You Look Different in Real Life

victorious superhero moments, because that’s all we have time for. I’m still not sure how we’re going to avoid taking Rory home.
    How did we handle it at Radio City? After the show, Mrs. Gold walked to the parking garage to get the car while my mom and I stayed with Rory in the ladies’ room.
    The parking garage.
    A parking garage takes credit cards, and a credit cardis something I happen to have in my pocket for emergencies. Admittedly, this is not a life-or-death situation, but emergencies can come in all forms, and this sure as hell seems like one of them.
    “We don’t have to drive her home,” I say to Nate, then turn to Rory. “We can take the car down to Dylan’s. Would you be okay to stay in the city if we took the car?”
    Rory finally meets my eyes, holding them there for a few long moments before closing them. “Yes. I guess so.”
    “Justine, we shouldn’t move the car—” says Nate, and I hold up my hand to silence him. I stand up. He stands up. I reach into my pocket and pull out the credit card.
    Nate stares at it for a long time, and I can feel the leadership of our little group suddenly leap from him to me. Maybe this is why I kept the secret.
    “If I weren’t so happy to see that thing,” says Felix, still kneeling next to Rory, “I would try to stab you with it.”

NINETEEN
    B ack in the car, we put the blocks behind us at warp-drive speed, or at least it seems that way compared with the pace we kept on the sidewalk, where every step was full of too many dangerous possibilities. Nate drives and Rory rides shotgun, navigating us to Dylan’s dorm. She’s in control again, and happy.
    We take turns borrowing Nate’s phone to text our parents. Just texts. No need to deal with spoken words that may cause problems. Aside from the click click of the cell phone keys, we are silent.
    At a red light, Felix reaches forward to the frontseat and tentatively squeezes Rory’s shoulder. He has a younger brother and sister. I’m guessing he sees Rory that way, but what if it’s more than that? Would that be weird? I don’t even know what his type is, but maybe it’s this. I can, if I squint sideways in my mind, sort of see them together. And then I can sort of see the three of us together. As friends.
    I’m so grateful I’m pointed south at the moment, barreling down Second Avenue, rather than north and backward to Mountain Ridge.
    Rory has Nate make a right turn off Second Avenue and soon, we are pulling up to a medium-high stone building on Fifteenth Street, just a block from what I know is Union Square.
    “I see a parking garage up there,” says Nate to me as Felix and Rory get out of the car. “And oh, look, it’s only a bazillion dollars to park overnight.”
    I laugh. “Olivia will forgive us.”
    Nate drives off, and I see Felix has moved Rory to the nearest wall.
    “Let’s get inside,” says Felix, as if it’s raining hailstones. Rory reaches out to take his hand. He grabs hers, examines it for a second, like some strange and shy bird has just landed on him and he’s afraid to move, then pulls Rory forward. As they walk, I linger long enough to start recording and zoom in on their linked hands.
    Inside the building lobby, we wait for Nate, and I panthe room. There’s a low orange sofa against the wall and a guy fast asleep in a big chair, a book open on his face. I hold on him for a few seconds, then move on to the block of vending machines humming in the far corner.
    Five minutes later, Nate appears, carrying our backpacks. He dumps them on the floor and walks right up to the girl sitting behind a reception desk, says something I can’t hear. The girl smiles, nods, and picks up the phone. Nate turns to us and gives us a thumbs-up. It occurs to me that I have never given a thumbs-up in my life. I don’t think my hands could even form the shape.
    After a few more minutes, a voice shouts “Nate!” and we all turn to see someone standing in front of the elevators. This person could be Dylan Boone, if the Dylan Boone I remember from Mountain Ridge had been upgraded to a better groomed, better dressed model.
    “Wow,” I whisper to Felix. “It’s like he got a gaykeover.”
    Felix laughs, louder than usual, with a nervous edge. He scoops up his bag and Rory’s, then moves away.
    Dylan hugs Nate and then they do that guyish thumb-handshake—another gesture I’ve never made. Dylan turns to the rest of us and holds out both hands, palms upward, and says,