by Robin Benway
“They what?!”
“Yeah, I know, it sucks, but listen—”
“Are they serious? What are you, like the panda exhibit from China that gets put on display at the local zoo? This is so unfair!”
“Yes, I know, panda exhibits are unfair, but—”
“You’re way cuter than a panda, though. And pandas are pretty darn cute.”
“Of course. But listen—”
“Fuck the pandas. Do you want me to call my mom?” Victoria craned her head to see if the assistant principal was in his office. “Because I can call my mother, the lawyer, and find out what sort of justification they have for blatantly violating your right to free, public education and—”
I grabbed her by her hoodie strings. “Victoria,” I hissed. “We kissed.”
That stopped her short. “Who kissed?”
“We did.”
“We did?”
“No! James and me, in the freezer at work last night! God, why weren’t you answering your phone last night? I have a million things to tell you! You’re so out of the loop!”
“Back the truck up. You and James kissed? You? Kissed James?”
Now I was starting to blush. “Keep your voice down!” I told her. “People could be listening.”
Victoria nodded wisely. “You’re right. Magazines are probably paying people a lot of money for information on you.”
Well. That was a new thought I didn’t need. But Victoria interrupted me before I could think about that one. “Wait, so you kissed him? Or did he kiss you? That’s very important.”
“He kissed me.” I glanced around, suddenly afraid of undercover spies. “And he asked me out. And he said I had a pretty mouth.”
Victoria squealed with delight. “I knew it! I knew it! Oh, can I do the I-told-you-so dance? Please? I’m so good at it.”
“Can it wait until lunch?”
“Barely!” She was wriggling all over. “I knew it! Oh my God, was it good?”
“Very.”
“And you were in the freezer?”
I nodded. “I went in there because Sharon Eggleston got me all upset—”
“Sharon Eggleston was in the freezer with you?”
“No, just … okay, you know what? We need to talk at lunch. Somewhere private,” I added as a group of students went by and pretty much stared at me the whole way.
“Okay, okay, but I want mucho details. Like, all of them. I want to know what his hair looked like when he kissed you and everything.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s very red. It hangs in his eyes.”
She dug her fist into my arm. “Audrey has a cru-ush. Agaaa-iiiin.”
“Sshh!”
“Sorry, shutting up now.”
“Okay, but get this,” I told her. “There’s even more. Guess who called me this morning?”
“Jim Jenkster,” she replied without missing a beat.
I practically fell down from shock. “How did you know that?” I gasped. “Are you psychic? Oh my God, if you’re psychic, we’re gonna rule the world.”
Victoria just shrugged. “He got my number from this sophomore that I tutored in algebra a billion years ago, so I gave him your number.” She grinned. “Jenkster’s a kick, huh?”
“You gave him my number?” I repeated. “Why? He’s crazy! He made me feel slimy and we were only on the phone!
“Oh, come on, Aud. Tell me it wasn’t hysterical talking to him. The guy’s insanity personified. I thought you’d think it was funny.”
Okay, she had a point. It was sort of funny. “If he leaks my number, I’m dead. You realize that, right?”
“And if you’re dead, you won’t be stuck in the office anymore. How long do you have to be in here?”
“I don’t know. Until everything calms down, I guess?”
“Sucks.”
“Yeah, thanks for the news flash.”
“Do you want me and Jonah to try and spring you? He’s really good at creating distractions.”
“Please, no.” I could only imagine what Jonah’s idea of a distraction was. Probably something involving fireworks, mice, and a water gun. “I have enough distractions.”
“Okay, but just say the word and we’ll figure something out.”
“Just think about everything you’ve ever seen in my closet and tell me what I should wear when James and I have our first date.”
“Got it.” Victoria’s eyes were getting dreamy already, combing through my literal dirty laundry. “I’ll come up with something, don’t worry.”
“No arm huggies.”
“God, I know. Everyone’s wearing them now. Jonah’s little sister made her own from his socks. He was so pissed.”
The bell rang and she glanced up at the ceiling. (Why does everyone do that when the bell rings? Have you ever noticed? It’s like we expect the ceiling to come crashing down on our heads.) “Okay, going now, but yay! Yay for you and Jam—I mean, you-know-who!”
After she left, I was so lonely that it hurt.
Being in the office all day, I soon realized, was painfully boring. Painfully. Boring. But I did learn something. Without teachers or friends in class, I could get through the work a lot faster. By the early afternoon (and after I gave Victoria every single detail at our lunch of soup and coffee), I was done with all my schoolwork. Reading, homework, everything. I even did some sample SAT questions from this study guide my mom got for me. That’s how desperate I was for entertainment.
It was becoming dire.
Between fifth and sixth periods, I heard a hissing over my shoulder and I glanced up to see James standing next to the low wall that separated the office from the hallway. And I know it’s important to play it cool and all that, but I lit up when I saw him. I could feel it in my face. I couldn’t help it. But it was okay, because he did, too.
God, we are such saps.
“Hi!” I said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much.” He glanced around at my surroundings. “How’s solitary?”
“So boring I’m about to gnaw off my own arm.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing, like, work?”
“Did it already. Call Mensa, I’m obviously a genius.”
“Can they really make you sit in here all day, every day?”
“If they can make me wear gym shorts, they can make me do almost anything.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve gotten used to admiring you from afar.”
James was witty! Who knew? Okay, besides Victoria, I mean. And admiring from afar? I started thinking about all the unattractive things I’d ever done in front of him, like blowing my nose or sneezing during an allergy attack. “Well, maybe you can get some binoculars or send in some spies,” I told him. “Make it like a cool Russian movie.”
He grinned and looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Are you okay, though, really?”
“I’m fine. Has Sharon been around?”
“No, but I thought we didn’t care about her. I thought we established that yesterday.”
Boy howdy, did we establish that. But all I said was, “I also thought you promised me a date.”
“Oh, um, yeah. That.”
My heart did a swan dive into my toes. Why do guys do this? Why? You think they’re gonna turn right and bam! They go left. “What?”
“No, it’s just—”
“You don’t want to go out anymore?”
“No, but I was thinking—”
“’Cause if you don’t want to go, then we shouldn’t go.” I’ll just spend all my free time in the office plotting ways to ruin your life, creep.
James stopped and took a breath. “You interrupt a lot, you know that?”
I shrugged. “I’m friends with Victoria. Our friendship would be one big monologue if I didn’t interrupt.”
“Good point.”
“So you don’t wanna go out?”
“No, I do, but …” He took another breath. “I just didn’t want you to say yes because you fe
lt like you had to. Like, when we were in the freezer and everything.”
“James?”
“Yes?”
I glanced around to make sure no one was watching; then I put my index finger on his arm. “I’m already trying to figure out what to wear when we go out. Is that a good enough answer?”
His eyes widened. “So that’s a yes?”
“Oh my God!” I finally said. “Yes! ¡Sí! Oui! What language do you want it in?”
James started to crack up. “Do you know Swahili?”
“No, but I’ve got the time to learn.”
We were getting closer and closer to each other and I had that nice dizzy feeling again. “You’re twitterpated,” Victoria had said at lunch. “You’re going to wander into traffic if you think about him too much.”
I think she might be right.
“Ahem.”
James and I both started and glanced at Connie, the secretary whose daughter was a fan of mine. She was typing at her computer and not looking at us, but she had one of those “you crazy kids” smirks on her face. “James? Don’t you think you’re going to be late?”
James went beet red and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. I saw a Sisters of Mercy pin on the strap. Be still my heart. “Okay, can I, um, call you later?” he said quickly. “I don’t have your number.”
I scribbled it down on a scrap of paper and pressed it into his hand. “Call. Or text. Or IM.”
“How do you feel about carrier pigeons?”
I shuddered. “The equivalent of flying rats.”
“Scratch the pigeons, then.”
Connie was starting to clear her throat again, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s phlegm, fake or otherwise. “Okay, talk to you later?”
“Yeah.”
“And once again, yes.”
“Okay.” He grinned and then started to back away from the wall. Unfortunately, he tripped on his shoelace and almost did a faceplant on the linoleum, but he recovered nicely, and I watched him walk away from me. Again.
Connie was still smirking as I sat back down. “Um, Connie?”
“Yes?” Typetypetypetype.
“Do you think maybe you could, um, not tell anyone? About that? Or anything else you see me do in here?” It was weird to tell an adult what to do, but between Sharon Eggleston, our school’s already-thriving gossip tree, and tabloid journalists, I figured I should protect myself.
“Honey, trust me, I see it all in here. I never say anything.”
“Not even if someone—say, like a reporter—offers you a hundred dollars?”
She glanced up at me over her glasses. “Do I look like I’m for sale?”
“Um, no.”
“Of course not.” She went back to her typing. “But he’s a nice boy.”
I didn’t say anything as I turned back to my SAT book, but I knew we were both smiling.
20 “When what you want is what you’re getting …”
—Cartel, “A”
IT TOOK A WHILE before James and I could officially go out, mostly because my parents had me on lockdown and I wasn’t sure how I was going to get them to let me out of the house. “Whatever you do,” Victoria advised, “don’t do the ‘I’m the perfect daughter’ routine. They’ll know something’s up.”
“I already am the perfect daughter,” I told her. I was standing in the bathroom, balanced on one leg as I tried to give myself a pedicure. Victoria and I had tried to go for mani-pedis earlier that week, but it was a disaster. It was crowded and we had to wait, and every girl and woman in there either stared at me or was reading a magazine that had my picture in it, and I lasted all of five minutes before I grabbed Victoria’s elbow and we took our ragged cuticles and got the hell out of there.
“Besides,” I added as I struggled to keep my balance, “this isn’t like a punishment or something. I’m not grounded. They’re just freaked out about everything. You know parents.”
“They’re so sheltered. Maybe if you invite James over so they could meet him?”
“Well, yeah. They’re not gonna let me go without meeting the guy.” I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder so I could unscrew the nail polish, a bright red that I bought just for the name: Death at the Disco. Don’t you love it?
I could hear Victoria typing in the background. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, just sending an email.” She continued clacking away. “If I were you, I’d try to get your parents when they’re down, like at the end of the day or something.”
“When they’re too tired to argue?”
“Exactly.” Clackclackclackclack.
“What sort of manifesto are you typing, anyway?”
“If it works out, I’ll tell you.”
I glanced up. “No. Tell me now.”
“Later.”
“Now. Best friends don’t have secrets.”
“Later. And this isn’t a secret, it’s a surprise!”
I wanted to keep arguing, but I was too busy flailing and protesting and that’s a bad combination when you’re trying to paint your pinky toenail. I lost my balance and went flying down to the floor. “Owowowowow, oh fucking hell!” I said. Death at the Disco had spilled all over my bare legs. “Death at the Disco is everywhere!” I cried.
“Audrey? What just happened?” I could hear Victoria’s tinny voice from the phone, which had rolled away and wedged itself under the door. “Disco what? Are you okay?”
I groaned and wondered if anything was sprained or broken or twisted. If I was forced to get a cast, I’d die. The last thing I needed was a ten-pound piece of plaster attached to my limbs. But maybe I could do a collage on it or something, or maybe James and I could make it, like, our little project. Or maybe then my parents would feel so sorry for me that they wouldn’t even blink twice when I asked to go out with James. Huh. Now that I thought about it, this cast thing was sounding better and better.
“Audrey!” I could hear my parents running up the stairs. “Are you all right? Where are you?”
“In here!” I called, then tried to arrange myself to look as pitiful as possible. “I’m mortally wounded.”
“Mortally wounded people aren’t sarcastic,” my spoilsport dad said as they came into the bathroom. “What the heck did you do to yourself?”
“Is that blood?” My mom paled slightly. She’s not good with blood. Remember my dad’s dramatic and colorful Massive Blood Loss Incident of Halloween Three Years Ago? My mom almost turned it into the dramatic and colorful Massive Vomiting Incident of Halloween Three Years Ago.
I looked up at them from my spot on the floor. “Wow. You’re both very tall from down here. And it’s not blood, it’s nail polish.”
My dad bent down and picked up the bottle. “Death at the Disco,” he read. “Well, isn’t that ironic?”
“Don’t you think?” I said before I could stop myself. Damn you, Alanis Morrissette.
Now my mom was squeezing my arms and legs. Those yoga classes had really built up her muscles. “Is anything broken?” she said. “Did you hit your head?”
“No, but …” I took a deep breath. “You know that guy James that I work with at the Scooper Dooper? Well, I used to think he was this huge dork, but he’s not! Well, I mean, he kind of is, but he’s also really sweet and soooo nice, and when I started crying he didn’t even care that I got snot on him and now he wants to take me out on a date and that’s so great because you guys would really like him and I want to go and he’s also smart and funny. Oh, yeah, and college-bound, too.” I wasn’t sure about that last one, but I figured, statistically speaking, it was probably true.
My parents looked at me, dumbfounded. I blinked twice, then smiled. “Please?”
There was silence in the bathroom for a few seconds, then Victoria’s static-y phone voice cut through it. “Smooth, Audrey. Real smooth.”
My dad started shaking his head. “Audrey, are you ever going to be a normal teenager? Ever?”
I thought about it for s
everal seconds. “Hopefully not. Is that the right answer?”
By the time I hung up with Victoria, got up off the floor with just some bruises and wounded pride, and used half a bottle of nail polish remover to clean up the bathroom (“It looks like someone staged a revolution in here,” my mom said when she brought me more cotton balls), we were able to address “the James situation.” My dad’s words, not mine. As far as I was concerned, I had addressed “the James situation” last week in the freezer, and on every workday since then.
But my parents had other ideas.
“You can go out on three conditions,” my mom said after I hobbled downstairs. “One, your father and I have to meet him first.”
“You’re going to love him!” I squealed. “He’s so … so … well, he’s kind of nerdy, but in that really cute Rivers-Cuomo-from-Weezer way.”
“Oh, totally, I know,” my dad said. “That’s exactly what I thought when I met your mother.”
“Am I being mocked?” my mom and I both asked at the same time.
“Number two,” he continued as if we hadn’t said anything, “you go on a normal date. No rooftop concerts in Los Angeles, none of those raves in San Diego or whatever they call them.”
I actually drew back in my seat. “You think I’m a raver?” I said, incredulous. “Do I look like a tweaking raver?”
“Honey, I have no idea,” my dad replied.
“What does ‘tweaking’ mean?” my mom asked me.
Whoops. Major tactical error. Never let on to your parents that you know more about drugs than they do. It will only end badly, possibly with you being forced into a private Catholic school and a plaid uniform, which is only attractive when worn ironically.
“I’m not a tweaking raver,” I told them. “So don’t worry about it.”
“Okay, great to know, but either way, on this date, you do what normal teenagers do. Movies and hamburgers—”
“Veggie burgers, you mean.”
