I’ll Give You the Sun(32)
Author: Jandy Nelson

I step back and steady myself against the wall out of sight.

I’m not sad, far far from it, so I don’t know why tears are busting out of my eyes.

Then I hear the squeak of a door opening on the other side of the hall. I wipe my face with the back of my hand and turn in the direction of the sound. Heather’s stepping out of a room—everything in me stills. It’s horrible to see her, like walking out of the best movie ever into some same old afternoon.

“Oh!” she cries, her face beaming. “I was coming to look for you.” I give my head a shake so hair curtains my face as much as possible. She’s walking toward me, getting closer and closer to the three of us. I kick into gear, rushing to intercept her. Her smile grows bigger and more welcoming and I realize she’s misinterpreted my leap across the hall as excitement to see her when all I want is to protect the kissing guys from her, from the whole world.

(PORTRAIT: Adam and Adam in the Garden)

When I reach her, I try to turn my mouth into a smile. It’s hard. I hear a hushed gruff laugh behind me, muffled words. Heather peers over my shoulder.

“Where is everyone?” I ask to get her attention back. I realize I’m still shaking. I bury my free hand deep in my pocket.

“You okay?” she asks, tilting her head. “You seem strange.” Her steady gray eyes are studying me. “More so than usual, I should say.” She smiles warmly and I relax a little. Heather and I have a secret but I have no idea what it is.

I wish I could tell her what just happened to me because even though I wasn’t technically part of that kiss, I feel like it happened to me, unlike the demon kiss downstairs, which technically happened to me but feels like it didn’t. But what would I tell her anyway? When I draw it, I’m going to make my skin see-through and what you’ll see is that all the animals in the zoo of me have broken out of their cages.

“Maybe it’s the beer,” I say.

She giggles, lifts a red plastic cup and taps mine. “Me too.”

Her giggling takes me aback. There’s nothing giggly about Heather usually. She’s the opposite; hanging out with her is like sitting in an empty church. That’s why I like her. She’s quiet and serious and a thousand years old and seems like she can talk to the wind. I always draw her with arms up like she’s about to take flight or with her hands together like she’s praying. She’s not a giggler.

“C’mon,” she says. “Everyone’s in here already.” She points toward the door. “We’ve been waiting for you. Well, I have.” She giggles again, then blushes like a geyser went off inside her. I have a supremely bad feeling.

We walk into some kind of den. I see Brian right away across the room talking to Courtney. All I want is to blink us into the bodies of the guys in the alcove. I try to, just in case. Then I think how many fingers I’d give up for one minute like that with him and decide seven. Or eight even. I could totally still draw with two fingers if one was a thumb.

I look around. It’s the same crew of hornets and surftards that hang out at The Spot, minus the older guys like Fry and Zephyr and Big Foot, who’re probably downstairs. I’m used to these people by now, and them me. There’s also a bunch of kids I don’t recognize that must go to Courtney’s private school. Everyone’s standing around in awkward shuffling bunches like they’re waiting for something. The air is full of breathing. The air’s full of Jude too. She’s leaning on a windowsill talking to like five hundred guys at once, wearing the tight red ruffly dress she made that Mom forbade her from ever wearing out of the house. I’m totally surprised to see her. She’s been giving me a wide angry berth all summer and knew I’d be here. I wonder what she told Mom. I just said I was going to say good-bye to Brian. We’re definitely not allowed to be at a party like this.

I catch her eye as Heather and I cross the room. She throws me a look that says: Nothing, not even a world where it rains light, where snow is purple, where frogs talk, where sunsets last a full year—could make up for the fact that you’re the worst mother-stealing, friend-pillaging twin brother on earth, and resumes her conversation with her harem.

My bad feeling is compounding.

I return my attention to Brian, who’s leaning against a bookcase, still talking to Courtney. About what? I try to hear as we approach them, then realize Heather’s speaking to me.

“It’s totally stupid. We haven’t played this kind of game since fifth grade, but whatever. We’re playing with a sense of irony, right?” Has she been talking this whole time?

“What game?” I ask.

Courtney turns around at the sound of our voices. “Oh, good.” She nudges Heather, who giggles again. Courtney turns to me. “It’s your lucky night, Picasso. You like games?”

“Not really,” I say. “Not at all, actually.”

“You’ll like this one. Promise. It’s a blast from the past. Heather and Jude and I were talking the other day about the parties we used to go to. Simple premise. Put two people of the opposite sex in a closet for seven minutes. See what happens.” Brian won’t meet my eyes. “Don’t worry, Picasso,” she says. “It’s fixed, of course.” Heather’s ears go red at this. They lock arms and then burst out laughing. My stomach goes watery. “Face it, dude,” Courtney says to me. “You could use a little help.”

I sure could.

I sure could because suddenly coils and coils of Jude’s hair are slithering in my direction like an army of serpents. Jude was there, Courtney said. Was this Jude’s idea, then? Because she knows I threw out that note she left for Mom? Because she knows how I feel about Brian?

(PORTRAIT, SELF-PORTRAIT: Twins: Jude with Rattlesnake Hair, Noah with Rattlesnake Arms)

I’m getting a metal taste in my mouth. Brian’s reading the titles on the spines of books on the shelves like he’s going to be tested on it.

“I love you,” I say to him, only it comes out, “Hey.”

“So damn much,” he says back, only it comes out, “Dude.”

He still won’t meet my eyes.

Courtney picks up Brian’s hat, which has been resting on a small table. It’s full of folded-up pieces of paper. “All the guys’ names are already in, including yours,” she says to me. “Girls pick.”

She and Heather walk away. As soon as they’re out of earshot, I say to Brian, “Let’s go.” He doesn’t respond, so I say it again. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s climb out this window.” I’m checking the one beside us and there’s a landing that leads to a supremely climbable tree. We could totally make it. “C’mon,” I say. “Brian.”