The Reece Malcolm List (25 page)

“Whoa,” Sai says, which is a fair—and honest—reaction.

“Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?”

I laugh while trying not to cry. “I thought I
did
just talk about it.”

Sai reaches forward and touches my face for, like, the briefest of moments. “Fair enough.”

Only one other boy has touched my face like that, and it was Elijah while we were kissing. If it were someone else or if I were someone else maybe it would mean something—something beyond that Sai knows this is a tough topic for me.

“How bad do you think I did today?” he asks.

It’s nice of him to ask—it’s like he knows exactly how much I need the subject changed. “It’s a hard song, but you have time. Just recite the lyrics to me. That’s the hardest part, right? Like, that there’re so many of them? The melody’s pretty straightforward. I mean, for Sondheim.”

“I guess,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

So he does, and I make him start over when he messes up, and it only takes him a few times through to get each line right. We’re finished eating by then, and we walk out to his car where I make him sing it through right there and then,
a capella
. He still flubs a couple lines, but it’s not like before.

“You’re good at this,” he says. He’s leaned in close to me, and I can almost pretend we’re cozy in his car for a reason other than this song. “Thanks, Dev.”

“Maybe Aaron’s right,” I say. “Maybe you just need to chillax.”

It’s still early enough in our rehearsal process that we have nights off, so on Friday I agree to hang out with Travis. Even if maybe I’m still mad at him. The alternative—hanging out at home alone—sounds worse.

Also right now the only person I seem to be totally capable of talking to is Sai. And despite that Sai is great, I don’t want the only person I hang out with to be the boy I’m
obsessed with in love with
crushing on.

“So what do you think about Aaron Finley?” Travis asks me over pasta (mine) and ahi tuna (his) at Firefly, which he likes because of this one room that looks like a library but is actually the bar, and he feels like he’s getting away with something to be out at a place with a bar (which we’re not even sitting in). Considering by now I’ve been places like Molly Malone’s, which actually
is
a bar, it seems like lame reasoning. Still, it’s comforting knowing I’m not the only one who makes decisions for lame reasons sometimes, and it’s nice imagining sitting in the fake library with Sai the Book Nerd, holding hands or even making out in the dim light.

Yeah, something is clearly wrong with me to devote so much brain space to him. I am well aware.

“Aaron’s a really strong singer,” I say. “And actor. When he was rehearsing that fight with Sai the other day, I seriously almost cried.”

“
Un
important,” Travis says. “What I’m saying is, what team do you think he’s on? His sexuality confounds me!”

I laugh. “Hmmm. Confounding to me, too. He is cute, though.”

“Oh, really, so you notice other guys? Guys who aren’t—”

“Shut up,” I say with a lilt in my voice, hoping it’ll sound adorable and not bitchy.

“Do we have a plan yet?”

“A plan to unconfound Aaron Finley’s sexuality?”

“Like I need a plan. I’ll just wait till the cast party and make my move.”

Maybe this sounds crazy? But sometimes I wish I were more like Travis. “What if he’s straight?”

“If he’s straight he won’t even figure it out, and I’ll be spared humiliation as well as further pining. But, no, we need a plan for you and S—”

“Don’t say his name.”

“—for you and Troy Bolton,” he says. “Fine.”

“Oh my God,” I say. “Don’t even.”

“You can do what I’m gonna do,” Travis says. “But somehow I don’t see you jumping him unless I physically throw you at him.”

“Can we stop talking about this?” I pull on my cardigan, even though the outdoor heaters are on in the dining area that looks indoors but actually opens up to the trees and sky. It’s weird how chilly L.A. fall nights are. “It’s totally depressing to act like it’s a possibility when it really isn’t. I’d rather unravel the mystery of Aaron Finley. Or, better, not talk about boys at all.”

“Tell me. Boys are so stressful.” Travis perks up in his chair. “Oh my God, Mira’s here! With her
parents
. Tragic.”

“Hanging out with your parents is not tragic.” I follow his line of sight to Mira, sitting with a couple definitely at least ten years older than my mother.

“Your mom’s cool,” Travis says. “Not everyone’s is. Case closed. Let’s go embarrass her. Mira!”

He’s out of his seat before I can do anything, so I follow him over.

“Oh, hey.” Mira ducks down a little in her chair. Her fauxhawk is dehawked, just lying there like boring hair, and she’s wearing a pale blue sweater over her T-shirt and jeans. “What are you guys doing?”

“Eating, obviously,” Travis says. “Hi, Mira’s parents.”

They say hello to him and introduce themselves to me. Mira’s dad is wearing the kind of casual-but-clearly-high-end-label clothes I’ve noticed Brad’s Hollywood friends wear. I guess that’s pretty normal for L.A. in general, though, not just Hollywood types. Her mom is very mom-like, the kind of woman I pictured back in the pre-
Destruction
days. Light brown hair, sweater set, nice-but-not-too-trendy jeans. Hopefully it isn’t bad that occasionally I still wish I went home to someone like her.

“You should come with us,” Travis says, because for someone who gets good grades and so is theoretically smart, he never figured out that Mira and I sometimes hate each other, and at best have a wary, awkward acquaintanceship. Boys can be dense about that stuff, even if they know who you’re secretly in love with. “Is it okay, Mira’s parents?”

“Maybe you should ask if I even
want
to come with you,” she says.

“Mira, that’s no way to talk to your friends,” her mother says. “But if you want to go out with them, it should be fine, as long as you’re home by curfew.”

“Are you sure?” Mira asks, starting to stand up.

“Go with your friends,” her dad says. “We’ll see you at eleven.”

“Eleven thirty, Dad,” she says. “You promised.”

“You’re right, I did. Have fun.”

Mira carries her plate (the same pasta I ordered) over to our table and rolls her eyes at me.

“What?” I snap.

“Don’t make fun of my sweater,” she says. “Or my stupid hair. My mom has a heart attack whenever I look too—too casual. Just don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I say, though I do feel sad about her pathetic outfit.

“Is it because you’re Asian?” Travis asks. “Like Asian parents are extra strict or something?”

“Travis, you don’t get to ask me that,” she says. “And,
no
. It’s not.”

“Do you want to switch sweaters with me?” I ask her.

“What? Why?”

“Because that’ll still look okay with what I’m wearing, but this’ll look way better with your T-shirt and jeans.”

She eyes me for a minute before pulling off her sweater and handing it over. “Try not to stretch out the chest too much.”

“I’m not that big!” I say while Travis guffaws.

“I guess this is better.” She slides into my cardigan. “I trust your judgment, all hail to the fashionista, etcetera.”

“Too bad your hair’s still all limp,” Travis says, to which we both respond, “Shut up,” at the same time. Uh oh. Being in sync with Mira seems like a very bad thing. “So we’ve been talking about Aaron Finley.”

“‘We’?” Mira asks. “So that translates to
you
talking about Aaron Finley while poor Devan is forced to listen.”

I try not to giggle but not really that hard. Mira joins in.

“So what are you guys doing after this?” she asks. “Sorry about my curfew. My mom watches way too much daytime TV. She’s so convinced I’m going to these sex and drug parties that I don’t even think exist.”

“Yeah, seriously,
if only
,” Travis says. “And like you’d get invited!”

Mira laughs and shakes her head. “I know, right?”

“Um, maybe this is dumb,” I say, surprised at my own bravery. “But maybe we could just go to your house? Then we don’t have to worry about your curfew.”

“Perfect,” Travis says. “Ooh, we can use your piano.”

“You guys actually want to do something that lame with your curfew-less Friday?” Mira asks.

“We’re eating here so Travis can pretend he’s out at a real bar,” I say. “How is going to your house any lamer?”

“Devvie, I’m gonna kill you,” he says, as Mira holds up her hand.

“What?” I ask her.

“I’m high-fiving you, stupid.”

I slap my palm against hers. When I see this side of Mira, I actually want to be her friend.

When we get to her house, we go to her room first so we can digest a bit before singing. Travis lies down on the bed immediately, but I glance around the room, wishing my own had as much character as her framed photos and posters, and the bookshelf with everything arranged by color.

“How do you find anything?” I ask, hoping she won’t revert back to Other Mira and bite my head off.

“That’s what my dad says. But sometimes that’s the fun of it; I come across stuff I wouldn’t otherwise.” She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “Also I love how it looks.”

“No, me, too, I should have said that first.” I notice the red, white, and black spine of
Destruction
, neatly nestled in the maroons. “Your room’s really nice.”

“It’s just a room, no big deal. Lissa said yours is amazing, some great view of the hills, huge closet, your own bathroom.”

I shrug. “It’s pretty nice, yeah. I just haven’t . . .”
Shut up, Devan.
Why am I tempting fate and nature? Mira is not to know anything about me that isn’t surface.

“You haven’t what?”

“Found a way to make it my own,” I say, even while telling myself not to. “It’s still, like, a room my mother set up for me.”

“Maybe you can ask for your birthday,” she says. “That’s what I did. It was still all pink and frilly until last year, when they let me repaint it and get new shelves and the bed. God, is Travis asleep?”

I laugh when I see that he actually is. “So I hope he apologized to you.”

“He did but he didn’t even have to. I understand what it’s like not getting what you want the most. Sometimes it turns you into someone else.”

Mira’s so hard for me to figure out that I can’t even imagine what, or who, it is that she wants the most. Since she seemed so angry when Sai and I first showed up, was it something to do with Travis? Did she have one of those embarrassing and pointless crushes on a gay boy? (It happens.) I hope for her sake it’s something else.

Travis is awake before long, so Mira’s parents let us take over the living room. We sing what feels like every last piece of sheet music Mira owns before Mira’s dad walks back in to (nicely) suggest Travis and I go home. The car seems quiet after the nonstop singathon, and I notice that Travis is grinning at me.

“What?” I ask, preparing for a perverted comment about Sai or Aaron Finley.

“I’m really glad I forgave you, Devvie. You’re one of the best people to hang out with.”

I pretend to look exhausted. (Okay, to be fair, it’s almost one in the morning, so I
am
exhausted.) “Don’t even think about starting that again.”

He grins at me even more as he pulls into my driveway. “It’s so easy to make you crazy. You know I missed you. See you Monday.”

Chapter Nineteen

Things I know about Reece Malcolm:

36. My friends think she’s cool.

Rehearsals are consuming more and more of my life, which is exactly what’s supposed to happen. There’s comfort in getting up early and staying late and devoting most of your waking life to this living, breathing
thing
. When you share that with others it makes sense that it’s bigger than yourself, but if I was asked I couldn’t even put into words how much bigger it actually is, like sizing up the universe.

We’ve stopped rehearsing the show as separate scenes, and now work on the acts themselves, when we aren’t polishing a particular song over and over again. The pieces are finally adding up, though. And while I definitely live for performing, I try not to hurry past these parts, either.

I’m actually telling Travis this while he whines about being ready to open, even though
oh my God I’m so ready to open
. We’ve already run through all of Act One after school, and are now watching Sai, Aaron, and Mira rehearse “Franklin Shepard, Inc.” (It’s Sai’s song, really, but they have to sit onstage with him and react.)

“I thought you were pessimistic,” Travis says with a pout.

“I’m just saying! We rehearse for
two months
and then we have ten performances, total. If we make it all about those ten shows—”

“But it
is
all about those ten shows,” he says. “That’s how it works, Devvie.”

We wince as Sai lands on a really wrong note.

“I just don’t want life to be like that,” I say. “Living two months for ten shows in two weeks.” Up until now I pretty much have been living like that. Each day something to get through to hopefully bring me closer to the one where I met my mother. And now I’m here, but it’s not like all of life immediately fell into place like I was so sure it would.