Page 30 of Poetry By Dead Men
"Noah asked me on a date," I blurt, unable to stop myself. Bobby's hand freezes over the paper, and he shifts in his seat.
"Noah?" he asks, resuming his song.
“My biology partner. I’ve told you about him," I say.
"Have you?" He flips his ball cap backward.
I debated bringing it up with Bobby—the fact that Noah suggested we go to dinner this weekend. But I tell Bobby everything, and he’s continued to make no moves toward being anything other than friends.
I pretend to be just as flippant. "Sure have." I turn the page.
“Is that what you want, then?” His voice is sharper than before, and he avoids my eyes.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, not understanding why he’s acting this way. I might be totally in love with him, but he doesn't seem to feel the same, so why should I wait around hoping for something that might never happen? He’s had hundreds of opportunities to ask me out. Hehasto know that. But he hasn’t.
My chest aches at the reminder.
“Nope,” Bobby writes a comma, the tip of his pen ripping into the paper.
“Hey.” I lean forward, snatching the pen from his hand. “What’s your problem?”
Bobby sighs, clearly exasperated, then looks up at me. “If what you want is to go on a date with Noah, then I think you should go on a date with Noah. In fact, bring him to my show tonight.”
"Really?" I’m baffled. Utterly astounded. And a little sick to my stomach. I thought maybe Bobby was unsure about dating me because I'm still in high school. I’m a few months away from nineteen and he just turned twenty, after all. Or… I don’t know, maybe he has some other reason he's not telling me, like he just wants to focus on his music. What Ididn’texpect was for him to suggest I go on my date right in front of him.
“That’s whatyouwant?” I ask.
"That’s not what I said." Bobby grabs his pen back, hovering the tip over the paper, but he can’t seem to figure out what words to write anymore.
"Then why are you acting like this? You haven't asked me out!" I snap.
There.
I said it.
My heart slams against my ribcage as Bobby freezes, and I wish I could take my words back. I don’t want to know what thoughts are causing Bobby’s eyebrows to pinch in and his jaw to clench as he slowly puts down his paper and pen. His expression is guarded, difficult to read, but his shoulders are rigid as he leans forward.
"Where are you going to college, Beth?" he says. His voice is soft, but the intensity in his eyes makes me feel exposed.
“I don’t know, yet. What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.
He doesn’t break eye contact, and despite how vulnerable it makes me feel, I do the same.
“Where do youwantto go?” he insists.
"That's not fair." Immediately, my guard is up, and I cross my arms as if I can protect myself from whatever he's getting at.
He sighs, placing a hand on my knee. This time, I don’t want his touch, but I don’t pull away. "That’s what I’m saying. You don't know what you want. This is therestof your life. You are so talented. Your words, they inspire me. Influence my own.”
“What does that have to do with me going out with Noah?”
“Why are you focusing on dating when you should be deciding what you want to do with your future? You have, what, two weeks before you lose your spot at NYU? Which is fine if that’s not where you want to go, but otherwise—”
"It's none of your business what I choose." The pitch of my voice rises.
“That's my entire point, Beth! It'syourlife.” He sighs, rubbing a hand behind his neck before meeting my eyes. "Look, I have to go. We can talk about this later. I’m going to be late." He collects his things in a rushand disappears through the doorway, leaving me burning with shame and embarrassment.
I know it's my life,I think as I pack up, desperate to get out of here. But it's not that easy. I want to be successful. I want to write. I want to go to NYU, but I don’t want to disappoint my parents, and I want to know I can support myself. I want to go on dates, and I want them to be with Bobby, but he doesn't ask.
