those scuffed sneakers of
all things. How every now and then she’d stare off into the distance, or chew on her pen, or examine her split ends, then slowly come to again.
When Gretchen caught him looking, she smiled and he smiled
back, embarrassed, looking away for a while. He studied the secret
life of legs beneath the desks. The jittering and stretching, the
rearranging for comfort, laps used as support for hidden devices and
hidden books. He wondered what people were thinking about as the
end of the year approached, if they had little to-do lists of their own, if they had love lives punctuated by ellipses, by question marks, if
they had any love lives at all. Then his eyes would slowly return to
Gretchen’s scuffed sneakers and it was hard not follow them up. It
made him happy just to look at her, and he had the urge to text her
that message from across the room, but for some reason, he held back.
She was a constant snacker, on quartered oranges and potato chips
and little Tupperware containers full of salad or trail mix. She didn’t
seem to know everyone’s name, which was probably why Dave used to
think of her as somehow elitist. But the more he took note, the more
he came to the conclusion that she was simply less focused, dreamier
than he’d realized.
The turn of her head, how she met people’s eyes, her constant
smile. Her neighbors were often flirting with her, no matter their
social circle. Guys would try to steal her sunglasses or her notebook
and she would take it in stride, hiding her annoyance. At one point
she got bored and puffed her cheeks out, playing with them as her
group members argued about something or another. It was adorable,
and Dave wondered how he’d failed to notice that little habit before.
One of his biggest pet peeves was people who were shitty whisperers,
and it was a strange satisfaction when Gretchen whispered something
and he couldn’t hear it at all. And this girl was coming over to his
house that night.
DAVE 137
The PA system buzzed, snapping Dave from his reverie. It was
the garbled voice of Leslie Winters, the senior class president. “Good
morning, SLO High!” she called out. “I’ve got some exciting news
for this year’s senior class. The ballots for prom king and queen have
been tallied up, and I’m happy to announce the contenders. For prom
queen . . .” She started listing the candidates, and Dave caught Gretchen flashing a smile at him. On their date, they’d talked a little bit about the tree house, since Gretchen had seen the video like everyone else.
Dave hadn’t gone much into the details, but he had mentioned the
Nevers to her, the fact that the prom king campaign was sort of like
Julia’s tree house idea. “And for prom king, the ballot will list: Carl
Alvarez, Hugh Corners, James Everett, David Gutierrez, and Paul
Rott. Congratulations, candidates, and see you at prom!”
After school, Julia was waiting for Dave by her car, one fist raised in
the air.
“How long have you been holding that pose?” he asked as he
approached.
“Since the moment you won,” Julia said.
“Dork.”
“You mispronounced champion, badass.” She lowered her arm,
smile beaming. The Nevers list was in her hand. “Time to cross
another one off!”
“Six to go,” Dave said, tossing his backpack into her car.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling invincible.”
138 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES
“What did Marroney say about the cupcakes?”
“Oh, we had a sub today,” Julia said. She lowered the top on her
car and slid into the driver’s seat, plugging in her phone to play some
music. “Turns out he’s in Arizona for some sort of conference. It
might send some mixed signals when he returns home to a plate of
rotting, ant-infested cupcakes, but nothing’s getting me down today.”
“That man is going to get nightmares because of you.”
“Sexy nightmares, maybe.” Julia looked at her phone. “Ooh, perfect
celebration music.” She hit play and the opening chords of “Blister in
the Sun” came on. Julia started dancing in her seat. “Harbor?” she
asked between lyrics.
“Just for a bit. I’ve got an AP Chem group-study thing,” Dave
said. Then, feeling guilty about his word choice, he added, “That girl
Gretchen is coming over at seven.”
“Plenty of time,” Julia said, taking the admission without a hint
of suspicion. She turned up the music and shifted the car into drive,
taking them down Highway 1 toward the coast, shouting the lyrics
out at the top of her lungs. Instead of going to the harbor, though,
Julia kept driving north along the Pacific Ocean, the mood too
celebratory to stop the car. It was a beautiful drive, and Dave would
never tire of it. That highway made you feel like no