I blush.
“I thought I was overthinking the whole thing. Being crazy about someone will convince you of anything. But then I was reading one of my comic books.” He holds it out to me. On the cover is a superhero-looking guy in a leather jacket, ’80s shades, and what appear to be no pants.
“Where are his pants?” I ask.
Will pauses, surprised, and looks at the cover again. “He’s wearing pants. His leggings are orange. I can understand the mistake, actually.” He stops and shakes his head. “But that’s not the point!”
“Sorry!” I say, flipping through some pages. “Please, continue.”
Will points at the cover. “I’ve been really into the story of this guy Animal Man, who was created, like, half a century ago, but has been revived again in the last twenty years. Comic book writers sometimes send weird, meta messages in their work, but as I just learned, Animal Man is one of the most notorious, blatant uses of this. In Animal Man, the main character actually begins to discover he is a character in a comic book. And he meets the comic book writer himself.”
He flips to a page and opens it, and I feel like I’m experiencing déjà vu. In the scene, a man in a sweater is telling Animal Man that he’s written his life, and he points to words on a computer screen that describe everything that is happening around them.
“Holy shit,” I said. “So much for being original.”
Will’s big eyes are staring at me intently as he speaks, his words coming out quickly. It’s so amazing that he’s figured this out all by himself, when Elliot wouldn’t even consider the idea when I told him face-to-face. In making Will a recovering comic book addict with a wild curiosity, Lucy Keating may have just created a monster.
Will is still talking. “It’s true, isn’t it? I read that, and I got sincere goose bumps thinking about your interaction with Lucy in class that day. And I know this is all crazy, but it also feels weirdly right. And I have a feeling you already know that,” he says.
I take a deep, slow breath, and then slowly, I nod.
“You did,” he says, more of a statement than a question.
“I did,” I say finally.
“I knew it!” Will yells, and I shush him. He puts his hands in his hair and leans his head back toward the ceiling. “This is nuts,” he finally says.
“You have no idea,” I say.
“How long have you known?” he asks.
I think for a moment. “She told me that day in the parking lot. But I didn’t totally believe her until—” I pause. Until I realized I wanted to kiss both you and Elliot. Until Elliot got lost in Santa Monica. Until I realized Lucy Keating was trying to give me a Happy Ending I didn’t want, I want to say next. “Until the night of your party,” I say instead.
And then I tell him everything. The changes in eye color, in the ice cream, the rain, staying up all night in Rosewood Café & Bookstore. I tell him everything except the parts about kissing Elliot. But I tell him a little bit about that, too, about the love triangle. About Elliot getting hit on the head with the drumstick, and about how hard it was for him to get to Will’s party that night. Will is quieter during those moments.
“I’m not thrilled to be a part of this love triangle,” he says. “But I guess it’s the nature of the beast.”
“I appreciate that,” I say.
“And besides, I intend to fight for you like hell, so I’m not really worried.” He grins, and even if only a few hours ago my mind was filled with Elliot, I smile, too.
But an hour later, after my meeting with Hector, Will still isn’t satisfied. I find him waiting in the hallway, his hair messier than usual, and his usually perfect button-down all wrinkly.
“I just have so many questions,” he says as he drives me home. “I keep thinking, what is real and what isn’t? What of my decisions are really mine at all?”
“Welcome to the club. It’s best not to think at all,” I say dryly, adjusting the radio.
“Like maybe I don’t even—” Will starts.
“Maybe you don’t even like me?” I cut in, but Will’s face goes dark.
“No, I definitely like you; I never doubted that for a minute,” he says. “I actually was thinking, maybe I’m not such a good guy after all.”
At this I snort through my nose. “You are the ‘goodest’ guy of all,” I tell him.
“But maybe I’m not!” he exclaims as we stop at a light. “Maybe I am because she made me that way. What would happen if I broke the rules? Step outside myself? Sometimes I feel like quite literally I can do no wrong. But what if I could, if she’d just let me?”
“Well, maybe you should try,” I tell him. “Try to break the rules and see how it goes. I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but I think there’s a way.”
“Yeah.” Will nods, staring off, his mind clearly somewhere else. “Yeah, I’m sure there is. We just have to know where to find it.”
21
Today Was a Good Day
I’VE JUST aced a pop quiz in history class the next day when Dr. Piper pops her shiny-haired head in and whispers something to Mr. Ober before both cast a glance my way.
Silently, I point a finger to my chest and mouth Me?
They both nod.
“It’s nothing serious,” Piper assures me as she walks me to the front doors of the main building, her heels click-clacking the whole way, her hips swaying from side to side. “Your father said it’s his mistake: He thought he booked the tickets to your great-grandmother’s ninetieth birthday for tomorrow, Friday, but he actually booked a day early by accident, so you all have to rush to the airport.”
I nod, thinking in my head that neither of my grandmothers is older than eighty-two. But if there’s one person in the world I don’t mind deceiving, it’s Piper, and I’m curious about what’s going to happen next. It’s interesting that she’s not the least bit suspicious. I bet she’d never let Elliot get away with something like this.
“There’s a car outside waiting to take you to the airport,” she says, and when we open the front door, sure enough, a black Escalade is waiting. This continues to mystify me, since my father hates paying for even a taxi to the airport. I saw him and my mom take a black car once, to a reunion screening of his TV show, but only because she had insisted.
“Come on,” she’d said, wrapping her arms around his tuxedo shoulders when it rolled up, while she herself looked stunning in a sophisticated black gown. “Live a little.” They both grinned at each other. Thinking of the memory now makes my heart ache.
“Thanks so much for understanding, Dr. Piper,” I say, shaking her hand, and walk out the doors with the feeling like I am a cast member of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
Then, once she’s safely out of sight, I hesitantly open the door to the SUV and peer inside.
Seated at the wheel is a familiar face, and it’s grinning.