Almost

by Anne Eliot

  I step out of the car and feel the curls bouncing around my shoulders. I swallow the ball of dread at the back of my throat because I know it's going to take a lot more than a new hairstyle and a clone outfit to keep the natives of this planet from tagging me a ‘fake’.

  I can do this. I can do this.

  As I approach the door a flood of mini-hockey players and their parents rush past me, heading for the parking lots. I'm hit with a puff of cold, stale air as I work to get through the crush. For every step I take forward, the throng pushes me back. Just when I'm about to give up and retreat, a little kid dressed in hockey pads way too big for his small body saves me.

  He stops, blinking up into my face, and holds the door open. I peek around him, wondering if I'm close, but I can only make out the green plastic-turf flooring and the bobbing heads of yet another stream of sweaty hockey kids and parents heading toward me.

  “You going in?” the kid asks, probably because I'm blinking back at him like he's some sort of scientific specimen. Because…he is. Is this how Gray started out? Buried in padding, all freckles, red cheeks and missing front teeth?

  I smile at the kid. “Uh yeah. Thanks for holding the door.”

  “You're pretty,” the kid says, lisping. Still blinking.

  “Josh!” A man, apparently the kid's dad, catches up. “Sorry. He's a lady-killer. Knows what he likes. Son, you can't blurt out things like that to women.”

  “It's okay. He's pretty adorable himself,” I say.

  “What did I do? She's pretty. But I'm not adorable, lady. Sheesh.” The kid's cheeks turn pink.

  “Right. I'm not all the way a lady yet, either. So we're even. How about you call me a girl and I call you handsome. Deal?”

  “Maybe.” He glowers.

  The kid's dad smiles at me and shakes his head. “Take the compliment, Josh. This girl's way out of your league.” He pulls him off the door. “Let's go.”

  Relaxing a bit after my first encounter with this alien race, I head farther into the tunnel just as the second swarm of kids and parents envelop every inch of space around me. I hold my ground until they pass. Then, without looking back, I march through this second hallway as though heading for battle.

  If this place is an alien planet, then I'm entering the mother ship. Gathering my courage, I stop a guy who looks like he's my age. “Excuse me…” I say, watching his gaze skirt over me and then land on the floor. “You know where the snack bar is?”

  “Up there, smack in the middle.” He flushes bright pink and rushes away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gray

  It's impossible for me not to spot Jess. She's emerged through the rink's EXIT doors and seems unaware she's entered in the wrong direction.

  “Would you look at her hair?” I pull in a quiet whistle. I've never seen it down. The shine—the length—almost hits her waist.

  The rink's horrible, seventies fluorescent lighting never flatters anyone, but Jess seems to be glowing under them. She looks around, and I can tell by the set of her shoulders that she's tense. Her hands are also gripped into tight fists. When she glances toward the open snack bar area where the tables are, I detect a hint of disappointment in her expression. She walks around each table as though searching for something and I realize that something is not me…she's too focused on the tables. What is she doing?

  I guess I'm glad she hasn't noticed me. I'm holding two giant-sized cans of ‘Pico Nacho Cheese Sauce’ like a dork. I also can't seem to shut my gaping mouth, which only opens wider now that I've caught sight of her profile as she draws closer, making a slow lap around yet another table.

  I ditch the cans onto a table and step toward her.

  “Holy crap and double wow,” I say under my breath. I can't move. My chest tightens and I experience a brief moment of panic. She's put on some sort of makeup. Her already remarkable eyes seem lighter and twice as large even at this distance.

  And her lips! “Damn.”

  I can hardly breathe as I hide myself behind one of the support pillars. Her lips have been transformed by some sort of intriguing lip-gloss or lipstick or whatever it is girls use in their attempts to freak out guys.

  Yesterday, I thought I hated that junk…but now…I'm not so sure.

  No. LipGloss is still the worst thing ever invented. I still hate it. I do. I do.

  “You're losing it, dude. Calm down. You knew what she looked like well before tonight.” I decide on a new plan. I'll pretend I haven't seen her yet.

  I quickly pick the cheese cans back up and head toward the half-door entrance into the snack bar. The snack bar will allow me three good feet of counter space between me and her. Then, I'll call her over. Call my girlfriend over. Yeah. My girlfriend. My pretend, unbelievably beautiful, pretend girlfriend.

  Pretend. Pretend. Pretend.

  I close my mouth just in time and paste on my game face as she spots me and heads me off. She's trapped me on the front side of the counter.

  Way. Too. Close. To. Her. LIPGLOSS.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “There you are.” I cover my choking voice with a small cough.

  Uncertain of where to look and where not to look, I concentrate on her eyes. On what she's feeling. Not on how she looks—not on how she's made my heart feel like it's in a horse race.

  Her expression is wary. Somewhat hunted and very nervous.

  As much as I want to play this cool and tell her this night is going to go perfectly, I can't reassure her because I've never felt this freaked out in my entire life. I have no idea how to talk to this amazingly beautiful yet vulnerable looking version of Jess Jordan. She's right. I have no idea who she is at all.

  “Was the place hard to find?” I ask, hoping she doesn't notice the cowardly squeak in my voice. I skirt past her and dump the giant cans of cheese onto the counter and duck behind it. My senses are instantly overwhelmed by how she smells. Something is different. Not cinnamon anymore, but…

  “Easy. I had a map.” She follows me to the counter and leans on it. She's pretending to study the cans of cheese.

  I do the same. It's like the drawing of the smiling cartoon green-chili-guy on the logo is the most curious and interesting thing we've ever encountered. When she leans forward, her hair curls against the counter top and I realize the new smell is coming off her hair. Some sort of amazing shampoo. I move my hands away from the glowing curls. Too tempting. They look really soft—and cool.

  “Why were you looking over the tables so closely? Is something wrong with them?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.

  “I was hoping for a table where I could sit with my back to the wall.” She looks up with her mask in place. Her little sassy challenge smile is also on high. “Since my back to the wall is not possible, tell me…where do you want me?”

  Where do I want her? Where do I want her! If any other girl came to meet me looking like this, asking me where I wanted her—I would've let loose on the flirting. But I can't even go there. I'm trying to honor her request. Plus I don't want her to feel more uncomfortable than she already seems.

  My gaze drops to her lips. AGAIN. I take a quick breath and look away, hoping she hasn't noticed. I have to cross my arms to resist the temptation I have to touch her hair again. Her face, or her small, nail bitten hands. I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from saying the cheesy lines flooding my brain.

  “Hmm, where do I want you?” I manage. And just barely.

  “What? You're acting really weird,” she snaps. “Is this the wrong look, or outfit, or what? If so, I can make it out of here before the others show.”

  “It's PEACHES,” I say, realizing too late, that I should not have said that out loud.

  “What?” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Do you smell faintly…like peaches?”

  Or should I say you smell like peach cinnamon heaven?

  “God. Yes, I—I think I do. I'm sorry.” She winces. A cute tinge of pink floods her cheeks. “Kika lent me some make-up stuff
and slathered me with one of her odd fruit lotions. It's bad, huh? My sister is all about fruit-scented products.”

  “PIE,” I say, and pull in a huge breath. “It's peach pie, isn't it? Like peaches with vanilla?”

  “Uh…yeah. Guilty. But…is it really that bad?” She motions to her hair, then her face. “I can wash some of this junk off. Kika's in eighth grade and…well, she said all this stuff—this outfit—would be good for hanging out.” Her mask is wiped away and now I feel terrible, because her expression looks panicked.

  I pull myself together and try to say something sane to erase the crinkle of doubt and worry creasing her forehead.

  “No. No! I love it. I mean—it's great. You—how beautiful you look. It threw me off. And, you have no idea how much I love peach pie, a-la-mode. Sorry…sue me, dock my pay, but damn, girl. You've turned me into a stuttering fool.” I smile but cringe inwardly, knowing I've crossed over the edge of flirting with her again.

  “Swear you aren't lying? I knew I'd mess this up by trying too hard. I'm paying you, yes. But don't blow smoke up my ass if this is all wrong. I don't want to be humiliated here.”

  “No! Honest. I simply had no idea it was possible for you to look more beautiful than you look…normally. So…I sort of lost it there. And it's not often a girl shows up smelling like my favorite food.”

  She shoots me a sideways glare but appears to relax a little. “Did you get those lines from slimy-ways-to-get-to-second-base-dot-com? Please.”

  I laugh. “How bout dorks-trying-to-talk-to-beautiful-pretend-girlfriends-dot-com?”

  She laughs back. “Odd apology accepted. Weird, horrible, ridiculous compliments are not. And…could you not call me beautiful?”

  I shake my head and smile. “The beautiful adjective is an informational fact. I'll say it if I mean it. And I'm sorry about the flirting. I'm nervous just like you are, so I'm bound to lapse. Forgive me?”

  “I won't forgive you. Try harder. And I never said I was nervous.”

  “Right…well…I am nervous,” I repeat, unashamed of the truth. “Plus, I have to get into flirt-mode because I'm about to have to turn on all the charm in public. A little practice is a good thing.”

  “Do you think this won't work? Tell me. Honestly.” The tremor in her voice makes my heart twist.

  I don't answer because right now I'm not sure.

  And—because Corey Nash and Michelle Hopkins are bee-lining it past the bowling alley lanes, and heading toward the snack bar. toward us.

  I take in a deep breath and warn her, “My small posse is heading this way. We'll just have to run the dress rehearsal with a real audience. Ready?”

  She shakes her head. “I can tell by your eyes that you think this won't work. I should just go.”

  I duck out of the snack bar and block her path to the door.

  “Play along and trust me. Let's see what happens. At least give it a chance.” She pales two shades whiter. I lean forward and look into her eyes. “If you'll let me, I'm going to put my arm around you and sweep you toward them. I think that's the easiest.”

  “Like a broom?” She sounds alarmed.

  I have to stop myself from laughing. “Yes. Permission to touch. Is it granted?”

  She nods, stepping closer.

  “Let's not mess this up, huh?” I whisper, wondering if those last words are for her benefit or mine. I gingerly place my arm around her shoulders and I get the sensation Jess is suddenly made out of glass. Worse, it's up to me whether she shatters or not.

  Because it is. Crap. What are we trying to do?

  She trembles a little, and I pull her close, noting that she fits perfectly under my arm.

  She stiffens for a second, but doesn't resist further. My heart clenches when she glances up and her eyes meet mine. I can hear her heart.

  “Courage,” I whisper. “If it's too much, I'll back any excuse to get you out of here. With me?”

  “Do I have any other choice?” She swallows.

  Michelle rushes in first, talking to me, but her eyes rivet on Jess. “OMG. Gray Porter and Jess Jordan. It's true, then! You two are a couple. Corey told me everything.”

  “Oh, did he?” I stall.

  Jess is taking long slow breaths. I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze and glance at Corey. My best friend is in classic form, smirking already. It's also pretty apparent Corey is taking one, way too long and very appreciative look at Jess. His eyes are like a broken elevator. Up, down. Up, down. And up again.

  I'm starting to get a little pissed off about it. I shoot him the ‘back off’ glare, and he grins back, totally uncaring that I'm pissed.

  “How goes it guys,” I say, trying to sound natural.

  “Not as good as it goes for you, dude,” Corey says, ignoring my glare and heading in for another: Down. Up. Down. Up, and a quick bootie check.

  Bastard. I will retaliate.

  I smile even wider as I feel Jess's hand move tentatively around my back. Her neck rests against my upper arm. It's not lost on me, or anyone that she's blushing like mad. Her hand touches my waist for a second, and then moves off quickly.

  I feel her entire body stiffen like she's really freaking out.

  I hold my breath and don't move until she settles for gripping the bottom of my t-shirt.

  “When did all this start? You've been holding out on me.” Michelle tosses me one of her wounded looks. I know I'm going to hear about how upset she is that I didn't tell her first. Michelle turns to Jess. “I'm Michelle Hopkins,” she says with her trademark, friendly smile.

  “I'm Jess. Jess Jordan. I know you from pep rallies. You're next year's head cheerleader, right?” Jess asks softly.

  I smile to myself. She actually sounded nice, as promised.

  “Yeah. About the head cheerleading thing.” Michelle makes a face. “My promotion was more of a pity move. There are only two seniors on the squad next year. The actual talent graduated. The other girl and I flipped a coin. Don't expect to see me in the front line. I suck.”

  Corey pipes in, “Michelle wouldn't want to hurt anyone with her loose-cannon kicks. She looks like the perfect, athletic cheerleader, but she's dangerous. Mostly to herself!” He laughs. “She kicked so high she fell backwards and hit her head last homecoming game.”

  “You did?” Jess tosses Michelle another smile, laughing. I feel her shoulders relax.

  “Hard to forget that when it's on Corey's YouTube page. I'm up to 43,000 hits. You should check it out,” Michelle says, laughing also. “Don't believe anything you've heard about me—especially if it comes from this one.” She rolls her eyes toward Corey.

  Jess shrugs. “I haven't heard anything, except that you're a great cheerleader. But, I recommend you believe everything you've heard about me. Right, Gray? I'm as mean, stuck-up and as horrible as they come.” Her self-mocking tone tells me that she's ramping into her usual bravado.

  Michelle tosses me a surprised glance, but recovers quickly. “Well…I've only heard about Gray's crush on you. And that your placement in the senior class next year has you at third. I'm sure that makes a lot of people jealous. How'd you pull that off, anyhow?” Michelle asks, blatantly ignoring Jess's reference to her brutal, super-bitch reputation.

  Jess bites her bottom lip. “It happens by default when you read all the time and never go out. I'm actually going to be first in the class when the year starts. But only because the Alder twins moved. They held the top two spots.”

  I'm proud of Jess. Her nice meter is soaring.

  “You think you can help me work on some Pre-Calc this summer? If you're hanging around, I mean. With us. You will be, won't you?” Michelle probes, meeting my gaze. I want to hug Michelle. She can always be counted on to make people feel comfortable and get conversations smoothed over.

  I glance at Corey. He's staring at Jess's butt again. Drooling, actually.

  “If I'm around, I'd be happy to help. If I can,” Jess says, sounding pleased.

  I shoot Michelle a grateful smi
le. “I'm glad you two came out tonight.”

  “You made such a big deal about us being here—how could we miss it?” Corey nods to Jess. “I'm Corey Nash, and you, Jess Jordan, have turned my best friend into one love-sick puppy. Now I see why.” He scrunches up his face. “Were you this hot last week?”

  I'm resisting the growing urge to kill Corey, but Jess's happy laughter saves the kid's life.

  “Easy dude,” I say. “She's off limits from your shady, creeper moves. If you want to live, go ogle some other girl.”

  “Ooh. Gray's staked a claim,” Michelle says, as she punches Corey playfully in the arm. “This is why I will never go out with you, Corey Nash. Why no girl will ever go out with you. You have no finesse. What is wrong with you?” Michelle holds up a five-dollar bill. “Come on, Jess. Let's get your boyfriend to make us some nachos, so we have something to eat while he and Corey duel over you.”

  Jess takes in a breath and her body has turned back to ramrod stiff. “I'm not—he's not my boyfriend. He's just. We're just…”

  “Just what? Don't stop,” I interrupt and beam a huge, fake smile at my friends. “Did you hear that? She said, ‘we're’. As in: ‘we are’. I have witnesses. I think Jess Jordan's admitted we—she and I—might be something after all!”

  I give Jess's shoulder another gentle squeeze, hoping she can regroup and realize she's jeopardizing the progress we've just made.

  “Dude. Why are you talking like a robot?” Corey grins.

  My heart sinks as Jess pulls away from me. Has she changed her mind?

  I try to meet her gaze. But her eyes are darting around the room, taking in everyone and everything but me. I stop her from bolting by holding on to one of her hands. When her gaze meets mine, I'm certain she's about to panic. Panic, and possibly cry.

  I make sure her face is not in view of Corey and Michelle and take up her other hand. I run my fingers over the backs of her knuckles and wait for her to find her control—or game face. Whatever it is she does to mask her feelings. I don't know when or how I get lost in her pale blue eyes. I stare deeper, tracking the glistening tears and glimmers of fear on the fringes of the many expressions crossing her face.