Chapter six
An old man with a busted piano is playing “La Vie en rose” on the street outside my window. He hauls it around this part of the city, from one corner to another, but I’ve never seen how he moves it. It’s early evening on Friday, and the tinkly, fractured music is a bizarre contrast to the rough, powerful memoir I’m reading about being lost at sea.
There are two knocks against my door.
“Just kick it,” I shout from bed. “I haven’t gotten it fixed yet.”
I turn the page of my book, and the door gently swings open, sans kick. I glance up. A double take, and I’m scrambling to my feet. “I’m sorry, I thought you were—”
“Kurt,” Josh says.
“Yeah.”
We stare at each other.
Ohdeargod, he’s attractive. He looks recently showered, and his clothes seem even more carefully put together than usual. Behind his casual American attire, I can always still spot his artist’s eye. His T-shirts and jeans fit, he wears the right colours, the right shoes, the right belt. It’s subtle. But he never just throws something on.
“How did you know this was my room?” I finally ask.
“I saw you come in here the other day while I was waiting for the elevator. It caught my attention, because…this used to be mine.” Josh glances around, taking everything in. This must be strange for him.
It’s strange for me.
Along with the quilt of Manhattan, my bed is mounded with soft pillows and cosy blankets. I’ve squeezed in a skinny, antique bookcase that overflows with adventure books of all kinds – novels, non-fiction, comics. I have a curvy glass lamp and sheer lace curtains and, instead of posters on my walls, I’ve hung scarves and jewellery. My closet is jam-packed with clothing, and I have an additional chest of drawers wedged beneath the school’s chest of drawers. Indulgent bath products line the corners of my tiny sink and equally tiny shower. My desk is organized with special nooks for homework, and my pens, pencils and highlighters are arranged like bouquets in matching vases.
“I knew that,” I admit. “That this was yours.”
Josh raises his dark eyebrows. “Why didn’t you say something?”
I can only shrug, but he nods as if he understands. And I think he does. He places his hands in his pockets, nervous and unsure.
“You’re still in the hallway.” I shake my head. “Come in.”
He does, and the door swings shut behind him.
“Careful!” I grab a textbook and shove it underneath to prop it back open. “Nate’s enforcing the new rules, you know.”
Immediately, I feel like a dork.
But Josh looks confused, and I realize he doesn’t understand because he missed Nate’s speech. I fill him in. “And I don’t want to get in trouble,” I add. “Because then he might not allow Kurt in here any more, and we’ve already been caught once.” It happened during a room check on the second day. We got off with a warning, but we’ve spent most of our afternoons since at the Treehouse, our secret refuge across the river.
Josh rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Of course.”
He wants to leave.
I flush with panic. I don’t know why he’s here, but I do know that my heart will break if he goes. I gesture towards the desk chair. He takes it. I can barely contain my exhale of relief. I sit across from him on the edge of the bed. I smooth my wrinkled skirt. I stare at my coral-painted toenails.
“It’s prettier in your hands,” he says at last. “The room. Mine always gets messy.”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and then I look down and let it fall forward again. “Thanks.” I force my eyes to meet his. Hazel. My stomach twists. “My mother is a window dresser. She always tells me that small spaces can still be beautiful.”
“Hard to get smaller than these rooms.”
“You know those crazy holiday department-store displays that people actually wait in line to see? She does them for Bergdorf Goodman.”
“Those are a big deal.” He leans forward, impressed. “Your mom is French, right?”
My heart skips as it does every time he remembers something about me. “Yeah. She started working here, moved there for a better internship, met my dad, and…stayed.”
Josh smiles. “I like that.”
“How did your parents meet?”
“Law school. Yale. Boring story.”
“I’m sure it’s not boring to them.”
He laughs, but my own smile fades. “Where have you been this week?” I ask. “Were you sick?”
“No. I’m fine.” But he sits back again, and his expression becomes impenetrable. “It’s Sukkoth.”
Sue-coat. “Sorry?”
“The Jewish holiday?”
The humiliation blush is instant. Ohmygod.
“I’m off from school until next Thursday,” he continues.
I search for something intelligent to say, something I’ve picked up from living in New York, but my mind is blank. Sukkoth. That’s not a holiday people take off, is it? It can’t be. As my brow furrows, Josh’s eyes brighten. They look…almost hopeful. He shakes his head as if I’d asked the question aloud. “Nope. Most American Jews don’t take it off. And even then, it’s only the first two days.”
“But you’re taking an entire week?”
“I also took off last Friday, even though Yom Kippur didn’t start until sundown. Same thing, the day before Sukkoth.”
“But…why?”
He leans forward. “Because you’re the first person to question it.”
I’m not sure whether I’m more stunned by his deception or by being singled out. I laugh, but even to my ears, it sounds apprehensive. “Exactly how many holidays are you planning to take off?”
Josh grins. “All of them.”
“And you think you’ll get away with it?”
“I did last year. As the only student here of the Hebrew persuasion, the faculty feels uncomfortable questioning my religious observance.”
I laugh, but this time it’s for real. “You’re going to hell.”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t believe in hell.”
“Right. That whole Jewish thing.”
“More like that whole atheist thing.” Josh sees my surprise and adds a verbal asterisk. “Don’t tell the press. My father can’t afford to lose the Jewish vote.” But he rolls his eyes as he says it.
“Your dad doesn’t practise, either?”
“No, he does. My parents both do, in that whole go-to-temple-twice-a-year way. But politics and media, can’t be too careful.” His tone suggests that he’s quoting something they’ve told him at least a thousand times.
I pause. And then I decide to push the subject one step further. “Your dad is running for re-election this year. That must be weird.”
“Not really. In our house, there’s always something that needs campaigning. It’s just a pain in the ass, that’s all.”
I expected this reaction. I’ve always assumed that the dark shadow he carries – the one that defies the rules and manipulates the system, the one that’s inked into the very skin of his arm – has something to do with his parents. But I know better than to keep questioning him. Kurt has given me both practice and patience when it comes to getting someone to open up. Because of this, I’m also skilled at subject changes.
“You know,” I tease, “you still haven’t told me why you’re here. You were…passing by? Wanted to brag about getting a week off from school?”
“Oh. Uh, right.” Josh sort of laughs and glances out my window. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go out.”
Holy.
Shit.
“I’m on my way to Album,” he continues, referring to a nearby comics shop. “Since we were talking about that new Sfar earlier, I thought if you weren’t busy, you might want to come along.”
…Oh.
My heart beats like a cracked-out drummer. Josh, don’t do that to a lady. I’m still clutching the book about the shipwreck, so I set it down to wipe my sweaty palms. “Sure. I’m meeting Kurt in two hours for dinner, but yeah. Sure.”
At the mention of Kurt, Josh winces slightly. Which makes me wince. But then, as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity, he leans over and nabs my book. Reads the back cover. And then holds it up along with a single raised eyebrow.
“I like stories about adventure. Especially if there’s some kind of disaster involved.”
The eyebrow remains arched.
I laugh. “I read the ones with happy endings, too.”
Josh gestures towards my shelves. “You read a lot.”
“Safer than going on a real adventure.”
Now he’s the one who laughs. “Maybe.”
Leave it to me to admit cowardice to the object of my long-time infatuation. I jump to my feet in embarrassment. “Speaking of adventure.”
Josh watches me remove a pair of platform sandals from underneath my bed. I turn my head to smile at him and catch his eyes dart from my cleavage to the ceiling. He closes them as if cursing himself. My pulse quickens, but I feign ignorance. I slide into my shoes. “Ready?”
He nods without meeting my gaze. I grab my bag, and we head for the door. He pulls out the textbook, pushes it across my floor, and shuts the door behind us.
It pops open.
He slams it again.
It pops open.
I yank it closed while tugging the handle down just so. We watch it. It stays.
“Sorry. My door sucks.”
“Um, actually.” Josh’s hands are in his pockets again. His shoulders are practically up to his ears as we head towards the exit. “I should be the one apologizing. It’s my fault that your door sucks.”
“It is?” I’m not sure why, but this delights me. “What’d you do?”
He glances at me. “I might have kicked it.”
“On purpose?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you angry?”
“No.” His face scrunches up. “It was a stupid reason.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t hold out on me now.”
Josh groans with good nature. “Fine. I kicked the lock last winter to break it so that my ex-girlfriend – girlfriend at the time – could come and go as she pleased. And before you ask, yes, I did try to get a duplicate key made first.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s…kind of ingenious. Kurt and I just trade ours around. Sometimes I forget to get mine back, and I get locked out of my own room. Well. I used to. Oddly enough, it hasn’t happened this year.”
He snorts as he holds open the main door for me.
“Using your hands this time,” I say. “A novel approach.”
As if on cue, he flinches and looks at his right hand. But it’s a moment of genuine pain. My smile disappears. “Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing.” But my expression must be so bullshit that he laughs. “Really, I’m fine. I’ve been drawing more than usual—”
“Because of the holidays?”
“Exactly.” He grins. “It’s just a little tendinitis.”
“Tendinitis? Don’t you have to be old to get that?”
Josh glances over his shoulder. “Can you keep a secret?” He lowers his voice. “You have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”
“Okay…”
“I’m eighty-seven years old. I have terrible hands but amazing skin.”
I burst into laughter. “Scientists should study you.”
“Why do you think I’m in France? Because it’s the home of the world’s best dermatological universities, that’s why.”
His straight face only makes me laugh harder. He glances at me, pleased, and then smiles to himself. We cross the narrow street. Somehow, our strides are in sync despite our difference in height. His entire body is lean and lovely. I want to lace his long, gorgeous fingers through mine. I want to bury my nose against his long, gorgeous neck.
Josh is overly focused on the cobblestones.
Something is happening between us. Is it friendship? It doesn’t feel like friendship, but it’s possible that I’m projecting my own desires. And I’m ashamed for even thinking about him like this after what happened last week. Because I’m not thinking. I’m hoping. People aren’t supposed to be able to change, but…I’ve never bought that. Maybe Josh could learn to like Kurt. Maybe I misinterpreted his actions. There could have been any number of reasons for him to want to escape from Kurt so quickly. Maybe.
“So tell me what you’re working on,” I say.
“Oh, man.” Josh rubs his neck. This seems to be his most frequently used gesture of unease. “It’s always sort of embarrassing to tell someone new.”
“What is it? I promise I won’t laugh.”
“You say that now.” He grimaces and keeps his eyes on the jumble of bicycles and scooters parked alongside the road. “I’m making a graphic novel about my life here at school. A graphic memoir, I guess. There’s not a phrase for it that makes it sound any less egotistical. Unfortunately.”
So it’s true. “How big is it?”
“Um, about three hundred pages. So far.”
My jaw actually drops.
“I really like myself.”
“You don’t have to turn it into a joke.” I shake my head. “That’s incredible. I’ve never done anything like it, that’s for sure.”
“Well, I’m not done yet. One more year of school.”
The colossal white dome of the Panthéon appears before us, illuminated like a beacon. We live on the Left Bank in the bottom of the Latin Quarter, along the edge of a residential neighbourhood. It’s peaceful but – because there are several other schools nearby – it’s not very quiet during the day. But it is magnificent at dusk. Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to live here.
“Have you always been this passionate about drawing? I mean, a lot of kids are, but then we’re sort of taught to stop.” I look up at him. “You never stopped, did you?”
“Never.” Josh finally meets my eyes, but his expression has turned mischievous. He points at my necklace. “Tell me the real story.”
I stop walking. “Try flipping it over this time.”
“Oh?”
I smile and hold it out on its chain. He takes the compass, angles it into the light, and reads the engraving on the back – first silently and then aloud. His voice is deep, clear but quiet. “Isla. May you always find the Right Way. Love, Kurt.”
“It’s the only sentimental gift he’s ever given me. I suspect his mom helped, but it doesn’t matter. He has this thing about maps and directions and finding the best route. But I like that the words have more than one meaning.”
Josh places it back into my hands. “It’s beautiful.”
He turns contemplative as we trek up the rue Saint-Jacques. Perhaps he is reconsidering Kurt. There has to be a way to approach the subject. I’ll find a way. A siren wails past with its French ooo-WEE ooo-WEE, but it only heightens the return of our silence. I’m relieved when we emerge into a bustling district of retail.
Album is a chain, but this particular location is split into two stores that sit across a busy intersection from each other. One sells American superhero-type imports and figurines. The other sells Franco-Belgian books called les BD, les bandes dessinées. French comics tend to have a better presentation than their American counterparts. They’re hardcover, taller, glossier. They have a wider range of stories and, because of it, they’re also more widely read. Comic shops are everywhere here, and it’s not uncommon to find businessmen and -women browsing their aisles in expensive haute couture.
Without having to discuss it, Josh and I enter the location with les BD. We’re greeted by the heavenly perfume of freshly printed text, and a youngish man with a trim beard gives us an amiable salut from behind the counter. I nod a greeting in return.
“Isla.”
It startles me to hear Josh speak my name. I turn around, and he holds up a book from the edge of the first display table. It’s the new Sfar, of course. I take it, and it opens with the delicious crack of a hard spine being tested for the first time. I’m thrilled to discover that it’s one of his fantastique titles – the pages are filled with woods and monsters and swords and royalty and love. Adventure.
“Yeah?” Josh asks.
I beam. “Yeah.”
He looks happy, and then sad, and then he turns so that I can’t see his face. It worries me. I want to know what’s wrong, but his body language tells me not to ask. But then he turns back around – as if he’d made up his mind about a conversation that I didn’t even know we were having – and blurts, “Does your boyfriend like comics?”
For a moment, I think he’s joking.
The word was a joke. But his expression is serious, and it looks like he expects a serious reply, and I am very, very thrown.
I swallow. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry.” He frowns at the table of new releases. “I don’t know why that sounded so harsh.”
My heart hammers against my chest, but I speak the words slowly. “Kurt. Isn’t. My boyfriend.”
Josh freezes. Several seconds pass. His eyes are fixed on a Tintin reissue. “He’s not?”
“No.” I pause. “No.”
“But…you’re always together. You’re so close.”
“We are close. Best friends close. Practically brother and sister close. Not – not – boyfriend and girlfriend close.”
“But…the necklace. You share keys…”
“Because we’re friends. Who hang out.”
His ears have turned a deep crimson. “So…you’ve never gone out with him?”
“No! I’ve known him since we were in diapers.” My mind is reeling. “I can’t believe you thought we were dating. For how long?”
“I— I guess this whole time.”
A new and terrible panic stirs within me. “This whole time as in this year or this whole time as in since Kurt was a freshman?”
Josh seems to have a lump in his throat. “Since he was a freshman?”
“Does everyone think we’re a couple?” Our classmates joke about it, but I never thought that they were serious.
“I don’t know.” Josh shakes his head vigorously, but he says, “Probably?”
“Ohmygod.” I’m finding it difficult to breathe.
He lets out a strange laugh. It’s near hysterical, but it stops as abruptly as it starts. “So are you dating anyone? Someone else?”
“No. No one since last year.”
“Cool.” His fingers tap rapidly against the stack of Tintins.
I fight to keep my voice steady. “And you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nope. No one since last year.”
I want to weep with joy. He liked me, but he thought he couldn’t like me. It’s difficult to wrap my mind around this idea. I suspected his attraction, but the full truth of the situation is unbelievable. How is it possible that my crush – my three-year-long crush – has a crush on me? This doesn’t happen in real life.
Josh is equally thrown. He’s grasping for something to say when his eyes catch on the Sfar. “There’s more downstairs, right? Should we go down there?”
“No.” I hug the book with both arms. “This is exactly what I wanted.”