Life by Committee (17 page)

I can't fail at this. I have to be one of them.

“Please leave the café until you sober up,” Cate says. It's under her breath, I guess, but customers at the tables near us could definitely hear her. Elise takes a few steps to the door, and I do a mini calculation that tells me four hours is still totally enough time to go to the bookstore, get coffee and baked goods, wait for Cate and Paul to cool off, and then do what I promised myself and my new friends that I would do.

I can do it all.

“We'll be back,” I say to no one.

“So? Heather?” I say when Elise and I are huddled in the poetry corner of the bookstore. The navy-blue polka-dot carpet is plush, and we've been known to sit on it for hours. “You like her?” I try to be really good about checking out who's around when talking to Elise about girls. Her eyes dart around too, and then she grins.

“She's so cool. She's really into making her own perfumes and soaps and stuff. And she's inviting me over, like,
all
the time. And she never talks about guys.”

“But?”

“Don't be a downer, Tab,” Elise says. She says it lightly, but her face grimaces. It's that extra step of actually making a move on another girl that Elise never seems to get over. So the crushes get to this place, and then halt when Elise can't nudge them along any further. She never says she likes them as more than a friend, never asks if they like girls, never leans in to try kissing them.

“Do you have a plan?”

She's looking right at me, and her dark eyes are blurry with feelings. “I have to just do it. Right? Tell her how I feel about her. I mean, either way, it won't freak her out, hopefully. Or if it does, she's not my friend anyway, right?”

“Totally,” I say. And it's true. But I also love Elise
enough to feel the nervousness that comes with that confession. The horror of it. The way it could emerge from her mouth and drop to the floor with a huge, hollow
thud
. It's hard enough to tell someone you have a crush on them. It's made even harder for Elise, who isn't totally sure if Heather's even gay. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” I say. I don't usually speak in platitudes, so Elise looks at me funny, and I can't figure out where that came from, either. And then I realize it's in Zed's profile on LBC.

“People don't just do whatever pops into their heads, you know?” Elise says. “We're not all the way you are with Joe or whatever.” I recoil. She might as well have hit me.

“What do you think I'm doing with Joe?” I say, not really wanting the answer but needing the answer anyway.

“I hope nothing, but I think you have a skewed sense of how romantic crap happens. I'm not going to, like, throw myself at Heather and see what sticks. I mean, it's cool. That you are being all . . . um . . . free. But that's not me. That's all I mean. I, like, totally envy your . . . way of being or whatever. But I'm going to feel it out and wait and see.”

I try very hard to come up with the right response. I don't want to fight with Elise, but I also don't love the weird implication that I'm kind of a huge disaster.

“I meant it as a compliment,” Elise says, I assume because the look on my face is one of horror and shock. “And, you know, thank you for wanting to help with Heather. I'll get there.” She raises her eyebrows and plays with the collar of her shirt.

“People do get what they wants sometimes, you know?” I say, and Elise nods and that's basically it for that portion of the conversation. We both look at our feet and our phones to recover.

Mine reminds me I now have three hours.

“So. Informal poll. What's the weirdest book in this place?” Elise says. “I'm bored with poetry and self-help. Can we find something new?” She walks over to the religion section, but we've done that before, too, so it won't be much more interesting.

“I'd go for one from the ‘local writers' section,” I say. The bookstore features a whole display of self-published texts from people in town, and the people in town are pretty damn weird, so it's a good bet.

“Good call,” Elise says. “Okay, I'm going to get some weird anarchist manifesto or something. What are you going to get?”

“
The Secret Garden
,” I say. I want to find another marked-up copy. I want to know if everyone who reads the book has the same thoughts as me and the Red Pen Note Taker, or if we really do have the bond through time
and space that we seem to.

“I thought you were into
A Little Princess
,” Elise says. I love that she knows this about me. After only being friends since June, this seems like a huge accomplishment. She's really listening. I get that about-to-cry feeling in my chest and I'm not entirely sure why. I want to hug her, but Elise is not a hugger. I guess I've been thinking I don't have anyone, but maybe I sort of do have someone aside from LBC-ers.

“New fad,” I say. “I'm falling for
Secret Garden
now.”

“Haven't read it,” Elise says. I take a step toward the children's section and breathe in the smell of mustiness and pumpkin candles that always fills this store. It's cozy and mine, and in a flash I don't want to share this particular thing with my best friend.

“You'd hate it,” I say.

I end up with two more copies of
The Secret Garden
. Neither of them has very many notes. One looks like it was read by a chocolate-loving kid who was being forced to active read at Circle Community. The other is an old library book that some asshole wrote what looks like phone messages in. Not exactly inspiring reading material, but I can't let the books go to someone else, and I can't stop the flicker of curiosity at what this book does to people.

We head back to Tea Cozy but don't say hi to Paul and Cate. I have two hours left to complete my Assignment, zero extra inspiration from my new books, and a friend watching my every move. Basically: I'm screwed.

“Hey, can I ask Heather to come by?” Elise says when she looks up from a self-help weight loss book with intense underlines and erratic exclamation points crowding the pages. I nod my head without really thinking.

“I'm gonna check my email,” I say, but Elise is already too into her text messaging to care.

“Heather'll be here in ten,” Elise says.

“Wait, like, now?” I say. I have got to snap out of it, or I'm going to make this situation even worse.

“It's stupid, I know, but I want you to know her a little. I mean even if it's nothing . . . we can all hang out. She's really into baking, like you.” I nod.

Elise is always doing this—finding random and mostly unconvincing ways for me to bond with her other friends or crushes. I mostly politely decline, but she's trying extra hard with Heather and I can practically taste her nervousness, so I give my most enthusiastic nod while watching my phone try to load LBC.

I try to get my head around Elise and Heather both being here while I complete my Assignment. It's like this whole situation is running away from me, and I can't get
it under control again. It reminds me of the one car accident I ever got into. I lost control of the car because of ice on the road. I couldn't brake. I couldn't turn the wheel. The car drifted toward the middle of the road, veering to the wrong side, threatening to drive me against traffic. I kept turning the wheel, begging it to respond to what I was asking it to do. It simply would not listen. I've never been more terrified.

Then, all of a sudden, the ice let up and the car started working normally again, but it was too late. I'd turned the wheel all the way to the right when it wasn't responding, so I flew off the road.

I'm pretty sure that's what's happening right now. I'm moments away from flying off the road.

I've been waiting for this part. The photographs and audio files and grainy knee-down videos are cool and weird and random and I want to be part of that, too. I guess technically it's to “prove” we completed our Assignments, and I guess we can't totally be trusted to be honest, but I couldn't fathom lying on Life by Committee. What would be the point? Everyone else would be changing and growing and making a beautiful life, and I'd be hanging out, lying about how awesome I am.

I have to be better than that. But I have a sick feeling in my stomach and I can't make the pulsing, fearful headache go away. I try to get the image of my car crashing into an icy tree out of my head. I try to remember what Paul told me after that accident—that you have to ride with it, not fight against it. That the next time, I have to let the car drift, keep myself breathing, and ride it out.

I've stopped looking at my phone. I'm now looking around the café, all scared-animal-like, as if everyone in there knows what I'm about to do. Elise is looking at me like I'm losing it.

“Are you out of breath?” she says. “Tab? Do you need some kind of paper bag to breathe into? Are you having a situation?” She tries following my gaze, and we both realize in the same instant that it has settled on Devon.

He makes eye contact with me. He is all haunted blue eyes and skinny arms under his long-sleeve tee. He smiles and waves, and first I think:
cute
. Immediately followed by:
Is this a sign that I have to make something happen with him, like LBC told me to?

My phone buzzes to tell me I have one hour left to complete my Assignment. I am now sweating approximately as much as your average marathoner. I guess I wanted a brand-new type of life, and this is certainly that. I have never felt this many things at once.

“TABBY,” Elise says, loudly enough that multiple people turn around and give us
shut up, I'm working
glares.

“I'm okay!” I say, but I'm obviously not, so Elise shifts in her seat and moves her face closer to mine, like she will find something in my pupils that will tell her what's up.

Devon cocks his head and waves again. He wears his grandfather's old wedding ring on one hand and a leather cuff like Elise's on the opposite wrist. I can't deal with all of this right now. I have to find Paul.

“You're shaking,” Elise says. Her hand reaches for mine, the smooth expanse of her fingers covers my trembling ones, and I twitch under the pressure.

“Do you know Devon, Jemma's brother?” I whisper. My knees are knocking against each other. It's a hollow feeling, a strange reflex that gives me goose bumps.

“Sure? The one who liked you?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. He didn't, I don't think. Doesn't. Anyway, that's him.” I leave it at that, and Elise nods, like she now totally gets it.

“That is some intense eye contact happening,” she says. I have not taken my eyes off Devon, and he has not taken his off me. His smile's gone crooked and a little goofy, like we're playing a game, but I am
not
playing. I'm trying to decide something big.

“He should not be here,” I say. I mean it. I don't want to do this with Devon watching. But I'm trying to ride out the icy road, let the car go where it wants to go.

“He's supercute,” Elise says, nudging me with her elbow and a smile.

“Should I talk to him?” I say. It's not the question I want to be asking, and Elise is giggling and nodding like this is all some ecstatic crush situation, and not a deliberate and exacting attempt to do what I've been told.

“Definitely,” she says. “But I'd wipe your forehead first. You're a little . . . damp.”

“Maybe I shouldn't talk right now, though,” I say. “I have to do some stuff.” I'm basically talking to myself, and I don't want Elise to ask questions, but there's so much happening in my head that I have to let little bits of it escape through my mouth. “Give me a second to think,” I say, and I lean forward so much that I'm practically flashing Elise. My uncontrollable and super-objectionable breasts are at it again.

“Well, if he didn't like you before, he definitely does now,” she says with a nod to my cleavage and then to Devon, whose long, skinny-jeaned legs are pacing toward us. Elise plays footsie with me under the table and can't stop the sneaky way her lips curl or the excited blush on her cheeks. “And seriously
so
much cuter than
Joe, b-t-dubs.”

“Am I still allowed here?” Devon says. I am dry mouthed from the traffic jam of things happening right now.

“I don't— I have to— I'm busy.”

“You don't look super busy,” he says, and there's his smile again, lighting up this corner of Tea Cozy and some tiny part of my heart. The non-Joe part, which isn't the important part. I shake my head to ignore it. If I do something with Devon, it's only to get Joe. He looks appealing because kissing him would make me even better at Life by Committee, would make Zed respect me more.

“Can I take a picture of your shoes?” I say. It is not a normal question.

I also am legitimately running out of time, so it is an ill-timed question.

“Tab, are you okay?” Elise says, as much under her breath as possible. She and Devon are giving me the same look of abject confusion and awkwardness.

“My shoes? Sure?” Devon says, but I'm not really listening to either of them. Paul has just stepped outside, out the back door, and that can only mean one thing.

“Maybe later?” I say, and too late realize that sounds insane since I'm the one who just super randomly asked to photograph his footwear. “Good to see you, though.” I shrug. Forget to smile. Forget to sound cute. Forget how
cute he is. Forget everything but the number of seconds Paul has been outside. If I don't go now, I'll miss my chance.

“Ah,” Devon says. Takes another step back. “I'll come back tomorrow, maybe? For a coffee?” A glance in his direction tells me he's trying to get that little smirk back in place, but he's fighting hard against the discomfort I'm obviously causing.