by Sue Seabury
“Why did he come back to your house?” he asked.
Funny how Ned is incapable of deciphering the simplest of algebraic word problems, but was able wade through all that blather and get right to the crux of the matter.
“Umm, because he said he could go for some hot chocolate but there was no diner or anything we could walk to?” I squeaked it out like a question.
“You invited him.” Ned said glumly.
“Well, sort of, but just in a welcome-to-the-neighborhood kind of gesture.” Definitely not a, I’d-like-to-date you kind of way, I added silently. I scrunched myself down into the seat and watched Ned out of the corner of my eye.
He shook his head. “You may have been being all friendly and Joanie Cunningham-ish, but you don’t have to be a math genius to see this guy is into you. And he probably isn’t grounded 364 days a year either.”
“Oh, Ned!” I cried. “I love you, not him!” What did I just say? “I mean, you’re the one I care about. I don’t even know Kyle’s last name. Or care what it is.” I took his warm hands in my ice-cold ones and squeezed.
Ned softened the teensiest bit. “Your mom invited him to stay for dinner, huh? She’s never asked me.”
What he said was true, and odd, since she definitely had an angle on Ned’s mom. “Oh, she’s just trying to get her hooks in his mom for some charity thing, that’s all it is.” No need to mention that her wildest dream was to get her hooks into the famous fashion designer Harley Quinn as well, and she still hadn’t invited my real boyfriend.
Ned was definitely less angry now. “Well, okay. But sit as far away from him as you can, you hear me? I don’t want him testing out the temperature of your knee next.”
I was so happy, I almost cried with relief. “Oh Ned!” I flung my arms around him, awkward though it was inside the car. “So can we do something tomorrow, then?”
Now it was Ned’s turn to slump. “I think I’m going with my mom to the city.” He shook his head. “Sorry, Jane. I’ll try to figure something out for next weekend. But don’t go accepting any offers of hot chocolate from Buffalo Bill just because I’m not available.”
I beamed at him. “No way. No one can hold a candle to your hot chocolate.”
That wasn’t quite the compliment I meant to say. I liked Ned chocolate or no chocolate.
But it is true. Ned does make the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted.
“I should be going,” he said. And he did, but not before some extra-pleasant kissing took place.
I floated back into the house, goofy smile and probably bright red rub marks from Ned’s stubble all over my face. Mom was concocting in the kitchen. By the way she was flinging the spices around, it looked like she was really trying to outdo herself. But I didn’t care anymore if she served Kyle dirty laundry (which is what it smelled like). Ned is the only boy for me.
Strange but true scientific fact: Tarantulas have fangs which they chop down on their prey like an axe. The spider injects venom and digestive juices to paralyze and liquify the victim. If courting, a male will wrap this prize in a silken bundle and present it to a female as a gift.
Who knew spiders could be so deadly yet so poetic at the same time?
At dinner, my scheming mother seated Kyle next to me, but due to my recent activities in Ned’s car, my emotional armor was strong enough to withstand him, pleasantly-scented cologne and all. In a way, it actually was better than sitting across from him because I didn’t have to look at him as much.
Kyle managed to sound even more knowledgeable than Trey on the subject of college basketball, a thing I didn’t know was possible. He also got my dad to set aside the journal he always reads as we eat to discuss the artificial heart. This I considered to be nothing short of a miracle, and I do not mean the mechanical pump.
But Kyle wasn’t finished yet. He really laid it on thick when he turned his attentions to Mom and told her how much he enjoyed her cooking, which as we all know had to be a flat-out lie. Then, after doing an impressive job of seeming deeply interested in her boring work at the foundation, he asked in a genuine tone of wonderment how she managed to find the time to work and be a supermom.
Mom totally overdid the gales of laughter. It was a pretty masterful performance on Kyle’s part, I must admit. I stroked my sore chin to keep Ned fresh in my mind.
After dinner, we were suddenly left alone for a minute. Kyle turned to me and put his hand on mine again (which was in my lap - eek!). “Are you free tomorrow?”
“Hm?” I said, as if the question needed clarification.
“I’m asking if you want to do something tomorrow.”
“Um, sorry I can’t.” I slid my hand out from under his, but he left his hand on my thigh. Double eek!
“You doing something with...him, huh.”
He looked so disappointed.
Cool.
“No, I’m not actually.” Robin Jane is always truthful. Well, almost always. “I’m not, but Ned is my boyfriend. So I can’t do anything with you tomorrow.”
Kyle nodded, still with the look of resigned chagrin on his face. This was awesome. “Okay, well, it doesn’t have to be a date or anything. Do you want to go to the library and do homework?”
In order to compose myself before replying, I had to run through my seventeens times table all the way up to twenty-six. Then I turned to face Kyle, pushing his hand firmly off my thigh at the same time. “Why do you keep insisting?”
Kyle gave me a sexier look than I thought possible on a face full of freckles. “Because I like you.”
Although it was a compliment, it felt like my innards had just been liquified by spider venom. “Oh.”
“But I understand. You’re taken. He got to you first, lucky fellow.”
I found it interesting in an anthropological sense that neither was willing to pronounce the other’s name.
Kyle rose with a sigh. “I guess I’ll see you Monday then.” He walked toward the kitchen.
I was so close to calling him back, to telling him of course I could study with him at the library because there was nothing date-ish about the library.
But that’s not true. That’s exactly how my relationship with Ned started, so even study sessions weren’t safe.
I’m taken, I told myself.
Taken. Taken. Taken.
Kyle was saying goodbye to my mother. I could hear her gushing loudly in the kitchen. Then I heard him yell down the stairs to Trey as if they’d been hanging out together in that basement for years.
And then finally he was gone, out the back door so I didn’t have to look at him again. I breathed for what felt like the first time in ten minutes.
Using parent-detecting radar, I could sense Mom coming back for a cozy little chat on a topic I did not want explore now or ever. If only I had inherited my mother’s power of instant dematerialization. I was almost at the foot of the stairs when she caught me.
“Jane,” she called, “come back a sec.”
Depressing scientific fact: A fat cell can expand up to 1000 times its original size. Once the body produces a fat cell, it stays forever.
So close but yet so far from escape. “What, Mom? I have homework to do.” A bit of a stretch on a Saturday night, I admit.
“Just for a minute, although I’m glad to see you’re showing such enthusiasm for your school work,” she said in a highly sarcastic tone.
I went back to face the music. “What is it.”
“Sit down. Take a load off.” She removed her shoes and started twirling one of her pumps on the toe of her foot. God help me.
“So Kyle’s pretty cute, huh?”
Ugh. Ugh. Triple UGH. I almost said that I wasn’t into freckles, but I didn’t want to make a single pronouncement that would make it sound like I had noticed anything cute or not cute about him, so I just said, “He’s okay.”
“I thought he was really cute, although I don’t know about the earring. But really nice.”
I tried to control the extreme e
ye roll (E2R), but it was too overpowering. “It’s known as fashion, Mom. But it’s nice you think he’s nice. I’ll tell him you said so.” I started to rise.
“Stay a minute, Jane. I think he likes you.”
“Really?” I said, eyes open wide in wonderment at her powers of perception.
“Don’t be snide, young lady. I just think it would be nice if you give him a chance, that’s all.”
“I have a boyfriend already, Mom.”
“I know, and I’m sure Ned is very nice too, but all I’m saying is, there’s nothing wrong with playing the field.”
Again I say, ugh. I am not interested in dating advice from the 1950’s.
How to end this conversation? Attack her on her own ground. “What’s so great about Kyle? Is his mom CEO of some company you’re looking to exploit or something?”
“There is no call to be rude,” Mom replied, clearly annoyed. I must be right. “But, as a matter of fact, Kyle’s mother has offered to donate a sizable amount of time to a fundraiser we’re holding for the foundation and I won’t have you messing it up. So at the very least, you will remember your manners and be friendly to the boy. Do you understand?”
“Got it.” At least I was allowed to leave.
My first impulse was to go down to the laundry pile since I do my best thinking there. But since Trey was watching a game that seemed to have no end, I was forced to go to my room. The problem with my room is that it’s such a mess, it puts me on edge. According to Sassy Classy magazine, the arrangement of one’s external space reflect one’s internal space. I could definitely see a correlation between the wadded up tights sitting on top of the lamp and my mixed-up thoughts.
In spite of shoving them into a drawer, thereby cleaning up one bit as well as allowing more light to shine on the situation, my opinions stayed muddled. I didn’t have the energy or patience to do more.
I flopped down on my unmade bed. Having my mother practically order me to date Kyle definitely turned the attraction meter back down to ‘low.’ But when I didn’t think about her motives, it was pretty exciting to have someone tell you flat out that he liked you. I felt shivery all over just replaying that scene and not just because a mound of mismatched socks was pressing into my sciatic nerve. I shoved them onto the floor and happened to brush my thigh in the exact spot where Kyle had rested his hand. It felt a little warm. I patted my leg. A little squishy. It feels like the fat cells on my thighs have been multiplying and expanding to their maximum capacity.
Maybe I’ll do a few leg lifts this evening. You never know when another person might touch your thigh, accidentally or on purpose.
I smacked myself in the head with a stray sock. Leaving it hanging in front of my face, I sat up and asked the image in the mirror, “What the hell is the matter with you?”
As I contemplated all the different possible answers to this question, I noticed a funny smell. Apparently the dirty and clean socks got mixed up. Tossing it aside, I ordered myself to do the same with Kyle. There was no good reason to be getting all worked up about him. I have Ned and he’s great. Why am I so willing to screw things up?
It’s all Hannah’s fault. I couldn’t get her advice out of my head: keep ‘em guessing.
Ugh. I absolutely cannot think clearly in my messy room. No room to do calisthenics either.
I went downstairs again to see if the interminable game had finally finished, and thanks be to someone, it had. The basement floor is too hard to exercise on, though, so I arranged the clothes into a contour shape on the couch and lay down. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply to allow the soothing scent of lavender clear out any remaining scent molecules from my dirty sock and/or Kyle’s cologne. I felt more relaxed immediately, if not more clear on what to do. Maybe I could talk to Miss Kindley about my dilemma. She has a boyfriend. She might have some insight into these important issues.
Sunday was a long and boring day made extra-long and boring by thoughts of how I could be passing the time with Ned if he wasn’t eternally grounded and/or running off to New York all the time. Thinking about my homework just reminded me of Kyle and how I could have spent a pleasant afternoon at the library with him. These were not productive ideas for me to be having.
True to the rule of boredom: the more time you have on your hands the less you get done. It was late on Sunday night before I realized I hadn’t even begun my homework. I had to race through it in order to have time to watch my favorite lineup of shows. My illegible scrawl will have to do because Sunday night is some prime TV.
Strange but true scientific fact: A male frigatebird inflates a flap of red skin into a giant balloon to attract females. He will also cover the female’s eyes with his wings so she doesn’t get a chance to change her mind by spotting another bird with a bigger balloon.
In my case, the part that is inflating is my waist and the red thing is pimples. Somehow I don’t think this increases my level of attraction.
Valentine’s Day is fast approaching and I can’t help but wonder what Ned might be dreaming up. A teensy thought about receiving bouquets of flowers from secret admirers who shall remain nameless appeared in my mind unbidden. I told it to leave immediately. It went for the most part, although occasionally its freckles pop back into view.
I am secretly hoping to go out on a real date, like to a restaurant, but I don’t dare say it out loud because then it definitely won’t happen. Although it’s totally irrational, I can be superstitious at times. Plus I have no way to pay for such a grand plan so the suggestion will have to come from Ned.
I am cautiously hopeful that we will be able to do something even if it’s not a restaurant date because, after our mid-year report cards, I am pleased to announce that Ned is a solid C- student.
Well, I am not ecstatically happy about that, but it was much better than he had done in the first quarter of the year.
As Robin Jane and also his girlfriend, I am self-effacing enough to not even mention my role in getting his grades up to almost passing or that I have been helping him with his English homework sometimes in addition to math. I will magnanimously allow Ned to take all the credit, especially since he is not officially passing yet.
He did get a C+ on his last math quiz, so I have high hopes for the whole second half of the year and not just Valentine’s Day.
While plenty of circumstances are beyond my control, there are still some that do fall into my domain, i.e., my gift for Ned. I really need to do a good job with this holiday since I made such a mess with Christmas, to not even mention more damage repair related to the most recent hand-holding incident (HHI) involving Kyle.
Ned likes to eat so I thought about gourmet chocolates, until I saw the price of them. But the boy really enjoys his food so I figured I could make him some.
It did occur to me that I should buy some fancier chocolate than Gershey’s as the basis for gourmet truffles, but I don’t know where to get it except at the gourmet shop where it is already molded into expensive shapes. I’ll just have to dress it up with other fancy ingredients like alcohol, although how I was going to sneak that out of the liquor cabinet remained to be seen.
Hmmm. Not ratting out M. Waddell and his cleaning fluid may come in handy after all.
I was so slick. The next day at the end of French class, I came up with an excuse to go to the supply closet, spice jar at the ready.
Okay, maybe not so slick. It leaked in my pocket and now I reek of cheap whiskey.
I think M. Waddell smelled it too. I heard him sniff as I walked by him.
Strange but true scientific fact: The blue-footed booby engages in an elaborate display to snare a mate, whistling, pointing and striding about, proudly displaying his big blue feet. This ritual can go on for hours.
Valentine’s Day falls on a Friday this year, and it also happens to be a ‘C’ day, so it seems to me that the gods of love are in my quadrant despite the very good chance that my monthly “little friend” is scheduled to show up around that time.
; It was a good thing I started working early in the week on Ned’s gift because my first attempt was a total disaster. I learned you have to use the alcohol sparingly or else the truffles turn into what amounts to nice-tasting mud.
So the first batch of chocolates was a total waste, from the point of view of giving them a gift. For better or worse, I have no problem eating unattractive candy. Anyway, I had to eat it to get rid of the evidence because that stuff stunk to high heaven. However, now that a constellation of pimples have erupted on my chin, I think I would have been better off chucking it into the backyard for the skunks to have a party with.
My determination to get the recipe right redoubled after Ned left me the cutest card at my locker, signed “a secret admirer.” At least, I’m pretty sure it was from Ned. When the thought that someone else might have left it appeared, I poked in its variegated eyes and focused on Ned’s big brown ones instead. I went straight home and made up a card for Ned “from a secret admirer” to stick in his locker the next day.
Tuesday, I found a cute little heart lollipop on my desk in French class. I was amazed that Ned had been able to make it all the way across the school to put it there...I risked a sideways glance at Kyle in the darkened room. He seemed pretty intent on the film. Mirabelle was moving about with unnecessary vigor, showing off her backless sundress but giving us plenty of front view as well. I shifted a little in my chair, making the metal foot squeak. Kyle raised his eyebrows and smiled, but not in a way that told me he put the candy there.
I had to wonder though.
Ned got my card and loved it. He said if all goes well we would be able to go out Friday, starting right after school because his parents were going to let him drive that day! I was totally psyched. My second batch of chocolate turned out better than the first, but still not as pretty as I wanted them to be.
