by Nina Beck
“Oh god, I hope that wasn’t a hint,” Samantha cried.
“Monday night, next date. Be here at five.”
“I have homework!” Samantha cried.
“Five-thirty, then,” she said magnanimously. “The rest of you too.”
The “meeting” was adjourned and the group split up, Riley staying home to call her boyfriend and watch reality television, Marley to go do something that was probably illegal in most states, Brendan to go do whatever Brendan did…and D…D waited for Samantha.
* * *
1. “Want to make out?”
2. “I don’t know.”
3. “Everyone’s doing it.” (Latin peer pressure)
4. “Oh! Was I speaking Latin again? Silly me—sometimes it just sort of slips out.”
5. “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
D LEARNS THAT HE DOESN’T LIKE LATIN EITHER
D excused himself to use Riley’s bathroom, so that he could wait out Marley’s and Brendan’s departure. Once he heard them leave and only Sam’s and Riley’s voices were left, he washed his hands and walked out of the bathroom.
“Hey,” D said, walking up to Samantha. “Can I walk you home?”
“Sure,” Samantha said after a moment of hesitation, glancing at Riley, who just smiled and kissed them both on the cheeks and wished them a safe and wonderful walk home. If she didn’t do it in a really annoying singsong voice, it wouldn’t have been so obvious. But D figured that’s what best friends were for.
D didn’t push his luck and just smiled and walked in front of her, backward, while he talked: “Did he really make you take a cab two blocks?”
Sam nodded.
“And you had dinner with his parents?”
Sam nodded again.
“And—”
“Ugh, I can’t take it anymore! No more talking about it!” Sam cried. “If I hear one more word about Joshua Cole, I will not only scream but I will swear off men forever!”
D stopped and Samantha, not paying attention to him, bumped into him—chest first. D steadied her. “That would be a shame,” he said, then he pulled her coat around her tightly, because it was chilly out—or because she shivered—and smiled before taking a step back. For a moment D wanted to say something important, except he had no idea what to say. All that tumbled through his mind was Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her.
“Yeah,” she said, then lightly shook her head. “What?”
He just smiled and said, “Let’s go, tiger… Let’s get you home.”
The next morning, as D was leaving gym class, he overheard a nasal voice, normally reserved for Latin only, talking to another student. And while D didn’t want to be overly worried, the fact that Joshua was speaking English was enough to cause D to pause and listen to what was being said.
“That girl was such a bitch,” D overheard Joshua saying to another student he didn’t recognize. D didn’t want to get mad over nothing; perhaps he was talking about someone else. “Seriously, who needs to take applications to find a date anyway? She’s seriously twisted.”
That was enough for D. He stepped out from behind the lockers, noting with satisfaction the look of surprise (and then mistrust) on Joshua’s face.
“What’s up, Hammond?” Joshua asked him.
“Not much, Cole. But I heard you speaking about my friend Samantha.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Like I just said, she’s my friend. Do you need me to repeat it in Latin?”
“Blow off, Hammond.”
“It’s just that if you were saying something bad about my friend, I’d have to teach you a lesson about how to properly treat a lady. And we both know that it would be a shame, considering what a lame prick you are.”
“Quid me appellavisti?!?!”6 Joshua’s face turned bright red and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Shall we go outside?” D asked, rolling up his sleeves.
* * *
6. “What did you call me?”
ONE TOO MANY
Samantha was sitting in the library during lunch that day when Justin put his hands over her eyes and told her to “Guess who.”
For a second she thought it was D and her heart did a pitter-pat and her stomach did a somersault, but when she turned around, she couldn’t hide the look of disappointment on her face.
“Wasn’t who you were expecting, huh?” Justin laughed, sitting on the edge of the table Samantha was working on.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“Just wished it was someone else?”
Samantha didn’t have a response for that, so she decided it was safer to just not say anything at all.
“This isn’t about a certain guy with a certain accent, is it?” Justin asked. Samantha was unable to keep herself from turning a brilliant shade of pink, and Justin simply nodded.
“Can I tell you something about D?”
Samantha wanted to say no, she didn’t want to hear anything bad about D, but she found herself nodding, because really, she wanted to hear about him. She wanted to talk about him. She…wanted him.
“He loves the chase, you know?” Justin said, standing and pacing around and behind Samantha’s chair. “If you’re too easy, he’ll lose interest.”
“I wouldn’t consider myself too easy,” Sam said, bristling.
“No, no, that’s not what I mean. Just don’t let him know you’re available, make him work for it a little.”
“Easier said than done,” Samantha said. “I mean, that’s making an assumption that he’s actually interested in me.”
“Oh, he’s interested,” Justin said, his eyes sparkling.
Samantha tried to pretend she wasn’t interested but she could barely keep her voice level as she asked, “Oh, how do you know that?”
“Maybe because he just beat the crap out of the Latin King.”
“Joshua Cole?”
“The very same.”
“Why?” Samantha asked, generally confused. Had Joshua said something in Latin that D took offense to?
“Why do you think?” Justin asked, watching Samantha very carefully. “You know, there is absolutely nothing that would drive D as crazy as you going out with me…”
Samantha was walking to her locker after sixth period on Monday when Riley ran into her and practically slammed her into the wall.
“What the heck?” Sam cried, trying to right herself while Riley hung on her arm.
“Tonight’s your second date!” Riley cried.
“Don’t remind me,” Sam said, spinning the dial on the lock. She opened the door and out fell a card that said: Go two lockers to the right, the combination is 4-49-1.
“What’s this?” Riley asked, trying to pull the card out of Sam’s hands.
“I have no idea.”
“Well?”
“It says that I should open the locker two down from mine.”
“Well? Do it!”
“I don’t know if I should,” Samantha said, looking skeptically at the envelope. “Who knows what’s in there? Maybe it’s a bomb.”
“It’s not a bomb,” Riley said. She plucked the paper from Sam’s hand, walked to the locker, and spun the combination. “Ew, it’s someone’s locker.”
“Of course it is. What did you think it would be? A sarcophagus?”
“What’s a—oh! A note!” Riley took out a note that was obviously the same stationery and handwriting. “Open it!” she said, flinging it in Sam’s general direction.
Sam opened it and grinned. “It says to walk across the hall and open locker number one thirty-nine…and it has a combo here.”
They opened the next combo and it said: Last one, promise. Go to locker #41. Please don’t dawdle, I only rented these lockers until the end of the school day.
They made it to locker #41 and inside there was a photograph of someone’s lips, puckered up for a kiss.
“At least I think those are lips.”
“Yeah, probably.”
&
nbsp; “Does this have anything to do with my next date?” Sam asked, waving the picture in front of Riley’s face.
“Not that I know of.” But Sam thought she looked suspicious.
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, um, I’ll see you after school!”
D LEARNS THE SUBTLE ART OF LICKING HIS WOUNDS
D was busy serving detention after school when he was supposed to be at Riley’s house to see Sam off on her second date and to—as Riley put it—go through some “committee work.” Whatever that meant.
Instead he was sitting at a desk in an empty room (empty aside from the fact that Joshua Cole, who was muttering under his breath in Latin, sat two seats away from him—but he was ignoring his presence).
D’s right hand hurt, where he had repeatedly smashed it into Joshua’s jaw. But Joshua, the little Latin-speaking booger, had managed to bite him on the hand, really hard. In exchange, Joshua was sporting an amazing black eye.
If a bite mark (and probable rabies) wasn’t bad enough, D had received an e-mail earlier that afternoon from his father about his college applications. He was expected for dinner, at which point they would be having “a talk.”
Great, just what D needed.
#10 LOCK LIPS WITH SOMEONE SPECIAL
Sam was going on her second date. With the lips.
Walker Saunders’s lips, to be exact.
The “committee” let them both off easy without any weird introductions or embarrassing episodes, but Sam was so tense that it hardly mattered.
“Where is D?” she asked Riley.
“Detention.”
“Oh.”
Sam spent the time before her date reading the e-mail that Walker had sent (she was allowed to read it this time) (preparation, Riley had said, was key), and she thought seriously about canceling the whole thing, but Justin’s advice kept ringing in her ears. She didn’t want to be too obvious about her interest in D. If he needed a little competition, she’d make sure he had it.
She thought about Walker.
There were pros and cons to this choice, as Sam saw it. The pros were: He was cute. He seemed exceedingly sweet. He didn’t know Latin. Cons: He was a freshman. And not that there needed to be more cons than that, but the years that divided them seemed like great leaps. He was in the fifth grade when she was in the eighth grade.
She was dating a fifth grader.
Not dating. Just going on a date.
She waited in Riley’s apartment with the other committee members, who were anxiously waiting for her to leave so they could talk about her third and final date, when Walker showed up.
He was wearing a T-shirt, a hoodie, and shorts. It was way too cold for shorts and Sam couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t dressed more appropriately. Then she chided herself for being “old.” And then mentally chided him for being “young.”
He said hello to everyone. Riley welcomed him enthusiastically—she hadn’t met Walker before, but he knew Brendan from lacrosse—and Marley deigned a faint eyebrow raise when Walker mentioned he was in some classes with her younger sister. Then she did what she always did: She went back to reading a magazine. (Marley actually just scanned the pages, not as if she was inputting any text into her cranium. It was mostly staring at pictures and folding down the corners for the pages that had items she’d like to buy. But, for Marley, we will count this as reading.)
Sam took a good look at her date for the evening. He was kinda cute. He looked more like a football player than a musician. He was a big kid.
Guy, she meant. Guy.
When Walker was introduced to Samantha, he gave her a hug and said it was nice to meet her, and Samantha felt herself melt a little. He was still a freshman, but he was a charming little bugger.
They left on their date.
On the 4 train, going downtown, Walker asked her questions about herself (in English), about her time in upstate New York, about how she felt about moving to Manhattan. He told her that he admired the guts it took to do something so big and drastic before the end of high school, while Samantha blushed and thought about how mature Walker was. For a kid.
She told him about writing and he told her about his trombone.
The conversation was pleasant, if a little inane.
They went to see a movie in Times Square, and when Sam was sure that Walker was going to pick the one comedy that she knew her younger brother wanted to see (Oh god, Walker was the same age as her brother. She was dating her brother!), he surprised her by asking what she had seen and then arguing over the merits of what movies neither of them had seen yet. They opted for the new Bond movie. Walker leaned over about midway through the movie and told her how much he hated people who talked all the way through the movie, and then spent the next fifteen minutes doing just that—making Sam laugh over and over.
When the movie was finished, he turned to her and said, “Well, the movie is over but I’m not ready to say good-bye yet.” And all she could do was smile and nod.
“Want to grab a bite?” he asked.
“I’d really like that.”
So they hopped on the subway to go all the way down to Union Square, where Samantha’s favorite diner was (well, the only diner she actually had ever eaten at). They walked into Chat ‘n’ Chew, a basementlike spot that had all sorts of 1950s kitchen signage nailed into the plank walls and really low ceilings. Walker pretended to be suitably impressed, and Sam was pleased. He ordered a burger, a shake, fries, and rings. Sam ordered a steak salad.
“This place is amazing,” he said, looking around at the diner…and Samantha felt happy with her choice.
They spent the rest of their time together talking and laughing. She was actually a little nervous because at some point she decided that Walker wasn’t such a kid (and not a bad kid) after all and…could she date a freshman? And immediately D’s face flashed in her memory and she figured it just wouldn’t happen.
“What are you thinking about?” Walker asked.
Samantha laughed and blushed and then laughed again. “I was just thinking that I was surprised that I am having so much fun.”
Walker pretended to look upset. “Why wouldn’t you have fun?”
“Well, I just didn’t think we’d have anything in common. You are a…”
“A…?”
“Well…you’re a…”
“Trombone player?” Walker added helpfully.
Samantha nodded. “Yes, a trombone player.”
Walker nodded in what appeared to be a very sage manner. “Yes, I get that a lot.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I date girls all the time who are more used to guitar players or drummers, but let me tell you, the trombone is more than an instrument. It’s a way of life.”
“Oh?” Samantha asked, leaning forward, her arms resting on the table.
“Yup,” he said, twirling his straw in his glass.
“Can you expand on that?”
“Have you ever played a trombone?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, you hold it like this,” Walker said, pantomiming holding a trombone. “And it takes much more air than a lot of the small brass instruments, a steady stream of air. So you’re constantly forced to really identify what your body is doing and how you are expending your energies. Y’know? So you have to be in tune with yourself.”
“OK…”
“Not to mention tonguing notes.”
“Pardon?”
“When you change notes, to hit the note directly, you push out a strong, steady stream of air but reinforce that with a tongue movement.”
Sam shook her head.
“Here, give me your hand,” Walker said, getting up and moving to the other side of the booth and nudging her inside. They were both sitting on the same side now, squished onto the red seats. Walker took her left hand and put it over his mouth.
His lips felt soft and dry.
“Now tell me if you can feel this.” He blew a steady stream of warm ai
r against the palm of her hand, and every few seconds it would almost stop and start again, and she felt it.
“I feel that.”
“That’s what goes through the horn when you are tonguing it.”
Samantha was starting to get nervous when he kept throwing the term “tonguing” around. “I heard somewhere that trombone players are good kissers,” she said, trying to make a joke between the tonguing and the haikus he had left for her.
But instead of laughing, he smiled an “I’m not really laughing” smile and then got up and went back to the other side of the table.
Wow, Samantha thought. But she tried to shake it off. Maybe he just didn’t get the joke. “It’s like your haikus, you know? Trombone players are good kissers…?”
Walker smiled politely and asked for the check.
“Do you want to go somewhere for dessert?” Sam asked.
“Actually, I told Riley I’d have you back by eight-thirty and it’s almost nine…”
It wasn’t “late” a few minutes ago.
“I mean,” he said, “there is a lot of traffic on the subway at this time of night and I wouldn’t want to get you home late.”
Samantha nodded and followed Walker down into the subway. While she stood with her back against one of the support beams, Walker paced up and down the platform in striding steps, his head hanging over the edge while he looked for the train.
“I don’t think that will help it come any faster,” Samantha said.
Walker didn’t hear or didn’t care. When the train finally came and they both boarded, Sam built up some courage and said, “Did I say something wrong? I mean, I thought we were having a really fun time.”
“Yeah, totally,” Walker said, but he sounded distracted.
“Um, OK…”
About two minutes of uncomfortable silence passed before she spoke again. “Riley, me, and a few other people are going to see a comedy show next week. Would you want to join us?”
Walker seemed like he was battling for an answer for a few minutes, and then finally, as his face crumbled, he leaned closer to Sam and said, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings; you seem like a really nice girl. I just don’t think we’re a good fit.”
