Playing the Field

by Janette Rallison

  He cocked his head and folded his arms across his chest. “Just get it over with and tell me what you want. The suspense is killing me.”

  Mom spooned some green beans onto Kirk’s plate. “McKay and I were talking this afternoon about moving my work stuff into our room and making the office into a bedroom. I think that’s what all these compliments are about.” She looked over at me. “How come you never told me my car was tidy before you hit me up for a new room?”

  “Hmm,” Dad said, and it wasn’t a very enthusiastic hmm.

  Mom watched Kirk, who was smashing his green beans into mush. “The boys are a little old to share a room.”

  “I shared a room with my brother until I moved out of the house,” Dad said.

  She smiled over at him. “Yes, but if you remember, you didn’t like that arrangement.”

  “I also don’t like turning my bedroom into an office.”

  Kirk must have finally realized what the conversation was about because he suddenly piped in with, “Is McKay leaving our bedroom?”

  “No,” I said. “You’re leaving.”

  “Uh-uh,” he said.

  “Yes-huh,” I said.

  Mom gave us a stern look. “I think your father and I will discuss it later by ourselves.”

  “And I can tell you right now,” Dad said pointing at me, “if you want to convince me to turn my bedroom into medical transcription central, then you’d better not let up on that flattery for weeks, maybe months.”

  “You’re the perfect dad,” I said.

  “You’re darn right I am,” he said and went back to his dinner.

  * * *

  I was in a great mood for the rest of the evening—that is, I was in a great mood until I sat down to do my homework. I diagrammed sentences for my English class, I read about Jamestown for history—and then stared at my math problems. Not only had x shown up again for today’s assignment, but he’d brought y along with him too. They were both in disguise, and I was supposed to figure out which numbers they really were. Thirteen? Fifty-four? Sixty-nine and a half? They weren’t telling, and I had no way to know.

  I hadn’t even gotten the x equations figured out, and already the assignments were getting harder. I wondered how many letters Mrs. Swenson planned on adding to our math class and how far behind I’d be by the time we’d gone through the whole alphabet. I flipped through the book and thought about waiting until tomorrow morning to do the assignment. Then I thought about baseball and keeping my parents happy, and I plunged into the assignment anyway.

  It didn’t go very well. I was able to do the first problem but wasn’t sure I’d done it right. Could x actually equal 2y? Was that a legitimate answer? I mean, that only limited the value of x to somewhere between infinity and negative infinity.

  Wasn’t Mrs. Swenson looking for something a little more specific?

  Hmm.

  Perhaps I could convince my parents that you didn’t need to know algebra to become a brain surgeon.

  I did the rest of the problems, then called Tony to check my answers with his. We got different answers for six of the fifteen problems. Tony was sure he’d done his right because Jenna had helped him, so I decided to bike over to his house so he could show me how he’d done them.

  After I got there, I looked over Tony’s answers and decided to cross Jenna off of the Possible Tutors list.

  I pointed to one of Tony’s problems. “Look at this answer. It can’t possibly be right. X can’t equal 2x. That’s like saying 3 equals 6.”

  Tony picked up his paper. “Dang. You’re right. I wonder why Jenna didn’t catch that?” He looked at it a moment longer and muttered, “She was probably too busy lotioning up her cuticles to notice.” He shoved the paper back into his notebook and shrugged. “Oh well. I’ll just ask her about it when she gets home from her date. Let’s get something to eat.”

  I followed him into the kitchen glumly. How could he be so unworried about it? I watched him open cupboards and said, “Your parents don’t want you to be a brain surgeon, do they?”

  “I’ll probably be a realtor like my dad. He says he can teach me all the secrets to sell homes.”

  “There are secrets?”

  “Sure.”

  Tony was probably right because the Manettis seemed to have lots of money. They lived in a big house with nice furniture and had both a BMW and a Silverado to drive. Tony had every electronic device there was, including an expensive cell phone that did everything but the laundry. I didn’t have a cell phone at all.

  I wondered if there were secrets to selling ROs, and if so, who knew them.

  Tony took a box of Ding Dongs from a cupboard and threw me one. “I’ll call you after Jenna helps me with that problem, but it might be late. She’s out with Adam the Wonderful.”

  I caught the Ding Dong and ripped off the wrapper. “She’s actually pulling off that whole being-a-baseball-fan thing?”

  “I guess so, because she’s still drilling me with baseball questions every night.”

  I bit my Ding Dong in half and squeezed out some of the cream filling. “Man, that Adam guy most be totally clueless if he hasn’t figured out by now she’s just pretending to know baseball.”

  “Naw. Pretending is regular for dating. It’s part of playing the game. Everyone does it.”

  “Cool. I’m going to pretend to be Cal Ripkin then.”

  “No, I’m serious.” Tony picked up a magazine off the table. The cover said Teen Spirit and showed a beautiful teenage girl with long blond hair and a big smile. “This is one of Jenna’s How-To-Pretend-To-Be-Someone-else manuals.” He opened to the table of contents, and then put his half-eaten Ding Dong on the countertop. Reading out loud, he said, “Three easy steps to getting his attention . . . Be thinner by Thursday. . . Clothes that erase flaws. And then of course there’s the makeup feature.” He flipped a few pages to that section, then held up the before and after pictures for me.

  I tilted my head. “That’s what girls look like without makeup?”

  “Scary isn’t it. You should see Jenna when she gets up in the morning.”

  Tony looked over at the next page. “Hey, this looks interesting. Does your boyfriend have the right stuff?”

  I shoved the last piece of my Ding Dong into my mouth. “What’s so interesting about that?”

  A mischievous smile came across his face. “It’s a cheat sheet for what girls are looking for in a guy.” He pointed to the article. “Look, on this side we have the qualities of Mr. Right, and over here we have qualities of Mr. Ought-to-be Left-in-the-Dust.” He shook his head as he read over the last column. “Apparently girls don’t like guys who are jealous or cheap.”

  I went to the fridge and poured milk for Tony and myself while he scanned over the rest of the article. When I was done, I handed him his glass. He set it down on the counter instead of drinking it.

  Finally he nodded confidently. “Okay. I think I could pass for Mr. Right.” He cleared his throat as he looked at the magazine. “Number one, I’m supposed to have a good sense of humor.” He held the magazine down for a moment. “People are always telling me I’m funny.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think they’re talking about your sense of humor.”

  He ignored me. “Number two. I’m supposed to be honest. I could fake that.”

  “Uh, wouldn’t that be dishonest?”

  He still ignored me. “Number three. Attractive.” He held the magazine to the side for a moment and swept one hand in front of himself. “Need I say more?”

  I let out a grunt.

  “Number four. Loyal. Totally me. After all, I was a Boy Scout, and Boy Scouts are always loyal, brave, and trustworthy.”

  “Yeah, I bet girls will be really impressed with your scouting background. You can tell them about the time you cut up bugs to do your insect-study merit badge, Mr. Right.”

  “And lastly, I’m supposed to be understanding.” He laid the magazine on the countertop. “That’s the only one I’ll ha
ve to work on.” He picked up the rest of his Ding Dong and ate it while he contemplated this. “I think from now on, when I’m talking to girls I’ll nod every once in a while and say, ‘I understand.’”

  “That’ll make you irresistible.”

  “I can hardly wait to try this out.” For a moment Tony pretended he was talking to someone. “Really, Rachel? I understand.” He nodded slowly. “I honestly understand.”

  “You loyally, humorously, attractively understand.”

  Tony picked up his glass of milk and took a drink. “Go ahead and laugh now. We’ll see who’s laughing after it works.”

  “It’ll never work.”

  “I dare you to try it out on Serena.”

  I folded my arms. “I don’t even talk to Serena. How would I convince her I’m loyal?”

  “That’s just the point, McKay. You’ve got to talk to her.”

  I knew he was right, but I didn’t like it. I finished off my milk and glanced back at the kitchen table where our assignments lay. “I suppose I can just say hi to her a few more times and see what happens.” That somehow didn’t seem quite so bad.

  Chapter 4

  Over the next two days I said hello to Serena four times. I don’t even say hello that often to some of my friends. Once when I ran into Serena on the way to math class, I complimented her on the tidiness of her locker. Then while we walked to the room, we had a two-minute conversation about horses because I mentioned the pictures she hung on her locker door. She told me they were her aunt’s horses, but she gets to ride them whenever she visits her aunt’s ranch in Texas. One was a “paint,” and one was something else. They both looked spotted brown to me, but I nodded approvingly anyway.

  “I understand,” I said.

  She blinked at me. “You understand what?”

  I could only think of one thing to understand, so I said, “I, uh, understand why you like to ride horses.”

  “You like to ride too?”

  Well, I didn’t dislike it, and I couldn’t very well say no after I’d just told her I understood why she liked to ride horses. “Yeah,” I said, “I really like horseback riding.”

  “Cool. Where do you usually go?”

  Whatever I said next would undoubtedly disqualify me as Mr. Right due to that honesty clause. “The mountains,” I said.

  She nodded. “That’s fun, but I like riding out on flat land the best. That way your horse can run.”

  “I understand,” I said again.

  After I sat down at my desk in algebra class, Tony passed me a note. It read, “I saw you walk in with Serena. Anything happen?”

  I’m not exactly sure what he meant by “anything,” but judging by the smirk on his face he must have been referring to the rockets of our love igniting. I wrote back, “I found out her aunt has horses.”

  Tony sent the note back with “Is she being friendly to you?” scribbled on it.

  I wrote, “I don’t know. I’ve noticed she and Rachel giggle a lot when I walk by now,” then handed the note across the aisle to him.

  He made a big production of blowing kisses at me and wrote, “She must like you. You must like her.” As I read the note he whispered across the aisle, “Will you name your first son after me since I suggested you get together?”

  I wanted to lean over and punch him. Instead I wrote, “I don’t like her. I just want her to help me with my math.”

  Tony wrote back, “You’re such a baby, McKay. It’s okay to like girls. They don’t actually have cooties, you know.”

  I would have written something back to him, something insulting to put him in his place, but Mrs. Swenson walked down the aisle just then, so I shoved the paper into my math folder instead.

  I wasn’t a baby and I liked girls. I even liked Serena a little. But I don’t know. I couldn’t explain it; not to Tony and not even to myself. It was like the time when I was in third grade and I had a part in our class play. I played a Spanish explorer in early America. I was supposed to come onto the stage, turn to the audience, and say, “There’s gold in America. We’ll strike it rich in the new land!” I never had problems with my part during the rehearsal. I knew every word of my lines. I drove my parents crazy by saying them over and over again at home.

  Then the day of the play came. All of our parents crowded into the school auditorium carrying cameras. I stood backstage wearing my tin foil conquistador's hat and was so excited I was jumping up and down. When it was my turn, I walked out onto the stage, turned to look at the audience—and when I saw all of those faces looking up at me, watching me, waiting for me to do something, I was struck with panic. I stared openmouthed at the audience until my teacher whispered my lines to me from backstage. Then in a shaky voice, I said, “There’s gold in America. We’ll rike it stritch in the new land!”

  Everyone laughed. My parents got the whole thing on their camcorder. They still laugh when they watch it.

  And that’s exactly how I feel when I’m around girls. I might as well be in front of an audience, openmouthed, messing up my lines.

  I glanced over at Tony. He was leaning back in his chair in a casual sort of way. I wondered if he’d invented a cool way of sitting just like he’d invented a cool way of walking. By the time we reached the end of the year, he’d probably have all of the glitches worked out of his routines. By the time we reached high school, he’d have reached such heights of coolness that girls would trail him around the hallways just to experience the cool breeze flowing from his body.

  And I’d be in a corner somewhere saying everything backward.

  Maybe Tony was right. Maybe it was time to invent a cool McKay. I leaned back in my chair like Tony and tried to look like I was unconcerned about math class. I thought cool thoughts. Holding my pencil loosely in my hands, I tapped it against my notebook like I was playing the drums. I glanced over at Serena to see if she’d noticed the new me. She was staring straight ahead. I wondered how long it would take girls to notice me once I became cool.

  Mrs. Swenson handed out a worksheet for us to do, and I put it on top of my notebook and continued to play the drums with it. What did cool people do when they didn’t know how to do a worksheet? I thought about this for a moment, then thought about playing the drums. Were there any professional ballplayers who also played in a band? That would be the ultimate cool thing to do.

  I was thinking about this, and not about where I was tapping my pencil, when I missed my notebook and hit the metal edging on my desk. There was a loud twang, and half the classroom looked over at me to see what I was doing. I slumped down in my chair.

  Mrs. Swenson got that dour expression on her face. “McKay, are you finished with your worksheet already? Because if you are, perhaps you’d like to work some of the equations on the board for the rest of the class to see.”

  “Uh, no.” I gulped. “I’m not done yet. I was just figuring them out.” I slumped even lower in my chair.

  I don’t know why I looked over at Serena right then. Something just made me. I glanced over at her, and sure enough, she was looking back at me. Watching. Waiting for me to do something.

  I bent over the worksheet and under my breath, said, “We’ll rike it stritch in the new land.”

  * * *

  At home I continued to be a model son in order to persuade my parents that I needed a room of my own. That night after dinner while I cleared off the table and Mom put things in the dishwasher, I asked her, “Did you and Dad talk about moving Kirk out of my room?”

  “Well, we talked about moving you into the office.”

  “Me?” I dropped the last of the silverware into the sink. “Why do I have to be the one to move?”

  “Because you’re the one who wants his own room.”

  “But Kirk’s the one that’s impossible to live with.”

  Mom handed me a dish cloth and pointed at the table. It was my job to wash it off, but Mom always had to remind me to do it. “Kirk has been in that room since he was a baby. It’s the only room he
’s ever known. It will be easier on him to be alone if he’s still in familiar surroundings.”

  “But all the stuff in that room is mine. It’s decorated with posters of my favorite baseball players.”

  “They’re Kirk’s favorite players too,” Mom said. But she knew as well as I did the only reason Kirk liked baseball was because I’d taught him about it. He probably didn’t care about the players at all. If I had told him all about congressmen, he’d be just as happy with posters of U.S. senators hanging on the walls.

  “I know it’s not exactly fair,” Mom said, “but neither is me lugging my entire office into my bedroom. If you want your own room, you’ll have to make some concessions.”

  I knew the kind of concessions she was talking about were not the kind that sold hot dogs at baseball games. She meant I had to let Kirk have his own way before he even asked for it. It seemed like Kirk always got his own way.

  “Kirk should decorate his room with stuff he likes,” I said. “Something with cowboys or astronauts or trains.”

  Mom poured the dish soap into its tray and snapped the lid shut. “Kirk does like trains,” she said. “Maybe he’d like that even better than staying in your room with the baseball players.” She straightened up, then surveyed the table to make sure I’d done a good enough job. It must have passed her review, because she took the dishcloth instead of handing it back to me. As she wiped off the counters, she called, “Kirk!” A few moments later he trotted in.

  Mom put on the overly happy face she always uses to try and get Kirk excited about something. “Hey sweetheart, I was just thinking about how much you like trains, and I thought maybe you’d like to spend more time with some trains.”

  “Are we going someplace?” Kirk asked hopefully.

  “Well, no. I was just thinking maybe we could decorate the office with train things. Would you like that?”

  “Yeah,” Kirk said slowly, as though he knew there was a catch but wasn’t sure where.

  “Maybe you could even pretend it was your own private train compartment.”

  “Yeah,” Kirk said with more enthusiasm. “And I could take suitcases.”