Another update so soon? Am I feeling inspired or am I procrastinating on hw?
I'm procrastinating.
***
"Who the fuck invented December," Lucas grumbled as he climbed out of the warmth of my car into the frosty winter air. I suppressed a chuckle at the way he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and all-but ran to the front door of his house.
I followed leisurely behind him, watching as snowflakes floated down from the sky without a rush in the world and joined their companions on the ground. The scene would have been peaceful, had it not been for Lucas fumbling with his keys and cursing like a sailor.
The moment the door was open a crack, his body disappeared inside. Lucas Morgan liked a lot of things, but the cold wasn't one of them.
I walked in slowly after him, shutting the door behind me, while he occupied himself with furiously rubbing his hands together in a futile attempt to warm them.
"Here," I said. I took his hands between my own and held them together; his fingers were freezing. Lucas let me, and I wasn't sure if the pink color of his cheeks was due to the cold, or if I'd made him blush. "Better?"
Lucas shook his head. "My hands, yeah. The rest of me could use the same treatment, though."
He didn't wait for my response. He rested his body against mine and I complied to his unspoken wish, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. His own arms circled my torso, and his head leaned against my shoulder. I could feel the poor boy shivering, and it only compelled me to hug him tighter.
"This is so gay," he muttered, and I chuckled.
"No homo."
It was moments like these when being friends with Lucas Morgan was really great. Really, really great. And really, really, really confusing. Because we didn't act like friends.
Lucas was a naturally cuddly person, I'd learned. He liked physical affection; holding others and being held by others. And I sure as hell loved to hold him and he held by him. Why watch a movie sitting on opposite ends of a couch when you can be snuggling in the middle?
I liked the way we were. I liked the fact that I could rest my head on Lucas' shoulder and not feel weird about it. I'd never had that kind of relationship before. Where touch sometimes held more value than words. Not with my parents, or my sister—definitely not with my friends.
The only problem?
It was excruciatingly frustrating. To sit so close that our shoulders bumped, or to feel his hair brush my cheek. So many times, I could've kissed him. I wanted to. He wanted me to. Perfect moment after perfect moment seemed to be thrown at my face in big, bold, highlighted font to ensure that I wouldn't miss them. The opportunities were strangely infinite, and I knew Lucas saw them as clearly as I did. He held back, though, and I hesitated. Every damn time, I hesitated, and then the moment would be gone.
The fact was, I still had no idea if I was ready to offer Lucas a legitimate relationship. He'd helped me so much over the past several weeks, and my mental state now was drastically different than it had been at the beginning of the school year, or even the beginning of last month. I was finally learning to be almost satisfied with myself. The good nights were starting to outnumber the bad.
I still had all of my insecurities and fears, though. And they still drove practically everything I did. I still wished I could be someone other than the person I was. I would change to make things easier without much thought. As long as I carried that mentality, how could I be enough for Lucas?
But at the same time, I really wanted to just fuck it and date him.
"I saw Beth Crampton reject Damien in the halls today," Lucas said out of the blue, his voice a muffled murmur against my shoulder. "It was really satisfying."
"You fucking sadist," I laughed. "Details?"
Beth Crampton was one of those girls that just about every guy at school had wet dreams about. She lived in what was probably the biggest home in Nowhere, Nebraska; she was crazy smart; she was super athletic; and she was ridiculously sexy—at least from a different viewpoint. I'd hooked up with her once last year—ugh—and she and Shawn Morgan had a sort of on-again-off-again thing going on. I knew that she'd at some point gotten with Trevor and Cameron and Tyler, leaving Damien Diggory as the only one of us who hadn't tasted Crampton. The boys loved to make fun of him for it, so I'd known it was only a matter of time before he made a move.
"He sauntered up to her like he was the shit and did the creepy jock thing where he put his hand on the locker behind her and got all in her face. She told him to fuck off before he even opened his mouth."
Okay, he was right. That was really satisfying. "Bitch deserved it," I grumbled. Lucas huffed.
"Amen to that."
"Beth dodged a major bullet. Damien probably gave her an STD just breathing on her."
Lucas snorted, but a thought hit me then. Lucas had hooked up with Damien Diggory. That was a fact. Damien Diggory loved sex. That was another fact. Lucas wasn't a virgin. Fact number three. So . . .
"Hey Lucas?"
"That's my name."
"How many times did you and Damien—"
Lucas cut me off with a loud groan. "We are not having this conversation."
"Humor me," I pleaded. "How many times?"
I felt him shrug. "A few, I don't know. Four or five, maybe. I've blocked out those memories."
Jesus Christ, that was more than I'd been expecting. "Oh . . . Okay. When?"
"Nate."
"Lucas."
"Sometime last year. You done?"
"Not quite. Did you guys, like . . ." I felt myself blushing at even the thought of asking. "Did you . . . Have sex?"
"Oh my fucking—"
"Answer the question."
Lucas sighed. "Yes. I had sex with Damien Diggory. More than once. You happy?"
I most certainly was not happy. As curious as I'd been, hearing him say it made my stomach drop. I couldn't imagine that pair ever happening. Damien with a guy, Lucas with a guy as dumb as Damien . . . It didn't seem right at all. Or maybe that was just jealous-Nate talking.
"You surprised Damien would have sex with me?" Lucas asked, one eyebrow raised.
I scoffed. "I'm surprised you would have sex with Damien. What happened to standards, Morgan?"
He laughed. "I'll admit, they were rock bottom back then. I'd say they've improved since, though."
I tried not to feel too giddy at what he was implying.
The next Friday was the last before winter break. The poor teachers were growing gray hairs trying to get their excited students under control, but to no avail. Teenagers were buzzing about their plans and gifts. They caused the teachers even more headache by bombarding them with questions about their marks, hoping for that extra 0.13% to bring them from a C to a B, or for extra credit work that they should've asked for a week ago to fix their sucky grades.
I, as usual, was ignoring my not-so-awesome scores and praying that some college would look past my grades and accept me purely for my skill. That was the game-plan. Albeit, it was a very suck game-plan, but a game-plan no less.
I wasn't excited in the slightest for Christmas or presents or vacations. Those were family events, and I would need a real family to take part in them. My parents had come home from a three-week trip last night, momentarily gracing us with their distant presence and the sounds of them yelling at each other all night, and left for another trip this morning. Family wasn't my forte.
That wasn't to say that I had no excitement for winter break, though. Winter break meant no soccer for me—aside from club—and no rehearsals for Lucas. Which therefore meant a lot of time for he and I to wade in our deafening sexual tension. His competition would be next week, and I was way too excited to go and watch him perform.
Before any of that could happen, though, I had to get through the remainder of the day. All I had to do was pretend to listen to Trevor on our way to the locker room and play footie with the fuckboys, and then I would be done. It would be me and Lucas again.
I got more excited than I should have over the prospect of spending a few hours alone with him. Maybe I was starting to like him a little bit too much. A lot too much. That doesn't even make sense.
"Duuude," Trevor's voice whined in my ear. "Can you quit doing that?"
I blinked and shook my head. "Uh, huh?"
He rolled his eyes. "Don't act like you don't know. You've been all gross and smiley lately. And you keep doing that thing where you just like space out and smile and it gives me the creeps. The hell is up with you nowadays?"
I subconsciously touched my lips. Had I been smiling more recently? I didn't think I had. At least, I never noticed.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, which was half-true. I didn't doubt that he was right—after all, I'd been feeling exponentially happier lately—but I didn't think I made it that obvious.
Trevor scoffed. "That is total bullshit and you know it. There some girl messing with your mind or something?" He grinned suggestively and elbowed my side. "That's it, isn't it? You're totally whipped! Dude, what happened to your game? Too many babes out there to tie yourself down to one right now!"
Sometimes, he made me genuinely want to throw up. As in bile legitimately rose in my throat. This was one of those times.
"Nah, man," I played it off. "You're crazy. I'm just like I've always been."
That was about as far from the truth as it could get.
Trevor shrugged and elbowed my side again, and I gritted my teeth in annoyance. "Fine, don't tell me. S'long as you keep scoring goals, I don't care where you put your dick."
No, that was about as far from the truth as it could get. Because I knew very well that if I put my dick where I wanted, it wouldn't matter how many goals I scored.
"Your home screen is the Statue of Liberty," Lucas pointed out.
We were laying on his bed, being your stereotypical teenagers who spent their time together using their phones and barely paying attention to each other. My head was on his chest while he rested against his pillows, one arm crossed behind his head.
I nodded. "That it is."
"Is that where you're going?" Lucas asked. "New York, I mean. After you graduate."
The thought alone of escaping this town in a few months made me smile. "Yup. I've got my sights set on NYU."
"Brooklyn or Manhattan?"
"Manhattan's the dream."
Lucas shifted onto his side, forcing me to lay my head down on the mattress. His lips were pursed, quirked up just a little bit. "Like Juilliard."
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. "Yeah, just like . . . Juilliard."
If Lucas and I ever did happen, our futures were already intertwined. I knew it was too hopeful to picture us sharing an apartment in New York City, but I sure did like the image. We would never have to deal with the long distance induced separation—and ultimately, end—that college often brought couples.
Which was ridiculous to think of now, because we weren't even a couple.
"What do you want to study?" Lucas asked, fracturing the silence.
"Engineering," I said, which was true. Physics was one of the very few subjects that I was genuinely good at. Science in general came easily to me. "Though I'm really gonna focus on soccer. If I get in, that is."
Lucas groaned. "Don't remind me. There's just a few months before we get our acceptance—or rejection—letters."
I stared at him, a bit incredulously. "You're not seriously worried about whether or not you'll get in. You."
Lucas made a face. "Juilliard has a seven percent acceptance rate. I should be worried."
"Nah," I dismissed. "You're gonna get into every college you applied for, including Juilliard. That's a fact. Me . . . I'm not so sure."
Despite the casual tone of my voice, there was nothing casual about the fear. It plagued me constantly, especially now that those letters were getting closer. Yeah, I was good at soccer. Really good, even. But so were thousands of other boys my age. With my grades, if I didn't get into a school for soccer, I wouldn't get in at all. And then I'd be stuck, rotting in Nowhere, Nebraska for an eternity.
I had a feeling Lucas could sense my distress, simply because he had an uncanny way of doing so. He reached out and played with my hair, twirling the blonde tips between his fingers. "You're as good as they get when it comes to soccer," he said sincerely; I loved how I could always tell that he was being genuine. There were so few people like that in this town. "You'll have free rides thrown at you from every direction."
I offered a grateful smile. "Thanks, Lucas. I hope you're right."
"I am. I always am."
I snorted at that, but continued seriously. "Do you ever . . . New York is the center of America—figuratively. It's where everything happens. It's massive. There are so many people there with so many talents and . . . and it would be so easy to go there imagining success and end up at the bottom with everyone else. Do you ever wonder if we're ridiculous for thinking that we, out of the millions like us, can just pack up and leave and actually, you know, succeed and achieve that All-American Dream?"
Lucas' expression told me that he'd considered this before; many times, even. He regarded me thoughtfully. "Maybe we are ridiculous," he mused. "Who knows, we might crash and burn. We could be completely, utterly stupid for aiming so high. But like you said, that's the All-American Dream;" Then he grinned. "And we're All-American idiots, baby."
I pondered that for a minute. All-American Idiots. I liked it.
"Complete idiots," I said. "You and me."
He reached for my hand, intertwining our fingers, and said, "We might fuck up."
I nodded in agreement. "We could totally fail."
"Or," Lucas said, "We might not. It's a big what if, but hear me out. What if one day, I'm attending Juilliard? What if one day, you're playing soccer at New York University? What if one day, I'm opening on Broadway, and you're moving onto the pro league? What if one day, I'm accepting a Tony, and you're scoring goals at the World Cup?"
The idea made me smile. It was far-fetched, but it wasn't impossible. "What if when you win your Tony, I'm there in the audience?"
Lucas bit his lip. "What if when America wins the World Cup thanks to you, I'm cheering from the bleachers?" He smiled. "I'd make a big sign; it would say—in red, white, and blue of course—Nathaniel Jean is an Idiot."
I chuckled. "Sounds pretty perfect to me."
"How about you help me with my lines?" Lucas prompted. A few hours had passed, and we'd reverted back to antisocial teen behavior.
He reached over to his nightstand and picked up his thin script of Heathers: The Musical.
I groaned as he waved it in front of my face. "I'm no actor, Morgan. This will not be pretty."
Lucas grinned. "Even better."
"If I do this you're not allowed to make fun of me," I said, sitting up cross-legged.
"No promises."
Lucas soon learned that I wasn't lying when I said I couldn't act. Two lines in, I could see him holding back his laughter. It didn't help that I was reading for Veronica, the female main character. Not to mention, I made the mistake of reading her name as a part of the dialogue at least seven times in the first five minutes.
Lucas gave up pretty quickly on trying not to laugh. I ended up laughing with him, because his laugh was just so damn contagious, and pretty soon we were snorting out lines.
"Okay, wait wait wait," he said, putting his hand up. He took a deep inhale to calm his breathing. "This is a serious scene, we have—we have to be serious."
"Oh god," I grumbled, then looked down at the page.
"JD, are you okay?" I read.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Lucas—JD—said. Of course, he actually sounded like a normal human being. He was staring straight into my eyes, and I found myself annoyed with how damn convincing he was. "How about you, are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'm awesome." The script said I had to cry next, so I tried my best at a fake cry. Lucas, like the little asshole he was, burst into laughter.
"I fucking hate you," I grumbled. Lucas pressed his lips together, but his shoulders were still shaking, and a strangled noise sounded from his throat.
I pouted grumpily and threw the script aside, not unlike something I would do as a toddler. I would never admit it, but I was blushing a little. Maybe even pouting.
To my surprise, Lucas stopped laughing altogether and groaned. He leaned his head forward onto my shoulder and said, "You gotta stop with the cute shit, Jean. God, I could kiss you right now."
My stomach did a somersault and I had to purse my lips to avoid choking on air. "You should," I said.
He shook his head, which made his hair tickle my neck. "I stand by my word."
Here it was. Yet another moment that I could take. I ignored it.
"Your word is ugly," I whined.
"You're ugly."
"We've had this conversation."
"Yeah, when you were shitfaced."
"I'm cute drunk."
"You're always cute."
"Someone's feeling extra flirty today, huh?"
Lucas chuckled. "Honestly, I'm as surprised as you are. I don't think you know what you're doing to me, Jean. What you do to everyone."
Unsure of what exactly he meant, I furrowed my eyebrows and asked, "What do you mean? What do I do?"
"You've got this effect on people, you know?"
"No, actually, I don't," I said honestly. "Enlighten me."
"Think about it," Lucas said. "Everyone looks up when you enter a room, right? And not just because you're the town's golden boy. Or because you're rich and sexy and one of the best athletes in Nebraska." My cheeks went bright red at the 'sexy' part, and I was more than a little glad that he couldn't see me with his forehead against my collar.
"You've got this presence about you, though I don't think I can really describe it. You're just . . . You're a stunner, Jean."
Now, maybe more than ever, I really wanted to lift Lucas' face and plant one on him. The moment was strangely raw, and I couldn't ignore the way my heart swelled at his words. Still, something big and ugly was holding me back, and we both knew it.
I wanted to be with Lucas. That much was unquestionable. But I also wanted to be good for Lucas.
A kiss was something so small, but we'd put so much meaning behind it that it had become something much larger, and it terrified me. If I made that move, I was telling him that I was ready to be whatever he needed. I was scared that I would jump in too soon and hurt him. He'd been burned so many times, and I didn't want to be another item on the list of reasons why he hated this town.
It was weird to think that he was at the root of both my excitement and my inhibition. He was—obviously—the reason I wanted to be with him. But he was also the reason I wanted to stay away from him.
"Yeah, well," I said finally. "I don't deserve the attention."
Lucas lifted his head from my shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. "Then who does?"
The answer seemed obvious to me. He deserved the praise much more than I did. "You."
He didn't bother to argue. "Maybe, but," he shrugged. "Things are how they are, and I can't change that. But as soon as I'm out of here, I'm out of here for good, and things will be different."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Really different. And really good, I think."