Chapter Seven
Georgie drops me off, and from the driveway I get a view of John in his garage with his classic six-string acoustic guitar hanging off his body. The black strap digs into his shoulder in this almost intimate way.
There’s an old couch in his two-car garage along with a drum set, mic stand, and a boxy TV, the kind I’ve only seen in my parents’ old photos.
There’s also more stuff than a family of five could possibly need.
It’s piled in stacks against all three walls, seemingly seconds away from toppling over.
This would make my parents, with their type-A tendencies, bug out.
Their anxieties would have anxieties looking at this mess.
Our home is picture perfect. Shiny. Polished.
A place for everything and everything in its place.
Dad says he equates a clean home with a safe home, and I guess when you spend the first seven years of your life in Palestine, feeling safe isn’t something you take for granted.
As for Mom, she grew up with four messy sisters.
You would think two type-As together would be a perfect match, except they have different levels of insanity. Different reasons behind their need for control. Sometimes I find it so exhausting, all I want to do is scream “WHO CARES IF THE TOASTER ISN’T PERFECTLY PARALLEL TO THE WALL?”
“Lennon?” John’s head jerks back at the sight of me, like I’m a flaw in an otherwise perfect portrait. Did Theo not tell him I was going to stop by?
“Hey.” I turn back to watch Georgie drive away. “Theo invited me. Is it not okay that I’m here? You’re probably not ready for an audience yet. I’m sorry.”
John shakes his head. “It’s fine. It’s a nice surprise.”
In my head, this was supposed to go differently.
I would remember it one day as that time a cute boy asked me to watch his band perform my favorite Beatles song, the kind of moment that belongs in a Netflix teen movie.
But standing here right now, my palms are sweaty and my mouth is dry.
And there’s no script telling me what to say or how to act.
I’m not wearing the perfect outfit to go with perfect hair and a perfect face of makeup.
John could butcher Paul McCartney’s sweet lyrical voice, making me cringe on the inside while my face betrays me by communicating my unfiltered thoughts, like it always does.
My arms hang limply at my sides; I’m unsure how to stand or what to do with them. Regret floods me. Why did I agree to come here? Why did I push so hard for this moment to happen?
“Actually, I’m glad you came. It might force us to stop sucking,” John says, with the sweetest smile I think I’ve ever seen. He could be everything wrong for me, but looking into his eyes, it feels right. So very, very right.
“Yo!” John shouts to get the attention of the guy sitting behind the drum set smoking a joint. “This is Lennon. Lennon, that’s Eddie. He’s high 90 percent of the time.”
“Fuck off,” Eddie says before taking another hit.
A moment later, Theo comes out of the house eating a sandwich. His black hair is slicked back. Or maybe it’s just wet. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and Dockers. He’s this mix of ’50s greaser and modern-day prep.
His face lights up as he swallows his bite. “You came.”
I rock back on my heels and release a breath. “Yeah. Just for a little while.”
“I’m glad,” Theo says.
“We should start, yeah?” John interrupts.
“Did you eat my sandwich?” Eddie yells from behind the drums.
“Huh,” Theo says before taking the last, gigantic bite. “I guess I did.”
“I’ve told you not to touch my shit!”
“Next time, label it.” Theo’s challenging smirk is familiar, taking me back to those days when he’d single me out in our Sunday school classroom.
“Fuck this shit,” Eddie says, rising from his seat. He picks up his drumsticks and walks out of the garage.
“I thought weed was supposed to mellow people out,” I say in the quiet aftermath of his departure.
John and Theo both look at me, then laugh.
“I’ll go. And you,” John says, eyes narrowed at Theo, “don’t mess with a high man’s food.” John places a hand on my arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave.”
He chases after Eddie, and it’s just me and Theo alone in the garage.
I sit stiffly on the couch, praying the skunky stench of pot doesn’t seep into my clothes. Theo sits at the other end, running his hands through his hair. It’s just wet.
“That took a sharp turn. I probably shouldn’t have come today. I’m sorry,” I say.
He squints at me. “I asked you to come.” Theo shifts so he’s slightly closer and shakes his head. “I’m not sorry. And you shouldn’t be either, okay?”
I nod slowly while looking into his glistening brown eyes, and it’s like seeing him for the first time. “My dad was completely heartbroken when your dad passed away. Said he was one of the best.”
Theo’s face softens, and it makes him look younger than his fifteen years. In this moment, he looks like a boy who just lost his father. “Thanks. He was.”
He opens his mouth like he wants to say more but clears his throat instead. Theo looks away from me as Eddie and John head up the driveway. Just seeing John again has my stupid heart pitter-pattering. Eddie approaches Theo with his hands in both pockets.
“Sorry, man,” Theo says. “I’ll buy you a burger after practice.”
“It’s all good,” Eddie replies, shrugging slightly.
“Give me a sec,” John says to his bandmates before taking my hand and pulling me up from the couch. He releases me and runs his fingers through his hair. “Avery just texted. She’s coming over.”
“Oh.” I feel my face drop at his words. “Does that mean I should leave?” He doesn’t respond, his silence telling me everything I need to know.
What I should have known all along. I’m so stupid.
“Got it.” I swallow the burn in my throat, spreading fast like a forest fire.
My eyes meet Theo’s briefly before I head down the driveway.
I can’t believe John just asked me to leave.
After everything I went through to even come here.
What a colossal waste of time. I text Georgie, telling her to meet me at the corner of Langston and Putnam when she’s done.
I’m so unbelievably embarrassed and angry that it’s hard for me to get my message out without constantly typing the words incorrectly.
“Lennon.” Someone calls my name as I reach the end of the street. But it’s not him. It’s not the voice I want to hear. John didn’t chase after me like I half expected or pathetically hoped he would. I stop and shut my eyes tight, swallowing again as I wait for Theo to catch up.
“Can I walk with you?” he asks.
“I’m just…my sister is picking me up. I don’t need—”
“But do you want?” His eyes are wide with the question, like he needs me to say yes almost as much I needed him to ask it.
I nod, and we walk together in silence, me with my arms crossed over my chest, Theo with his hands in his pockets.
“Guys our age…” He pauses, offering me a small smile before I look away. “We don’t really know how to be. And we don’t know how to be what you want us to be.”
I glance at him sideways and let out a small puff of air.
“Do you like John?” he asks. It’s such a simple question but also bold. And coming from his friend, it feels like a test.
I raise my shoulders slightly, not offering a definitive response.
“I think John sees you as a friend. You’re just not really his type.”
Theo’s words are like a dagger to my heart. No one wants to hear that the guy they like would never, could never like them. I want to disappear. Or be woken up to discover this was all just one very bad, very vivid, very humiliating dream.
“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he goes on as we continue walking. “He’s the kind of guy that always has a girlfriend, and they’re always the same kind of girls. You probably stimulate his mind in a way the others don’t, but…” He stalls. “I don’t see romantic feelings between the two of you.”
“I didn’t ask what you thought,” I say, stopping mid-stride. “And if you’re trying to make me feel better, you can stop.”
Georgie’s car pulls up to the corner. I walk to the passenger side and force myself to look at Theo one last time. He’s standing on the sidewalk, his jaw slack. “If you ever see me in church, or school, and I’m not making eye contact, just know it’s because I’m purposely ignoring you.”
I get inside and slam the door without giving Theo another look.
“Is that him?” Georgie asks, nodding to Theo.
“Just drive. Please,” I say, turning away, wishing this entire day could be wiped clean from my memory.