The Van Pact

26: Stevie

This was it.

The test of all tests. The great experiment.

I was Ben Franklin with his kite; I was Louis Pasteur self-administering his vaccine. I tempted God and nature to prove me incorrect. To demonstrate that the O'Shaughnessy laws of inevitability were factually untrue. That good things could come to good people. That Jesse, my dream boy, could fall in love with me. That my recent happiness could last more than the few blissful weeks I've spent in that awful love-me-love-me-not limbo.

We had an away game. Mauch Chunk High, at the far west of the Valley. Valerie packed extra water battles in her book bag, so that I'd be "properly hydrated." I drank two of them on the bus ride over.

"Now, you gotta take the first opportunity you get," Val told me as we got off the bus in front of Mauch Chunk's red brick front steps, "because Monday's the last day to buy tickets. This is your only shot."

I muttered a bland response.

"You got this," Valerie rubbed down my shoulders. If she had a mouth guard to shove over my teeth, she would have. "You go get him, tiger."

The first opportunity presented itself after the game ended. We won. We played our victory march and then it was madness. Half the bandos stood around the bleachers celebrating and half the bandos wanted to get the heck out of there. I struggled to navigate around the cheering crowd, without being swept up by the rushing one. When I climbed down to the turf, I serendipitously found myself next to Jesse and Shane Hernandez, carrying their drums toward Mauch Chunk's front bus lane.

"Steve!" Jesse called, his voice scarcely louder than the chaos around us. "You look lost."

Boy, if he only knew.

"Hurry, hurry," he waved his free hand toward his chest, "we'll get separated."

I slung my trombone case over my shoulder, picked up my pace, and cut in front of an oncoming group of power-walking piccolo players.

***

By the time we reached Mauch Chunk's front yard, things had quieted enough so that we could speak in normal voices. Shane was complaining about his long distance girlfriend, Natalia, whom he met at the Lancaster Comic Con last April (I hate to admit that I doubted her existence until Jesse mentioned that he also had seen her in person). Then his phone miraculously rang (it was Natalia, upset that he hadn't responded to her recent texts), and he walked ahead of us, pleading to her for some basic understanding of how relationships work. Jesse and I were left alone.

"So," I felt faint. Not just from dread, but possibly dehydration (those snappy, tailored uniforms aren't very breathable. And the bearskins? HA). "Homecoming is next week."

I admired Jesse's glasses. He's got such cool glasses.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that, but I wasn't sure how," Jesse said. These words shook the very fiber of my being.

"You have?" I swear my vision blurred, and not just from the sweat drops on my eyelashes. OH JESSE, OF COURSE I WILL GO TO HOMECOMING WITH YOU. OUR CHILDREN WILL HAVE YOUR EYES, AT LEAST, EVEN IF THEY HAVE THE MISFORTUNE OF INHERITING MY HAIR TEXTURE.

"Yeah," he looked down at his feet. "I'm bad at reading signals, you know, like romantic ones, so I can't tell."

I LOVE YOU. DON'T WORRY YOUR SWEET LITTLE HEAD ABOUT SIGNALS.

His eyes met mine. I could have died.

"Do you think Valerie would go with me, if I asked?"

I blinked. What?

Jesse must have read the confusion on my face.

"To homecoming. If I asked her to homecoming," he repeated. "It's not my thing, but I get the feeling she likes stuff like that and, I don't know how else to get her attention." He cracked all the knuckles of his left hand. "So do you think she'd go?"

It was as if he had not only murdered me, but danced over my grave.

"No she wouldn't," I heard myself say. "But I would have."

I didn't even wait to gage Jesse's reaction. I turned on my heels and ran away.

***

I was right.

The O'Shaughnessy laws stand.

I stood in the bus channel with my trombone. I tried desperately not to tear up, but I couldn't help myself. I couldn't even control my thoughts. I was an idiot for believing Jesse might love me. God hated me. The world was a dark, dark place. My best friend was an asshole with a loose grasp on reality. There was no meaning to life. We were hurtling toward oblivion. Everything was awful. I wished I had an inoperable brain tumor. I wished I was terminal. I wished I was already dead.

And I really had to go to the bathroom. Stupid Valerie. I didn't need to be hydrated anyway. Why the hell would I have needed to be so hydrated, even if things had turned out the other way? What good would hydration ever have done? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

I was then as I'll always be. A worm.

***

A/N: This is not the end, so please don't get too mad. Also please don't hate me. I just had my wisdom teeth yanked out yesterday. I'm vulnerable. Thank you for reading, voting, and commenting! Next update ... in a few minutes, actually.