Middle Ground (5 page)

We were both soaking wet by the time he lifted the window and pulled out the screen. He climbed out onto the sidewalk and offered me his hand to join him.

I bent over awkwardly in my heels and tried to brush off drops of water that had gathered on the silky fabric of my dress. Justin shook the water out of his hair and grabbed my hand tightly in his. The sidewalk outside was packed with people. I didn’t recognize a single face from the wall screen. It was like seeing people you’d met at a Halloween party without their costumes for the first time. They looked normal—flushed skin, crooked noses, huge lips, small lips, pale, tan, skinny, curvy. What they saw as imperfections was what made them original.

Security guards from Club Nino were trying to keep the growing mob off the train tracks. A group of guys rigged speakers to a microphone and pumped music around the crowd. The party had officially moved outside, and it seemed from the landscape of smiles that people didn’t mind. A group of girls tried to pull Trey and another guard into their dance circle. It was like seeing wild animals set free to do what nature intended. People opened apartment doors and windows to see what all the commotion was about. The mass was only growing.

A reporter interviewed the manager in front of the club entrance, and her voice echoed around us, like lyrics to the techno music. Her face was projected on a screen draped over the side of a building, where the live newscast was being shown, and her voice filled the air through speakers mounted on top of the news ZipShuttle.

“Now, this looks like a real dance party,” the reporter noted, and she was answered with a cheer. A camera panned the audience. “Do you think this will push more face-to-face dance clubs to open?”

The manager gushed from all the attention.

“I certainly hope so,” she said, and the audience applauded her. “I’m just thrilled my club is a place where people can express their feelings openly.” Justin and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. We skirted around bodies clustered together and I noticed eyes stop on Justin like they were caught in a web. Girls ogled him but he didn’t notice the stares. His eyes were focused ahead.

“I thought you’d want to stay and enjoy all this,” I said, and pointed around us. He squeezed my hand tighter and his eyes scanned the area like he was my bodyguard.

“I never trust the news,” he said. “And I don’t want you around any cameras.”

“I look that bad?” I joked.

He glanced at my long hair, still dripping at the ends, and his eyes took in my revealing dress. “I think your dad would imprison you on your dress choice alone,” he said. “And breaking the law doesn’t help your record.” I couldn’t argue with him. It was easy to forget about my dad’s watchful eye when I was a thousand miles away. But I knew he was always following me.

We turned the corner and at the end of the block we found Noah, Pat, and Clare waiting for us next to an empty ZipShuttle. Noah extended his arm to slap Justin’s hand and Clare offered him one of her signature hugs.

Pat regarded our clothes and hair. “Why are you two all wet?” he asked.

“Some idiot pulled the fire alarm,” I said.

Pat looked at me. “Club etiquette, for future reference,” he said. “If you’re not having fun, you can just get up and leave. You don’t have to shut the whole place down.”

“Got it,” I said.

“I didn’t mind,” Clare said to me. “You were brilliant.” Pat and Noah were less grateful and I caught Pat’s eyes shift to my hand, still wrapped tightly inside Justin’s.

“Brilliant,” Noah mimicked. “I was hitting it off with the hottest girl there until you got
bored.
”

“That’s some serious cock-blocking,” Pat pointed out to me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and looked at Noah. “I’m sure there will be plenty of skirt-dropping women in your future.”

He shook his head with disappointment. “You didn’t see Christine.”

I raised my eyebrows and was about to point out that he hadn’t actually
seen
her either when three girls came around the corner and interrupted us. We all turned as they approached and one of the girls waved. She was short and stocky and her platinum-blond hair was frizzy with tight curls.

“Hey, you still want to come to the party?” she asked, and Noah’s forehead creased.

“Do I know you?” he asked. She walked closer, and in the dim streetlight she wasn’t unattractive but she definitely wasn’t model material. She and her friends had a style my mom and I called
overcooked,
which is where everything is overdone: the hair, the makeup, the clothes. It ruins whatever is naturally there.

“I’m Christine,” she reminded him. “I’m a little shorter in real life,” she added with a grin, and judging from Noah’s alarmed expression, I could see that wasn’t the only thing about her appearance that was different.

One of the other girls checked out Pat and Justin. “You’re all invited,” she said.

I watched Noah and could practically hear his thoughts:
I think we’ll pass.
Before he could comment, Clare spoke up. “He’s dying to go. It’s all he’s been talking about.”

Noah shot a look of hate at his sister. “Um—”

“We were actually saving this shuttle for you,” Clare added.

“Excellent! We can all go together,” Christine insisted, and she and her friends climbed inside. Pat started to argue, but Clare pushed him toward the door.

“You still made the party,” I said to Pat. “I guess this is a truce, right?” I added with a peace sign.

“You’re dead to me,” Pat said, but there was a grin on his face that made me laugh.

Clare followed behind him. “This I have to see.”

I grabbed her arm before she stepped on the shuttle track. “You don’t have to go,” I said.

She lowered her eyebrows at me. “I think you two could use some alone time,” she whispered and looked over my shoulder at Justin. “Have fun tonight,” she said. She winked at me and climbed in the shuttle after Pat. The doors beeped closed behind them. The shuttle sped down the street and left Justin and me alone on the sidewalk. Distant techno music drifted through the air. A familiar electricity hummed around us. I turned to see Justin watching me.

He tugged my hand. “Let’s walk,” he said. The streets were empty except for an occasional train. A mural of billboard lights surrounded us. There were so many constant advertisements and flashes of color it made the streetlights obsolete. I missed Eden, where the world was quiet and reachable and my mind was clear.

“How are you?” Justin asked me.

Three simple words that most people answer with
Fine
or
Good
or
Great
or
Fantastic,
and then the conversation moves on to movies or food or shows or anything else easy to talk about. But I could never answer Justin’s questions with simple one-word replies, and they didn’t lead to easy conversations; he always saw through me and pulled me out of anywhere I tried to hide.

I wanted to tell him life was perfect, that a city of twenty million people was the most fulfilling place to be. I wanted to tell him living in L.A. was a constant stimulus, a high, a current of lights that pumped energy into the air like an electric charge. I didn’t want to tell him I missed him and that I saw his face everywhere, on strangers and wall screens and even on the tiles in my shower.

He watched me and waited for a response like he could see my thoughts twisting together and breaking and pulling apart.

“You told me once that missing people is a waste of time,” I said. “So, I don’t miss you at all and I don’t miss Eden and everything in my life is fabulous and if happiness were tangible I would be so heavy with it, it would be crushing me.”

I looked at him and smiled.

“You have the most bizarre way of being honest. Okay, my turn,” he said. “I miss you.” The words sounded strained coming out of his mouth, like it was difficult for him to admit it or, more likely, difficult for him to feel it. “And I know I told you it’s a waste of time, but in the past few weeks, I’ve learned it’s unavoidable.”

“You know, it’s not a bad thing,” I said. “It’s not a weakness, like if you had a poor immune system.”

“I’m just not used to it,” he said. “I’ve never missed anyone before and it’s brutal. It’s a huge time suck. If I told you how many times a day I’ve thought about you, it would seriously scare you.”

I smiled but more than anything I was relieved.

“Everything comes back to you; it’s like this vacuum. It’s so
irritating,
” he said through a grin.

“Thanks?” I said.

“That’s why I needed to talk to you. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be a
boyfriend.
” He said the last word slowly, giving it three syllables.

He stared at me with a deadpan expression and my stomach flipped at the word
boyfriend.
It was strange hearing it come out of his mouth because I’d almost skipped this stage. I already knew I wanted to be with him forever. I decided not to verbalize this small detail. I didn’t want to send him into cardiac arrest. I needed to be careful with Justin. He acted as solid as stone but when it comes to emotions, we’re all made out of glass.

“Well, if you care about someone, it usually involves
communicating
with them. You know, calling, texting, messaging . . .”

Justin pondered this. “That’s what proves I care? That I check in with you?” I nodded and he asked me how often. “Once a week? Twice?”

“Haven’t you ever watched a television show?” I asked him. “Or seen a movie? Communication’s a pretty big deal. To everyone. It’s how we’re reassured people are thinking of us. That they care. That they haven’t, for example, moved on and forgotten we exist because all they think about is fighting digital school.”

He stopped walking and leaned his back against the wall of a brick building and stared at the ground.

“I know your job comes first right now,” I said. “But relationships take effort. If you want them to work,” I added.

He nodded thoughtfully while he absorbed this, like I was some deity revealing hidden secrets of the female soul. I felt like I was just stating the obvious.

“Huh,” Justin said. “So that’s how a healthy relationship works, according to television?”

I smiled. “Okay, this isn’t a debate. It’s very simple. If you cared about me, you’d check in with me. You’d want to know how I’m doing. That’s how it works.”

Justin was fascinated. His eyes were wide, as if this were truly new to him. And then I thought about it. Justin didn’t have any close friends. He’d never dated. He didn’t understand how to be close to people. He only knew how to distance himself. That’s how he handled his relationships; his parents had brought him up to think separation was normal.

He repeated my last sentence slowly. “That’s how it works.”

I stared up at the starless sky. He inspired me to build friendships every day, but when it came down to a real, intimate relationship, I felt like I had to hold his hand and teach him how to walk with baby steps.

“How do you think dating works?” I asked because I was equally intrigued by his take on it. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. We started walking again.

“It doesn’t work,” he said, and his voice dropped a little. “Does it?” His eyes stared straight ahead and I felt doubt begin to prickle down my spine.

“Then what are you doing here?” I asked, and my voice came out unsteady. The wind whipped past us and it was warm, but I still felt a chill run down my arms.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said before you moved to L.A. You told me you loved me.”

My heart started to race, but I wasn’t embarrassed he brought it up. I was proud I had the courage to admit it. “I do love you.”

He looked more confused than happy to hear this. “That took some guts to say.”

I shook my head. “It was a relief to say. It was a lot harder trying to hold it in.”

“No one’s ever said it to me before.”

I stopped walking and he kept on but looked back at me over his shoulder. His face held no emotion, like it didn’t matter to him either way, like love was just a place, just a location on a map that you either visit or pass by. If you don’t experience it then you won’t ever know what you’re missing.

“What about your parents? Don’t they say it?”

His forehead creased as he thought about this. “Maybe when I was little. We just don’t say it. I think it’s more assumed.”

“Assumed?”

“It’s how we operate.”

“Operate?” I repeated. “You’re a family, not a business plan.”

He grinned at me and we started walking again. I was quiet while my mind tried to assimilate this foreign idea. “I have a question for you,” he said. “How do you know when you love somebody?”

I felt something inside of me shrink when the words left his mouth. It sounded like a rejection.

“You don’t have to ask yourself. You just know it. It’s like religion; it’s like believing in a god. You can’t explain it. No one can tell you you’re wrong. It just is.”

“Do you think it’s temporary?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not if it’s real. Do people stop believing in God because they miss church for a few weeks? You’ll always believe.” I cocked my head to the side. “Haven’t you ever told someone you love them?”

“No,” he said. “Never.”

I gaped at him. “What?” I asked.

He laughed at my response. “What?”

“That’s unbelievable.”

“Why? I’ve never felt it before. Some emotions you just don’t feel. And I’m not going to say it if I don’t feel it.”

“You think you’re immune to feeling love?” I asked him.

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t have that emotion. Some people never get jealous. Some people never get angry. I used to think love was ownership, like it weighs people down. It makes people dependent. I guess that’s what keeps me from feeling it.”

I felt a heavy thought hovering between us. It finally registered what he was trying to say. I’d let my sappy mouth go on a love crusade only to have it drive me off a cliff. Because he didn’t feel that way about me.

A row of ZipShuttles hissed by, crammed full of people leaving the club. I wanted to be inside one of them, to be anywhere but trapped in my skin. I wanted to escape this moment. I wanted to log off, press Delete, fast-forward out of this.