“I’m not trying to be pushy, but you brought it up. Tell me.”
“Nothing. I just— I’m not like that with Jake and Axel.”
“Yeah, ’cause they’re boys and unfortunately our society’s version of male physical affection involves spitting or punching each other in the face.”
She snorts and I know I’m right again.
“Here. I’m going to hug you. Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Her eyes go wide and she swallows like her throat is suddenly jammed, but she doesn’t run away or give me the stiff arm. “Uh, alright. You can hug me, I guess.”
“Okay. Here I come.”
I step forward and hug her, the best I can with one arm in a cast. I’m trying to prove a point, but also I am a hugger,and the fact that we’ve been in each other’s orbit for like eight months and she’s never let me hug her is driving me insane. There’s also the crush, but we are ignoring the crush. This hug is for scientific purposes only. She’s stiff at first, but then she starts to loosen up. People are walking by us and I’m sure this is the worst way she can imagine being perceived. But either I’m hugging her or I’m running back to get my fingerprints all over a Picasso.
I let out a deep breath and squeeze her harder, and then it happens. She rests her chin on my shoulder. I hold on, just for a few more seconds, reminding myself over and over that this crush is one-sided, and when I pull back from the hug, the absolute last thing I should do is something wild like kiss her. When I step back, I take in every inch of her face. She’s definitely blushing, her brown skin heightened with color. I am also warm all over and really want to hug her again. And kiss her.
“Put aside the fact that we’ve only been BFFs for like an hour, that was nice, right?” I mean, I get Heaven can be a cranky storm cloud. Still, I refuse to believe she never wants to be hugged. Not if she’s hugging people back like that.
“I guess it’s alright.”
“Another time, I’ll show you how nice it is to cuddle with your friends while you watch a movie. I cuddle with Bets and Tatum all the time. And Glory when she’s not wrapped around Landon.”
Heaven swallows hard again and just nods. I flash her another smile and turn to walk to the next portrait hanging on the wall. I make it about half a step before Heaven grabsmy hand. I know it doesn’t mean anything. She probably doesn’t trust me not to pull the gold frame off the wall and tuck it under my arm. It means everything to the crush-sick part of my pathetic brain. Heaven Goo-Campbell is touching my hand on purpose. And then she does an extra crazy dangerous thing and laces our fingers together.
“We’re bingo buddies, right?” she says before she swallows again. My whole body bursts into flames. Or at least that’s how it feels. That usually doesn’t happen when I hold hands with my friends. Or any of the boys I’ve dated before.
“Yeah, that’s true,” I manage to say, keeping it real cool.
Heaven nods and leads me over to the next photo. I’m gonna have a crush on her until I’m fifty if she keeps this up.
19
Heaven
I might die in the friend zone. The hug was worse than the cheek kiss. So much worse, and by worse, I mean so much better. I figured the drive to the museum would be enough time for me to push aside whatever weird feelings I was starting to develop, but the hug? Come on, man! You can’t hug people like that and expect them not to fall in love with you.
I’ve been hugged before, of course, but I didn’t want this hug to stop and that is alarming. Maybe my shyness and anxiety are causing me more problems than I realize. Being scared to share my artwork is one thing, but losing your mind over a hug because you’ve made it to seventeen with no meaningful contact from another girl is something I might need to jot down in a journal or relay to a therapist. How does she live like this??? I have to know.
But the hug isn’t even my biggest issue. We make our way down to the first floor finally, and we’re still holding hands. We’ve both let go a few times so we could take more pictures and scan more of the informational QR codes, but then we go right back to holding hands. She reaches for me first,most of the time. Yes, I’m counting like some sort of obsessive freak, but I keep reaching for her too!
When I come out of a trance from seeing my first Warhol in person, I have mild panic when I see she’s not standing next to me anymore. I turn and find her a few feet away looking at this four-foot hair comb statue that’s leaning against the wall. I just drift right back over to her and scoop her hand up like I’m afraid I’m gonna get lost on this field trip.
What is wrong with me? Also! I hate that she’s right again! I don’t care about anyone seeing us. That should be more than mildly concerning! I hate being looked at, but holding her hand does not feel normal or comfortable. It’s like the most exhilarating thing that’s ever happened to me in my life, and it’s bad that I’m not acknowledging how embarrassing that is. I know Saylor doesn’t have much experience with girls, but she’s done something like this before. Many times. I haven’t, even if we’re just talking about holding hands as friends. But that’s not the worst part. Holding her hand feelsgood, and all I can think about is this day ending and us somehow never holding hands again. Will I die? Maybe!
I try to shake off the weird experience while walking through the immersive piece on consumerism and misogyny that takes up the entire second floor, and let Saylor lead me through the final exhibits in this part of the museum. We enter another big room, but there’s only one piece in there. This giant curved wood piece that takes up most of the space. A white guy with glasses in a dark blazer nods at us as we come around the side of the piece.
“It’s like a wooden sand dune,” Saylor whispers.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
The wood curves inward, and two people and their kid walk out of the space where it folds in at the middle. I follow Saylor inside. We both look up at the curved wood towering around us on all sides. I have no plans to sculpt or build anything, but this is very cool. I turn and catch a glimpse of the exhibit attendant who has moved so he can watch us through the curved break in the wood. Saylor spots him too.
“We should just start making out. Give him a real show.” She chuckles. My heart jumps in my throat.
“No,” I blurt out.
“I’m just kidding.”