“Aren’t you from DC?”
“Yes.”
“That’s cool. What part?”
“Takoma Park,” she says. “You know DC?”
“I mean, not really. My brother’s a sophomore at Georgetown,” Martin says.
Martin and his freaking brother.
“Are you okay, Simon?” asks Abby. “Drink some water!”
Can’t stop coughing. And now Martin’s offering me his water. Pushing it toward me. Martin can freaking bite me. Seriously. Like he’s so calm and collected.
He turns back to Abby. “So, you live with your mom?”
She nods.
“What about your dad?” he says.
“He’s still in DC.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Abby says, with a short laugh. “If my dad lived in Atlanta, I wouldn’t be hanging out with you guys right now.”
“Oh, is he really strict?” asks Martin.
“Yup,” she says. Her eyes cut toward me. “So, do you think we should start Act Two?”
Martin stretches and yawns in this weird vertical maneuver, and I watch as he attempts to position his arm next to Abby’s on the table. Abby pulls her arm away immediately and scratches her shoulder.
I mean, it’s pretty terrible to watch. Terrible and fascinating.
We run through the scene. Speaking of disasters. I don’t have a speaking part, so I shouldn’t judge. And I know they’re trying. But we’re having to stop at every freaking line, and it’s getting a little ridiculous.
“He got took away,” Abby says, covering her script with one hand.
I nod at her. “Got took away in a . . .”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “In a . . . coach?”
“You got it.” She opens her eyes, and I see her lips moving silently. Coach. Coach. Coach.
Martin stares into space, grinding his knuckle into his cheek. He has extremely prominent knuckles. Martin has prominent everything: huge eyes, long nose, full lips. Looking at him is exhausting.
“Martin.”
“Sorry. My line?”
“Dodger just said he got took away in a coach.”
“A coach? What coach? Where coach?”
Almost. Never perfect. Always almost. We start the scene over again. And I think: it’s Friday night. In theory, I could be out getting drunk. I could be at a concert.
I could be at a concert with Blue.
But instead, it’s Oliver getting taken away in a coach. Again and again and again.
“I’m never going to learn this,” Abby says.
“Don’t we have until the end of Christmas break?” Martin asks.
“Yeah, well. Taylor has everything memorized already.”
Abby and Martin both have huge parts in the play, but Taylor is the lead. As in, the play is Oliver! and Taylor plays Oliver.
“But Taylor has a photographic memory,” Martin says, “allegedly.”
Abby smiles a little bit.
“And a very fast metabolism,” I add.
“And a natural tan,” says Martin. “She never goes out in the sun. She was just born tan.”
“Yeah, Taylor and her tan,” says Abby. “I’m so jealous.” Martin and I both burst out laughing, because Abby definitely wins for melanin.
“So would it be weird if I ordered another waffle?” asks Martin.
“It would be weird if you didn’t,” I say.
I don’t really understand it. I almost think he’s growing on me.
14
FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
DATE: Dec 6 at 6:19 PM
SUBJECT: Coming Out Thing
Did you do it, did you do it, did you do it?
—Jacques
FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
DATE: Dec 6 at 10:21 PM
SUBJECT: Re: Coming Out Thing
Okay. I didn’t exactly do it.
I got there, and my dad had everything set up for Hotel Hanukkah: the menorah, presents wrapped and lined up on the nightstand, and a plate of latkes and two glasses of chocolate milk (my dad has to have chocolate milk with all fried stuff). Anyway, it looked like he put a lot of effort into it, so that was kind of nice. My stomach was churning, because I was really planning on telling him. But I didn’t want to do it straight out of the gate, so I figured I’d wait until we finished opening presents.
So, you know how you hear stories about people coming out to their parents, and the parents say they already knew somehow? Yeah, my dad isn’t going to say that. I’m officially certain that he has no idea I’m gay, because you will not believe what book he picked out to give me. History of My Life by Casanova (or, as you would say, by “freaking” Casanova).
Looking back, there was probably a perfect opportunity hiding in there somewhere. Maybe I should have asked him to exchange it for Oscar Wilde. I don’t know, Jacques. I guess it kind of stopped me in my tracks. But now I’m thinking it might be a blessing in disguise, because in a weird way, I think it would have hurt my mom’s feelings if I told my dad first. It can be a little complicated with divorced parents. This whole thing is really overwhelming.
Anyway, my new plan is I’m going to tell my mom first. Not tomorrow, because tomorrow is Sunday, and I just think it would be better if I don’t do it right after church.
Why is it so much easier talking about this stuff with you?
—Blue
FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
DATE: Dec 7 at 4:46 PM
SUBJECT: Re: Coming Out Thing
Blue,
I can’t believe your dad got you a book by freaking Casanova. Just when you think your parents couldn’t be more clueless, right? No wonder you couldn’t tell him then. I’m sorry, Blue. I know you were kind of excited to do it. Or maybe you were just nauseated, in which case I’m sorry you got nauseated over nothing. I can’t even wrap my mind around the politics of coming out to divorced parents. I was basically planning to sit my parents down on the couch at some point and get it over with in one go. But you really can’t do that, can you? It makes my heart hurt for you, Blue. I just wish you didn’t have to deal with that extra layer of awfulness.
As for why it’s easier to talk to me about this stuff—maybe it’s because I’m so cute and grammatical? And do you really think I’m grammatical? Because Mr. Wise says I have a thing about sentence fragments.
—Jacques
FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
DATE: Dec 9 at 4:52 PM
SUBJECT: Re: Coming Out Thing
Jacques,
Just so you know, your being cute isn’t the reason you’re easy to talk to, because it really should be the opposite. In real life, I go totally silent around cute guys. I just freeze up. I can’t help it. But I know the real reason you were asking was because you wanted to hear me call you cute again, so I will. You’re cute, Jacques. And I guess you do have a thing about sentence fragments, but I sort of love it.
So, I’m not sure whether you meant to tell me your English teacher’s name. You’re dropping a lot of clues, Jacques. Sometimes I wonder if you drop more clues than you mean to.
Anyway, thanks for listening. Thanks for everything. It was such a strange, surreal weekend, but talking to you about it made it so much better.
—Blue
FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
DATE: Dec 10 at 7:11 PM
SUBJECT: Re: Coming Out Thing
Blue,
Arg—yeah. Mentioning Mr. Wise was not intentional. I guess you can really narrow things down in a major way, if you choose to. I feel kind of strange about that. Sorry I’m such a huge freaking idiot.