Toby doesn’t ask. I don’t complain.
“Do you want me to take you home?” I offer at the end of the day, hoping my voice doesn’t sound too pitiful. “Or wanna come to my place and hang out? I’ve still got the armor, by the way.”
Toby doesn’t look at my eyes as he performs a rapid tap dance of thought. “Nah, I think … I think I should go home and take care of some backed-up homework. Study a bit, maybe. For that … test. I think there’s a test. Can I take a rain check?”
A rain check? He’s never taken a “rain check” for anything. That isn’t even a phrase he uses, ever. That’s not his thing. Where did that come from?
Still, I’m exercising patience here. I’m not going to be the bad guy he saw on Halloween, regardless of whatever dark anti-hero he dressed me up as. I simply give him a gentle nod and, despite the heaviness in my chest, force out the words, “Alright, sweetie.”
Toby flinches, throws me an awkward, lopsided smile, then turns and heads off, backpack slung over his shoulder.
And as I stare after him, I experience one thought: Sweetie?? Did I just call Toby Sweetie?? When have I ever called Toby that term of endearment? Who in the hell am I??
It doesn’t matter. More days pass just like this one. Toby and his awkwardness. Me and my refusal to get worked up. Hoyt, Julio, and Benji acting like their shit doesn’t stink.
When Friday hits, and I’ve spent yet another lunch period eating at a table by myself, giving Toby the freedom to sit with his theatre buddies, I’m ready to pull out my hair and scream.
Instead, I simply come up to Toby the moment the lunch bell rings. “Hey, you wanna hang out this weekend? Tonight, maybe?”
We’re at the exit to the cafeteria. Bodies are shuffling around us on their way to class. Toby shifts his weight awkwardly from leg to leg as he maneuvers his way through a thought. “Well …”
“Feels like it’s been forever.” Don’t sound too desperate. “I mean, it’s cool if you don’t want to.” Don’t give him an easy out. “But I feel like we need some you-and-me time.” Don’t assume you guys are still boyfriends. “Nothing too serious. Just a little hangout, that’s all.”
You are helpless, Vann.
Toby winces. “The problem is … I’ve been given extra hours at Biggie’s this weekend.”
“We could meet later tonight after your shift, then?”
“My shift might go super late.”
“Okay. What about tomorrow during the day? Saturday?”
“Sorry. I can’t. I work one of my long afternoon shifts again,” he explains, “and I’m gonna be, like, way exhausted afterwards, I just know it. I’ll probably crash the second I get home.”
I don’t know if I can last two more days without him, but … “Let’s do it on Sunday, then,” I suggest too quickly, the words tumbling out like a spilled bag of coins. “We can just meet up at the park. Or the arcade. Or wherever you want. I can even pick you up.”
Toby takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. This is difficult for him. I’m a second away from giving him yet another out when he suddenly gives in. “Alright. Let’s meet at the park on Sunday. The one outside the church, end of Apricot Street. 1:30.”
“1:30 in the afternoon, Sunday, park, got it, I’ll be there.”
Toby breaks a smile, and for half a second, he looks totally normal. Then just as fast, he turns strange again, says, “See ya,” and heads off. A soft wind picks up my hair and stirs all the trees around us, and the farther away Toby gets from me, the deeper the crack in my heart splits.
I never realized how badly I need Toby in life until now.
That’s the thought that carries me home. When I step in the house and kick off my shoes, my mom is unusually attentive, finding me at once and asking if I want her to fix me something to eat. At first I think she’s joking, until she insists she’s been trying her hand at cooking more seriously lately. “Oh, it’s really more of a silly hobby. I just saw some videos on YouTube and thought, hey, can’t be that hard, huh?” She forces out a laugh. “Anyway. Did you talk to a teacher yet about starting up a club?”
I mentioned it offhandedly to my mom earlier this week, with the same sad lack of charisma I had in telling Toby. “Not yet.”
She sighs. “Can’t you tell I’m trying to cheer you up? I’m not a total fool, Donovan.” She comes around the counter and sits at one of the stools, then crosses her legs. “You returned from that party at the Strongs in a terrible mood—without Toby—and I haven’t seen him here all week.”