I walked into the classroom that Wednesday to find Trip already sitting at his desk, chewing on a thumbnail and bouncing his knees. He looked like a heroin addict and I told him as much.
“How the hell can you be so calm about this?” he asked.
I shrugged and answered, “I’m not, really. I don’t want anyone to laugh at us for our terrible acting, but other than that, I know we’ll get a good grade. Mason’ll see how hard we-”
“Who cares about the grade, Layla? What if everyone thinks it sucks? What if we put ourselves out there and it turns out to be absolute shit? What if-”
“Trip! Chill. It’s not going to suck. You made sure of that. I would have been happy enough just to turn in something passable. You’re the one that treated it like Citizen Kane for godsakes. It’s gonna be great, you’ll see.”
He took a deep breath, gave me a high five and said, “Okay, okay. You’re right. Where the hell is Freeland with the damned TV?”
Soon enough, Roger showed up with the Audio-visual cart and I popped the tape into the VCR.
...And that’s how only a handful of people know that Trip’s first film was actually an amateur adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, opening to mixed reviews in the fall of 1990 during Mrs. Mason’s fifth period English Lit class at St. Nicetius Parochial High School in Norman, New Jersey.
Chapter 14
REVERSAL OF FORTUNE
Thanksgiving was at my Aunt Eleanor’s, as usual. I always had a good time with my cousins, even though all four of them were way older (like, in their twenties) and all of them were boys. Lisa always had the worst crush on my cousin Sean, but then again, so did a lot of girls. My aunt must have had the patience of a saint, dealing with the constant stream of girls coming and going through her sons’ lives.
Aunt Eleanor was my mother’s sister, but the two of them were complete opposites in practically every way; from their hair color to their personalities to their commitment to their family.
Needless to say, I thought the world of Aunt Eleanor.
I always thought it was pretty spectacular that my father had been able to maintain a relationship with her after my mother left. I can’t imagine it was easy for either of them to have to face one another; their one, big, shared grief hanging over them like a cloud. It’s not like we all got together every day or anything, but we’d always try to celebrate the big holidays in one way or another, and we’d manage to see each other a few additional, random times throughout the year.
After dinner, I sacked out on the couch with my cousin Jack, the two of us groaning about how much we’d overeaten. I thanked God that I didn’t have to go to work that night, grateful that the store had been closed for the holiday.
The next night, however, was my Friday shift with Trip.
We were almost through with our night, breaking down boxes in the freezing storeroom, when he pulled out a miniature bottle of champagne from his jacket pocket. He’d swiped it from his parents’ liquor cabinet, assuming they wouldn’t miss the party favor from “Bebe and Eric’s Wedding Extravaganza”, the gold and white label informing us of the bottle’s origins.
I grabbed a couple Dixie cups from the sink in the breakroom, we did a quick perimeter check for Martin, and Trip unscrewed the bottle.
I laughed, “You know champagne is good when there’s a screwtop.”
He poured some into my cup and said, “Only the best for you, Miss Warren.”
He filled his cup, clinked it against mine and I asked, “What’s the occasion?”
He answered, “I just figured we should toast the success of our award-winning film.”
“Yeah, Trip? We haven’t won any awards.”
“Yet.”
I laughed as he downed his drink in one shot, grimacing and staring at his cup as if it had offended him. I was no connoisseur, but I didn’t think it tasted that great either.
“Oof, that’s bad.” He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the awful aftertaste. Then he poured another cup.
“And,” he started in, and I didn’t like the tone in his voice, “I also wanted to give myself a proper sendoff.”
Oh, God! Was he moving again already?
“What do you mean? Where are you going?” I asked, trying to sound merely curious instead of completely devastated.
He tried to hold back a grin and look properly humble. “Well, I made the team.”
I knew he was referring to the travelling hockey team that he’d tried out for weeks before. He didn’t allow himself to talk about it too much, but I knew it was a really big deal for him.
“You made the team! That’s great! Congratulations. When did you find out?
“Wednesday night. The coach called and asked me if I was available. Can you believe that? Am I available, like I’m Wayne Gretzky or something and might not be able to fit his team into my busy schedule.”
“Wow. That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, yeah it is. I’m pretty psyched. Although...” and his expression turned shamefaced as he tried to break the next news to me gently, “Tonight’s my last night working here. I already talked to Martin.”
I tried not to deflate too visibly, but damn! He was quitting! Work was going to suck without him there. I realized that things were drastically changing between us; no more Tuesday filming, no more Mondays and Fridays at Totally Videos. “Well, that sucks,” I finally stated, before throwing back the rest of my drink.
Every last bit of my designated Trip Time was slipping away. All that was left was the last Saturday football game, because the very next day was homecoming.
Chapter 15
CROSSING THE LINE
I’d started to notice Lisa’s increasing frustration with me over the previous weeks, but it wasn’t until the day of the homecoming game that I perceived actual disappointment on her face.
Trip had shuttled Lisa, Pickford and me to the field that day. It was a particularly grey and drizzly afternoon, even for the end of November. As we started our walk toward the bleachers, my sneakers kept getting sucked into the mud. Rather than let me try to make the journey by tiptoe, Trip offered a passage by way of piggyback. He was doing an exaggerated slip all over the mud puddles, pretending that he was going to drop me any second. I was cracking up and threatening his life when I happened to catch the disapproving look Lisa shot my way.
I knew something was about to go down as she was getting dropped off afterwards. Trip would normally save me for the last stop, but that day, Lisa asked me to get out at her house instead. I knew we’d been building up to some Big Conversation over the past few weeks, but I guessed she had finally decided it was going to happen right then.
We said goodbye to Trip and made our way into the house. She didn’t say a single word to me until we were locked safely away in the sanctuary of her room. “Okay, Layla. This has really got to stop.”
I was sitting on her bed Indian-style, picking at the chartreuse marabou pillow in my lap. “What has?”
She rolled her eyes at me for that. “This!” she shouted, sweeping her arms in a wide arc, “This whole, stupid thing with you and Trip! What the hell is going on with you two?”
Her abrupt words caught me off guard. “I don’t know,” I stammered, while still trying to maintain an air of smugness. “Why don’t you tell me?”
I knew Lisa well enough to expect a full-on assault for that, but rather than the verbal tirade I was anticipating, she said, “I know I’ve been spending a lot of time with Pickford. But he’s my boyfriend. What’s going on between you and Trip... is just... well, it’s disturbing.”
That made me puff up a little in defense. “What’s so disturbing about it? We’re friends. We hang out.” And then, just to throw a little salt in the wounds, I added, “You know, kind of like how we used to.”
She bypassed opening that can of worms for the time being and stuck to her original argument. “Oh, please. Friends my arse. It’s so obvious you’re in love with him. Everyone knows it. Just admit it. And seriously, what’s the point?”
I didn’t appreciate being backed into a corner, but it’s not as though Lisa had the situation figured out completely wrong. It was just that it was a little embarrassing to find out that people other than my best friend were aware of how I felt. Shit. Did Trip know?
“It’s not like that, alright? Like, okay, yeah, it would be great if he felt the same way. But it’s more than that. I really, truly enjoy hanging out with him. We like each other. Why does it have to mean something?”
She joined me on the bed, sitting opposite me and mirroring my pose. “It doesn’t have to mean something when two people are really and truly just platonic friends. What doesn’t work is when one of you has a big, fat crush on the other.”
What did she know? “Big wow. You had a crush on my cousin Sean for like, ever. Where’d that go? Nowhere, that’s where.”
“Sean Tanner is like twenty-something-years-old and every girl within the tri-state area has had a crush on him at some point in her life! But I’m not so delusional that I’d stop living and pine away for some guy who barely knows my name. Crushing on Sean didn’t stop me from dating other guys in the meantime.”