“Yes,” I say. “And, in fact, we are in the car now, and we will absolutely keep driving home if that’s what you need. But I have to say that the night is young, Becca, and we are, too.”
“Is this on speaker?”
“Just a second. Now it is.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Mark?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“You remember your SAT workshop starts tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“I want you to get the most out of it.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“Kate, how did you do on your SATs?”
“All right.”
“Where are you going for college?”
“UCLA.”
“Oh,” she says. “Wow. And what class are you in with Mark?”
“Calculus. I got into their art program. There was a portfolio review, so the SAT scores matter less. But they were fine; they were decent.”
“Maybe you could help Mark this summer.”
“Mom.”
“Vocabulary drills, maybe?”
“I’d love to,” I say.
“Mom,” Mark says.
Becca sighs.
“So what do you think?” I ask. “We don’t even have any plans. We’re just enjoying the energy. It’s extra celebratory this year. Any chance we could get an extension on the evening? Just a few hours?”
“Normally I would say no to this. It’s already so late and you snuck out, Mark.”
“You snuck out?” I shake my head at him in mock disappointment.
“Sorry,” he says into the phone. “You know. Desperate times? Or something?”
“Wait,” she says. “Where’s Ryan?”
“He, um…” Mark is searching for an answer and I don’t want him to get himself into even more trouble by covering for his sometimes-secret-boyfriend, other times heartbreaker-of-a-best-friend. But it’s his call, not mine.
“He’s asleep in the back,” he finally says. “It’s just Katie and me awake now.”
“Okay. You can have a little more time. But only if you stay together.”
“I’m the ride,” I remind her. “So he’s stuck with me.”
“Two hours from now at the latest. And that is firm.”
Mark’s jaw drops.
“Awesome. Thanks so much, Becca!”
“Okay, Kate. Come around the house soon so we can meet in person. Mark, have fun and be safe. I love you.”
We hang up, and Mark says, “Two hours from now? Are you my fairy godmother? Is this Jeep actually a pumpkin? I didn’t even know my mother was capable of establishing this kind of curfew. I wasn’t sure this hour was a time she knew existed. Like, maybe theoretically she knew, but I certainly didn’t think she would know from experience, like from actually looking at a clock and seeing that it was this late and she was still awake.”
“Don’t underestimate your mother.”
We both look out at the city. All of those lights, all of that darkness. I touch one of the rose’s petals. Violet is out there, somewhere.
“So,” Mark says. “I’m pretty sure you’re babysitting me.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t going to say anything about it, but that’s definitely the impression I got.”
“That’s kind of fucked up. Thanks, Mom. Thanks so much.”
“Well. Desperate measures, I guess.”
“So what now?” he asks, and right then his phone lights up.
“The photographer?”
He nods.
“He’s at a friend’s party in Russian Hill.” He turns to me and swallows, a grin spreading across his face. “He gave me the address.”
MONDAY
5
MARK
It takes a day for it to hit. I guess people are tired or something.
But when it hits, it hits.
By Monday morning, it feels like everyone in school has seen. Or at least the people who care about such things. Which includes Ryan.
The blog—the gossip one that everyone reads—calls me an It Boy. The life of the party.
This is open to interpretation. Some of the interpretations include:
I never realized how hot he is.
I heard he’s on drugs.
He must be dating that photographer.
He must be sleeping with that photographer. After all, they’re both gay.
You’d never guess that such a quiet guy parties so hard.
It’s too bad he isn’t straight—I’d date THAT in a second.
Even I can acknowledge that the photo’s amazing. I can say this objectively because I can’t really believe it’s me.
Everybody wants to know the details about what happened or what didn’t happen to It Boy and Rising Art Star.
I don’t know if Ryan finds the link on his own or if someone forwards it to him early Monday morning, knowing we’re friends. I do know, however, exactly when Ryan first sees it, because a few seconds later I get a text from him:
WTF? I think there are some things you have to tell me.
As if he’s told me anything about his weekend. As if I heard from him at all on Sunday.
I’ll see you at school, I text back.
But at school it’s not Ryan I’m looking for—it’s Katie. It’s so strange to think that she’s been here the whole time, walking the same linoleum halls, without me ever really knowing her. I wonder if she’s a member of the GSA, or if there are invisible pockets of lesbians who meet in empty classrooms throughout the school, under the radar of gay boys who are too caught up in their own drama to notice. I myself have never been to a GSA meeting, partly because it wasn’t something I could do with Ryan and partly because I usually had practice at the same time.