A server comes over and takes our orders. After they leave to get our drinks, I look to Kristen. Lucky for her, Maurice speaks first.
“You had your committee thing today, right?” He shrugs off his jacket, unleashing a subtle scent, something musky with a hint of spice. It’s nice, cozy.
“Yeah, I did. You don’t have cross-country today?” I ask, hoping I sound curious instead of disappointed.
“Our coach is sick, so we have today off.”
“You’re both prettybusy,” Kristen says, leaning on the word and shooting me the most obvious look of my life. “So, when Maurice mentioned to Vincent that practice was canceled, I saw an opportunity for us all to hang out.”
This is a good thing, something I should be grateful for.
“Well, I’m glad it worked out,” I say to Kristen and to Maurice.
Over a couple burgers, fried shrimp, and a mediocre quesadilla, we fall into sometimes loud, sometimes hushed conversations about music, about how there haven’t been any good movies out since the recent remakes ofDune, how Life Savers gummies are superior to the hard candies, and so on.
Maurice and I go back and forth, picking up some of theconversations we’ve had over text. We both love the showBlack-ish. When he tells me he relates the most to Junior, I cackle a little before I slap my hand over my mouth. He also likes to read and write Afrofuturistic science fiction and has a Twitter page dedicated to bolstering black writers and artists. His mom is an English professor at Kent State and his dad is a nurse at the Cleveland Clinic, and both of them inspire his writing.
He tells me that his mom has a side business making bow ties using African-print fabrics. He wears the bow ties and is a model on her website, something I make him pull up on his phone immediately so I can see for myself. Anyone who wears bow ties is a step above anyone who wears neckties in my book… and in my dad’s book.
My phone vibrates, and when I tug it out of my pocket, I’m surprised to see it’s already five thirty. Practice is over. I catch a glimpse of Hannah’s first text, telling me she understands. A second text comes through, starting to ask what I’m up to now—
“Clarity.” Kristen catches my attention. “Weigh in on this. Do you think the holes are cool or not?”
I lock my phone and put it away to tell Maurice that the holes in his cargo pants from falling off his skateboard, are, in fact, cool. “They’re a testament to your skill and your dedication.”
I fold back into the conversation but mainly just listen. We’re doing what Kristen dreamed of us doing together. We’re on a double date and I’ve kind of been enjoying every second of it. Maurice is cool. He’s handsome and he smells nice, and he’ssmart and funny, and he aspires to be more than a professional athlete or gamer like most of the boys I’ve known.
But I’m not attracted to him. Even though I saw her a few hours ago, I miss Hannah. I wish I was with Hannah, that I could have double dates with Hannah and my best friend.
As nice as it is to be here, I’m very aware that this carefree energy isaroundme. That I’m not part of it. I can’t let go. I can’t be myself because being with Maurice automatically makes me an impostor. Here with Kristen, Vincent, and Maurice, I’m hiding.
Kristen bumps shoulders with me on our way out. “Hey, you.”
“Hey,” I say, looping my arm through hers.
Ahead of us, nearly to the car, Vincent and Maurice are talking about some new skate tricks they want to try, heads tilted together in a walking huddle. Beyond them, the sun is setting over the trees dotting Kent’s campus. The sky glows golden, a hue that turns gentle when it tangles in the clouds and reminds me of Hannah’s hair.
“You got quiet in there.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I say. “I just like listening.”
“He does have a nice voice. Deep,” Kristen says, looking at Maurice.
“Yeah.” I shrug, wishing I had a jacket to zip me and all my unsaid thoughts in.
“That was fun, though, right? Like, that was a cool double date,” she asks, searching my face.
I want to tell her the truth, put a stop to this, or maybe get her help with keeping my relationship a secret. I know her tellingVincent about Jameson wasn’t malicious, that I can trust her. I trust her with my life… but after careful consideration, I realize that I haven’t always been able to fully trust her with my secrets.
When I stole a lip gloss from the mall in middle school, she slipped up in front of my mom about it. When I told her my grade after I failed my first math test and made it clear how ashamed I was, that I didn’t want anyone to know, she told the National Honors math tutor about it, thinking she could get him to make time for me.
She always means well. She might not tell my parents, but she could tell Vincent, and he might tell one of his friends…
Hannah already struggles to accept that I’m nowhere near telling my parents or anyone else the truth, but she gets it. I swallow the truth.
Kristen’s eyes are impossibly round and hopeful, so I say, “Yeah, it was really nice.”
“I think he’sreallyinto you.”