Love is a Four-Letter Word

by Vikki VanSickle

  “Aggressor? It’s not like I forced him to kiss me!”

  “Of course not! I just meant you were the brave one. It’s not a bad thing, but maybe since you were the one who made the first move, he’s waiting for you to make the second one, too.”

  “What happened to your whole ‘the ball is in his court’ theory?”

  Mattie shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he thinks it’s too soon to make a move?”

  “It’s been four days!”

  “I know that, and you know that, but Michael is a boy. We can’t ever really know what he’s thinking.”

  I snort. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  Mattie gets all dreamy-eyed. “At least you were kissed.”

  “Correction, he was kissed. I was the one doing the kissing.”

  We go back to eating our lunches in silence. I’m so agitated I can barely sit still. What is happening to me? I used to be a normal person who was able to carry on a normal conversation, and now all I can think about is Michael and why he isn’t calling me. If this is love, I want no part of it. It’s so much easier to not like anyone.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Benji shows up at the table and slides his cafeteria tray next to mine.

  “Lunchtime is practically over,” I say. “Where have you been?”

  “I had a costume fitting,” he explains. “Wait till you see the headpiece I get to wear. It was rented from a theatre company in Toronto. The curls are made from real hair.”

  Mattie claps her hands. “That is so exciting, I can’t wait to see it! Three more sleeps!”

  “Real hair? Isn’t that kind of creepy?” I ask.

  “A wig is made from real hair,” Benji points out. He looks back and forth at us. “So, what did I miss? What were you guys talking about?”

  “Andrew Kane,” I blurt out, before Mattie can say anything. “Mattie thinks he’s cute.”

  “But he never says anything,” Benji says.

  “So? He’s probably thinking deep thoughts. He’s probably the smartest kid in our class,” Mattie says.

  “She’s thinking of asking him to come see your show with us,” I add.

  Mattie launches into her list of reasons why Andrew Kane is better than Josh. She doesn’t mention Declan. I am grateful that she can take a hint. I haven’t told Benji about the kiss yet, partly because I don’t want to do or say anything to distract him before his show opens, since he’s already a big bundle of nerves, and also because I’m not sure how to bring it up. It might make things weird between us.

  “You should definitely ask him,” Benji concludes. “Do it now!”

  We all swivel in our chairs to look at Andrew, sitting at the corner table eating his lunch with a book open beside him. “What do you think he’s reading?” Benji asks.

  “It looks thick,” Mattie observes. “I bet it’s something dark and brooding and serious.”

  “It’s probably his math textbook,” I point out.

  Benji giggles. “How are you going to ask him?”

  Mattie frowns. “I don’t know yet.”

  “You should send him a note,” I suggest. “You plus me plus The Wizard of Oz equals one hot date.” Benji laughs out loud and Mattie squeals, smacking me on the arm. “Or you could just give him your number. We know he’s good with those,” I add.

  “You’re horrible,” she says, but she’s smiling as she says it.

  “Are you going with Michael?” Benji asks.

  I stop laughing. “Well he’s sitting with us, if that’s what you mean,” I say. Try as I might, I can’t keep the stiffness out of my voice.

  “With is such a vague term,” Mattie muses.

  Benji looks from me to Mattie and back to me again. His forehead wrinkles but he doesn’t say anything more about it. I can tell he’s hurt, though. He knows there is more to the story than Mattie and I are letting on, but for some reason, we aren’t sharing it with him. Pangs of guilt, like a hundred tiny needles, stab me in the gut. I know how it feels to be left out. For a moment, I consider telling him the whole story. But then I’d have to admit that I didn’t tell him about the kiss when it happened and I don’t want to open that can of worms, especially with his show only a few days away.

  I give Mattie a nudge. “Come on, go ask Andrew. Lunch is almost over.”

  “So?” she squeals.

  I give her an ultimatum: “You have until the end of the day to ask him, or I’m asking him myself.”

  Mattie’s face darkens. I guess the Only if Josh Plays Too birthday party incident is still fresh in her mind. She lets out a long breath. “Fine,” she agrees. “But just as friends. With a boy as shy as Andrew you have to go slow. I don’t want to scare him off.”

  “You know, you dating Andrew could work out well for all of us. Just think of how much better our math marks will be!”

  Mattie groans and tries to smack me again but I’m too fast for her and I duck just in time. I admit it was kind of a lame joke, but those are the kind that Benji likes best. Sure enough, Benji smiles, but it’s not enough to put an end to the guilt eating away at my stomach.

  Day Six. After two days of complete and utter telephonic silence, the phone rings. I run for it, expecting to hear Michael on the other end of the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Clarissa! Just the gal I wanted to talk to! Doug here. I was just wondering, is this play the sort of thing you dress up for?”

  “I don’t think it matters.”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “I haven’t thought about it yet,” I say honestly. It depends on whether or not Michael comes. Mattie thinks I should wear skirts more often, but if I’m going to put myself through the torture of wearing a skirt, it better be for a good reason. I guess Michael is a good enough reason.

  “Better put your mother on, I’ll see what she’s wearing and go from there.”

  “It’s not prom, Doug.”

  “Put her on anyways. I haven’t heard her dulcet tones all day.”

  Barf.

  Mom and Doug talk for what feels like an eternity, but it turns out to be only seven minutes. I know because I keep looking at the clock on the DVD player. It would be just my luck that Michael would call while my mom was on the phone. When the gush-fest is over, I keep the phone by my side while I watch television. This way I will be the first to pick it up if it rings again. And sure enough, half an hour later, it does.

  “Hello?”

  “Minipop? Is that you?”

  “Hi, Janine.”

  “I just heard the news! You must be so thrilled! You know, I’ve been praying for your mama every night. I got my sister, my husband Gary, my friend Sandy and her husband Eric, Jen from my office, my priest, and a bunch of other people to remember your mama in their prayers and look how things turned out! Even if you’re not the religious type, you can’t deny the power of positive thought.”

  “I guess not. Well, thanks, Janine.”

  “Listen, is your mother there? I wouldn’t mind speaking to her myself.”

  “I think she’s with a client,” I lie. “Can she call you back?”

  “Sure thing, Minipop! I’m just so pleased for the two of you!”

  I hang up and hope that a little white lie doesn’t undo all that positive energy Janine and company have sent our way. Maybe it is just a bunch of hocus-pocus, but I’m in no position to sneer at any healing methods right now.

  When the phone rings again, I think, this is it; third time’s the charm.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, may I speak to Clarissa, please?”

  “Mattie, I can’t talk,” I say shortly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m waiting for a phone call!”

  “From Michael?”

  I bristle at the pity in Mattie’s voice. “No!”

  “No?”

  “Well … maybe.”

  “It’s okay, Clarissa. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’d be doing the same thing if I were you.
”

  “Can we talk later?”

  “Of course! Call me the second you get off the phone with Michael.”

  “I will.”

  “Promise?”

  “I said I will, Mattie.”

  “I’ll send you good vibes! Bye!”

  But I don’t end up calling Mattie later. Why would I, when there is nothing to report? After all that activity, the phone is silent for the rest of the night.

  Late

  “Is this exciting, or what? I just can’t imagine that shy little thing up there in front of all these people, singing and dancing!” We haven’t been here five minutes and already I want to kill Denise.

  Mattie isn’t helping much. “I know!” she gushes. “He can barely put up his hand in class! It’s like we’re witnessing a transformation right before our eyes!”

  I scan the crowds for Michael, who said he would meet us here. My arms are full of flowers, a congratulations card I made myself, and the soundtrack of a musical called Wicked, wrapped up in the comics section of yesterday’s newspaper. I’d never heard of Wicked before, but Charity told him about it and it’s all Benji’s been talking about for weeks. I couldn’t find it anywhere, so Doug helped me order it online.

  Everyone is washed and dressed up for the occasion, even Doug. He managed to find a nice shirt and tie to wear. Mom teases him about the tie, making a big show of straightening it and telling him that he cleans up nice.

  “I should wear a tie more often,” Doug jokes.

  I recognize the tie from the day I went rooting around in his closet but I don’t say a word.

  Mom is wearing a pearl pendant on a chain. It was a gift from Doug. I’m not really into jewellery, but even I have to admit that it’s pretty. It looks like a glossy white raindrop.

  “Wow,” Mattie whispers. “How much do you think that necklace cost?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not like it’s a ring.”

  Mattie’s eyes shine. “If they get married, will you invite me to the wedding?”

  “Where’s Michael?” Mom asks.

  I shrug, but don’t make eye contact with her. Doug gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry, he’ll turn up. Mikey is a real stand-up guy, isn’t that right, Clarissa?”

  I don’t really feel like defending him right now, so I pretend not to hear.

  Suddenly Mattie digs her nails into my arm. “Look!” she whispers. “It’s Andrew!”

  “Ouch.” I remove my arm from her grasp, rubbing the little white marks left by her nails, which have been filed into talons.

  “Andrew! Over here!” Andrew turns at the sound of his name and reddens as soon as he catches sight of Mattie, waving her arms and grinning like a maniac. I can’t tell if he’s blushing because he actually likes Mattie or if he’s embarrassed. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. He nods his head curtly, to show that he’s seen us, and starts weaving his way through the crowd toward us.

  Denise gives Mattie’s shoulder a nudge. “What a cutie! Good job, Mattie.”

  “He really is cute,” Mattie giggles. “Look at his pants! I think they’re pressed!”

  Andrew arrives and Mattie puts on a big show about introducing him to everyone. He really is a nice boy, and a much better choice than Josh or Declan. Mattie can’t stop smiling. I’m happy she’s finally found a crush who is worthy of her admittedly intense affection. I hope Andrew doesn’t scare easily.

  The doors have opened and people are starting to file into the theatre. Doug does a quick head count.

  “All right, so I’ve got seven tickets and six people, who are we missing?”

  “Just Michael,” Mattie says.

  “We should probably go in now. Clarissa, why don’t you wait out here for Michael and we’ll save you a couple of seats,” Doug suggests.

  “Sure,” I say.

  Mattie looks concerned. “Do you want me to wait with you?” she asks.

  “No, I’m fine. Besides you probably shouldn’t leave Andrew alone with everyone else. He looks pretty overwhelmed.”

  “Well, if you’re sure you’re okay …”

  “I am.”

  Mattie gives me a big hug, nearly squeezing the life out of me. For someone with such little upper body strength, she sure is a powerful hugger. “I’ll save you a seat next to me, okay?” she says.

  “Great.”

  And then she hurries into the theatre.

  As more and more people arrive, I start to get nervous. The woman taking tickets at the door keeps smiling sympathetically at me. When there is a lull in people, she asks, “Waiting for someone?”

  “Obviously,” I snap.

  She doesn’t smile at me again.

  Five minutes to go. Where is Michael? I can’t believe he wouldn’t show. He promised he would come. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would say one thing and do another. Even if he is embarrassed about the whole kissing fiasco (it still hurts to think of it as a fiasco — how can something be so important to one person and mean nothing to another?) this isn’t about me, it’s about Benji. It’s like Mattie says, Michael is one of us; when he decided to help bring Terry DiCarlo down last year, he was making a silent pact with us. We were more than friends; we were partners in crime, protectors of the innocent, defenders of justice. He risked detention and possible bodily harm for Benji last year, the least he could do is show up for his play.

  “You should probably go take your seat,” the woman at the door says. “Does your friend have a ticket already?”

  “No, I bought it for him.”

  “I’m not allowed to let latecomers in during the scenes,” she says. “But if you want to leave it here with me, I can sneak him in during the applause.”

  I feel bad for snapping at her before. “That would be nice, thanks.”

  “What’s his name?” she asks.

  “Michael. Michael Greenblat.”

  Two minutes to go and the door swings open. The woman smiles brightly. “Right under the wire, is this your friend?”

  But it’s not Michael.

  Star

  The Dentonator nods at me. “Clarissa,” he says.

  “You’re late,” I point out.

  “Yeah, I had to change at work. Wasn’t sure if I was going to make it.”

  I look at his shirt, buttoned up to the neck and tucked into his jeans, and I can’t remember the last time I saw Benji’s dad in anything but a t-shirt.

  The lights flick off and on.

  “The show’s about to start,” the woman at the door says.

  The Dentonator takes off his ball cap and runs his fingers through his hat hair. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

  “Sure, my mom is saving us seats.”

  The show is wonderful. It’s so good, I almost forget that it’s supposed to be Michael sitting beside me, not the Dentonator. Charity, of course, is amazing. Her trademark mane is hidden under a dark wig, plaited into Dorothy’s signature braids. After a while, I forget that I’m watching Charity and I start to think of her only as Dorothy. Everyone is great, but she has an extra something that makes her stand out. I guess that’s what they call star quality.

  Benji doesn’t come on stage until halfway through the first act. I know the story by heart, so after the scene with the Tin Man, I start to get nervous for him. I guess Mattie does, too, because she grabs my hand and holds on tight. On my other side, the Dentonator shifts in his seat. Is it my imagination, or is he leaning forward a little?

  And then there he is. I smile the whole time he’s on stage — I can’t help it, he’s that good! He speaks louder than I’ve ever heard him speak before, and his Cowardly Lion stutter is spot on. He doesn’t sound nervous at all; he sounds perfect.

  As the lights go down, the audience laughs and cheers. My entire row, the whole rowdy gang of us, is the first to jump up and give a standing ovation. I want to shout, that’s my best friend, that’s my Benji! But instead, I clap along with the audience, practically bursting with pride.

/>   After the show, we wait in the lobby for the actors to exit the dressing rooms. There are lots of people around, holding flowers and smiling and laughing about the show.

  Denise is practically beside herself with glee. “Well son of a gun, can you believe it? I just can’t believe it! He was amazing, wasn’t he? He truly was amazing! I never would have guessed.”

  One by one, the actors emerge, wearing regular clothes, but still in their heavy stage makeup. The girls wear false eyelashes and lots of blue eye shadow. The boys’ faces have been mostly wiped clean, but you can still see a shadow of eyeliner around their eyes and traces of red lipstick on their lips. They smile bashfully as people cheer and shower them with applause and hugs. There is a loud cheer when Charity emerges, looking tired but happy, her magnificent hair flattened on top from her wig. She catches my eye and gives me a little wave before being swallowed by a group of adoring fans.

  The Dentonator actually looks uncomfortable, for once in his life. He keeps shifting his weight from side to side, looking at the clock, at the door, and then at us. Maybe it’s because he’s wearing a collared shirt.

  “Do you have to be somewhere?” I ask pointedly.

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to bring flowers,” he says, gazing at the hordes of people bearing large bouquets. I wish I could take back my tone. I feel sorry for him. How was he supposed to know? It’s not like anyone gave him flowers after a big hockey game. As far as I know, this is the first time the Dentonator has ever stepped foot inside a theatre.

  I hand him my bouquet. “Here,” I say, “you can take these.”

  “No, I couldn’t. You bought them so you should give them to him.”

  “It’s okay, I have something else for him, too.”

  But the Dentonator shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  “I think I saw a woman selling roses by the concession stand at intermission,” Mom says gently. “I’m sure she has some left over.”

  The Dentonator looks relieved. “Thanks, Annie. I’ll go check that out.”