by Dyan Sheldon
“You know, I’m really glad you climbed our tree,” says Jena over their second drink. “Or we might never have become friends.”
Friends. They’ve become friends. It wasn’t so hard after all.
“Me, too.” He’ll never say another bad thing about the Minamotos or their dog – not even if Georgia O’Keeffe bites him again.
“You’re easy to talk to. You know, for a boy.”
Josh laughs. “Right.” Like Jenevieve Capistrano has had no practice talking to boys. “Is that because I look more like an owl?”
“No, you idiot.” She flicks a brownie crumb at him. “It’s just – I don’t know, boys…” She shrugs. “It’s nice to just be friends with a guy, without wondering what his motives are. ’Cause there’s always something. You think you’re just watching a movie together and the next thing he’s sticking his tongue in your mouth.” From her expression you’d think her coffee was sour. “Or you send them a picture or tell them a secret and the next thing you know it’s all over the Internet. I mean, that never happened to me, but it’s happened to girls I know. It can be really creepy and gross. So it makes you cautious, you know? Only, I can tell you’re not like that.”
He couldn’t be, not even if he was really as devious as the Snake in the Garden. He doesn’t do social media.
“Not at all? Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.” And he paraphrases Emily Dickinson’s poem about not wanting to be public like a frog and admired by the bog. “Rititnitit.”
Her smile feels as if she’s squeezed his hand. “Wow. You are really different. Maybe that’s why talking to you is like talking to a girlfriend.”
Is that a compliment? It has to be a compliment. Maybe. He thinks of the popular boys at school, but can’t imagine anyone telling any of them that talking to him is like talking to a girl. Not without getting hit.
“You do know I’m not a cross-dresser, right?” Leaning forward with a mock-serious face. “There’ll be no borrowing my clothes or anything like that.”
Jena grins. “You see what I mean?”
No. He might as well be blindfolded with a bag over his head. “I’m not sure. Not a hundred per cent.”
“Well…” There is a thin moustache of foam over her upper lip. If it were on him he’d look like a clown; on her she just looks cuter. “I guess what I mean is because I know you’re not going to hit on me, I can just chill. You know, be myself.”
This is good. It has to be good. He doesn’t make her feel like a hunted animal. He doesn’t even have to ask himself how she knows this about him. It must be obvious. Which means that, on the other side of the coin, this isn’t good. He doesn’t stand the chance of an ice cube in a pizza oven with a girl like her. If he ever does get a girlfriend it will have to be someone who can’t get anyone else either.
“Me too.” He winks. “I know you won’t believe this, seeing as I’m so handsome, charming and sophisticated, but talking to girls isn’t really my area of expertise.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You seem to be doing okay to me.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “What about Ramona? I see you talking to her.”
“Minamoto?” As if the school is crammed to the roof with girls named Ramona. “Ramona and I are just friends.”
Her smile is a wink. “You mean, she’s like your guy buddies?”
“Except that she’s taller, wears dresses and is more discreet about farting, yeah.”
“She sure doesn’t look like a guy,” says Jena.
Girls Are Full of Surprises
She calls him the next morning. His mother is at the kitchen table, rewiring an old lamp she bought in the summer, so Josh and Charley Patton are sitting side by side at the breakfast bar, sharing a slice of toast. When the landline rings he is wiping blueberry jam from Charley Patton’s nose and doesn’t even look up since it can’t be for him. His friends only call him on his mobile.
His mother answers, thinking it’s for her. “Hello.” Her eyes dart to Josh. “Just a minute. He’s right here. I’ll get him.” She puts her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s for you.” She already has that mother’s what’s-going-on? look on her face. “It’s a girl.” Said with the same restrained surprise as if she’d announced It’s the President.
So it isn’t Mo. Not counting girls who ask him questions about the math homework (who would never think of calling him) and Aya and Hazel from the chess club (who would also call him on his mobile), Josh only knows one other girl who might possibly want to speak to him. But of course it can’t be her. There’s no way on this planet it could be her. It must be someone who wants to join the chess club and was given this number by the advisor. Nevertheless, he gets up so fast he nearly knocks Charley Patton off his stool.
“Hi!” says Jena. “It’s me. I hope you don’t mind. I got your number from Ramona.”
Of course she did. Why look it up when you can just walk across the street and ask Ramona?
“Oh, hi. No, that’s okay.” He turns his back on his mother. “What’s up?”
“Nothing really. I was just wondering if you’re doing anything tonight.”
As unlikely as it seems, she has to be talking to him. “Me?”
“It’s just that I have this DVD of some really old Hitchcocks. And you know, I was thinking maybe you’d want to watch them with me.”
Do birds sing?
“You said you like old movies, right?”
“I did say that. I do.”
“If you aren’t busy. But probably you already have plans. It’s pretty last-minute. Saturday night.”
Should he play it cool?
“Well … I don’t know… I’ll have to consult my calendar… Hmmm… Looks like you’re in luck, I think I can squeeze you in.”
“That’s great,” says Jena. “I’ll see you around seven? You remember where I live, right?”
“Sure,” says Josh. “The house with the tree.”
As soon as he hangs up, his mother says, “So who was that?”
There are many advantages to being an only child – privacy, no one with whom you have to share everything, no one who borrows your things all the time or bosses you around, no rivalry for affection – but there are times when Josh wouldn’t mind having a few siblings to distract his mother’s attention from him. And this, of course, is one of those times. If he had nine brothers and sisters the President really could call him and she wouldn’t notice.
He turns around. She’s smiling as though she asked an innocent question, but the screwdriver’s pointing at him like a finger.
“Nobody. Just a girl. From school.”
“And does this girl have a name?”
No.
“Yeah, sure she does. It’s Jena.”
“Jena Capistrano?” How does she know that? How can she know that? Josh stares at his mother as if she has just revealed herself as the ancient goddess Isis. Disguised as a mild-mannered school librarian… “The girl who just moved into the Featherlanes’ old house? Across from the Minamotos?”
He could have saved a lot of time by asking his mother to introduce him to Jena.
“Yeah. That’s her.”
“She’s cute.” Hannah smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh out loud. Smirking. That’s what she’s doing; his mother’s smirking at him.
“It’s nothing like that,” says Josh. “We’re just friends.”
“Jade says the father seems a little rigid and authoritarian.”
“He was in the army.”
“And the army’s still in him, according to Jade.” She puts down the screwdriver, ready to chat. “So what’s the daughter like? It can’t be easy for her, losing her mother like that. And I bet he’s not easy either – or used to being the go-to parent.” Is there anything this woman doesn’t know?
This time it’s his phone that rings. Thank God. He grabs it from the counter as if he’s snatching it from the path of an oncoming train, and turns his back on his mother again.
�
�So what’s with you and bird girl?” Ramona, of course, would know all about the swallows returning to Capistrano – her musical knowledge is also eclectic. Nor is she a girl to chase you around the bush if she can simply trample the bush into the ground and confront you directly. “You know she came over and asked me for your number.”
“Yeah, she said.” Of the scores of things it never occurs to Josh to wonder about right now is why Ramona gave Jena the number for the landline and not the one for his cell. “Nothing’s with us. We’re just friends. She’s in Burleigh’s class with me. She wanted to know something about the homework.”
“Really?” He has the feeling Ramona may be smirking, too. “I saw you guys in HJ yesterday.”
Of course she did. This is what he means about life being ironic. It just never lets up.
“Did you?”
“Uh-huh. You were right in the window. Like you were dummies advertising back-to-school clothes. Well, not you. But she could’ve been.”
One of the problems with living in a small town is, of course, that it’s small. And, in this case, laid out in such a way that anyone looking out the window of the Moon and Sixpence would have a good view of anyone sitting in the window of the coffee bar across the street.
“Were we robbing the place or were we just drinking coffee?” asks Josh.
“I don’t know about her,” says Ramona, “but you don’t drink coffee. So probably you were having tea. But I guess you were too busy talking for her to ask you about the homework then.” Definitely. Mo is definitely smirking. “Or your phone number.”
“Yeah,” says Josh. “I guess we were.”
Ramona sits at the counter of the Moon and Sixpence, working on a display of macramé jewellery. Her mother has gone to choose some handmade wooden bowls and the sales assistant called in sick, so Ramona has been left in charge. It’s a quiet afternoon, which suits Ramona’s mood. Museful. She can’t stop thinking about Jenevieve Capistrano and Josh. Ramona is used to thinking about Josh, but until yesterday the only thoughts she had about the new girl were that she should do all her hair pink (it makes her look way more interesting); and that it’s too bad she’s already tight with Tilda Kopel, because, like being born a princess, it ruins your chances for a normal life. Which isn’t what Ramona’s thinking now. Why were Josh and Jena in Hava Java together yesterday? Why did Jena want his phone number? What’s going on? Ramona tells herself that nothing’s going on. They’re in the same language arts class. They happened to be in town at the same time yesterday. They ran into each other. They decided to go for a drink. For God’s sake, what’s the big deal? This is the twenty-first century. A girl and boy can go to a café together without a chaperone. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s normal. Everybody does stuff like that all the time. She starts fastening bracelets on a papier-mâché arm, lining them up one on top of the other like a rainbow.
But Josh doesn’t do stuff like that. Maybe with girls from the chess club, but not with someone in Tilda Kopel’s set. Especially someone who, if you ask Ramona, is getting to resemble Tilda more and more with every passing day. She holds up two bracelets, deciding which to put on next – the all-white strings with quartz and silver beads or the blues and greens with turquoise and gold? And anyway what does she care? If Josh wants to hang out with someone who probably can’t tell a guitar from a mandolin, that’s his business. Not Ramona’s. She chooses the bracelet of blues and greens and fastens it around the arm. Besides, he could never be interested interested in a Kopel clone. Seriously? Just the thought makes her laugh. She is so not his type. And there’s sure as hell no way Jenevieve Capistrano would be interested in him. Tilda doesn’t speak to Josh. She’s made fun of and laughed at him quite a few times over the years, but she’s never exchanged words. And even if Jena did like him, she couldn’t have the social life she has with Josh around. If they went to games he’d fall asleep. And what about parties and dances? Josh’s idea of dressed up is clean jeans and his father’s red suspenders; he doesn’t even own a suit. She’s smiling to herself at the idea of Josh at the prom when the bamboo wind chimes knock together gently as the door opens. Ramona looks over, still smiling.
Sal smiles back. He saw her through the window and thought he’d stop by and say hi. “Hi,” says Sal. And then, having temporarily run out of words, waves.
Just dropping by like this isn’t something Sal has ever done before, not unless he was with Josh, but things have changed, of course – now that Ramona and Sal are both involved in the musical they have another connection. Ramona waves back. “Hi.” She likes Sal and is glad to see him; though the truth is that she’d be glad to see a moose walk through the door right now – anything to distract her from thinking about Jenevieve and Josh.
Sal comes up beside her, jamming his hands in his pockets. He asks where her mother is. He admires the jewellery. He admires the display. He talks about the changes Mr Boxhill’s making in the play. All the while he shifts from foot to foot; as if he’s balancing on a raft. And then he says, sounding surprised at himself, “Hey, I just had an idea. If you’re not busy tonight I have a couple of sixties movies I got for research. You could come over and see them with me. They might give you some ideas. You know, for costumes.”
“That’s a great idea. I’d love to.” Before those words make him too happy, she adds, “But I can’t. Zara’s coming over tonight.”
“Zara.” He thinks this over for a second, then smiles. “Zara. Right. I guess I should’ve known.”
“Maybe another time,” says Ramona.
“Yeah, okay. That’d be chill. Another time.” He rocks on his heels and doesn’t ask her when.
Now arranging earrings on a velvet-covered board, Ramona wants to know what happened to boys’ night in. “I thought you guys always get together on Saturday nights.”
“We do,” says Sal. “But Josh had to bail. And Carver got landed with babysitting his sisters. I mean, I could go over there but we won’t be able to watch anything with them around. And we can’t lock ourselves in his room – they need supervision.”
“What’s wrong with Josh?” Very carefully and precisely, she pins a pair of dangling silver and turquoise earrings on the board. “How come he bailed?”
“Not sure.” She isn’t looking at him, but Sal shrugs anyway. “All he said was something came up. I don’t know if it’s the band or the chess gang.”
“It must be pretty important,” says Ramona. “It’s not like Josh to be so last-minute.” His lists of things to do are always in order of importance or urgency. His middle name isn’t Spontaneity: it’s David.
“Who knows?” says Sal. “Shit happens.”
Later, waiting for Zara, Ramona thinks she hears a car pull up outside and looks out her bedroom window. This would be another example of what Josh means when he talks about the ironies of life. Ramona is just in time to see Josh himself turn into the Capistranos’ driveway and walk up the path to the front door. No chessboard or guitar in sight.
Shit sure does happen.
As she turns away Ramona wonders what Tilda Kopel will say about this. Which is a thought that makes her smile.
One Thing Leads to Another, as Things Do
Josh is late. He’s almost never late – not unless someone else is involved – and he absolutely didn’t want to be late tonight. He wanted to arrive at seven o’clock exactly, to show her he’s dependable, the boy you can count on not to let you down. But it took him so long to get ready (choosing his clothes; checking teeth and hair and ears; wishing he looked like someone else) that it’s seven thirty before he reaches the Capistranos’ front door. Once there, he gazes zombie-like at the house number for several seconds, suddenly unaccountably nervous. What if he farts? What if he smells? For Pete’s sake it’s not a date, he tells himself. You’re just watching a movie. Think of her as one of the guys. Pretend she’s Mo.
As soon as he rings the bell he hears Jena shout, “I’ll get it, Dad! It’s for me!” Which is when he remembers
the General, Parsons Falls’ answer to Darth Vader – and a very good reason for feeling nervous. What if the General shoots him? He automatically takes a step backward, and loses his footing. He’s picking himself up from the flower bed when Jena opens the door with a glad-to-see-you smile on her face that immediately turns to a look of concern. “What happened? Are you okay?”
She’s not Mo. Mo would have laughed and thanked him for dropping by.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just missed my step.”
The smile returns. “Well, come on in. You’re right on time.”
She steps back to let him pass her. She lowers her voice and leans towards him so he can feel her breath on his cheek. “Don’t worry, my dad’ll be leaving in a few minutes.” Saturday is the General’s poker night. Normally she’d do something with Tilda, but Tilda has a hot date. He should have known. “So I’m really glad you could come so last-minute.” Jena makes a face. “I really hate being by myself all night.”
She really must, he thinks. To ask me over. But immediately banishes that thought as unworthy of her.
“Then it’s lucky that you don’t have to be,” says Josh.
“But besides that, I’ve really been looking forward to seeing these movies. My dad only likes guy films and Tilda thinks old is anything made more than three years ago. I know I could watch them by myself, but that’s not so much fun.”
