You Look Different in Real Life

Those hands. I remind myself that those hands used to stroke my hair, rub my shoulders, hold my face right before he kissed me. I do this because clearly, I’m a masochist.
    “How do you feel about this movie thing?” Ian asks, and the fact that he’s the first person to care, the first person to consider that maybe the news is strange and difficult, pierces me a little.
    “I’m not sure,” I reply, the closest thing to the truth I’ve got at the moment.
    Ian smiles, takes a bite of his hamburger, then considers while he chews. “I can totally understand how itwould be weird. But I’ve got to tell you, I thought the first two movies were awesome.”
    We’d never talked about the films. I kept waiting for him to ask about them, but he never did. I took that to mean he wasn’t interested and I sort of loved that.
    “I haven’t seen them in a while,” he continues. “But I remember how funny they are.” He glances at me, then down at his burger. “How funny you are.”
    “Oh yeah? Funny good or funny bad?” I try to make it sound like I’m teasing, not fishing.
    “All good,” Ian says.
    Would you care to elaborate? I want to ask. Because it was my understanding that for him, being funny did not equal being totally hot and datable.
    Instead I shrug and mumble, “I never know who’s seen them and who hasn’t.”
    “My parents bought the DVDs. It made them so proud that it was our town and our school. For a while they begged me to be friends with Nate so he’d have more kids to stick up for him.”
    We laugh. It’s hard to remember a time when Nate Hunter needed charity buddies.
    Then we’re silent, and I’m trying to think of what else to say during this sweet, surprise treasure of a few minutes together.
    “Well,” Ian finally says. “I think it’ll be cool to have the cameras around again.”
    Something about his manner feels off. Then comes the thought I shouldn’t have but do anyway, because we already know I’m a masochist: Is this news about the film the only reason he came over to sit with me? I don’t know what to do with that. Let’s just toss that under the table with those hard, runty french fries that always end up on the floor.
    Instead, I’d like to make him laugh somehow. If I can say one thing that will make him bust out, it’ll rocket me onto a high so lovely I can make it through the rest of the day. See? I really can be that kind of girl.
    “Smile!” he’d always say to me during those seven weeks he was my boyfriend. We’d be out somewhere, doing something categorized as Fun. We’d be in a group of people and someone just said something hilarious. We’d be kissing, his hands so warm and mine so cold. Then he’d stop and look at me, and brush my hair away from my eyes and examine my face like he’d never seen it before, and say it. Smile.
    I couldn’t. Not just like that, on cue, as if taking direction. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was, I thought I was smiling.
    He’s gulping down his juice in a very unsexy way I’ll ignore, and I’m about to chirp something at him when the notion hits: Whatever we are, or might possibly, miraculously, be again, would be part of the new movie. There would be no escaping it.
    A girl from my biology class is suddenly next to me. “Hey, Justine,” she says. “I heard about the documentary. Do you know if they’re going to need interns or assistants or anything?”
    “I really don’t,” I reply, trying to sound disappointed for her, “but I’ll let you know what I find out.” I look over to Nate’s table again. Nobody’s coming up to him like they are with me. Although with Nate, maybe you have to request an audience in writing. I don’t know how popularity works.
    Felix returns with a handful of napkins and follows my gaze. After a thoughtful moment, he asks, “Do you think Keira will do it, after last time?”
    Oh. Yeah. That is the bonus winner-take-all question.
    Then I realize why Felix has asked this. Normally, Keira would be at the Nate Etcetera table. But she’s not there.
    “Has anyone seen her this morning?” I ask.
    “She wasn’t in homeroom,” says Ian.
    So Keira has skipped school, probably knowing what was in store. Smart girl, they always say about Keira, and today she does not disappoint.
    Felix is waiting for me after school in a window booth on the second floor of Muddy Joe’s, the bakery/coffeehouse/laptop mecca in town. It’s the realm of college students too