Unmaking Hunter Kennedy

by Anne Eliot

  “Good.” She stalked ahead and gestured to the clothes. “This place sells specialized ranch clothing. It’s not cheap. We can also hit the thrift store near by to keep costs down. You’re going to need shoes, and everything. If it’s too much, my mom and dad will help buy the glasses, I’m sure. And Dad will never let you pay for the retainer, so you’re good there.”

  “What?”

  She frowned. “This project is going to break you.”

  He shook his head at her in wonder. No girl had ever worried about him spending money before. Most had expected he would spend tons of it, and mostly on them. She’d also paid for their milkshakes!

  Hunter basked in this new, unfamiliar feeling.

  Vere was actually watching over him instead of watching him like everyone else did. He liked it. Her. A lot.

  “Look. I’m good for the money, okay? I get paid. Tons.”

  “Oh...yeah. DUH.”

  Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her hand.

  She froze.

  He could feel her arm tense up, so he loosened his grip but did not let go.

  “Vere. Um. You have something on your face.” He turned her toward him as gently as he possibly could. He sensed that he’d freaked her out, but now that he’d committed he’d have to follow through, or she’d think he was a freak for grabbing her hand like this. He reached forward to wipe the stripe of ice-cream away, resisting the temptation to explore the shape of her upper lip with his thumb.

  “Food on my face? Could you not have brought it up sooner? I’m such a disaster.” She closed her eyes but not before Hunter read pure mortification shooting through the brown-green depths of her eyes.

  “One small strip of milkshake does not scream disaster. You’d do the same for me, right? I’m a disaster too.” He pointed to spot where a whole peach slice had hit and left a mark. “Look at the blob on my shirt.”

  She opened one eye and found the spot, seeming to relax when she confirmed he wasn’t lying, and then closed it again while he worked the dried ice cream off her upper lip.

  “Helping people with food-face is the mark of a truly nice person you know? This could ruin your reputation.”

  “What happens after the milk-shake-shop, stays at the milk-shake-shop.” She didn’t answer, so he went on. “Why do you close your eyes all the time?” he asked, studying the ginger-brown curve of her lashes.

  Eyes still scrunched, she grimaced. “I’m trying not to blush. In case you haven’t noticed, my face, off and on, catches on fire. Especially in extremely awkward situations. LIKE THIS.”

  Hunter let her go and stepped back. “I like it when you change colors. It’s charming.”

  “Shut up. You promised not to bait me.” She opened her eyes, her expression shooting bullets, and crossed her arms in front of her. “Luckily, when you make me mad, it doesn’t happen. And calling the blushing charming makes me mad! It’s anything but that. Now let’s get back to the topic of money. How are you going to pay?”

  He swallowed, trying not to remember the soft feel of her skin. “I have a huge budget for this unmaking, and a credit card to boot. I don’t want you worrying about me. About that. God. Never about that.”

  “I can’t help it. If you’re my friend, I’m going to worry about every bit of you. A perk of being in my friend zone. Just in case, we’ll stick to the sale racks when we can. Deal?”

  Hunter laughed. “I’ve never even seen a sale rack. Do they really put little red stickers to show the price has been marked lower, or is that just on TV?”

  “Wow. You’re truly clueless, aren’t you?”

  He laughed out loud, unable to stop himself because she’d used his own thoughts about her, right back on him! “How could you, a girl who’s apparently never even stepped outside Colorado, think I’m clueless?”

  “As if. I’ve been to Utah, Kansas, Idaho, New Mexico and Disneyland, loser.”

  He laughed louder which seemed to make her mad again.

  “What? Stop laughing so loudly. The voice, DUH. Someone is going notice you before you’re properly disguised! None of this is funny, and we’re running out of time.” She paused and glared. “And...I’ve also been to Michigan, for a wedding, so don’t make me deck you.”

  He couldn’t control the next belly laugh that burst forth.

  He let it envelop him. It felt so awesome to let loose.

  For some reason, hanging out with Vere had made him happy. Better, he couldn’t remember having this much fun, ever.

  Hands on her hips now, she squinted and looked as though she wanted to do battle. “You are totally doing that on purpose. Do you really need the attention from strangers that badly?”

  She pulled the brim of his cap down halfway over his nose as she dragged him by the arm full speed toward the back of the clothing section. “Not another loud sound comes out of your mouth until after we’ve got your disguise figured out.”

  14: clueless

  VERE

  As a joke, Vere held up a bright orange, RodeoDare brand western shirt. One with paisley-purple piping, white fringe from the armpits to the cuffs with rhinestone buttons and fringe all over the back too. “How about this?” she whispered with a look that warned him to whisper back.

  Dustin blinked once and peered at the shirt, his face impassive. “I’m an extra large. That’s too small. Do they have another size?”

  His perfectly contrite whisper meant that he was apparently trying to appease her after his laugh attack. But his lack of response to the ugly shirt astonished her. “I’m kidding about this shirt. Can’t you tell?” she hissed.

  “No. I can’t tell. Don’t joke around. Pick what you think is appropriate. Is that shirt not a good choice? It looks like decent disguise material to me.”

  She tossed the hideous rodeo shirt back onto the rack and felt guilty for trying to tease him. “Clueless. Like I said.”

  He shook his head and she saw humor return to his gaze. “Don’t even start up again. How about you pick what you wear? Let’s start with a few things you are drawn to. Then we can build from there.”

  He gingerly fingered some of the shirts on the round rack. “Hmm. I don’t know. I’ve never picked my own clothes.”

  He seemed stumped by the different options, and she could see confusion and bewilderment cross his face.

  “Never?”

  “Nope. I have a personal shopper. The stuff shows up in my room. My mom or stylist decide what outfit goes on me each day.”

  “Whoa. You’re like a Persian prince!”

  “Not even. I have no harem and worse, no butler or valet type helps zip me into the ugly outfits they pick for me.”

  She rolled her eyes and pointed to a stack of flannel plaid button down shirts. “Do you like these?”

  He shrugged not even giving the shirts half a glance. “I’ll like them if you like them?”

  Vere was floored again. He had no opinions at all! About anything, or at least he didn’t seem to know how to discuss them.

  Vere shot a hand up to check her bun, tightening the rubber band so it wouldn’t slip. She caught him watching her as though intrigued with how she made her bun or something, and she almost had another blush attack. She looked away, embarrassed, remembering the feel of his hand on her upper lip, his other hand holding hers as he’d wiped away that ice cream.

  Her stomach flooded with little butterflies.

  Ugh. Focus. Kill the butterflies.

  Those were not real hands, only the hands of your new best guy friend. Perfectly appropriate that he would get the ice cream off your face.

  Friends don’t let friends have food face.

  “We’re going to have to turn this into a game,” Vere said.

  She brought the ‘Rick’s Chicks’ tee-shirt forward and hung it in front of them. “What does this shirt remind you of?”

  “Chicks? And not the baby kind.”

  “Ha. Ha.” She sighed, pretending he was not funny. “If you saw a guy wearing th
is, plus the retainer you ordered, then what would you think?”

  “Extreme but intriguing dork?”

  “Exactly what I thought! It’s a good idea, isn’t it?”

  He smiled, chuckling a little. “I suppose there are no specific products I would have to memorize in order to qualify for that, huh?”

  “Nope. Dorks are dorks. It’s all in the perception of others! I want you to pick what kind of dork you want to be. You could make this fun, like being in a play. Dustin McHugh is your character, and you’re going to have to live in his pants and walk in his shoes—so to speak. So start with pants.”

  His brows shot up and he looked slightly scandalized. “What? Girl, you are freaking me out. Stop talking about my pants!”

  Vere sighed, and double rolled her eyes. “Do you see my patience levels going away? What kind of pants do you want to wear for the next few weeks?”

  He looked away. “Vere. I can’t do this. Just choose some dork pants for me.” He pulled off his cap and rand a hand through his hair.

  “Nope. I want you to pick. Walk around. See what’s here and go with your first gut feeling.”

  “You aren’t going to help me at all?”

  He looked pitiful and lost, but Vere held firm. “I’m here to make sure whatever you chose fits within proper dork limits, that’s all. The rest is going to be up to you. It’s like my drama coach says: Be the character, don’t ever let the character be you,” she quipped. “That’s bad acting.”

  “Be all the dork that I can be?” he tried.

  Her turn. “Hamlet: To dork, or not to dork, that is the question.” She smiled proudly, thinking of another. “The apparel ‘oft proclaims the man!”

  He chuckled. “Hamlet again, but this time with an English accent: Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.”

  “You weren’t lying about getting A’s in Lit.”

  They shared a smile.

  “And who knows Hamlet this well? Dorks like me!” He grinned wider.

  She beamed back. “Yes! My new BGF is an awesome Hamlet quote guy! You’ll have to pull that messed-up accent on my best friend Jenna, too. I can’t wait to see her face when you launch into that accent!” She giggled.

  After that, Hunter seemed to head into the clothing racks with purpose. He wandered until finally stopping dead in front of the ‘Tough Mountain’ clothing display.

  Holding up a pair of dark gold, heavy canvas pants with huge, square front pockets and a large compass sewn into a front belt pull, he beamed. “My gut says these are the pants I want to live in for the next few weeks.”

  Vere walked over to get a closer look and had to laugh. “Oh yeah. You’re totally on to something.” She read the Tough Mountain label aloud. “Heavyweight canvas clothing. Sewn from the exact same patterns used by pioneers but with a modern technological twist for today’s man.”

  “Today’s dorky-man!”

  “What’s the technology?” she asked.

  “The compass?” He frowned. “Maybe these giant buttons?”

  She surveyed the racks of various overalls, pants, jackets, vests and shorts. All served up in Tough Mountain’s four distinct colors: brown, gold, orange, and tan. “It’s perfect. Really. It’s all stuff for ranch hands or lumberjacks. I think the telephone-pole guys wear it, fire-fighters, and those burly highway dudes who fix pot holes!”

  “Translation being, no human teenager would be caught dead in this stuff?”

  She nodded. “Exactly. So awesome.”

  “I’m getting one of everything in each color! I’ll have a compass on every piece.” Dustin fingered the heavy front pocket on one of the vests. “Look at all the gadget spots, and metal zippers, and double stitching everywhere. It looks bullet proof! I hate to admit this, but I actually do love it, and I mean for real! Some of this would look so cool on stage.”

  “Shh. Don’t bring that up. It is pretty cool, but in all the wrong ways for high school.” Vere frowned, knowing it was also very expensive, but she didn’t say anything about that. She’d have to trust what he’d said about the money.

  Dustin pulled some orange, road-worker overalls off the rack and slung them hanger and all over his head, letting them dangle down his body. He flipped over the tag, his smile radiant with what looked to be unchecked, silly glee. “It comes with a ten-year warranty. Who wears clothes with a warranty!?”

  “My uber-dork best friend, Dustin. That’s who. Now what’s your size? We only have twenty minutes left to collect the rest and check out.”

  “I’m a thirty-two waist, 36 length in pants. XL shirts. I’ll try on a couple. If it’s a go, we’ll pull the rest without trying it on. I’m usually an easy fit.”

  She nodded, taking up a pair of size thirty-two canvas shorts and some basic pants. He picked up a few of the whacked out fishing-vests.

  “Now. Shirts. Choose,” she said.

  “I did like those plaid ones you pointed out.” They made their way back to the flannel shirts and he started picking out some of the button downs in various colors.

  “These are all long sleeved. You’ll need to get some short sleeved ones, too. We have a month or so of hot weather left.”

  “Never. I don’t care. Dustin McHugh likes only long sleeved, flannel shirts. Always. And forever.”

  “No. No way. Our school is a furnace. I was almost a heat-stroke casualty this afternoon.”

  “You said I get to pick. I only like these shirts. Besides isn’t it dorky to dress off season?” He smiled wide and she felt a bit light headed.

  “Yeah. Well, it’s your funeral.”

  He shrugged happily. “Let’s make plaid, canvas and compasses my absolute trademarks. Dustin McHugh. All plaid. All canvas. All the time. And I’m never lost. What say you, dork judge?”

  “Total A++. I’ll pick some additional accessories—trucker looking ball caps, lumpy sweaters, that sort of thing.”

  “What exactly is a lumpy sweater? I’m a hoodie guy.”

  “Hoodies are of the past. My BGF, wears only old-man sweaters with big buttons. And to shake things up, possibly a hand knitted, gramps vest.” She giggled, catching his eye, grinning wider when he smiled back and laughed with her.

  “Hell no. I mean to be long gone before I have to wear shady woolens.”

  They headed toward the dressing rooms. “Dustin McHugh, this new wardrobe will send you straight into high school insignificance.”

  “Ahh. My dream come true.”

  “We aren’t done. Next is footwear, socks, underwear and a few oddball school supplies. I think Tough Mountain makes a few backpacks. You’ll be so perfectly matching!”

  She nodded to a back wall that housed the accessories. “How about the pack with the safety whistle?”

  He dashed in front of her. His eyes alight with excitement. “Not dorky enough. And did you notice? NO COMPASS. Move over. I see one I like!”

  After that, Dustin started picking things right and left as though they were collecting rocks, or finding pennies, and adding them to an ever growing pile on the counter. She tried a second time to convince him to purchase some lighter weight shirts, but he steadfastly refused.

  Well, everyone has something.

  Jenna hates all things red. I don’t like earrings. And Charlie only wears sports jerseys. What’s the difference if Dustin McHugh loves shirts with long sleeves?

  Maybe it’s a good thing.

  She knew firsthand dorks were super-proud of their odd looks and ensembles. She’d have to train him how to be extra smug about his new gear and his new self in public.

  When she was finished with him, any insults to his person would be taken as huge compliments. It drove the bullies wild with frustration. This always led to more outcast backlash. In the long run though, it would ensure he had permanent, extra solid, geek labeling.

  Once the label stuck, Dustin would be tagged. Untouchable and un-dateable. (Until he was allowed to go to college where she was sure dorks reigned supreme).

&n
bsp; Didn’t they?

  She sure hoped so, or she was going to spend her life alone.

  15: loyalty, trust and a haircut

  HUNTER

  Three hours later, after a trip to the SuperMart optometry center and a long car ride, Hunter and Vere made their way into the Roth Family cabin.

  “Oh. No. You. Didn’t.” Charlie burst out laughing as he opened the door. “Work boots! Priceless. Dude. You are going to get brutalized with those.”

  “I know!” Hunter put down his shopping bags in the entry and stomped his boots, completely psyched. “I love these things. So much so, that I had to wear them out.”

  Vere pushed in behind him, her arms also filled to the brim with a load of his brand new wardrobe. “They only had the orangey color in his size. Aren’t they magnificently hideous?”

  Hunter didn’t miss Charlie’s gaze systematically searching his sister’s face as though to check if she were okay—safe—or, something.

  What?

  Charlie seemed satisfied with what he saw in his sister’s smiling expression and appeared to relax. After a short pause Charlie spoke up again. “And I said it couldn’t be done. You two have pulled it off. Possibly gone too far. The boots are messed-up.”

  Hunter tried to stay focused on the boots and on Charlie to take his mind off his growling stomach. “You can laugh all you want but I’ll bet these boots start a trend. You’ll see. I’ll take them back home and wear them on stage.”

  “Yeah, but until then, these bastards are going to solidify you in the lowest social strata of our whole school.” Charlie came closer and kicked the toe of one of the boots and shook his head. “Metal toe tips?”

  “In case I drop a book on my foot!” Hunter grinned.

  Charlie surveyed the rest of him. “Let me guess. The lenses in those nerd glasses automatically tint even darker when you walk in the sun?” He laughed again. “Perfect! You’ve become a hideous, cell phone sales guy mixed with a dude who’s all Wild West. Or no, wait, I’ve got it. You’re Paul Bunyan meets Waldo!”