First Date

by Krista McGee

  Addy spent the next thirty minutes watching each of her three tablemates interrupt and talk over each other in an attempt to garner Jonathon’s attention. Anytime the young man tried to speak to Addy, one of the girls would find a reason to draw his attention away.

  “Jonathon, how’s your baseball team doing?”

  “Where are you looking to go for college?”

  “Try this filet mignon. It’s delicious.”

  When Hank walked over to announce it was time for Jonathon to join another table, all Addy had been able to say to him was “hello.” Addy thought she saw sadness in Jonathon’s eyes as he was leaving.

  Please. I’m fooling myself. He might be sad, but not about leaving me. No way.

  As soon as he left, Addy’s tablemates’ sweet words and friendly banter ended. They were back to shaking the table and kicking Addy’s leg and doing anything else that would cause her to look even clumsier than she already felt.

  The time after the dinner flew by. The girls were given a day of skiing in Vail, a spa day in Breckenridge, then they were shuttled back to The Mansion for two days of schoolwork and photo shoots.

  In that time, experts were brought in to comment on the tapes of their dinner. Their comments were edited in with the footage so the entire four-hour-long ordeal was a neat and tidy forty-two-minute package.

  Oh, God, I would really like to just disappear right now. Addy shifted in her seat on the front lawn of The Mansion as she waited for the show to air. I hate seeing myself on TV to begin with, but seeing the super made-over version of myself trying to act like I knew what I was doing is awful. Not even getting to see Colorado was worth having to be so formal.

  “Okay, ladies. Tonight we watch the footage from earlier in the week.” Hank walked out of The Mansion like he owned it.

  “After the airing, you’ll all be interviewed about your thoughts on the comments made about your performance at the dinner. So pay close attention to what is said so you can speak about it.”

  “Great,” Addy said to Kara. “Just what I want to talk about.”

  “And then, of course, tomorrow night, five more of you will be asked to leave.” Hank looked expectantly at Addy.

  “And,” he added to the rest, “a very special announcement will be made.”

  The girls clapped even harder, plastic smiles in place just in case the cameras surrounding them were on.

  Kara squeezed Addy’s hand. “It’ll be fine, I’m sure.” But both girls knew that wasn’t likely.

  The introductory segment confirmed Addy’s suspicions.

  “Which girls demonstrated grace and poise, and which should have some private lessons with Miss Manners?” Hank’s voice-over said as clips of several of the girls daintily wiping the corners of their mouths with linen napkins preceded clips of Addy dropping hers and looking confusedly at her forks.

  “You’ll find out tonight on The Book of Love,” Hank said as the opening credits rolled, followed by commercials for everything from bookstores to feminine products.

  The next half hour went by smoothly. The panel of experts was introduced, followed by a short segment explaining why they were chosen to be on the show. Each of them emphasized the deplorable lack of manners shown in our country and hoped that this episode would encourage a return to proper table etiquette and fine dining. Next, each girl was analyzed.

  “Jessica showed great poise,” one of the experts said. “But—oh dear—didn’t know that the spoon was to be placed on the plate, not in the bowl, when she was finished. Tsk tsk.”

  A second expert then appeared, her pearl necklace circling a tiny neck supporting a perfect face. “Anna Grace lived up to her name, sitting up properly, nodding to the waiter in the appropriate way at the appropriate time. Bravo.

  “Heather, Renae, and Kara all showed above-average etiquette. They did make a few mistakes, see there.” The expert pointed to the screen behind her. “Wrong fork. But overall, I was pleased with their understanding of the rules of etiquette.”

  Addy thought she’d fall asleep from all the soft voices and classical music playing under each of the video segments that night. She hadn’t even seen herself since that first clip, so she was hoping they’d just left her out entirely. Hank’s way of “getting even” at her for earning immunity the week before.

  No such luck.

  After the next-to-last girl had been discussed, the teaser right before the commercial break promised that the best was yet to come. Circus music played beneath the promise with Addy’s face, screwed up in a “What do I do?” pose, filling the screen. The girls around Addy hooted with laughter and clapped. Hank leaned against an oak tree looking smug.

  The commercials ended and Hank said, “While most of the girls behaved like refined young ladies who would be a jewel on the arm of any young man, one stuck out like a bad piece of costume jewelry.”

  Images of Addy asking which fork to use, waving the waiter over, almost spilling her drink, and being told to sip the soup from the other side of the spoon played on the screen with pipe organ music pumping in the background and cymbals crashing for effect every time she made a mistake. The whole thing made Addy look like a complete buffoon.

  And to make it worse, as the night went on, her makeup began smudging, and of course no one had told her. She’d wiped her eye at one point and drug a finger-width line of “deep amethyst” eye shadow halfway down her cheek. Her lipstick was gone by the third course, making her look eerily corpselike, and her hair began coming out of the perfectly smooth bun, piece by teased, curled, unruly piece.

  Addy’s segment was last, and Hank concluded the show laughing and shaking his head. “Well, folks, that’s it for tonight. But don’t miss tomorrow’s show—we’ll hear from each of the girls as well as Jonathon, and we’ll also find out which girls’ chapters have ended in . . . The Book of Love.”

  Addy wanted to raise a white flag and declare defeat but, having had enough attention for one day, chose instead to stand quietly and make her way back to the trailer as inconspicuously as possible.

  Hank caught her before she could depart.

  “Nobody leaves yet, girls.” He smiled like a cat that had finally gotten its mouse. “Interviews, remember? I hope you were all paying attention to your segment. Go ahead to your spot and get ready. We’ll start shooting in ten.”

  Addy sighed. She had her own “spot” set up with a cameraman, interviewer, and crew. She was to sit in a wicker chair on the east side of The Mansion with the camera beside her so it could catch the beautiful Tennessee hills in the background, in case what she had to say was too boring.

  Addy was determined to be as dull as possible, leaving no further room for humiliation. She wanted her last “package” to be circus-music free.

  “Yes, I was unprepared.”

  “But you girls had access to information about etiquette before the dinner. Didn’t you study?”

  Addy knew the interviewer was fishing to get her to admit frustration or gossip about the other girls. But she refused to give him any more ammunition to use against her. She would be polite and forgettable.

  “Yes, the producers did give us a packet of information. They are very kind.”

  “And yet you didn’t even know which fork to use with the courses. Did the girls at your table not help you?”

  “They did all they could.” Addy smiled. “But I just wasn’t prepared.”

  “Don’t you have anything else to say, Addy?”

  “It was a lovely restaurant. I am so grateful for the opportunity to have gone.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, then . . . you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  Addy was finally released, and she dragged herself back to her trailer. To pack. So much for getting to know Jonathon better or having the opportunity to make a difference here.

  She had blown it all in one excruciating seven-course meal.

  Chapter 25

 
Addy woke up to find Kara’s laptop at her feet, a sticky note attached to the screen. Addy lifted it off and read, “Midas Strikes Again.”

  Addy could tell by the Broadway tunes being belted in the shower that Kara had left the computer there for her on her way to the bathroom. Addy pushed the space bar on the keyboard to wake the hibernating computer and saw that Kara had Googled Addy’s name, resulting in thousands of hits. Most of them were positive.

  The general conclusion was that Addy remained the “real” one, not putting on airs, not acting like a perfect little lady. Addy was “everygirl” and America loved her. In fact, they loved her more the more flaws she showed.

  “We don’t want to see Jonathon Jackson with a perfectly polished debutante,” wrote one popular blogger. “We want someone we can identify with. I would have been right with Addy Davidson last night, sipping my soup the wrong way, cutting from the ‘wrong side’ (how can it be wrong when it feels so right?). I can’t even eat spaghetti without spilling red sauce all over my shirt.”

  Addy felt relieved. Then she felt guilty that she felt relieved. Was she actually starting to care what “America” thought? She was shaking her head when Kara walked out of the shower.

  “Don’t tell me you’re upset?” Kara turned her head upside down and twisted her wet hair into a towel-turban. “They like you. They really like you.”

  “No, I’m not upset. How could I be?”

  “Then what were you shaking your head about? You’re not still wanting to get kicked off, are you?”

  “Not really.” Addy shut the computer and looked up at her friend. “I was just thinking that a few days ago I didn’t care what other people thought and now I do. I’m already getting corrupted.”

  “Oh, Addy,” Kara crooned, sitting down on Addy’s bed. “Do we need to have the talk about the dangers of being a celebrity? You know, you people never turn out normal, so worried about what other people think you can’t lead a well-adjusted life. So sad. So, so sad.”

  Addy hit Kara in the head with her pillow and laughed as Kara used her own words from their first conversation against her. “Ha ha, Dr. Kara. I’m just . . . conflicted. And I’m not used to feeling conflicted. I usually know what I’m doing and I do it. And no one really cares. Now I have no plan, no idea what I’m doing, and millions of people are suddenly interested.”

  “Tell me all about it.” “Dr. Kara” smirked. “What was a typical day in the life of Addy Davidson preshow?”

  Addy thought about that and raised her eyebrows. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Of course you won’t promise, or of course you won’t laugh?”

  “Just go on.” Kara grinned, still sitting on Addy’s bed.

  “Okay. Here it is.” Addy closed her eyes and imagined herself in her tidy room. “I’d wake up at 6:00 a.m. and shower, then eat breakfast and read my Bible, brush my teeth and get dressed, gather my backpack and school supplies. School starts at 7:45, but I like to get there early to review for any tests or quizzes, so I get there about 7:20. School ends at 3:00. I go home, work on my homework anywhere from 1–3 hours. More if necessary. I play golf a couple days a week. I clean my room, do the laundry, eat some dinner, and watch TV with my uncle. After that, I read or sometimes go for a walk, then I go to bed.” Addy felt calmer just thinking about her old life.

  “Wow,” Kara said, trying very hard not to laugh.

  “Go ahead, you know you want to.” Addy pushed Kara, causing her to lose her balance.

  Kara righted herself and burst out laughing. “What are you, eighty-five? I didn’t know seventeen-year-olds could be that scheduled.”

  “It works for me.” Addy frowned.

  “You write all this down, don’t you? The old-fashioned way too, not with any electronic help. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Yes.” Addy stood and crossed her arms.

  “Is it here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please let me see it.” Kara jumped up and clapped her hands.

  Addy rolled her eyes and walked to her dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled her planner out from under her T-shirts.

  “Aww, it even has your name on it.” Kara opened the leather-bound planner.

  Each day had its own page and every hour its own line. Addy’s tiny handwriting filled most of the lines with everything from homework assignments and tee times to housework reminders and grocery lists.

  Kara flipped through months of pages, then looked at Addy, her brow wrinkling. “Where’s the fun?”

  “What?”

  “Fun. You know, going out to the movies or hanging at the mall with friends? Don’t you ever have fun? From this, it just looks like your life is all work and no play.”

  “Sure, I have fun.” Addy grabbed the planner from Kara’s hands and returned it to her drawer. “My best friend, Lexi, and I hang out all the time. Uncle Mike and I golf and bowl together. We go out to eat. I help with clubs at school . . .”

  Kara raised her eyebrow.

  “Okay, maybe I don’t have the most exciting life, but I want to get into an Ivy League college. And my uncle doesn’t have a ton of money, so I need scholarships. And good grades. And great scores on my SAT and ACT.”

  Kara sat still, saying nothing. A first for her.

  “Okay, I’m a loser.” Addy sat on her bed. “You happy?”

  “No. And neither are you. But I can help you.”

  “Oh, I don’t like the sound of that.” Addy pulled the pillow from the head of her bed onto her lap.

  “Come on now. Just think of me as Dr. Fun. I’m going to teach you how to have some excitement in your life—let loose.” Kara grabbed Addy’s planner from her dresser and tried to write spontaneous fun on the day’s date but kept misspelling spontaneous, so she just crossed it out and left the word fun followed by five exclamation points.

  “First assignment. Grab the first outfit you can see and let’s go out.”

  “Out? We’re prisoners, Kara. Or have you forgotten?” Addy crossed her arms.

  “Fun Rule Number One,” Kara began, throwing on her clothes and running a brush through her still-damp hair. “Fun is an attitude, not a location. Got that?”

  “Got it.” Addy saluted.

  “Then say it.”

  Addy obeyed, got dressed, and walked out the front door for her morning of spontanious, spontaineous, spontaneus fun!!!!! The morning lasted exactly sixty seconds. Right up to the point that an angry mob of girls met her walking toward the breakfast tables.

  “Addy Davidson,” Lila spat. “Aren’t you just everybody’s favorite little loser?”

  The other girls closed in, leaving Addy feeling claustro-phobic. Kara leaned in to Addy’s ear and whispered, “Fun is an attitude, not a location,” and both girls laughed.

  “Are you mocking us?” Renae piped in. “How dare you!”

  “How dare we?” Kara snorted. “You’re surrounding us like vultures to roadkill. How dare you.”

  Addy wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure what. Kara was being a little harsh, but so were those girls. But Addy couldn’t stand up for them, not after all Kara had done for her. And she couldn’t join Kara, or Addy would lose any chance of getting to talk with them. God, what do I do?

  The mob of girls was looking at each other, not sure if they should attack or scream or run off and tell Hank.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Kara said. “Were you trying to intimidate us? And we interrupted. How rude. Go ahead now. Tell us everything you planned to say. Come on. Now I know you’ve got a speech or two prepared, right?”

  The girls huffed and stammered but, in the end, simply walked off.

  Kara glowed as she watched the retreat. “And that, my friend, is the fun way to deal with bullies.”

  Chapter 26

  Addy returned to the trailer to rest from her morning of “fun” while Kara was off talking to her family. Addy picked up one of her mother’s journals and began reading
.

  This medicine man is ridiculous. He has been here less than two weeks, and he acts like he is in charge. He is even going around to the men in the village saying Josh is a fake. That his medicine is just “magic.” This from the man who tells pregnant women to chew a flower to make their babies smarter. Josh has prevented a spread of a nasty virus with the medicine we brought in. He saved a woman’s life last month when she developed an infection from some of their “herbal” remedies. And he is the fake? I just wish my Quechua was better so I could tell this man what I really think about him and his medicine and his lies. But my Quechua is awful. The most I can do is smile and nod and say some Tarzan phrases. Somehow I just don’t think, “Husband mine smart. You smell. Leave” would be very effective. Or Christlike. But I’m just so frustrated. I didn’t think it would be like this. We came here to help. To serve. And we are being treated like primitive idiots.

  Addy turned the page and noticed her mother’s handwriting was smaller than on the previous page. More controlled.

  I just read what I wrote. Am I still struggling with the same old issue? Still? My pride is hurt so I lash out. God, when will I learn? The worst thing I could do is go yell at the medicine man. In my pride to protect our reputation, I would ruin any chance we had to minister to him. Thank you, God, for making my language skills so bad that I couldn’t say something I’d regret. Thank you for protecting me from my own stupidity. Again. Help me love this man, to show him grace. Help me turn the other cheek so he can see you in me and want to know more about you. You are why I’m here. Forgive me for forgetting that.

  Addy shut the journal and sobbed. God couldn’t have spoken to her more clearly had he come down, sat on her bed, and talked to her himself. She got down on her knees beside her bed.

  Forgive me, God. Forgive me for even thinking about being mean to those girls. Forgive me for not saying anything to them, for not saying anything to Kara. What kind of friend am I? I haven’t even told Kara I’m a Christian. I’m so scared, God. I don’t feel strong enough to be your light here. I’ve barely even remembered to pray this last week or so. I’ve gotten so caught up in everything here. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. Help me. Help me talk to Kara about you. Help me be kind to the other girls. Help me be like my mom. I want to show grace to the people around me. Show me how I can do that.