Authors: Heather Demetrios
“And
I’m
Lexie™, aka your girlfriend’s stylist for the evening.”
“Hey.” Patrick smiles at her, and Lex gives me a thumbs-up. I redden and shake my head. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually going to miss my stupid sister.
“
Mom
. I like it the way it is.”
Mom’s trying to smooth Benny’s hair with a spit treatment, and he jumps back. Matt laughs, but it’s a little bit forced. He keeps his eyes on the ground, his shoulders hunched. He relaxes only when Benny’s physically touching him. For a second, my eyes get blurry, watching them adjust each other’s bow ties. They are so incredibly brave, being here, doing this.
“Matt! Look what I can do!” Violet™ attempts a cartwheel, nearly bashing Deston™, my nine-year-old brother, in the face.
“Yo!” he says, jumping out of the way.
I don’t know what it is, but this is the most fun and family-like we’ve felt in a really long time. I wonder if I’m seeing my family through Patrick’s eyes, or if we’re all really good at performing. Chuck leans against the doorway that leads to the kitchen, and I stiffen at the pleased expression on his face. Patrick must have felt that because he looks past Benny and murmurs in my ear, “That’s Chuck?”
I nod and turn my back on our resident puppet master. I’m not doing this for him—I’m doing it for my family. “Boutonniere time.”
He holds up a clear box with a simple cluster of white and purple orchids. “Corsage time.”
“These are so pretty,” I say.
The look in Patrick’s eyes tells me everything he would say if there weren’t nineteen other people squished into our entryway. Wordlessly, I find his hand and intertwine my fingers with his. He gives me a gentle squeeze.
“You two, give me some love,” says Lex. We turn and grin at her camera phone.
“Farrow™, go get the flowers out of the fridge,” Mom says. She holds up her camera. “Let’s get some pictures in the living room before you guys go, okay?”
Farrow™ rolls her eyes at me as she shuffles into the kitchen, and again, I get that pang of guilt and sadness I’d felt with Lex. How can I just leave them? But then I see Chuck whisper something in Kirk’s ear, and I feel a sense of resolve roll over me once more.
Pictures take forever because, of course, Chuck is stage-managing the whole thing. I get a sense of smug satisfaction knowing MetaReel can’t get into the dance, though. I pin Patrick’s boutonniere to the lapel of his suit, and I hold out my hand for him to slip on my corsage. His fingers lightly brush the inside of my wrist, and I flush, remembering his lips in that exact spot when we were in his room. He winks at me when no one’s looking. I wonder if people will be able to see how much we want each other, when we’re encased in flat-screen televisions in living rooms all over the country. Is the electric current that is forever running between us visible on film?
“Wow, your family is …
wow
,” Patrick whispers.
I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to walk into this, coming from a three-person family.
“I know, right?”
“Okay, now one with Bonnie™ and all the girls,” says Mom.
“Dude, Mom, we actually have to
go
at some point,” Benny says.
“
Dude
, you only have one winter formal,” she jokes. She gestures to me. “Real quick, hon.” She grabs my arm and puts me in the center of all the girls.
It’s like we have a cease-fire or something. It reminds me of this French movie,
Joyeux Noël
, that we watched in history last year when we were studying World War I. It was Christmas Eve and these French, German, and Scottish soldiers all climbed out of the trenches and hung out and showed one another pictures of their sweethearts. They shared booze and laughter and songs. But then they went back to killing one another the next day.
Patrick watches off to the side, his hands in his pockets. I love the way he looks at me. There’s chaos all around him—shrieking kids, a camera crew, my mother. But he’s undaunted, calm as ever, just leaning against the wall. It’s like he can put the world on mute for me. When we’re done I walk over to him, and he slides an arm around my shoulders.
Chuck whispers something into Mom’s ear, and she nods. “Okay, guys, we have a special surprise for you. This way.”
“Hell. I should have seen this coming,” I mutter.
Patrick squeezes my arm. “Almost done,” he whispers.
When we get outside, a gleaming black limo is in the driveway.
My heart plummets. I was really, really,
really
hoping to be alone at some point with Patrick tonight. And the last thing I want is to attract the whole school’s attention rolling up to the formal as if I’m arriving at the Emmys. Benny looks at me, and I swear he’s thinking the same thing; the limo is bugged. There’s probably a hidden camera in it, too.
“Mom, thanks, but … we’d really rather take Matt’s car,” Benny says.
Mom pulls him outside. “Just come look at it!”
“Let’s just take the damn thing to my house, and we’ll switch to my car,” Patrick whispers.
“Were there any Vultures outside?” I ask, my voice low.
He shakes his head.
“Okay.”
We go down the stairs, and I give Benny a
follow my lead
look.
“No, let’s take the limo. This is great. Thanks, Mom.”
I so want to flip off Chuck right now. Instead, during the noisy good-byes, I tell Patrick that the limo is probably rigged to MetaReel’s standards. He says something under his breath that wouldn’t be allowed during prime time. We pile into the limo, and Patrick gives the driver directions to his house.
“This is the MetaReel-doesn’t-want-to-get-sued-for-underage-drinking minibar,” Benny complains.
I grab a can of Coke. “We’ll survive.”
Benny starts whispering in Matt’s ear, and his eyes grow wide. He must be cluing him in to the wonders of hidden cameras. I hear him say, “Seriously?”
Rule Number One of being in the cast of
Baker’s Dozen
: never underestimate MetaReel.
Patrick puts his hand on my knee and leans close to my ear. “You are so beautiful, Chloe Baker.”
I bite off my pleased grin. “It’s all Lexie™.” I finger his tie. “You clean up pretty good yourself, Patrick Sheldon.”
The four of us, by unspoken agreement, start talking shit about MetaReel in pig Latin for the rest of the ride to Patrick’s house. A sampling:
Benny: “EtaReelmae ancae ucksae ymae ickdae.”
Matt whispers something to Benny, and even though I don’t hear what he says, I blush all the way to the tips of my ears when I see the expression on Benny’s face.
Me: “Istersae ightrae erehae!”
Patrick laughs.
Twenty minutes later, the limo pulls up outside Patrick’s house. We ditch the driver and jump into Patrick’s old Volvo. He opens the passenger door for me as Benny and Matt get in the backseat. Their doors slam, and he leans forward and kisses me.
“More, please,” I whisper.
He smiles and moves closer.
“Hey, lovers, we’d like to get one dance in tonight!” yells Benny.
Patrick gives me an Eskimo kiss and then shuts my door after I get inside.
“Whatever. Like you two weren’t just doing the same thing,” I say.
Matt holds up his hand. “I plead the Fifth.”
Patrick backs out of the driveway, and we give the bemused limo driver a little honk and wave, then we’re off.
“Patrick, you are an evil genius,” says Matt.
Benny hands me his iPod. “Put on my MJ mix,” he says.
We get through “Thriller,” “Don’t Stop ’Till You Get Enough,” and “Bad” before we pull into the familiar Taft lot. Suddenly I feel nervous. In my excitement about the dance, I’d forgotten to pick a wallflower gown; instead, I have a one-of-a-kind vintage ensemble, my hair pulled back into a wavy, low bun held together with a vibrant peacock-feather hairpiece.
As if sensing my sudden apprehension, Patrick holds me against him a little tighter as we walk to the open doors of the gym.
“This is
your
night. You belong here. Screw MetaReel,” he says.
My eyes sweep over these three elegant guys who have been through hell and back because of this stupid, stupid show. “This is
our
night.”
Benny pulls a flask out of his jacket pocket. “I’ll drink to that.” I give him a look. “But not too much,” he adds.
Matt takes a swig. “Okay, baby. Ready to be Taft High’s first openly gay couple at the winter formal?”
Benny grins. “Hell, yeah.”
SEASON 18, EPISODE 1
(The One with the Beach Balls)
The winter formal was amazing. I became one with the crush of silk, lace, and polyester on the dance floor. I twirled around with Tessa and Mer. I got to see Matt and Benny do the YMCA and witnessed Schwartz attempting to teach Principal Harding how to salsa. When we were tired of dancing, Patrick and I would sneak into a dark corner or he’d pull me onto his lap at one of the candlelit tables and we’d point out hilarious things on the dance floor. Then we’d go back out at the next slow song and create a little bubble of happiness around us. It was bittersweet; Benny and I were teetering on the edge of moving out, suing MetaReel, and creating a media frenzy. This night felt like a last hurrah, like we could blaze our brightest, at the apex of our insane adolescence. This was our Mardi Gras before the dark days of Lent.
“I feel almost … normal,” I’d whispered to Benny, during a punch bowl break.
He nodded. “It’s like Taft has temporary amnesia. I wonder when they’ll start remembering we’re freaks.”
As I looked over the sea of sparkling gowns and slick tuxedos, I realized that, for once, I belonged.
I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Hi,” said a girl I’d never seen before. “Can I, like, get a picture with you?”
So much for temporary amnesia. I opened my mouth, started to say,
Oh, um, okay, sure,
but then I stopped. I could hear Patrick’s voice in my head:
When are you going to stop letting people walk all over you?
“Actually,” I said, “no offense, but I don’t know you.”
Benny grinned and raised his glass to me. “To my baby sis, who finally grew a pair.”
The girl had been annoyed, maybe even embarrassed. I’d felt bad about that, but it was nice just to say
no
for once.
Now the morning sunlight is slanting across my body in sharp lines, and the night has taken on the fuzziness of a dream, the memories already soft around the edges. The sunlight on Patrick’s ring makes glittering purple stains on the wall, and my orchid corsage is lying on my bedside table, wilting, but still beautiful. It had really happened. I grab my camera and look through the pictures, turning over each memory like a cherished possession. There’s me, Tessa, and Mer, our mouths open wide with laughter. Patrick and me, kissing during a slow dance. Benny with his arm around my shoulder. Benny and Matt pre-kiss. And one of me, all by myself. Patrick must have taken this when I wasn’t paying attention. My face is in profile; I’m looking at the dance floor, grinning. Happy. Content.
The next photo goes back to the first pictures of the night. Me with my family. My stomach turns, and I shut the camera off. My hair is stiff, full of last night’s hairspray, and I pull back the covers and stretch. I’ll be eighteen in five days.
This is my last Sunday morning at home.
* * *
On Thursday, I wake up to the sound of my mother softly singing “Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, still half asleep.
She grabs me in a tight hug. “You know, the day you were born was the happiest day of my life. For so long I thought I couldn’t have children, but then there you were—healthy, adorable,
mine
.” Her eyes are soft in the early morning sunlight, and I think about what my dad said, how sad she’d been. She tucks my hair behind my ear like she used to do when I was little. I stiffen, but I don’t think she notices. “I know it’s been a tough few months for you, but I want this year to be better. I love you, okay?”
I nod, and she hugs me again. “There’re pancakes for when you get downstairs.”
Guilt rips through me, and I bury my face in a pillow as soon as she shuts the door behind her. I’m a horrible person. How can I just leave my family like this?
My phone rings—Patrick. The room suddenly feels brighter, warmer, just because his number’s on the screen.
“Hey, you,” I say.
“Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” God, I wish he were here right now.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Um, sure.”