“Yeah, like, why do we need a Breakfast Club scene where they talk it into the ground?”
Onscreen, the arm touch segues into lingering eye contact and the girls go bananas: Kiss, kiss, kiss! I shake my head.
“It’s fanservice. Pure and simple.”
“It’s lazy. Snickerdoodle?”
“Just a tiny piece.”
Abel breaks a big chunk off for me and drapes his arm across the back of the couch. I move a little bit, just out of habit.
“Oh…I’m not in your space, am I?” he grins.
“Shut up.”
“You started it,” he says.
“Yeah, well, you disappeared on me. Call it even.”
“Sorry,” he mutters around his cookie.
“Why’d you just leave like that?”
“I dunno. Shandley was such a dicksmack, I couldn’t deal. You get in your bubble, you forget what the rest of the world’s like.”
“I don’t think he’s a bigot.”
“Self-loather?”
“Maybe.”
“Ugh. They should die in a fire.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Sooner they go extinct, the better. They make us look bad.”
“Don’t you feel sorry for them, though?”
Abel flicks my ear. “Quit being nice,” he says. “You make me feel like a turd.”
“Sorry.”
He takes another bite and brushes crumbs off his shirt, red with a neon old-school joystick on the front. He leans his head back and lets out a long, showy sigh. “So he hooked up with Arch.”
“Who did?”
He makes a duh face. “Kade.”
“Oh.”
“Arch. Even his stupid name tries too hard. He’s like 27 and he wears these Goth t-shirts from the mall.” Abel wipes foam off his upper lip with the back of his hand. “He met my sister once at Antonelli’s when my family was out to dinner, like right after she published the book with Mom, and he talked to her like she was a cocker spaniel. And then he was all like ‘I really admire people with Down syndrome,’ like he was in a stupid man-pageant and the world-peace answer already got used up. He asked her for a signed copy of Susannah Says. I wanted to kick him in the nuts.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I really really liked him.”
“Arch?”
“Kade.”
“I know.”
“And he was all like, ‘Uh, I’m sorry, were we monogamous? I missed the memo.’ Like it’s my fault he just couldn’t wait to fuck someone horrible.”
“That sucks.”
“Susannah didn’t like him. I should’ve known. My sister can spot a cockpunch from fifty paces.”
“Screw him.”
“Screw him.”
“He was too skinny anyway.”
“You think?”
“He looked like a stork.” I grab another chunk of snickerdoodle. “And that name? Kade?”
“Tacky. I know.”
“Kade and Abel. Like you’re reading Genesis with a cold.”
He laughs like pffffff! and sprays tiny crumbs. “You been saving that one?”
“Since we left.”
“Well played. Hey, can I tell him we’re doing it?”
“Huh?”
“He was jealous of you. It would make him nuts.”
“Why was he—”
“Ugh, forget it. Forget it! Why bother? I don’t care.”
Abel knots his arms and sighs at the screen, his knee leaning lightly on mine. I try to refocus on the show. Sim and Cadmus aren’t in this scene; it’s the subplot with Dr. Lagarde and Dutchie fighting over the rescue mission. Dutchie yells, Just because you’re in charge doesn’t mean you’re right! All I hear is He was jealous of you.
He was jealous. Of you.
Then I get the shoulder tap.
“’Scuse me…hello? Hi-ii!”
I steel myself and turn around slowly. It’s this short girl with thick brown hair, a glee-club smile, and a tinfoil Xaarg hat. She’s got on these goofy glasses with pink plastic frames and a white tank top that spells out BELIEVER in little craft-store diamonds. She leans right over me to talk to Abel.
“You’re the guy from the Q&A!” she says.
Abel lights up. “C’est moi.”
“I think it’s really cool what you said to Tom Shandley. He was being a creep.”
“Aww, thanks!”
“Everyone was talking about it. You’re like, convention-famous.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Thanks for defending Cadsim.”
“Oh no, I wasn’t really—”
“Can I get a picture with you?”
“Uh—yeah. Of course!”
This is so dumb, but I figure I’ll let Abel have his moment. “Want me to take it?” I ask Pink Glasses.
“Who are you? Are you his boyfriend?”
“We’re just friends right now.” Right now?
“Oh, you get in too! Here, my friend’ll—ANNIE! Take our picture, okay?”
This stringy blonde comes skulking over. She’s got on Cleopatra eyeliner and a black tank top with a small silver Castaway Planet logo, and she looks vaguely embarrassed that she’s required to exist, let alone document the evening. Pink Glasses perches on the edge of the couch and leans into us while Annie snaps photos. Then she grabs the camera back and takes a few more herself, framing the shots and barking orders like a fashion photographer: “Smile for my CastieCon scrapbook!” “Look super-sexy, guys!”
Abel blows kisses and aims a silly grin at the camera. It’s good to see him do that, even if he’s playing it up. There’s something about his face when he smiles, like he’s a stained-glass window with sun beaming through. I have to smile too.
“Captain…I notice you are still awake.”
Onscreen, it’s time for the big Cadsim scene. The girls abandon picture-taking; clasp hands and dart off with a squeal. Abel nudges me.
“Pink Glasses and Annie,” he whispers. “I kind of ship it.”
All the girls find their seats and the room gets so church-quiet you can practically smell holy water. Abel shifts closer—not to touch me or anything, just to draw a clear line between us and them. Warmth glows in the sliver of space between us. We each train our eyes on half the TV screen: his boy on the left and mine on the right, murmuring to each other in the dark.
“I’m so tired of running. Tired of the fight.” The girls in front recite it reverently, in perfect sync with Cadmus. “You know, I’m almost glad I’m stuck here with you. I’m free here. I don’t have to hold it together.”
“Perhaps you underestimate yourself, Captain. You are always free.”
“Not like this. I only feel this way when you’re around. Maybe we should just stay here forever, huh?”
“The notion is highly impractical, though you would be an agreeable companion.”
“It’s so quiet in here, Sim.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Like it could swallow up all your secrets.”
“Quite…”
Meaningful look. Another lingering arm touch. Fade to black.
Abel pokes me and I gulp in some air.
For crap’s sake: the holy-grail scene of the world’s most ridiculous, implausible ship, and I was holding my breath with the rest of the room.
“Wanna go somewhere else?” he says.
I close my eyes and shudder. “Definitely.”
***
Across the street from the Superion Inn, within sight of the Sunseeker’s parking spot, St. Agnes is having a summer fair in its freshly blacktopped lot. The second he spots the plaster clown head from the cab, Abel wigs out and I know I’m getting dragged over no matter what.
We buy a roll of red tickets from a standard-issue church lady—billowy flowered blouse, little gold cross, glasses dangling from a beaded chain—and roam around the crowded fair. It’s pretty much like every other church fair I’ve been to. The basketball toss has the same sad shredded net, kids shriek in a red and blue bouncy castle and chuck dented ping-pong balls at goldfish bowls, and the snack stands sell sausages and roasted corncobs and cones of hot popcorn in that radioactive yellow. Everything’s familiar. Except now I’m here with a boy.