The Rise and Fall of Derek Cowell

by Valerie Sherrard

  “Who TOLD YOU? How long have you known? Does Kim know? Does everyone know? Am I the LAST PERSON TO FIND OUT?”

  The questions went on and on and on. Sometimes she paused to utter some terrible threat about what she was going to do to Junior when she got her hands on the poor sap.

  At some point during the meltdown I realized she’d let go of me so that she could add dramatic gestures to her performance, waving her arms, holding out her hands imploringly, shaking her fist at the non-existent girl who’d come between her and her boyfriend.

  I felt bad about the trouble I’d accidentally caused for Junior and I knew I should have tried to clear things up, but self-preservation won out. I made a break for it and got the heck out of there.

  A while later I told Kim how Paige had gone crazy over an innocent question and that she was mad at Junior for no reason, in the hope that Kim would be able to talk some sense into her. I figured that left me with a clean conscience.

  As for the situation with Denise, I was no further ahead than I’d been before I got Paige all stirred up for nothing. Since I still needed answers, I did something I would normally never do — I talked to Mom.

  The chance to do that happened right after my folks sat me down to tell me they were lifting my grounding.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Dad walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder like he was bestowing some kind of benediction. “You’re a good kid, Derek. We’ve never thought otherwise.”

  “Okay,” I said, and then because it seemed called for, I repeated, “Thanks.”

  I think he’d have said more, but Mom glanced at her watch and jumped up, saying, “I just have time to get to the drugstore before they close.”

  “Can I come?”

  She looked surprised, but she smiled and said, “Sure. I imagine you’re a bit stir-crazy after being stuck in the house.”

  A moment later, in the car, I took a deep breath and jumped right in.

  “Can I ask you something? About, uh, relationships?”

  Mom’s head jerked a bit, like she was fighting to keep from turning and staring at me. She steadied herself, looked straight ahead and kept her voice totally even when she said, “Of course you can.”

  “But do you promise you won’t tell anyone? Not even Dad?”

  She said she wouldn’t tell a soul.

  “There’s this girl,” I began. Then I had a bit of trouble putting my thoughts together and that opened up an awkward pause that felt way longer than it actually was. Mom eventually thought I needed a bit of help.

  “Steffie?” she said.

  That was a surprise. I didn’t know Mom had ever suspected I liked Steffie. But now that I’d kissed Denise, whatever I’d felt for Steffie had dissolved like a drifting cloud.

  “Naw, that was nothing,” I said. Then I told her about Denise. Except I left out the parts that would get me grounded again, such as how I’d been at Steve’s place and was hiding from her.

  “So, anyway, since we kissed I was wondering if that means we’re, you know, automatically a couple, or how that works.”

  I figured Mom was an expert on this stuff considering her experience raising three girls, but it took her a minute to answer.

  “Do you want to be a couple?” she asked first.

  “Kind of. I guess.”

  “Then you’ll really need to talk to Denise,” she said. “But if you’re feeling unsure and you’re nervous about bringing it up, you should be able to gauge her feelings on the subject by the way she acts the next time you see her.”

  I decided that was as good advice as I was going to get.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Having a maybe girlfriend is complicated. I had come to this conclusion by Monday morning based on the number of questions that had been popping into my head over the previous day and a half.

  There was the obvious one, which, of course, was whether or not Denise actually was my girlfriend, or if we were about to be in one of those “just happened” kind of situations I’d been unable to get Paige to explain to me.

  That was the tip of the iceberg. I tried Google to find stuff out, but all it did was confuse me more.

  I thought I should probably send her a text on Sunday, but when I tried to, I ended up staring vacantly at my phone. I kept hoping she’d send me one first and it seemed maybe she should since I’d been the last one to text her yesterday, but that didn’t happen.

  Then there were questions about what to do at school. Was I supposed to go sit with her at lunch — or ask if she wanted to sit with me and Steve? I knew some couples who were practically glued together, starting with meeting at the lockers in the morning and spending every possible minute together through the day. That didn’t exactly appeal to me, but what if it was what Denise expected?

  I remember one girl Steve went out with — Gloria Locke, who insisted he had to walk her home from school every day. She lasted until the weather got cold, although I think he might have been losing interest in her anyway. He told me one day just before he broke up with her that she chewed on the ends of her hair. The way he said it, I could tell it grossed him out, which was strange since he’d mentioned that exact same thing when they first became a couple. Except, back then, he seemed to think it was kind of cute.

  Well, I don’t think Denise chews her hair, but in any case, I’d be okay with walking her home if she wanted me to. It’s not very far out of my way and even if it was, I wouldn’t mind.

  Besides all that, I was kind of wondering when another kiss might happen. Since the first one had been unplanned, I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my ability to make a smooth boyfriend move, leaning in for the next one. (I had a lot of confidence in my ability to make a fool of myself though, which was kind of a major concern.)

  I hoped Mom’s advice was good, and that I’d get some signals from Denise about most of this stuff the next time we hung out. For some reason, I thought that was going to happen automatically on Monday. It didn’t. In fact, I didn’t think she was even at school that day until the second last period when I caught a glimpse of her in the hall.

  I’d been keeping an eye out for her — casually I thought, although I may have been a little more obvious than I realized. At lunchtime, Steve asked me if there was something wrong with my neck.

  “No, why?” I said.

  “You keep cranking your head around like you’re working out a kink or something.”

  “Ha, ha! Working out a kink!” I said. “That’s a good one!”

  That earned me a lopsided look from him that meant, “What the heck?” I’m sure you’ve seen the expression.

  “You okay?” he asked. He stuffed a chocolate chip muffin into his mouth and bit off half of it while he waited for me to answer.

  “Sure,” I said, resisting the urge to take another look around for Denise.

  Steve might have kept digging into the cause of my strange behavior, but Tamrah Kingston was going by our table just then. This totally distracted him.

  It distracted me too, but not the same way. The thought barged into my head that if I could have either Tamrah or Denise as my girlfriend, I would pick Denise. That was the moment I knew I didn’t just like her, I liked her a lot.

  Realizing this made me feel, I dunno, sort of queasy and kind of miserable. (That’s not something I planned to tell her, although, after hearing how I raced off at breakneck speed after kissing her, it might not seem entirely out of the question.)

  I needed to see her. To talk to her. To find out for sure if she liked me back. (Two days ago I’d have said yes, but by this point nothing seemed clear.) Mostly, I just wanted to stand beside her, as goofy as that probably sounds.

  When I finally saw her near the end of the day, I tried to get her attention, but she was hurrying to one of her classes and the one I was going to was in a different d
irection.

  So, after school I kept an eye out, planning to casually fall in beside her when she started for home, but she must have gone out one of the side exits.

  I left dejectedly, dragging my feet as I walked along. I suddenly knew it was no accident that I hadn’t seen Denise all day. She was avoiding me. I’d blown it on Saturday and there was never going to be another chance. There was nothing to do now but accept it and move on.

  So I’m not sure why I found myself on the sidewalk in front of her place ten minutes later. Revisiting the scene of the crime maybe? I trudged by slowly, turned around at the corner and moseyed past again.

  After I’d passed by the second time, I told myself I’d better knock it off.

  “Go home,” I muttered to myself. “What are you, some kind of nut-job stalker?”

  I made it a block and a half before I did an about-face and went back. It was like my feet were working against me, forcing me along that sidewalk.

  The fourth time I was making my way by her house Denise burst out the front door and stomped halfway down the driveway where she stopped, fists on hips, and asked just exactly what I thought I was doing.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “Are you trying to be funny?” she said angrily.

  I didn’t know how to answer that, so I didn’t try. “I was looking for you at school today,” I said instead. “It seemed like you might be avoiding me.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t I?” she said. “And anyway, what do you care?”

  Obviously, she was still super steamed about Saturday. Maybe, I thought, I hadn’t apologized enough.

  “I really meant it when I said I was sorry,” I told her. “I don’t know why I took off like that.”

  Denise stopped glowering at me. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and she dropped her hands to her sides. She even unclenched her fists.

  “What?” she asked.

  I repeated what I’d just said.

  “You idiot, Derek,” she said. But she was smiling and walking toward me and I somehow knew that this was about the best thing I could have hoped for.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  So it’s official. I do have a girlfriend.

  Turns out the thing to do in this kind of situation is to talk, not to your sister, or to your mother, but to the girl herself.

  Denise explained that to me. She rolled her eyes a lot and elbowed me in the ribs twice while she was talking, but her eyes were shiny and happy.

  Also — and I won’t personally need this for future reference because believe me, I’ve learned my lesson, but it might help someone else — when you tell a girl you’re sorry about something, make sure you also tell her what. Otherwise, there could be a misunderstanding that will ruin everything, which almost happened to us.

  See, when I texted Denise that I was sorry, I meant I was sorry for taking off so suddenly afterward, but she took it a completely different way.

  “I thought you were sorry we kissed,” she said.

  “No way!” I blurted. “That was great!”

  Denise laughed. Then her smile disappeared behind a kind of shy, serious look.

  “Does that mean you like me?” she asked.

  I remembered Steve telling me one time you always had to keep them guessing and you should never give a girl ammunition like that. I decided to risk it anyway.

  “I like you a lot,” I said.

  Denise’s smile came back in full force. Then she told me she liked me a lot too. So I asked her, did she want to be my girlfriend and she did.

  Looks like Steve’s theories on women could use some updating. Not that I was ever going to tell him any of this.

  If this was a typical story, it would end here. All the crazy events that were first set in motion by an accidental photobomb had led me on this path to Denise. We’d have reached a happy ending, and who doesn’t like that?

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite over.

  The first part of the week went great. After I left Denise’s place on Monday, I took a few minutes to stop in at Steve’s and fill him in on the news.

  His mom answered the door. She seemed to be in a cranky mood judging by her expression. It was the way you might look if you were expecting a pizza delivery and someone showed up at your door with a steaming plate of dog barf.

  She didn’t wait for me to speak, just hollered, “Steve! Derek is here!”

  Then she walked away, leaving the door open and me standing on the outside. Steve’s head poked around the corner a minute later. He motioned me in and we walked silently to his room. Neither of us spoke until he shut the door, and then we kept our voices low.

  “What’s with your mom?” I asked.

  “She got dumped, like, ten minutes ago. The guy — I think his name was Mitchell — was supposed to take her out for supper and instead he texts her and tells her they’re through.”

  “That’s pretty mean.”

  “Yeah. She was going to give me money to get a meatball sub. Now I’ll be lucky if I can sneak into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. I mean, I feel bad for her, but who wants to listen to that kind of sob story from their mother?”

  “She sure has lousy luck with guys,” I said.

  Steve shrugged. I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to talk about my mother’s dating life either, if she had one. Time to change the subject.

  “Anyway, I just stopped by to tell you something.” I paused for a couple of seconds. “I’m, uh, seeing someone.”

  He looked confused.

  “You mean, like a ghost?” he said.

  Not the first reaction I’d expected. On the other hand, I’d never had a girlfriend before and this had come about pretty suddenly. I got that it might not have seemed like the obvious conclusion. Still, it was hard to believe a ghost was his top guess.

  “No, a girl.”

  He laughed. He said, “No, seriously.”

  “I am serious.”

  As it sank in that I was telling the truth a grin spread across Steve’s face. That was followed by the obligatory punch on the shoulder.

  “You dawg!” he said. “You’ve been holding out on me. Who is it?”

  “Denise Peeters.”

  “No kidding,” he said, but it wasn’t a question. I could see on his face how that made sense to him. Denise wasn’t his type, but if I liked her, that was fine with him.

  That might sound a bit insulting, but I got it. I’d felt the same way about a couple of the girls he’d liked. One of them laughed at everything. Honestly, every single thing. And another one pawed at her hair compulsively like she was trying to shake out bugs. They might have looked good, but it ended there.

  Denise was funny and smart and pretty and really, really nice. Every time I thought about her, I felt good.

  Of course, word travels fast and I only made it to Wednesday before news of my status as a non-single guy reached my house. It was, not surprisingly, Paige who heard it first, since she goes to my school. Even though we have different lunch hours and are able to mostly avoid each other, things trickle down.

  “Derek has a girlfriend,” she announced, meeting Mom as she came through the door after work.

  Mom gave me the slightest nod and a silent message passed between us. All she said to Paige was, “That’s nice.” Then she went to the kitchen to see what Dad was making for supper.

  But Kim and Anna, who had been nowhere in sight, appeared instantly, clamoring for details.

  Paige had none. Probably because there were none to be had. The announcement was the whole story and after asking me a couple dozen annoying questions, which I ignored, the three of them gave up.

  By Thursday it was already starting to feel natural seeing myself as a guy with a girlfriend. Denise and her friend Sharon were joining me and Steve at our table at lunch
and it was looking like Steve and Sharon might “just sort of happen.”

  It was mostly nice having lunch with the girls. The only drawback was remembering to be on guard. I didn’t think my new girlfriend would be too impressed if I blurted something out with food in my mouth or belched like a Neanderthal.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Less than a week later, fate decided it was time to mess with me again.

  It was my sisters who alerted me to the problem. Not on purpose, but I like to think they might have warned me even if I hadn’t accidentally overheard their conversation.

  Kim was in her favorite chair in the TV room and Paige was standing next to her, leaning down. I was on the couch listening to some tunes and wouldn’t normally have paid them the slightest attention. But then I heard Kim clearly say my name during a break between songs.

  It made me curious enough to pause the next song, but I kept the earbuds in and my head down so they wouldn’t know I was paying attention.

  “Should we tell him?” Paige asked.

  “I dunno,” Kim said, turning the “no” part into two singsong syllables. “He’s not going to be happy.”

  I might not be, but Paige seemed, if not happy, at least entertained. She giggled and said, “That’s for sure. He’s going to lose it.”

  I slowly shifted my gaze toward them. They were both focused on Kim’s phone.

  Something clenched into a tight ball in the pit of my stomach. I un-slouched from the corner of the couch and tugged the buds out of my ears.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  The girls turned to face me in a single motion. Their faces were a slideshow of surprise, guilt, and maybe just a tinge of pity.

  “There’s a new video,” Paige said, trying to look indignant. “It’s the WORST! I even feel kind of bad for you.”

  I yanked myself to my feet and crossed the room to where she was sitting. A glance at Kim’s phone (and the way my own started to light up) was enough to tell me the worst had indeed happened. It was the rooftop video from the train station. The one Riley had promised not to share with anyone. The one Riley claimed she’d erased from her phone.