Danny Constantino's First (and Maybe Last?) Date

by Paul Acampora

  “This isn’t fair,” I say. “She’s going to find a way to get what she wants even if she’s the only one that wants it.”

  “Danny,” says Gram.

  “What?” I snap.

  She points at a big canvas purse that Mom left behind. “Push that over to me.”

  I slide the bag across the kitchen table, then watch Gram rummage through my mother’s stuff. “Do you think Missy wanted to give us money for pizza tonight?”

  “No,” I say.

  Gram pulls a couple twenty-dollar bills out of Mom’s bag. “And yet, that’s exactly what she’s going to do.”

  A quick Camaro ride later, Gram and I are eating thick sausage and mushroom slices at Angelo’s Pizza. According to a set of pictures hanging above us, Presidents Obama, Kennedy, Nixon, and Carter have all eaten at Angelo’s too. So have two popes, Amy Poehler, Dr. Seuss, Aerosmith, and several dozen Red Sox, Bruins, Celtics, and Patriots.

  Across from us, one whole wall is dedicated to Cuper Cove’s biggest star, Natalie Flores Griffin. Along with autographed photos, publicity shots, and newspaper clippings from The Wall and the Flower and Mutant Zombie Soul Pirates, there are posters of Muzzy Fields, starring Natalie Flores Griffin as Muzzy Fields, a girl who wants to play on her twin brother’s Little League team, Shake It Up! starring Natalie Flores Griffin as Lilly Mercado, a girl who wants to be more than just a tambourine in her family’s wedding band, and Goodbye, Buster, starring Natalie as a girl named Buster who lives with her grandfather, her great-uncle, and a very old dog.

  Bring a box of tissues to that last one. I’m just saying.

  Finally, over Angelo’s bar, a set of framed photos hangs beneath a sign that says OUR REAL HEROES. My dad is there along with a dozen other Cuper Cove men and women who died in the military. I wish I knew what Dad might say about Natalie Flores Griffin, Alma Putski, Cooper the Cardboard Unicorn, and a thousand other things too. Instead, he hangs out inside picture frames while I try to make sense of everything without him.

  In our booth, Gram wipes pizza sauce off her face, then leans across the table. “So,” she says to me, “what have we learned today?”

  I take a sip of root beer. “Angelo’s pizza is lots better than a spinach sludgie.”

  “Everybody’s pizza is lots better than a spinach sludgie,” says Gram. “What else?”

  I shrug.

  Gram points at the pizza I didn’t expect for supper tonight. “Not everything has to go your mother’s way.”

  Chapter 9

  i am now a chatface snapcracker virus

  I ride to school with Gram on Friday because first, the Camaro. Second, Asha warned me that my name appeared on another one of Natalie’s social media accounts this week. In the words of my grandmother, I am now a ChatFace SnapCracker virus. That’s going to make it difficult to avoid that little redheaded girl.

  “How did Mom know about Natalie’s scarecrow movie?” I ask as Gram steers us past a house with a gigantic, inflatable spider perched on the roof. Like I said, Halloween is a big deal around here.

  “I told you,” says Gram. “Your mother’s a witch.”

  “She’s not a witch.”

  “She didn’t deny it.”

  “Yes,” I say. “She did.”

  “I’m not convinced.” Gram roars around a pickup truck filled with fake skeletons. At least I hope they’re fake.

  “Mom probably just googled it.”

  Gram offers no reply.

  “I mean about the scarecrow movie.”

  “I know what you mean.” Gram plows through a pile of autumn dry leaves.

  “And why do you think Natalie keeps posting things online if she wants to keep her visit to Cuper Cove a secret?”

  “Did she say she wanted to keep it a secret?” Gram asks me.

  I think back on our phone call. “I don’t actually remember.”

  “Maybe you should ask her.”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  Gram glances my way. “Why wouldn’t you just ask her?”

  I turn and face my grandmother. “I don’t want Natalie to feel like we don’t want to see her just because she might have to do some publicity for a movie.”

  Gram puts on a signal and turns toward school. “So this is about Natalie’s feelings?”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Maybe you don’t want to ask because you might not like the answer.”

  “No,” I say. “That’s not it. Because no matter what happens, I get to hang out with my friend Natalie.”

  Gram nods thoughtfully. “That’s a very healthy way to look at things, Danny.”

  “I am a very healthy person,” I tell my grandmother.

  “So you’ll be fine if you discover that Natalie’s trip is actually just some kind of publicity stunt?”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  I really hope that’s not going to happen.

  At school, Gram stops at the curb. She shuts off the engine and then sits quietly with both hands resting on the steering wheel. “Danny,” she finally says, “you need to be ready for anything.”

  I think about this for a moment. “How can you be ready for anything?”

  “As a matter of fact,” says Gram, “you can’t.”

  I don’t even try to respond to that. “If you don’t mind,” I tell her, “I’m going to sit here and study for a little while.”

  “In the car?”

  “We’ve got a math quiz today. If I stay here, I can look it over one more time without anybody distracting me.”

  Gram shrugs. “If you say so. Just don’t be late.”

  I nod toward the round-faced clock on the Camaro’s dashboard. “I’ll watch the time.”

  Gram laughs. “The hands on that clock have been in the same place since before you were born.” She removes her wristwatch and drapes it over the shift knob between our seats. Unlike Mom, Gram’s got a watch that tells time and that’s it. “Lock the car doors when you come inside.”

  I wasn’t lying about the quiz. I should have studied more last night, but I spent a long time texting with Natalie instead. It strikes me that all of my study schedules, all of my Halloween plans, and pretty much every part of my life has been turned upside down because of Natalie Flores Griffin. And she’s not even here yet.

  I pull out my math book and try to solve a word problem involving a girl named Marlena who’s got a large knife, an apple pie, and several hungry friends. It doesn’t go well. But seriously, who thought it would be a good idea to give this girl a knife in the first place? After several false starts and a couple dead ends, I jot down 42 and hope for the best.

  Looking up, I notice that there are a lot fewer people moving around outside now. I glance at Gram’s wristwatch. Even though I’m sitting less than fifty feet from the school’s front door, I am going to be late. I stuff my book into my bag, hop out of the Camaro, and race across the street. Before I reach the opposite curb, a sudden shriek of brakes and a foghorn blast of sound nearly knock me off my feet.

  That’s what happens when you step in front of a bus.

  If you’re lucky.

  The big yellow school bus—which happens to be my own big yellow school bus—comes to a stop about two feet short of running me down. Behind the windshield, Mr. Beamon gives me a hard stare. He puts his head on the steering wheel, and then he waves me over.

  “Sorry,” I say when Mr. Beamon opens his window.

  “You okay?” he asks calmly.

  I nod.

  “You didn’t look both ways before you crossed the street.”

  “I’m late for school,” I explain.

  “How about you look where you’re going next time?”

  “That’s a good idea,” I agree.

  Mr. Beamon sighs, closes his window, and revs the
engine. I step out of the road and onto the sidewalk, but before I can walk away, he reopens his window. “Danny,” Mr. Beamon calls to me. “Are you really going to the Halloween dance with Natalie Flores Griffin?”

  “Who told you that?” I ask.

  “A bus driver hears things.”

  “You heard right.”

  “Then your mom will be especially happy I didn’t kill you just now.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Mr. Beamon raises an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me that Missy Constantino is not trying to find a way to take advantage of a celebrity visit to Cuper Cove.”

  “You know my mom pretty well.”

  “A long time ago, Missy Constantino and I went to the Cuper Cove Middle School Halloween dance together. If I remember it right, the dance is a lot more fun if you’re not dead.”

  “You and my mom,” I say to Mr. Beamon. “Were you like—”

  “We grew up together,” he tells me. “She’s always been one of my favorite people.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Beamon says. “Really.”

  Behind me, the bell announces the start of a new school day. Mr. Beamon shifts the bus into gear. “You’re late for class,” he tells me.

  “What kind of name is Shad?” I blurt out.

  Mr. Beamon smiles a little. “I’ll tell you about that another time.”

  I watch the bus pull away, then take a deep breath and head into the school building. Gram’s waiting just inside the door. “Danny,” she says sharply. “Where have you been?”

  “I almost got hit by the bus,” I tell her.

  Gram crosses her arms. “But apparently it missed you.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “You were probably rushing and stepped into the street without looking.”

  “Something like that,” I admit.

  “I will celebrate the fact that you were not killed by sending you to class without detention.”

  First I dodged a bus. Now I’ve dodged a bullet. But apparently, that’s not good enough for me. “Can I ask a question?” I say to Gram.

  She puts both hands on my back and pushes me down the hall. “No.”

  “It’s more like an observation.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I think Mr. Beamon likes Mom.”

  Gram stops pushing. “Why do you think that?”

  I turn to face my grandmother, who is standing in front of a set of science fair posters hanging outside a closed classroom door. One especially colorful piece of artwork outlines a jelly doughnut’s journey through the digestive system of a very large circus clown. Another shows a desperate-looking dog staring from the porthole of a rocket ship blasting away from the earth. I’m not sure if I feel more like the dog or the doughnut. Maybe I’m the clown.

  “I could just tell,” I say.

  “One girl says she’ll go to a dance with you, and now you’re an expert on romance?”

  I shrug.

  “How did that even come up?” she asks.

  “Mr. Beamon was pretty flustered from almost running me over.”

  “I wonder what he would have said if he hit you,” Gram mutters.

  Just then, Mr. Maggio rounds the corner. “Danny Constantino!” the principal calls from the opposite end of the hallway. “Just who I was looking for!”

  Gram leans forward and whispers in my ear, “It looks like you were destined to get run over one way or another.”

  “Save me,” I say quietly.

  “Next time, don’t be late.” She turns and leaves me alone with Mr. Maggio, who I realize looks a lot like the clown on the science fair poster. I guess that makes me the doughnut.

  “Danny,” says Mr. Maggio, “I could use a Natalie Flores Griffin update.”

  “I think she’s feeling much better.”

  Mr. Maggio looks confused. “Was she sick?”

  “No,” I say. “I mean yes. But not anymore.”

  “And what about our Halloween pep rally?”

  “Pep rally?”

  “Mr. Constantino”—Mr. Maggio tilts his head and looks down at me over his glasses—“did you forget about the pep rally?”

  “I would never forget about the pep rally.”

  By which I mean I totally forgot about the pep rally.

  “Will she be here for the big day?”

  “I don’t know,” I confess.

  “Danny,” says Mr. Maggio, “what do you know?”

  I glance up at the little rocket ship dog, who, if he could speak, would probably be saying EJECT! EJECT! EJECT!

  “Mr. Maggio,” I say, “I know that I am very late for class. Can I check in with you later?”

  The principal sighs. “Far be it from me to tell a student that he should not go to class.”

  I turn and jog away before Mr. Maggio thinks of something else. “No running in the hallway!” he calls after me.

  At lunch time, I catch up with my friends in the cafeteria. While we eat, I keep my back against the wall. Darius, Zoey, Billy, Ajay, and Maddie make a circle around me. For the most part, they keep our classmates’ constant barrage of curiosity and questions away.

  “We’re really protecting you from yourself,” says Darius. “If we left you alone, you’d eventually say something stupid. It would inevitably end up online, and then Natalie would be forced to cancel her trip.”

  “What could I possibly say?” I ask.

  “There are more than one point five billion websites in the world,” Darius informs me. “The possibilities are endless.”

  I turn to Madeline, who is sitting at my elbow. She’s wearing a shirt that says VOTE FOR CONSTANTINO! “Where did you get that?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head. “All of your mom’s campaign volunteers have them, Danny.”

  “You’re one of my mom’s campaign volunteers?”

  Just then, the redheaded girl that inspired me to lie about Natalie’s health pops up from under our table. “Hi,” she says from the floor.

  “No comment!” I yell at her.

  “What are you doing down there?” Maddie asks the girl.

  “I just wanted to say that I’m really glad Natalie is feeling better,” she says.

  “What is your name?” I ask.

  “Mira. It’s short for Miroslava. It means ‘peace and glory.’ My dad says it also means ‘light and ocean.’ Maybe it means ‘peaceful ocean’? Or ‘glorious light.’ I don’t know exactly. Some people think I’m Irish, but my last name is Sergiyenko. After Ireland, Russia has the highest percentage of redheaded people in the world. Did you know that?”

  This all comes out in one big rush.

  I stare under the table for a moment. “I’ll let Natalie know you said hi,” I tell Mira.

  Mira’s face goes white. “You will?”

  Maddie pokes me in the ribs. Hard.

  I rub my side. “Sure. Is that okay?”

  She starts to cry. “I was really worried.”

  I turn to my friends. Except for Maddie’s willingness to puncture my lung when I say something stupid, they are no help. I lean back under the table. “Is there anything else?” I ask.

  Mira shakes her head. “Thank you, Danny.”

  Maddie sticks her head under the table next to mine. “You can go now,” she tells the small redheaded ocean of peace and light and glory.

  Mira crawls away and Maddie turns to me. “Is it me, or is this getting weird?”

  Chapter 10

  use the horse, duke

  After school, I sit in my room and focus on homework for a change. In math, we’re graphing linear equations, which basically means drawing a bunch of straight lines. That’s not too bad. Actually, I wish everything could be as easy as a straight
line.

  For language arts, I read a story called “Aschenputtel.” It’s an old and very creepy version of Cinderella in which the rotten stepsisters chop their own feet to bits and then get their eyes pecked out by pigeons. Of course, Cinderella still marries the prince and lives happily ever after. Weirdly, I think “Aschenputtel” might follow all of Zoey’s romantic comedy rules.

  Finally, I write a paragraph in my science journal describing what I think would happen to a freshwater pond if all the insects were to suddenly disappear. I’m not exactly sure of the answer, but I’m pretty certain it’s not going to be good.

  Once I finish with the damselfly apocalypse, I dig my phone out of my backpack and see that I’ve missed a call from Natalie. There’s no voicemail. I can only think of a few reasons she would actually dial my number. Most of them involve having her phone in her back pocket. Just about everything else makes me worry that she’s going to cancel her trip to Cuper Cove.

  I glance around my room. Superhero movie posters cover my walls along with sketches of comic book characters I’ve drawn myself. I’ve definitely got some villains, but I mostly focus on the good guys. I think that’s what my dad would like if he was around. And for better or worse, good guys don’t act like jerks when their dates cancel. At least that’s what I assume. I’m kind of making this up as I go.

  I take a deep breath and then dial Natalie’s number. The phone barely rings twice before she picks up. “Danny Constantino,” she says without even a hello. “I was hoping you’d call back. Unless, that is, you’re about to tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

  “Change my mind about what?” I ask.

  “You and me going to the Halloween dance.”

  Before I can respond, a low, hollow BOOM! sounds behind Natalie.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “Have you changed your mind?” she says.

  “No,” I tell her. “Have you?”

  “Absolutely not.” She says this as if I’ve just suggested that she add cat fur to an ice cream cone.

  “Great!” I say. “That’s great.”

  “You sound surpris—” Natalie’s cut off by two more loud explosions. BOOM! BOOOOM!!!!