The Geek's Guide to Unrequited Love Page 13

  “Sounds awesome, thanks!” Roxana says, and I just nod. I, obviously, have no intention of actually singing.

  “Do you guys want to go first?” Ryan asks us, and we both shake our heads emphatically, Roxana with a nervous laugh.

  “Then we’ll get the party started, shall we, E?” Ryan turns to his girlfriend, who nods. “A classic?”

  She grabs the remote and doesn’t even look up a number in the book to punch it in. “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” comes up, and the two stand on opposite sides of the room, brandishing mics and ready to sing.

  I don’t know what I expected, maybe wannabe The Voice contestants or something, just based on how much they seem like karaoke pros, but that’s not what happens. Both Ryan and Elise are clearly tone-deaf, and it’s hard to tell which one is worse. But what they lack in talent, they make up for in enthusiasm, singing each word with dramatic emphasis and dancing around in choreographed moves. I hate to admit it, but it’s kind of delightful in a thoroughly silly way. Devin and Roxana applaud thunderously when they’re done, and even I have a stupid grin on my face.

  “Who’s next?” Ryan asks, eyeing me and Roxy. We both still shake our heads. “All right, Devin, ol’ boy. Time to make our friends feel a little more comfortable. You think I’m bad, wait until you hear this guy.”

  “Okay, hold on. I think I’m going to try a new song.” Devin gets a mischievous gleam in his eye as he flips through the song book and then punches in some numbers. The title flashes across the screen before the song begins. “Roxanne” by the Police.

  As soon as the song begins with the title word, Devin gets on his knees in front of Roxana and sings it to her. She giggles.

  And I watch incredulously as he serenades her with the whole song. I cannot believe this. Not only because Ryan is right and Devin is singing in at least three different keys, but “Roxanne”? Seriously? It’s a song about a prostitute!

  And just as I’m thinking Roxy has got to be so offended by this, I look over at her and realize that her eyes have turned into puddles. She looks like a manga girl.

  Oh my God. What is happening?

  Time seems to go by both agonizingly slowly, like when Devin finally convinces Roxana to duet with him on a song from Grease, and sometimes bizarrely fast, like whenever Ryan or Elise goes up and I can’t help but be entertained by their antics. I glance at my watch every single minute that passes between 7:02 p.m. and 7:23 p.m. But then, the next time I look, it’s almost 8 p.m.

  I still haven’t sung, despite repeated cajoling from all the members of our little group. Seriously, that’s the last thing I need today.

  Once Elise and Roxana are finished screaming out some Spice Girls number together, my watch triumphantly says what I’ve been beseeching it to all night. It’s 8:30. Our train leaves in twenty minutes. I gleefully tell Roxy this. “We should go, and we probably need to book it to Penn Station to make it on time,” I add for emphasis.

  She looks at me, and her hand goes to the back of her head. Then, with a triumphant gleam in her eye, she takes out her phone and starts texting something. A minute later, the phone buzzes back, and she smiles at it.

  “Excuse me one minute,” she says as she takes her phone and leaves the room.

  No one else seems to pay her departure much mind. Elise is singing, and both Ryan and Devin seem preoccupied with picking out their next song to butcher. But I, of course, wonder where the heck she’s going.

  I leave the room too, and glance down the purple-lit hallway. No sign of her. I guess she could have gone to the bathroom? But then what was that text about?

  I follow the hallway anyway, keeping an eye out for her. I scan the front room when I get there. It’s gotten more crowded, but almost everyone there is staring raptly at the guy at the mic, who is rapping an Eminem song with some serious skills. Unfortunately, none of this captive audience is my best friend.

  She didn’t take her coat with her, so it’s stupid to probably even do this, but . . . just in case, I open the front door and peek outside.

  And there she is. Shivering slightly and talking on her phone. She has one hand on her right ear to block out the city noise, but I hear her end of the conversation perfectly. “So I’m just going to stay at Felicia’s for a little while after I get back from Comic Con. There’s a math test on Monday we’re both a little nervous about. Thought we’d study for it one last time together.” She pauses while she listens to the other end. “Midnight,” she finally says. “I definitely won’t be home later than that. Okay, Baba. See you soon.”

  She presses End on her phone, and when she sees me standing there, she gives me a victorious grin.

  “Lying again?” I say, and it sounds accusatory, even to my own ears. But the truth is, I’m not impressed.

  She snorts. “Geez. Calm down, Officer.” I’m still scowling, so she continues in an equally accusatory tone. “It was your idea yesterday, remember? The whole ‘Cut school and fool your parents, Roxy’ bit?”

  But it’s not my idea today. And the thing is, I’m not really sure it’s entirely Roxana’s idea either. This new sorta rebellious Roxy, making plans on a whim and singing duets and lying to her parents again, I don’t think I quite know her. And I definitely can’t help but feel that Devin is the one bringing all this out.

  Roxana goes to reenter the karaoke bar, but we get stopped by the bouncer. Awesome, I think. We won’t be able to get in and that’ll be the end of that.

  Unfortunately, it’s the same bouncer as before, and as soon as Roxy mentions Ryan’s name, he remembers us and ushers us back in. So much for that plan.

  When we get back to the room, there’s a new addition: a pitcher of beer, along with some fresh cups. “Don’t tell,” Ryan says with a wink. He pours a cup for Roxana and hands it to her.

  She stares at it for a moment, then takes a sip. She immediately makes a face at the taste.

  “What? It’s not that bad!” Devin says. “We sprang for only the moderately cheap stuff.”

  Roxana smiles and takes another small sip. She reflexively makes another face. But I notice she doesn’t put the drink down.

  “Okay, so is it this beer in particular or beer in general? ’Cause maybe we can get something else?” Devin asks in concern. As if that’s what he should be worried about: that Roxana doesn’t like the taste of beer, not that her personality seems to have done a complete 180 in the last twenty-four hours. Because I know for a fact that she’s never had a drink before.

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” she lies again.

  “Oh,” Devin says, and then, after a moment, slaps his forehead. “Right. I forgot. Drinking’s kinda hard here when you’re underage, right? I’m actually legal drinking age in the UK, but it’s sorta not as big of a deal there. You obviously don’t really have to drink that.”

  But Roxana smiles and takes another sip. “Nah, it’s okay. It’s always good to try something new, right?”

  It’s official. I hate this. But I can’t say anything now, not after she already called me out for policing her.

  “Graham?” Ryan is holding out a full cup of beer for me now. I stare at the amber liquid filling the small plastic cup. At this point, why the hell not? I take it.

  It’s definitely not tasty. But I finish it quicker than Roxana finishes hers. And when Ryan asks if I want another one, I acquiesce. The third one, I even pour for myself.

  At one point, Elise is shoving the karaoke book in my hands. “Come on, Graham. You have to sing at least one song. I promise, it’s not that bad once you get up there. It’s fun.”

  I’m really not that interested, but my defenses are weakened, so I take the book from her, if only to shut her up. I’m flipping through the pages when a title sticks out at me. It’s called “Something on the Quiet” and it’s by this kind of obscure British band called the Silver Bells that my dad listens to sometimes. It’s an old song, from the sixties, with doo-wops and ooh-aahs in it. I immediately start humming it in my head, and then
I get to the line at the end of the chorus. “I’m in love with you.” And before I know it, I’m carelessly punching its numbers into the remote.

  In the meantime, the four of them sing the songs they’ve already put in. At one point, Devin is touching Roxy’s shorn hair, and it’s making me feel ill. I pour myself another drink.

  Then the opening notes of my song begin. Everyone looks around, wondering who put it in, and when I finally weakly raise my hand, Elise gives a squeal of delight and everyone else hoots and hollers, shouting my name in encouragement.

  Elise hands me the mic and I stand up. If nothing else, it’ll be a good private joke with myself, maybe even a way to relieve some tension. Roxana will never know that I’m singing the song to her. That I’m pouring my heart out to her.

  “Can I tell you something on the quiet? Though maybe you already know.” I sing the opening lyrics, instinctively looking at my best friend, the secret girl of my dreams. She’s grinning at me.

  “I’ll whisper it soft and light. ’Cause sometimes words can ignite and explode,” I continue.

  “Wow! You have a nice voice!” Elise shouts out in encouragement, and Roxana nods enthusiastically. The boys are still woo-hooing at key points.

  But then I’m not even looking at the lyrics on the screen anymore. Just at Roxana as I sing the words. It’s such a simple song, and a song that’s a million years old. But it doesn’t matter. It’s everything I want to say.

  “I don’t want to sound an alarm.

  I don’t want to cause any harm.

  We’re friends to the end.

  That’s truer than true.

  But I’ve been holding on

  For far, far too long

  To what’s in my heart:

  I’m in love with you.”

  And right then, as I say the words that made me punch in the numbers in the first place, something in Roxana’s face changes. Her mouth turns into a little o as she stares at me. And that’s when I realize: she knows.

  I have finally just told—nay, sung to—my best friend that I love her.

  Chapter 19

  I Left

  My Heart on

  Thirty-Seventh

  Street

  THE SONG ENDS AND DEVIN, Elise, and Ryan all cheer for me. Roxana simply stands up, grabs my hand, and leads me out the door. My heart is pounding in time to whatever pop song is blaring from the karaoke machine by the bar. The hallway’s purple lights make everything doubly surreal: is this the walk to my execution or my salvation?

  Roxana makes a beeline for the bar’s front door, pulling me in her wake. But as soon as we get outside, she lets go of my hand, walks a bit down the street, puts her hands through her hair, and then finally turns to look at me.

  “What . . . ,” she starts, out of breath, “what was that?”

  I realize I have two choices. I could feign ignorance. “What was what?” I could ask. Pretend like I was doing nothing more than belting out a song. Because, obviously, this is not how I intended this to happen at all. Of every scenario I ever dreamt up—the realistic and the totally fantastical—singing a cheesy old song at karaoke was never in the picture.

  But it doesn’t matter now. It’s out there and I can’t take it back. So I man up and take the second option. I say it in my own words this time, the simplest words. “I love you, Roxana. I’m in love with you.”

  She’s staring at me, frozen. Then she’s shaking her head and looking down at the concrete. Then back up at me. Over and over again, her head just shaking. There are decades of silence.

  Finally, she breaks it. “How? When?” she croaks out.

  “I . . . how? What does that mean?”

  “Just . . . when?”

  “I mean, I guess for a long time now.” I start out slowly, because even though I’ve rehearsed some version of this for months, I can’t seem to conjure up those perfectly practiced words now. “But I realized it over the summer. It’s like I woke up the morning after the hospital with your grandmother and I just knew. . . .” I look at her and her chalk-white face and her mouth that can’t seem to stop making that little o, and suddenly, I’m a little exasperated. “Come on, Roxy. You can’t tell me you didn’t really know. That some small part of you . . .”

  “I didn’t!” she practically screams at me.

  “So it just never even crossed your mind that you and I could be more than friends?” My voice is raised now too.

  “Of course it crossed my mind!”

  I startle in the middle of my breakdown. “Wait . . . it did?”

  “Of course!” she says as she begins to pace, her hand frantically going through the back of her hair. “You’re a guy, and we’ve grown up together. I’m sure we were hanging out around the time I realized that you can get crushes on boys, and that things can feel different than just between friends. And there were moments . . .” She’s staring at her hands, and I have to wonder if she’s thinking of that night at the hospital too—when they were clasped with mine. I wait, wanting her to go on, but she doesn’t, instead just pacing back and forth in silence and making an absolute mess of her hair. I watch the pixel heart necklace swing back and forth agitatedly and I can’t help but stare at the last heart—the one that’s half full. Or, depending on your perspective, I suppose, the one that’s half empty. Or, perhaps, simply broken.

  When I feel like I can’t stand the silence another second, I miserably provide the word I know she’s looking for, thinking my stay of execution has gone on long enough. “But . . .”

  After a few more interminable moments, she finally stops pacing right in front of me and looks up at me. “But . . . nothing ever happened. And I realized this is us. We’re best friends. We do everything together. What about Misfits? What about how easy everything is? How could it possibly be worth it to mess that up?”

  I think my own heart has dropped somewhere well below my body, down into the concrete. Maybe even it’s riding a subway train now, far, far away from here. Because I get what she’s saying. That I somehow missed the boat and now the thought of us together is literally not worth it to her. I’m not worth it to her.

  I swallow hard, feeling it echo through my hollow limbs. “So . . . now what?” I mutter, but I’m talking to myself.

  Except Roxana doesn’t get that. “Exactly. Now what, Graham?” She throws her hands up in the air. She sounds pissed, and suddenly that makes me angry. I just poured my heart out to her. She totally rejected me. And now she’s mad at me?

  We glare at each other for a few seconds more, and then I look at my watch. “Well, it’s ten thirty,” I say, my voice magically steady as if it’s an entity apart from everything churning inside me. “We have to catch a train soon.”

  “Right,” she says as she yanks the door of the bar open. The bouncer doesn’t even stop us this time as we march back to the room.

  When we get in there, Devin starts to ask if everything is all right, but Roxana cuts him off. “We have to catch our train now,” she says with a fake smile and a syrupy-sweet voice that sounds more off than the Mariah Carey song Ryan is currently interpreting.

  I just stand by the door as they say their good-byes and mutter mine on cue. I vaguely realize that Devin is making plans to see Roxana again tomorrow at NYCC, but I barely hear it. Everything suddenly looks and sounds as if it’s underwater.

  When we leave the bar for the final time, Roxana walks briskly out in front of me, and I make no attempt to catch up to her, just follow her familiar gait all the way to Penn Station. My head is down, but the streetlamps paint her shadow across my path. If I had all my writerly wits about me, I’m sure I could make it into a metaphor for something. But right now, whatever primal emotional preservation method courses through my body kicks in and I feel numb to my core. Or maybe it’s the beer. I’m thinking I wouldn’t mind if this lasted awhile, like maybe for a few years, until I can be positive I’ll be totally over this abject rejection.

  Our train is at the platform when we arriv
e at the station. We go down the stairs to catch it, and that’s the only time Roxana says anything to me. “I texted Felicia, and her brother can come pick us up.”

  I give a small nod.

  She stops walking then and lets me get on the train first. I immediately realize it’s so that I can choose a seat and she can choose one somewhere down the car.

  That’s fine. As soon as I sit down, I search through my backpack and put my headphones on. But scrolling through my phone, I realize there’s no music I want to listen to. Music will probably unleash all the emotions that are being strangely kept at bay, and I can’t afford to throw a gift like that away.

  I keep the headphones on anyway. They’re a decent pair, and they cancel out most of the noises of the train. It’s not that crowded because it’s too early for most of the rowdy drunk crowd to be heading home after a Saturday night out, but there are still some conversations happening in the car that I’d prefer not to hear: a loved-up couple two rows behind me, some girl telling her friend about the amazing second date she just had.

  With the headphones on, I mostly just feel the rumble of the train. And then I close my eyes, and I can almost pretend to be on any train, going anywhere. I can be in a 1920s detective novel or a sci-fi intergalactic flight. I can be anyone, too. Anyone except Graham Posner on this night in October. That sounds like a step up to me.

  “The skies swallowed her up and the stars glittered coldly on—feeling nothing for one shattered heart on one insignificant planet,” Charlie says at the end. “They shine and shine but all is dim.”

  No. For once, I don’t want to be Charlie Noth, either. Even though I feel closer to understanding his feelings than I ever have before.

  With determination, I manage to keep my mind pretty clear as we rumble back to Huntington. Anytime anything even remotely unpleasant threatens to surface, I just pop it like a bubble. Or better yet, punch it like in an old episode of Adam West’s Batman. Rox—POW! Karao—BAM! Even Robert Zi—gets KABOOMed.