Adorkable

by Cookie O'Gorman

  Recovering, he said, “That’s nice.” Dropping the dough on a pan, he pushed at the edges and started rolling the crust.

  “Nice?” I repeated. “Don’t you mean weird? Creepy? All kinds of wrong?”

  Cutting me a sideways glance, he said, “Why are you getting so worked up?”

  “I’m not,” I lied. My mother was hitting on the one guy I’d secretly loved forever. No big. Who’d get upset over a little thing like that?

  “At least we know Martha has good taste.”

  “Becks!”

  He laughed as I crossed my arms. Once he’d sauced and topped the dough off with cheese, pepperoni and pineapple, Becks popped it in the oven, set the timer, then came over and mimicked my stance. He was grinning, but I refused to crack.

  “Speaking of taste,” he said after a beat, “what’s with this music?”

  “Classic ‘80s,” I sniffed. “If you don’t like it, feel free to switch the station.”

  “No, I like it.” Becks nudged my shoulder. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” I agreed, a smile touching my lips. Becks and I had gone through the same ‘80s phase every kid goes through. A lesser-known rite of passage.

  “I seem to remember you having a thing for that guy in that dance movie.”

  “I had a thing for his dancing,” I snorted. “And don’t act like you don’t know his name.”

  Sighing, Becks ran a hand through his hair. “I won’t deny it. I wanted to be Swayze.”

  “Hmm,” I said, taking in Becks’s Swayze blue eyes, the thick dark lashes. “I seem to remember you wearing black t-shirts and slacks for two months straight. I’m thinking you were the one with the crush.”

  “I—” Becks froze as the song that was playing ended and a familiar one began. It was as if the radio was tuned into our conversation. “Wanna dance, Sal?”

  “You sure?” I said back. “Sixth grade was a while ago.”

  “Yeah, but you forced me to practice every day for four months straight.” Before I could remind him that he’d been the one to insist we practice so much (Becks’d always been a perfectionist; one of the reasons he rocked in sports and academics), he smiled, held out a hand. “I think I can manage.”

  Taking his hand, I assumed the position. Becks at my back, he placed my arm behind his neck, fingertips doing a slow glide down my arm, the side of my ribs, to my waist. I tried (and failed) not to shiver. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

  Learning the final dance from Dirty Dancing had been tough. We’d practiced long hours at my house until we had the moves. The difference between the sixth grade talent show and now, though, was embarrassingly obvious. I hadn’t expected his touch to affect me the way it did. I mean, I’d always been in love with him, but when you’re eleven things are just different. Mom had had to skip the naughty bits so we could watch the movie for goodness sake. The lyrics to “Time of My Life” were as innocent as ever. But I was so aware of him. His grip on my hip, the way he led me across the kitchen floor. Those eyes. The dance had been PG in the sixth grade, but with Becks’s sure touch and my stuttering heart, we were definitely approaching an R-rating.

  When he pulled me to his chest, I jerked away.

  “What’s wrong?” Becks said, reaching for me. “You okay, Sal?”

  “Fine, fine.” I jumped back again, watching his hand fall, wishing my voice didn’t sound so breathless. To cover, I said, “Just out of shape, I guess. Maybe I should start working out like you.”

  “Nah.” Becks leaned against the counter. “You’re fine.”

  “Says the guy with a six pack,” I said, trying to get hold of myself.

  “No, really,” he said. “I like girls with a little meat on them.”

  Good to know.

  “So, what’s your type?”

  The comment was so out there I looked up. “What?”

  “Earlier, at school, you said you weren’t into bad boys…or girls,” he added with a wink. “Just made me wonder who you’re into.”

  You.

  No joke, it was the first thing that popped into my head. Good grief. Not only would it end our friendship, Becks’d run for the hills if I said that to him. Get it together, Spitz.

  “Don’t know,” I said. Afraid of the answer, I asked anyway. “What’s your dream girl like?”

  “Freckles,” he said not missing a beat.

  “What?” I scoffed, secretly pleased. I had freckles! “Way to narrow the field, Baldwin.”

  “You didn’t let me finish.” Eyes moving over me with a focus that made my breath catch, he said, “Cute freckles, wavy brown hair, about five six, hazel eyes. Naturally beautiful.”

  “Becks—”

  “She’s smart—,” He talked right over me. “—can quote Star Wars, curses like a German sailor when she’s mad. Someone who makes me laugh out loud, a girl who’s herself and lets me be me. Sounds pretty great, right?”

  I stared at him. A moment, two hours, I didn’t know. He’d sounded sincere, but he couldn’t be. I wasn’t that lucky. “That’s not funny.”

  “You see me laughing?”

  “Becks…”

  “Yeah, Sal?”

  “You are joking...right?” I had to ask. Even if the hopeful note in my voice revealed too much, I had to ask.

  There was an awkward silence.

  Then Becks’s smile broke through, eyes bright.

  “Man, you should see your face right now,” he laughed while I tried to recover. “Priceless.”

  Well. That answered that.

  “You want to know my type, Sal? Female.”

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  Becks shrugged. “I’m a guy. I love women,” he said and shot me a grin. “Some more than others.”

  Shaking out of it, I punched him, popped him right in the arm. “You jerk. Why’d you say all that? Was it to embarrass me or what?”

  He laughed the whole thing off like nothing happened. “It’s true, Sal. You’ve ruined me for other women.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Where am I going to find another girl who throws a punch like that?”

  “Haha, good joke,” I said, throat tight. I knew better. Becks hadn’t said anything, never made a move in all this time. But as he’d described me, his eyes softened—or had I imagined that?

  The timer went off, and Becks pulled the pizza out of the oven. The crust was golden brown, cheese spread evenly over the top.

  “I better get going,” Becks said, setting the tray down, grabbing his bag off the floor. “See you later?”

  “Probably.” I swallowed and forced a smile. “May the Force be with you.”

  “You, too.”

  Becks waved as he walked outside, and I waved back, trying to ignore the ache in my chest.

  #

  “Mom, have you seen my gloves?”

  I’d looked all over my room, under the bed, the nightstand, even checked the bookcase. The search had started over an hour ago after I finished my homework. The Calc questions were always a breeze, but the reading had taken longer than usual—mainly because I’d kept replaying that talk with Becks. My hair took more time tonight. Despite what Becks had said, it wasn’t wavy. It was downright unmanageable most days. Sprinkled over my cheeks and the bridge of my nose, I’d made peace with my freckles over the years. But they weren’t cute; they were just there. Looking back on it, I should’ve known it was a joke from the get. I shouldn’t have spent so much time over thinking. Maybe then I wouldn’t be running late.

  “Mom?” I said again, stepping into the kitchen.

  “What gloves?” she asked, head down, looking at a layout of bills while she compared cloth swatches. The bride must’ve chosen orange and bright green for her wedding colors. I shuddered. My eyes hurt just looking at the mix.

  “Um, the only gloves I own.” I tried not to sound too sarcastic. It wasn’t her fault the stupid things were missing. “The short yellow ones. Bright, stretchy, k
inda cheap-looking.”

  “Oh, those,” Mom said, discarding amber for vermillion, “Did you check the hamper?”

  Jogging to the laundry room, I rifled through the basket of dirty clothes. “Not here, either.” I’d known it was a long shot. I hadn’t worn them out in a while—not since my X-men themed eleventh birthday party—and besides, I suspected the shoddy material wouldn’t hold up in the wash. Walking back, I muttered, “I could’ve sworn I laid them out last night on my dresser.”

  “Did you look to make sure they weren’t on the floor somewhere?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, even checked behind the headboard.” Sighing, I slid into the seat opposite her. “Guess I’ll just have to go without them. Hooker’s going to be disappointed. You know she goes all out for this stuff.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mom said as she bound a few squares together. Looked like she was going with shamrock and orange peel with an accent of deep gold. Not bad, considering what she had to work with. “Lillian won’t—”

  “Won’t what?” I mumbled, picking at the table as I waited for Mom to answer. When she didn’t, I looked up and caught her staring at me. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Sally...what happened to your hair?”

  “Oh.” I instinctively raised a hand to my brown locks. “I just used some hot rollers and teased it a little. Put some baby powder on the front strand to look more Rogue-ish—Rogue circa the ‘90s cartoon series not major motion picture Rogue. Do you like it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mom said with a small frown. “It makes you look...older, somehow.”

  “Thanks a lot,” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. Over the hill at seventeen. My life just kept getting better and better. Standing, I brushed the remaining wrinkles out of my black X-Men tee. The gloves would’ve completed the ensemble, but oh well. This would have to do. “Alright Mom, I’m gonna head out.”

  Mom glanced at her watch. “But it’s not even eleven yet.”

  “Hooker wanted to meet early to get good seats.”

  “But what about the gloves?” Mom said, following me to the door. “Don’t you want to check again?”

  “No, that’s okay.” I gave her a peck on the cheek. “Hooker will just have to deal. Love you, Mom.”

  “But Sally, can’t you just wait...”

  Before she could say more, I opened the door...and saw the boy with the sky blue Scion striding toward our house.

  Through clenched teeth, I hissed, “Mom, tell me you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t,” she said, but I wasn’t buying. Her smile was too bright, her manner too content, to be some innocent bystander. Then the truth, “Lillian did.”

  “I told her no more dates.”

  “She’s just trying to be a good friend, Sally. Who knows? He could be your soul mate.”

  “If the first eight weren’t my soul mates, the odds aren’t in his favor,” I said. “Plus, I don’t want Hooker feeling like a third wheel.”

  Mom’s look was shrewd. “And since when does Lillian go anywhere without a boy on her arm?”

  She had a point, but...

  “I’m not doing this.” I shook my head. “Not tonight.”

  “Oh yes, you are,” Mom said, pushing me onto the porch as I tried to back away. “His name is Austin Harris. He’s a good boy, according to Lillian, and I promised I’d make sure you left together. Now—” She slipped something into my hand. “—go out and have some fun.”

  The door slammed. Unbelievable. Mom had literally thrown me out of the house. As I heard the lock click into place, I looked at what she’d given me.

  The yellow gloves. She must’ve taken them out of my room sometime this afternoon while I was at school.

  My mom, the calculating mastermind.

  The thought nearly made me grin, but by then Austin had made his way to the door.

  “Hi,” he said smiling, reaching out a hand, “I’m Austin. I ran into Lillian at the bookstore, and I guess she thought—well, yeah.”

  “Sally,” I said, shaking his hand. Austin had the body of a surfer/swim model with a face to match. I couldn’t figure out why he was being so nice. Boys who looked like Austin rarely were. But after eyeing him more closely, I noticed…was that a pocket protector? I’d thought those were a myth. And his dark blue tie, which he wore loose over a white, untucked button-down was actually imprinted with the Hogwarts seal. “You like Harry Potter?” I asked, nodding to it.

  “Hell yeah,” he said enthusiastically. Then, like he’d caught himself, he said, “I mean, yeah. Harry Potter’s pretty cool. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

  I grinned. “I wear my Gryffindor jersey at least once a week.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Oh. That’s good.” He looked relieved. “I thought I’d blown it in the first five minutes.”

  “No, you’re doing fine,” I said then took a peek at my cell. If I wasn’t there in ten minutes, Hooker would be shooting lightning bolts out of her eyes. “Listen, Austin, I don’t know what my friend told you, but we’re meeting her at the movie theater. If I’m not there in about ten minutes, it’ll probably be sold out.”

  “X-men, right?” Austin fished two tickets out of his pocket. “I already got them. Lillian sent me a text a couple of hours ago.”

  “Wow.” I was honestly impressed. Hooker’s deviousness had suddenly reached an all-time high. “So, you won’t mind hanging out with the two of us?”

  “Not if she’s as cool as you are.” He flushed a little but gestured in my direction. “I like your hair by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  And that’s how I ended up going to the movies with Austin Harris, a boy I barely knew, who’d already given me more compliments than any of my previous dating disasters combined, and was a surprisingly cautious driver.

  Too cautious. He drove like a ninety-year-old man with cataracts. If he stopped at one more yellow, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions.

  When we walked in, Hooker was propped up against the snack stand, tapping her foot impatiently, clad in full-out Storm paraphernalia. The white thigh-high boots she was wearing looked painted on, but that was nothing in comparison to the white Lycra bodysuit and cape. My favorite touch was the frosty bob wig she’d donned just for the occasion. Classic Hooker. She never did anything by halves.

  Spotting me, she pushed off.

  “Hey, Spitz,” she called, waving wildly. “Sally Sue Spitz, over here!”

  I gave a smaller wave back and tried not to be embarrassed as every head turned my way.

  The ticket taker stopped mid-tear. “Spitz?” he said and then smiled. “Great God Almighty, you must be Nick’s kid.”

  I fought down my grimace and nodded.

  “Well, how about that.” The guy’s nametag said Eddie, and he was dressed in a suit. I assumed he was the manager. “You look just like him you know.”

  Actually, I thought I favored my mother, but whatever.

  “Your dad’s a great man. He really helped us crack down on illegal activity here at Regal Cinemas.”

  “Hmmm,” I said and tried not to roll my eyes. If selling popcorn and candy at such high prices wasn’t a crime, I didn’t know what was.

  “You be sure to tell him Ed said hi, next time you see him.”

  “Sure.” As I walked away, I added, “But you’ll probably see the jerk before I do.”

  Though we lived in the same town, I didn’t see much of my dad. He was like one of those zits that popped up when you least expected it. A nasty surprise that made life hell until it cleared out. To most people, he was Nick Spitz, Chariot’s favorite cop. I knew him as the guy who’d gotten caught banging the babysitter—while I was in the other room watching cartoons. Mom filed for divorce the next day.

  “Finally.” Hooker was hands on hips when I reached her, the timeless superhero pose. I didn’t even think she realized that she was doing it. After the talk about my
dad, the sight made me smile. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show. Will’s up there saving our seats. What took you so…oh hey, Austin.”

  Offering his hand, Austin said, “Hi again, Lillian, and thank you. Sally’s great.”

  “And don’t you forget it, bucko.” Tugging me around, Hooker bent her head to mine and said, “So, what do you think?”

  “He’s really nice,” I said. “I don’t appreciate you enlisting my mom’s help and springing him on me as I was leaving the house. But he seems okay.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Just okay? That’s it?”

  “Yeah, he’s actually not so bad.”

  “Spitz, the guy’s wearing Chinos, and he tried to shake my hand.” She tugged at one end of her bob. “I found him bent over a book bigger than my head in the sci-fi/fantasy section at Barnes and Noble.”

  That sounded suspicious. “And what were you doing in Barnes and Noble?” I asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she laughed. “I was looking for the male version of you.”

  I laughed despite myself.

  “Glad you think it’s funny,” she said. “I always say it’s the polite ones you’ve got to watch out for. Also, please don’t kill me.”

  “Kill you for what?” I said.

  “Hey Lil, I see you found my date.” Turning my head, I caught Chaz Neely checking out my ass.

  Hooker glared at Chaz while I glared at her. This couldn’t be happening.

  “I told you not to call her that,” she said.

  Chaz held up both hands. “Sorry, man, I forgot.” To me, he said, “Love the hair by the way. It really gives you something, almost makes you look hot.”

  I glared harder as Hooker slammed a palm against her forehead.

  “She’s actually my date and she’s already hot,” Austin said a little red in the face. “Don’t listen to him, Sally. You’re definitely hotter than most, if not one of the hottest girls around.”

  As much as I enjoyed hearing Austin defend my level of hotness, I was ready to end this conversation and go watch the movie. I didn’t think Hooker could top the Daisy fiasco, but it was no contest. This was officially my most uncomfortable date ever.

  “Shall we? It’s nearly midnight.” Not waiting for an answer, I dragged Hooker to the second theater on the right, my two dates trailing after us. “Tell me you didn’t.”