Page 96 of Mixed Signals
“It sounds like you’re hoping she forgets it’s the end of your arrangement and the two of you can continue whatever the hell you’re doing without talking about it like adults,” Alex explodes. The desk goes screeching two inches forward.
Charlie scoops another bite of food into his mouth. “It also sounds nice. Are you taking her to that little field of flowers on the farm?”
“We’re going to the pond, actually.”
“Cool.”
“Caleb,” Alex’s voice softens and he takes off his glasses, two fingers against the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing?”
I know what it looks like. I know my track record isn’t the best with these sorts of things. But Layla is different. What I have with her—what I feel for her—it’s different. I’m not projecting anything. I think it’s because of the arrangement that I’m being more realistic and honest than usual about my feelings. Layla and I—we’ve never tried to be anything except exactly ourselves.
“I don’t know. If things are working between us, what’s the point of ending it?”
It’s my secret thought. The one I’ve been holding close to my chest these last couple of days. Why does anything have to change? Why can’t we keep going out and getting ice cream? Why can’t I sit in the back of the bakehouse and watch her sing the wrong lyrics to eighties ballads?
Alex looks at me like I’m an idiot. Charlie mirrors the look with a touch of pity. Even Fernando has judgment in his tiny little ceramic eyes.
I have no idea how the damn turtle got turned around again.
“You have to end the arrangement,” Alex says.
Charlie nods. “Yeah, man. You can’t build something on a shaky foundation.”
But our foundation doesn’t feel shaky. I think about her hand in mine, her mouth below my ear. The smile she gets when I walk through the front door of the bakehouse. I’ve shared more of myself with Layla than I’ve ever shared with another person. Thoughts and secrets and dreams.
I feel like our pieces fit together perfectly.
“I don’t know,” I mumble again, finding the laces of my shoes infinitely more interesting than the looks I’m getting from the front row of my classroom.
“Have you talked about it with her?” Alex slips his glasses back over his face. “What happens at the end of your month?”
Vaguely, I guess. Half-hearted jokes about not having to put up with each other any more. But we haven’t discussed the specifics in a while. My face must answer the question because Alex lets out another disappointed sigh.
I try to defend myself. “I was going to bring it up.”
“Yeah? When?”
Sunday. Probably. If she brought it up first.
Charlie shoots Alex a vaguely irritated look out of the corner of his eye. He’s wearing a three piece suit today, a button-up vest overtop a dress shirt that looks more expensive than the combination of my entire wardrobe. His cuffs rolled and his jacket slung over the back of one of my classroom chairs. I hope it’s not the one Tyler wrote PENIS on seventy-five times. It doesn’t look like the type of suit that handles ink transfer well.
“What Alex is trying to say—” Charlie clears his throat meaningfully. “—is that it’s obvious you have real feelings for Layla. And if you want something real with her, you need to have a conversation about your arrangement first. You can’t just keep on doing what you’re doing—this whole practice nonsense. You need to be honest with her that you want more. End the arrangement, and start something new. No qualifiers.”
I don’t know why that feels so difficult to me. Fear that she’ll laugh in my face, maybe. Or that she’ll say I’m not what she wants. It’s easier to have the hope. “I can’t just keep going with my mouth shut and hope for the best?”
Alex cracks a half-smile. “And how has that worked out for you in the past?” When I narrow my eyes at him, he throws up his hands and sighs. “No, Caleb. You can’t do that. Tell her how you feel. How you really feel. Look at you. You’ve been floating around these past couple of weeks. You look like a—like a—”
“Like someone introduced you to masturbation for the first time,” Charlie supplies around a mouthful of rice. “You’ve always been a happy guy, my dude. But you’ve reached new levels.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to Alex. “What if—” I swallow and rearrange the pens in my cup. “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”
I was hoping I could just ignore this finish line. If I never brought it up, maybe I wouldn’t have to be disappointed.
Alex sighs. “Be honest with her. Tell her what you want, but manage your expectations a little bit, okay? Remember this whole thing was an arrangement for the both of you. It’s normal if feelings are a little exaggerated. You both were looking for some sort of solution.”
I frown, picking up on his subtext. “You don’t think she feels the same?”
Charlie and Alex exchange another series of looks I can’t interpret. Charlie mouths something and makes a complicated gesture with his hands. Alex widens his eyes and then they both dissolve into furious whispers. Not unlike the two girls from the softball team that sit in those very seats during my third period Spanish class.
