Opposite of Always Read online

  But she’d simply hopped to her feet, barked at our spectators to “keep it moving,” and introduced herself.

  “Jack and Jill,” I said, putting it together.

  “Ha.” She smiled. “Guess this was meant to be.”

  “Sorry I didn’t come tumbling after.” I was far too giddy with my clever reply only to realize hours later that it was actually Jill who tumbled after Jack.

  But Jillian didn’t seem vexed by my mistake. “We can always try again,” she said. Her smile upping its wattage, she added, “The tumbling part, that is.”

  I knew then we had a chance at something amazing. But in keeping with my long-standing theme of almost, we had neither. Which is to say, three weeks later Jillian had a boyfriend.

  Now maybe you’re thinking—who cares if she has a boyfriend, Jack? Tell her how you feel. Let her decide. Except the whole I have a boyfriend thing seemed an impregnable defense. I’m talking snipers on the roof, motion-activated lasers, trained attack dinosaurs, and a moat boiling with molten lava—impenetrable.

  Because, major plot twist: Jillian’s boyfriend, Francisco “Franny” Hogan, is my other best friend.

  I know, I know.

  And I wish I could tell you this is a story about a horrible boyfriend (Franny) who doesn’t appreciate what he’s got, who treats his girlfriend (Jillian) like crap, who doesn’t deserve her. Or that he’d viciously stabbed me in the back going after the girl of my heart. Except Franny didn’t even know I liked her.

  The truth is, Franny’s a good guy—hell, a great guy. Were I to pick someone other than myself to be with Jillian—like if Jillian and I were together and were playing that game where you pick one of your friends to take your place in the event of your untimely demise—I’d pick Franny for Jillian, every time. He’d take care of her. He’d love her. (That’s sort of a sick game, right? Let’s not play that again.)

  Anyway, they’re a couple. An awesome couple. And I’m happy for them. I would never consider doing anything to jeopardize their relationship. No, I’m here for the Jillian-Franny love connection. The ultimate third wheel, the undervalued eleventh toe, the superfluous third nipple.

  Until tonight.

  Possibly.

  Maybe.

  Probably not.

  Never.

  The Thing About Stairs Is That They’re Up and Down

  “Excuse me, man, but you’re sort of damming up the steps,” a voice behind me says.

  “What?” I swivel around.

  It’s a girl with bright eyes and shoulder-length curly hair. She’s wearing one of those sweater-dress things—except I think it’s just an oversize sweater that she’s cinched around her waist with a skinny belt. I recognize her from earlier, our student center tour guide.

  “You’re blocking the stairs. You’re a very proficient human dam.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  I scoot over and she applauds. “Oooh, he’s a motorized dam. Brilliant.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” I say.

  I wait for her to complete her trek down the stairs, but she doesn’t move. “If you like her so much, you should try talking to her.”

  “Huh?”

  “I hear that talking to people usually alerts them to our existence. You know, as opposed to just staring at them like a deranged serial killer.”

  “As opposed to a nonderanged serial killer,” I say over my shoulder.

  She snaps her fingers. “Bingo.”

  I frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Of course, I know exactly what she’s talking about, but I’m offended that I’m so transparent.

  “You were clinging to her during the entire tour, man.”

  “I was?”

  “Dude, you reached barnacle status.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She grins. “I’m saying, get in that kitchen and talk to the girl.”

  “I don’t need to. I talk to her all the time. She’s my best friend.”

  “Wow, so you guys are best friends but she has no idea you’re in love with her?”

  This girl is awfully loud. I realize we’re at a party, but her voice is set to Evacuate Immediately. I almost shush her, except not being shushed is an unalienable right, right there with pursuit of happiness.

  I whisper, “I’m not in love with her, okay.”

  She leans in closer. “What?”

  “I’m not in love with her,” I repeat.

  “I can’t hear you. Why are you whispering?”

  I resume normal volume. “I said I’m not in love with her. She’s really nice, is all.”

  “That’s obviously your problem. You’re too nice. You’re, what, waiting for the perfect opportunity to tell this girl how you feel and you’ve already waited for . . .” She pauses for me to fill in the blank.

  “Three years.”

  She palms her forehead. “Whoa, it’s been three years and she has no clue you want to jump her bones?”

  “I like to take things slow.”

  “Yeah, you do. At this rate, you’ll have to hope they find a way to freeze our bodies so that they can defrost you in two hundred years and you can ask her to go steady. You know, right after you do that whole fake yawn-and-stretch thing and slip your arm around her shoulders. Smooth move, by the way. Spoiler alert, she never sees it coming.”

  “Hahaha. Listen, I appreciate the pep talk, but if you don’t mind—”

  It is at this point that this girl, rather than proceeding down the steps, instead slides in beside me. Now, by our powers combined, we are officially damming all second-floor access. No one is going to pee on our watch.

  “I’m Kate,” she says, extending her hand. Which is awkward because it’s a tight squeeze on the stairs, and I can’t turn my arm to meet hers.

  “Jack,” I say, managing to give her The Wimpiest Handshake in Recorded History. “Jack King.”

  “Do you always give people your full name when you meet them?”

  “Nope. I only hand out full-name intros to cool tour guides.”

  “Ha.” She grins. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jack King.”

  “It’s nice to meet you . . .”

  “Kate.”

  “Just Kate, huh?”

  “For now.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Gotta keep the mystery alive, right?”

  “I don’t know. I sorta hate mysteries. I’m more of an all-cards-on-the-table guy.”

  “So, Jack and King, that’s different.”

  “’Cause I’m just looking for my queeeeeeeen,” I say with instant regret.

  She bursts into laughter.

  My cheeks are ablaze. “I promise I’ve never said that before.”

  She shakes her head. “It came out of your mouth pretty quickly, so . . .”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’m not sure if I believe you, Jack.”

  “Cool. Only fifteen minutes in and we’ve already introduced distrust into our relationship. I normally like to reserve that for the second time I talk to someone, but.”

  She snickers. “So, look, Jack King, I’m not trying to bust your balls, okay? But I think you could use help from someone who understands the female species.”

  “And you can put me in touch with this someone?”

  “Hey!” Kate punches me in the shoulder. It stings, but I pretend to shrug it off.

  “Okay then, Ms. Love Doctor, what do you suggest?”

  Kate laughs again. “Honestly, I haven’t the slightest. I’m still only in my Love Doctor residency, so.”

  “Well, I haven’t told you the best part yet,” I say. By this point, I’m laughing too—partly because it took a stranger to validate what I already knew (that it is too complicated for Jillian and me), and because if I don’t laugh, I’ll probably cry.

  “What’s the best part?” Kate asks. She clasps her hands together.

  “She’s dating our mutual best friend.”

  Kate erupts in laughter and mock-horr
or. “You giant douchebag!”

  “I know, right? I am The World’s Giantest Douchebag.”

  “Easy, boy, don’t give yourself too much credit. I’m guessing you’re an average giant douchebag at best.”

  “That’s sort of my MO.”

  “What is?”

  And I don’t mean to say it but I’m on a sad roll, so. “Average at best.”

  Her mouth opens but she says nothing, and for this minor miracle, I’m grateful.

  We watch a kid sporting the plungiest V-neck sweater murder a pop song while a girl with a Hello Kitty tat on her neck accompanies him on the piano. Kate’s lips are moving, faintly singing the melody. My phone buzzes.

  A text from Franny.

  FRANNY: Hope you’re having fun, man! I know I don’t have to say this but watch out for Jillian. Keep those drunk frat-goons away from her!!

  ME: I got you

  I redeposit my phone. Kate stops singing. I try to think of something to say because I don’t want her to stop talking. “Is it just me or do these steps smell pretty awful? I’m thinking numerous people have puked and peed up and down them.”

  She nods. “So us sitting here, it’s like we’re participating in ancient party history.”

  I laugh. “I like the way you think.”

  She smiles an awesome crooked smile.

  Maybe it’s her smile that emboldens me.

  Maybe the jittery party lights are doing weird things to my brain.

  Or maybe it’s that there’s suddenly guitar strumming from the speakers. Me, forever a sucker for acoustic.

  Maybe it’s that, for the first time in three years, I feel like it’s okay that Jillian and I will never be. That after a few minutes on some crusty stairs I can suddenly see a different future. An alternate ending, or two.

  Maybe it’s because everything around us is now an unrecognizable swirl, Kate the only thing in perfect focus. Portrait mode IRL.

  I gulp, which I don’t think I’ve ever done before. “Can I ask you something, Kate?”

  Kate smiles, and in a very formal-sounding voice says, “Yes, Jack, you may ask me your question.”

  “It’s a tough one, though. Fair warning.”

  “Consider me warned.”

  I clear my throat, a habit when I’m uncomfortable, and/or when I’m about to say/do something stupid. “So how would you suggest a guy transition from talking about a girl he has a crush on but has no chance of being with to another very attractive girl—okay—to hitting on that very attractive girl even though he, at this point, also has zero chance of being with her, either?”

  “Ooooh, that is a tough one.”

  “See, I told you.”

  “I’m fairly certain that such a maneuver is entirely impossible,” she says.

  “I figured.”

  “But were I to suggest a strategy . . .” She grins, as if she is about to divulge a top-secret tactic.

  I lean in. “I’m listening.”

  “I’d say, start with getting that girl a drink, and when you come back she can tell you she’s not looking for anything serious because she has a million commitment issues that she’s currently not at all interested in sorting, and also because she is only just escaping a disaster of a relationship and essentially hates all human beings at the moment.”

  “Right, so definitely hold that thought because I’m definitely gonna go get that girl a drink, okay?”

  She smiles. “Okay.”

  “Don’t go anywhere. You must guard these steps with your life.”

  “I’ll slay anyone who tries to scale these here steps, sire,” she says.

  “What was that voice just then?”

  She cringes, covering her face as she laughs. “My attempt at sounding Scottish.”

  “Oh, is that what that was? Hmm,” I say, smiling hard. “Yeah, maybe work on that. Or maybe just don’t do it again. Like ever.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  I shrug, playfully. “The worst.”

  She nods. “I’m a big fan of failing miserably, so I feel pretty good about it.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, mission accomplished. Glad I could be here for that.”

  “Me too,” she agrees.

  “Sooo . . .”

  “So,” she repeats, smiling. “Perhaps you get the drinks and we reconvene this epic pity party on the back porch?”

  I stare at her a beat. “Maybe you should just make all of my decisions for me from now on.”

  Kate extends her hand to me, this time with far better results. “Deal, Jack.”

  I squeeze and sidestep my way into the kitchen, the alcohol scattered across the long countertop. I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Hey.”

  It’s Jillian.

  “Having fun?” she asks.

  I shrug. “You?”

  “It’s okay. Was considering leaving soon actually.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Maybe grab a burger.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Yeah, we could do that . . . um . . . I was just gonna . . .”

  She nods to the bottle of wine in my hand. “Where you going with that?”

  “Oh, uh, nowhere, um.”

  “Nowhere?”

  “Well, not nowhere. That would be silly. No, I was gonna go to the porch. The, uh, back porch.”

  “You shouldn’t drink alone, Jack,” she says, smiling.

  “I wasn’t planning to,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’ve, uh, made a friend, I guess.”

  Her face flashes something I can’t compute, but it’s gone before I can consider it. “Oh, I see,” she says, her smile now somehow different. “Jack’s made a new friend.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “No, I’m happy for you, J,” she says.

  “Thanks, J,” I reply. A thing we do. “We can totally get a burger, though, like I’m down for whatever . . . just let me, um . . .”

  “No.” She shakes her head, already backing away. “You go do your thing. I’m gonna probably head back to the dorm anyway. Gotta call Franny, so.”

  “Oh, yeah, okay, cool.”

  “Cool.” She nods. “So, have fun, man.”

  “You too. Tell Franny hey,” I say, because what else can I say. Because for maybe the first time the words aren’t easy between us.

  Five minutes later Kate and I are drinking from a disgusting bottle of red wine and splitting real estate on the warped porch steps. Already we have Our Thing. Steps. Only this time we don’t budge the rest of the night. Not even when the party’s over, not even when the only lights still on are for security, not even when the moon’s a whisper against brightening sky.

  “I think we’re the only people still awake at this house,” Kate says.

  “Damn, what time is it?” I say, not actually concerned with the time.

  “Who gives a damn about time, right?” Kate says, stifling a yawn.

  We move for nothing and no one.

  “Tell me about your family,” I say.

  “What about them?”

  “Anything,” I tell her. “Everything.”

  She’s quiet. Crosses her legs, then uncrosses them. She passes me the wine, and I take a sip. It’s still not very good, but somehow less not very good than before.

  “My parents are basically professional arguers these days, and it’s mainly because of me.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s odd, you know, seeing people who you remember sharing so much love, who once couldn’t get enough of each other, and then one morning you’re lying in bed wondering how soon before they start fighting.”

  “You said they argue because of you?”

  “Yep.”

  “How come?”

  She shrugs. “They can’t agree on how to take care of me.”

  “That sucks. I’m sorry, Kate.”

  “Why are you sorry?” she asks. She bites her lip, reaches for the bottle, and puts it to her mouth, but she doesn’t drink. Brings it back down, lets it rest between her knees. “
If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry.”

  I’m not sure if I should ask what she means, although I want to, so I settle on silence, leaving her space to continue if she wants.

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’ll stick it out, if only because starting over is scary and complicated and messy. And who wants that when you’re old? Hell, who wants that when you’re young?” She takes a sip, holds the bottle out for me, and our fingers brush, and I don’t know, it’s like a zillion bolts flow into me.

  “Yeah,” I say, her touch still stunning me.

  “So, what about you? What’s your family like?”

  “Well, I’m an only child, for one thing.”

  She nods. “That explains everything.”

  “Hey now!”

  “Just saying.”

  “Let me guess, you’re a middle kid.”

  She turns to look at me, which is not without difficulty considering how close we’re sitting, and our faces nearly touch. “What makes you say that?”

  I shrug.

  “Whatever, Jack. But you’re right. I have an older sister. Kira. She’s a stylist. And I don’t know exactly how she’s done it, but she has like a million YouTube subscribers. Like, people clamor for her videos. It’s weird, but it’s cool she’s doing her thing.”

  “Maybe she could style me,” I say. I smooth the front of my shirt. “I could use some help.”

  “I don’t know,” she says. She taps my collar with her finger. “You’re doing okay.”

  “Thanks.” I’ve never been happier with doing okay in my life. “So, your younger sister or . . .”

  “Brother. The terror.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “No, he’s all right. Just hyper.”

  “Oh, sometimes I have trouble focusing, too.”

  “No, like hypervigilant. He’s forever in everyone’s business, but he specializes in mine.”

  I laugh. “Sometimes I wish I had more family. Even if they were annoying, just knowing they were there. I mean, my parents are pretty great. I’m lucky that way. And they’re still crazy for each other in a way that almost seems sick. But sometimes it’s like they want so much for me, they’re planning on me doing all these cool things, and I don’t know, like, I worry about letting them down. I mean, they’ve funneled so much of their energy and love into me, while doing their best not to seriously screw me up, but sometimes I still feel like I’m just a screwup waiting to happen. Uh, wow, I can’t believe I just shared all that.”