behind his black-framed glasses, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted slightly. He's looking at me in this way that's so different from any way he has since I saw him for the first time. The expression reminds me of his voice soft on the phone late at night, whispered secrets, and inside jokes.

The air between us is charged and crackling, like neon lights on a casino sign. I want to smile at him, but I can't. I can only stare back.

He squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze in return. He loosens his grip and I think he's going to pull his hand away, put it in his pocket, take it back. But instead he straightens out his fingers and finds mine, lacing our fingers together.

I pull his hand close to mine with my fingers. I can't even pretend this is innocent anymore.

What now?

What will happen if he leans closer? If he tries to kiss me?

What if he doesn't?

This is such a perfect time for a kiss. Alone, on top of Las Vegas, nights and lights and city stretching out ahead of us. Me wrapped in his jacket, him close enough it would take only the smallest movement to make full contact. Nick, the guy who has been in the background of everything important in my life for the past four years, the guy I can't stand to lose.

He lied to me, and I was hurt. But I lied, too. I lied to myself about my feelings, and I lied to him about them, too.

If I want him to give us a chance, I need to tell him the truth, and I need to do it now.

I move closer. It's just a millimeter, the tiniest scoot forward. But he notices, and his eyes move from mine and slowly travel up and down my body. He chews on his bottom lip.

Oh my God, he's thinking about it. He wants this, too. I know it.

If Nick were a normal guy, if he were Josh Ahmed, I would just lean forward, close the space, and put my lips gently on his. I wouldn't have to say any words to tell him how I feel about him.

But Nick isn't a normal guy. He's
the
guy.

But—Frankie.

Do I want to kiss a guy with a girlfriend? Do I want to break that rule? Be
that
girl? Do I want to turn Nick into
that
guy?

I bite my lip, and I move back that millimeter. We're too close, and we both want this too much.

Nick shakes his head almost imperceptibly and pulls me close using our intertwined hands, right up against him. He wraps his free arm behind the small of my back and eases me into him. But not for a kiss. He pulls me in and my head rests on his chest and his chin rests lightly on my head. He untangles our fingers and now his free hand is on my head, pressing it closer into him, stroking my hair.

“I never thought I would get this,” he says quietly.

Now is my chance. “Nick, I—”

“Ghost, I need to tell you something.” He blurts it out, like if he doesn't come out and say it, it will just wither up and die inside him.

“Me, too. Nick, here's the thing—”

“It's Frankie.”

My heart sinks. It nose-dives off the side of the Eiffel Tower. I thought this moment was about me, us, but it's not. It's about her. It's been about her since I got here.

I can't say anything. I don't want to know where this is going. I grip the sweatshirt on his back tight in my fingers and squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for whatever he has to say.

“I started dating her because of Alex,” he says after what seems like forever. “She was at this party and we had seen her around and Alex was totally into her, but she wasn't interested in him. At all. He's way too old for her, and she thinks he's a total douche. But she liked me, Ghost. She met us both and didn't like Alex and she liked me, and I was—” He cuts himself off, and I can feel his heart beating fast, so fast, under his shirt.

He pulls away from me. Not too much, and he doesn't let me go. Just backs up enough to look at me. “You've met her. Frankie is something special, you know? She's … she's amazing, Ghost. She's smart and funny and driven and she gets me. I've never had a girlfriend like her before, and part of the reason I didn't tell you about her ever was my own dumb fear I was going to ruin things with her.” He moves one hand from my back and runs his fingers through my hair. His fingers skim the side of my face, and his thumb lingers by my cheek, moving slowly back and forth over my skin.

“And you…” He stares at me and I stare at him, frozen, with handfuls of his sweatshirt still in the tight grip of my fingers. I know what he almost says.
And you rejected me. And you told me it would never happen.

“I know things have been weird tonight, and, God, I'm so sorry. That person on the phone, that's the real me. That's the me I am deep inside, that I can't always manage to be in real life. I have a hard time with people sometimes, but never with you. You're the only person who sees that version of me. The only one.” He shakes his head, as if he can make the look of frustration and sadness fly right off it. “But lately I realized I need to try to share that side of me more. So, thanks. For helping me figure that out.”

I let go of his sweatshirt with one of my hands and reach to his neck. I pull the loop of chain with my penny hanging from it out from under his shirt. I had put the clown penny in my pocket before we left the house because I knew I would be seeing Nick in person today, but he had no idea I'd show up here tonight. He really likes Frankie, but he wears my souvenir every day, just because. I rub my thumb over the three ghosts; then I let the charm fall against his chest so my fingers are free to reach up and skim the side of his face. His cheek is the slightest bit scruffy, with rough prickles along his jawline. I let my thumb trace small circles on his skin, and my entire insides are sloshing around, up and down, back and forth, out of control.

“Nick.” He just made it a thousand times harder for me, but I need to tell him even so. Even though he has Frankie and even though he likes her and even though he's being the person with her he's only ever been with me, I need to tell him. And I want him to help me figure out why his hand is on my cheek and his other hand is on my back and why he's wearing my penny and why he's with Frankie and why he's looking at me like that and why he's not kissing me right now, when his phone buzzes and my phone buzzes at the same time.