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Don’t stop, Ben thinks, keeping his head ducked and his eyes on his phone. Don’t stop, don’t stop, keep walking, don’t—
“You go ahead,” Devi says, and Ben glances up in time to see her let go of Des’s hand. “I’ll catch up with you in a sec.”
“Sure,” Des says, nodding at Ben once.
Ben feels his nose twitch.
“So,” Devi says, skipping up to the counter and raising her eyebrows at him, anticipatory.
He gives her a hard grin back. “David. Here to pick up a coat?”
“I didn’t check one.” She says it like she’s expecting him to have kept tabs on her. Like, out of everyone, she’s the person he’d remember collecting a coat from specifically.
If he weren’t so fucking pathetic, he’d be justified in his indignantion.
“Then move along, please,” he says, shooing her away. “You’ll hold up the line.”
She raises pointed eyebrows at the lack of coats hung up behind him.
“Orchestra grandparents are very rigid people, okay?” he says with all the dignity he can muster. “You do not want to get on their bad side. They’re only so long for this world, you know, and they hate to spend that dwindling time waiting in line for their coats.”
“Oh, my god.”
“Besides, isn’t your precious boyfriend waiting?” It comes out like a challenge, which isn’t any fairer than her assuming ownership of his mental space.
“Aww, so you did catch sight of Des’s dick.”
Ben frowns. “That is the worst way you could have said that, yeah. Thanks.”
She grins, smug. “You’re welcome.”
The thing about knowing someone your whole life is that you only notice the big changes. Small, everyday shifts happen like breathing, too mundane to track, but the monumental stuff makes itself known like plastic surgery.
Devi’s never been happier, and the knowledge is as evident to Ben as fresh lip filler on his mom’s friends.
“I caught part of the concert,” he says, waking up his phone. Focusing intently on putting in his passcode. “You played well.”
“Obviously,” she says, and he hears a wisp of confusion in her voice.
Well, he’s not about to make it easy for Des by explaining. Instead, he says, “If you’re going to do any actual gloating, better get to it, David.”
She sighs. “It’s not as much fun if you’re just gonna take it.”
He looks at her in the way he’s always afraid to get caught doing—sharp study, cataloging each detail. A strand of her hair has threaded itself through one of her hoop earrings and there’s a gnarly hangnail on her thumb and her crisp white orchestra shirt is starting to come untucked from her pants.
She studies him right back, consternated furrow between her eyebrows.
“Guess I’ll see you on Monday, then,” he says, voice purposefully flat and dismissive.
“Okay…” She takes a step back from the counter. “Text me if you start on the Physics study guide.”
He nods, keeping his attention on his phone until he’s sure she’s walked away.
###
“Did you have a nice weekend?” Devi asks him while they’re at their lockers Monday morning.
“It was fine,” he replies blandly. He’d spent way more time on the latest still-life drawing than any of the assignments from his other classes, but admitting that to Devi feels like betrayal…of what, he’s not sure. “How about you?”
“Same,” she says. “Got ahead in Frankenstein.”
“You haven’t finished Frankenstein yet?” he asks. “It’s like two hundred and fifty pages.”
“Okay,” she says, banging her locker closed. “Unlike you, I actually have a life, though.”
“Right,” he says, and pauses, not sure if he’s actually going to invite the topic. Then, “So, I take it you saw Des?”
“Well, no. We decided we both needed a study weekend with finals coming up.”
Ben drops his Econ textbook into his locker with a thunk. “How mature.”
“It was very mature of us, wasn’t it?”
He glances over at her. She’s wearing this proud smile that makes his stomach turn.
“I already said it was.” He slams his locker. “If you’re going to go fishing for compliments, at least try for something original.”
“Man, who pissed on your omelet this morning?”
“It’s called having standards, David.” He cuts his eyes over to her. “You should try it sometime.”
“Please,” she says, knocking her shoulder into his as they fall into step together. “With the one obvious exception, I’ve always dated out of my league. I’m the queen of having standards.”
“Mm, Paxton was a bit of a low-point for you, huh?”
She snorts. “Clearly who I meant, yeah.”
He flicks at the back of her earring, making it jangle.
“Jerk,” Devi says, a shiver working up her spine.
Ben swallows down a growl at the unfairness of it all.
If he ever sees Des again… Well, Ben’s not sure what he’ll do. It’ll probably involve thorough dressing down, though.
The guy doesn’t know what he’s giving up without a second thought.
###
In his defense, Ben doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on the girls’ conversation. They don’t seem to notice him sitting at the table behind theirs, though, and he’s not about to pack up his elaborate spread of books, notes, and flashcards to avoid hearing them.
“…isn’t usually like this. I mean, it’s almost been worse than trying to text with Paxton,” Devi is saying as she pulls out a chair to slide into. “And he comes over most Tuesday nights with his mom, but they had some mysterious errand last night. Do you think that’s weird?”
“I think you might be linking two totally random and unconnected events,” Fabiola says.
Ben glances up from under his eyelashes to see Devi nodding eagerly. It’s what she’d wanted to hear.
“Right,” Aneesa says. “Like, you just got clearance from your mom to date. Do you think you’re looking for a conflict that’s not there?”
“Sounds like something I’d do,” Devi says reasonably.
“Um, on the other hand,” Eleanor says, “a lady’s intuition never lies. I say listen to your gut.”
“Ugh!” Devi face-plants into the table. “But right now, my gut has a stomachache.”
Ben channels his urge to interject inward, leg jiggling violently and jaw clenching tight.
“Let’s send him a text,” Eleanor suggests. “Test the theory that something’s changed.”
Devi sits up again. “Like what?”
“What do you guys usually text about during school?” Aneesa asks.
“Whatever stereotypical Indian shit our moms have been on about. Things that happened in our classes. How much we’d rather be kissing. Y’know. Usual stuff.”
“Easy peasy,” Eleanor says. “Tell him the only thing that got you through calculus today was thinking about his luscious lips.”
Ben accidentally writes kissing on the front of a flashcard instead of formula for calculating kinetic energy. He crushes it into a ball and tosses it aside.
“I will not be wording it like that,” Devi says, “but yeah. Yeah, that could work.” She takes up her phone.
“Hey,” Aneesa says, “speaking of theories, I finally got around to watching that TED Talk you sent me, and I almost understand String Theory now.”
“Ooh,” Fabiola says, “one of my favorite theories! Right up there with Perturbation Theory.”
“Okay,” Devi says, “how does this sound: Got the memory of when we were last alone in your room on repeat, no time for differentials.”
“Spicy,” Eleanor says approvingly.
“Way better than what El suggested,” Fabiola says wryly as Aneesa nods in agreement.
Eleanor pouts. “Trent enjoys my alliteration, at least.”
Devi drops her phone with a clatter. “Sent!”
Fab leans over it. “Look! He’s already typing back.”
Realizing that he’s openly staring, Ben ducks his head back to his flashcards. He doesn’t finish his card for centripetal acceleration, though, waiting…
“You and I are to linear transformations as my mother walking in on us is to differentials,” Fabiola reads after a beat.
“I’ve never heard someone try to sext using an analogy before,” Aneesa says.
“I guess I was overreacting,” Devi says, uncertainty edging along her voice.
With a noisy exhale, Ben digs his earbuds out of his backpack and attempts to focus.
###
Devi’s paying more attention to her phone than the rubric for the extra credit assignment Mr. Brighton has passed out to the class.
“What a surprise,” Ben says. “Another group project.”
“So, skip it,” she says, thumb working slowly up her screen.
He narrows his eyes at her, though she doesn’t notice. “Complacency is not a good look for you, David.”
She snorts dismissively. “We both have an A-plus in this class.”
“Yeah, and the final is notoriously hard.”
Devi does glance at him, then down at the rubric pinned to the table under his hand before turning back to her phone. “What’s the project?”
He answers her question with one of his own, sounding more irritated than he has any right to be. “What could you possibly be doing that you can’t set aside for the minute it’d take for you to find out for yourself?”
“Shopping,” she says, her shoulders inching protectively up toward her ears.
“Seriously?”
“Shut up,” she says, “I’m just trying to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“I-I think Des and I are going to, y’know…soon. And I want to look nice when we do, so. Lingerie.”
Ben squeezes his eyes shut so hard, colors swirl in the darkness behind his lids. Voice flat, he says, “You’re shopping for lingerie in class.”
“Like I’m going to do it at home,” she says, scoffing, “where my mom or grandma could look over my shoulder at any second and see it.”
“Sure,” he says. “Right.”
She nods and goes back to scrolling.
Ben’s imagination presents him with a scene of Devi peeling off a trenchcoat to reveal a glittery bra and form-hugging bodice. She’d look really good with a thigh garter, though for some reason picturing one for her comes with a sheathed knife.
He clears his throat.
“What makes you think you’re, uh… Why soon?”
Devi’s cheeks glow, and she peeks over at him. “Things are really good right now. And we both want to. Why not soon?”
It’s on the tip of his tongue, the reason.
She looks fully up from her phone, expression guarded but unmistakably vulnerable. He blinks, and the Devi in his imagination dons the same face. Blinks again, back to reality, where the unfairness of his position once again catches him in the gut.
“Dunno, David. Just be careful. Guy like Des probably lasts all of ten seconds, so you’ll want to make sure you don’t blink. Might miss the whole thing.”
After a moment of surprise, Devi presses her lips thin, disapproving. “You’re such a perv, Gross.”
He shrugs, agitated discontent.
She doesn’t know the half of it.
###
The guilt keeps Ben restless.
All he can think to himself, over and over, is that he hasn’t done anything wrong. Des is the asshole here, too chicken to tell Devi he’s not allowed to see her anymore, and Des’s mom, too, unable to see what a huge heart Devi has and what a gift it is that she’s holding it out to her son for the taking.
Yet Ben’s gut is insistently, uncompromisingly tight.
It’s watching Devi convince herself nothing is wrong when she knows better that’s really getting to him. It’s standing idly by when he knows better.
The guilt twists even tighter when he thinks about saying something to her, though.
He wants them to break up too much, and telling Devi can’t be an act of altruism if he gets what he wants out of it. If part of him was happy to hear Des’s mom come down so firmly against the relationship.
God, he’s pathetic.
And he can’t let his feelings keep him from doing what’s right. She deserves better than that.
Her relationship is veering off track, and Ben’s apparently the only one who cares enough about her to look directly at the wreck, to offer her the hand out of it, even though she’ll resent him for it.
She’s going to be embarrassed—they both are—but he has to say something. Doesn’t he?
The guilt compresses in his stomach in time with him rolling over.
###
Seeing Devi, knowing what he’s going to do, makes Ben’s chest seize and his hands shake.
“Morning,” she says when he approaches, feet dragging the whole way.
“Hey,” he responds, voice nearly cracking.
“I did a bit of brainstorming for the Physics project,” she says. “I emailed you the notes.”
“Oh, I didn’t see anything…” He shifts some books from his bag into his locker, then grabs his sketchbook and European History textbook.
“I just sent it this morning,” she says, closing her own locker and then hiking her backpack up on her shoulder.
When he realizes she’s waiting for him, Ben’s heart takes a dive for his stomach.
He’s going to tell her.
He needs to get his shit together, but he’s going to tell her.
“I’ll, uh, check those out.” He presses his locker shut. “Thanks.”
She nods, apparently not noticing anything amiss. All her attention is on her phone as they fall into step.
“Everything okay?” he asks, cowardly indirect.
“Huh? No, yeah, I just… No, everything’s good.”
No, it’s not.
Not a very elegant opening. He can do better.
###
When he finds her still frowning at her phone mid-morning, he realizes there’s never going to be a good way to broach the subject. She deserves some clarity, though. Isn’t that what he decided?
He steels himself.
“Hey, David, do you have a minute?”
###
It goes even worse than he’d expected.
###
Until it doesn’t.
###
The ‘free boink’ coupon is maybe a bit much, though.
###
Until it isn’t.