The Trouble With Flirting (17 page)

I’ve liked Alex longer than Isabella has, anyway.

I glance at him, wondering if his thoughts are running along the same lines as mine, if he’s trying to square everything away so he doesn’t need to feel guilty, no matter what happens. But he’s looking down at the ground, and I can’t
see his eyes or his expression—the sun has set completely and it’s dark. There are fireflies lighting up the branches of the trees. A bunch of kids are playing Frisbee in the courtyard with a glow-in-the-dark disc, and it streaks across the sky like an alien spaceship.

We move away from the players and spectators, toward the greater darkness between the buildings. Neither of us is leading, as far as I can tell. We just both choose to walk that way.

“How’s your summer going?” Alex asks after a moment of walking in not-uncomfortable-but-oddly-weighty silence.

“Okay, I guess. Today wasn’t great. I got reamed out by my aunt for being a bad niece. Which I guess I am.”

“I doubt that.”

He’s so nice. Have I mentioned that? How
nice
Alex is? From the moment he gave me that stupid rose in eighth grade, I’ve been aware that this is a nice guy. “It’s true I’d rather be hanging out with my friends than with her.”

“Well, of course you would. Who wouldn’t?” We’ve reached a small circle of trees behind the building. We stop and Alex leans against one of the trunks. “What’s it been like working with her?”

“She’s not a barrel of laughs. But it’s fine. I’m glad I’m here—especially now that I get to be in a play. I almost feel guilty, getting to have the fun part when I never even had to apply or try out or anything.”

“From what I heard, you totally earned it, as much as any
one here.” We’re completely in shadow now, far from the splashes of light that the streetlamps throw off. But there’s enough moonlight for me to catch the quick glance he throws at me. “And Harry?”

I pluck at the bark on the trunk closest to me. “What about Harry?”

“Is he improving your summer?”

“I don’t know. He’s Harry, you know? He’s a goof.” I sound more dismissive than I feel. But right now I want Alex to think Harry’s no big deal to me. And clearly I’m no big deal to Harry—he’s still with Marie and hasn’t even bothered to check in with me. Maybe they’re just really into rehearsing. But maybe not.

“I can’t get used to it,” Alex says. “You and Harry.”

“Me and Harry what?”

“You know. Isabella says you’re totally a couple now.”

“Well, if Isabella says it, it must be true.”

“Is it?”

We’ve both been lowering our voices during the whole last exchange. We’re practically whispering now.

“Of course not,” I say. “I’m not an idiot. We’re just having fun, that’s all.”

“Good,” Alex says. “Harry’s not the kind of guy you want to see a girl you like getting too involved with.” I don’t know what to say to that. And what does the
like
mean in that sentence?

Like
is such an ambiguous word. So open to interpretation.

He says, “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Franny.”

“I’m tough.”

He shakes his head with a gentle smile. “That’s not how I see you.”

“How do you see me?”

“I don’t know,” he says, which is disappointing. But then he reaches out and catches my hand in his. “Franny,” he says, and I wait, my throat tightening with my caught breath. But suddenly there are voices near us and he lets go of my hand. “It’s getting late,” he says. “We should probably go back inside.”

I don’t want to. I want to stay in the dark with Alex, who I’ve had a crush on since middle school. It’s dark and it’s warm and I know that something could happen and everything could change.

Something
is
happening: I can feel it.

I draw closer to him. “Alex? Do you remember giving me a flower?”

“A flower?”

I tell him the story.

“Wow,” he says. “I totally forgot I did that. But now it’s coming back to me. You were so cute with your costume and makeup and all, but no one was there for you. And everyone was making this huge fuss over Julia—as usual. And I thought,
Someone should give that girl a flower.
So I did. And then I was so embarrassed I ran away.”

“It was really nice of you.”

“It wasn’t that nice. It was Julia’s bouquet.”

“But it was your idea.”

“And you’ve remembered it all this time.”

We look at each other.

“I’m glad I gave you a flower,” he says.

“You gave me a lot of books, too.”

“I guess I like giving you things.”

“Why’s that?” I take a step toward him. He reaches out to me. His hand finds mine and pulls me toward him. In the dark, we hug. Like friends? No, not like friends, I think, and I raise my face to his. His lips brush against the corner of my mouth. He whispers my name, and I freeze, afraid that if I move, I’ll break the spell. I feel his lips close to mine again, their warmth only an inch away. Then they’re brushing lightly but deliberately against mine—

And then I hear the sound of a girl laughing nearby.

Alex startles and drops my hand. He turns away from me.

“We should go back,” he says, and starts to walk.

I follow him silently, but I don’t want to just leave things like this. My heart is pounding. My skin is prickling all over, like it’s woken up from some kind of deep sleep. But I’m not sure exactly what happened—I mean, I know what
happened;
I just don’t know what it
means
. Or what’s supposed to happen next.

“Wait,” I say as we’re about to round the corner.

He halts and glances back at me. It’s lighter here, but that actually makes it harder to see his eyes. They’re in deep
shadow, while the light picks out the planes of his forehead and the bones of his cheeks.

“It was fun,” I say a little desperately. “Playing darts tonight. Being with you.”

“I know,” he says. “It was amazing. Franny, I—”

And then suddenly Isabella appears around the corner of the building.

She studies us both coolly. “I thought I heard your voices.” Smoke escapes from her mouth with each word.

“There you are!” Alex says with excessive enthusiasm. Well, it sounds excessive to me, anyway. “Thought you were still with your roommates!”

“We finished. So Harry and I . . .” She gestures with the cigarette held between her long fingers just as Harry appears next to her, also holding a cigarette, only he holds it pinched between his index finger and thumb. It occurs to me that I’ve never actually seen him or Isabella smoke before: they’re always so careful about getting far away before lighting up.

Or maybe it’s because their cigarette breaks are my chance to have Alex to myself, so I’ve never even thought about following them.

Harry puts his cigarette to his lips and sucks briefly at it as he looks at me and Alex standing there in the dark together.

“Hi,” I say unsteadily. “How was your rehearsal?”

“Fine,” Harry says. “You were supposed to text me when you were done with work.”

“Sorry. I came over and didn’t see you and figured you
and Marie were still rehearsing, and then I ran into Alex and we just started talking.” It’s the truth. So why does it feel like a lie?

“Kind of a dark place to talk, don’t you think?” Harry says.

Isabella says, “Definitely.” She flicks a bit of ash off her cigarette, puts it back between her perfect lips, and sucks at it so the tip glows for a second. It’s pretty the way it lights up, and I stare at it. It’s easier than meeting anyone’s eyes.

“We were playing darts,” Alex says. “It was really hot in there, so we came outside for a minute.”

“Uh-huh.” Isabella drops her cigarette on the ground and neatly swirls the sole of her ballet flat on it.

Alex touches her lightly on the elbow. “Want to go get something to drink?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Soda in the dining hall?”

“I’d rather walk into town and get a real drink.”

“Okay.” He looks at his watch. “We only have about an hour until curfew.”

“Better get going, then. You guys want to come?” She looks at Harry, not at me.

“Franny?” He waits for my response, head politely cocked.

It feels oddly like we’re all onstage, stiffly reciting lines we’ve barely memorized. Nothing sounds natural.

I shake my head. “I promised my aunt I wouldn’t be late. I
should head back.” I’m so uncomfortable right now . . . I want to be away from them all. No, wait, not Alex. I don’t want to be away from Alex. I want him to pull me back into the shadows. Or—even better—to stand right here in the light and tell Isabella that he wants to walk me home.

But he doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t even meet my eyes.

It’s Harry who says, “I should walk you back. It’s late.”

“You don’t have to.” I don’t want him to. I need time alone to think. To figure out what just happened.

“I’ll take Franny home and then meet up with you guys,” Harry tells Isabella. “Text me when you know where you’re going.”

“Okay.” She suddenly throws her arms around him. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too,” he says soberly, and hugs her back.

They release each other, and then Isabella and Alex move away.

Harry and I stand there for a moment watching them go. Then he says abruptly, “What were you and Alex doing out here?”

“He told you—getting some fresh air.”

“Right.”

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this,” I say, snappish because I feel guilty and confused and it’s easier to feel angry than either of those things. “Like
I’ve
done something wrong—you were the one who went off with Marie for half
the night. And you’re always flirting with her, but I never make you feel bad.”

“I asked you to come with us tonight. And told you to let me know when you were done with work. Which you didn’t do.”

I shrug irritably. “The point is, we both spent time with members of the opposite gender tonight. Who cares? This isn’t the eighteenth century.”

“There’s nothing else going on, right? With you and Alex? Because Isabella . . .” He stops.

“What?”

“She thinks Alex has a thing for you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “He’s been in love with her since we got here.” But my voice sounds too high, because I’m excited: if Isabella is worried that Alex likes me, that’s just more evidence that he really does.

“True,” Harry says. He takes a quick, audible breath. “Franny, this is weird for me. I don’t do the whole jealous thing. To be honest, I’ve never had to. So just tell me everything’s cool and I’ll believe you.”

“Everything’s cool,” I say.

He takes my hand. “Now look me in the eyes and say that. And it wouldn’t hurt if you said something reassuring about how Alex looks a little like a frog with those bulgy eyes of his.”

I take a deep breath, squeeze his fingers, raise my gaze to his, and say again, “Everything’s cool—”

He bobs his head. “Okay then.”

“—but we never said we were going to be exclusive, you know.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to add this. I guess I just want to make something clear to both of us.

He drops my hand. “That wasn’t all that reassuring.”

“I’m just saying. Not that it matters, necessarily. But since you’re the one asking all these questions, I think it’s important to be honest and . . . and clear about these things. Right? So no one gets hurt.” I’m babbling and I know it. I force myself to stop. Which only makes me more aware of the silence that falls as soon as I do.

“Are you mad?” I ask after a moment goes by.

He shakes his head, slowly, like he’s distracted. Like he’s thinking.

Some kids walk by us and open the dorm door. Light streams out. They go in and it gets dark again. Then Harry says slowly, “There are some things I guess I thought went without saying. But maybe I’m wrong about that.”

“We have fun together,” I say. “That’s all that matters, right?”

“That’s all that matters,” he repeats, almost absently. “So if you suddenly felt like ‘having fun’ with someone else, then that would be all that mattered. Right?”

“I guess.” Part of me wants to keep everything all right between us. And the other part wants to make everything completely shattered between us and then go tell Alex that it’s shattered. And that part is desperately hoping that he’s busy
shattering everything with Isabella right now.

“And the same would go for me?” Harry asks. “Just to be clear? We’re both free to ‘have fun’ with anyone at any time?”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” I say. “You know you already do whatever you feel like. Especially when it comes to girls. None of it really matters to you, does it? Not in any serious way.”

He takes a step back. His eyes glitter in the glow from a courtyard streetlight, which looks like an old-fashioned oil lamp but only because it’s a fake. “Do you really think that?”

I say quickly, “It’s not a criticism—not at all. It’s just who you are. Which is fine. I’m not trying to change you.”

“I’m so glad,” he says. His tone is mild, almost amiable, but he hunches his shoulders forward like he needs to protect himself against an imminent attack.

“I like that you’re easy to be with, Harry. It’s a
good
thing. You’re the most fun guy I know.”

“Just so long as you don’t make the mistake of thinking I could ever be serious?” he says.

“We’ve both wanted to keep things casual.”

“Give me a break, Franny.” His voice is suddenly sharp with anger, something I haven’t heard from him before. I’m so surprised I just stare at him. I didn’t think Harry
got
angry. “You decided what kind of person I was without even giving me a chance. In what way haven’t I been a good boyfriend? In what way have I treated you badly?”

“I never said you did. And I wouldn’t—you’ve been incredibly sweet.” I touch his arm.

He flings my hand off. “Don’t call me sweet! Jesus. That’s what you call your old aunt who smells funny. I don’t want to be your old maid aunt, Pearson. You already have one of those and you hate her.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

He shakes his head. “Everything you’re saying to me tonight—you’re
damning
me with your words. I’m fun. I’m sweet. I’m a flirt. God, kill me
now
. Why are you doing this? Does it have something to do with Alex?”