Page 30 of Exchanged

He’s straight, I realize with certainty. He belongs to this world of football players and their girlfriends, and I do not. The commonality I thought the two of us shared does not exist, and I feel like a pathetically hopeful gay boy for wishing it had.

I cue back into the conversation when I hear Evan say, “… Star Wars theme…” My ears perk up, the comment pulling me out of my downward spiral.

“Did you know it’s actually the same as Luke Skywalker’s theme?” I blurt.

Everyone looks at me.

“Yeah,” I continue, “John Williams—the composer for most of the Star Wars soundtracks—uses a technique called a leitmotif, where every character has their own specific music. And since Luke is such a big deal, his theme got used for the main titles.” I don’t know why I’m telling them this, but I plow on. “It’s actually a really useful device because it helps the audience make connections between scenes and develop consistent emotional responses to each character.”

Everyone stares at me, and I realize there’s a possibility they’re not as interested in film scores as my three beers think they are. I stop talking and take a drink from my can, but since it’s already empty, I end up raising it to my lips and pretending to sip.

“I was talking about the Star Wars theme park, dumbass,” Evan says. “The one at Disney World.”

“God,” Dana says with an eye roll and hair flip.

Garrett tilts his head to the side. “So that’s why the music is the same when Luke watches R2’s distress signal and when he breaks into the prison cell in the Death Star—both scenes have Princess Leia.”

“Yeah,” I say, relieved that someone is pretending to care about film soundtracks with me. “It’s the same theme.”

“Anyway,” Evan says, pissed that I’ve derailed his story, “I was in line for Smuggler’s Run, and this bitch with her kids decides—”

“Does the Millennium Falcon get a theme?” Garrett interrupts.

“No. Not really.”

Evan continues, louder: “—and she tells me to save her spot because her brat has to take a shit—”

“Because it should. It’s basically a character.” Garrett’s eyes are bright in the firelight, and maybe I’m drunk, but I get the sense he’s enjoying pissing off Evan.

“No one fucking cares,” Evan says. “So anyway, I tell this bitch that there’s no fucking way I’m saving her spot, and—”

“Do other movies do that?” Garrett asks. “With the motif things?”

“Yeah. Tons. But John Williams is especially good at it. It’s probably why he’s won so many Oscars.”

Evan pretends he can’t hear me: “—then of course one of her stupid kids starts crying, and I tell him that it won’t help him get to the front of the line—”

“Film composers can win Oscars?” Garrett asks. His eyes dart to Evan.

“Yeah. John Williams has been nominated for more Oscars than anyone else in history. Except Walt Disney, I guess.”

“Cool.”

“No, it’s not cool,” Evan growls, done ignoring our interruptions. “If I wanted music trivia, I’d fucking Google it.” He turns to me. “This is why no one here likes you, you know-it-all dipshit.” He’s angry—more angry than he should be—and I prepare myself for a stomach punch to rival the one from eighth-grade gym class.

But then Tyler grabs a beer from the cooler, opens it, and hands it to him. “Chill, dude.”

Evan is still eyeing me, but he takes the beer and raises it to his mouth. A bit of foam sticks to his patchy mustache.

“We should probably head out,” Garrett says, watching Evan. “Enzo’s dad is a hard-ass about the curfew thing.”

“Right,” I lie, setting my can on the grass at my feet. “I finally got my phone back after breaking curfew last time.”

Dana gives me a disgusted look, like it’s my fault Garrett has to leave. While he says goodbye to everyone, I hover awkwardly, a few steps away from the circle, once again an outsider. When Garrett gets to Dana, he tilts his head down and kisses her deeply, his fingers combing through her hair.

“Get a room,” Tyler jokes, and everyone laughs.

Garrett breaks the kiss, looking embarrassed and proud, gives everyone a last wave, and joins me outside the circle. Then we’re walking away from the bonfire and crossing Dana’s lawn, now dewy and wet. I notice Kelly Chambers at a different group, making out with Riley Wilson. She never had me introduce her to Garrett after all, not that she would have had much of a chance with Dana around. It feels strange that I arrived here in the passenger seat of her car only a couple of hours ago. This night seems like a surreal firelit dream that I’ll barely remember in the morning. I bet that’s what being drunk means.