Chapter 33 I didn’t realize this was going to be full-contact high ropes.
I didn’t realize this was going to be full-contact high ropes.
Sean
JOSIE MAKES HER way across the flagstones from her trailer to the driveway, a vision of the undead in a ripped bridal gown and blue-striped Adidas. To avoid messing up her makeup, I plant my kiss on the back of her hand. “I guess I should have known better than to expect a Disney princess.”
She surveys my Han Solo outfit. “That’s what all the nerf herders say.”
I spin on a heel so she can admire the whole thing.
“You like it?” I’m dying to tell her the vest is the real deal, but I’m not sure how she’ll take it.
I mean, all by itself, I imagine an original Han Solo vest worn by Harrison Ford himself is pretty dang cool, not obsessive at all, but better safe than sorry.
You’re over-the-top in public about the things that don’t really matter. But the things that do matter, the things you’re really over-the-top with, those you keep hidden.
Maybe the fight with Seamus just has me all jittery.
We drive to the high ropes course where Miguel will meet us.
I’m curious to see what this dude’s all about and what manner of friends he and Josie are.
Not that I’m the jealous type. The course is lit up with string lights—white, purple, and green.
Halloween decorations dot the treed landscape.
Big-shot guests and their families mill about, grabbing drinks from makeshift bars or coolers and fancy snacks from the myriad tables around the property.
A stage has been set up with Jimmy Fallon at the mic.
We spot Miguel waiting for us by security.
“órale vato,” Miguel says to me, holding out a hand—for a shake this time rather than a high five. His face is painted in a Day of the Dead skull, and he’s wearing a mariachi outfit. “Wait a minute!” He stares at my chest. “Is that the real actual Han Solo vest? From the original movies?”
“Why, yes, it is.” I shift to model it. “And thank you for noticing.”
“That’s crazy!” he says.
“Not crazy!” I smooth my hands down the front of it. “Authentic. Collectors like authentic things.”
Miguel’s black-ringed eyes are wide in amazement. “You’re a collector? How many of these things do you have, man?”
I’m not sure what he means by “these things.” Is he talking about authentic Han Solo vests?
Because the answer would be one. Is he talking about authentic Star Wars memorabilia?
Because the answer would be twenty-six. If he’s talking about authentic anything, well, that’s not a number I’m willing to publicly acknowledge.
“I have a few,” I say.
“Hey, speaking of collectors, did you hear about the George Washington hat from Hamilton getting stolen?” he asks.
I swallow hard and look over his head, across the crowd, like I’m surveying the area with confidence because I’m in charge and not afraid of anything. “They haven’t found that yet?”
“Naw, wey. Whoever stole it is still at large.”
At the phrase at large, I decide I’m definitely turning the hat in after Hamilton on the Roof tomorrow.
A saner person might head to the police station sooner rather than later, with two dozen donuts in tow for good measure, but I went through a lot of trouble to get that hat.
I want to have it on my head when I belt out those songs.
I want to feel like I was a part of that incredible show.
Just for one night, I want to channel Christopher Jackson—look like his George Washington, feel like his George Washington, be his George Washington.
“You okay?” Josie whispers to me.
“Yeah, of course.”
She hooks an arm in mine as we follow in Miguel’s wake on the Tour du Celebrities. “Look over there! It’s Ryan Gosling,” he shouts. “And Scarlett Johansson! Margot Robbie!”
“Oh my God, what? There are famous people here?” Josie feigns shock.
“Cállate, Sábana.” Even I recognize shut up in Spanish.
“Don’t call me that, remember? I’m Josie, Sean’s girlfriend. You and I have never met before today.” Josie’s gaze darts around, but everyone is busy eating and drinking and talking and traversing the wires above and around us.
It’s not lost on me that she called herself my girlfriend. That’s another first, and I like it.
Miguel’s head is practically on a swivel. “Hey, do you think Robert Downey, Jr. is here, and if he is, will you introduce me?”
“Come on, Sean, let’s get suited up,” Josie says. “If we’re lucky, Miguel will fanboy himself into a stupor, and then we can lose him.”
“I heard that!” Miguel replies with a grin.
Jason and Peyton leave their place in line to join us.
Peyton’s dressed in a Descendants costume, purple extensions in her hair.
Jason’s got on shoulder pads and a Cincinnati Bengals jersey, black grease smeared under his eyes.
Peyton squeals over our costumes, and I introduce Miguel to her as if he’s my responsibility.
Meanwhile, Josie’s wired tight as a spring.
I wonder briefly if we might be able to get out of here at some point.
I mean, the whole idea was to take Miguel somewhere where he could rub elbows with celebrities. Check.
But when I think about bringing Josie home with me, I remember that I made my brother a sort-of promise. To try to find him work. I should at least make an attempt.
“How’s Emmy?” I say to Jason as I thread my leg into a harness.
“She’s ready to have this baby.”
“I can be there in fifteen with my catcher’s mitt.”
“You’re such a weirdo,” he replies.
“What? It’s the most natural thing in the world!”
The staff checks our harnesses, and Jason watches to make sure they do a thorough job with Peyton’s.
Josie’s dress is all hiked up around her waist, and I can see her white bike shorts and long, shapely legs.
She and Miguel are talking in Spanish. The conversation looks easy and congenial. Even her zombified smile is beautiful.
“You really like her, don’t you?” Jason is grinning as we wait for the safety instructions to begin.
“Naw, man, what’s not to like?” I realize I’ve just contradicted myself, but Jason takes it as confirmation.
“She’s great. You two seem great together.”
“Well, you know, we’re just having fun.” It’s the truth. Neither Josie nor I have expressed that we want anything more than that.
“I think you two would be great for one another even when things weren’t fun.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say to that.
It’s almost like there’s a disconnect in my brain.
Like it doesn’t compute: If you’re not having fun, why even be with someone?
I know where he’s going with it—long-term relationship stuff—but I honestly don’t know how to get my train to that station, or if I even have a connection to that line.
To open yourself up to someone that much… it seems risky.
“Hey,” I say, changing the subject. “You know of any studios that are looking to hire?”
“For what?”
“Something for Seamus.”
“For Seamus…” he repeats, trailing off, and I feel the doors slamming shut, one by one.
“It’s all right.” I give his shoulder pads a no-hard-feelings pat. What did I expect?
The instructor explains all the things we have to do to not plummet to our deaths. Luckily, it’s pretty foolproof, and Jason and I have been through all of this so many times we could probably outfit a family of chimpanzees for the course blindfolded and drunk—the chimps and us.
“How are you with heights?” I ask Josie as we climb the first ladder up into the starry sky.
“I eat them for breakfast and then punch their faces in.”
“Of course you do.”
There’s a cooler of craft beers on the wooden platform.
Miguel is halfway across when Josie calls his name and lobs a can to him.
If he misses, it’ll just fall into some bushes, but he doesn’t miss.
Instead, he balances on the zigzagging metal wires in his mariachi boots, pops the top, and chugs it.
“Zoe! Zoe Saldana!” he shouts down into the crowd. I spot her in a Victorian dress, face tilting upward at her name. He presses his hands to his chest. “I love you! I love you so much!” Then he says a bunch of stuff in Spanish, and I’m sure it’s just as cringey.
I sidle up to Josie on the platform. She’s giggling.
“He’s obsessed with her,” she explains.
That word again. It drags me back to the conversation with Seamus about Melody Winkman, and then further back still, to how he mercilessly teased me when he found the notebook I’d dedicated to her.
How he showed it to Melody, who told her mother, who reported it to the principal, who called my parents.
They searched our room and found not only the notebook, but Seamus’s binoculars, too, and immediately assumed they were mine.
I didn’t rat my brother out, and he didn’t own up, either.
In fact, he gave me shit for weeks about the fact that they’d been taken away.
I was forced to write an apology to Melody and her family, and the next day, the principal issued me a new schedule.
The entire school knew why, too. It was humiliating.
Of course, after I became the theater department’s darling, all of that sort of…
went away. Melody and I even became friends. Still, Seamus never let me forget it.
“Just because he’s a fan doesn’t mean he’s obsessed,” I say in Miguel’s defense.
“Oh no, he’s obsessed, trust me.” She steps out onto the wires with nimble bounces. “You didn’t see his childhood bedroom.”
I don’t wait for her to get all the way across before I step on, too. “And, um, what did you two do in that childhood bedroom?” I try to make the question light and teasing rather than jealous and stalker-y.
“Oh, you know, lots of teenage experimentation.”
Of course she would say that. And the worst part is, I have no idea if it’s a lie or the truth.
“I deserved that,” I say. “And you deserve this.” I clutch my safety line and bounce as hard as I can.
She cries out, laughing as she fights to keep her balance. My chest gets all warm inside.