* * *
Zoe didn’t mention Kent’s party again until Friday night. I’d just finished dinner and was settling down on the couch with a novel—and feeling sorry for myself because the only romance in my life was a book about a saucy young countess named Fleur—when Zoe called. “There’s been a glitch in our plans,” she said.
“What plans?”
“Kent’s party. See, Joel is hanging out at Quinn’s house beforehand and instead of going to Kent’s party they might go to a movie. It’s undecided. I never could get a clear answer from my source, and now I don’t know if we should go to Kent’s party or go watch Road Patrol and try to casually bump into them.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. If I’d had one ounce of common sense I would have told her that it didn’t matter to me, because I was going back to the couch to live vicariously through Fleur, who not only had fiery eyes but a pert, welcoming mouth.
It’s not that I didn’t want to help Zoe. Trust me, she wouldn’t have made it through any of her math classes without my assistance; it’s just that I’ve come to realize something about her. Zoe only wants guys that she can’t have.
I’m not sure why this is. I have a hard enough time talking to guys who are obtainable. I can't imagine chasing after those who aren’t. Zoe isn’t that way. The more impossible the conquest, the more she falls in love. Joel and Andrea might not be together this minute but they’d been dating more or less for the last two years. The guy had unobtainable written all over his forehead.
I mentioned my theory to her when she first told me about her crush on Joel, but she brushed off the idea. “I’ve just had bad luck with men—but now I know why that is. Things weren’t meant to work out with any of those other guys because Joel is my soul mate.”
Yep, and another white sock was thrown into the laundry basket of her love life.
So really I should have returned to the couch to live vicariously through Fleur, who never had to doodle guys’ names on her old calculus papers. She was too busy riding her father’s prize stallions over the English countryside. But no. I heard the words “Joel is hanging out at Quinn’s house,” and my brain stopped working.
For one moment I saw myself with Zoe—borrowing her bravery. It wouldn’t be so awkward to run into Quinn at a movie theater. I could nod and say hi. I could follow Zoe as she surreptitiously arranged for us to sit next to the guys. And seeing Road Patrol with Quinn would give me something to talk to him about in calculus besides my inability to draw recognizable daisies around his name. He might even completely forget about my doodle.
I heard myself telling Zoe, “Fine, I’ll be right over to your house.”
“Wear your dark jeans and black sweater,” she said.
I didn’t question her. Zoe frequently gives me fashion tips.
As it turns out, my dark apparel wasn’t a fashion statement, it was camouflage. Zoe’s plan was to stake out Quinn’s house until the guys left, and then figure out where they were headed by seeing which direction they went. If they drove left, it meant Kent’s house. Right meant the movies. Zoe might not have a head for math, but the girl can figure out the answer to any story problem that involves guys.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t park near his house. That would be too obvious, especially since Zoe drives a very recognizable car—a white VW bug with a blue passenger door. The blue door actually came from another car. She broke the first one by pulling out of her garage before her brother had shut his door. The door caught on the passing garage shelving and bent so badly it wouldn’t close anymore.
Zoe’s parents bought a door off a junkyard car and told her if she wanted it painted she had to pay for that herself. Instead, she decorated the blue door with white flower decals. Everyone in the school could recognize Zoe’s car. We couldn’t let the guys see it anywhere near Quinn’s home.
Instead, Zoe parked her car a long way down the street and we walked up to Quinn’s house. Then we hid behind the bushes by his driveway.
Sometimes Zoe’s ideas seem reasonable when she suggests them, but when you put them into practice you realize they’re insane. That’s pretty much how the whole bushes thing turned out to be.
We sat there huddled behind these prickly evergreen shrubs and nothing happened. No one came out. Ten minutes went by, then fifteen. “Shouldn’t they have gone somewhere by now?” I asked.
“Not necessarily,” Zoe said. “There’s more than one showing of Road Patrol and Kent’s party will go on for hours. Don’t get any dirt on your clothes. Remember you have to show up either at the party or the theater in them—does my hair look okay?”
“Your hair is fine.” Which is the truth. Zoe’s hair always looks great. I have to gel, manipulate, and hairspray mine to make it look good, which since my crush on Quinn has become a daily, pointless ritual.
Another ten minutes went by. My muscles cramped and the night grew colder. If I moved the wrong way, branches jabbed into me. I probably had pine needles stuck in my hair. This, I told myself, is what idiots feel like. For all we knew they’d decided to stay inside and play computer games. Besides, what kind of pathetic desperation drives a girl to hide in a guy’s bushes?
“This isn’t working,” I whispered, “and I don’t want to crash someone’s birthday party or go to some action flick and have to watch exploding cars anyway. Let’s just go home.”
Zoe let out a tormented sigh. “You know what your problem is, Alyssa? You don’t want to even try and get a guy’s attention. You’d rather hide in your house than face the chance of rejection.”
My mouth dropped open and meaningless grunts escaped from my throat. “My problem?” I repeated. “I don’t want to hide in a guy’s bushes, and so I’m the one who has a problem?”
“I know you still like Quinn, but you won’t even look at him at school, let alone talk to him. So yeah, I think you have a problem.”
There was more sputtering on my part. This whole thing was her stupid idea, which to be quite honest had followed a whole parade of other stupid Zoe ideas.
“And do you know what your problem is?” I whispered back to her. “You have commitment issues. You never like a guy who is actually capable of liking you back.”
“That isn’t true.”
I was not about to let her brush off my theory this time. “Oh yeah? How about Rodrigo, the guy you liked the last month of his senior year before he left for college in Oklahoma.”
“Simply bad timing.”
“What about the Mormon missionary you fell head over heels for?”
“Hey, Elder Sorenson was gorgeous, and kind, and—”
“Unable to date girls while he served his mission. The only time he used the word, ‘love’ in a conversation with you, was to tell you how much the Lord loved you.”
She got a dreamy look in her eye and let out a sigh. “Yeah, but it was still worth sitting through all those lessons just to watch his lips say it.”
Pieces of gravel cut into my knees and I brushed them away. “Which reminds me, how is your new religion working out, anyway?”
She kept her voice light. “Good. Great. I don’t miss coffee much, but get this— Mormons go to church for three hours every Sunday. Three hours. And I thought Catholic mass took a lot of time.”
“Ah yes, Catholic mass. How could I forget to include your crush on Father Flanagan?”
“Can I help it if I’m attracted to religious men?”
“Thank goodness we didn’t live a few thousand years ago or right now we’d be somewhere in Israel hiding behind Moses’ bushes.”
She sent me a superior look. “Moses never lived in Israel. See, those are the kind of details you learn when you go to church for three hours every Sunday.”
“Joel isn’t interested in you. He’ll probably be back together with Andrea within the week, and deep down you know it. This is all just—” I didn’t finish. The front door of the house opened. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
We’d been waiting for the garage door to open and a car to pull out.
I saw Quinn’s mother step out onto the front porch followed by Quinn and Joel. She had none of Quinn’s physique, but the same brown hair was swept up into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her gaze darted around the lawn. “Someone was out here . . .”
Quinn stepped around her and scanned the yard. “I don’t see anybody.”
I tried to shrink into the bushes as much as I could. I also stopped breathing in hopes this would help my bush-disguise.
Quinn looked ready to return inside but his mother stood fast. “I know I heard voices. They were arguing.”
Quinn glanced down the street. “It was probably some people passing by.”
She grunted and took a step back to the house. “Maybe you boys shouldn't go to the party. I don’t want to be left alone if there are burglars around.”
Joel and Quinn exchanged a look. “You’ll be fine,” Joel said. “Lock the doors if you want. I’ll take my key.”
She said more about this, but her voice was so low I couldn’t hear what. I let out a small whimper, and then stopped myself. Bushes shouldn’t whimper.
“Okay, okay,” Quinn said, soothing his mom. “How about this—we’ll let the dog out and see if he finds anyone.”
Zoe grabbed my arm. Her eyes grew wide. From the porch we heard Quinn call, “Rocky—here boy!”
“Run!” Zoe whispered. She didn’t wait to see if I followed. She shot out of the bushes in a full sprint.
I sat there frozen, my mind going over the options, trying to find the best one. They’d already seen Zoe dart across their lawn and she had a head start on me. Perhaps they’d think she was the only one in the bushes and if I stayed here, hidden, they wouldn’t find me. But no, they’d probably look around, or at least let out the dog, and besides Zoe had the car. If I didn’t follow her I’d have to walk home through the dark. I jumped up and ran after her. My indecision had cost me several seconds. I pushed myself into a sprint, unsuccessfully trying to catch up. The girl was fast.
Back at Quinn’s house, his mother shouted in alarm. A dog barked. One of the guys yelled at us to stop.
Not likely. I ran past house after house, wishing there was somewhere to turn, to hide. Zoe’s car still seemed so far away. With every footstep I prayed, Please don’t let Quinn catch me and fervently followed this with: Please don’t let him realize it was me. The latter consequence was almost as disastrous as the first. I mean, exactly how do you explain to a guy why you and your best friend were crouching in his bushes?
As I ran, I wished I’d spent three hours in church every week. I bet God was actually listening to Zoe’s prayers.
Behind me, I heard footsteps. The dog barked again, closer this time. I’m not talking about the squeaky little bark of a poodle. This was the deep, throaty bark of a big dog. And since Zoe was ahead of me, Rocky would catch me first.
Without thinking about it, I darted into the side yard of the house I’d just passed by. I would lose the dog somehow. I would climb a tree, jump a fence, something. I plowed headlong through a garden area, trying to make out the shapes in front of me without slowing my pace. I listened for the sound of paws gaining on me. Which is probably why I didn’t notice the fishpond directly in front of me.
People really should put lights or warning signs or something in front of those. I mean really, is it safe to have giant holes full of water in your yard? I think not. My first step plunged me into the water. Caught off balance, I fell forward, only briefly noticing the splash before the frigid water drenched me.
Luckily, the pond wasn’t deep. Cold, yes, but not deep. I sat up coughing and sputtering. When I finished with that, I started swearing. Half a dozen frightened koi glared at me from the other side of the pond. My purse slowly sank beside me. My cell phone was undoubtedly ruined, and I could feel the slime on the bottom of the pond. Worse yet, I had an awful taste in my mouth—probably the result of breathing in the aforementioned slime.
Then I heard laughing. I looked up and saw Quinn, hands on hips, staring down at me. A doe-eyed golden retriever stood beside him, wagging his tail and looking at me expectantly. “Are you okay?” Quinn asked.
Well, besides wanting the earth to open up and swallow me whole—yeah, pretty much. I didn’t say this, though. I just nodded and tried to stand up. My foot slipped on the slime, and I stumbled, falling back down.
I swore again, then added, “Pardon my French.”
He held his hand out to help me up. “Yeah, you speak a lot of that, don’t you? Are you about to go quinning off again?”
I took his hand and he hauled me out of the fish pond. “Would you let me if I tried?” Water poured down my jeans and made puddles around my shoes.
“Not until you explain why you were in my bushes.”
“Oh, um, sorry about that. We didn’t mean to scare your mother.”
Rocky plodded around me, sniffing. I gave the dog’s head a soggy pat. The night air was making me shiver. So was Quinn’s gaze. He didn’t say anything, but he kept watching me, clearly waiting for the rest of my explanation.
I didn’t want to rat on Zoe, but I figured that was better than letting Quinn think we were stalkers or trying to break into his house or something. “Well, you see, Zoe gets these ideas, and the problem is that I listen to her. She wanted to run into Joel . . .”
“In my juniper bushes?”
“No, she didn’t know whether you were going to Kent’s party or the movies so we were waiting to see which way you drove.”
“Oh.” He looked me up and down and laughed again. I could tell he was trying to stop, but he didn’t. “We were going to the party.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll let Zoe know when I see her.” Water was still dripping from my sweater at a constant rate. Finally I took hold of the front of it and rung out as much as I could.
“She might have driven off already,” Quinn said, still amused. “I’m pretty sure I saw her get into a car.”
“Great.” Not only would I have to walk home in the dark, I would have to walk home in the dark, wet, cold, and dripping slimy pond water.
“Why don’t you come back to my house and dry off. You’ll catch pneumonia out here.”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you . . . I mean, your mom . . .”
“Wouldn’t want you to catch pneumonia either. When you’re dried off I’ll drive you home.”
What other choice did I have? My fingers felt numb and my shivering was getting worse. We turned and walked toward his house in silence.
Well, I had wanted something else to talk to Quinn about in calculus class and it looked like I’d gotten it. Now instead of being the girl who doodled his name on her papers, I’d be the girl who hid in his bushes, then ran off and flung herself in the neighbor’s fish pond. Who says you need to go to church for three hours a week to get your prayers answered?
“I’m really sorry about this,” I said.
“No problem.” He looked down across the street and not at me. “Hey, isn’t that Zoe’s car parked in front of my house?”
It was, and Zoe and Joel stood beside it talking to each other. The street was dark and they were so engrossed in each other they didn’t see us approaching. “Where could she be?” Zoe asked. “I never should have made her come over here. It was a stupid idea.”
I was about to yell out that I agreed, but she went on, “It’s just that I had to do something to get her to talk to Quinn, and this seemed like the only way. She’s liked him forever but positively refuses to speak to the boy.”
I stopped walking. I couldn’t take another step. I couldn’t look at Quinn. I worried what his expression would reveal.
And here I’d thought the most embarrassing part of the evening would be falling in the fish pond. But no.
Joel said something back to Zoe; I didn’t pay attention to what. I could only concentrate on the fact that Quinn stood beside me silently. L
augh it off, I told myself. Zoe would find a way to laugh this whole situation off.
However, I’m not Zoe. I stood there as stiff as stone.
Quinn whispered my name.
I didn’t look at him, couldn’t. I took a few steps backward. I didn’t know where I was going, but I couldn't bring myself to walk in on Zoe's conversation now.
Quinn followed after me, taking hold of my arm. “It’s okay.” He said the words so softly that I looked over at him. He stood close, wearing the same serious expression he used when contemplating calculus equations. “It’s . . . you don’t . . . I mean . . .” Then without finishing the sentence, he put his hands on my shoulders, leaned over and kissed me.
I was so surprised I couldn’t move. Although if I’d had a long time to analyze the situation, I wouldn’t have moved. Quinn was kissing me. The warmth from his hands spread down my shoulders. His lips were gentle, perfect, and he tasted like peppermint. My new favorite flavor.
I kissed him back. Which was also a surprise. I was standing out in the open where anyone could see me—where Zoe and Joel could see me. I wanted to put my arms around him, but I didn’t want to get him wet.
And then as quickly as it had happened, it ended. Quinn let me go.
I stared up at him, blinking, and couldn’t speak.
He took hold of my hand and pulled me toward Zoe’s car. “Hey, look who I found!”
Both Zoe and Joel turned and peered at me. Zoe gasped out, “What happened to you? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said and couldn’t believe how cheerful my voice sounded. “I just had a run-in with a fish pond.”
Zoe walked over to me, examining my pitiful condition. She picked some sort of pond-weed off the front of my sweater. “You must be freezing. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
Joel stepped over to us. “You don’t need to miss the party, Zoe. I mean, I know how much you wanted to wish Kent a happy birthday. How about . . .” His gaze skipped between Quinn and me. “How about if Quinn takes her home.” He put his hand to his chest. “Well, I can’t miss Kent’s party either. The two of us are tight. We’re football brothers.”
I couldn't believe what a blatant manipulator Joel was—which is when I realized that Zoe might have found her soul mate after all.
Quinn grinned back at Joel. “Yeah, that’s fine. I can drive Alyssa home.”
Zoe and Joel disappeared into her car, exchanging happy, plotting smiles. Quinn pulled me toward his house. “I’ll get you some towels. And probably you should have some hot chocolate or something to warm you up.”
I went with him, liking the way his hand felt in mine. The night hadn’t turned out so badly, I realized. And when you came down to it, Zoe is brilliant.
Quinn and I walked into his house and Rocky followed after us, wagging his tail.
JANETTE RALLISON
Janette Rallison/C. J. Hill writes books because writing is much more fun than cleaning bathrooms. Her avoidance of housework has led her to writing 23 novels that have sold over 1,000,000 print copies and been on many reading and state lists. Her books are fantasy, sci-fi, and romantic comedy because hey, there is enough angst in real life, but there’s a drastic shortage of humor, romance and hot guys who fight dragons. She lives in Chandler, Arizona, with her husband, kids, and enough cats to classify her as eccentric.
www.janetterallison.com/
The Christmas Warrior
by Stephen J. Stirling
Typeractive Tales: A Collection of Clean Short Fiction Page 16
