“I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve never seen the same you twice. Nothing about you is real.”
His words stop my heart.
Max sees he’s taken it too far. He jerks forward as if a spell has broken. “I didn’t mean that.You know I love the crazy outfits.”
“You always say what you mean,” I whisper.
He rubs his temples for a long moment. “I’m sorry. Come here.” He wraps his arms around me. I hug him tightly, but it feels as if he’s vanishing. I want to tell him that I’m sorry, too, but I’m scared to tell him the truth. I don’t want to lose him.
When two people are in love, it’s supposed to work. It has to work. No matter how difficult the circumstances are. I think about the sweet songs he’s written, the ones he plays in his apartment, the ones for my ears only. I think about our future, when I’m no longer tied to my parents. Costumes by day, rock clubs by night. We’ll both be a success, and it’ll be because of each other.
Our love should make us a success.
Max kisses my neck. My chin. My lips. His kisses are hungry and possessive. Max is the one. We love each other, so he has to be the one.
He tears himself away. “This is the real me. Is this the real you?”
I’m dizzy. “This is me.”
But it tastes like fear on my lips. It tastes like another lie.
Chapter twenty-two
I’m discussing Max with the moon, but it’s supremely unsatisfying. Her beams are casting an eerie luminescence on Cricket’s window. “Max doesn’t like it when I dress down, but he throws my usual appearance into my face when we fight. I’m never what he needs me to be.”
The moon darkens by cloud cover.
“Okay, I’ve lied to him. But you saw how jealous he gets. It makes me feel like I have to. And I shouldn’t have to defend my right to be friends with another guy.”
I wait. The sky remains dark.
“Fine. The you-know-who situation is weird. Maybe . . . Max and Calliope aren’t so far off. But if I’m never given Max’s trust to begin with, how can he expect me to trust him in return? Do you see what I mean? Do you see how confusing it is?” I close my eyes. “Please, tell me. What do I do?”
The light behind my lids softly brightens. I open my eyes. The clouds have moved, and Cricket’s window is illuminated by moonlight.
“You have a sick sense of humor,” I say.
Her beams don’t waver. And without knowing how it happens, I find myself removing a handful of bobby pins from my desk. I chuck them at his panes. Dink! Dink! Dink dink! Seven bobby pins later, Cricket opens his window.
“Trick-or-treat,” I say.
“Is something wrong?” He’s sleepy and disoriented. He’s also only wearing his boxer briefs, and his bracelets and rubber bands.
OHMYGOD. HE’S ONLY WEARING BOXER BRIEFS.
“No.”
Cricket rubs his eyes. “No?”
DON’T STARE AT HIS BODY. DO NOT STARE AT HIS BODY.
“Did you go anywhere fun tonight? I stayed in and handed out candy. Nathan bought good stuff, name-brand chocolate, not the cheapo mix he usually gets, you know with the Tootsie Pops and Dots and those tiny Tootsie Rolls flavored like lime, I guess you got a lot of kids at your house, too, huh?”
He stares at me blankly. “Did you wake me up . . . to talk about candy?”
“It’s still so hot out, isn’t it?” I blurt. AND THEN I WANT TO DIE.
Because Cricket has turned into stone, having realized the practically na**d situation his body is in. Which I am not, not, not looking at. At all.