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Every hour was a study in the nature of time.
Ben never had enough, but recently the hours had been stretching out to infinity. He measured minutes in red ticks in agenda boxes, in sent emails, in revised applications. But when he considered the way that he was feeling the passing days, it was a starkly different story than the one that the hands of his watch were telling.
The hours blurred. Sometimes the watch itself blurred. In the periphery, there were bursts of midnight blue and neon rays like streaming sunlight. Even further back there were colors that he’d never seen before, ones he didn’t know existed.
Sometimes, he considered telling someone; he considered telling Devi. But she’d think he was going crazy, and Ben had to admit that she already thought that this hypothetical Devi was right.
But as he was sitting in the cafeteria working on his calculus homework, he heard something that sharpened his vision and dulled those unique hues. For the first time in what felt like months, everything was as clear as newly-cleaned glass.
I’m going to kiss someone at the coffeehouse tonight.
Ben’s eyes wandered to a flyer on the wall. It declared that the coffeehouse was at 6 PM, and that you needed to “attend the hot, hot, hottest event of the year.”
Coffee was hot. That was funny. Wasn’t it?
He looked down at his schedule and assessed his options. 6 PM was allotted for AP Latin homework. And, of course, the event would probably last a couple of hours, so that meant no Columbia essay revisions or debate case research...
But not going was far from an option. He pushed the agenda items into the 4-hour free window he had between 11 PM and 3 AM.
Sleep was for the weak, anyway.
--
Shit. Ben was weak. Even if he didn’t sleep.
Maybe it wasn’t his problem, he reasoned. Devi was standing across from him, talking to Eleanor in a way that Ben’s mind was filtering so heavily that she sounded like the teacher from Charlie Brown.
But her outfit was nothing short of the most beautiful thing she’d ever worn. Ben felt like shedding tears in the face of such beauty. He was pretty sure that the vibrant red of her shirt wasn’t just deep because of the nonexistent colors he was growing to love. It was the stuff of poetry, and her pitch-black shirt looked perfect with its floral patterns.
It was nothing short of poetry.
But then she turned and walked away, and he was left to stare. She walked up to another nearby table, dipping over the guys sitting there with her hair spinning through her fingers, and…
Pathetic. Pretty. Poetry, but sad. Sad sad sad.
Ben wondered whether or not he was slouching in his chair.
Just in case, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Belatedly, he realized that would not solve his slouching problem. But he had to speak now or forever hold his piece, so…
“Good God, David. That was pathetic.”
The words came out meaner than he’d meant them to. Had his voice become more snappish lately? He had to make his intentions of friendly mocking clear. “Are you the charity we’re raising money for tonight?”
Devi looked mutinous as she stormed over to Ben. Dear God, that shirt really was nice.
Whatever was going on in that shirt was really nice.
“What the hell?” Her voice sounded angry, though calmer than his friendly tones. “You just cockblocked me.”
Funny. “You can’t cockblock someone without a-”
“Fine, you clam jammed me.”
That was new. Internally, Ben’s detached brain roared with laughter. Had Devi become funnier lately? Had everyone become more amusing? He had always enjoyed people-watching; it was, after all, the closest he had to human connection for years. He’d found people fascinating, but never funny. But now, all of the blurry kids surrounding him were peak entertainment. Maybe they had all changed.
He didn’t laugh out loud. That would take too much effort. Instead, he chose to question her. Banter. He was normal! “What are you doing? Aside from embarrassing yourself.”
“Well, if you must know, Eleanor says I need to kiss someone to make my sexual vibes less dusty.”
Eleanor says a lot of things, Ben almost said, remembering the winter dance. But no, he couldn’t bring that up, not without an interrogation from Devi in her perfect outfit. His stomach was bothering him too much for that.
Normal. “Mmm, yeah, I guess it has been a while for you, huh?”
“You’re one to talk. How many people have you kissed since Aneesa dumped your ass? Your dad doesn’t count.”
“Maybe I haven’t hooked up in a while, but by choice. Not by circumstance like you.”
“Mmm.” Devi nodded as though considering this. Ben was surprised to see that she existed in clear focus, like an artificially-sharpened image against a Gaussian blur background. “Well, I bet I kiss someone tonight and you don’t.”
“Mmm, Devi,” he said, putting on his best approximation of a smug voice. “Sweet, simple, stupid Devi. Your mouth is writing a check that your lips can’t cash. But these babies are the whole damn bank.” He pulled his hand from the sleepy warmth of his pocket and gestured to his mouth.
His teeth felt weird.
He couldn’t tell Devi about his dental woes, so instead, he stood up and walked away, still facing her. “You suck,” she called after him.
“Yeah, someone’s face!”
Ben probably imagined it – he’d been imagining a lot of things these days. But he’d thought he’d heard Devi mumble under her breath: yeah, that was good.
He loved that about her. She respected the game.
With that thought, Ben moved to an empty space in the hallway.
He checked his Patek.
5 minutes. He could afford a 5-minute nap.
He sat against a locker, ignoring a sharp pain in his side as he slumped unnaturally.
Ben closed his eyes.
And behind them, he saw the most vivid images that he’d seen in weeks. Devi’s lips, candy-red and coated in lipstick. He loved when that mouth argued with him. He loved the bets that those lips made, their laugh and their kiss –
Shit.
Ben put his palms against the locker behind him and pulled himself to his feet.
If his favorite lips were about to kiss someone else regardless, he had a bet to win.
--
Ben found Devi standing in the main coffeehouse room – his mind refused to provide a word to describe the space. It didn’t matter. Devi appraised the room, clearly looking for kissing prospects.
Oh, yeah, it was a theater event.
That would make this hard for her, he thought smugly.
Ben approached Devi, hoping that he was light on his feet. “Alright, David. You picked out your victim yet?”
“I’ve got my sights set on flannel and denim at table 3.”
Ben’s eyes followed her gaze.
Hahahahahaha.
“Mmm, Damian and Lucas? They’re together. As in boyfriends.” He shot Devi a smug look.
A spark of panic flashed in her eyes before she contained it. She was calm. She was regulated. Was Ben the unhinged one, now?
Of course not.
“What about the third one?” Devi asked. “He seems kind of straight.”
“He’s wearing a feather boa.” Wow, that blue is so bright. '80's diner lights' bright. Riverdale. That's not the 80s. Jughead Jones.
“I did not see that.” Devi's voice pulled him out of his nonsensical string of thoughts.
“Devi, let me save you some time.” Ben heard his voice, separate from his mind, as he offered her sage advice. “Most guys at drama club events are either dragged here by their girlfriends or are looking for boyfriends. The only exception I see is Alejandro over there.” He gestured to the guitar player who looked like he hadn’t taken a shower in days. Ben counted the days since he had last taken a shower. Who cared? He looked better. And he wasn’t sniffing himself and flipping his shirt around, so he was already winning. Ben’s life was great; he was doing awesome. His stomach hurt, but that was no big deal. He’d had a little rest against the lockers, so he was ready to lock lips. “If you want to call it quits, we can save you further embarrassment and just sat that I won.”
Devi raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t win.” Her voice sounded indignant and very, very loud. “You’re doing just as badly as I am.”
Touché.
“That’s because I haven’t even tried yet. Drama club may not have a lot of options for you, but I am swimming in possibilities. No one’s hornier than a theater girl.” He gestured to a group of girls that were sitting on their phones rather than performing. “Look at them. The whole table’s wearing corsets.”
Unbidden, Ben’s mind showed him an image of what Devi might look like in a corset as red as her shirt.
What the fuck?
He continued. “All I have to do to attract them is just pull up my hoodie and look tortured.”
Perhaps his recent British-lit studies of Wuthering Heights were about to pay off. His hands were steady as he flipped the hood up onto his hair, and Devi gave him a strange look as he forced his expression into something brooding. A tortured look was easier than it should have been. Maybe he was hungry; he should have brought a meat stick.
“Alright,” Devi said. “Give my gender a little credit…”
“Ben, right?” A voice said beside Ben as he stared ahead, hoping that he looked serious despite intrusive thoughts of meat. “You seem like you’re really going through something. If you want to talk, my friends and I are just over there practicing our British accents.”
Ben wanted to protest that he wasn’t going through anything – in fact, he was doing better than he ever had before! His Irish Potato Famine diorama was coming along nicely, and his Mandarin tutor had told him she was the best student he’d ever had. He felt his face contort into a mask of surprise.
He turned to Devi, who scoffed. “Fine, you win,” she sounded impressed. Good. “Go on over there and smooch away.”
Her moving lips were defined against her dark skin. And her smooth face was framed by those colors, the ones that didn’t really exist. “Nah, I’m… I’m gonna wait,” he stammered, thinking about kissing not just anyone but instead her. “You know, weigh my options. You always throw out the first pancake.”
God, his roiling stomach would kill for a first pancake.
“You are so cocky,” Devi said, and Ben hoped that this was an affectionate statement. He would usually be sure that it was, but his mind suddenly had decided that maybe she was angry. Was he just confused? What was happening to him? “This sucks,” Devi continued before Ben had time to dwell on this. “Tonight was supposed to be my reintroduction into sexy society. But how am I supposed to break my dry spell if I can’t find anyone to-”
Suddenly, Ben heard the sounds of a guitar. Too loud in his cotton-ball ears, and muffled behind his exhausted haze.
He gaped.
But Devi seemed to identify it loudly and clearly as she turned to watch Alejandro strumming away at some Spanish song. Her perfect red lips twisted into a smile – his favorite look on his favorite face. But her words pulled him back to reality. “I know who I’m gonna kiss.”
With that, Devi spun away from him and walked away more quickly than he’d ever thought he’d seen another human move.
The moments that he watched her back seemed to span an eternity.
Dejected, he blinked away, forcing himself to look in the other direction. A thought rose in his mind, one that he had found himself fighting away a lot lately.
Why does no one ever want me?
But, of course, that was unfair. Ben had goaded Devi this far; he had no one to blame but himself. So, with shaky-feeling legs and an iron stomach, Ben walked over to the girl that had approached him before. A crucifix gleamed at her throat.
It was bright.
Maybe Ben was turning into a vampire from his long nighttime hours.
“Hey,” he asked. “Want to take a walk with me?”
The girl’s expression didn’t change. “I am indeed most charmed, Mr. Gross,” she said in an accent that Ben didn’t recognize.
Wait. We’re practicing our British accents, she had said before.
That was the worst British accent he had ever heard, and he’d once seen his dad imitate his friend Harry Styles.
Ben flashed her a fake smile as he let corset-girl take his hand and lead him away, back to the hallway where he had taken his nap. “So,” she asked, her fake accent still pronounced. “What do you want to… do?”
Ben felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in his chest. She said do, as in… do.
“I don’t know,” Ben said, wondering whether this was a mistake. “Maybe you can start by using a normal voice?”
“But I’m getting in character,” she told him, her accent growing even worse. “But maybe we could… not talk.”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Ben agreed. The words were barely out of his mouth when she felt a hand pull his head down to her face. He forgot to close his wide eyes as her kiss went deeper, and when he finally did, his mind erased her.
Corset-girl’s kiss was nothing like Devi’s – it was all sharp edges and crushed lips, none of the awkward fumbling that he relived every night when he finally closed his drooping eyes and let a fitful sleep claim his fraying consciousness. But when he wrapped his brain in the blanket that it had been building for weeks, he could pretend.
He could taste Devi’s strawberry toothpaste (God, he missed strawberries, they grew in such sprawling fields.) He could imagine her warm hands, gentle on the nape of his neck, and ignore the feeling of pressure as this rando pressed her clammy palm uncomfortably against the base of his skull. He missed her, and he made that loss an illusion of her laugh and her dollar-store lipstick leaving traces on his own mouth…
Ow.
That was not something Devi would do.
“Did you just bite my tongue?” Ben’s voice sounded loud even to him, but NO.
His teeth already felt weird; the last thing he needed was a distractingly-sore tongue when he started a fuzzy-sounding, burning-red audiobook of King Lear tonight.
“Yeah, I’m a little bit wicked,” she replied in what Ben was pretty sure was meant to be a sexy tone. “Are you scared?”
“I can safely say I am!” He needed to get away from her. How could he even have pretended she was Devi?
Suddenly, Ben heard Eleanor’s voice ring out behind him. Eleanor, his hero. “Stella! You’re on next.”
Stella – how could a girl so insane have a name like a star?
She glanced at him, her eyes trailing up and down his body. He fought the urge to chew her out; he was not a museum exhibit. “My art calls,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you later and I can bite something else.”
What the fuck?
But he didn’t even have time to process this before a familiar figure replaced corset-girl’s. Aneesa.
All of the fight left Ben’s body. He just wanted to take a power nap against a locker again.
But he couldn’t.
A sinking pit of dread settled in Ben’s stomach, making the roiling pain that had been building up there even worse. But he forced lightness into his voice as he spoke. “For the record, I was not into any of that,” he said, trying to make eye contact with Aneesa’s blank face.
She glanced away. “No judgment here. You do you.”
Aneesa turned to leave. Ben couldn’t let her. She was a blur in the darkness, but she was a grayscale smudge of a girl that he needed to talk to. He waited for her to sharpen as Devi had. She didn’t. Instead, she began to walk in the other direction. “Wait, Aneesa,” Ben reached out, hoping that his gesture didn’t look too much like the stiff movement that he’d made for her arm as she broke up with him. He’d replayed that in his mind so many times. In technicolor and in sepia and in shapes that he couldn’t identify, he’d moved his stomach pains into his chest with that precise memory.
He had been wrong.
“Look, I know that we haven’t talked much in a while,” he continued, “and this is certainly a bizarre interaction to get us chatting. But… I owe you an apology.”
He felt sincere; his voice sounded sincere to his ears. But Aneesa’s gaze was cold as he continued. “Fabiola told me I was a real douchebag to you when we were together-”
“Fabiola said that to you?” Ben must have imagined the spark in Aneesa’s eyes as she repeated him.
Don’t cut me off.
Shut up, brain. She can cut me off if she wants.
“Yeah,” Ben replied. “Right after she made me barf. Don’t worry about it. Anyways… I’m really sorry.”
“I appreciate the apology,” Aneesa said, and Ben’s mind loudly noted that appreciation was different than acceptance. You fucked up, it told him. “It must have been hard to say with your tongue all bitten up. So, you and Stella pretty serious? Do I hear wedding bells?”
Why is she so blurry? “No, I don’t think so. Plus, I think she’s already in a committed relationship with the night.” Aneesa chuckled, and his mouth kept moving even as his mind told it not to. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nah, not really.”
Thank God.
“I mean, there might be someone.”
Oh.
“Really? Who?” Ben tried to keep the surprise from his voice.
“Just a friend.”
As if on cue, the sharp outline of Devi appeared in his peripheral vision. Her royal red shirt contrasted with the yellowing edges of his hazy gaze, a reminder of his obvious sanity. “Let me give you some advice,” he told Aneesa, since they were friends now. Bygones were bygones. Progress was good. His vision would sharpen eventually. “Do not fall for a friend. Even if it feels like a good idea at the time, you’re just setting yourself up to be miserable.”
Aneesa’s already-cloudy face moved back and forth between Ben and Devi, clearly connecting the dots. “Ben, you’re in no position to give me romantic advice about anything, okay?”
Wait, what?
We moved on.
No, you suck.
You’re unforgiveable.
“Little library card.”
But I thought…
“Okay, I was just trying to help.”
“You did,” Aneesa snapped, her voice a slap. “You showed me what not to do.”
As she walked away, Ben considered this. Perhaps he’d been wrong to approach her. Maybe he should have just let go quietly, detached from her as he was now feeling his body detach from his mind. Ben moved his fingers around each other as he remembered Aneesa, the way that she’d looked at him when she’d said that he’d always wished that she was someone else.
She had been right. The way that he was seeing Devi’s sharp, glistening edges as the sole shape in his bleary mind said it all.
--
“So,” Devi told him later. “You’re looking at someone who’s done some kissing this evening.”
“Hmm. Well, so are you.” His eyes were open. How were they open?
They have to be, to look at her.
“Oh,” Devi said. Ben thought he saw a spark of jealousy in her eyes, but he was obviously imagining it. A figment of his conscious unconsciousness, a manifestation of his wakeful sleep. “Was it drama girl?”
“Yup.”
Definitely your imagination, his brain assured him. It was the psychological equivalent of putting on the warm slipper socks he slid around the house in so as to not disturb his dad. At least, that’s how he thought of it. “Well, look at us,” Devi said, her voice piling onto that warmth. “Two people sucking faces and taking names.”
Her red shirt was so pretty.
She was so pretty.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said with a chuckle that was lighter than he’d felt in months.
“Alright. I should go.” Devi gestured to her car. “Goodnight, Ben.”
And as she turned and walked away, an image of an imaginary snapshot flashed into his mind. He and Devi kissing against a locker, her arms warm around him and her lips soft as the flowers on her blouse. He smiled to himself as she walked away, her hair bouncing. “Goodnight, Devi,” he said gently.
He opened the door of his car and settled into the driver’s seat, and in that moment he knew:
He would sleep soundly that night.
--
And, until his alarm went off at 5:30 AM, he did.