Leah on the Offbeat
Page 2

A swell of music. Abby Suso steps forward, wearing a giant beaded collar and an Elvis wig. And she’s singing.
She’s amazing, of course. She doesn’t have one of those limitless voices like Nick or Taylor, but she can carry a tune, and she’s funny. That’s the thing. She’s a straight-up goofball onstage. At one point, Ms. Albright actually guffaws. Which is saying something—not just because who knew guffawing was an actual thing people did, but because you know Ms. Albright has seen this thing a thousand times already. Abby’s just that good. Even I can’t take my eyes off her.
When the show ends, Ms. Albright herds the cast onstage for notes. Everyone drapes themselves all over the platforms, but Simon and Nick scoot to the end of the stage, next to Abby. Of course.
Nick slides his arm around her shoulders, and she tucks up closer to him. Also of course.
There’s no Wi-Fi in here, so I’m stuck listening to Ms. Albright’s notes, followed by an unsolicited ten-minute monologue from Taylor Metternich about losing yourself and becoming your character. I have a theory that Taylor literally gets off on the sound of her own voice. I’m pretty sure she’s having tiny secret orgasms right before our eyes.
Ms. Albright finally shuts it down, and everyone streams out of the auditorium, grabbing backpacks on the way—but Simon, Nick, and Abby wait in a cluster near the orchestra pit. I stand and stretch and head down the aisle to meet them. And a part of me wants to spew praise all over them, but something stops me. Maybe it’s just too painfully sincere, a little too fifth-grade Leah. Not to mention that the thought of fangirling over Abby Suso makes me want to vomit.
I high-five Simon. “You killed it.”
“I didn’t even know you were here,” Abby says.
Hard to know what she means by that. Maybe it’s a secret diss. Like, why are you even here, Leah? Or maybe: I didn’t even notice you, you’re so irrelevant. But maybe I’m overthinking this. I’ve been known to do that when it comes to Abby.
I nod. “I heard you guys were going to Waffle House?”
“Yeah, I think we’re just waiting for Nora.”
Martin Addison walks by. “Hey, Simeon,” he says.
“Hey, Reuben,” says Simon, looking up from his phone. Those are their characters’ names. And yes, Simon plays a guy named Simeon, because I guess Ms. Albright couldn’t resist. Reuben and Simeon are two of Joseph’s brothers, and I’m sure this would all be adorable if it didn’t involve Martin Addison.
Martin keeps walking, and Abby’s eyes flash. Honestly, it’s pretty hard to piss Abby off, but Martin does it just by existing. And by going out of his way to talk to Simon, like last year didn’t happen. It’s so fucking audacious. Simon doesn’t even talk to Martin that much, but I hate that he does at all. Not that I get to dictate who Simon talks to. But I know—I can just tell—that it bugs Abby as much as it bugs me.
Simon turns back to his phone, clearly texting Bram. They’ve been dating for a little over a year, and they’re one of those vomitously happy couples. I don’t mean that in the PDA sense. They actually barely touch each other in school, probably because people are prehistoric dickwads about gay stuff. But Simon and Bram text and eyefuck all day long, like they can’t even go five minutes without contact. To be totally honest, it’s hard not to be jealous. It’s not even just about the true-love-heart-eyes-get-a-room-dudes fairy-tale magic. It’s the fact that they went for it. They had the balls to say fuck this, fuck Georgia, fuck all of you homophobic assholes.
“Are Bram and Garrett meeting us there?” Abby asks.
“Yup. They just got out of soccer.” Simon smiles.
I end up in Simon’s passenger seat, with Nora in the back, digging through her backpack. She’s wearing rolled-up jeans, covered in paint, and her curls are tied back in a messy knot. One ear is pierced all the way to the top, and she has a tiny blue nose stud she got last summer. That girl is honestly too adorable. I love how much she looks like Simon, and I love that they both look like their older sister. They’re a total copy-paste family.
Finally, Nora’s hand emerges from her backpack, holding a giant unopened bag of M&M’s. “I’m starving.”
“We’re literally driving to Waffle House. Right now,” Simon says, but he stretches his hand back to take some. I take a handful, and they’re perfectly melted—which is to say, they’re not quite melted. Just a little soft on the inside.
“So, it wasn’t too much of a shitshow, right?” Simon asks.
“The play?”
He nods.
“Not at all. It was awesome.”
“Yeah, but people are still messing up their lines, and we open on Friday. And freaking Potiphar screwed up a whole song today. God, I need a waffle.”
I pull out my phone and check Snapchat. Abby’s posted this epically long story from rehearsal, and it’s like a montage from a rom-com. A snap of Nick and Taylor singing onstage. A mega close-up selfie of Abby and Simon. An even closer one of Simon’s face where his nostrils look so big, Abby stuck a panda graphic inside one of them. And Abby and Nick, over and over.
I stick my phone back in my pocket. Simon turns onto Mount Vernon Highway. I feel antsy and strange—like I’m bothered by something, but I can’t remember what. It’s like a tiny pinprick in the back of my mind.
“I can’t figure out what song you’re doing,” Nora says.
It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking to me, and a moment after that to realize I’ve been drumming on the glove compartment.
“Huh. I have no idea.”
“It’s like this,” Nora says, tapping a straight one-two beat on the back of my seat. Boom-tap-boom-tap. All eighth notes, quick and even. My mind fills in the rest of it immediately.
It’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” My brain is an asshole.
2
THERE ARE A TON OF cars I recognize from school in the Waffle House parking lot. Simon turns off the ignition and glances at his phone.
The first thing I see when I step outside the car is Taylor’s bright blond head. “Leah! I had no idea you were coming. I totally thought it was just theater people, but yay!” She presses her key, and her car beeps twice. Kind of funny—I don’t remember Taylor having a Jeep. Especially not one with testicles dangling from the bumper.
“Your car has very realistic balls, Taylor.”
“So embarrassing, right?” She falls into step beside me. “My brother’s home for spring break, and he blocked my car in. I had to take his.”
“Oh, nuts. That’s the worst.”
“Yeah, he’s really testicling my patience,” she replies. And, okay. I’ll be the first to admit: sometimes I fucking love Taylor.
She holds the door open, and I follow Simon and Nora inside. I really love the smell of Waffle House. It’s this perfect combination of butter, maple syrup, bacon, and maybe onions? Whatever it is, they should bottle it up and pour it into a scented marker, so I can draw hot manga characters who smell like WaHo. Right away, I spot a bunch of theater people sitting in the corner. Including Martin Addison.
“I’m not sitting there.” I turn to Nora.
She nods shortly. “Agreed.”
“Because of Martin?” Taylor asks.
“Let’s just sit over here,” I say, pressing my lips together. I mean, the stuff with Martin happened a long time ago, and maybe I should let it go. But I can’t. I honestly can’t. This kid literally outed Simon last year. Actually, he found out Simon was gay, blackmailed him, and then fucking outed him. I’ve barely said a word to him since, and neither has Nora. Or Bram. Or Abby.
I settle in next to Nora in a booth near the entrance, and Taylor scoots into the seat Simon was clearly saving for Bram. When the waitress shows up for a first round of orders, everyone but me orders waffles. All I want is a Coke.
“Are you on a diet?” Taylor asks.
“Excuse me?”
Seriously, who says that? First of all, I just ate twenty shit-tons of M&M’s. Second of all, shut the fuck up. I swear, people can’t wrap their minds around the concept of a fat girl who doesn’t diet. Is it that hard to believe I might actually like my body?