He had a feeling his was going to be an unwelcome face inside the Pavilion.
Four months had made this place uncannily foreign turf. Like a soldier returning home from war or a dad from a protracted business trip—not that he would know what any of those felt like—this experience felt phantasmagoric. Would they still recognize him? And if they did, what would they think? He steeled himself in the back seat of his Über ride, his foot tapping an erratic beat on the clean-swept car mat as he gazed through tinted window at the overhead marquee.
“This it, bub?” said the driver, knocking him out of his distressed reverie. It was his way of saying, pay me and vamos.
“Yes,” Josh snapped back, his voice somewhat tinged with retaliation. Then, after a brief pause, he added apologetically, “Sorry, boss. You were the bomb.”
He exited the vehicle and as he closed the door shut, he thought he heard the driver mutter nutty pendejo, but maybe it was just his ears deceiving him. They had a habit of doing that.
Josh was never good at goodbyes. But he was worse at this—picking up where he’d left off as if only a very long weekend had passed. Reading people was too difficult. People were fickle and enigmatic. Girls? Worse. Teenage girls? Theworst. He reminded himself who he was here to see. A kind, sweet girl; a little 12-year-old kid who wanted nothing more than to see her big brother in the audience tonight. He wasn’t her biological brother, of course. Josh and Vi just had that kind of relationship. But Josh sensed that he wasn’t really here to see Vi, no matter how much it pained him to say so. He was still, after all, a horny 18-year-old…man? No, that didn’t sound right.
He still saw her in his dreams. The irony wasn’t lost on him…he’d mustered the will to block her number and unfriend her on social media, but her memory still crept into the most private of places. Phoebe. He choked on the name. It sent his stomach into a flurry he couldn’t quite assess. It started off like butterflies, an innocuous, adolescent heartache and slowly matured into something sinister, ruining his appetite, burning his head with some invisible, purging heat until, snapped back to reality, he found himself in a cold sweat, shivering at the vestige of that irrepressible fever. No, this wasn’t heartache. Not anymore, at least.
He did his best to distract himself from the harrowing possibility that he had become a total, incorrigible fuckboy. In vain, he deceived himself into thinking that he saw more in Phoebe that a fat ass and a pair of tits. Let’s see…there’s her personality (insipid), her smile(perfect, post-braces), their bond(surface-level). Alas, what he really liked about her was, well…to put it bluntly, she didn’t look fifteen. He’d told her at the end of summer that if she found someone else next year, he would rather she follow her heart. Attending different schools made this sort of teenage romance an improbable affair. Never…never could he have seen himself as the one to end the blissful fervor.
Did he regret the breakup? Absolutely. It was hard not to when he was reminded of what they had every day. Sure, he’d cleared house, expunged her smell from the bedsheets of his mind, drowned the taste of her blossom lips from his parietal lobe with Lysol, but the scaffolding all remain unchanged—theater class, mutual friends. The Pavilion.
He handed his ticket to the usher. “Second row to your left,” she instructed, motioning behind her. “Enjoy the show.” Josh smiled back gregariously, wondering if she could detect his whirlwind of anxiety and pretentious machismo.
“Well, there he is,” uttered a voice from inside the foyer. He could recognize that self-assured lilt with his eyes closed. It ushered forth a wave of memories. Of hot, summer afternoons on the scorching sand. Of cool summer evenings lounging poolside. Of Phoebe. Josh cursed silently to himself. It’s tough having the same best friend as your ex.
Josh plastered on a congenial face and turned to greet his friend. Riley was thronged by Mitchell, a fellow high schooler and Mrs. Rylan, the mother of another of Josh’s exes. All three beamed at him. Josh breathed a sigh of relief. These were people he could handle.
“Been a while, my man,” Josh said, affectedly. It had been more than a while, but this was a game he and Riley played—this clamoring for insouciance. Their relationship was an enigma to those in the Pavilion who had never seen two teenage boys cleave to each other as they did. Was it a bromance? Was it a brotherhood? Occasionally, Josh would pick up earfuls from those who envied what Josh and Riley had. Josh couldn’t help but laugh, not out of scorn or pride, but simple incredulity. There was no place in PV so proud of its group-centered ideology — “the Pavilion family,” “a second home for thespians,” etc. – yet so ridden with lonely adolescent vagabonds blindly grasping for semblances of affirmation. Josh couldn’t fathom why so many chose to remain strangers when they could open up as he had done to Riley.
Mrs. Rylan took her leave. She had neither the need, nor energy to comprehend the complicated energy between Josh and Riley. Plus, this was a boy who had emotionally wrecked her daughter, guiltlessly dumping her with a list of insecurities as extensive as his ego. She refused to harbor resentment for a teenage boy (how petty that would make her), but she would not suffer anything more than disingenuous small talk with him either. Mitchell lingered, simmering with jealousy, but displaying only a warm repose. He could never have what his best friend had with Josh.
“He’s dressed like an e-boy,” Mitchell said with his eyes trained on Josh, vainly reeling Riley back into him with esoteric lingo Josh could only assume was his subdued way of disbarring an intruder from overstaying his welcome.
Riley chuckled. “I don’t think he knows what—” he started. “You don’t know what an e-boy is, do you?” he said to Josh.
Josh shook his head coolly.
“Like an emo-boy,” said Mitchell, still glaring at Josh. Josh couldn’t help but detect the smugness in Mitchell’s voice as if he were relishing in the pride of having caught him unawares. Riley glanced sidelong between the two of them and then, as if recognizing his centrality to the conflict, summoned up a deep, cordial laugh. There was an awkward pause as Mitchell released Josh from his choking stare to shoot Riley a questioning glance.
Josh glanced down at his paper ticket. “Well, I’d better be off. Need to find my seat,” he said. Josh started off for the nearest door and then, with his eyes fixed on Riley, added suavely, “I’ll catch you later.” He couldn’t really tell who he was talking to, but out of his periphery, he could swear he caught Mitchell grimace. Mission accomplished.
“Wait! Don’t you wanna sit with us?” pleaded Riley.
“Naw. Can’t give up my front-row seat, can I? Where are you, the mezzanine?”
A sheepish grin spread across Riley’s face.
“Hey, I’ll catch you at intermission,” repeated Josh, with a pat on Riley’s shoulder. Riley nodded in concession. Then, his nose crinkled.
He leaned into Josh, inquisitively, and sniffed.
“Smells like college grad,” he said with a wink.
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