We Are the Goldens Page 6

  You sighed. “No, Nell. I wasn’t downtown with Mr. Barr.”

  I tried to ignore your tone and let the relief wash over me. But … there was something about the way you’d said with.

  I wanted to, I really, really wanted to, but I just couldn’t let it go.

  “So you weren’t downtown?”

  “No, actually, I was downtown.”

  “Was Mr. Barr downtown?”

  “Yes, he was. And I ran into him. I’d gone to SFMOMA to look at the Rothko for my essay that was due today. He was at SFMOMA too, no great surprise considering he’s an art teacher. We ran into each other. Chatted on the sidewalk. Big deal. Why are you interrogating me? Maybe you should join Sonia’s law firm.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out how the rumor started.”

  “Who cares?”

  “I do. Why don’t you?”

  “Guess what, Nell? This has absolutely nothing to do with you, so why don’t you just back off.”

  The floor beneath us rumbled with the sound of Mom opening the automatic garage door.

  You looked at me. Pleading. “Will you please shut up about this around Mom? We do not need to make this the topic of tonight’s dinner conversation.”

  “God, Layla. I wouldn’t say anything to Mom.”

  Of course I wouldn’t say anything to Mom. You know how I hate when things get tense with the two of you. Like when she wouldn’t let you go to that boy/girl sleepover party in Sonoma at the end of eighth grade and you muttered bitch under your breath, and she totally freaked and I swore to her that she was hearing things. I try to ease friction. That’s my job.

  “Okay, then don’t.”

  Over dinner Mom asked you to tell her more about your weekend and you told her it was relaxing and a little too quiet. You never once made eye contact with me. We talked about Mom’s new project at work, how the play was coming along, the soccer team.

  I knocked on your door after helping Mom with the dishes, but you were at your desk with your headphones on, and you waved me away.

  I went to my room and called Felix and told him that you ran into Mr. B. and that was it. A chance meeting on the street.

  “So can you, like, set the record straight?”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said, “but I don’t know why anyone would bother listening to me.”

  “Because you’re persuasive. You’re smarter than the devil. You don’t need an advocate.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “And, Felix?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t give that picture to Hazel Porter. It’s too much.”

  “Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to show it to anybody but you.”

  Sam Fitzpayne noticed that I’d missed play practice.

  Till that point I hadn’t even been sure Sam knew my first name.

  “Hey, Nell,” he said when I walked into Friday’s rehearsal. “Where you been?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sorry. Some stuff came up.”

  He stepped closer. “Everything okay with you?”

  I could have died right then and there. The way he looked at me, I almost wished I’d had some grave illness or tragedy, anything to draw him nearer, to bring out more of that … what was it? Sam-ness? It was empathy, I guess, and if empathy means feeling what it’s like to be in someone else’s shoes, then I wondered if Sam could feel how fast my heart was beating.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just been a crappy week.”

  “Come here,” he said, and he led me over to an aisle seat in the auditorium. He sat in the seat behind me. This I didn’t understand until I felt his hands on my shoulders. He started to squeeze.

  He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “How does that feel?”

  How did he think it felt? As Shakespeare might put it: so hallowed and so gracious … and so totally awesome.

  “Nice.” I closed my eyes. He dug his thumbs into the space between my shoulder blades and then marched them up the back of my neck to the base of my scalp.

  “Hamlet! Ophelia!” Ms. Eisenstein bellowed. “Front and center.”

  “Gotta go.” He jumped up and ran to the stage. Felix slid into the seat next to me.

  “Holy shiteth!” he mumbled. “Thou hast been fondled most foully by his cunning mitts.”

  “Shut up,” I said. “You’re kinda ruining the moment.”

  I sat still, trying to make my skin remember Sam’s fingers.

  “I’d give you a high five or something,” Felix whispered, “but that might look a bit obvious.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Nell. Take it from a guy. We don’t touch girls like that unless we want to touch them in other places too.”

  I swatted him on the leg. “Don’t be gross.”

  “Desire isn’t gross, my friend, it’s beautiful.”

  “What greeting card did you get that from?”

  He laughed and gave me a congratulatory punch on the arm. We sat and watched Ms. Eisenstein directing Sam and Isabella. I thought about Sam touching me in other places. It thrilled and terrified me.

  You know that I haven’t had a ton of experience with fooling around or sex. I’m okay with that, I really am, because I feel like it’s been my choice. I know you’ve had more experience, and boyfriends, and I probably could have had more experience too if I’d wanted, but I’d chosen to, you know, keep it pretty clean for the most part. Maybe if I hadn’t had Felix around I’d have had a boyfriend in middle school. Other girls did, but from what I could tell it just meant they texted all the time and wrote each other declarations of love on Facebook and sometimes fooled around and then whispered about it later like they were embarrassed. I was pretty sure I got more out of my friendship with Felix than they got out of those boys they’d roped into their romantic plotlines.

  Since there’s no point in not being totally honest with you, I have to tell you something. Remember when I went to that party last summer with Hannah, that girl from camp? I see her sometimes, mostly in the summer, and I’m happy to hang out with her, but when long stretches of time go by when I don’t see her, it’s fine in a way it would never be with Felix. Anyway, I went to spend the night at Hannah’s and we went to a party with her older sister, who is nothing like you. She’s mean and she barely tolerates Hannah, although she did let us tag along with her, which I guess was pretty cool.

  I met a guy there who was in town visiting his cousin. He’d tagged along to the party too. Anyway, before I knew it, we were out on an upstairs porch, in side-by-side reclining chairs, totally making out. His name was Kevin. He was cute and he smelled nice and we kissed for what seemed like forever.

  You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this when I already told you on the Sunday morning I came back from Hannah’s. Why am I telling you something you already know?

  Because here’s what really happened. Here’s what I didn’t tell you:

  Kevin and I squeezed onto one of those two reclining chairs and we kissed and our hands wandered and snaps and buttons and zippers were undone all over the place and we didn’t keep it clean, far from it, and I guess I was sort of embarrassed by the whole thing. I’m not totally sure why. Maybe because we didn’t even say good-bye to each other that night. Maybe because I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and I left with the feeling that I’d let him down. That there were things I should have done that I didn’t. Or that I should have done what I did do better.

  I just felt so confused and, honestly, a little sickened by the whole thing. That evening when I’d gotten ready in Hannah’s bedroom I had no idea that by the end of the night I’d be readjusting most of my clothing, packaging myself up again to look like my life hadn’t taken this unexpected detour.

  I told Hannah, who’d spent most of the party looking for me, exactly what I told you. I told her that we kissed and that it was nice, that he was sweet, because that was the version of events I wanted to believe, that I wanted to remember, and it’s funny beca
use it pretty much worked out that way until right about now.

  Listen: we didn’t have actual sex. I was nowhere near ready for that, certainly not with someone’s random cousin, and he didn’t try or anything, but still, lines were crossed, and anyway, if I had had sex, I totally would have told you even if I’d been super embarrassed, because I could never imagine something so major happening in my life without telling you about it.

  Can you say the same thing? Can you imagine something major in your life, a rite of passage, a game changer—can you imagine something happening that’s bigger than big and not telling me about it?

  Can you?

  I think you can.

  Actually, Layla, I know you can.

  LET IT BE KNOWN TO the world that a small miracle occurred on Saturday, the twelfth of November.

  I, N. Golden, professional benchwarmer and freshman mascot, played in eight whole minutes of our semifinal game against Brick-Moreland.

  When Coach Jarvis shouted at me to take the field, I sat there, stunned, convinced she was mistaking me for you. Even though she told me to go in and replace you, I thought there must be some mistake.

  “Move it, N. Golden. Now.”

  I jumped up and pulled off my sweats and my beanie. It was freezing and the fog was thick as cotton and my legs felt slow and stiff and I shouted, “Layla!” across the field and you looked up and saw me running toward you, and you could have been angry—this was the semifinals—but you grinned and you ran toward me and you gave me a squeeze and said, “Make me proud,” and you took my seat on the bench.

  I didn’t embarrass myself out there, but I didn’t have one of those made-for-TV moments either. I didn’t score a goal or make a save or manage a theatrical header. I just did my best and got in a few decent passes and one throw-in to Alice Morrow that landed in the sweet spot.

  Brick-Moreland played well, but we played better, and we made it into the finals.

  We were hosting the post-game pizza party again at Dad’s. I’d had such a good time the year before, imagining myself as one of the players, and I could hardly believe that here I was now, an actual Lightning team member heading into the actual finals.

  It isn’t all that often that moments serve as real reminders of the passing of time, but this was one of them. Last year I wasn’t on the team, I didn’t go to City Day, and there was still some nagging concern that maybe I wouldn’t even get into the school, let alone make varsity, but here I was twelve short months later, and everything that seemed so out of reach back then was now part of my everyday life.

  Felix begged for an invitation.

  “It’s strictly Lightning-only,” I said.

  “What about avid fans? I haven’t missed a single game. And by the way, you were seriously awesome out there.”

  “Thanks, Felix, but you can’t flatter your way into the party.”

  The crowd was still milling around. Teams from other schools had shown up for the next game. Golden Gate Park was awash in purple and gold and green and red and blue and white. A rainbow of jerseys cutting through the thick gray mist.

  I lost you. I stood with Felix, Dad, Mom, and Sonia.

  I searched the throngs of people, eying the stands, an anxiety welling in me like you were a toddler lost in an amusement park. I’d had enough bench time before Coach Jarvis threw me in to take an inventory of the crowd. Mr. Barr was there, though he wasn’t the only teacher. The closer we got to the finals, the more the whole community started to come out to support us, but still, I worried you were standing somewhere with him, in plain sight. The rumors had started to settle down, and I didn’t want any new fuel for the fire.

  “Who’s a soccer star?” you shouted as you ran toward us and threw your arms around me, messing my hair like I was a dog.

  “Me?” Felix asked. You humored him by pulling him into our embrace. I was so thoroughly happy in that moment that I felt my eyes sting with tears.

  “How about some celebratory dumplings?” Dad and his dumplings. He’s such a one-trick pony.

  Mom said she’d love to but she was running late for something or other. It’s great that Mom and Dad and Sonia can share the stands at a soccer game, but sitting around a table with a lazy Susan is something else entirely. We were all relieved.

  “Sounds delish,” Felix said.

  “Well, join us, then,” Dad said.

  We turned and started walking toward the parking lot, but you didn’t budge.

  “Listen, guys, dumplings sound great, really great, but I have plans to go hang out. I’ll meet you back at the house this afternoon. Before the party. Promise.”

  “Layla,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Come with us.”

  “No can do.”

  “Layla.”

  “What?”

  I just stared at you. I gave you my best don’t do this look.

  “Nell. I’m going to go hang out with some friends. Stop trying to control me.”

  “Now, girls,” Dad said. “Let’s not bicker.” He sounded like a dad on a sitcom. We hardly ever fought, and I detected a sort of satisfaction coming off Dad, as if he were enjoying doing the job we’d robbed him of all these years.

  “Fine,” I said, and started waking quickly toward the car. Felix jogged to catch up with me.

  “What was that about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just worried about her.”

  “You’re worried about Layla? The awesomely perfect Layla?”

  “Just all the gossip and stuff.”

  “That? Who cares? Nobody really believes that. They just say it because they figure if anyone could have Layla it would have to be the hot art teacher. Some people—you, primarily—are unduly infatuated with her.”

  “You are too, you know.”

  “Moi? No offense, but she’s not all that.”

  Something about this was nice to hear, that Felix didn’t worship you. He didn’t harbor a secret crush. But it wasn’t what I needed at this moment. What I needed to hear was that you were telling me the truth. That you actually were meeting friends your own age and I had no reason to worry or wonder. But of course Felix couldn’t tell me that.

  “Did you see Sam?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Sam Fitzpayne. Did you see him?”

  “He wasn’t there.”

  “Yes, he was. He showed up after halftime.”

  I’d searched the stands top to bottom, but not in the second half. I felt my heart lift.

  Felix knocked into me with his shoulder. “I assumed you’d paid Coach Jarvis to put you in just so he wouldn’t know you never play.”

  “Nope. She arrived at that insane decision on her own.”

  “Well, you nailed it out there,” Felix said. “You always do.”

  I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. I can do that. I can hold on to Felix’s hand in public and it isn’t awkward or anything, it just makes me feel connected and important and essential to him.

  The dumplings were good. The dumplings are always good. I’ll never understand how they manage to put the soup on the inside.

  As you promised, you showed up at Dad’s in the afternoon. I’d had a nice lunch out with Dad and Sonia and Felix, and I’d played eight whole minutes, and we were headed to the finals, and I was still buzzing with the knowledge that Sam had showed up at the game, and I didn’t want to ruin anything by giving you some sort of third degree, so I just said, “Hey,” when you walked in.

  Dad sent us to the store for paper plates and cups and napkins and stuff. We actually found ones with soccer balls on them, which just seemed too corny not to buy. We went home and painted signs and put up purple streamers. There we were, both high school students, the days of birthday parties and clowns and balloons far in our past, yet it kind of felt like being a kid again.

  By the time the first guest arrived, I was giddy with excitement.

  It’s asto
nishing how much pizza fifteen girls can put away. We left a graveyard of crusts. We made ice cream sundaes in the kitchen and I took the whipped-cream and sprayed it in Chiara Vittorio’s face. She asked politely if she might borrow the can. Then she returned the favor. It got a little out of hand as whipped-cream mustaches and nipples started springing up. We laughed like a bunch of drunken frat boys.

  It goes without saying that we never would have gotten away with this sort of behavior at Mom’s house.

  We settled in the living room for the obligatory viewing of Bend It Like Beckham. I stretched out on the floor with some pillows. It wasn’t until the scene of the pickup game in the park, where Jules spots Jess playing with the boys and kicking their asses, that I noticed you were gone. It’s our favorite scene. I looked up to make eye contact with you, but your seat was empty.

  I stood up.

  “Grab me another soda, will you, N. Golden?” Chiara asked.

  “Sure.”

  I didn’t go into the kitchen. I went down the hallway to your closed door.

  I thought about knocking. I did. But since you were shutting me out—I had no choice but to barge in.

  Anyway, who disappears from her own party?

  You were sitting at your desk, facing the wall, and I was able to catch a glimpse of your laptop. You snapped it shut, but I saw the screen.

  “What the hell?” you shouted, and swiveled around in your chair, your face a mash-up of surprise and anger.

  “I was wondering where you’d gone.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t knock.”

  I didn’t tell you that my failure to knock was calculated precisely so I might catch you doing something you didn’t want me to see.

  Like video chatting.

  With Mr. Barr.

  While you glared at me, I felt something shifting. A fault line forming. I stood on one side, and you stood on the other.

  I’ll probably always remember where I was and what I wore and all that; it was that kind of moment.

  I could no longer pretend.

  Something was happening.

  Something that shouldn’t be.

  I managed to say, “Come back and watch the movie.”