Perfectly Dateless

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “Hi, everybody.”

  “So . . . how’s school?” Lindy, my supervisor, is head customer-service rep. She’s from Peru, tiny, serious-natured, and supports her family (including her mom and sisters) with this crappy job. She’s also the youngest besides me, but the most mature—which isn’t saying much. She takes her job seriously but puts up with the rest of us. And our need to vent. Lindy is the type of girl who brushes past all the negativity on the line with her very genuine friendliness. “You made it through your first week.”

  “School is the same. Lots of homework, plenty of fashioni-stas, not much fun.” I decide not to venture into the territory of my parents bustin’ a rhyme.

  “Who cares about that? Any cute guys this year?” Kat asks. “We keep hoping for you, honey.”

  “If there are guys, they’re nowhere near me.”

  “Oh, honey, you come to Kat and I’ll get you all set up. Such a pretty girl like you, so smart and all. You should have a boyfriend.”

  “She’s not allowed to have a boyfriend,” Lindy reminds her.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing. My son has had girlfriends her age,” she says. “You gonna be a nun, honey?”

  Her son also lives with her and has a baby mama, but that’s hardly the point. There has to be some middle ground. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. The world is not black and white. Despite what my parents think. Despite what Claire thinks.

  “It’s a quiet day,” Lindy says. “We had that mad rush there, but otherwise it’s been very quiet all day. I think Gil had some numbers he wanted you to check too.”

  A moment later Kat slams down the phone. “I ain’t showing no public school moron my paystub to take no handout. They can kiss my derriere.”

  Kat’s a single mother and smells like an ashtray with a chaser of stale coffee. She wears a cheap perfume to cover the odor, but honestly, the sharp stench is worse. But if you’re ever in a battle? You want Kat on your side. She is the sweetest lady, but she could probably take on Evander Holyfield, so if I didn’t work with her, I wouldn’t know the kind heart that lurks behind her linebacker presence. In fact, if I met her on the street, I’d probably cross it to avoid a confrontation. Don’t like what that says about me, but I’m glad she’s on my side.

  “You getting your homework done with this job, Daisy?” Kat asks. “You work so much. You should take it easy.”

  I nod. “Not really an option in my house. All my parents have to keep up with is me, so they tend to check on me regularly.”

  “You get your education, baby. You don’t want to do this kind of job forever. Your parents know all about it. You find a job you love and every day is like a party.” She pauses to hack a few minutes. “That’s what they tell me anyway.”

  Gil comes out of his office. “What’s all this talking? You girls file if the phones are quiet!” He reminds me of the young teacher trying to earn respect. He barks most everything but then waits to see if he’s been heard. If we ask him a question, he gets flustered and acts as though he already made himself clear.

  Gil Keegan is the owner’s son. He cannot stand to watch anyone sit still—it’s a personal affront to him. He’s stuck in this job because his father has bigger fish to fry, and Gil’s determined to feed his ego from the job, if nothing else. He’s darling, though, only twenty-four, recently out of college, and he looks like Josh Lucas. When he talks, no matter what he says or how rude he sounds, I find myself drifting into the movie Sweet Home Alabama and seeing the prince hiding behind the redneck. Or, in this case, the prince behind the powerless owner’s son. Hey, my dream life helps me get through the day, all right?

  Anyway, Gil is cute, achingly so. And if he laid a hand on me, both our fathers would kill us, so there is this unrequited, Shakespearian thing going on between us. My mom would love it in a book. Not so much with me as the star.

  Gil spends the majority of his time on Maple Story pretending to be married to some character from Japan. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to run out to 7-Eleven to pick him up a game card so he can buy a pet, or a house, or something to succeed in his imaginary world. I sure hope it’s better than this world for him, because this one seems tedious.

  “Daisy, you have a minute?” Gil asks. He turns back to my co-workers. “Get to work if the phones aren’t ringing.”

  Kat doesn’t even bother to wait for him to leave the room before bursting into her trademark cackle.

  I look around. “It’s your minute,” I tell him as I follow him into his office.

  “Sit down,” he says as he sits behind his desk. He pulls out a ledger with pencil markings dating back to another decade. “I tried to make a spreadsheet for this, and nothing is adding up. I need this information entered into a computer so I can analyze the numbers.”

  I nod.

  “Naturally, this will be between us.”

  “It’s okay, Gil. I assume you make money from the Porsche you drive. How much is none of my business.”

  His lagoon-colored eyes narrow. “How’d you get so good at numbers at your age?”

  “I used to play office as a kid. I’d find my dad’s bills in one place, invoices in another. I started organizing them at five, my mother says. They bought me a computer, and by ten, I was doing my father’s invoicing. I learned early that it’s always good to have money in the account to pay your bills.”

  “Necessity is the mother of invention.”

  “I like order,” I say. “My parents not so much.”

  “Sounds like we were both born into the wrong families. It’s no wonder my father found you.”

  I reach for the pale green ledgers.

  “Not now,” Gil says. “I need you to do it after hours.”

  “Gil, I have homework. A lot of it.”

  “I’ll pay you.”

  “Don’t say that.” My perfectionist tendencies cannot stand to turn down money. The more I make, the more freedom I have. The more freedom I have, the less my parents can make all my decisions.

  “Daisy, this company is in dire straits. That’s why my dad handed it to me. Those people out there need this job, and I need to prove to my father I can do this if I’m ever going to get out of here.”

  “Overtime?” I ask, knowing this is asking for trouble. “It’s a pain to take the bus after dark.”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t believe your parents won’t let you date, but they let you take the bus home at night. It makes no sense.”

  I shrug. “I can’t believe you work here and drive a Porsche. We’re all mysteries.”

  “Touché.”

  I sound so calm, but I need this job. The money is all I have to keep me going and get me out from under my parents’ grasp. Lindy and Kat have qualifications and time. I don’t. Whether at school or in my small workforce, I am at the bottom of the food chain.

  “I can either work over the weekend or start Monday.” I look down at the ledgers. “I’m finishing the last of my college applications.”

  “I want a nice, clean spreadsheet with columns, every row labeled. I need to know when the company started to tank and any market analysis—” He stops talking. “I’m not making a lick of sense to you, am I?”

  His dismissal of me for being a mere student irritates me. “I’ll do my own analysis as well. We’ll compare notes.”

  “Monday is fine. Tell your dad to pick you up. You’re not taking the bus that late. If he doesn’t, I’ll be taking you home, and somehow I doubt he’ll like seeing you roll up with a man in a Porsche.”

  “You’re offering to take me home in the Porsche?” I laugh.

  “Oh no. One wrong move and you’re driving my Porsche. I remember that old police song about the young schoolgirl. I’m not as dumb as all that. Just use it as a threat, all right? The thought of me driving Miss Daisy should make him crazy.”

  I wish, just for one second, I could speak as easily to the guys at school as I can to Gil. I’m here at work, I know the business, I
know the numbers. I know the benefits of everything going into neat little rows and columns, but school isn’t like that. There’s an entire set of rules that no one ever tells you. Disorder lurks around every corner. Mean girls flipping your backpacks, dense jocks cheating off you in Calculus. The world seems like a much safer place after high school.

  I pick up the books and put them back in Gil’s metal filing cabinet, twist the lock, and hand him the key. “You need to hire an accountant. And maybe someone who speaks English out in the plant but actually reads it too. Today I had a complaint that someone wrote ‘deceased’ on the check.”

  “Again?” Gil shakes his head. He’s got Zac Efron hair and sparkling bluish-green eyes. The kind of eyes that my mother should warn me about, instead of her having kittens over an Abercrombie shirt. All I’m saying.

  Gil pauses, leans back in his chair, and narrows his eyes. “You’re a bossy little thing, you know that?”

  “But I’m good at ledgers and I’m cheaper than an accountant.”

  “Mouthy too. I’m going to tell your school advisor how mouthy you are when I give my review. ‘Works hard,’” he writes on a pad of paper as he says it. “‘Needs to shut up.’”

  “Gil, you can’t stop with the ledgers. You’ve got to get these orders all computerized—an online ordering system for the banks. The business is going to be gone if we’re not up and running soon. When these paper orders come through, they’re nearly always wrong, and these ledgers would be a lot easier to read if you—” His eyes are glazing over, and I’m losing him to some computerized game he’s obsessing over. “At the very least, the reprints would cost the banks instead of us.”

  He gives his bad-boy smile and leans forward. “I’m planning to, Miss Daisy. I’ve been reviewing systems and webmasters; that’s why I need this place cleaned up. That all right with you?” He stands and opens the door to his office for me to exit. “Did you notice how you said ‘us’? You take ownership, Daisy, and that’s what all bosses want to see in their employees. What if college isn’t the right avenue for you? Did you ever think about that?”

  “I can never tell if you take me seriously or if you’re making fun of me.”

  “A little of both, maybe.” He flips his hair and leans against the wall. “You and Lindy take on a lot for me. Just know that I appreciate it, and someday, when I’m first in check printing, I won’t forget it.”

  I stare at him intently.

  “What?” he asks with a laugh. “Why do you keep looking at me like that? Say something. Don’t stare at me like I’ve got three heads.”

  “Why are you here?” I ask him. “Why do you work for your father?”

  “A man’s gotta start somewhere.”

  I stand outside Gil’s office for a second, wondering why I’m so comfortable here in this place with complete strangers, and then it dawns on me. This is the one place in the world I can truly be myself. And how sad is that? Maybe college isn’t for me. Maybe Gil’s right. What if it’s only a continuation of high school?

  I peek my head in Gil’s doorway again.

  “Did you forget something?” he asks.

  “Gil, did you go to your prom?”

  “My high school prom?” he asks over his monitor.

  “Uh-huh.” I feel stupid now, but it’s out there. “Did you ask someone to prom?”

  “Sure. My girlfriend. Actually, I don’t know that I asked. She just told me what color tie to get and where to get a limo. I did as I was told.”

  “Oh, you had a girlfriend.” I sigh.

  “Daisy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You can always ask him if he doesn’t ask you. Isn’t prom in the spring?”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking ahead. I can ask him. Yeah.” I turn away, annoyed at the suggestion, but then face him again before I lose my nerve. “But—”

  “You have to let him know you like him, Daisy. Guys don’t like rejection any more than girls do. Have you flirted with him at all?”

  “I don’t know how to flirt.”

  He laughs. “Yes you do.”

  “Amber Richardson has let him know, and I don’t think I can do that.”

  “If Amber’s let him know and he hasn’t made a move, he’s not interested in Amber.” Gil shrugs. “Let him know, Daisy. We just need encouragement.”

  I nod. Sure. It’s just my heart at stake. No biggie, right?

  Prom Journal

  September 10

  176 Days until Prom

  330 Days Left in Captivity (until I Leave for College!)

  Fact: 14 percent of young adult men live at home compared to 8 percent of women. Sigh.

  Things are not looking good from the male perspective. Gil had a girlfriend in high school, which makes me think I need a boyfriend, otherwise how is a guy going to know he has to ask me to the prom? I mean, without a boyfriend, I’m throwing caution to the wind, leaving it all to chance. And that is just not me. I don’t take chances.

  All I know is the closer prom gets, the more pathetic my life becomes and the tighter my parents’ grip seems to be. I am desperately close to losing all sense of sanity. Maybe that’s too dramatic for four days of effort, but the results? Ugh, the results!

  Here’s the thing: I don’t know that I was all that in touch with my sanity to begin with.

  Claire’s parents have left for Hawaii, and I’ve talked my mother into letting her stay here some of the time. Normally I’d go there and we just wouldn’t mention the little “parents on vacation” part—but I’m not really in a place to be caught at the moment because I’m still pursuing the prom date and the blonde highlights.

  Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. I have nearly $7,000 saved! Just when I think I can’t wear homemade clothes anymore, I check out my bank account and think I totally can! Because the more I save, the quicker I’m on my own and out of this prison my parents call a home. Making my own choices! Blonde highlights, the college of my choice . . . dating. Putting my life on hold may prove to be worth it.

  Still, I didn’t put my check in the bank. (Once I do that, I have to get my parents’ signature to get it out.) I pocketed all the money this week—$168. I feel so guilty, it’s almost as if I stole it, but Gil is right. I have to let people know I’m interested in a social life, and I can’t do that if I’m dressed like a hostess.

  It’s time I made some changes. Took some responsibility for myself and forced my parents to see reality. (That’s what Claire says anyway.) I’m going to the mall this weekend. I’m going to buy real clothes. Not hand-sewn frocks or apparel from the children’s section, deemed appropriate by my mother. No, I’m going to a real store. I’m even going to price cell phones while I’m there. With unlimited texting!

  Oh, the prom update. Not much to say there, but after these changes, who knows what can happen?

  1. Improper laying on of hands. On his girlfriend, no less. I’m not the steal-a-man sort.

  2. Steve Crisco. It’s all review in Calculus so far—hasn’t even acknowledged my presence, except with another rousing wave story.

  3. Like I said, I’m not the steal-your-man type, and Claire’s J.Crew style is my only hint here, but it speaks loud and clear. Leave it to my best friend to add on more humiliation.

  4. Dad got laid off—transferred to public school.

  5. Chase Doogle. The new and improved Daisy Crispin is coming your way. And I’m going to flirt!

  Oh, and I’m grounded. I forgot about a math assignment the first day of school, and my parents saw it at the online parent connect. Heinous technology. But on an up note, it’s good from the perfectionist standpoint, right? I failed at something!

  7

  Saturday mornings rock, but this Saturday morning my mind is filled with my first plan of treason: a trip to the mall. I think my mom and dad were looking for my praise about their “show” when I came home from work, but I’d rather wax my head than acknowledge the most humiliating experience of my high school career. Which, for anyone who knows me, i
s saying something.

  I usually get to sleep in—well, at least until eight a.m., when Sergeant Dad comes in and exposits on my laziness, and then I lounge in my jammies, finish homework, and hang out on Facebook while I wait for Claire to wake up.

  Today, however, I am awake at the crack of dawn, thinking about how I will sound casual about Claire going shopping and I’m just tagging along. My first genuine lie to my parents, and I would totally feel guilty if I didn’t think about Gil’s face yesterday, which said it all. If I don’t break away now, I will be stuck here with their plan for my life. If my parents had a rundown business like his father’s, I’d be slaving away there trying to salvage it. Is that the life I want?

  “Daisy!”

  I nearly jump out of my skin as my dad pounds on my door. I stare at the door, taking in Saint Beckham’s profile as he studies the soccer ball he’s just kicked. “Good mornin’, David. I totally think you should dump Posh and take me to the prom.” I kick my legs over the side of the bed.

  My dad pounds on my door more fervently. “Daisy. Open this door. It’s nearly 8:30.”

  “Criminal,” I mumble, making my way to the door.

  He’s holding a giant garbage bag, which is not an image you want first thing in the morning. It implies work. And I’ve been working all week! For money. Actual motivation.

  “Your mother wants you to come out and help her weed. Get dressed. You’re wasting the day. Oh, and Claire’s here. You’ve got five minutes. I assume she knows you’re grounded.”

  Of course she knows. She’s usually the reason I am grounded, but it usually feels worth it. I shuffle out into the living room, where I see Claire dressed like a human tent of primary colors.