Just for Clicks

by Kara McDowell

  The doorbell rings and we both stand to get it.

  “I think I’m early,” Rafael says as I open the door. He follows this statement with a smile that liquefies my bones. He’s wearing dark jeans and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. It’s a good look. Unlike this morning, his hair is styled in his specific undone way. I’m starting to suspect his hair always looks good.

  “Don’t worry,” Mom says from behind me. “We love early in this house.”

  What?

  Obviously, I should have added a rule about not saying embarrassing things tonight. She opens the door wider and stands back to let Rafael in.

  “Wait!” I hold out my hands, blocking him from entering. “Did you get it?”

  He rolls his eyes and pulls a small silver block out of his front pocket.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a phone!” He flips it open and grins at the tiny, one-inch screen and old school keypad.

  “It’s a brick.”

  “It receives texts,” he says.

  “Emojis?”

  “You never specified emojis,” he says, which, unfortunately, is true. His dark eyes sparkle, clearly pleased with the loophole.

  Mom watches this exchange with a baffled expression. She raises both her eyebrows at me, and it takes me a few seconds to realize what she wants.

  “Mom, this is Rafael. Rafael, this is my mom.” I’m not used to making introductions. It’s rare I meet someone who doesn’t know my mom better than they know me.

  Rafael sticks out his hand, and she shakes it. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Dixon.”

  “Call me Ashley. I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

  “Happy to be here.”

  I try to think of a witty reply, but I’ve got nothing. He looks out of place in my house. Amazing, but out of place, like when a gossip magazine posts a picture of a celebrity in line at Starbucks. Hot high school boy visits friend’s house. He’s just like us!

  “Do you want us to pick up the pizza?” I ask Mom, hoping for an excuse to get out of the house.

  “Poppy already left.” She heads toward the kitchen. “I have some work to finish up, but feel free to make yourself at home, Rafael.”

  “This place looks amazing.” Rafael takes in the decorations, and I’m relieved that he doesn’t seem weirded out. “Can I see the rest?”

  I take him on a nervous and rambling tour of the house, where I point out the most obvious things. “That’s a ghost. That’s a pumpkin. That’s a black cat.” I sound like a flight attendant identifying exit windows.

  “I lived in India, and Mexico, and Turkey, and Greece. Not outer space,” Rafael reminds me with a laugh.

  We tour the house (minus my room, because it’s messy and filled with, like, bras and stuff), and end up in the living room. He sits on the couch and leans his head back to take in the grim reaper. “Festive!”

  “Halloween is my favorite holiday,” I say from the corner of the room. I was afraid it would seem weird if I sat next to him, but now I feel weird standing on one side of the room while he sits on the other. I move toward the big ottoman and sit on it cross-legged, facing him.

  “Why Halloween?”

  “There’s no pressure to buy the right gift or make the perfect meal or say the right thing. It’s nothing but fun. I love the idea that for one night a year, I can be anyone or anything I want.”

  He nods. “I never thought about it that way.”

  “Plus, candy corn is, hands down, the best food on the planet. Let’s get some.” I lead him into the kitchen, where Mom is editing the pictures of us in the trench coats.

  “Is this for your Instagram?” Rafael looks at the screen over her shoulder.

  “Yes. I’m editing pictures for a sponsor.”

  “What’s a sponsor?”

  “It’s pretty boring.” I move toward the living room again, hoping he’ll follow me. Instead, he pulls up a chair next to Mom and sits down.

  Mom pulls up a picture of Poppy and me. “These coats were sent by a clothing line. It’s our job to post pictures of us wearing them.”

  “How many pictures?” He looks genuinely interested, but maybe he’s just being polite. Either way, I’m not about to leave him alone with my mom, so I pull up a chair and sit next to him. I open the container of candy corn and toss a handful in my mouth. Rafael reaches over and grabs a few pieces, brushing his hand against mine in the process. My skin warms at his touch.

  “It depends on the sponsor. Usually a few different pictures spaced out over a couple of days. And then I’ll caption the pictures with a sentence about how much we love the company.”

  “Do you?” Rafael looks to me for an answer.

  I shrug and swallow a mouthful of candy corn. “They’re cute, but it’s too hot here to wear them.”

  “But the company pays you to wear them anyway?” Rafael turns back to Mom.

  She nods her head. “They send a paycheck, and we get to keep the product. It’s pretty simple once you get the hang of it.” She scrolls through the blog. “If the company likes us and we help them to sell a lot of clothes, they’ll hire us again. You’d never realize it by looking at the blog, but it’s the business side of things that takes up most of my time. Some people think fashion blogs are nothing but pretty pictures and empty words, but it’s a lot more than that.”

  “What about the tech side of things?” Rafael asks. “I know next to nothing about the internet, but that’s probably a lot of work too.”

  “That’s all Claire. She’s been in charge of our web design for the last few years.”

  “Seriously?” Rafael turns to me. “That’s impressive.”

  “It’s easy to impress the guy who knows next to nothing about the internet.”

  He smiles and turns back to the screen, where Mom is now sorting through pictures from dinner. “Are all your posts sponsored?”

  “Not all of them.”

  “If you have too many sponsored posts and not enough normal posts, people get mad,” I explain. “People don’t want to feel like they’re constantly being sold something, even if it’s true.”

  “Claire hates participating in sponsored posts, but it’s part of the job,” Mom says.

  “You mean it’s part of my life. Let’s go pick a movie.” I stand up and, this time, Rafael follows me.

  “How’d you get web design skills? And don’t say it’s not a big deal, because it is.” He sits on the couch. I sit next to him, leaving at least a foot of space between us, and fold my legs under me. I hold out the candy corn, and he takes another handful.

  I sit back and think about it. I’ve been doing this for so long, it’s almost hard to remember a time when I wasn’t helping with the blog. “I started with Scratch when I was little, probably six or seven—”

  “What’s Scratch?” he asks. Sometimes I forget that he’s been away from technology so long that he doesn’t know the basic stuff.

  “You really want to know? Because I’ve been told I can get a little . . . enthusiastic when I start talking about this. ‘Boring’ is another word people use.”

  “I’m interested,” Rafael says, and I know he’s just talking about our conversation, but my traitorous skin blushes anyway.

  “It’s this incredible program that is designed to teach computer coding to kids. Do you want to see it? It’s easier to explain that way. Wait here!” Before he can answer, I’m taking the stairs two at a time. I return seconds later with my laptop in my hands. “Okay,” I say, sitting next to him and showing him the screen. “You can animate anything with this, videos or games or whatever.”

  I click on the “Create” button at the top of the page. “So, say you’re creating a story, and you want this cat to walk across the screen and then say, ‘Hello.’ Here’s how you do it.” I show him how to snap together building blocks of code to control the cat’s actions. There are blocks that controls the cat’s move
ments, blocks to control his appearance, and blocks that allow him to make sounds. I drag a few of the blocks together to create a simple animation. “Isn’t that amazing?”

  He nods his head slowly. “Yeah . . . but I’m confused.”

  “No! It’s easy! Kids can do it. And it’s not just for fun either. It helps them communicate and it teaches computer literacy and problem-solving skills. It’s being used in schools all over the country!” I pause for a breath and Rafael starts laughing. “I’m totally boring you, aren’t I?”

  “I can’t remember the last time I was less bored.”

  As I’m trying to figure out whether or not that’s a good thing (it is!), he picks up a piece of candy corn and bites off the white and orange part. When he’s done, he eats the yellow.

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Eating them like that.”

  “The yellow part tastes the best. I’m saving it for last.”

  “It all tastes the same,” I say. Then I eat a piece his way, just to make sure. “Yep. Definitely the same.”

  The front door opens and Poppy walks inside. “Get it while it’s hot!” she says as she walks into the room with two pizza boxes and a bag of cheesy bread.

  Ten minutes later, we’re all assembled in front of the TV with pizza, soda, and bags of candy corn. Rafael and I are sitting next to each other, slightly closer than before, but still not close enough to touch.

  “What are we watching?” Mom asks as she browses through the options on our video streaming service.

  “The Orphanage?” Poppy suggests.

  “No way.” I shake my head. “Too scary.”

  “I thought you wanted a scary movie,” Rafael says.

  “Not really,” Poppy says as she rolls her eyes. “Claire hates being scared.”

  “You love Halloween but hate being scared?” Rafael looks at me with his eyebrows raised and a small smirk on his face.

  “Pretty much,” I say and take a bite of pizza.

  “We could spend the next twenty minutes looking at movie options while our food gets cold, or we could skip to the inevitable end of this conversation and save ourselves the trouble,” I say. Mom apparently agrees because she grabs our old copy of Halloweentown and puts it in the Blu-ray.

  “Never heard of it,” Rafael says.

  “You’ll love it,” I promise.

  “You probably won’t,” Poppy says. “Unless you like cheesy old kids movies.

  “Don’t pretend like you don’t love it, Pop.” I turn to face Rafael. “It’s hilarious. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” he says with a wink.

  I spend most of the movie watching Rafael watch the movie, throwing sideways glances at him to see if he’s enjoying it. It’s only after the movie starts that I realize Poppy is right. It’s seriously outdated and probably dumb if you don’t have a sentimental attachment to it like I do. He doesn’t seem to mind though.

  It’s hard to focus on the movie when I’m sitting so close to him. His arms are crossed so there’s no way to accidentally brush my hand against his. At one point, he uncrosses them and my heart picks up speed. He scratches his cheek.

  False alarm.

  After that, I spend an unhealthy amount of time trying to decide if I should brush my knee against his, but I don’t. Of course I don’t. Making the first move like that requires a bravery I can only dream of.

  Driving to his house today was an admission that I like him as a friend. Holding his hand would be something so much bigger. Something I’m not even sure he wants. Not in the same way I do. I still don’t know how many girls he’s kissed in the dark, how many of them still think about him long after he left and moved on.

  I breathe a sigh of relief as the credits roll. If I have to spend any more time next to Rafael, in the dark, with my family, I’ll explode. Mom opens the game cupboard and pulls out our ancient version of Clue. “Who wants to play?” She shakes the box in front of her and smiles at the three of us.

  “I don’t think so, Mom.” No one could argue that I haven’t put in my share of family time today.

  “Come on. Clue is your favorite!”

  Either my mother is trying to keep Rafael and me from spending time alone or she’s oblivious. I shoot Poppy a pleading look. “I think I’m going to go call Brayden,” Poppy says as she stands and brushes crumbs off her pants onto the carpet.

  “Not while we have a guest!” Mom says. “Let’s play. It’ll be fun.”

  Poppy gives me a look that says, I tried, and I return one that says, Not that hard. She sits next to Mom who is already opening on the box and shuffling cards. So, this is happening.

  Rafael and I sit next to them on the floor, and we play Clue for the next two and a half hours. I win the first two games, but Rafael wins the third. When we finish, it’s almost eleven o’clock.

  “Another game?” Mom asks as she stifles a yawn.

  “Not for me.” Poppy jumps up. “I’m going to go call Brayden before he goes to sleep. See you later, Rafael.” She leans in to me and says “This will give Mom something to blog about” in a voice that is way too loud. I pretend not to hear and hope that Rafael is slightly deaf.

  “I guess I should go to bed too. It was nice to meet you, Rafael,” Mom says as we all stand up. I stretch my body, which is stiff from lying on my stomach on the carpet for so long. “Come say goodnight before you go to bed, Claire.” She leaves the room.

  As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Rafael. “I’m sorry my mom hijacked the night and forced you to stay for so long.”

  He shakes his head. “It was fun. I had a really good night.”

  “Me too.” My stomach flips nervously. I’m starting to think that being with Rafael makes everything more fun, including boring school classes and spending Saturday night with my family.

  He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, making me wonder if he’s as nervous around me as I am around him. “Should I expect to see my face on your mom’s blog next week?”

  Crap. I guess that means I can cross “slightly deaf” off the list of things I know about Rafael.

  “Definitely not.” I bend down and clean up the game, hoping that he’ll let the subject drop. I grab our plates and empty cups and bring them into the kitchen.

  “What was Poppy talking about?” Rafael follows me. I put the dishes in the sink and when I turn around, he’s standing inches away from me with a small smirk on his face. I lean back against the counter and put my hands up on the edge of the sink.

  “It’s nothing.” I’m unable to think of a believable lie with him staring at me like that. I can hardly think about anything at all with him staring at me like that.

  “I won’t tell anyone.” His smirk turns into a grin, making my knees wobble. I tighten my grip on the sink. He raises his eyebrows, making it clear that he’s willing to wait as long as it takes. It’s a battle of wills in who can go the longest without talking, and I know I don’t stand a chance.

  “Fine.” I exhale. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner we can forget about it. “On her best day, Mom’s nosy. On her worst, she’s an invasive exhibitionist. But don’t worry, I already told her, under no circumstances are you allowed anywhere near her blog or Instagram or YouTube or any of it.”

  The effect of my words is instantaneous. He steps back. “You don’t want people to know we’re hanging out?” His face falls, all traces of a smile vanishing in an instant.

  “It’s none of their business.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He looks down at his shoes. Over my shoulder. Up at the ceiling. It’s the first time he’s ever had trouble meeting my eyes, and that realization is crushing.

  “But I do like spending time with you!” I insist. I need to do something to save this moment, but I don’t know what to do. I let go of the sink, no longer weak at the knees. My hand drops to my side, hanging loosely beside me as if it doesn’t belong there. I
have no idea what to do with my body, like an alien who was just beamed here from outer space, not a girl with seventeen years of practice commanding my arms and hands and mouth.

  I look at his hand. I could reach across the space between us and grab it, but I have no idea if he wants me to do that. If he did, wouldn’t it be obvious? The last time I held a boy’s hand was on the ride home from prom with Jackson. In a rare moment of bravery, I grabbed his hand and held onto it the entire ride home. I was so sure he wanted me to. I was so sure he was going to kiss me.

  I look at Rafael, and suddenly those twelve inches between us feel insurmountable. It might as well be twelve miles. “You want to play another game? Or watch something else?”

  “Nah. It’s okay. I should go.” He finally meets my gaze. Frustration clouds his expression.

  We don’t say anything as we walk to the front porch. It’s dark outside except for the glow that comes from a trio of life-sized witches who are stooped low over a cauldron. The one in the middle is stirring a potion with a long wooden stick in her hands. I have a sudden urge to crawl inside the giant cauldron and let them cook me in their potion, just so I can avoid the awkward goodbye that’s coming. Once again, I’ve ruined everything with my big mouth. For the second night in a row, he’s leaving with confused eyes, and I’m left with a lump in the back of my throat.

  “Good night, Claire.” Rafael hesitates and extends his hand into the space between us, waiting for me to shake it. I look at him in disbelief. “I thought I could use some more practice.” He drops his hand and forces a laugh that sounds awkward and jerky until it’s drowned out by a cackle from the witches behind us. He jumps and then laughs at himself, for real this time, and shakes his head.

  “Motion sensor,” I explain.

  “Right. Well. Night.” He nods at me before jogging toward his car, glancing sideways at the witches as he goes.

  A handshake.

  He tried to give me a good night handshake. Suddenly, a high five doesn’t seem so terrible.