The Book of Us Page 5

  They didn’t kiss in the halls or get too touchy-feely. That did not seem to be their style. They just appeared to talk a lot. They laughed, they did that thing where you stare at each other quite a bit, but they didn’t show off their attraction to each other, not at all. It was weird.22

  Their second date truly got people talking. They went to the library. The students who saw them there said that it looked like a real, honest-to-goodness date. At the library. Not a single kid, however, knew what they did afterward. They went to the gym, just the two of them. They were not supposed to be there. No one was. The room was dark, the balls were all on a cart, but Miranda and Noah sneaked in, turned on the lights, piled their books and homework in the stands, and played one-on-one again.

  This time he won ten to seven. It got a little nasty too. He was getting physical with her, shoving her around in order to try to shut her down. So, she elbowed him in the face. Not intentionally, or at least it didn’t look that way. It backed him off a little and she won the next three points. When he scored the last basket, the one that ended the game, they looked like they were mad at each other, but she took him into her arms in a few seconds and squeezed him like she never had before, in a sweaty hug, and kissed him longer too.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Then they heard a voice, a big, male one, booming at them from the other end of the gym.

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  “Oh no,” said Noah under his breath, “we’re in trouble.”

  It was Mr. Beatty, the senior boys’ basketball coach, but he wasn’t angry, not at all.

  “Mr. Greene?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” said Noah, gulping, and quickly stepping back from his playing partner.

  “Hey, Miranda,” he said.

  “Hey,” she replied, unconsciously fixing her short hair.

  “Get a load of this guy, eh,” said Beatty.

  “Sorry, sir, this was my idea, I —”

  “Where you been hiding?”

  “I wasn’t hiding, I —”

  “I mean, where have you been hiding all that talent? It would be a challenge for me these days to beat Miss Owens here one-on-one and I played second division college ball.”

  “Maybe in your prime you’d stand a chance,” said Miranda.

  Beatty smiled at her and turned back to Noah. “You know, Mr. Greene, we have a couple of ailing players right now. Why don’t you come out to practice tomorrow after school?”

  “Uh, no, I have things to —” he began, but could feel Miranda’s gaze on him. “Uh, sure,” he finally said.

  “Excellent,” said Beatty. “Now, if you two can be out of here in ten seconds, then one second after that I will have completely forgotten that you were ever in here without supervision.”

  * * *

  The third date had a lot to it.

  “How about another movie on Friday night at the bookstore?” asked Miranda when they met at his locker the next day.

  “Sure,” he smiled.

  “Would it be okay,” she said slowly, her eyes looking down and then flashing up at him to meet his as she caressed the sleeve of his warm checked shirt, “if it were a mob date?”

  “A what?”

  “If a whole bunch of us went. You could invite your friends and I could invite mine.”

  “In that case, there would be thousands; football stadiums couldn’t hold them.”

  She laughed a little, then laughed more, and put her head on his chest and hugged him. “Yes, veritable phalanxes of our followers and loved ones.”

  “Armies of our dearest associates.”

  “Yes, you with … let me see,” she scratched her chin. “Ah yes, Walker Jones and …”

  “Walker Jones.”

  “The most popular man in the school.”

  “And you with Rosie and Constance.”

  “… and Bruce.”

  That omission was a mistake and he quickly corrected it. He had hardly ever said a word to Bruce. “Of course.”

  She kissed him quickly and when she pulled back, she stared right into his eyes, their faces barely inches apart as she seemed to look into him again. Blue eyes like the sky on a perfect day, a few perfectly placed freckles, strawberry blond hair. He felt like he could still feel her face; still feel her skin on his from two inches away. He could smell her, too; she had that “Miranda” scent. For an instant, he was so happy that he felt he might faint. She seemed to sense that, all of it, and her eyes watered. There was some sort of promise in her reaction and it thrilled him beyond description.

  “Tonight,” she said. He turned and watched her glide away in her loose jeans. She looked back for an instant. “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” she mouthed and grinned, and he got every word.

  * * *

  When they met at the front door of the bookstore that night, he had Walk in tow, but she only had Rosie and Bruce.

  “Here they come,” said Noah as he and his buddy noticed the other three turning a corner a block away and advancing toward them. He had wanted to wear something a little tighter today, show off his body a bit, which he knew was at least of some interest to girls. He had noticed a few looks. Miranda seemed to notice too, though she never said anything. He was a good height for his age, lean but reasonably muscular, and he sometimes looked at himself in a mirror without his clothes on and imagined the effect it might have.23 He imagined it at least would not be negative. He had chosen his baggier jeans though and a loose black sweater. Something told him that Miranda would appreciate that. He was surprised though at what she was wearing. Her red top was a fairly thin blouse and her belly button showed when she turned or lifted her shoulders. He had never seen her in anything like that. She was smiling at him from way down the street, focused on him. It did not seem real. He looked around, as if to confirm that he was not on a movie set.

  Walk was wearing some sort of cologne.

  “What the hell is that?” Noah had asked him when he dropped by the Joneses’ house so they could walk to the movie.24

  “What do you mean?”

  “That smell.”

  “I don’t smell anything.”

  “Yeah, because you’re doused in it.”

  Walk seemed nervous. When Noah invited him and told him who was coming, he could actually see him swallow, the Adam’s apple moving up and down in his throat. Walk had texted about five times confirming the time they would meet and was still tense as they waited at the bookstore, standing on one foot then the other, fidgeting with his shirt and smoothing it out. When he noticed the other three approaching, he said, “That’s a relief.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No Constance Mark, thank God.”

  He seemed a little less nervous then. “What’s the deal with this movie?”

  “The deal?”

  “What’s it about? Who’s in it?”

  “Don’t know and don’t know.”

  “You mean you asked me to come to a movie with you and you know zero about it?”

  “Miranda said it was good. She has good taste. It’s an old one; she likes old ones. I think it’s a sort of horror flick, or at least really intense. It’ll be cool.”

  Walk glanced at the poster.

  “Rear Window,” he said aloud.

  Though Noah leaned toward Miranda as the others arrived, she didn’t kiss him. She took him by the hand and smiled. He wondered if he should say something about the blouse, but decided against it. The fact that she kept smiling at him seemed to indicate that was the right decision.

  “Hi, Walker,” said Rosie.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello,” she said to Noah, blushing a little.

  “I’m glad you could come too, Rosie,” he said and briefly put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel her shiver when he touched her.

  “Good evening, Mr. Walker Jones and Mr. Noah Greene. It is a wonderful evening to view a film.”

  “Hi Bruce,” said Noah, taking his hand as he offered it. Bruce shook hands with Walk too, who looked down while they did it.

  “Where’s Constance?” asked Noah.

  “Uh, we had a little disagreement about the film.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Uh, this movie was directed by Alfred Hitchcock.”

  “He was awful to women,” said Rosie quietly, “or at least that’s what some people who worked for him said.”25

  “I’ve read that,” said Noah. “He was almost abusive to them on set.”

  “You might be able to ditch the almost.”

  “Anyway,” said Miranda, “this movie was made way back in 1954, in Technicolor. I saw it about a year ago when Mom had it on and she let me watch too. I don’t really like horror stories, or overly intense ones, most of them are stupid, but I like psychological terror. I think the greatest horrors are in your own mind.”

  “Won’t bother me,” said Walk. “Bring it on.” He looked at the two girls as he said this, as if to gauge their reaction.

  “I get why Constance didn’t come,” said Miranda. “Totally. Especially because Hitchcock had power over the women who were his victims. I try to separate the art from the artist when I’m reading and watching movies, though. Sometimes it’s tough to do. There are some creepy artists out there. But a great book isn’t not important because some less-than-stellar guy wrote it. I’m just here to see Rear Window and I can tell you, it’s amazing.”

  Rosie was gazing up at her.

  “Picasso was an asshole,” said Noah.

  Rosie laughed. Miranda smiled. Walk looked blank.
>
  “Pablo Picasso, artist, master of cubism, genius,” said Bruce. “Born 1881 Málaga, Spain, died 1973, Mougins, France. Creator of Guernica, Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, and Weeping Woman. They are just some of his many masterpieces.”

  Miranda put her had gently on his shoulder to stop him from going on.

  She and Noah were virtually leaning into each other while she bought their tickets. “Don’t you need a warmer coat tonight?” she said a moment later, as they entered the theater.

  “This one is fine, an old favorite. It’s much warmer than it seems.”

  * * *

  They lined up this way in the second-last row: Walk, then Noah, Miranda, Rosie, and Bruce. Miranda gripped Noah’s hand almost from the opening credits and never let go. There were moments during the action when he thought she was going to break his fingers. She had good reason.

  Though it started quaintly, it slowly became terrifying. At first, it was simply about an ordinary guy named Jeff (played by James Stewart) who was confined to a wheelchair in his stiflingly hot city apartment while recovering from an injury. He sits around all day looking out his big back window and through the windows of other apartments, right into their interiors, across a courtyard. His girlfriend, Lisa (played by Grace Kelly), often visits him, but he isn’t very nice to her and dwells on his own concerns. He starts noticing a big, scary-looking man in one of the apartments across the way who has violent arguments with his wife. Eventually, Jeff starts observing them close up, through binoculars. One night in a thunderstorm, he hears a scream from the couple’s apartment. The next day the man’s wife is gone and then Jeff sees him disposing a large body-sized trunk. A dog starts sniffing around in the courtyard soil beneath the man’s apartment and in the night, someone breaks its neck. Jeff sends Lisa out to investigate when the suspected murderer is away. Then things get truly intense. Finding nothing, Lisa recklessly climbs the fire escape and enters the man’s room … and as she does, while Jeff watches, the man unexpectedly returns! He attacks Lisa, the violence soundless and distant, Jeff helplessly writhing in his chair, his eyes wide with terror, pleading aloud that she be spared, but his voice is unheard. He finally hits on a desperate plan, struggles to a phone, and calls the police. The officers arrive before she is murdered, and arrest her for breaking and entering, which at least removes her from immediate danger. As she leaves, she flashes her hand across the courtyard toward Jeff and his binoculars … she is wearing the dead wife’s wedding ring, which she had found buried in the dirt below! The murderer notices and Jeff sees that he does! The man’s evil eyes glare back across the courtyard! Moments later, the killer is thudding up the stairs toward the wheelchair-bound Jeff in his apartment! It was during the next moments that Miranda nearly broke every one of Noah’s fingers.

  Even though it ended on a positive note, there was absolute silence among the five of them afterward and until they got back out onto the street. Miranda wasn’t holding Noah’s hand by then. She had her arm around Bruce, who looked like his eyes might pop out of his head.

  “Alfred Hitchcock is a very, very bad man,” he said.

  Miranda insisted that they walk him home, and take Rosie too, though Walker Jones claimed he would be fine on his own. Noah doubted that, could tell by the look in his eyes too. He figured Walk would likely run home the second he was out of sight.

  Once the other three were gone, Miranda and Noah walked slowly together toward her house in the cool night, snuggled in to each other again, this time for warmth. She smiled at him and whispered, “This is water.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “It’s just something I say, every now and then.”

  “Oh.” It seemed like a private thing that he shouldn’t ask her about, at least not yet.

  “I’m not exactly sure what I like about that movie, other than the thrill of it,” she said.

  “It scared the hell out of me, but partly because it was so good.”

  “I know. I think, maybe, the story is about the way we are all looking at others through our own rear windows, peering out with binoculars, suspicious of everyone, putting our spin on everything. Everything out there is scary. That main character was so into himself that he nearly got his girlfriend murdered … while he watched. It’s like this film is telling you a truth that scares you as much as the action does.”

  Noah stopped her and turned her toward him.

  “I want you to be my girlfriend,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said quietly, her eyes moistening the way they had when their faces had been a few inches apart. They stopped and held each other for five minutes or more, not caring if anyone saw them.

  This is love, thought Noah, and he could not believe it. He had not felt this, nothing like this, from anyone, ever.

  * * *

  Their next date was the following weekend. They took the fast train into the city to go to the art gallery. The trip took about an hour, so they had lots of time to talk on the way. They didn’t once look at their phones.

  “I’m not a very political person,” she said at one point.

  “Neither am I.”

  “Not that I don’t follow politics. It’s important that you know the issues. Especially, I think, for women.”

  “You sound like Constance.”

  “I like her. She’s more than she seems.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Rosie is great too.”

  “She has a crush on you, has from the moment she saw you, and has had it bad since the first time she heard you say anything.”

  “Rosie?”

  Miranda looked a little guilty. “Don’t tell her I said that. Don’t ever tell her. Sometimes I just say what’s in my head. Man, though, you guys are blind.”26

  “What’s the deal with her?”

  “Do you mean, what sort of person is she?”

  Noah blushed. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

  “She’s nice.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a big compliment.”

  “I think it is.”

  They talked about the musicians they liked. Miranda admired lots of older music too, mixed in with new. So did Noah, another thing they had in common. She had mostly obscure tastes, though some were popular as well: Dylan, Haim, Lorde, Nick Cave, Phoebe Bridgers, Captain Beefheart, and Talking Heads. She liked soul and R&B too: Leon Bridges, James Brown, Etta James, Janelle Monáe, H.E.R., and Amy Winehouse. She also liked the punks, the real, original ones and new ones with an edge, like The Sex Pistols, Death Grips, Cleopatrick, PUP, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and an obscure band called Teenage Head. She didn’t like the violence associated with some of them, she made that clear, or some of the lyrics, but she liked the honesty, the edginess — what she called the “authenticity.”

  This, thought Noah, is the coolest person on earth.

  They also talked, of course, about books. It was difficult for Noah to keep up, but he did his best, exaggerating his knowledge, hoping it didn’t show, astounded at what she had read and what she knew.27 He was relieved to discover that he was aware of some of the novels, at least enough of them, and had what appeared to be interesting comments to make. Miranda started talking fast during this part of their conversation, almost as if her brain, her mind, had too many things to say, as if there were a lineup of subjects that she needed to talk about. It amazed him that he was the one to whom she had chosen to say these things, to whom she was unloading her pent-up thoughts.

  “My mother has a hard time getting me to stop reading, actually,” she said. “Though, it’s kind of her fault. She is more than a little into literature, but she says that sometimes she thinks I top even her. She is always after me to put out my light at night and stop reading. When I was young, she banned books from my room after bedtime, and to this day, I’m not allowed to have a lamp on my bedside table.”

  It was exciting to be in the city with her, just the two of them. Many of their friends back in town were almost afraid of being on its busy, colorful streets, thought it dangerous, rarely went there unless with their parents, and always for some big event. Noah and Miranda just didn’t get that. He wore his thin black coat, gloveless and hatless, his brown hair sometimes in his eyes, she a thick warm navy-blue pea coat, a purple scarf wrapped around her neck in that careless yet perfect way girls somehow manage, a tight teal toque, and baby-blue woolen mittens that looked a size too large. They took the subway from the city’s train station, an old one with a ceiling like a sort of working-class Sistine Chapel that they both stared up at in awe. They noticed how their voices echoed in the remarkable room, bouncing off the distant vaulted ceiling.