Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,30

Milo might be, too,” she said.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I said.

“I would really love to hear you guys play,” said Cirrus, almost coyly.

We reached her street and approached her condo. We stood and pumped our pedals until we reached it, and then we just kind of stood there on our bikes, panting.

“Can I check out what you’ve done with the place?” I said, shooting hot breath in the cool air.

“No,” huffed Cirrus. Her eyes darted. “Sorry—it’s still all boxes everywhere, nothing to see yet, but later when it’s ready sure but not now is that okay?”

“Of course,” I said, immediately intrigued.

Cirrus gazed at me with beautiful sheepish eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s totally okay,” I said. “You got boxes everywhere, I understand.”

I blinked at the ironic fact that I, too, had many boxes in my room that I didn’t want Cirrus to see. Only my boxes were the permanent kind.

We stood close. Cirrus’s lips couldn’t have been more than thirty centimeters from mine. I badly wanted to move a centimeter closer, but I could not. Every muscle in my body refused to contract, out of sheer terror. Only my lip muscles grew tight.

Cirrus stood frozen, too. Did she want to kiss me, too? Or oh god, did she not? That made no sense—wouldn’t she take evasive action, then? Maybe she was just as scared as me?

We might’ve stayed frozen all night, if not for the voice:

“Lovely night.”

These words, uttered in dreamy singsong, came from an older woman’s silhouette framed in a dim amber window next door.

“It is,” said Cirrus slowly.

We waited and waited, but the woman did not leave.

Cirrus leaned in and whispered, “Is she still there?”

I whispered back. “Your neighbor is terrifying.”

“I think she sleepwalks,” whispered Cirrus. “I think this is all a dream to her.”

“Let’s not wake her,” I whispered.

Somehow our lips were now a hundred centimeters apart. A normal distance. The moment had passed. No longer was I hot; indeed, I was freezing now. The night mist around us had thickened into sprinkles. Those sprinkles were turning into actual rain.

“I guess I should go inside,” said Cirrus.

I stomped on a pedal. “See you tomorrow,” I said.

“Not if I see you first,” said Cirrus, then cringed at herself. “I don’t really know what that expression means.”

“It means if you see me before I see you, then you’ll have time to avoid me,” I said.

“Well, that’s horrible,” said Cirrus. “I take it back. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Isn’t that what I said in the first place?” I said.

“Bye,” said Cirrus.

“Bye,” I said.

“Bye,” said Cirrus.

“Bye,” I said.

“Go!” said Cirrus with a sweet laugh. “You’re getting all wet!”

“Bye,” I said, and laughed too as I pedaled away.

* * *

—

Later.

I lay awake in bed. The whole world was asleep, lulled by the sweeping caress of vast curtains of rain spanning all the land.

I sat up. In dim light, my room looked like some sort of ice hotel. Blocks and blocks of Arctic White airtight plastic storage containers formed walls and canyons glinting everywhere in the dark.

I suddenly felt like a hoarder. I looked around.

I absolutely am a hoarder. This room is not normal.

How had I not seen it before?

No normal American teenager lived like this. My room was not normal, because I was not normal. Even Milo and Jamal called my room a warehouse workshop with a bed.

A normal American teenager would’ve kissed Cirrus tonight.

I swiveled out from under the sheets and automatically inserted my feet into my memory foam slippers, only to violently kick them away with twin thuds. Everything felt stupid—my room, my slippers, everything. I scrambled my hair. I felt a little like I was bursting at the seams with manic energy.

Was I frustrated with myself? Yes.

Was it because I knew that I could never, ever bring Cirrus into this psychotic memory palace of a place? Partly.

Mostly, it was because of this: I just realized that I had spent my whole life thinking I was better and smarter and more clever than all the other idiots on the planet, when really I was nothing more than afraid. Meanwhile, all the other idiots on the planet were busy running around having fun.

I realized the one word that best described my high school self:

SHAME

In the very next moment, I also realized:

Enough.

I crept across the hallway and into Gray’s room. I lay down on his perfectly made bed in the blue light. This was a normal room. This was the kind of room I wanted: a room I could bring Cirrus to, with all my