The Misadventures of Daria Pigwidgeon

by Amy Lunderman

  “Honestly? I really like it a lot. For the first time, I can’t actually say I’m safe and happy, in the same sentence. It’s nice.”

  I risk a glance at him and wish I didn’t. He’s the one mimicking a fish now, what with his mouth opening and closing like it is. Clearly, I was a little too honest. I knew I should have bitten my tongue. His eyes go large as I watch, and then he’s back to looking oh so serious again. Mouth closed. He nods.

  “That’s good rabbit, real good.” He whispers.

  His voice wraps around me like a warm blanket, soothing my worries. His words hold no judgment, like he’s not surprised by my answer. I know differently. What with the fish act and all. Still, I appreciate the way he recovered enough to appease me. That’s what it has to be. Because why would he think I need to feel safe? It’s not like I’m holding a flag all the time that reads ‘here stands the battered soul of an unwanted demon, help at your own risk.’ I’m sure he thinks I’m the weirdo I am. Just as well.

  Silence ticks on again, just the two of us watching the other. Chance looks away first.

  “You should probably go and get some rest rabbit. It’s been a long day.” He says with an odd tone in his voice.

  It hasn’t really been that long of a day. No longer than most. But clearly he wants to part ways. I just can’t help wondering if we would have maybe kissed. Again. It felt that way to me. Or it could just be my wants projecting. Which is very likely.

  So I simply nod.

  No since stalling an awkward moment, I step away from the car and walk over to the stairs, not looking back. As I’m hallway up the stairs, I hear him moving off in the direction of his house, not bothering to close the garage door. As it turns out is a good thing, because as he saunters off I think I hear him mutter something under his breath. I freeze in mid-step and glance back to his retreating figure. My mind is seriously spinning.

  Why would he say, “I just hope it’s not another long night?”

  I couldn’t have hear him right, could I have? Would that mean, that maybe, he’s thinking about me at night? I blush as I can only imagine what a guy would be thinking at night, in bed, alone. No. He couldn’t have been thinking that. Could he? Huh, maybe I’ll be getting that kiss sooner than I thought.

  But why would he sound like he’s bothered? Am I that repulsive that he would think it’s bad to like me? Man, I hope not. Talk about self-esteem issues. If he’s not thinking anything pervy, then what could he mean? Pondering this, I slip inside my empty apartment that suddenly feels bigger than it did before. Or maybe I just feel lonelier than I did before.

  It’s not until later when I’m already in bed trying to fall asleep, that I have a thought. It’s about Chance of course. What if he is plagued with bad dreams? He wouldn’t be the first person to have nightmares. I’ve had my fair share of ones that resemble that of a lifelike replay. Could that be it then? Nightmares have him so down.

  Drifting off to sleep, I think that maybe I’m overanalyzing something that probably isn’t even there.

  Yes, that’s probably it.

  I sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  The next day rises in a wash of sunshine, with the illusion that it’s warmer than it really is outside. Being Saturday, I don’t have to go through the long hours in a building surrounded by anonymous teens rushing from class to class. Instead, I get to work a double surrounded by anonymous customers, with Toby. He’s like a breath of fresh air, and after the awkward time I had with Chance the night before? I can totally use some fresh air.

  Luckily there was loads of that on my walk into work. And like I thought, it was colder than it seemed. I made sure to keep Chance’s jacket closed tight around me (and no, I haven’t returned it yet. It’s not like he’s asked for it back, so I’m free of stalker illusions). The downside of walking into work, with a jacket from a boy that still smells like him, even though I’ve had it for a week? It only gave me time to think more about his weird muttering the night before.

  Unfortunately, I haven’t come to any other conclusions.

  Other than he’s clearly weirder than me.

  And that’s saying something.

  None the less, by the time I got into the work place, Toby was already there prepping for the day. So regardless of my slightly frozen fingers, I set out to help him slice a heap load of tomatoes and cucumbers. Thank goodness we’re merely a lunch and dinner sort of restaurant. I don’t think I could handle a customer so early in the morning. Heck, I can barely handle Toby’s constant blushing and eye avoidance. Is that what everyone sees when they look at me? If so, then I really need to change up my routine.

  By mid-morning, the customers begin rolling in and all thoughts of having an easy Saturday go flying out the window. I have to give Toby and I some credit though. We moved like a matched pair, like we knew a step before where to shift our bodies to not smack face first into the opened oven door. Or maybe I just got tired of smashing into it and started ducking. Whatever the case, by the afternoon, we were both still alive and kicking. The same can’t be said for the floor of the dining room.

  Which is why, as Toby refills our stock supply out front. I’m dancing around with a broom and dustpan. All right, so I’m not really dancing. More like I’m trying to move at a somewhat steady pace, before we get bombarded again. Toby reassured me that this will most likely be it for day, but given he said the same thing about an hour ago. I don’t really believe him.

  So, when I’m satisfied with my sweeping skills and walking back into the back room, it’s when it happens. Toby speaks. And not about work related directions. I have to say I’m in so much awe, that I almost drop the broom. I don’t of course. But I do feel rather cornered. But that could be from the way he hovers so close blushing so bad, I think he might pass out.

  “Did you hear about the Homecoming game next Friday?” He asks with an audible squeak.

  Shifting a little bit away from him, I position ourselves to that we face each other at a better distance in the doorway of the front room. Feeling less trapped, I think about all the signs and banners that have been slowly added to the décor at school. So yes, I have heard about the Homecoming game. It’s kind of hard to avoid.

  So I nod and say, “Um, yeah. I might have heard something about it.”

  He nods at me rapidly, like I just answered a very important question right. Then he blushes some more.

  “It should be good. Chance is super stoked about it, as is the rest of the team.”

  I smile at him. Chance’s name makes it easy.

  “I bet. Homecoming is a big even right?” I ask.

  He nods some more again, and this time he looks up at me grinning.

  “Right, right.” He says in a way like I just offered to hand him the sun.

  Why do I suddenly feel like in trouble?

  He adverts his eyes as he says, “So is the dance that follows on Saturday.”

  Oh. Now it all makes sense. Why he’s a little more high-strung than usual. The dance. Next Saturday.

  “Right. The dance.” I reply with all the whit of a pencil.

  Now who’s rocking the eye avoidance?

  That would be me.

  Honestly I haven’t even thought about it, the dance I mean. I’m sure it’s a big deal to girls my age, right there beside prom. But for the life of me, I can’t get excited about it. Maybe it’s because I’m already neck deep in normal teen girl stuff. I’ve already got my own place, a job, and school. I’m not a hundred percent sure I could attend a dance and not have a freak out. Granted, if Chance were to say, ask me, I’d probably turn into a mass of giggles and rush off to buy a sparkly dress.

  As it is, I think this might be the high school experience I’ll be skipping. I know I’ve been ragging about just being one of the normal bright and shiny people. But I’m just now getting some semblance of a grip. Any shack up, and I just might slip and fall. I need easy peasy right now. Which is why, as I finally look back to Toby, I feel so bad for knowi
ng I’m going to have to turn him down.

  Smiling like he has me right where he wants me, he says, “So about that, er, I was wondering if….you know….were planning on going?”

  He’s not going to make this easy is he? I’m really going to have to come right out and say it. Oh man, I really am a demon. Sometimes being me sucks.

  Aiming for a non-guilty smile, I say “Actually. I don’t think I’m going to go this year. I’m still getting the hang of things. Plus, you know, I think I have to work.”

  He looks shot down before I even finish talking. I’m just glad I didn’t ask him if he were going. I figured that might be a little over kill. He’s already looking bummed. No need to make the poor boy cry. He does move away from me though, and feeling bad aside, I’m glad for the breathing space.

  With a less enthusiastic nod, he says “Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to go either. Those things can get a little boring.”

  He nods. I nod. Then he looks to me with a glowing smile. I cringe.

  “You know what? We can totally have our own dance here. Hardly anyone will come in I bet.”

  Excuse me? That’s so not what I was thinking when I said I didn’t think I’d go because of work. Man, I really need to get better at dodging overly awkward and friendly boys. And is it weird that I’ve only ever worked with Toby? Doesn’t anyone else work at this joint? If he wasn’t shyer than me, I might be a little creeped out.

  Thankfully, and I do mean thankfully, I’m saved from having to answer. New customers in the form of Ashley and Jane walk through the door. I literally skip over to them with a relieved smile. I take my time making their subs, and I even go sit with them to make sure I avoid Toby. The same goes for later when they leave after only staying to eat. I make sure to keep busy, even if that involves choosing to clean the men’s bathroom (and can I just say yuck - Is it really so hard to aim for the freaking toilet?) and scrubbing the dining room floors.

  By the time we’re closing and locking the door, I’m pleased with my avoidance skills. I didn’t even have to use my memory block ability to get him to forget about the non-dance dance offer. Of course, I should have totally bit my tongue and kept those thoughts to myself. No sooner is he pulling the key out of the now locked door. He’s falling into step with me.

  I do have to give the boy props though, I am a few feet away already and he caught up quickly.

  Not that I slow down or face him though.

  “Hey, Daria? Would you like a ride home?” He asks in his familiar squeaky voice.

  Not looking at him, I say, “Thanks, but not tonight. I like walking, especially after a busy day.”

  He nods like I spoke with absolute genius and turns to his car with a wave. That’s when it hits me. I clearly said, not tonight, meaning another night I would. Ugh, that can’t be good. No wonder he walked away with a spring in his step. I gave him an opening to ask me again another time. That can’t be good. Not that I wouldn’t accept a ride from him (like say if it were raining or snowing for example), or that he’s so annoying I can’t stand to be in his presence or something. I just don’t want to lead him on. And that’s what it feels like I’m doing.

  There is something I can’t quite put my finger on with Toby. He’s nice enough, and shy enough to fill a football field, but something feels off. He feels off. Maybe it’s nothing. I am the same I suppose. And he’s not trying to avoid me. I’ll have to make it up to him, maybe get him a thank you for being neat card.

  Or not.

  ***

  As I walk the empty hallway in the school on Monday, I can’t stop the cringe that rises when I think about the car ride in this morning. It was like awkward times a thousand. I don’t even know why either. Alright, that’s a lie. I do know a little. One, it was the first time I saw Chance since Friday night. He was quieter than usual, as in he didn’t say a word. Not even to Ashley, when she asked what his deal was halfway down the road from the house. And two? When we first spotted each other in the garage, he eyed his jacket on me and actually glared.

  Seriously, there was some real glaring action going on. It was all aimed at me.

  I put the blushing Toby to shame.

  While I tried to get a grip on myself, he went right into asking for it back (so I lied when I said he didn’t say a word, but I don’t count him being rude) and I had no other choice but to return it with shaking hands. Then came the silent car ride. In which he made go as fast as possible, but that’s only because he drove overly fast. Thus the reason Ashley went to badgering him. I don’t blame him for wanting his jacket, it’s his, and it should be on his person. Not mine. But did he have to act like an ass?

  I just don’t know what I did wrong. Things were a little strange Friday night, not to mention hid odd muttering. But to do a complete one-eighty of his personality? I have to say, it’s a little disconcerting. I guess I misjudged something important when I decided he is who I wanted to have a crush on. Like the fact that he obviously isn’t into me. Which is fine I suppose. I shouldn’t really be jumping into anything right now anyways, kind of like Homecoming.

  I just wish I didn’t feel the sting of betrayal.

  Not only did I lose a perfectly nice and warm jacket that was filled with boy smell, but I also lost a friend.

  When we finally (or when we instantly) got to school, he couldn’t get out of the car (away from me?) fast enough. I was left trailing behind an irritated Ashley, trying to keep back my frustrated tears from falling. I succeeded, thankfully. But not a class has gone by this morning that I haven’t once been thinking about Chance, and what I could have possibly done wrong.

  Like now, for example. I’m currently on a one student mission to retrieve a history text, that the history teacher couldn’t be bothered to retrieve herself. So while I’m in search of a storage room (one I doubt even exists at this point) my mind flies with possibilities of why Chance suddenly seems to hate me. And same as the conclusion that I keep coming back to, is that there isn’t a reason. Not one that see anyways.

  Convinced that there isn’t an actual storage room to be found, and maybe my teacher was just being cruel (guess it’s let’s be cruel to Daria day), I’m turning around when I see it. A brightly lit star, my sanctuary. Not really of course. It’s just a door that reads ‘Storage Room’ in big block letters. Though, in retrospect, it could be considered my sanctuary. After I retrieve what I came here for, I can get back to sitting while thinking about Chance. That is so much better than walking around aimlessly while thinking about him. My aching feet agree.

  I cross the two short steps to the door, and yank on the handle to quickly get what I came for. The knob doesn’t budge. Well, it budges, but it doesn’t open. Great, I finally find the door, and the dang thing is stuck. Is this what my life is going to be like now? I get one good thing, and then ten bad things have to happen to compensate? If that’s the case, then screw that. I didn’t survive a family of freaking demons to get pushed around by a stupid door that can’t be bothered to open correctly.

  I twist the knob again. Only this time I throw my entire body weight against it. It gives way a little, and along with it a scrapping sound, as if there were something blocking it from the inside. This makes no sense. Why would something be blocking it form the inside, if this in the only way in? Or maybe it’s not the only way in, as far as I know. Still, it’s the only way I can get in. So when I grasp the handle again, I make damn sure I throw every ounce of my ninety or so pounds hard into it.

  It gives way.

  So much so in fact, that I spill into the darkened room, and right into the scrambling bodies of Ashley and some boy missing a shirt. I guess there is a reason to block a door from the inside after all. Go figure. None the less, as Ashley tosses a shirt to the boy missing one, I clench my eyes from the show I really don’t want to see. Not that the boy isn’t a little bit of eye candy, because he totally is, he’s just not my flavor. I prefer blue eyed with dark hair types, not the blonde surfer type that Ashley seems to
be.

  Stumbling backwards to the door, I say, “I am so sorry Ash. I’ll just get……..oohph.”

  Sadly, I never got the whole apology out. I guess that’s a side effect of smashing backwards into a wall that is meant for not trying to go through it. I pivot forwards like a ping pong ball and crash to the floor on my hands and knees. All my breath, that was once pleasantly happy in my chest, is somewhere back in the wall behind me.

  I feel a sting in my hands and know I must have scraped them for sure.

  Ashley and surfer dude kneel beside me before I can attempt to get to my feet on my own, with at least some dignity left. Together, the three of us get me steadily on my feet, all the while the two of them apologize to me like this is their fault. Oh right. It is. I guess I missed the sign that says this is the preferred make-out spot and not just a storage room. I should really keep that in mind.

  Once on my feet again, I glance to my hands, and sure enough I have a very serious case of awkward embarrassment. Or you know, a little of cement burn. Nothing a good quality alone time and some ice can’t cure. Unfortunately, I’m getting neither at the moment, because Ashley sends surfer boy on his way, with his shirt back in place. Here’s the part where I’d think to get my history book and skedaddle back to class.

  But then Ashley is shutting the door behind him, turning on the light and securing a chair back under the door. This is not what I thought would happen when I got handpicked to go searching for my own textbook. To be trapped in a storage room with a girl. It’s every adolescent boy’s fantasy (or so I think), except I’m not a boy.

  So this is just kind of creepy and unexpected.

  When Ashley turns back to me, my face must be pretty transparent, because she bursts out laughing.

  “Relax Daria. I’m not going to attack you with my mouth.”