Leah on the Offbeat
Page 21

I should have tucked it away, but I guess I felt brave. We were in the courtyard when I showed her. I used to wait with her there after school when her bus was late. It was September 19—a Friday, the day before my birthday—and the air felt crisp and new. I hadn’t even brought my sketchbook that day, but I’d taken a photo of the drawing on my phone.
“You can’t laugh,” I’d told her. She laughed as soon as I said that. I could barely sit still, my heart was beating so fast. I passed her my phone, and then stared at my knees. She was quiet for a few excruciating moments, and then she turned to me at last.
“Leah.”
I looked up to find her staring at me, silent. Her mouth was twisted up at the corners.
“It’s really rough, obviously.”
“I can’t believe you drew that,” she said. “It’s—wow.”
“It’s nothing.”
But it didn’t feel like nothing. It felt like a love letter. It felt like a question.
“I’m just.” She sighed. “I love it so much. Leah. I’m going to cry.”
“Don’t cry,” I said. I was like an overinflated balloon. Full of air and tension, both anchored and floating. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it.” She scooted closer. No one else was in the courtyard. She smelled like vanilla, and her eyelashes were like thick black parentheses. That was it. My brain only had room for those two facts.
Abby’s waiting outside Ms. Livingstone’s classroom, Simon’s phone in hand. I can’t look at her without blushing.
She still has my drawing. She kept it.
“So here’s what I want to know,” Abby says. “How do you find time to take literally three hundred and sixteen selfies with Bieber?”
Simon scoffs. “I make the time.”
“Apparently.”
He makes a face at her. “How do you have time to count my selfies?”
“I don’t even know.” She grins, eyes cutting toward me. “Oh, and Leah.”
She touches my elbow.
“Yup?”
“We need to figure out road trip stuff. Were you going to ride the bus home today?”
I nod carefully.
“Okay, cool.” She smiles. “So, I’ve got my mom’s car, and I was wondering if maybe we could do WaHo after school? Then we can hammer out the plans, and I can drive you home afterward.”
“Um. Yeah.” I swallow. “Sure.”
“Yay! All right, I have to get to calc, but okay—great! I’ll meet you outside the atrium?”
I nod, feeling dazed. I feel Simon studying my face, lips pursed like he’s about to ask me something. God. I don’t want to talk about the drawing. Or Abby. Or the most pointless crush I’ve ever had. I mean, Simon doesn’t even know I’m bisexual. But he keeps looking at me with his Thinker face, nose wrinkled like a bunny’s.
The weird part is, it should be easy to tell him this. Simon, of all people. It’s just that my heart and lungs and pulse don’t seem to realize this.
“Leah?” he says softly.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
He’s quiet for a moment. And then he looks me straight in the eye. “Do I take too many dog selfies?”
See, now I don’t know whether to laugh or choke.
Seven hours later, I’m in Abby Suso’s car.
Her mom’s car. Whatever. I’m in a tiny, enclosed space with Abby, who’s wearing a fucking sundress and tiny moonstone earrings. She hums as she backs out of her parking space.
I feel breathless and unsteady.
“So we’re good to go on the apartment. We can have it whenever we want. My friend will just stay with her boyfriend.”
“Wow. That’s really nice of her.”
“Right? I’ve actually only met her once. She’s actually my cousin’s girlfriend’s friend’s sister.”
I laugh. “What?”
“I know. It’s ridiculous.” She pauses, adjusting the air-conditioning. “She’s my cousin Cassie’s . . . girlfriend Mina’s . . . friend Max’s . . . older sister. Caitlin.”
“And she’s just giving us her apartment next week.”
Abby nods, turning right on Mount Vernon Highway. “We can literally drive up tomorrow if we want.”
“Wow.”
“But I think we should do like Monday through Wednesday, or something, so it won’t be so crazy there. Unless you want to see what campus is like on a Saturday night.”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I lean back against the headrest. “And Monday works. That’s the fourth, right? Today’s the first . . .”
My phone buzzes with a text from Simon. Oh! My inner goddess has a question for you
I stare at the screen. He’s still typing.
WAIT
He types again. We aim to please, Miss Steele
And again. *w-t-f WHAT’S HAPPENING???
I glance sideways at Abby. “I think Simon’s texting me quotes from Fifty Shades of Grey.”
“Hmm,” Abby says. She gets these crinkles by her eyes sometimes—like old people get, but she makes them look young. Abby Suso is singlehandedly reclaiming eye crinkles for our generation.
Simon texts me again. I think someone hacked my virginity
*p-h-o-n-e not my virginity!!!
Why does it say virginity when I type virginity??????
I mean p-h-o-n-e
“Wait.” I stare Abby down. “Does this have something to do with you using Simon’s phone this morning?”
Abby shrugs, eyes wide. “I don’t know. Does it?”
Holy. Shit.
“You’re a fucking genius, Suso.”
My phone buzzes insistently. LEAH WHY IS THIS HAPPENING??? I swear this isn’t me, it’s my subconscious
WHAT NO STOP, he adds. It’s my a-u-t-o-c-o-r-r-e-c-t We aim to please, Miss Steele HOW DO I FIX THIS
I burst out laughing. “I’m screenshotting this.”
Abby’s lips tug upward. “This is why you don’t lend your phone out on April Fools’ Day, Simon.”
Abby Suso. Who knew she was so evil?
I shake my head. “I’m legit so impressed right now.”
“Thank you.”
“Sent you a screenshot,” I say as we pull into Waffle House.
“YES.” She turns off the car and taps into her texts. “And . . . someone hacked his virginity. I’m dead.”
I rub my cheek, smiling. “I don’t even know how to respond to him.”
“Because it’s too perfect.”
“I want to frame these texts and put them in a museum.”
Abby smiles.
I smile back. It’s like my facial muscles have gone rogue. And now my heart’s banging around my rib cage like a drunk, blindfolded bird.
Yeah. I don’t know why I decided a road trip was reasonable, because I can’t even handle the Waffle House parking lot with this girl. I should have gotten a doctor’s exemption. To Whom It May Concern: In my professional opinion, Leah Catherine Burke should be barred from any and all prolonged interactions with Abigail Nicole Suso, whose middle name she has absolutely no reason to know, but knows anyway.
Of course I fucking know it.
I trail a few steps behind her in the parking lot, feeling foggy. Thank God this girl could converse with a rock, because my brain isn’t working. It just stopped out of nowhere, like a car stalled on the highway.
She’s searching for something on her phone. Abby gestures so much when she talks. Even now, even while actively Googling, she keeps waving her phone emphatically.
“Ah. Okay, here we go,” she says, tilting the screen toward me. “I’m so excited about these.” I think she’s talking about prom shoes.
I peer at the screen. “Are these jellies?” I ask finally.
She beams. “Yes!”
They’re the classiest jellies I’ve ever seen—crosshatched, clear ballet flats, infused with silver glitter. Kind of like what Cinderella would wear if she were a six-year-old sucking a rocket pop by the neighborhood pool.
“They’re really awesome,” I say.