Adorkable

by Cookie O'Gorman

  In the face of his mother’s accusing tone, Becks shrugged. “Sal and I have been friends a long time. It’s only natural for us to want to take it to the next level. I thought you’d be happy for us, Mom. Sal’s like a daughter to you, and here you are embarrassing her, trying to make her feel bad. To be completely honest, I’m a little disappointed in you.”

  She blinked.

  I waited.

  Becks sat back and watched his Mom absorb everything, a faint look of disapproval on his face.

  The guy was unbelievable. Mrs. Kent would never buy it.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. Her face fell as she looked at me. “I adore you Sally, I do. It’s just finding you and Becks in his room…it took me by surprise.”

  “Totally understandable,” I said.

  “But I am so happy,” she said, a smile forming, “over the moon, really, that you and Becks are finally together. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, honey. I was trying to embarrass my son, but apparently he inherited his father’s shamelessness.”

  “Talking about me again, dear?” Mr. Kent stepped into the room and dropped a kiss on his wife’s head. Clayton had more of his dad in him than his mom, but Becks was a perfect marriage of the two. As Mr. Kent looked at us, I saw a matching set of Becks’s eyes looking back at me. “Hi, Sally. I miss anything good?”

  “Just Becks and his new girlfriend getting better acquainted in his bedroom,” Mrs. Kent said, which finally—finally—made Becks blush. I’d been red as I could be since before she’d discovered us, so her comment really had no effect on my coloring.

  “Really?” Mr. Kent was all smiles. “Well, isn’t that something.” Mrs. Kent shot him a look, and he quickly amended, “I mean, Becks how dare you take our innocent Sally here up to your room. Do we need to have a talk about the correct way to treat a lady?”

  Mrs. Kent nodded her approval, but said, “That won’t be necessary. The three of us already talked, and there will be no more hanging out in Becks’s room with the door closed. Isn’t that right you two?”

  Becks and I nodded.

  Guess this would be the end of our lessons. Too bad, I was looking forward to what lesson three might be.

  As I was leaving, Mrs. Kent made sure to invite me and my mom to the Kent Family Cookout. It was late October; the last game of normal season play would be this week before they announced the area/region qualifiers. Chariot was sure to make the sectionals, and it was the perfect time to bring the family together, a two birds situation. They all got to eat great food and see Becks play (and most likely win).

  I said I would come—what else could I do? Having three Kents, two with Becks’s persuasive eyes, staring back at me I couldn’t say no, didn’t want to.

  But when Monday rolled around, I was rethinking my answer.

  Again.

  I’d changed my mind and changed it back too many times to count. The smart thing would be not to go. There’d be too many people, my mom, the Kents, Becks’s brothers. They knew me and Becks better than anyone. The cookout was a minefield. One slip, that’s all it would take. Mom had yet to see us together after the big announcement, and though Becks’s parents were on board now, none of them had watched the two of us together for any length of time. The odds of discovery had never been higher.

  School was out today because of a state-wide teacher’s conference, so I couldn’t use German Club or having to stay after as my excuse to avoid the cookout. The library was closed for electrical repairs. My options weren’t looking good.

  Cleaning the gutters was supposed to help clear my head. There were layers and layers of build up. I didn’t think they’d been cleaned once the entire twelve years we’d owned the place. Mom hadn’t done it. We hadn’t hired anyone. I sure as heck hadn’t climbed my butt up here to do it. But today, with the cookout fast approaching and no way out in sight, I’d needed something. The ladder I was using was a rusted out old heap that came with the house. I’d been at it nearly two hours; my mind was supposed to be a million miles away. The dirt and grime, the dead leaves, the pure grossness of the task should’ve diverted my attention...but it didn’t.

  “Crap,” I said, suddenly dislodging a huge clump of gunk, “there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Hey!”

  The exclamation caught me by surprise, and I lost my footing. My arms were what saved me. They shot out completely on reflex, latched on to one of the gutters and didn’t let go. The ladder was long gone, laying somewhere in the grass below. The oversize workman’s gloves didn’t help me now. It was next to impossible to get a good grip.

  “A little warning next time would be nice, Sal.”

  Without looking I knew that voice.

  “Becks,” I said calm as possible—which wasn’t calm at all. My hands were already slipping. “Could you get the ladder?”

  “So you can what,” he scoffed, “pull a Catwoman and spring onto the thing? Sal, just drop. I’ll catch you.”

  I vigorously shook my head.

  “Just get the ladder, please.”

  “Sal, I’m standing right beneath you. I’ll catch you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Yes, I—God, Sal, stop being so stubborn and just drop.”

  I whimpered, fingers slipping another inch.

  “I’ll catch you. I promise.”

  “You better,” I said then let go.

  I couldn’t control my girlish shriek, but Becks made no sound as I fell gracelessly into his arms. He caught me like he did this every day, as if girls dangling from rain gutters were his specialty. Who knew? Maybe they were.

  Raising my head, I asked, “Have you done this before?”

  “Never,” he said, eyes smiling.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” He gave me a pointed look. “But you know, unlike some people, when I say I’ll catch someone, I actually do it.”

  I sighed. Of course, he would bring that up. “You’re never going to let it go, are you?”

  “Nope,” he said and readjusted his hold. Surprised, I gripped his neck with both hands. “Some things are hard to forget.”

  “I said I was sorry about a million times.”

  “I know.”

  “And I was the one who got hurt, not you.”

  “I know, Sal.”

  “Then why do you always bring it up?” I muttered.

  “Best day of my life.” Becks shrugged, jostling me again, and I narrowed my eyes. Of all the times I’d asked him that exact question, he never gave a straight answer.

  Mom came out of the house toting five food trays and smiled when she saw us.

  “Hi, Becks,” she said, as I scrambled to my feet, cheeks flaming. “Dare I ask?”

  “Hey there, Mrs. Nicholls.” He grinned. “I walked up and saw Sal stuck, hanging from one of the gutters. Naturally, I saved the day.”

  I cut him a glance. Nice how he forgot to mention he was the reason I’d been stuck in the first place.

  “Sounds like history repeating itself,” Mom said.

  “Yeah,” he replied, “except no one got injured this time.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It was second grade. You were bigger than me. What’d you expect?”

  Becks raised a brow. “You said you’d catch me.”

  “Whatever, I didn’t see anyone else volunteering.” I’d tried to save him, too. I just hadn’t been as successful. “If I hadn’t come along and talked you down, you might’ve been trapped on those monkey bars for hours.”

  “You said—”

  “And,” I added, “I ended up with a broken arm after you nearly squashed me.”

  “You know I’ve always felt bad about that,” Becks mumbled.

  “Well, there you go,” I nodded. “I’ve always felt bad about breaking your fall instead of catching you like I said I would. We’re even.”

  “Even,” Becks agreed, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

  Mom, who’d been watching the exchange, sighed.
>
  Becks and I looked at her.

  “What, it’s a great story,” Mom said, wearing a dreamy expression. “You meet when you’re young, become best friends, and then fall in love? I’m telling you it doesn’t get much better than that. I hope you’ll take care of my girl, Becks.”

  “Mom,” I muttered, embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Nicholls.” Becks reached for my hand, and I gave it without a thought. Gazing lovingly into my eyes, he said, “I will.”

  Man, he was good.

  I would’ve applauded the Oscar-worthy performance, but instead I smiled as he winked. We’d get through the cookout just fine so long as Becks kept that up.

  Mom had called Mrs. Kent to have Becks drive us over (I swear, she had to be the one I got all my sneakiness from). The entire Kent Clan was there when we arrived, and the three oldest boys met us at the door.

  Let the games begin, I thought, holding tight to Becks’s hand.

  He squeezed mine back.

  “Martha,” Clayton fairly squealed as he saw my mother. He reached out to take one of the trays, flipped back the foil and put a hand to his heart. “Macadamia Nut, my favorite. Tell me, would you ever consider dating a younger man?”

  Leonard Kent, the oldest, stepped in. “Stop hogging her,” he said, flashing a winning smile. “Hey Martha, how’s it going?”

  Mom laughed. “It’s going just fine. Oh and Leo, there’s something for you, Ollie and Thad here, too.”

  At the sound of his name, Oliver poked his head out, smiled at Mom and grabbed his tray of peanut butter cookies. “Thanks, Martha. You’re the best.”

  Every single one of the Kent brothers was in love with my mother.

  This should’ve bothered me, but it didn’t.

  “Sally Spitz,” Leo said squinting, “I think you’re even prettier than when last I saw you. What the heck are you dating this guy for?”

  Becks grunted.

  Ollie spoke through a mouthful of cookie. “Yeah, Sally, what’s the deal? I thought you and young Baldwin were strictly hands off. When’d you guys decide to become kissing buddies?”

  And that was only the start.

  The jabs kept coming.

  The brothers surrounded us as we sat on the loveseat in the living room. Becks wore a tight-lipped grin, and I was left to field the questions. By that point Mom had made her way into the kitchen with Mrs. Kent, for which I was thankful. There were some things I just didn’t want her to hear—like question one.

  Leo: “I hear you and Becks got caught necking in his room. He any good?”

  Me (flushed): “He’s magnificent.”

  Ollie: “Oh yeah? So, when’s the honeymoon gonna be?”

  Me: “Undecided.”

  Clayton: “You’ll name one of your kids after me, right?”

  Me: “You wish.”

  Clayton: “Ah, come on Sally.”

  Me: “No.”

  Thad: “What about me? Thaddeus the Fifth sounds pretty darn good.”

  Me: “Not on your life.”

  No way was I naming my child Thaddeus. All of the Kent brothers were named after uncles; it was tradition, and both Mr. and Mrs. Kent had a long line of siblings to choose from. That’s how Becks got saddled with his tongue twister. They knew he was going to be their last, and so every name that hadn’t already been assigned got dropped on him.

  Becks was looking more and more tense, enduring every snicker, every skeptical look, until he finally jumped up and said, “Who’s up for a game?”

  Nothing could distract the Kent brothers like a challenge.

  We played every year, and to make it more fair, the game was touch football. Everyone knew if Becks got hold of a soccer ball, there was no contest. The brothers had learned the hard way, and male testosterone was alive and well in the Kent household. They hated to lose, especially to each other.

  It was a serious competition.

  “I can almost taste a victory,” Clayton said, doing a couple lunges to warm up. “Can you taste it, Sally? That sweet budding taste of V-I-C-T-O-R-Y?”

  “Yeah,” I smiled, “tastes good.”

  I played to even up the teams, and once everything was settled here was the line-up: Me, Ollie, and Clayton versus Becks, Leo and Thad. I might not have had the upper body strength, but I had the quickness to compete with the boys. Plus, I’d grown up with these particular boys, so I knew their weaknesses.

  “We got this,” Ollie said, jogging in place. “We so got this.”

  “You got nothing.” Leo smacked Ollie on the shoulder, laughing as he walked past.

  “You won’t be smiling when we annihilate you,” Ollie said, glaring at Leo’s back as if he saw a bull’s-eye. They had a bit of sibling rivalry going on, being the two oldest. Leo was bigger, but Ollie had the better throwing arm. They usually focused on each other, so I wouldn’t need to worry too much about Leo. “You ready to get that Troll, Sally?”

  My eyes narrowed on the competition. “Heck, yeah.”

  The Golden Troll, a prize like no other, coveted, highly sought after, much beloved and a total piece of crap. The thing was butt ugly. The doll sported crazy red eyes, was missing most of its hair, had been spray-painted gold and nailed crooked onto a wooden base to complete the horrific appearance. Looks weren’t important, though. If your team took the Troll, you earned a year’s worth of bragging rights. It was all about the win.

  Taking Leo out of the equation, I concentrated on Becks and Thad. Becks was difficult to pin down. He had weaknesses I was sure, but none I could easily spot. I usually tried to stay away from him. He knew I wasn’t made of glass, and I knew he’d take me down if he could. Last year, in the mud, sweat and heat, it hadn’t been pretty.

  Thad was the weak link, my number one target. He had a soft spot for girls, all girls, so even if I was running right by him, he hardly made an effort, afraid he’d push too hard and I’d get hurt. Our strategy was simple. Get Thad on our side, effectively knocking him out of the game and taking Becks’s team down to two players.

  In the huddle, Ollie laid out the game plan then said, “Everyone understand?”

  Clayton and I nodded.

  Ollie looked to me. “You ready? This whole thing depends on you, Sally, so you’ve got to be willing to lie, cheat, steal, whatever it takes to get the Troll.”

  “Whatever it takes,” I said.

  Clayton raised an eyebrow. “Even if it means taking your boyfriend down a notch?”

  Before I could say a word, Becks called out from across the yard. “Hey Sal, you want to hurry it up? Team Becks is getting impatient over here, waiting to claim our prize.”

  “That Troll is ours,” Clayton shot back.

  “Not this year,” Leo said smugly. “Not last year either.”

  “That was a fluke,” Ollie retorted. “Nothing but a fluke.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “the sun got in my eyes.”

  “Sorry Sal—” Becks shook his head. “—but girlfriend or not, your team’s going down. Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll go easy on you.”

  It was the “sweetheart” that did it.

  Turning back around, baring my teeth, I said, “He’ll never see it coming. Let’s do this.”

  And do it we did. The whole thing went off without a hitch. On the third play, I saw my opening and took it. Ollie had just thrown a perfect spiral, delivering the ball into my arms without the slightest wobble. I’d cradled it to my chest like a newborn babe and made a mad dash for the goal line, but Becks was there to intercept me less than five yards away. He tagged me with two hands to my side, a gentle pat, the lightest of touches, but I made the most of it, throwing my body to the side, taking a nosedive into the grass, groaning pitifully as I fell.

  Becks was at my side in an instant, kneeling, checking me for injuries. “Sal?” he said, face stricken. I buried my head further into my shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Sal, are you hurt? I didn’t mean to...I mean, I barely...Sal, say something, you’re scaring me her
e.”

  At that, I looked up, eyes bright. “Aw, don’t be scared Baldwin, I’m alright.” Looking past him, I said, “But you better watch your back. Thad doesn’t look happy.”

  “Huh?” was all Becks got out, and then he was wrenched away.

  Thad was in a state. “What the heck’s the matter with you, Becks? She’s a girl for God’s sake.” I groaned again for good measure, letting him pull me to my feet. Gently, Thad said, “Sally, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I said, shooting Becks a grin when no one was looking. “I guess Becks just doesn’t know his own strength.”

  Becks’s mouth dropped open.

  Thad glared at him and Leo said, “Not cool man. Not cool.”

  After that the game was a cakewalk. Our strategy worked better than expected, getting not only Thad on our side but Leo as well. With their half-hearted showing, Becks was basically playing by himself. By game’s end, Clayton and Ollie were having a victory toast, taunting the others for their abysmal performance, and I was in possession of the Golden Troll. Becks strolled up as I pretended to give it a polish.

  “That was some dirty trick,” he remarked. “Faking like that, making us think you were seriously injured, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first,” I said, hugging the Troll to my chest. “Besides, it was Ollie’s idea, not mine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You really had me for a minute there.”

  “Becks, you barely touched me.”

  “Yeah, but it scared me just the same.”

  I studied his face, saw he was serious. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “Nope.”

  “No, what?”

  “Sorry’s not going to cut it, Sal.” Becks stood hands on hips, shaking his head. “I nearly died from the guilt. My nerves are still shot. It’s gonna take something more, something valuable, something...golden.”

  “No way,” I said, walking backward.

  “You cheated,” he said, matching me step for step.

  “We won fair and square.”

  “I think you’d agree that’s a stretch.”

  I did but stayed silent.

  “Hand over the troll, Sal.”

  “Never.” He had me trapped, pressed up against a tree in the Kent’s backyard, but still I clutched the trophy tighter. “Goldie’s mine this year. You can’t have her, Becks. I won’t let you.”