“Yeah?” I say, and look up at him.
“You have mascara all over your face,” he says instead. And instead of sticking my head in the crook of his neck, I smack him in the shoulder.
“Ow,” he says loudly, but then he grins. “I should get downstairs. We got band practice. Clara or no Clara.” He stands up and heads toward the door, and pauses, letting the top of his hand graze the top of the frame. “Hey, are you going to that guy Will’s party this weekend?”
I snort. “I like how you say That Guy Will, like you didn’t just third-wheel it on our date the other night. You know, after I rescued you.”
“Fine, Will’s party. Are you going or not?” Elliot asks.
I straighten up a little bit, wiping at my eyes, wondering why he’s asking. “Um,” I start, “I think so.”
Elliot crosses his arms over his chest for a second, thinking. I expect him to tell me he’s got a gig or a photography exhibit or a skateboarding show. Elliot’s scene is not high school. It’s never really been high school.
“Me too,” he says instead. “I’ll see you there.”
“You will?” I squeak.
“If you’re going,” he says, heading out the door now. Not flirtatiously. Not like the time he mentioned the sand on my jeans. Like he’s stating a fact. Like he’s telling me how he takes his coffee.
“Elliot!” Sam cries then, from outside the door. “Where are you, man? We gotta practice.”
Elliot jerks to attention. “Gotta bounce,” he says. “See you.”
And just like that he’s gone, out the door.
“Why are you always in there?” I hear Sam’s muffled voice from the hallway as the sound of boy feet charging down the stairs dissipates.
“Why am I always where?” is the last thing I hear Elliot say, and the sound of his voice makes me smile.
11
You’re a Killer Emotional Support Pony
“I THINK I’m in love,” Ava says, her face upside down. She’s lying on the beach blanket with her head next to my legs. To celebrate how long it’s been staying light every day, we decided to pick up some poke from Papa’s Poke Shop after school and head down to the water. The sky is glowing pink, which is perfect for our conversation.
“You’re always in love,” I reply, smiling as I manage to grab a chunk of deliciously seasoned tuna, a piece of avocado, and some brown rice all in the same bite. Ice cream and poke, I think. That’s all I need to survive.
“This time I mean it,” Ava says.
“You always mean it,” I say. “Who is it this time?”
“Navid.” She sighs.
“Good choice,” I say, pleasure in my voice. Ava’s past boyfriends include such stellar human beings as the angry, heavily tattooed singer of a local punk band, or an insecure member of the school’s improv troupe. But Navid is a straight-A student, president of the senior class, and genuinely nice to everyone. Not to mention his eyes may be the very definition of smoldering.
“So what’s the game plan?” I ask.
“He’s going to be at Will’s party,” Ava says. “They bonded in AP Bio.”
“That makes sense,” I say. “They’re both creepily perfect.”
“They’ll probably run for president someday on the same ticket,” Ava says, and we both crack up. “Hey!” she says. “We could have side-by-side offices at the White House!”
I know Ava’s joking, but my face falls anyway, because something about that feels wrong. I’ve already told Ava all about what happened when I left the bookstore the other night, about all the TK signs, basically proving that we are in fact living through one crazy, confusing YA story, starring me. Written by some loony tunes author who is actually bizarrely in her own story. And of course Ava believes me, because she’s Ava. Because she’s the best.
I can see Will in my head, picture exactly how right he is for me, but there’s still something missing.
“What is it?” Ava asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s complicated.”
Ava thinks for a second. “Maybe you don’t want to share the White House with me, because you don’t want to share the spotlight,” she says quietly, digging in some sand, and I almost drop my next bite of poke.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, placing my fork back in the bowl.
“Come on, AB,” Ava says. “We all know what I am in this story. If you are the protagonist, and Will is your love interest, then what am I? I’m the best friend. And what do we know about the best friend?”
“What do we know?” I repeat.
“They’re one-dimensional!” Ava cries, sitting up. “They exist purely to get the main character to talk about their actions, to figure out their problems. They cause the breakthroughs, but they usually have nothing to call their own.” She starts to pack up her stuff in a huff.
“Wait, you’re really upset about this?” I ask, and Ava just shrugs without looking at me. “Ava, I mean it, I don’t want the spotlight. You know me. I’m the one who gets embarrassed when you guys are loud at lunch. I don’t want any of this.” My voice cracks. I never even considered how Ava might feel about all this, and it kills me that, after everything she does for me, I could ever make her feel like I don’t appreciate how amazing she is. “Please, you’re my best friend. I love you. You can’t be mad at me.”
Ava sighs, and drops her hands by her side. She sits back on her heels and gazes at the ocean. “I just don’t want to be your emotional support pony,” she admits.
I struggle to keep a straight face. “What is an emotional support pony, exactly?” I ask. In front of us, out on the water, a big sailboat passes directly into frame, its sail perfectly taut against the wind. I want to swim out to it and get as far away from here as possible.
Ava snorts. “I saw this thing on the nature channel about a horse farm in Virginia. Sometimes the new horses get really worked up and anxious, so they have these small, fuzzy, emotional support ponies that hang out with them in their pens. Apparently, it’s soothing.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and then start cracking up at the same time. “Fine. I guess I’m being ridiculous. But this whole thing is weird,” Ava says.
“So help me figure out what’s going on,” I say. “You may be the only one who can.”
Ava nods, thinking, then scooches off her knees, settling back down on the blanket. “I know I’ve already told you this, but I’m not sure this is something that can be figured out so easily. Love, relationships, this is the one area where we are not in control. Do you like Will or not?”
I pause. “I like Will a lot,” I say.
“But you like Elliot, too?” she asks.
“I didn’t say that,” I reply.