You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(77)

You look at me and I did it. Got you.

“You made me a CD?”

“Of course I did. Yeah, I’m ‘young,’ and this is new for me but I also know you’re…” The only two words that can’t take a man down. “I’m sorry. And you can have the mixtape, if you still want it.”

Dick would be proud—my mixtape Seduced; it Destroyed—but you’re fighting the urge to love me, jump me.

“Joe, I can’t believe that and…I’m young in my own way. I don’t know what I want sometimes, and I know it must’ve felt weird, me being all casual, but I’ve had some pretty bad birthdays when it comes to guys, okay? You think he cares about you and you let your guard down and he uses your birthday to show you he doesn’t care.”

“Well, that’s not me, Vail.”

I forget it sometimes. The simple math of it all. Your heart is a weathered thing. It’s been around, and your feathers are battered. You say that I must think you’re crazy and pathetic and immature. “You’re over me, Joe. Just say it. I messed up. I would be over me and everyone gets bored of me ’cause of shit like this and wow…You made me a mixtape, and I’ll never get to hear it. Sounds about right for my life.”

“I’m still here. And I like doing things for you.”

You shrug. Words are not enough. It’s your birthweek. You want presents and I want you back. I need to give you all my gifts, even if it means giving fuel to the “stalker” fire.

“It’s not just the mixtape. I did something else…I went to Dalton for you, Vail.”

“You went to what?”

“Well, I went to your party and stole a disposable camera because I was late.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You showed up after I…You stole one of my cameras?”

Your pupils are dilating. You like this. I stormed the castle for you. I stole for you. That’s me. Me! I can’t stay mad at you; I love you. You want to be wanted and courted and I want you. I court you. You!

“I stole the camera and I stayed up all night so I could be at the camera shop first thing. Most of the pictures were blurry, but I saw you with the Dalton guy and you looked…”

You cover your face. “Drunk. Believe me, I know.”

You are too quick to shame—I brought you shame when I let you down—but this is how we fix it, by making you realize you are loved. Worthy. I tell you about sneaking into the school to dig up old yearbooks. I exaggerate a little—you are visual, you need to see me scale a fence—and you are awestruck.

“But why…I mean, what was the goal of your Dalton fence-breaking heist?”

Heist. “Well, you were vulnerable, last spotted with this guy. I couldn’t reach you and if you disappeared, I wanted to have a name for the cops and the mixtape, the heist at Dalton, it’s all the same…I’m into you, Vail. And I’d do it all again in a fucking heartbeat.”

A commuter lady from the ’80s in Reeboks jabs you with her bag. You don’t even feel it, do you? You see me, Vail. You are not stalked. You are just not used to being loved.

You throw your arms around me. “Wow,” you say. “Wow.”

I pull you in for a kiss, but you flinch. Seriously?

“Joe, wait. I have to ask you something.”

This is not a time for questions. We are in love, love, love love…crazy love you but the Van Morrison between us fucking scares you. Then again, reaching the last level of any video game to capture the princess is always a fucking trial.

“Okay, Vail. Ask away.”

Your eyes zero in on me, and they kill Van Morrison. “How old are you, Joe? Truth.”

I answer the question with a question. “Who is Harris Wesley Walker the Fourth? Truth.”

You pluck a banana clip off the strap of your messenger bag and pull your hair up. It stays put. You seem different. Bereft or something. Like you’re only just now realizing that you want to make Van Morrison songs with me for the rest of your life. You know what love is. It’s the CD with your name on it. We freeze up in front of all the businesspeople and their business salads. The air is polluted. Could I forgive you for cheating on me with the man in the yellow hat? Will you dump me for something as stupid and out of my control as my age?

Are we really gonna end it in front of a fucking Cosi?

You take off your banana clip, and are you trying to distract me? You tap my shoulder with your banana.

“I asked you first, Cusack. How old are you?”





28


I’m still playing the whole scene in my head because wow. I have never gone from so scared to so happy so fast. There we were in front of that damn Cosi.

I jumped out of the plane knowing I might die. I went first, yes. “I’m seventeen.”

After the longest two or three seconds of my life, we landed safe. You smiled. “You’re a teenager.”

“I got a fake ID after we met.”

You arched your back and shook like you were about to fucking come. “I am in…I mean, holy shit. My…my boyfriend is in high school. Wait, you’re not…Were you homeschooled?”

“Does any of it matter?”

“Your name is Joe, right?”

“Ha.”