Cooper hits delete. Then he hits delete thirteen more times.
We want to shake him. We want to tell him what we learned from blunt experience: While you have to listen to the first message, it’s the most recent message that matters the most. Tempers can calm. Rage can wear itself out. Sense can return.
We’re not saying he should go back. We know that’s a hard choice. But we think he needs to hear the most recent message before he decides.
All of the messages are from his father or his mother. No one else has called. It’s gotten to the point that Cooper barely notices this.
Julian is four minutes late. He looks like his photo on the app, which is a relief. Cooper is sure the person and the photo don’t always match. Since he’s never actually met someone from online before, he’s had no experience one way or the other. He knows he looks like his own photo. It’s only the words that are lies.
“Hey, there,” Julian says. Cooper can’t tell if he’s nervous. We can tell he is.
“Hey,” Cooper says back, casual. Like he does this all the time.
Julian remains standing. “Do you want to go somewhere else? Somewhere less Starbucks?”
“Like where?” Cooper asks. It comes out as a challenge.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry—I should have thought about that. A drink, maybe? Oh, wait. That won’t work.”
“Why?”
“Um … your age?”
“I might be nineteen, but I’m still up for a drink.”
“Do you have an ID?”
“No. But we don’t have to go to a bar.”
“So where …?” Julian begins. Then he gets it. “I’m not sure we should go to my place. Not … yet.”
“Why don’t we stay here for a little while, then? You don’t have to buy anything. I’ll just get a latte, and we can talk. Okay?”
Like that, Cooper’s taken charge. And he gets a charge from that.
It’s enough, for now, to balance out his disappointment. Cooper figures this guy isn’t a dream and he isn’t a nightmare. He’s just more of the same, better probably than Cooper feels he deserves. But at least there’s the possibility that the night will go a little differently than it usually does.
The sun retreats from the sky, and the light around Harry and Craig darkens. The lamps above them go on, and it’s a harsher light than Tariq had imagined it would be. If you look on the feed, Harry and Craig appear to be bleached-out blurs immersed in shadow.
The drama club springs to action. Most of them have stayed here after rehearsal, cheering on Harry and Craig. The head of the tech crew calls their advisor for permission, then instructs his squad to start running more extension cords from the school. Tariq is consulted, and spotlights are obtained. The tech crew works quietly. Smita expresses gratitude, and they are almost embarrassed by it. It’s one of the rules of tech crew: If you are nice to them, they will help you. If you are mean to them—if you push them into lockers, if you call them names, if you make it clear you think less of them—then they will burn you the first chance they get, and they will enjoy it. Harry and Craig have always been cool to them, so they’re pitching in.
Within an hour the whole place is rigged. Harry is grateful for the distraction. His feet feel like uncomfortable blocks of cement, no matter how often he moves them. He is also starting to feel his eyelids grow heavier, so he signals an E and gets an energy drink. It’s a tricky operation—kissing Craig and sipping from a straw at the same time. But Craig makes sure Harry’s covered, and gets more than a few drops of energy drink in his own mouth as a result. Almost immediately, Harry can feel his heart race as the drink goes through his system. He’ll be good for a few hours, and then might need another boost. Luckily, his bladder is behaving.
Craig is upset, but not surprised, that his mother hasn’t returned. That must have been his father’s order. To ignore. To deny.
He could text her. He could beg her to come back. He could ask her what’s going on.
But he stops himself. His parents have to figure it out themselves. Because he’s not the one with the problem—they are.
Harry senses him drifting. He pulls Craig closer. Kisses him like he means it. Kisses him to draw him back.
People cheer. But not everyone. At this point there are people in the crowd who aren’t smiling at all. Their disgust would be visible to anyone next to them, if the people next to them were watching. But for now they are invisible—except to us. We see them, and we have no doubt they will not stay invisible. Not for long.
The night pushes on.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Julian says as he turns the key in the door.
Cooper promises he won’t. He’d bet his room is messier, anyway.
Sure enough, when he gets in the apartment, he doesn’t know what Julian’s talking about. Everything seems to be in order. It’s not that big a place, but it’s not like there’s underwear everywhere, or pipes leaking through the ceiling. There are canvases in various states of completion all over the living room.
Julian sees Cooper looking, and feels the need to explain. “It’s just the way I work—I’ll spend an hour on one thing, then switch to something else, then switch again. I’m usually working on at least twenty paintings at the same time. Very ADD, I know. But I’ve tried doing it the other way, and the paintings get tired.”
Cooper gestures at the painting on the easel. “Is that your mom or something?”
Julian blushes. “No. It’s actually Joni Mitchell. I listen to her a lot when I paint, so I figured I’d return the favor. Although I’m not sure she’d appreciate the gesture. Did you know she’s a painter, too?”
Cooper clearly has no idea what Julian’s talking about, and when Julian realizes this, he blushes further.
“I’m being a bad host,” he says. “I haven’t even offered you a drink yet, Drake. What do you want?”
Cooper almost trips up on that Drake—he’s forgotten that’s his name right now. But he recovers quickly, and asks for a Jack and Coke. He’s never really had a drink with anyone else before, just in the company of his dad’s liquor cabinet when his parents have been away. Jack and Coke is the first thing that comes to his mind.
“It might have to be a Jack and Diet Coke,” Julian says. “Let me check.” He goes into the kitchen and yells out, “Yeah, Diet Coke.”
“That’s fine!” Cooper yells back.
Cooper can hear the ice maker doing its work, then the clink of ice cubes being dropped into glasses, and the release of the Diet Coke bottle when its cap is turned. He looks at some of the paintings and likes them more than he thought he would. Julian isn’t bad at all. And there’s something he likes about the way all of the paintings are unfinished. It seems more real that way. People are caught between being sketches and being complete. Cooper has no idea who any of them are. But he doesn’t expect to, so that’s okay. There’s one that looks like it could be his English teacher from eighth grade. But he’s sure it probably isn’t, and he barely remembers her, anyway.