Isla and the Happily Ever After (7 page)

He smiles. “I like it.”

“And you’re a Yom Kippur Atheist.”

“I am.”

I’ve never had a conversation like this before, where something so sensitive was discussed with such ease. We cross a bridge towards the cathedral. It’s on the Île de la Cité, the larger of the two islands that comprise the centre of Paris.

“I have a question,” Josh says. “But I’m not sure how to ask it.”

I wish that I could give him a playful nudge. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

There’s an excruciating pause as he searches for the right phrasing. “Kurt has…autism?”

Internally, I cringe. But I spare him as he spared my own ignorance. “Yeah. What the DSM
used
to call Asperger’s, and what they now call high-functioning autism. It’s the same thing. But it’s not a problem, it’s not like it’s something that needs to be cured. His brain works a little differently from ours. That’s all.”

Josh gestures towards a bench in the cathedral’s small park, and I reply by moving towards it. We sit down about two feet apart.

“So how
does
his brain work?”

“Well.” I take a deep breath. “He’s super-rational and literal. So sarcasm, metaphor? Not his strengths.”

Josh nods. “What else?”

“It’s difficult for him to read faces. He’s worked on it a lot, so he’s way better than he used to be. But he still has to remember to make eye contact and smile. I mean, obviously he smiles, but he only does it when he means it. Unlike the rest of us.” I’m rambling, because I’m struck
again
by the fact that I’m sitting on a bench – a bench not even on school property – beside Joshua Wasserstein.

“So he’s honest.”

“Even when you don’t want him to be.” I laugh, but it immediately turns into worry. I don’t want Josh to get the wrong idea. “He doesn’t
mean
to be rude, though. Whenever he finds out that he’s accidentally hurt someone’s feelings, he’s devastated.”

“It’s kind of French, you know? Not the hurting-people’s-feelings thing. Only smiling when it’s sincere. Americans will smile at anyone, for any reason.”

“You don’t.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Josh is taken aback. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, I’ve been told that I have a hard time…concealing my displeasure.”

“I know.” I hesitate. “I like that about you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You do?”

I stare at the bench’s wooden slats. Somehow, the two feet between our bodies has halved into one. “It means that when you do smile? I know it’s not false. You’re not just smiling to make me” – I shake my head, and my hair bounces – “
whomever
, feel better. If they’re saying stupid things. And can’t seem to stop talking.”

His mouth spreads into a slow smile.

“Yeah.” I laugh. “Like that.”

“What else?”

I tilt my head. “What else what?”

“What else do I need to know about Kurt?”

His phrasing implies that we’ll be spending more time together. The happy tightness returns to my chest. “Not much else to know. It’s not like he’s a card-counting savant or a mathematical genius or anything. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant. But those stereotypes are the worst. Though he
does
love routine.”

Josh smiles again. “Let me guess. Sushi?”

“Same day, same time, same restaurant.” Kurt and I meet after his weekly therapy session, but Josh doesn’t need to know that.

“Same entrée?”

“Shrimp nigiri and miso soup. But I get the special, whatever it is. I ask the server to surprise me.”

The bells of Notre-Dame peal out from the towers. We startle, covering our ears and laughing. The bells are loud – a cacophony of chimes crashing over one another. From this close, it’s hard to even make out a pattern. They ring and ring and ring, and we’re helpless, completely bowled over with laughter, until they cease their clattering.

The distance between us has disappeared.

His jeans rub softly against my bare legs. I’m too aware of my movements, too aware of my nerves, too aware of everything. All five senses are overloading. I jerk my head towards the cathedral. “That was my cue.”

“Mind if I walk with you?” Josh’s question sounds anxious, like he’s trying to catch his breath. “I need to pick up a brush. At Graphigro.” It’s an art supply store a few blocks away from the restaurant. I don’t know whether he really does need a new brush or whether this is an excuse to spend a few more minutes with me. But I’ll take it either way.

This entire evening has been surreal. We cross another bridge, the Pont d’Arcole, onto the Right Bank. The scent of metal and urine wafts up from the Seine, but even this barely registers. We’re in a two-person bubble. The noises that I should be hearing – cars speeding, pedestrians rushing, construction clattering – are muffled. Instead, I hear my heart thumping against my ribcage. Josh’s steady footsteps against the pavement. The occasional swish of his pant legs catching against each other.

Ask me out.
I chant it like a mantra.
Ask me out, ask me out, ask me out.

“What are you doing this weekend?” It ruptures from my mouth, far less casual than I’d hoped. “I mean, you don’t have detention, do you?”

Aaaaaand way to make it worse.

But Josh glances at me with a smile. “The head called me into her office, because she wanted to make sure that we ‘get off to the right start’ this year. But she didn’t give me detention. Not yet.”

I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond.

“Actually,” he says, “I’m going to Munich.”

I freeze, mid-step. It’s against school rules to leave the city without permission, never mind the entire
country.
Someone bumps into me from behind. I stumble forward, and Josh reaches out to grab me, but I’ve already steadied myself. His hand hesitates in the space between us. And then it returns to his pocket.

I kind of wish that I’d fallen.

“So, um. Munich. This weekend?”

Josh is studying me, making sure that I’m really okay. “Yeah. Oktoberfest.”

I frown. “Even though it’s still September?”

“Ah, but most of the festival happens this month. Misleading, I know.” He grins, and there’s an enticing flash of dimples. My insides go wobbly. “But I want to visit as many countries as possible before graduation. And I’ve never been to Germany.”

“And you’re travelling alone?” I’m impressed. Maybe even awed.

“Yep. My train leaves in the morning.”

Kurt appears on the opposite side of the street. He’s checking his phone, no doubt preparing to text because I’m a full minute late. I shout his name. He pulls down his hoodie and brushes the hair from his eyes, thrown to discover me with Josh.

I shuffle my feet against the kerb. “Well. This is my stop.”

Josh kicks the kerb once, too. “Maybe sometime I can join you guys for dinner?”

Ohmygod. “I am
such
an assweed.”

He bursts into laughter.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry! Would you like to have dinner with us?”

He’s still laughing. “I was only teasing.”

“Please.” I clasp a hand around my compass. “Eat with us.”

“It’s okay. I really do need to pick up a brush before tomorrow. Besides” – he glances at Kurt – “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing.”

But Josh is already walking backwards down the side street. He’s still facing me. “See you in a few days,” he shouts. “Enjoy your raw fish.”

“Enjoy your schnitzel!”

I laugh at the unexpected perverseness of our final exchange as Kurt pops up over my shoulder. His brow wrinkles. “Why was he here? How did
that
happen?”

Josh turns around. I admire the back side of his physique as the street lamps illuminate him, one after another. His figure grows smaller. He reaches a curve in the road and looks over his shoulder. One hand raises in a wave. I mirror the gesture, and he vanishes.

“I don’t know.” I’m mystified. “I was alone in my room. And then he was there.”

It’s Sunday – just before midnight – and I’m curled in bed with Joann Sfar, when there are two knocks against my door. The sound is so soft that I’m not sure I actually heard it. My mind races to Josh, but I push it away as improbable. Kurt? No, he’d text. Maybe it was next door. Or maybe it was a practical joke; it wouldn’t be the first.

I wait for a voice.

Nothing.

I settle back into my book, warily, when I hear it again.
Knock-knock.
Low to the ground. I’m still gripping the hard cover, which might make a serviceable weapon, as I climb out of bed and tiptoe forward. “Hello?” I whisper.

“It’s me,” the other side says. “Josh.”

He adds his name, because he does not yet realize that I’d recognize his voice anywhere, under any circumstance. I’ve had this fantasy before: Midnight. Him. Here. My heartbeat accelerates. I shake out my pillow-limp hair and take a steadying breath. It doesn’t work. I turn the handle silently, but my hand trembles.

“Hi,” he says. His face is close to mine, as if his cheek, or maybe his ear, had been pressed against the wood.

“Hi,” I reply.

Josh leans against the doorframe. His body is several inches lower to the ground, which makes our eyes nearly level. We study each other in silence. He looks different this close. He looks real. Complete, somehow. I glance down the hallway. It’s dark and empty. This fantasy is
definitely
familiar…until he holds up a beer stein.

I frown, but it clicks only a second later. “You went! You really did go.”

Josh lifts the stein in a mock cheers. “I did.”

I smile. “How was it?”

“Crowded. Loud.” He sounds depleted. “A fairground with wall-to-wall frat boys and drunken parents trying to escape from their own bratty children. Mike and Dave would’ve fit right in.”

“Yikes. That bad, huh?”

“It’s safe to say that I’ll be selecting a new destination next weekend.”

“Germany’s loss.”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. He holds out the stein, and I tuck my book underneath my arm to accept it. The stein is made out of traditional earthenware, heavy and gaudy and carved, with a pointed tin lid.

I laugh. “This is really, really hideous.”

“They all were. And the ones in the beer tents were even worse, plain glass with this badly designed Oktoberfest logo. At least this one has a sword fight. See the tiny knights in front of the Bavarian castle? It was the most
adventurous
one I could find.”

And that’s when I realize…this is a gift. Josh picked this out for
me.
Suddenly, the stein is beautiful. I clutch it against my chest. “Thank you.”

He nods at my book. “How is it?”

“Good. You can borrow it. If you want.”

Josh looks down at his sneakers, and then back up, and then back down. “You know that I like you. Right?”

My heart pounds so hard that he can probably feel the reverberations. But – for once – the words fall easily from my lips. “So stay here next weekend. Go out with me.”

Chapter eight

Josh isn’t in school the next day. He has three more days off for a holiday that he doesn’t celebrate. I wish I could get away with it, but the idea of potentially missing an important class or being late on an assignment makes me break out in hives. But I understand that his priorities are elsewhere – his art. So I’m shocked when I enter first period on Tuesday, and he’s slouched at his desk…a full five minutes before the bell rings.

A rush of adrenalin removes any last trace of morning sleepiness. “What are you doing here?” I hug a notebook to my chest, glowing with happiness.

“H–hey.” He sits up straighter. “Yeah. Funny story.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Perhaps the head of school grew suspicious about the length of my absence. Perhaps she called my parents. Perhaps my parents confirmed that we don’t celebrate Sukkoth.”

My shoulders fall. “Perhaps you have a shit-ton of detention?”

Josh shrugs, but it’s a shrug of affirmation.

“That sucks. I’m sorry.”

He clasps his hands on top of his desk. “Actually.” Josh lowers his voice and leans in. “The situation isn’t all bad.”

I crinkle my nose. “It’s not?”

He stares at me. He stares harder.

“Oh.” My gaze drops in a sheepish sort of pleasure. “Um. How much detention did you receive?”

Josh sits back again, resuming his slouch. “Only three weeks, but—”

That
snaps my head back up.

“Including Saturdays.” Another shrug. “It’s not a big deal, I can use the time to work. But I’m also on my final warning. Didn’t take long,” he adds.

My heart stops – literally stops – for a full beat. “Final warning? As in
expulsion
?”

“Seriously. Not a big deal.” But my panic must be showing, because he scoots forward in his seat. “Let’s just say that for a ‘final’ warning? It’s not my first.”

I wait. I have no idea how he can be so calm about this.

“Last year,” he explains. “In fact, I was on my final warning once in the winter and once in the spring. So, somehow, I got two. This is number three.”