Page 17 of Square Waves (Big Fan #2)

After my conversation with Ms.Palazzo, I had the thought that maybe I might like being a therapist. Or a psychology researcher or something.

But as soon as I started looking up the graduate school involved, I got overwhelmed and intimidated.

There are MFTs and MSWs, all kinds of master’s programs; to become a psychologist, I’d have to get a PhD.

I closed all of the tabs and haven’t opened them since.

For a second I think Leon’s going to touch me—my shoulder, my arm. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back in his seat, tilting up his chin. “I know the feeling.”

“Does it go away at some point?”

“I’ll let you know if I find out.”

I glance over, and Leon is just looking at me—this simple, open expression I don’t think I’ve ever seen on his face before. Like there’s no hiding here. He’s not trying to be anything other than what he is. There’s just us and this moment. My heartbeat starts to pick up.

Friends , I repeat to myself. We’ve just successfully achieved that milestone. No need to try to blow past it to anything else. So I start the engine and back out of the driveway. A text from Willa pops up on the car’s touch screen.

Leon’s phone buzzes in unison, and he reads the message. “It says... Are you guys on your way back? ”

Another buzz.

“Oh, shit. She says there was a big accident on the 1. Traffic is extremely fucked.”

“Well that sucks.”

“She says—” He pauses. “She says we should probably just hang out here until it clears.”

“Oh.” I try to make my response as neutral as possible. Every minute I spend with Leon feels like an endurance test. How long can I go without stepping in it again? Making it weird? Without kissing him square on the mouth?

Leon seems unbothered. “I’m pretty hungry actually. There’s a spot near the beach bar that I used to love—maybe we can eat and try to wait it out?”

The café is quaint and classic, with a white-painted wood exterior and surfboards hung on the ceiling.

The waiter brings our waters, and I bite my lip. “Can I ask about your art a little bit? Just like, in a normal way?”

Leon relaxes back in his seat. “Of course.”

“When did you start drawing?”

“I mean, I always did, I guess. Just doodles and things. I took a few classes a couple years ago, got more serious then. I mean, I don’t know how serious I am, really. But that’s when I started, you know. Trying.”

Leon has been wearing his sunglasses; now he lifts them up so I can see his eyes. “Can I tell you the truth?”

First Willa, now this. It’s like the universe is trying to send me a message about honesty or something. “Of course.”

“When you brought up the senior art show the other day—I think about that a lot.” He fiddles with the salt and pepper shakers.

“And you probably know this at this point, but I feel like I should say, I really wasn’t trying to pull a prank or anything.

I wanted to hang something. I wanted—” He laughs a rueful laugh and doesn’t finish his sentence.

I pick up where he left off. “Well, it drove me crazy, watching people laugh at your joke. Because it landed. And from ten years’ distance, I can admit that it was funny.

But at the time, it made me feel so stupid.

Like there I was, trying my ass off. And all you had to do was fuck up, and everyone loved it. ”

“Not everyone.” Leon’s gaze catches mine. His eyes are dark, fierce. The air between us shifts, going tight with tension.

I act on impulse. “What were you going to say, before?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said, ‘I wanted.’ And then you stopped.”

Leon closes his eyes. He looks like he usually does when his gaze finds me: slightly pained. But also like... maybe he’s kind of enjoying it. “If I tell you, I’m going to need you to promise not to hold it over my head forever.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

“Wow. Okay. Then I can’t tell you.”

“No!”

Leon shrugs. “I gave you the conditions. You refused them.”

“I’m just being realistic, okay? I could have lied to you. But I didn’t. Don’t I deserve some credit for that?”

Leon shakes his head, like he’s tired of my nonsense. But then he takes a deep breath. “Part of why I got in my head so badly then is that I wanted you to know that you were wrong about me. I wanted—God!” He looks away, then back at me. “I really wanted to impress you.”

“Impress? Me???” I can feel myself glowing. Gloating. Basking in the smug sense of victory I feel. Rubbing it in and not pretending otherwise.

“This was a mistake.”

“You’re right, it was. You will never be able to untell me that.”

Leon is blushing, and it takes everything I have not to reach out to touch his cheek, to see if it feels as warm as it looks. “Somewhere, back in time, high school Cassidy is smiling, and she doesn’t know why.” I shimmy my shoulders, preening. “But she will. Oh, eventually, she will.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still hated you.

But that’s why I signed up for the show in the first place.

I thought if I could show you what I really thought about—that I was more than just, you know, lazy—you’d be forced to admit that you were wrong about me.

But I couldn’t do it, obviously. And that ate at me for years.

And the fact that I’d gotten away with it.

That that was all anyone expected of me.

For a while, I thought it was all I could expect of me. ”

I know a thing or two about disappointing yourself. About letting a personal failure color your whole life.

“So is showing at Willa’s... your redemption narrative?”

“I’m trying not to put that kind of pressure on it,” Leon says. “But maybe there’s something there.”

“Well. I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

“I’m looking forward to you seeing it.”

I’m fairly certain that the next thing that comes out of my mouth is going to be way too sincere. But the waiter shows up with our food, and our fish tacos break the spell.