I wish Romano hadn't noticed that the pic was gone. But, of course, he did, because he's Leo Romano, and that's just what he does.
I'm walking out to my car in the parking lot and he's there, leaning against the hood with his arms folded across his chest, looking cozy in the letterman jacket he paid way too much for. It has our school colors, black and green, and the back is covered in pins from our nearly four years here at Montrose High. It's funny though, because Romano has a soccer pin, but he's terrible at it. Most of these are from choir and orchestra.
"So you deleted the Asha and Emma pic?" he asks, right as a jacked-up truck squeals by.
A window rolls down in the back and someone chucks a Gatorade bottle out the window. It bursts on the ground, but it's honestly kind of anti-climactic. It doesn't even touch us, or my car. Still, whichever underclassmen threw it also shouts, "FUCKING HOMO!" as they drive off.
"YOU KISS YOUR DAD WITH THAT MOUTH?" Romano shouts back, but they're already gone. "Fucking freshmen."
"Wanna go follow them home?" I offer. "Find where they live, then TP their houses? Write 'love is love' on their garage doors in a rainbow of spray paint?"
Romano snorts, running a hand through his hair. He loves his hair. I also love his hair. It's thick, curly, floppy boy hair that he gels to look a neater kind of messy than it actually is. And he's the only person I've ever seen who can pull off highlighted tips like that. Not frosted, more like a light brown instead of his usual deep nutmeg.
"It's fine, I really don't care," he says. "Anyways, what were you saying about the photo?"
Leo, my best friend since I moved here in the fifth grade, knows me well too well to let me change the subject. It's something I do a lot, throwing things out there at such a rapid pace that most people can't keep up. I can barely keep up myself. But Romano has never had any trouble. I'm convinced that the world moves at a slower pace for him than it does the rest of us; mine moves too fast, and I try to match its speed, but Romano doesn't need to play like that, even with me.
"I just felt bad about it, y'know?" Such a lie. "Like, they probably saw it and feel really paranoid or something."
"What would they have to feel paranoid about though? It's not like you heard anything."
Right. Because I didn't want to tell Romano about the pregnancy scare thing I overheard, or the making out. I just couldn't. But I did tell him that Asha and Emma were whispering about something in the bathroom stall, and that I figured there might be trouble in paradise. I had stayed in the bathroom to give him the tea, yes. But, even though I love Romano, I couldn't bring myself to tell him everything. Not after I saw Asha and Emma kissing.
Maybe I should have mentioned that to Asha.
Oh well. Hindsight's twenty-twenty.
"What would they feel paranoid about?" Romano asks. "You didn't really overhear a lot."
Why do you have to question me? Just take my lies at face value, dammit. "I don't know, but I just, I feel bad. It just wasn't funny this time."
To my surprise, he shrugs. "Alright, whatever floats your boat."
Cool. Cool. That's done, then? I don't have to think about that again. Awesome.
"So what did you do for free period?" he asks.
Oh. I am not a great liar. Did someone see Asha drag me out of school, or me getting in her car? If so, then the jig is totally up.
But then Romano says, "Because I kinda wanna go study at Fonkey Monkey, but if you already went, then I won't force you to go with me."
SALVATION. "Nope! Nope, I just sat in my car and thought about ... stuff. Lots of stuff."
"Right," he says slowly. "So, Fonkey Monkey?"
"Fonkey Monkey it is. I'm driving?"
"Duh. I'll get your drink this time."
"My good sir, you have a deal."
###
Fonkey Monkey is one of our local coffee shops. Super overpriced drinks, but the vibes are undeniably the best in town, so it's kind of worth it. Also, they make a most excellent dirty chai, so—even though I seem like I should not have caffeine—I'm satisfied.
There are dark green hanging plants all over the shop, leafy and viny and long, laid over rustic wooden shelves and chipped brick walls. There's art from local artists all over the place, and a mismatching of tables, seats, and armchairs all over the place. There's also a massive record collection on the back wall. You can pay to have them play your recommendation, although it's stupidly overpriced. I usually like whatever the baristas are playing on Spotify, anyways. Also, I am so incredibly broke that it's not even funny.
Romano waves at the sophomore behind the counter when we get in, the bell tinkling behind us. I'm wiping the sludge off my boots when I see her, sitting in a booth near the records.
Asha. With Emma Niels, and the top of a dusty mop of hair that is probably Emma's boyfriend, Ryan June. He's not a bad guy, I think. Probably. He was nice to me in our child development class, but maybe other people have beef with him that I don't know about. Romano says he's chill though, so my impression of him is likely correct. If something was wrong with the guy and someone knew about it, that someone would be Leo Romano.
Romano orders for both of us, because he knows my order by heart. "Can I have a large dirty chai with a shot of maple syrup, and a ... hmmm, let's see. What do you recommend, Bernice?"
Bernice is young and dirty blonde and freckles, wearing an oversized crew neck and loose jeans that still somehow manage to make her look skinny. I could never get away with that. I'm shaped like a lowercase b, because my butt and hips are disproportionately larger than the rest of me, making jean shopping a nightmare. I usually just wear leggings because of it.
"Have you tried our lavender matcha?" she asks, blinking and smiling with her "I just left the dentists" teeth. It feels like she might be flirting, but what do I know? Maybe she is. Maybe Romano likes it. He's bisexual, something everyone knows not because he shoves it in peoples' faces, but because he's proud, and it's a small town. He's more into guys than girls, but says he's out of Montrose peoples' league, so he hasn't dated much of anyone. Maybe Bernice is his type, though. Who knows at this point?
"I did, yeah. It tasted like clean sheets, but in a really weird way."
The way Bernice laughs really loud makes Asha's head turn. I duck behind the Fonkey Monkey merch shelf, nearly knocking over a stack of glass tumblers but managing to steady the reclaimed wood before disaster strikes. I peek back around the shelf.
"Oh noooo," Berice says, covering her mouth and giggling. "I'm so sorry. Maybe someone messed it up?"
If Romano notices she's flirting, he doesn't seem bothered. "Who knows. But if you're not suggesting anything else, maybe I'll try it again." And then he smiles, wide and daring-like. "Even if I'm a little apprehensive."
Bernice blushes. What on earth am I watching? "I mean ... I could give it to you for free if you're really scared."
"Aw, Bernice, I'd feel bad."
"No no no! It's okay, I want to."
"Well, thanks. That's really sweet of you." He smiles again, and it's giving way too much of Flynn Rider's smolder, especially as I see him place six dollars on the counter. "I'll see you in zoology?"
"Yes! Okay, yeah. See you!"
Romano searches a few seconds for me, then spots me hiding. His look is quizzical, but I can't let him spot Asha and Emma, so I point to the giant doorway into a second eating area. "Over here?" I ask him.
"Yeah, sure," he says, shrugging. "Whatever floats your boat."
There's a round little table next to one of the large front windows of Fonkey Monkey. Looking out, there's mainstreet, with its little short brick buildings and lingering fairy lights from Christmastime. I sit down in the blue, puffier chair, leaving the mustard yellow armchair for Romano.
He sits down across from me with a sigh. "So," he says, "what were you really doing during last period?"
a/n - the idea of having to find internships next year stresses me ouuuuut