Never Always Sometimes - Adi Alsaid Page 0,26

have people

thinking about Dave when it’s time to vote.”

“How are explosives not memorable?”

“Forget the explosives! It sounds awesome but it won’t work. A

viral video could do the trick, provided it actually goes viral.”

“How do we get the video to go viral?” Dave asked.

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be here eating pizza with you. I’d be busy

cashing in on Internet fame and all the groupies that come with it.”

“Gross,” Dave and Julia said at the same time, sharing a look at the

second jinx of the conversation.

“There’s no formula you can follow. If it’s funny it’ll help, but that

doesn’t guarantee anything. Some videos go viral, some don’t.” He

took a bite of pizza, the excess Parmesan raining down onto his plate

and sticking to his chin. The table next to them, a family of four,

stood up to go, leaving their trash behind.

Dave watched them walk away and, like they often did, he and

90 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES

Julia got up to clean their mess. “Bunch of savages,” Julia muttered to

herself when they rejoined Brett at the table.

“You guys are so weird.”

“Why? Because we clean up after savages that can’t do it on their

own?”

“No,” Brett said, wiping his face with a napkin. “Because you did it

at the exact same time, without saying anything to each other. It’s like you’re twins who can communicate telepathically.” He chuckled and

then threw the napkin down on his empty plate, pushing it away from

him. “Why are you guys doing this anyway? It doesn’t seem like you.”

“You’d never understand,” Dave said, giving Julia a look.

“Never,” Julia repeated, almost in a whisper.

“Never,” Dave said, even quieter. They kept going back and forth

until they broke out laughing.

Brett stared blankly at them. “So weird. But seriously, why the

sudden interest?” He looked at Julia. “Are you finally admitting that

all you’ve ever wanted is to go to prom with the prom king?”

“That comment was so gross that I’m taking away all the credit I

gave you for your Mark Twain zinger.”

“I don’t hear a denial.”

“Brett, you’re shaming the family name. Please stop,” Dave said.

In the back of his mind, Dave was thinking about prom, the long

understanding that he and Julia would go together. It was silly to think about how Gretchen would affect all of that, ridiculous to already be

thinking that far ahead. But there it was anyway, the thought taking

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root. A picture flashed in Dave’s mind, quick and without warning, of

Gretchen with her hands around his neck, pulling him close.

“Shit, we’re late!” Julia said, rising suddenly from the table.

“Late for what?” Dave asked.

“It’s a surprise.” She collected the trash on the table and tossed it

in the nearby trash can. “But we have to get going now or we’re not

gonna make it in time.”

“You guys need a ride?” Brett asked.

“No, thanks. It’s at the Broken Bean. We’ll walk.”

“All right. Thanks for the pizza. Good luck making all your secret

fantasies come true,” he said to Julia. He unlocked the doors to his

pickup truck but instead of getting in he lingered, as if waiting for

Julia’s retort.

Dave knew it was going to be an interesting night as soon as he saw

the sign in front of the Broken Bean that announced it was slam-

poetry night. But he didn’t quite understand how interesting it would

be until they took a seat just as Marroney made his way to the stage.

“My God.”

“I know,” Julia said. “I’m already getting chills. Prepare to swoon.”

“You’re not gonna give up on this are you?”

“True love persists, my friend,” Julia said, starting to whisper, since

Marroney was adjusting the microphone. He was wearing a maroon

button-up shirt that had full sleeves, for once, and though his jeans

appeared to have zippers all over them, he was also wearing a fedora

92 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES

that actually looked good on him, even with his mullet poking out

the back. He ran a thumb and forefinger in opposite directions across

his mustache, smoothing out the hairs or simply preparing for his

performance. Then he pulled out a little red notebook from his back

pocket and cleared his throat in that resounding way that only the

middle-aged can. A shriek of feedback rang out through the coffee

shop.

Then he closed his eyes and the coffee shop quieted down with

anticipation.

“Everything about me was shaped by the boy who died.” He paused

for effect, letting the silence thicken the room. “No, no, don’t be sad, this was a long time ago and all the tears that were meant for him have

already been cried. I was little, too, a tiny blob of a human being, not yet formed, life’s pounding fists had yet to tell me who