Tag Along Page 14

  “God, Roemi,” says Andrea. “Really?”

  “Justin doesn’t mind,” says Roemi. “Do you mind, Justin?”

  “Uh, no,” he says, blushing.

  Andrea turns to look at him. “Do you want to walk me home?” she says.

  “For sure,” he says.

  “We can give you guys a ride,” says Paul.

  “Thanks,” says Andrea. “But I think we’re cool.”

  “You’ve got that right,” says Roemi. “Cool as ice.”

  “It’s been quite a night,” says Andrea. “Thanks to you guys.”

  “Last day of school Monday,” says Paul. “You wanna walk with me, Andrea?”

  “Definitely,” she says. She looks at me. “We should hang out sometime,” she says.

  “It’s a plan,” I say.

  When they’re halfway down Gee-ma’s block, Andrea turns to wave at us. Then she reaches out and takes Justin’s hand, and they walk away into the night.

  “Roemi and I are about to drive Sean back to the city,” says Paul. “You in?”

  “Why not?” I say. In case my luck is about to run out, I leave my backpack in the front porch at Gee-ma’s house. When I get back to the car, Roemi and Sean are in the backseat together, so I grab shotgun.

  Nobody has much to say during the drive. Roemi and Sean are quiet in the backseat, and Paul seems a bit distracted. I’m content to stare out at the approaching lights of the city.

  When we get to Sean’s building, Roemi gets out to walk him to the front door.

  “So I broke up with Lannie,” says Paul once we’re alone in the car.

  “I kind of figured something like that must have happened,” I say. “Otherwise, why would you be here right now?”

  “Yeah,” he says, “why would I be here?”

  Then he’s leaning in toward me. I’m not sure if I’ve been expecting it or not, but what matters is that in the brief moment when he leans in to kiss me, a lot of shit goes through my head. What do I have in common with this guy? Nothing? Everything? The way people dress and the way their brains operate don’t always have a lot to do with each other. People are more than their exteriors.

  In the end, I decide not to overthink it. Seventeen is too young to know anything about the future. I know there’s probably no way in hell that Paul and I make any sense as a couple. I also know that the way I see myself, and the way I see other people, is capable of changing a lot, even over the course of just one night.

  How hard can it hurt to give people a chance once in a while?

  ROEMI

  Best. Prom. Ever.

  A few short hours ago, I was the sole occupant of self-pity city. Now look at me. Not only did I break into the school, own the dance floor and take down the king of the troglodytes, I also managed to make some new friends along the way.

  Best of all, I finally got the guy. Maybe he wasn’t the guy I started out trying to catch, but I think we can all agree that this is the best outcome. Just imagine if John had showed up in the first place. We probably would have had a good time, we might even have made a bit of a splash, but it wouldn’t have held a candle to what did happen. And I wouldn’t have met Sean.

  Driving back to the city, nobody says much. I keep sneaking peeks at Sean, wondering what he’s thinking. Was the kiss just a fluke? Did I catch him so off-guard that he didn’t have time to back away? Is tonight just a one-time thing, a favor for Candace?

  We pull up in front of his house, and I get out to walk with him to his front door. He turns and smiles at me. I want to reach out and grab him by the hand, but I can’t build up the nerve.

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” I say. I immediately want to smash myself in the head. Such short notice?

  “I had a really great time,” he says.

  “Seriously,” I say. “I don’t know if you understand how awesome it was to actually have a date tonight.”

  “I hope it was even more important to have the right date,” he says.

  “Of course,” I say, my heart pounding. “Are we ever going to see each other again?”

  “Are you kidding?” he asks, laughing. “It’s not like we live that far away from each other.”

  “No,” I say. “I mean, do you want to see me again?”

  He leans in and starts kissing me, soft but insistent.

  “What do you think?” he asks when he pulls away.

  “I’m at a loss for words,” I say. “This might be a first.”

  “That’s all right,” he says. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure out the right things to say.”

  We make out for a while, pressed against the side of his house.

  “I should go,” I say finally. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be waiting,” he says, winking at me before going inside.

  I collapse into the backseat of the car, and Paul and Candace turn around to look at me, laughing.

  “Looks like I was right about you guys hitting it off,” says Candace.

  “Candace,” I say, “you are officially my favorite person in the world right now.”

  “That’s great,” she says.

  I sit up and lean between the front seats, which is when I notice that Paul’s hand is on Candace’s leg.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask. They look at each other and burst out laughing again.

  “What do you think?” asks Paul.

  “Jesus,” I say. “Was there Spanish fly in our Starbucks? Are you guys…what are you guys…?”

  “Why so eager to define everything, Roemi?” asks Candace.

  “Yeah yeah,” I say. “I get it. But I want to be on record as saying that this is as weird as it gets. Weird in a good way, of course. You have my blessing, you crazy kids. Now can we go home? I’m exhausted.”

  After dropping Candace off, which involves a brief delay for some jock-on-goth action, Paul finally pulls the Audi into my driveway. We get out and he hands me the keys.

  “Tell your dad how awesome it was that he let me drive his car,” he says.

  “For sure,” I say. “I guarantee that if you’re willing to stop by for ice cream and car talk with him once in a while, he’ll let you take it out again. I get shotgun though.”

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t mind walking home?” I say. “I could wake Dad up to drive you.”

  “No, man,” he says. “It’s totally cool. A walk will be good right about now.”

  “Well, I guess this is it,” I say. “Prom night is officially over.”

  “Yup,” he says.

  “Thanks for driving us around all night.”

  “It was cool, man,” he says. “It was fun to hang out.”

  “Oddly enough,” I say.

  “Yeah, well.” He smiles.

  I reach out and he grabs my hand and gives it a solid shake, then pulls me in and gives me a one-armed hug and a slap on the back, the way you see football players do it. “Peace, man,” he says.

  “You got it,” I say.

  I watch as he walks away. At the bottom of my driveway he turns around.

  “Hey, Roemi,” he calls. “We should hang out again sometime. I’ll text you.”

  “You better,” I call back.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and starts to whistle as he disappears down the street.

  I let myself into the house and make it up to my room without waking up my parents. I stand in front of the mirror and take one last look at myself in the tuxedo before taking it off and hanging it up in my closet. I’m brushing my teeth when I hear my phone ding.

  It’s a text from Sean.

  Thinking about you, it says.

  What a coincidence, I write back.

  I climb into bed and lie there for a while, wide awake.

  In the end, I wasn’t part of the first gay couple to ever attend a GRHS prom (I’ll see you in hell, Allison Jackson), but in the long run, that doesn’t really matter. Life isn’t about being the first, or doi
ng the best, or having the most. It’s about shaking things up, taking some chances, getting to know new people.

  I have no idea what’s going to happen to any of us. Who does?

  But I do know this. Next time I need to take care of some business, I know some people who might be willing to tag along with me.

  And I’m pretty sure we’ll be ready to go off-script, if necessary.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my family and friends for their love and encouragement. Thanks to the gang at Orca for working so hard on all of my books. Special thanks to my editor, Sarah Harvey, for her friendship and great advice. Thank you so much to the wonderful Robin Stevenson for reading an early draft of the story and giving me some great feedback. Thanks to my old buddy, Graeme Hopkins, for helping me understand cars a little bit better. Thanks to the Apocalypsies for being such an incredible support network and mutual appreciation society. Finally, thank you to Andrew for being the very best in every way.

  Tom Ryan was born and raised in Inverness, on Cape Breton Island. Like most transplanted Cape Bretoners, he spends a lot of time wishing he was back on the right side of the causeway. He currently lives in Ottawa, Ontario, with his partner and dog. He can be found online at www.tomwrotethat.com.