Love Me, Love My Broccoli

by Julie Anne Peters

  Get together? Her heart leaped. "Okay. When?"

  He met her eyes. "How about Friday night?"

  Friday. Night, Chloe repeated to herself. That sounded late. "Where?" she asked.

  "The new mall? I thought maybe we could talk about it over, you know, something to eat." He crossed both t's in his name with a swooping stroke and handed the petition back to Chloe.

  I must be hallucinating, she thought. Did he say something to eat, as in dinner, Friday night?

  "Well?"

  She scraped her chin off the floor. Even though she hated the mall, and with good reason, she said, "Sure. Okay."

  "Yeah? All right." He tilted his head and squinted into her eyes. "I can't figure you out, Chloe Mankewicz. You're . . . different. Interesting."

  Weird, strange, she added her choice of adjectives. To him she said, "Wait until you see my hair, you want different. Interesting."

  He laughed. Reaching across to touch a stray curl on her shoulder, he said, "What's wrong with your hair?"

  "Careful." She recoiled. "You could lose a finger in there. I breed tarantulas for lunch money."

  He laughed again. "You crack me up. Is that why you always wear hats, to cover your hair?"

  Chloe felt the blood gush into her cheeks. "No." She lowered her eyes. "I just like hats."

  He lifted the black netting from the top of her green pillbox and brought it down over her eyes. Leaning close he whispered through it, "I think this one is very cool."

  Hokay. Chloe stepped, almost fell, backward as she caught her breath and yanked up the net. Can he hear my heart pounding? she wondered. The whole school can hear your heart pounding, you idiot. They must think we're having an earthquake.

  "Friday," he said. "I'll pick you up at six. Maybe afterwards we can do a flick. Oh, and Chloe. Wear that hat, okay?"

  After I bronze it and hang it in the Smithsonian? she thought. "Six," she said.

  Without warning, Muriel spun Chloe around by the arm. "He signed it, Chloe," she breathed. "Look, Mr. Keifer signed the petition." Muriel showed her, then hugged the clipboard to her chest, sighing wistfully.

  "Keifer. Biology," Chloe repeated, her eyes following Brett as he sauntered away toward the hot lunch line.

  "Was that Brett Ryan you were talking to?" Muriel touched Earth base again. "Remember when you said he probably uses a tire pump to inflate the space between his ears?" She snickered.

  Chloe freaked. Dropping her clipboard and grabbing Muriel by the shoulders, she cried, "What's do a flick? What does that mean, Muriel?"

  "I think it's a Latin dance move. Or else a movie."

  Chloe let out a lungful of air. He couldn't mean doing the tango at the mall. Could he?

  CHAPTER 5

  "I know you think I'm nuts, Mur." Chloe zipped her crushed velvet dress, circa 1940, up the side. "I can't believe it myself. Why did I say yes to him?" In the mirror she smoothed the crumpled lace bodice over her protruding shoulder blades.

  "I don't think you're insane, exactly." Muriel opened one of Chloe's GWTW music boxes to unleash a tinkling strain of Tara's Theme into the bedroom. "It just surprises me, that's all."

  Stepping into red silk pumps, half a size too big, Chloe turned to pose in front of Muriel. "Does this look stupid? Tell me the truth. Do I remind you more of Dorothy or Toto?"

  Muriel prattled on, "I mean, I thought we agreed that jocks were bicep brains. We always pictured ourselves marrying older men, distinguished men, men of class."

  "For heaven's sake, Mur," Chloe turned away from her. "He just wants help with a letter." So why did it feel like a date? A ten-second date if I show up looking like this. She groaned. "The green pillbox is hideous with this dress. I look like the ghost of Christmas past." Chloe shuddered.

  Now Muriel giggled. Quickly, she covered her mouth as Chloe shot her dead with eye daggers. Lowering herself onto the bay window seat, Muriel said with a sigh, "You're right. I guess I'm just jealous." She rested her elbows on her knees. "My last date, my only date, if you'll recall, was with that guy, Harold. Remember? My mom's college roommate's son. She made me take him to the New Year's Eve dance at the synagogue when they came to visit over winter break last year. I was never so humiliated in all my life. He had that purple mohawk and leather pants so tight you could see . . . well, I won't be graphic. He only came up to here on me," she sat up and stiff-armed her chest, "and every time we danced a slow dance he grabbed my—"

  Chloe cut her off. "What do you think about this?" She twirled in front of the mirror. Chloe thrust out her arms, palms up, for Muriel's appraisal.

  Muriel gasped and jumped to her feet. "It's exquisite, Chloe. You've never worn that jacket before. Is it silk?" She rushed over to stroke it. "The fire-breathing dragon embroidered on the back," she spun Chloe around, "it's absolutely exotic."

  Chloe pulled on the matching emerald-green pants and said, "My mother bought this outfit for me in Chinatown last time she was in San Francisco, at one of her Desiree Cosmetics rah-rah rallies. I thought I'd donated it to the Goodwill, like everything else she ever gave me." She half-turned in the mirror to view the back. Then, fitting the pillbox onto her head, she stared at her reflection. "Why do I have this sudden urge for an eggroll?" Chloe's stomach lurched. "I think I feel the Asian flu coming on."

  The first surprise was that they were doubling—with Turk and Lyssya, two s's, two y's. The biggest why was the necessity for her to spell it out. Maybe she didn't know how to spell Chloe.

  The second surprise was that Brett's brother, Kenny, was driving.

  "Guys, this is Chloe." Brett made the introductions.

  Turk and Lyssya sort of grunted from the back seat of the car where their lips were fused. In front, Brett's brother gave Chloe the once over.

  Chloe forced a smile.

  "You look awesome," Brett told her, sliding in beside her in the back seat. "You remembered to wear my favorite hat."

  "I, uh, grabbed it at the last minute," she said, adding to herself, from its flashing pedestal on my dresser.

  Brett slammed the door. The lump beside her moaned. She couldn't help wondering if they were ever coming up for air. Careful, she thought. You can drown in the sea of love.

  "Chloe?"

  "What?" She blinked back to Brett. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

  Brett tilted his head at her and arched an eyebrow. "I said, what do you think of Kenny's new Chev?"

  "His Chev?" Brett's brother's face looked pretty smooth to her. No noticeable nicks.

  "The H-rod."

  "The what?" Her eyes widened.

  "His Z28. Camaro." No response. "The car?"

  "Oh, the car. It's, uh," she was at a loss for words.

  "Cool, huh?

  She was thinking it was warm. Really warm. She wondered why they all had to be crammed in the back. Then she saw there were bucket seats up front. She could be sitting in Brett's lap. Never mind.

  Chloe leaned forward and peered into the instrument panel. "What's your EPA?" she asked Kenny.

  "Huh?" he grunted.

  Brett laughed.

  "What?" she asked innocently.

  "Well, most girls ask if it has a sound system. Or how fast it goes out."

  Chloe shrugged, wondering, How fast does what go out? "Guess I'm not most girls."

  Brett smiled. "Guess not." To Kenny he added, "See, I told you she was different."

  Chloe swore she heard him mumble, "Geek," but she couldn't be sure over the roar of the engine as they pealed away from a stop sign.

  While they tooled along, at just under Mach two by Chloe's calculation, Brett informed her, "It's all Naugahyde upholstery. Port-injected, five liter, V-8. Chrome bumpers, custom paint, Bose stereo . . ."

  Chloe just smiled. He was so gorgeous.

  When they got to the mall Kenny dropped them off at the food court across from the theater. "I'll be here at ten, sharp," he said. "If you're not here, you walk." The car burned rubber as it ripped away from the curb.
r />   We might live longer if we walked, Chloe thought.

  "Let's eat at Pizza Palace instead of the food court," Brett said, motioning them down the street.

  Chloe said to herself, He read my mind.

  It took about two minutes for Chloe to figure out that Brett's best friend, Turk, was a toad. Explaining about her vegetarianism had never been a problem before, except maybe to her mother, who treated it like an eating disorder. But Turk had a royal conniption.

  "I ain't eating no veggie pizza," he said. "Barf-a-roach. Let's get our regular, the Rocky Mountain of meat." Lyssya batted ten-pound eyelashes up at him, maintaining a symbiotic relationship to his arm.

  Chloe glowered at them. "Do you realize the meat in this place probably comes from a farm factory? You do know what a farm factory is?"

  She studied their vacant expressions. Why do I talk to air? she wondered. "A farm factory is where they breed the animals you eat for food. Are you aware of the cruel conditions these poor creatures are forced to endure so you can have ground-up flesh for your Rocky Mountain of meat?"

  Not a blink. She shook her head. "Obviously not. Well, let me educate you. First of all, the animals are fed chemically-treated grain and steroids to fatten them up. So fat most of them can't even stand. Then they're shot full of antibiotics because the meat is so diseased . . ."

  Lyssya gasped. Turk groaned, "Geezus, you're making me puke."

  Chloe grinned. For Lyssya's benefit she added, "Most of the farm animals are murdered before the ripe old age of one. That's because babies are more tender, you know."

  Lyssya's eyes welled with tears. Brett squirmed. "Why don't we order a medium veggie and a medium Mountain," he said. "That okay with you, Chloe?"

  "Ask for no cheese on the veggie," she said.

  Brett arched his eyebrows.

  "I'm vegan," she told him.

  "Which means what?" he asked.

  "No milk or dairy products."

  "Oh. Okay." Brett swiveled his head. "Turk?"

  He grunted. Lyssya blew her nose in a napkin.

  "Oh, now that's appetizing," Chloe muttered. Brett glanced sideways at her, attempting unsuccessfully to stifle a grin.

  Chloe twisted to face Brett. "So, where's this letter?"

  He pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his letter jacket pocket and handed it to Chloe. She read it. It was awful. The governor would have to put off the gun control bill indefinitely until more money could be allocated toward education, she thought.

  "It's pretty bad," Brett said.

  "No," Chloe lied. "It just needs a little editing." She dug in her bag for her red Flair. It needed a total rewrite.

  After she finished scribbling all over the letter, she handed it back to Brett and said, "I'll be glad to get signatures for you if you want. Since we're gathering them for our petition, anyway."

  "Yeah? Great. Thanks." He read her revisions and smiled. "I really appreciate this, Chloe." He refolded the letter, stuck it in his jacket, and reached across to take her hand.

  Chloe didn't hear much else of what went on. She was totally tuned in to Brett's hand squeezing hers. While he talked, his fingers flexed sending a trill of tingles up her arm every single time.

  When the pizzas arrived, Turk glared across the table at Chloe and said, "Aren't you even going to take your hat off to eat? Or don't vegematics got any manners? Maybe you're afraid we'll see the potatoes sprouting on your head. Get it? Potato head?" He cracked himself up. Lyssya covered her lips with her fingers and tittered.

  Before Chloe's foot reached Turk's shin, Brett snapped, "Shut up, dog breath." He released Chloe's hand and pulled the netting down over her eyes. "Don't give Chloe any grief about her hat. I love this hat." He smiled through the veil.

  Chloe wondered, Are those stars I see? Or just sparkle in his eyes? When Brett added, "Hand over a piece of that veggie pizza for me, will ya?" Chloe answered her own question. I do believe it's the O'Ryan Constellation.

  CHAPTER 6

  The flick was called Dirty Double Cross, a blood and guts shoot-em-up with a cast of shadowy figures. There was a demolition derby every two, three minutes—whenever the plot dragged. Chloe had the mystery figured out about ten minutes into the movie. She guessed the slinky blonde was the dirty double crosser. Boring, predictable. Chloe felt more heart palpitations opening the front door at home every day wondering where Gran's head had tripped off to.

  Next to her Brett watched, entranced. During one particularly intense scene, which Chloe almost missed through a yawn, she heard Lyssya scream. Chloe muttered, not too quietly, "She must have just realized that Turk is short for Turkey."

  Brett silenced Chloe with a vice-like grip on her knee.

  The front porch light was on at Chloe's house when they pulled into the driveway. As Brett walked her to the door, Chloe had a sudden foreboding; what if Gran was lurking in the lilac bush, wielding a zucchini Uzi or an apple grenade? Chloe leaned over the wrought-iron railing on the porch and spread the branches. She peered into the thicket.

  "What are you doing?" Brett asked.

  Chloe spun around. "Just, uh, thought I saw something move." She smiled at him. "We've had this snake problem."

  Brett gave her a funny look. Then he took a step toward her. What's he doing? she wondered. He put his hands on her shoulders. Oh, no. I'm not ready for this. She braced. He smiled into her eyes. She licked her lips.

  He turned her around so that her back was facing him. What am I worried about? she wondered. He's just going to shove me in the door and bolt. Instead, he said, "I love your clothes." His finger traced the outline of the dragon down the entire length of her back.

  "Thanks," she croaked, breathing more fire than the dragon.

  In a sweeping move, he turned her around and kissed her. For a moment. For a lifetime.

  "Can I call you?" he asked afterwards.

  Chloe, still comatose, nodded automatically. She said, "My number's—"

  "Here. Put it in my contacts." He handed her his cell.

  "Put it in my contacts," she repeated in bed, lowering her voice to imitate his. "Eeeoooh," she squealed, pulling her giant stuffed panda over her head. Deaf made railroad tracks in the quilt as he slid off the panda to the floor.

  The next morning Chloe was awakened from her blissful dream by a muffled knocking on the bedroom door. Next to her, Deaf mewled and burrowed in closer.

  "Chloe? You have a phone call," her father's voice floated in from the hall.

  "Yes!" She threw back the covers. She leaped out of bed, while Deaf clung to the panda for dear life. In a single bound, Chloe unhooked her robe from the back of the door, yanked the door open, and parachuted down the stairs.

  "Thanks, Dad," she said breathlessly, holding the phone to her hammering heart. She inhaled deeply once, twice. "You can go now." She widened her eyes at her father.

  "Oh, uh, right." He cleared his throat as if he wanted to say something. Then, apparently changing his mind, he clamped his jaw shut and scuttled off to the dining room.

  What's with him? Chloe wondered. She shrugged it off. A case of parental weirdness. After another deep breath, she held the phone up to her ear. "Hello?" she said in her most casual voice. Do I sound hysterical?

  "Hello, darling."

  Like a scud missile, Chloe's heart crashed through the linoleum. "Hello, Mother," she said.

  "How are you, darling? I haven't heard from you in ages. Did your father tell you I called? I know how absentminded he can be. Since you didn't return my call—"

  "He told me." Chloe wrapped her robe tighter around her. She knotted the belt to ward off the sudden chill in the air. "I've just been busy."

  "I see," her mother said coolly. "What are you doing this evening? I thought we might have dinner together."

  "What about Roger?" Roger was her mother's boyfriend, an aerobics instructor at her health club. Chloe stuck out her tongue. Gag me with a leotard.

  When she answered, the hint of a southern drawl unde
rscored her mother's words. "Roger is in New York on business. If you'd like we could see a movie together. That new suspense thriller, Dirty Double Cross, is getting rave reviews."

  Chloe rolled her eyes. Roger's out of town, so you have time for me, is that it? What about all those times I needed you? All those years you were too busy with your career, or your latest boyfriend, or blinding bunnies to think about spending time with me? "I can't, Mother. I'm busy tonight. Besides, I've already seen the movie and it's boring."

  Another uncomfortable pause. "What are you busy with?" she asked.

  None of your business, Chloe flared inwardly. She held her tongue, literally, between her teeth. "I'm going out." Oh, boy, why did I say that? Now she'll hound me for details.

  "You mean on a date?"

  Chloe clenched her teeth. "Don't sound so shocked, Mother. Stranger things have happened." Chloe hesitated. "Okay, so I can't think of any at the moment . . ."

  Her mother laughed. "Forgive me, Chloe. It just never crossed my mind that you might have a date. But then you are fourteen now, aren't you? If anyone asks, we're sisters."

  "Right," Chloe said. Her mother's idea of a joke, though Chloe knew it wasn't. Not really. Here's where I'm supposed to tell her she doesn't look a day over thirty. "Thirty centuries," Chloe mumbled.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing." Chloe clamped her jaw.

  Her mother sighed. "I suppose you do have a full social calendar now that you're interested in boys."

  Chloe cringed. I'd better get us off this subject. "Yes, Mother, I'm not lying to you. I really am busy. This afternoon I'm demonstrating against prison camps for animals at the opening performance of Circus Kiev. Then, next week the Humane Society is coming to the school to let people know they have a right to refuse to dissect animals in the biology labs. They asked me to give a speech, so I'll be working on that tomorrow. Also, my new organization, Animal Rights Crusaders, is anti-vivisection, of course. We're doing a campaign to promote cruelty-free products. Desiree Cosmetics, by the way, are still being tested on animals."