Out of Nowhere(118)
When I tune back in, Rafe’s fully engaged in a conversation with Mischa about the intricacies of a galaxy manicure and DeShawn is weighing in about the relative scale of the cosmos. Mikal is pushing on the skin around my nails with something that looks terrifyingly like an instrument of dental torture, and has apparently selected a gray nail polish for me.
“Dude,” I say, “you’re gonna paint my nails the color of a dirty floor?”
“It’s avant-garde!” Mikal insists.
“Whatever. The gray trend is saturated and over,” Mischa says.
“No way!” Mikal insists, clutching the bottle to his chest.
“Um, never mind,” I say. “It’s cool. It’s… uh… oh, it’s like um, rims—tire rims. It’s cool.”
“Dirty rims,” Carlos mutters under his breath, but when I shoot him a look, he raises his hands in peace. “What should I do, Mikal?”
Mikal looks Carlos over. “Um, neon green?”
Carlos grins.
“Hi.”
I look to my right and Ricky’s standing a few feet away.
“Hey, Ricky. How are you?”
She looks at the floor and cocks her head.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Mikal.
I’m very careful not to bring up anything personal when Ricky’s working at the shop. Rafe was the one who first mentioned it, and it quickly became clear that he was right. That Ricky just wants to work on the cars when she’s at the shop. That she can only focus on that one task and that if I try to ask her about other things, she gets flustered and upset. As a result, though, this is the first time I’ve seen her outside of the shop since she started working there. I crouch down so Ricky’s taller than me.
“Hey,” I say. “You’re doing great at the shop. Really great. You liking it there okay?”
She nods, but she unwraps her arms slightly, bouncing gently on her toes.
“I’m gonna get ginger ale,” she says and walks over to the snack table, but I think I see the ghost of a smile.
The kids paint nails peacefully for a while, trading friendly barbs and compliments like always as their music pumps in the background.
“Holy…,” Rafe mutters, and his eyes are on his nails. Mischa has actually made them look like pictures I’ve seen of outer space. Black with swirls and clouds of white, stars that blaze yellow and blue, and smatterings of dusty particles. “That’s amazing,” he says to Mischa.
“Dude,” Mikal says, “there are, like, a thousand tutorials on YouTube. Get a meme.”
I smile at Rafe. I should’ve known that it wouldn’t matter if it was actual astronomy or nail polish technique. Rafe is captivated by anything that takes skill. I’m so distracted by how handsome he looks that I don’t notice my own nails until Mikal says, “All done!”
He’s changed the color somehow. My fingernails look like broken glass, with white shattered over the gray.
“What the…?”
“You like?” Mikal asks.
“Dude, that’s… kind of awesome. Looks like a broken windshield.”
“Good call on the crackle topcoat!” Mikal calls to Dorothy.
She salutes him, then says, “An announcement, then cake.”
“Ooh, there’s cake?” Mikal asks, and she just shoots him an offended look that says You would dare to doubt me?
Dorothy nods to DeShawn and everyone falls into a circle, their attention on him.
“I wanted you all to be the first to know,” DeShawn says, but his gaze is split between Rafe and Anders. “I got into MIT. I just found out.”
Rafe lets out a whoop and is across the gazebo in an instant. He grabs DeShawn and squeezes him in a hug so tight DeShawn’s feet come off the floor.
“Dude, dude, you’re gonna get your galaxies all over his shirt!” Carlos yells.
Rafe unhands DeShawn, but he’s grinning wide.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says to DeShawn. “So damn proud.”
DeShawn is nodding and looking at the ground, seemingly overcome. Anders is standing against the wall. He doesn’t look surprised, but he’s watching DeShawn intently and he has his arms wrapped around himself.
All the kids are whooping and patting DeShawn on the back, carefully keeping their freshly painted nails away from his white clothing, and Rafe looks like he’s close to tears. His eyes are wide and unfocused, and his hands are shaking at his sides, galaxies vibrating.
Finally, in all the jumping and yelling, Rafe’s eyes find mine and everything in him pulls at me.
I don’t care that we’re in public, don’t care we’re in front of twenty teenagers and that god knows what bubble-gummy dance music is blaring in the background. Rafe needs me, so I take a step toward him and keep my eyes on his.