Galgorithm (11 page)

24

AFTER WAITING A FEW MINUTES
to make sure that ­Harrison has either lost interest or been waylaid by Rebecca and is no longer lurking behind the bathroom door, I manage to scrape Jak off the floor. I put her arm around my neck and very carefully help her stumble out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and out the front door of the house, away from the party and without anyone noticing. At this point she is mumbling incoherently. I've never seen her like this.

Jak's house is closer than mine and her parents are out of town, so I decide that's our best bet. I put my arm around her waist and hold her as tightly as I can. She can't walk on her own, or in a straight line, and she stops to puke every block or so. It should take ten minutes to get to her house. Instead it
takes almost thirty. It barely registers that we left Tristen and Adam just standing there at the party.

It's a tricky maneuver, but I open Jak's gate with one hand while keeping her steady with the other. We head to the front door. Jak didn't bring a purse, so I have to stick my hand into the front pocket of her skinny jeans and fish around for her keys.

“Buy me dinner first,” she mutters.

Luckily, her house is all one level. I help her in the front door and down the main hallway to the bathroom that's adjacent to her bedroom. I flip on the lights and Jak shields her eyes like a vampire. Her bathroom is fairly small, with just a one-person sink attached to the wall below the medicine cabinet, a shower in a claw-foot tub with the curtain already pulled aside, and a toilet squeezed into the little space in between. She's such a low-maintenance girl that I'm surprised by how many bottles of hair stuff and skin stuff and other goo are scattered everywhere. It's like a TSA evidence locker in here.

Jak is covered in puke and in general is a mess. I pull her Chucks off her feet and then help her into the tub, standing up and otherwise fully clothed. I take her phone out of her pocket and her Fitbit off her wrist and put them on the sink. Then I stand off to the side, outside the tub, but always keeping a hand on her to prevent her from tipping over, and turn the shower on. She spits and claws at the water like a baby bear cub getting a bath. The front side of her shirt and jeans
sorta gets cleaned off, but I realize that washing her clothes is futile.

I turn the shower stream away from her and toward the wall and start to strip her down. I help her pull her shirt over her head. We spend a solid ten minutes trying to get her jeans off because they were skintight to begin with and are now soaking wet, but somehow we manage. Now she's only wearing a bra and underwear. I notice she has not even made an attempt to match them.

“Everything is gonna be okay,” I say.

I've seen Jak in a bikini a million times before, so this isn't that big a deal. Yet something is different. Even as recently as last summer she was gangly: all knees and elbows. But since then she's rapidly grown into herself. She looks fantastic—for someone who is simultaneously shivering and dry-heaving—and it feels weird to be seeing her like this.

I turn the showerhead back on her, and raise it up so that I can try to clean her hair. But Jak is too wobbly, and it's getting difficult to keep her standing, plus my hand is getting stuck in her hair, so now that most of the mess is cleaned up, I let her sit down in the tub. I turn off the shower and start to run a bath.

In a few months we're gonna be a thousand miles apart and I'll no longer be able to take care of her like this. She won't be able to take care of me. For the most part we've avoided discussing how we feel about the whole thing. It's been one
big denial party. Right now goodbye doesn't even seem like an option.

Jak is starting to say something, but it's hard to hear her.

“Grin two,” she mumbles.

“What's that?” I say.

“Grintoo.”

“Jak, I can't understand you.”

She musters the strength to speak clearly.

“Get. In. Too.”

“Jak, come on. I'm already soaked.”

She reaches up and tugs at my arm. It's clear she won't be listening to reason or taking no for an answer.

I sigh. “Okay. Hold on a second.”

I start stripping off my clothes, which are wet and covered in Jak's vomit.

“Wooo, take it off,” she murmurs.

I remove my Fitbit and place it next to hers on the sink. I get down to my boxers and shut off the water. Then I step into the tub and sit behind Jak, so that she's in my lap. Jak pulls her knees into her chest. I hug her tightly. A half-naked white guy and a half-naked black girl embracing in a bathtub. We look like a Benetton ad.

It occurs to me that this is the very same spot where our parents took that picture of us in the bathtub almost eighteen years ago. It triggers a flood of happy memories. What are the odds that our friendship would have lasted this long?

It's really quiet in the bathroom. I soothe Jak. Rub her shoulders. Tell her she's doing great. Occasionally she dry-heaves. But the worst is over.

When I'm with Jak I've found that I never want to be anywhere else. Whether it's in the bathtub right now picking puke from her hair, or lying next to her in a hammock staring up at the stars. Sure, I've pointed to her social anxiety as the reason I rarely go to parties or hang out with anyone but her. But maybe it's simply because I don't
want
to hang out with anyone but her.

“Jak,” I whisper into her ear, “why did you drink so much?” As if there is ever a logical answer to that question.

I feel her shoulders shrug ever so slightly. “Adam. Tristen. Dunno,” she whimpers.

My mind begins to race. Why did I really wait to tell Jak that Hedgehog and Balloon wanted to set me up with ­Tristen? Why was I so excited to see Jak at the mall on my date with Tristen? Why do I care what Jak thinks about Tristen? And most importantly, why does it bother me to see Jak with Adam? When Jak accused me at the smoothie bar of being jealous . . . was she right?

I squeeze Jak even tighter. I can feel every breath she takes. Every cough rattles her rib cage. I'm confused. I'm not thinking straight. Maybe my parents' story has gone to my head.

But then I think about me and Jak. Our telepathy. Her
way with words. How she finds the flaws in every single person on earth. Everyone except for me.

This low rumble in my heart. This fog that's been clouding my brain.

Oh my God.

I have feelings for Jak.

She stirs in the water. For a second I think I might have said that out loud. But I haven't, and she settles down.

I can't have feelings for Jak,
I tell myself. I'm just getting nostalgic. I'm scared about graduating and leaving home. We're a platonic superduo and always will be. She's my best friend.

But she's also beautiful. And brilliant. And hilarious.

None of it matters anyway, because it will never be. In the wake of Voldemort, Jak told me explicitly that this was a line she would not cross. We will never be more than friends. She's been consistent about that point ever since.

Except when she randomly holds my hand or tells me she misses me or gets jealous when I'm dating someone else . . .

My mind is racing. I press my lips into the back of Jak's hair, near her neck.

I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to risk our friendship. I don't know what I want.

Jak yawns.

Very slowly, I start to turn her around in the tub so that she's sitting facing me. Her bra is soaked through to her
breasts. Her hair is matted down on her forehead. Her eyes are half closed, and a single droplet of water rolls down the tip of her nose. But she still manages a grin.

Jak always says that perfect moments make her feel uncomfortable, and that's why she has to ruin them. But I know it's just a defense mechanism. Nothing could ruin this moment.

I caress Jak's face with my hand.

She looks up expectantly.

I search for the right words to say.

Jak opens her mouth, as if she's about to interrupt me and tell me exactly what I'm feeling.

I hang on her next breath.

And then she vomits right into the tub.

25

I CAN TELL MY CLIENTS
the optimal time to ask a girl out. I can help them interpret her body language. I can determine whether text, Facebook, or Instagram is the proper channel for flirtation. But there are some scenarios for which my skills are woefully inadequate.

For instance, let's just say you think you might have romantic feelings for your best friend but you're not really sure and you don't really know
what
you're feeling and then when you're about to say something to her, she vomits. How long should you wait before trying to bring it up again? Three days? A week? A lifetime? There are no right answers.

Jak remembers little from that night. She knows she got smashed at the party. She knows I helped her get home in one piece. Besides that, she hasn't asked, and I haven't
offered any more details. Things between us are fine. Stable to perhaps a bit awkward, but that will pass. If anything, she's embarrassed by the whole thing. And this from a girl who does not easily feel shame. She once told me that she only has four feelings: happy, sad, bored, and umami. She is such an endearing weirdo.

Meanwhile, I'm left to wrestle with my own, much more complicated feelings. I thought that maybe I just had a moment of weakness in the bathtub. Maybe I was just a little buzzed. But when I woke up the next morning, my feelings for Jak, whatever they are, were still there. I don't really know what they mean and I don't even know if they're real. I would certainly not be the first guy to confuse jealousy and nostalgia for actual affection. Never mind the fact that I'm dating Tristen, and Jak long ago declared herself off-limits anyway. The whole thing is confusing and compounded by the dangerous level of hormones flooding my soon-to-be-eighteen-year-old body.

While I continue soul-searching, I've decided there is one person I can open up to about my conflicted feelings for Jak: Adam. And, yes, I realize he seems like the last person on earth I should be confiding in. But he and Jak have been hanging out for a few weeks, and I feel like I should be honest with him, guy to guy. He's a client and a friend, and I don't want to keep him in the dark. Maybe since he knows both me and Jak he can even shed some light on the whole situation, or at least tell me I'm being crazy. At the minimum, Adam
owes me enough to listen to what I have to say. And that's why I've come here, to anime club.

I open a door in the administration hallway to find an all-purpose classroom with a television and a DVD player at the front. I go unnoticed by the ten or so hoodie-clad male students who are watching a trippy Japanese cartoon. I cannot follow a second of it. More importantly, Adam is nowhere to be found.

“It's called
Fullmetal Alchemist.
”

I jump when I hear Adam behind me.

“What?” I say as I turn around.

“
Fullmetal Alchemist
,” Adam says. “That's what they're watching. One of the most popular anime series of all time.”

“Got it. Why aren't you in there?”

“I was with Rebecca. She was upset.”

I was the only person who witnessed Harrison and Rebecca fighting at the party, and one of the few who even knew they were going out in the first place. But since then I've heard through the grapevine that they split up.

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, she's fine now. She wouldn't actually tell me what was wrong. We've been working on her proposal for a second extracurricular period.”

“How's that going?”

“Pretty well. Rebecca is something. There's a surprising amount of legwork that needs to be done in order to get it approved, and she just powers through it.”

“I heard she once negotiated down the price of her pizza because there wasn't enough pepperoni on it.”

“Um. Okay. I mean it wouldn't surprise me.”

“Just think,” I say, “two extracurricular periods after school means double the anime.”

“Right. So . . . did you just come here to hang out or what?

“Well, there's kinda something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Actually, me too,” he says. “What happened at the party? You just left. And so did Jak. I can't get a straight answer out of her. Did you guys go home together?”

“Yes and no,” I say.

“Um . . .”

“I mean, I took her home, but I didn't, like, ‘take her home.' She just got too drunk and needed my help. It was a best friend thing.”

“Why didn't she just tell me that?”

“Why does Jak do anything she does?”

“True.”

“But the thing is, when I was helping her, I started to think . . .”

Adam looks at me.

“Think what?”

“I started to think that maybe I have feelings for her.”

“Oh,” he says.
“Oh.”

“It's probably nothing. I'm probably just confused. But
it's been weirding me out. And I wanted to be totally honest with you.”

He takes a deep breath. “Well, I appreciate you saying something.”

“I know I'm putting you in an awkward position.”

“I'm not sure what you want me to do.”

“Tell me I'm crazy.”

He considers this. “Jak is awesome. So I get where you're coming from.”

“So I could
not
be crazy?”

“Shane, you're the relationship expert. Why are you asking me?”

“Good point.”

“Do you want me to back off?” Adam says. “Is that what you're saying?”

I begin to regret bringing it up at all. Because the truth is, I don't know
what
I want.

“No,” I say. “I mean, you do whatever you think is right. I just wanted to be totally honest with you.”

“You said that already.”

“Oh.”

“I feel like I should back off,” he says. “You know what you're doing. I mean, it was you who said I should go after Olivia when no one else on the planet believed it was possible.”

“Yeah, but Olivia cheated on you and left you crying at the beach like a Taylor Swift video.”

“Ouch.”

Sometimes I have to remind myself how much sway I have over Adam. He really looks up to me. I shouldn't abuse that.

“I think this might have been a mistake,” I say. “Forget I even said anything.”

“It's kind of a hard thing to forget.”

“I know, but just try. It's been a weird few weeks. Don't listen to me.”

“All right . . . ,” he says.

I look into the classroom. “Get back in there,” I say. “Enjoy your cartoon.”

Adam furrows his brow and reluctantly joins his anime club comrades.

I'm left standing in the hallway alone. I don't feel any better. I'm not thinking any clearer.

I hear cheers and claps coming from the classroom. I wish I could join them in their fantasyland. Because my reality is more confusing than ever.