The next morning I grab my little suitcase and rush to the school parking lot, late because of being up half the night worrying about us. Since I’m one of the last people to arrive, I end up sitting with Gideon Paulson on the bus ride there instead of in the back with Nat and Lys. He’s a junior, a guy I hadn’t really talked to much before we started Twelfth Night, but he’s Count Orsino, one of the leads, so we’ve gotten to know each other a lot better this semester. We’ve actually become pretty good friends, not that I would ever tell you that. Gideon has my back and helps wrangle people when Miss B’s not around and he runs lines with the actors who are struggling. He was formerly more of a choir geek but transferred into our advanced drama class in January and now he’s part of our little group. It’s crazy how doing a show with someone can make you so close so fast.
Gideon is my kind of people. We pretty much like all the same things except he’s obsessed with manga and kung-fu movies, neither of which interests me. But that’s okay because he loves Radiohead, reads even more than I do, and wants to travel the world someday. As our bus passes through California’s drought-ridden Central Valley and into the lush green of Northern California, we sit slouched low in our seat, heads bent close together as we create an imaginary itinerary for a round-the-world trip.
“Okay,” he says, pushing his glasses up as they slide down his nose. “We have a big decision to make here. Switzerland or Prague?”
“Prague is non-negotiable,” I say.
“Oh, really? And why, pray tell, is that?”
“I’m part Czech. There’s, like, a statue of one of my ancestors in a small town near there.”
Gideon nods, all business, as he adds Prague to the itinerary.
“Fair enough,” he says. “I won’t stand in the way of rediscovering one’s roots. But since you got that choice, I get first choice in Asia.”
“By all means,” I say.
He does research on his phone for hostels and we discover that in Asia, it’d actually be cheaper to share a room at a guesthouse, since they don’t really have hostels there.
“Are you a bed hog?” I ask.
He grins. “Oh yeah. You better bring a sleeping bag.”
And that’s when I realize—we’re flirting with each other. I have that light-headed, butterfly feeling I used to get with you and I’m suddenly very aware of how my knee is touching Gideon’s and the way his hair curls just over his ears. He’s wearing a shirt covered in Chinese characters and he’s written FUCK WAR on the toes of his high-top All-Stars, an outfit so totally him—nerdy iconoclast. I like the fact that he carries a messenger bag instead of a backpack. It adds to the whole hipster/scholar vibe he’s got going on. I’m a sucker for guys with style—you’re evidence of that.
Gideon’s hand brushes mine as he sketches in Mount Fuji on the map we’ve been making. I go still, every part of me aware of the warmth his touch leaves behind.
I want him to touch me again.
Fuck.
We spend the next four hours carefully detailing our itinerary, squabbling over cities and travel routes, laughing at our growling bellies. We should be stopping for lunch soon, but I don’t want to stop because I’m having so much fun flirting with Gideon. Shitshitshit. I’ve always been like this: a fast faller. The first time I saw you I turned into one of those cartoon characters with popping heart eyes. I went from not knowing you existed to thinking about you every second of every day for three years.
“I’m telling you, we have to go on the Trans-Siberian,” he’s saying.
“But that won’t leave us very much time to go to Moscow and St. Petersburg,” I argue.
He frowns. “Riding across Siberia in a train would make me an official badass.”
“I think swimming in the Great Barrier Reef will take care of that.”
“Oh, so you’re totally cool with great white sharks but we can’t go to the Sahara because of scorpions?” he says, genuinely incredulous.
I laugh and Peter peeks over the seat in front of us. I hadn’t noticed he and Kyle were sitting there. I guess I was … distracted.
“You know Gavin will never let you go on a round-the-world trip with another dude, right?” Peter says because he’s a nosy bitch.
Gideon snorts. “Let? That’s a bit 1840, don’t you think?” He turns to me. “He’s joking, right?”
I ignore Gideon and scoot closer to the window as I glare at Peter. I hope he didn’t notice how close we’d been sitting.
“This is a purely hypothetical enterprise,” I say.
But I break out in a cold sweat. Will Peter or Kyle tell you I sat with a boy on the bus? Does this count as being “alone” with another guy?
Peter just lifts his eyebrows. “If you say so…”
He turns around and sits back down. Gideon looks at me, his head cocked to the side. He turns to a fresh piece of notebook paper and scrawls across it in his scratchy handwriting.
You okay?
Yeah.
How did Gideon know that my good mood had suddenly disappeared? It was almost as if he knew it had happened before I did.
Was he kidding—about your boyfriend being mad?
When Gideon puts it in black and white like that I’m reminded of how absurd your rule is. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out with someone. Or hugging them. I haven’t hugged another boy in almost a year, except for when Matt gave me a hug that day I was crying at work.
No. Gavin is …
I bite my lip, look up at Gideon. Which is a huge mistake because if you look past his glasses he has the biggest, brownest, kindest eyes I’ve ever seen and I kind of fall right into them. I feel warm, like I do after I’ve had a nice big cup of hot cocoa. With marshmallows.
I like the planes of his face, the mixture of long Roman lines and soft cheeks, rounded, like they still have a little bit of baby fat left in them. I like his straight white teeth, tidy where the rest of him is gangly and adorably awkward.
Gideon takes the pen out of my hand.
Possessive?
There it is in black and white.
Yeah. Kinda.
The bus lurches to a stop and I rip off the piece of notebook paper he’s written on and ball it up.
Gideon raises his eyebrows. “Destroying the evidence?”
“Very astute, Dr. Watson.”
Nat grabs my hand as we all head out of the bus and surge toward the travel center with five different fast-food joints. Gideon goes on up ahead with Peter and Kyle.
“Dude. You and Gideon?” she says. Her smile is disgustingly huge.
“Oh my god, stop it,” I say. “He’s such a dork.”
I feel terrible saying that about him because that’s not even what I think. But I’m starting to realize that we all wear strange armor to get through the day. Mine is denial. Denial that I’m feeling something for Gideon. Denial that you and I need to break up, like, yesterday.
“No,” Lys says, putting on her heart-shaped sunglasses. “You two are adorkable—there’s a difference.”
“Guys. I have a boyfriend. I know he’s not your favorite person in the world right now, but I love him, okay?”
I tell myself I’m not going to flirt with Gideon anymore. It’s wrong, I know that.
I’m just finishing lunch when I realize my phone has been on silent this whole time. There are six missed calls from you. And one text:
Who’s Gideon?
Fucking Peter. I knew you were having him spy on me, but now I have proof.
When I get back on the bus, Gideon slides in next to me. I throw my phone into my bag and keep it on silent. For once, I’m going to ignore you. I don’t realize this at the time, but I’m taking my first step toward leaving you. Baby steps.
“So where were we?” I say, holding up his notebook.
“We’re in Tokyo and I was selling you on the merits of South Africa,” Gideon says.
“I’ll give you South Africa if you give me Morocco.”
He holds out his hand. “Deal.”
I take it, press my palm against his.
We hold on longer than we need to.