Donick walsh and the res.., p.21
Donick Walsh and the Reset-Button, page 21
“You’ll go to college, become a doctor, get a hot wife, lots of money, then you can buy and sell our asses.”
“That’s the plan!” He grins for the first time. His teeth are pearly white and perfectly straight.
“Well, I hope it works out. You deserve it, dude.” I hesitate, then say, “And I hope you’ll remember that at least one gorilla meathead who gave you a hard time wished he could have been your friend.”
He squints into my face—checking my sincerity, I guess. He must see it because he says, “I appreciate that.”
“And hey!” I say, slowing my steps as I find a break in the fence. I do have a rehearsal to get to, after all. Besides, despite his acceptance of my apology, I still sense that we’re not friends. For him, just like he said, it really doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t matter anymore. But I’m happy I talked to him just the same. “Good luck with this track stuff,” I finish. “You’re really fast.”
“Good luck with the Senior Revue,” he tells me, turning to resume his run. He calls over his shoulder, “People are talking about your dance-skills, man.”
At home that night, after handing Calista’s phone over to my dad, I’m sitting on the floor with my schoolwork around me. I feel like English 11 is kicking my ass, which blows since I’m already feeling like I’m barely getting by in English 12. At least my grades are holding steady, as Mrs. Moes said—it’s just that they’re holding steady at barely passing. At least I have good tunes to listen to. It’s weird to think of myself enjoying “Dancing Queen”, but I can’t seem to get enough of the songs from rehearsal. Of course, the music is solely coming to me through my headphones—no way would I get away with listening to Madonna, or all these musical songs, without Pop saying something rude.
And the green Razr? It’s sitting beside me as I await another text from Michael. I can’t stop wondering what private things he wants to share that he can’t tell his Muskequeers. I had waited all through the rest of school and checked it every break in rehearsal, but nothing. I’m almost wondering if he’s decided not to text at all. Maybe the situation—communicating with a mysterious stranger who won’t say anything about him or herself—has at last convinced him to call it quits.
But then the phone buzzes and I snatch it up. My heart, which had suddenly raced, seems to halt in my chest. It’s a long text, coming through the Razr in chunks (God, I forget how convenient my iPhone is) and reading through it almost makes me not want to respond. I should have suspected what Michael would want to talk about. Yet I had forgotten for a moment that it isn’t “me” he’s talking to.
Somehow I text back. Then, in spite of my heightened emotions, my bedroom disappears as easily as the library had earlier today. I feel like I’m alone with him—just Michael and me.
Hey, Secret Admirer! he sends. Sorry to take so long to text, but I had a busy afternoon. Anyway, about my pals and why I can’t talk to them. At least about this one particular thing. Years ago I had this friend. His name was Donny. He did something really terrible to me. He’s actually a complete jerk and has done terrible things to a lot of people. We were best friends once which makes it worse. Anyway, this not-friend is sorta back in my life…NOT by choice! Trust! He’s started making friends with my pals and they seem to really like him. I’m having a hard time with it. I can’t really talk about it with them anymore. They’ve forgiven him or whatever, and I have a hard time with that too.
I send: I can c how that would b hard 4 u.
It’s not just that, though. I had a birthday party over the weekend. Maybe you were there and I don’t even know it. But my not-friend was there (long story), and I got really irritated with him and basically kicked him out. I also told him I hated him.
Harsh. I understand u were upset, but that doesnt seem like u.
That’s the thing. It’s not. But having this not-friend around all the time, even though I try not to have to talk to him, has me feeling shook. I sorta hate myself for losing my temper. I treated him no different than he treated me.
U cant help how u feel. Especially when a friend hurts u. Its that whole love & hate thing being related.
And I really did love him once. He was my best friend.
A fist seems to sit around my throat when I read this. But I reply: I still think hating some1 doesnt seem like u, but I guess Ive never been hurt that badly b4.
I don’t think I DO hate him. I instantly regretted saying it. But he said he hated me first and it just slipped out.
Maybe HE didnt mean it either.
He talks to my friends but doesn’t really talk to me unless he has to. I see him almost every day in rehearsal and he mostly acts like I’m not there. Typical asshole.
Thats rough.
But there’s something different about him now. I mean, he’s making friends with all these people he never used to give the time of day to. In fact, he used to be really awful to them.
People like ur friends? Ur Muskequeers?
You know about that?
Every1 knows about that. Like, the whole school.
Did you see our talent show routine?
No. But I wish I had.
That was in 10th grade. You know I’m a senior, right? I mean you must. What grade are you in?
12.
Wow! You told me something about you!
I shouldnt have.
Why?
B cuz I said I wouldnt. But…I guess I feel like I can trust u 2.
I’m nearly sweating at what I’ve revealed.
I’m wearing you down! he texts. I gotta get you to tell me more!
I wont budge! I write. But Im sorry about this not-friend of urs. I wish I could do something 2 make it better.
Getting to talk about it with someone helps. Thank you.
Any time.
He’s not so bad, I guess. He’s kind to my friends, and that’s a big deal for him. I mean, my friends are all gay, and he’s got giant gay-fear!
Gay-fear? Thats not a thing, I bet.
You know I’M gay, right?
Yes. Have a boyfriend?
No. At least, not really. There’s this guy who sometimes seems into me. He came and ate lunch with me today but acted mostly like a friend. I don’t get him.
So u have not-friend troubles AND boy troubles.
Haha! Yes, boy troubles. Amongst all the other issues which I won’t bore you with.
Ur not boring. Talk 2 me bout whatev.
Do YOU have a boyfriend, Secret Admirer?
Lol! Nice try. But that wont work. Whatever answer I give will either mean Im a girl, or a gay guy. U’ll still b left guessing.
I’ll at least have a hint. For sure I’ll know you’re not a straight man.
Im not a straight man.
And I about die from having actually sent this!
He writes: Woo-hoo! A clue! A clue!
Lol! Not much of 1.
Well, I’m guessing you’re probably a girl. Girls can do this secret admirer thing as just friends without making it into anything else, since you know I’m gay. If someone gay acts like a secret admirer to another gay person, it turns everything into crush-territory, you know? And I don’t get the sense that you have a crush on me. Unless you’re not out.
U’ve been thinking bout this a lot.
I’m curious about you.
Im nothing special.
I think you are. Because talking to you is easy, and thinking about the notes you left me has brightened a tough day…or twelve! Even knowing there’s a friend out there who thinks I’m AMAZING means tons.
Its true tho. I do think that.
And I think YOU’RE amazing for thinking I’M amazing. Not many people do.
There ur wrong. Every1 thinks ur great! Im sure there r plenty of people who wish they could b ur friend & feel like they cant. Ur uber-talent intimidates them.
Hey! I’m approachable! Anyone can be my friend! Even you!
Even ur old not-friend?
He doesn’t want to be my friend. Gay-fear, remember?
But he’s friends w/ ur Muskequeers.
I’m different. I think I’m all the reasons why he’s a homophobe. We kissed once, when we were in sixth grade. He never spoke to me again except to call me names.
The plot thickens! U made the moves on him, huh?
I guess I must have. If he’d made the moves on me, we might still be friends I guess. Anyway, thanks for letting me talk about him. He annoys me so much!
Any time.
It’s getting late. I’ve got to go pick up my sister from her friend’s house, then I’ve got homework to finish. Can I text you tomorrow?
Of course. Then again, I might text u first & then what?
Then I’ll be in a crazy good mood. On the heels of this comes: Goodnight, Secret Admirer!
Anxious over what’s been said, yet smiling, I reply: Gnite, Michael.
MICHAEL
“If you need me, let me know,
Gonna be around.”
Emotionally, I was all over the place throughout the next week. I looked forward constantly to texting Secret Admirer (the name I assigned to his/her phone number). Whoever they were, they were a distraction from my growing fear over the remaining three colleges I still waited to hear from. Not to mention homework piling up, almost daily rehearsals, plus all the other piddly crap making me crazy.
Somehow though, Secret Admirer grounded me. It wasn’t that they shared much about their life. It only felt easy to say I was scared I wouldn’t get into any of my dream colleges. I could talk about Gil Hamilton and how, for all his friendliness, he never acted that into me. Though liberal with his hugs, his interactions with me were the same as with anyone else. He didn’t try to hold my hand; he didn’t text unless I reached out first. I had texted Secret Admirer and received responses with Gil sitting right next to me. For sure, Secret Admirer wasn’t him. Secret Admirer only ever texted me at school during lunch, never at rehearsal. Leading me to believe he or she was, for sure, in the show. Even then, most contact happened in the evening while I was at home.
Yes, somehow it felt safe to say (or text) things to a faceless, mysterious stranger I wouldn’t communicate to anyone else. I couldn’t explain it. When I had said I trusted them, I had meant it. The odd thing was, Secret Admirer said they trusted me, but I wished they really would. I wished they would tell me more about who they were.
Calista and I were walking toward Mrs. P.’s room on Wednesday during lunch. Calista had her face in my phone so she could check her e-mails, waiting for a response from some rando on Craig’s List about vintage clothes from the 70’s she was trying to get ahold of for the show. I zoned out, thinking about this birthday present Secret Admirer had promised. Not so much concerned with what it might be, I wondered if he/she would reveal who he/she was and deliver it him/herself?
Reaching Mrs. P.’s door, we were just entering when Gil came barreling out. He wore an Ariana Grande T-shirt with THANK U, NEXT printed on it.
“Sorry guys,” he said. “I was gonna hang today but I gotta get home.”
“That sucks,” I said. “I like when you hang.” I blushed a little to say it. Was I really flirting with him? Would it matter? He was too wishy-washy to let me know where I stood with him.
“I’ve liked hanging,” he said with a smile. “But my mom’s pissy. I have to let the dog out. Playing appeasing-son is a must or I might end up grounded over Spring Break. I’ll see ya!”
He leaned in to hug me, though I had to bend some, being so much taller than him. That orange scent filled my nose, then his mouth came close to my ear.
“Wanna do something Friday night?”
I blinked, grateful Calista had gone inside and wasn’t there to see my expression.
She also had my phone. What if Secret Admirer sent a text while she looked at the screen? I hadn’t been very forthcoming with her or Brent about how often I texted that mystery person.
But wait! Gil? Asking me on a real date? I pulled back, feeling flustered.
“Yeah, for sure,” I stammered. “What do you have in mind?”
He shrugged. “We can talk about it later. I’ll text you.”
He bumped his fist against my shoulder and went on his way. Somehow, I wasn’t as elated as I thought I would be. I chalked it up to nerves. I hadn’t been out on many dates. Dillon and Joel had been hang-out-at-school boyfriends almost exclusively.
“What a bitch,” Liam was saying as I came in. “Can you believe it?” All eyes were on him, even a very interested Calista. She handed me my phone as I sat.
“What bitch?” I said. “There’s a bitch? I wanna hear about the bitch.”
Liam huffed. “Fine, I’ll start over. Have I got a tale to tell!”
One of our friends, a girl named Joey who could neither sing, nor dance, and therefore wasn’t doing the Senior Revue (she was a fantastic little actress, though), waved her hand. “Li, you were just getting to the good stuff. Jesus Christ, Michael. Your timing blows.” She laughed to show she wasn’t serious. But it was hard to tell with her, being a bit of a bitch herself, even on the best days. Still, we loved her. She was a lot like Calista, only Calista had a softness to her that Joey lacked.
“Okay,” Liam began again. “This is a story about Nick Walsh!”
I groaned. “All your stories are about Nick Walsh. Hire new writers.”
My Muskequeers shushed me. I could see by their faces that their new friendship with my old not-friend had them pretty well invested.
I began checking my phone. No text from Secret Admirer.
“So I heard this from Miranda Beck,” Liam went on, “who’s cousin, Cassie Jones, is in band. Yesterday after school, Cassie showed to some practice-thing in the band-room and Nick came to talk to some chick.”
“A band geek? Nick usually dates cheerleaders,” said Brent, popping the wad of gum in his mouth. “Maybe this is a side-effect of hanging out with drama-kids.”
Liam said, “Just listen! God! So Nick comes to talk to this girl in band. Cassie said the girl looked pissed, and Nick, like, had a weird look on his face. She went outside with him and after, I dunno, like, thirty seconds—” Liam startled giggling, his face full of amused disbelief, “—the bitch started yelling at him at the top of her lungs! Everybody heard it! She was all, ‘You’re a fucking dick! It doesn’t matter what you say, you’re still an asshole!’” Liam guffawed now. “Can you believe it? Talk about a crazy bitch!”
Joey smirked. “Well, what did Nick say to her? He has been a porn-sized dick in the past, you know.”
I couldn’t keep quiet. “I second that.”
Calista looked thoughtful. “What else could it be? One of these apologies he’s been making, I bet.”
“Totes,” said Brent. “But what was he saying sorry for?”
I grimaced. “Probably for the same garbage he’s done to all of us. Calling us names, spreading rumors, being an all around asshat.”
“Well, it stands to reason,” said Calista, “not everyone will be so forgiving.”
Liam shrugged. “Nick’s been completely nice to me. I know people always say he’s a jerk, but I never saw it. I think it’s sad. If he did something mean to that girl and she responded to an apology like that, that makes her a bitch in my book.”
“She’s not a bitch,” I said, feeling my anger simmering. “Nick’s hurt a lot of people. Calista’s right. Not everyone will be able to forget that.”
“Cool it, babe,” Calista said, eyeing me.
I grimaced and sat back in my seat.
“I think it sucks too,” Brent said. “He tried to make it right and that girl acted like a slag.”
“That was her choice,” Calista put in. “I mean, Nick was pretty terrible to me for, like, all of high school, but I’m pretty chill with him now. Even against my initial instincts. I didn’t want to hold on to some grudgy bullshit,” she added, pointedly looking at me. “I feel better for it. That girl won’t be able to say the same…sad for her.”
Again, Calista was right, but I would never admit it out loud. Keeping my anger toward Nick kindled was becoming a challenge. I didn’t know if a guilty conscience about my party bothered me, or if other things counterbalanced my resentment—like a date with Gil, Spring Break, or Secret Admirer texts. It felt like anger at Nick and the prospect of good things in other parts of my life just couldn’t co-exist.
It had become increasingly difficult to pretend he wasn’t there, not when rehearsal put us in such close quarters. From the moment he had walked into the dance tryouts, I felt his presence whenever he was near, like something caught in a tooth when the tongue can’t leave it alone. I had to grudgingly admit he was doing a great job. He had a good voice, and his dance training lent him a stage presence that made me want to watch him. I told myself I hated every minute and stared so hard in order to find fault. But…I had to admit, he was good. As the days passed it became clearer and clearer that the teachers, our fellow cast-members, my friends, were beginning to love him.
“I still think she’s awful,” said Liam. “It makes me want to find out who she is and slap a bitch.”
Calista grinned at him. “That protectiveness toward Nick rearing its head again, Li? You’re sounding more and more crushy every second.”
Liam flushed. “No, no! I told you! Nick isn’t my type.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, he’s got serious gay-fear!”
Calista looked irritated. “Knock that crap off already. Christ!”
I sat silent while Liam said, “Besides, I already have a crush on someone, and it’s not Nick.”
Brent’s mouth fell open. “Praise holy things! Who is it?”
“Just someone.”
Joey cocked an eyebrow. “You? You’ve been making time with someone?”
