Chapter 6
Six
-MILO-
I know that look. Summer has briefly given me that gaze twice before. And even though she’s talking to me without that glint in her eye, it was there a moment ago.
Amongst the clinking of cutlery, the hip and hungry inner-city crowd, the overly friendly wait staff, and the glowing neon sign which spells out Carrie’s Café, is Summer’s look.
I’m more adept at noticing it because Grayson also gave me that same look.
In my mind, I put Summer on mute because my thoughts are taking me back to that supermarket. And that striptease I did. And Grayson’s look.
He also shared that look at Venture over dessert, before Summer posted that picture. And the more I think about his Robin Hood outfit, the more I realise how cute he is in cosplay, regardless of Summer’s opinion.
But I now know the truth about Summer. I don’t need to ask her. The clues have been there all along. And she just gave me that look.
Summer is in love with me. I’m sure.
“I mean, really...” She’s still a motormouth while her eggs get cold. “Who shows up to a classy restaurant in that get up? A socially inept person, that’s who.”
A while back, my gay friend Mason talked about a similar situation. His bestie, Vanessa, was always hanging around until Mason found a boyfriend. Day one was fine, although Vanessa had a hard time believing Mason fell in love.
Day two was dramatic. Vanessa hit out at him. On day three she hit out at the boyfriend while Mason was chatting with him on the phone.
As for the rest of the week, Vanessa did everything she could to destroy the romance. Somehow, she found the boyfriend’s number and texted nasty things. She even called him to say Mason had herpes. Mason was quick to dispel that myth.
The boyfriend won that war. He and Mason are still happy. Vanessa kept her distance and although it was hard for Mason, he learned to let her go.
Could I ever let go of Summer?
She’s taking photos, even though she’s posted pics from this café before.
Perhaps this is the secret to her social media success.
Show your followers a familiar place. It counterbalances the exotic posts such as dining at Venture, allowing her fans to believe she’s down to earth, hanging out at her regular haunts, as well as visiting the places which make her an icon.
“Grayson is a cool guy,” I say. I wait for Summer to repeat her opinion of him, as I’m keen to test a theory.
“He’s an okay-looking guy if you ignore the cosplay. What’s he going to show up as next? A nerdy superhero?”
“He’s not a nerd.”
“He wears glasses. He’s socially awkward. He’s a nerd.”
I taste my banana bread. It’s moist and delicious. But while I eat, I keep an eye on Summer, studying her.
She notices my stare. “What?”
“Who should I date?”
“Out of the people we know?”
I shake my head. “No. Who would my ideal man be?”
“That’s easy. Someone who’s cool.”
“What about physically?”
Summer taps her head, indicating she needs to think about this.
My phone tells me to ‘Make it so’. I smirk to myself, remembering the gaze Grayson gave me when this notification sound played during our complex first date.
An Instagram follower has offered two tickets to a launch at the museum tomorrow. My name with a ‘plus one’ will be on the invite list. I won’t ask Summer to come. Ancient exhibits are not her brand. I text Grayson instead.
“Okay,” says Summer, holding her fork as if it’s a conductor’s baton, accentuating whatever point she’s about to make.
“You have a body which is everyone’s wet dream.
And your shape is clearly seen whatever you wear.
Now, imagine Grayson in his leprechaun outfit standing next to you in what you’re wearing now, uploaded on a post.” She points at me.
“Blue denim coloured shirt, white chinos, and sneakers. You’d clash. ”
“He dresses fine outside of the cosplay.”
“He may have looked okay when you met him, but he’s a cosplayer. He’ll take every chance he can to appear on your social media dressed like a knight or an alien.”
“I could dress up too. I might get more likes.” But as I picture this, I can see Summer’s point.
I only get about fifteen new followers a day, despite being a regular on Summer’s account. So my only real chance at fame is emulating Summer’s brand. I need to stay hip. Grayson will hinder my success.
I shudder. What a shallow train of thought. Hanging around Summer is causing me to focus on the wrong things.
She ambles to my side of the table for a selfie. She snaps, types, and uploads. I check her post once Captain Picard tells me to.
Summer wrote, ‘Real friends don’t let you make mistakes.’
Is this proof of her romantic interest in me? Or her contempt for Grayson? Or both?
She returns to her seat.
“If I were straight...” I begin. “Could you see us as a couple?”
“Maybe I should lie and say we are. Your follower numbers might go up.”
“Your followers know I’m gay.” I’m observing Summer, even more definite about my hypothesis. “But seriously, if I was a guy you could romance, would you be interested?”
“Don’t be silly.” Her response is quick. Her guard is down. But she composes herself just as she does before every selfie. “We’d have some killer dates, though.”
“What would we do?”
“I’d pack a picnic with that creamy blue cheese you like, and that bottle of red you liked at that French place I was invited to.
Oh, and those banoffee pies you like from Howard’s Bakery.
We’d talk about deep stuff, like if there are aliens posing as humans, or if cosplay is a passing fad. We’d watch the sunset—”
“An evening picnic?”
“Of course. I’d lay on the blanket and you’d kiss me...”
“Why did you stop?”
Summer is blushing. “It’s a silly thing to imagine, Milo. Why would you ask me?”
She picks up her cutlery so I continue eating my banana bread, hiding the fact my thoughts are racing. I see her differently now. She’s not the queen of the world. She still yearns for something more concrete than courting thousands of acquaintances.
Summer has human failings, like everyone else.