by Aimee Ferris
“Are you sure? I brought charcoal pencils, too.”
“I’m more of a steady black-and-white sort of person,” he said over his shoulder. “You, on the other hand, exude all these flashes of brilliant color where you least expect them.”
I smiled and picked up a dark purple. As soon as the soft chalk of the pastel smoothed over the textured paper, I felt all the confusion and stress melt away. Even when I felt Zander lean against me, back to back, it just felt warm and natural. As I added the final shadows of my figure’s contours to my sketch, he finally broke the comfortable silence.
“I’m not, you know.”
I leaned down and blew aside some loose chalk dust the pastels had left behind. “Not what?” I grabbed the deep blue to touch up the mother’s cloak.
“You know … into Ken dolls.”
My hand faltered and a slash of bright blue spilled onto the white background. I swallowed in an attempt to control my voice. “Oh. Good. I mean. Not good, not that there’s anything—”
“Gotcha.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
His hand touched my shoulder, and I looked down at his fingers holding out a gray rubbery eraser. I took it and decided I’d better keep my mouth shut before I made any further blunders that might be tougher to erase.
Chapter Seven
Anne made a rare early-morning school appearance to make up for the fact that she had been an absentee best friend the night before. The smell of floor wax was strong this early in the day, and I counted the ugly offset linoleum tiles as we walked toward our lockers. I found it easier to think things through if I distracted the frazzled surface of my brain with something else. I thought of this process as mental doodling.
“I didn’t sleep at all. I really needed to talk to you last night about all of this,” I said.
“I told you, T-Shirt and I were heading back and he got nailed by that lousy cop in Batville. It’s a total speed trap. The road goes from fifty-five miles per hour down to fifteen in about ten feet. It’s impossible not to speed. And then, once he stopped us, the guy went over the car to find any other violations he could possibly ticket. Car body modified too low to the ground, crack in one taillight—you wouldn’t believe it. He ended up with over two hundred bucks in fines.”
“Wow. Can he afford to pay that kind of ticket?”
“He’ll just borrow from his dad—he gives him anything he wants. T’s got the wildest plan to get back at the cop—it will be the biggest collecting expedition yet. The guy kept us so long when he was going over the car for every little thing that he added on a breaking-curfew violation since I’m still seventeen. It was totally humiliating.”
“Was your mom freaked?”
“Well, it’s her fault really, and I told her so.” Anne glanced around to make sure we were alone. “She and Pops had to hook up at a fall fashion show—if she’d gotten knocked up in the spring runway season, I’d be eighteen by now and would never have gotten the stupid ticket.”
Anne was still completely undecided on future careers, but I really thought she’d be missing her calling if she didn’t go into law.
“Interesting argument.”
Anne sighed. “Yeah, Mom didn’t go for that one, either. The ticket is only thirty-five bucks, but you have to have a parent or guardian show up at the station or courthouse. I think that’s what got her so upset. She was going on and on about how I was risking university acceptances on stupid stunts. But I think she’s just afraid someone will see her and she’ll look bad.”
Anne pouted. “Ever since all those celeb losers started picking her gowns for their multimillion-dollar money-pit weddings, she’s had paparazzi snapping her around town, trying to get first glance at the dresses. She even had to get a police escort from the beading store once. She’s paranoid if she seems remotely interesting to them as more than a top designer, someone might go digging and ta-daaa—out comes dear old dad! Now she’s going to be even more all over me than she was before. It’s so unfair.”
“Well, at least you didn’t have any new ‘room décor’ items in the car.” I pointed out. I hadn’t yet figured out how to convince her to nix supporting T-Shirt’s little hobby.
“True. Anyway, that’s why I didn’t get your many, many messages until this morning. You need to fill me in on everything with Zander. I need details. How was the kiss good night?” Anne asked.
“Well, considering it was three in the afternoon, it wasn’t so much a good-night-kiss sort of moment. And the twins from down the road throwing a Frisbee that nearly took his head off didn’t add to the romance of the situation.”
“So—no kiss? Not even a peck?”
“Well, no,” I admitted.
Anne looked at me with her head cocked. “Quigley … are you sure you’re reading this whole situation the right way?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you thought you had this big moment between you—right?”
Something about her tone was causing a whole different, and much less fun, fluttering in my stomach than I’d had in the museum. I nodded and pushed open the hall door that led to our lockers.
“But then he didn’t go in for the kiss good-bye. How did he leave it exactly?”
“Well, he just sort of waved and said he’d see me Wednesday.” Hearing it out loud, the whole thing did sound totally lame. Could I have imagined everything? “But he paid admission and for lunch at the museum café.”
“Who asked who?” Anne asked.
“I told him about the exhibit and he asked if I wanted to go with him.”
“Well, whoever asks, pays. So that’s not much of an indicator.”
“But after the thing with David, he held my hand.”
“Were you upset?”
“I guess. I felt like a complete jerk.”
“So Zander’s your friend. He knew you were already dealing with a bunch of guilt over insulting David last week. Doesn’t it sort of make sense that he would try to comfort you?”
I was such an idiot. She was right. “But wait! What about all that Ken-doll stuff? Why would he have made such a point to tell me he’s straight?”
“Oh my God, Quigley. You basically told a straight guy you thought he was gay. You’re lucky he’s mature and so laid back or he might have peeled off in his hot little convertible and left you in the dust. He’s your friend. Which way you swing is a pretty big part of your life, don’t you think? I think that would be a misconception he’d want to clear up just so you could get to know him better … as friends.”
My ears were on fire. My face was probably solid red. Anne gave me a little sympathy hug as we neared our lockers.
“Look. I’m not saying all this to make you feel dumb. It’s just that I’ve been in a lot more of these situations that you have. I don’t want you to get hurt or disappointed. And I also don’t want you to miss out on something with David because you’re chasing after nothing with Zander.”
My laugh came out bitter. “David? I’m sorry, were you not following the story? If he didn’t hate me before, he does now. I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again.”
Anne laughed and pointed to my locker. “Don’t be so sure.”
I stared at the single flower stuck through the handle of my locker. A little tag hanging from the stem was signed with “Love” and an unmistakable David drawing of a crown.
“I don’t get it.” It was the understatement of the year.
Anne rubbed her hands together and giggled. “All these years I’ve been trying to teach you the ways of the master—you must have picked up something!”
“But—”
“Didn’t I tell you? Keep several on the line—it’s the only way to go. I wouldn’t let on to David that you and Zander are only friends. Let’s just see how far you can play up the aftereffects of your pseudo-date.”
“I guess so. Thanks.”
Pseudo-date. Any excitement from getting my first-ever flower from a guy was flattened by the realization of
how wrong I had read things with Zander. I was hopeless at all this love stuff. At least Anne had saved me from making an idiot out of myself on Wednesday night.
She gave a little wave and ran off toward the theater to track down T-Shirt.
I put the flower up to my nose and sniffed. It smelled like dye, probably from the unnatural pink-red on the petals. Was I supposed to carry this around with me all day? I didn’t know the etiquette. I hung up my jacket and pulled out my hated chem textbook. At the last minute, I tucked the flower up on the shelf and slammed the metal door shut, hoping it wouldn’t die before I got it home.
I headed toward the science lab thinking about Anne’s take on recent events. It all made perfect sense. Not that I much liked the perfect sense it made.
“Earth to Quigley,” David said.
“David! I didn’t see you.”
“I know. I’ve been chasing you for the last ten minutes.”
“I’m so sorry.”
David smiled his crooked smile, which was a hundred times nicer than the cocky Art King smirk. “S’okay. You didn’t even see me.”
I picked at the frayed edge of my chem cover. “No. I mean, sorry about everything. At the museum—” I decided not to bring up the barrage of insults I sent his way in the cafeteria. Maybe he’d forgotten.
“It’s okay. Us ‘pompous jerks’ can handle a few blows to the ego.”
Okay, maybe not. At least he was smiling about it.
“But seriously,” David went on, “I was the one who told you to go. I’m just glad you didn’t miss it. What did you think about those different speed techniques?”
“They were pretty cool. I really liked the ones where it was like everything sped up and then froze.”
“Right! The ones on the far wall after you come in?” he asked.
“Yes! The big square ones. How did they do that?”
“I think it’s sort of like what Mrs. Albertt was talking about. Hey, maybe we can sign out some cameras after school and go to a park and try that out?”
David opened the door to the chem lab for me. I gave up. Boys officially confused the bejeebees out of me.
“Sure. That sounds good,” I said.
“Great. It’s a date!”
I was glad the door had shut behind me before he could see my shocked face. I had also completely forgotten to thank him for the flower.
At 3:05, I waited for David by my locker and tried to calm my nerves. It was weird. I’d known him for three and a half years, but his new, mellow, sheepish side made him seem like a complete stranger. I was going on a date with a complete stranger. I had every right to be nervous, going on a date with a complete stranger. I tried to think of how many other ways I could fit “going on a date” into a sentence, aiming for twenty-two, give or take.
It wasn’t like I never went out. But there was something sort of cool about coming to class one Monday morning, expecting to go home and do homework after school and, instead, ending up going on a date. Maybe this is what it felt like to be Anne. She could go on three dates every afternoon, if she felt like it.
Today, she was actually going on her own date to some mysterious locale to do some mysterious thing that she couldn’t talk about during lunch. Though when T-Shirt looked down to wipe some mustard off his DOESN’T PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS top, she mouthed, “Tell you later,” before he caught her. So I wouldn’t be in suspense for too long.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t get any last-minute advice from her. Two minutes after I sat down to enjoy my banana and yogurt with granola, David plunked his tray down and slid into the seat next to me. He sat sprawled out, eating his burger one-handed with the other arm draped casually across the back of my chair. I couldn’t figure the guy out, but I couldn’t resist feeling the tiniest bit smug when I saw the death glare coming from “Maria,” the unnamed freshman, at the next table.
I glanced at my watch, again—3:10. I had to get my head back in the game. After all, any minute I’d be going on a date. I pushed away the twinge of disappointment my date wasn’t with Zander, but Anne was probably right. A couple of little shrieking neighbor kids might not make for the ideal romantic background, but it shouldn’t have been a complete deal breaker for your basic postdate kiss. I had obviously misread the situation and had to accept that. No sense in throwing something away over nothing. With prom only a month away and no other prospects in sight, David’s sudden change of heart should be welcomed.
I wished I’d worn something cuter. But what was a girl to do when she had no clue while getting ready for school that she’d end up going on a date?
The hall door opened. David juggled two cameras and a handful of film cartridges. I rushed to help him before he dropped a lens, which would be a very unromantic thing to happen right as we were going on a date.
Chapter Eight
“I can’t wait to see what I got,” David said. “That’s the only drag about print instead of digital. At least with digital it’s all right there.”
I cringed as my malt made a giant slurp. “I can get access to the developing lab on Thursday.”
“You think I caught that squirrel as he jumped? I heard the click at the right time, but I have trouble with all the calculations involved in shutter speeds.”
“Me, too. I’m terrible with math. And a lot of other subjects.” I laughed and shifted my legs. We were sitting on the hood of David’s car, which was still hot from the engine.
“So, where are you going to school next year?” David asked, waving to a group of jocks who parked next to us. They didn’t go to our school, but looked familiar from around town.
“I’m not sure. I’m keeping my options open.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. They were wide open.
“Pretty late in the game to still be choosing.”
“What can I say? I’m a picky girl.” I slid off the hood to throw away my cup. I hoped when I got back he’d have dropped the subject.
“So who are your front runners?” David called after me.
So much for dropping the subject. I decided to go with a dash of honesty to round out my evasiveness. “Well, of course, the Art Institute of Chicago would be my top pick—”
“Oh yeah. I got in there, too.”
I stared at him. “You got into the Art Institute of Chicago?”
“Sure. They dug my sculptures—remember that one I won citywide with last year? Sent a slide of that and four others from the same series for my portfolio submission. But I’m going with Michigan State instead—go Spartans!”
David had gotten accepted by the Art Institute of Chicago. And he was turning them down. I touched my temples where a steady, rapid pulse beat in time with my heart.
“Hey, you okay? You look kind of funny,” he said.
“Brain freeze,” I lied.
“Oh, I hate that!”
I tried to make my voice steady. Maybe I had misunderstood. “So, wait. You were accepted, like officially offered a place, at the Art Institute. And you turned it down?”
“Yeah. There’s no money in art. Unless you want to be one of those computer graphics techie freaks—and I’m hardly the living-in-my-mother’s-basement-spending-twenty-hours-a-day-on-the-computer type.” He flicked a piece of ice back at his friends as they hopped in and cranked the bass. “Besides, Michigan’s topped the best-party-school list for the last three years running. I’ll be stylin’ in that Spartan red. College is all about the experience, right? I figure I’ll go into business or something. I can always be the Art King in my free time.”
I watched David walk to the trash to throw out his sundae cup. So all the years of our competition were about the competition, and not the art? Apparently, I was going on a date with not only a complete stranger, but a complete idiot.
“So, Quigley—got any plans for Friday? I was thinking me, you, Anne, and T could go catch that new Keith Gordon flick.”
“Yeah, well, Anne’s not exactly his biggest fan, so I doubt that will happen.”
I tried
to cover my gasp. Stunned by the idea of David passing on the Art Institute, it was the closest I’d come to spilling the truth about Anne’s father in nine years.
David looked at me strangely. “Who doesn’t like Keith Gordon? I thought every living breathing female was into him. I thought I was being thoughtful, giving you guys a little eye candy while we watch things blow up.”
I fought the urge to gag. The idea of Anne’s biological father being eye candy was beyond gross. I’d known about their relationship so long that it was hard to see him as a sex symbol. He was just my friend’s deadbeat dad. Ewww.
David was waiting for an explanation.
“I’m not sure. She just thinks he’s full of himself.”
“Keith Gordon? He runs around the world doing charity work for the poor and donates his free time in the States to environmental causes.” David laughed at the idea. “Sorry, but Anne’s nuts.”
Time to wrap this up, or I’d put my foot into it. “Look, I need to get home.” I looked at my watch. “I’ve got a big trig test tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll drive you.”
The typical David cocky attitude was dropping as the blocks passed in silence. He was the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of potential prom dates, though his magic potion came in the form of being in the presence of other people. It was a shame they weren’t holding prom on a deserted island, or this might actually work. I reached for the door handle as he pulled into my driveway.
He touched my arm. “Quigley, hold up a second, okay? Look, I’m not sure how I screwed things up, but it kind of feels like I did somehow. I shouldn’t have said your friend was nuts. Anne’s cool. And so are you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I let my hand slip off the door handle.
Encouraged, David rushed on. “It’s just—Well, I get nervous when I like somebody, and then I say stupid things. And you make me nervous. I know I sound like a dork saying that. But could you maybe cut me some slack at first, and I’ll try not to be such an idiot next time?”
