Something Real (20 page)

Patrick does something with the radio and then old-school Weezer comes on—the song, “Island in the Sun,” is the perfect soundtrack for our little adventure:
We’ll run away together.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Patrick risks a look back at me and smiles. “Where do you want to go?”

It doesn’t take me too long to think of a first stop. “Can we get Pepsi Freezes?”

“Your wish is my command,” he says, turning onto Summit Avenue.

“Side note: I love Pepsi Freezes almost as much as I love Matt,” says Benny.

“Excuse me?” Matt turns his burly Abercrombie-esque body around. “Pepsi Freezes are not about to frolic with you in a media shit storm, Benton™ Andrew Baker.”

I’ve never heard them be so open about their relationship with anyone but me. It’s beautiful and disorienting, and I’m just going to burst with how amazing this day is becoming.

“Yo! Turn around! You have to keep up appearances,” Benny says, shooing at Matt with his hands. “Remember, two members of the Baker family are not lying in extremely uncomfortable positions in the backseat of a pseudoanarchist’s car right now.”

“Pseudo?” Patrick says. “I resent you pseudo-ifying me.”

“Oh, you’ve been … whatever you just said,” Benny says.

“Chloe.” Patrick catches my eye. “Am I required to frolic in said shit storm as well?”

“’Fraid so,” I say.

“
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da
,” he says.

Matt furrows his brow. “Huh?”

“Beatles,” I say. It gives me a little thrill, knowing I speak Patrick Sheldon.

Patrick pulls into one of the gas stations in town that sells Pepsi Freezes, which are basically Pepsi Slurpees, but way better. Plus, this was a secret test of mine to determine our true compatibility; only one of the three gas stations in town that sell Pepsi Freezes actually gets the Pepsi-to-Freeze ratio right. Patrick passed.

“Okay, we’re here. Be right back,” Patrick says.

“Baby, can you get me a pack of American Spirits?” Benny asks Matt.

“Um. Sure. Because I really like watching my boyfriend kill himself,” Matt says, opening the door. I love that Matt’s refusing to use his fake ID for Benny’s nasty habit.

“So that’s a no?”

“Shhh,” I hiss. “We’re not supposed to be here right now.”

Matt gets out, and I hear Patrick laughing as they walk away.

I give Benny a look. “When were you going to tell me that you guys came out to Patrick?”

He shrugs. “I was never a hundred percent sure that he was into you. I mean, I was pretty sure, but then some days it seemed like when your name came up, he wanted to change the subject. Now I know it’s because he didn’t know how
you
felt about
him
. I just didn’t want to complicate things.”

“How would that complicate things?”

“Because if you knew he knew, it might make you fall harder for him, and I didn’t want that to happen unless he felt the same way.” He notices my confused glance and adds, “Tolerance is irresistible.”

“So, he’s known about you and Matt since…?”

“A long time. But he didn’t tell me he knew until September.”

I shake my head. “So how long has he liked me?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

I look past the neon signs advertising processed food and coffee to where Patrick and Matt are filling up huge cups with thick brown liquid. My heart does crazy pirouettes because
my boyfriend is buying me a Pepsi Freeze.
“I wanna know,” I say.

“Since last fall, when you guys had English together.”

I groan and throw my head in my hands, but Benny just laughs. “Whatever. You guys are together now. Speaking of, on a scale from one to ten, ten being the level of a Justin Bieber fan who gets to take a picture with him backstage, how happy are you right now?”

I laugh. “Okay, I’m going to go with a seven because we’re still doing the show and it was super weird with Tessa this morning.”

“Seven’s good,” he says.

I nod as I see Patrick come out of the gas station with two Pepsi Freezes in hand. “Seven’s good.”

*   *   *

“I vote the pink one,” Benny says.

Patrick frowns. “I don’t know. I sort of prefer the green, actually.”

“Matt?” I hold up the two wigs, and he shakes his head.

“I am so not qualified to make a judgment call on this.”

We’re in the dollar store, surrounded by random crap made in China that has provided us with over forty minutes of uninterrupted entertainment. It is my new favorite place in the world.

“I’m going with the Groucho Marx look,” Benny says. “There’s no way the Vultures will recognize me with these on.”

“Nice,” I say.

I throw a floral gardening hat on Patrick’s head. “We can call you Patricia,” I say, as Benny and Matt wander off.

“This doesn’t make me more conspicuous?”

“Hmm. Maybe a little. Are we trying to blend in or be so outrageous that they assume there’s no way it could be us?” I ask.

Patrick takes off the hat and puts on a pair of googly eyeglasses. “Hey, you’re the expert on this, not me.”

“Chlo, they have mini Christmas trees!” Benny shouts from a few aisles over.

I see the cashier crane his neck in our direction.

“Ten bucks says he kicks us out in the next fifteen minutes. He probably thinks we’re gonna steal something,” I whisper to Patrick.

He grabs a pair of neon blue sunglasses and sets them on me. The cheap lenses turn everything brown. “Are you kidding? We’re the most exciting thing that’s going to happen to this store today,” he says.

He leans in and gives me a quick kiss, googly eyes and all. “Look, two hours as my girlfriend and you already have green hair and outrageous sunglasses.”

My hands find their way around his waist without me telling them to go there, which is kind of cool. “I like that word.”

“Outrageous?” he teases, leaning in again.

“Chlo!” Benny stage-whispers.

“Christmas calls,” I say.

Patrick groans, but follows me over to aisle five. On our way, we pass a display of Thanksgiving tablecloths, and my stomach immediately clenches; in two and a half days, we’ll be shooting our live premiere. As if it’s not bad enough that we have to do the show in the first place, Chuck has decided that our first one should be as stressful as possible. No pressure, it’s just millions of people watching. In his words, “It’s like you’re a distant relative people haven’t seen in a while and you’re inviting them all to celebrate the holidays with you!”

“What’s up?” Patrick asks.

His eyebrows come together in a frown, and he reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair out of my eyes. My heart plays hopscotch as it hits me again that he and I are together. Somehow, with all the crap at home, something seriously wonderful is in my life.

“I was just…” I see a multi-pack of Wrigley’s Spearmint and grab it. “I’m buying you this.”

“You know I have about a thousand of those at home, right?”

I lean in closer. “Yeah, but not from
me
.”

By the time we leave the dollar store, we’re armed with various useless disguises, copious amounts of off-brand candy, and a mini Christmas tree.

“Hungry?” Patrick asks.

“Where can we go that someone will not take camera phone pics of us?” asks Benny.

“My place?” Patrick suggests.

“Whoa. Already taking my sister home to meet the parents, eh? This is getting serious. I haven’t even had the birds and the bees talk with her yet.”

I hit him. “Ohmygod, Benny,
shut up
.”

Patrick’s lips snake up a little. “They’re at work. I might have great parents, but they wouldn’t be particularly thrilled that I ditched school.”

As Patrick pulls into his family’s garage, happy anticipation fills me, like when I’m in a crowded movie theater and the lights go down. I never get over going to other people’s houses—it feels crazy intimate to me, like I’m getting to see this private part of their existence. Before the show started filming again, sharing my home with someone would have meant telling them my biggest secret. Just casually being in someone’s house feels like I’m reading their diary.

“Okay, you two. It’s safe to get out,” Matt says.

Benny groans. “Oh, thank you, sweet Jesus.”

The door opens, and Patrick helps me out, keeping his hand in mine as he leads us inside the house. I still don’t know what the outside looks like, but the inside resembles Tessa’s: a two-story house in one of the older developments, cozy and lived in. Patrick gives us a quick tour and laughs good-naturedly when Benny and Matt give him shit about all the pictures of him on the walls.

“I can’t even comprehend being an only child,” I say.

What would it be like, to be the center of your parents’ universe?

“Well, I can’t comprehend having enough siblings to populate a small island nation,” he says.

Benny shakes his head. “Oh, man, you have no freaking idea.”

Patrick opens a door at the end of the hall on the second floor. “This is my room.”

“Which my sister will only see when chaperoned.”

“Really, he’s always like this,” I mutter to Patrick. “Doctors have been searching for a cure, but…” I shrug, and Benny sticks his tongue out at me.

Patrick’s room is much more organized than I imagined it would be, but it is still very much a Patrick kind of room. Everything in its right place. A stack of Wrigley’s spearmint gum sits on his desk, and his bookcase is full of books like
On the Road
and
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
.

“These are random and awesome,” I say, pointing to a series of black-and-white photos on the wall. A Ferris wheel, a car from the thirties, workers in a field.

“Oh, yeah. I found them in my grandparents’ basement last Christmas. My grandpa took them when he was a kid. He grew up around here, too.”

There’s a black-and-white poster of the Empire State Building and another one of—I step toward it for a closer look—the caption says it’s the Walt Disney Concert Hall in LA. It’s futuristic and wild, made of metal that looks like waves. It’s not a building, it’s a giant sculpture.

“I like that you don’t have supermodel posters or baseball trophies,” I say.

Patrick laughs. “No, none of those.”

“Holy shit, Sheldon,” says Matt. He holds up a brochure. “Columbia?”

Patrick reddens slightly and shakes his head. “Parental hopes that are going to dash on the rocks of … fill in the blank with something poetic. Lunch?”

“Changing the subject?” asks Benny.

Matt’s stomach growls, and we laugh away some of the awkwardness.

“We’re gonna raid your fridge,” Benny says. He grabs Matt’s hand and ushers him out of the room, giving us some privacy.

“Did you already apply?” I ask.

I hope I sound nonchalant, like I’m just oozing with idle curiosity. This is hard to fake because the last thing anyone wants to find out within the first two hours of a new relationship is that their boyfriend’s possibly/maybe moving across the country in less than a year. I can physically feel the turn in our conversation sap the bright, happy enthusiasm I’ve been splashing around in since we got off campus. Now I feel like I’m in dirty bathwater that’s growing cold, when it seemed like only seconds ago it was all warmth and rainbow-colored bubbles.

“Yeah, I applied a few weeks ago.” He fiddles with the blinds next to his bed, adjusting them so the sunlight isn’t in my face. “But, I mean, it’s
Columbia
. The chances of…” He runs a hand through his hair, embarrassed. “I mean, they have one of the best architecture programs in the country.”

That explains the sketchbooks on his desk, the cup of perfectly sharpened pencils.

He moves closer to me. “What about you?” he asks, his voice soft, like he can sense my mood just walked into an industrial freezer. “When you graduate, you’re free, right? No more show?”

I don’t think so. For the rest of my life I will have to carry around my past. My whole childhood can be downloaded, streamed, or purchased in a boxed set of DVDs on MetaReel’s website. Then there’re the books Mom wrote and the books other people wrote and articles about me that are just out there in the ether, waiting for someone to stumble upon them.
Free
is not in my vocabulary.

My eyes scan the walls, roam over his record collection. “This is the room of someone who knows who they are and what they want.” I try to smile at him. “I don’t have a room like this. I’m just trying to get through high school.”

My room, with its pictures of travel destinations, is all about escape. It’s the only dream I’ve ever really had. But you can’t major in running away.