[Something in the Way 01.0] Something in the Way

by Jessica Hawkins

  “You already have all the instructions I intend to give,” the professor answered.

  Les and I exchanged a sheepish look before I closed my eyes.

  A cold finger landed on my cheek. Les giggled. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t speak,” Sal said.

  It was even more uncomfortable not being able to laugh about it. I placed my palm on Les’s face, and it warmed to her cheek. I had to stop myself from also apologizing.

  “Good,” the professor said. “Try to read your partner this way. Tune into their emotions.”

  “Lake?” I heard from somewhere behind me.

  “You’re nervous,” Les said.

  “What?”

  “You just jumped.”

  “I-I have to go.” We both opened our eyes. I stood, brushing grass off my legs, and announced, “My ride is here.”

  Sal nodded. “See you around, then.”

  I waved to get my dad’s attention as I jogged toward him. The blonde was nowhere to be seen. “What were you doing?” he asked, picking a twig from my hair.

  “They invited me to join a class.” Maybe acting was something I could add to the list for Manning. I’d only been interested in it five minutes, but considering I had no clue what else to put on there, it was worth a try. “Maybe I’ll sign up for it as a freshman.”

  “Which class?”

  “Drama.”

  He snorted and turned for the parking area. I hurried to keep up. “I never understood why that department was so important here. It’s silly, but I suppose not everyone can be gifted enough to do the things that really matter.”

  That was as good of an opening as I was going to get. I scratched my head. “Um, Dad, you know . . . if drama’s a big deal here, they might like to see it on my application.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Maybe I could start looking into it now. Either at school or as, like, an extracurricular.”

  “Hmm.” He put his hands in his pockets. “You do need to choose some electives next year. It could round out your schedule a bit.”

  I didn’t know what to say other than “thanks.” It was rare to get what I wanted if it wasn’t his idea. Tiffany and my mom, on the other hand, got what they wanted frequently. Maybe he was finally starting to see me as an adult.

  It was a win in my book.

  8

  Lake

  Now this was what summer was all about.

  At ten-thirty on the Thursday morning following our night at the fair, I lay on a beach towel on the south side of Huntington Pier with my friends. It was early, but beach real estate in August was valuable.

  Normally, I applied a lot of sunscreen since I burned easily. Tanning was an art I had yet to perfect. Tiffany had my same complexion and she’d gotten it down to a science. She wanted to be tan three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year. Tonight, though, Manning was coming over for dinner. He’d be at the house in about nine hours.

  I applied sunscreen to my face and chest only. Vickie, on the towel next to mine, only used tanning oil. “Can I borrow some?” I asked when she’d finished with it.

  She handed it over. “You missed a crazy party Saturday night.”

  “I was there,” I said.

  Mona, on the other side of Vickie, sat up on her elbows. She looked at me over her sunglasses. “You were not.”

  “I was outside for a minute.” I squirted oil onto my legs, wedging my fingers under the elastic leg of my one-piece to even it out. “It didn’t look like much fun.”

  “Are you kidding?” Vickie asked. “Everyone was there. We tried rum and played drinking games.”

  Not everyone, I wanted to say. Corbin Swenson popped into my mind. I scanned the surfers bobbing on their boards in the water, but they were too far for me to recognize faces. “I went to Balboa Park,” I said. Since they looked up to my sister for some reason, I added, “With Tiffany. She says high school parties are lame.”

  “Of course they are—to her,” Vickie said. “She’s not in high school.”

  Mona drew her eyebrows together. “Maybe they are lame.”

  “Oh, did you hear?” Vickie asked excitedly. “Kim left the party with Jack Firestone, and I guess they were sitting outside in his car for, like, ever.”

  I gave Vickie back her oil, lay down on my towel, and picked up my book. I read two paragraphs before my mind wandered. Jack Firestone had graduated with Tiffany. Kim was my age. They’d probably had sex. I doubted nineteen-year-olds sat in parked cars with virgins.

  As if the sun were a heat lamp directed at me, sweat beaded on my upper lip. I liked to think I was above sex, that I had more important things to worry about. That I’d have no trouble holding on to my virginity long after my friends had caved. But last night, I’d dreamed about Manning, about his big hands around my waist, and his dark, humorless eyes that sometimes weren’t so humorless around me. I’d woken up in the middle of the night and masturbated. I’d never done it thinking about someone I knew.

  All morning, the thought of Manning had come with a tightening in my belly. And it wasn’t weird or bad or shameful. The opposite, actually. I liked it.

  When water droplets fell onto my shins, I put down my book. Someone stood over me, silhouetted by the sun.

  “Hey, girls.” I recognized Corbin’s voice. “What’s up, Lake?”

  Vickie and Mona stayed quiet. I doubted either of them had ever spoken to a Swenson. I lowered my sunglasses. Corbin held a surfboard under one arm. “Hi,” I said.

  “You see me out there?” he asked.

  “I think so. I wasn’t sure which one you were.”

  “The handsome one, obviously,” he said, peeling down the sleeves of his wetsuit. He pushed it down to his waist. Between surfing and baseball, sports had done him well. He wasn’t buff, but his muscles were cut, defined, and his skin golden-brown like his hair.

  “What’re you guys up to?” he asked.

  “Just this.” I waited for Vickie or Mona to jump in, but they just mutely stared at Corbin. “You?” I asked.

  “It was a late surf today. Summer vacation and all.”

  He laid his short, cream surfboard upside down in the sand. The underside had a sticker of a frog smoking weed and 420 in graffiti. He shook out his hair, showering me in ocean droplets.

  “How was it?” I asked.

  “Decent.” When he glanced at my chest, I realized my nipples were hard from the cold water. Turning to the other girls, he said, “I’m Corbin, by the way.”

  “Hi,” Vickie said.

  “Hi,” Mona repeated.

  I could see we weren’t going to get much else, so I said, “These are my friends, Vickie and Mona.”

  “Cool.” He nodded at me. “Wanna take my board out?”

  Remembering my fib about my surfing experience, I hoped my sunglasses hid my blush. “I’m working on my tan.”

  “You got a hot date tonight?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, almost defensively.

  “You want one?”

  Mona gasped and Vickie giggled nervously, looking from Mona to me to Corbin and back again.

  I studied Corbin, trying to tell if he was joking around. He grinned pretty hard but waited for an answer. If one of the most popular guys in school was asking me out, I’d be an idiot to say no, but I didn’t feel that tightening in my stomach like I did for Manning.

  Corbin squatted next to me. “Come over tonight. Watch a movie.”

  He really was as good-looking as everyone said and surprisingly nice, too. All last year, he and his circle of friends had seemed larger than life, but sitting right next to him, all I could think was how different he was from Manning. Corbin was golden, sunny. Manning was dark, shaded. Despite the fact that Corbin looked strong and healthy, Manning still dwarfed him, maybe because Manning’s presence was even larger than his body. But even if Corbin were dark and large and sexy like Manning, I’d still say no. I wouldn’t miss tonight’s dinner for anyone. I never knew when I’d get time with
Manning.

  “I can’t,” I said. “Sorry.”

  He smiled crookedly. “Another time then.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll give you a call. Cane has Tiffany’s number.” He stood, picked up his board, and flashed us a wave. “Nice to meet you, girls. Lake . . . I’ll see you at camp, if not before.”

  “Later.”

  Once he’d walked away, Vickie pinched my elbow.

  I yanked my arm away. “Ow. What was that for?”

  “Since when do you know Corbin Swenson?”

  “Since when do you turn down Corbin Swenson?” Mona added.

  I rubbed my arm. “I met him the other night at the Fun Zone.”

  “But I saw him at the party.”

  “He must’ve done both,” I said. “Not so dorky now, am I?”

  “Um, yes,” Vickie said. “You are. Because you said no to a date with a Swenson!”

  The girls giggled, and I couldn’t help from joining in. “They’re just people, not gods.”

  “Did you not see him with his shirt off?” Mona asked. “You’re mental.”

  “We’re having a family dinner tonight.” It was the truth, and it was better than the real reason I’d said no to Corbin: I’d rather spend my evening with an older construction worker.

  “But you didn’t just turn him down—you totally blew him off. You could’ve said you were free tomorrow or the next night.”

  Vickie rolled her eyes. “This is why you’re single, Mona. Lake’s playing hard to get.”

  “She doesn’t know how to do that,” Mona said. “She doesn’t even wear makeup.”

  I rose onto my elbows. At some point, everyone I knew had started wearing makeup, as if they’d all gone and taken a course on it without me. I guessed that had to do with looking sexy. Up until now, I’d had little interest and even less knowledge in attracting boys at school. They tried to get away with dumb things like looking up our skirts or chewing gum in class. Most of them cared more about videogames or sports than learning anything of value. “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Just that you don’t care about these things,” Vickie said. “You’re what we call, a late bloomer.”

  Mona laughed like it was some kind of inside joke. “Maybe she’s not so late if she’s catching Corbin’s eye. Or maybe she was just born with it. Like, it runs in her family.”

  It was ridiculous enough that I almost went back to my book, but then again, it wasn’t entirely off base. My dad liked to brag about how he’d beaten out lots of other suitors for my mom’s attention. I didn’t doubt it. My mom was Miss Orange County when she was younger and had competed to be Miss California. I saw the way men looked at her in the supermarket, the way my male teachers paid attention when she came to parent night. Mom commanded nearly as much male attention as Tiffany did. If there were a gene for that, Tiffany definitely had it—and she’d gotten it from my mom. Maybe I had it, too—though it might be dormant.

  It was late afternoon by the time I got home from the beach. I dropped my towel and bag by the base of the stairs. “Mom?” I called.

  “In the kitchen.”

  I found her looking in the oven. “How’s it going?”

  “Right on schedule.” She stood up and eased the door shut. “I might need an extra set of hands later, though.”

  She never asked Tiffany, who had no interest, for help in the kitchen. When I didn’t have schoolwork to do, I usually enjoyed cooking with my mom, and tonight would be even more special. “I just need to shower.”

  “How was the beach?” she asked. “You got a tan.”

  “Did I?” I inspected my arm. It looked a little red to me. “It was fun. We got milkshakes at the end of the pier after.”

  She smiled. “Hope you left room for pie.”

  I hadn’t forgotten. Last night, Mom had walked me through making a pie for tonight. I couldn’t wait to see Manning’s reaction. “I’ll come help when I’m ready,” I said.

  I went up to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I pushed my regular products aside. Tiffany hid her expensive shampoo and conditioner on the back of the shelf, even though she warned me all the time not to use them, and I never once had . . . until today.

  After carefully reading the instructions on the back, I washed my hair twice. Then, I saturated it with conditioner and shaved my legs slowly, carefully, from ankle to upper thigh. After rinsing and toweling off, I used one of Tiffany’s lotions.

  I’d never felt so soft and silky. I picked a sundress to show off my smooth skin. Tiffany said having a tan made you look thinner, and she was right.

  After checking the hall to make sure Tiffany wasn’t around, I went into her makeup drawer. I’d burned. Not badly, but my face and shoulders were pink. The sun had also darkened the smattering of freckles across my nose and cheeks. I didn’t trust myself with makeup, so I kept it simple with just mascara and pink lip gloss. Despite the redness, or maybe because of it, my eyes seemed bluer. My teeth whiter. And for once, I saw what others did.

  I looked like Tiffany.

  After washing basil and slicing tomatoes and Mozzarella, I prepared five Caprese salads. Not knowing which would go to Manning, I took extra care to drizzle the olive oil and balsamic vinegar evenly.

  “Where is Tiffany?” Mom asked.

  I didn’t look up. Didn’t want to lose focus. “Maybe she changed her mind about him. She does that.”

  “I hope she would’ve told someone. At least him. Otherwise, we’re in for an uncomfortable dinner.”

  I smiled. “Manning’s easy to get along with. It won’t be uncomfortable.”

  The front door opened, and Tiffany breezed into the house with paper shopping bags on each arm. “Manning will be here any minute. Is dinner ready?”

  “We were afraid you might not make it.” Mom pulled off her oven mitts. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  “Of course not.” Tiffany set the bags on the kitchen table, disrupting a pile of silverware. She pulled out a package. “I got the cutest outfit.” She unwrapped white tissue and held up a short leopard print tube dress. “It’s like what Drew Barrymore wears in the Guess? ad.”

  “Oh, that’s darling.” Mom always said stuff like that when Tiffany went shopping. The dress was too skimpy for Mom, but she and Tiffany shared clothes a lot. “It’s not too dressy for tonight?”

  Tiffany shoved it all back in the bag. “We’ll probably go somewhere after.”

  “Well, wear something over it during dinner. Your dad won’t like that it’s so revealing.”

  “Duh. I’m not an amateur,” she said.

  “I know, honey,” Mom said as she went to the sink to wash her hands. “Your sister and I have been working on dinner for an hour. Will you set the table?”

  Tiffany grabbed her bags. “Mom. I have exactly five minutes to transform myself.”

  “Then why’d you wait until the last minute?” I pointed out.

  Tiffany stuck out her tongue. “Did you get wine?” she asked Mom. “He might want some with dinner.”

  “I got wine.” Mom wiped her hands on her apron. “He can have one glass. No more if he’s taking you out afterward.”

  Tiffany flurried out of the kitchen the same way she’d come in, a tornado of crinkling paper bags and blonde hair. Would he really take her out tonight? If so, where would they go? It would be late when dinner ended. Too late for me to go with them, if I’d even be invited. Tiffany and her friends hung out until after midnight on the weekends. They had ways of getting alcohol. It was Thursday, but life was one big weekend to Tiffany. She had no job to get to in the morning, but Manning did. Didn’t that mean anything?

  I was straightening my tomatoes when the doorbell rang. My heart stopped.

  Mom showed me her oven-mitted hands. “Can you get that, honey?”

  I went through the house and stood at the front door, listening. Tiffany was still upstairs getting ready, and Dad was in his study. It was just me and Manning, and that
wouldn’t be the case for long. It seemed unfair that even though I’d seen him first, even though he was my friend, I had to savor my time with him before it was stolen.

  I opened the door to Manning standing on the top step in jeans and a black, collared button-down he wore open over a white t-shirt. He’d shaved and gelled his hair back. I’d half expected him to show up in his work boots, but I thought he might even be wearing cologne.

  I held onto the door handle until my hand began to sweat. Manning’s dark eyes mostly stayed on my face, except for the second they flashed down, all the way to my ankles. Maybe men had some kind of radar for freshly shaven legs.

  “Hi,” I said. Dumb. I wanted to tell him how nice he looked.

  A cricket chirped out front as Manning white-knuckled a bouquet of pink tulips. “You look different.”

  I straightened my shoulders a bit and tried not to smile. “So do you.”

  “Are you wearing makeup?”

  “A little.” I pointed my foot, showing him my leg. “I got a tan.”

  He didn’t look. I moved aside so he could duck into the entryway. One of his tennis shoes could easily crush both my bare feet. I was nearly eye-level with the flowers. It was a good guess—my mom loved tulips.

  “I hope you like steak? We should’ve checked with you first.”

  “I’ll eat most anything. But yes, Tiffany already asked.”

  That meant they’d spoken since the fair on Saturday. When? It shouldn’t have surprised me. Of course, she’d had to tell him when to be here, and maybe she’d also mentioned the tulips. It occurred to me that they might’ve even seen each other.

  “She called,” Manning said, catching my eye. “Just about dinner and timing and stuff. That’s all.”

  “Oh.” We both looked up when we heard footfalls upstairs. Finally, I closed the front door. “Come meet my mom. My dad’ll be out in a second. He usually works in his office until dinner starts.” I showed Manning into the kitchen.

  Mom turned around, smiled widely, and came to us. “It’s so nice to meet you, Manning.”

  “You too, Mrs. Kaplan.” He held out the flowers, but she went past them for a hug. He bent down to make it easier but was otherwise stiff. “These are for you.”