Life in the No-Dating Zone

by Patricia B Tighe

  “But once we got started it was good.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now we need y’all to hang out together.”

  I pulled over in front of her house. “How’re we gonna do that?”

  “I don’t know yet. I need to call and see what she’s got going on. When do you work?”

  “Tonight, tomorrow night, and Saturday afternoon.” I bit into the last quarter piece of the cinnamon roll. “When does Adam get back?”

  “Late Sunday night, I think.” Claire licked one of her fingers. She had crumbs on her lips and almost a full icing mustache.

  “You know, for such a careful eater you’re making one holy mess.”

  “Some things are just meant to be eaten that way,” she said, but pulled a tissue out of her purse and wiped her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll get the crumbs off the seat.”

  She still had a smudge of icing at the corner of her mouth. “You missed a spot.”

  “Where?”

  She started to pull down the visor to look in the mirror, but I spoke without thinking. “I’ll get it.”

  “I can—”

  “No, it’s okay.” And as I reached for her face, a voice screamed in my head. What are you doing? You’re about to touch a girl’s face! The wrong girl’s face. But it was too late. My hand was already there. I brushed at the icing with my thumb. And, of course, I brushed it toward her lips. What guy wouldn’t?

  Claire’s breath puffed out across my fingers, but I didn’t make eye contact. I couldn’t. I was too focused on her lips. They were seriously soft. I wanted to run my thumb back and forth across them. But no way. I couldn’t. At least I had enough mental capacity to realize that. But not much more.

  The moment stretched out. It was probably only a few seconds, but it felt longer. She finally pulled away from my hand—not far, like she was mad or anything, just an inch or so. “Did you get it?” she asked, a slight squeak to her voice.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “But you’ll probably want to wash your face.”

  “Thanks. I’d better go.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh. I almost forgot.” She handed me a DVD box from her purse. “Your homework.”

  Homework? What was she talking about? I needed to stop staring at her mouth. “The Phantom of the Opera?”

  “It’s Lindsey’s favorite musical. There’s a CD in there too.”

  Lindsey? Yes, Lindsey, you idiot. The girl you’re supposedly in love with. “I don’t even know if we have a CD player in the house.”

  Claire opened the door. “Well, if you do, you can get more familiar with the music. She’ll be impressed. I promise.”

  “If you say so.”

  She got out and brushed crumbs off the seat. “I’ll text you when I know anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye.”

  “See ya.”

  Claire went toward the house, her hair swinging as she walked. I’d never realized how long it was—all the way to the middle of her back. She usually wore it in a ponytail. The door closed behind her with a sturdy thump. I jerked, then rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. Why was I noticing her hair? It was the wrong hair. Wrong color. Wrong girl.

  Lindsey. This was all about Lindsey. That’s why I was spending so much time with Claire. I’d just gotten used to her, that’s all. It only made sense I’d start noticing things about her. But she wasn’t Lindsey. And now that I might have a chance to start a relationship with Lindsey, I wasn’t about to blow it by staring at some other girl’s hair or body.

  Or by thinking about her soft lips.

  I drove away, wishing I’d never touched her.

  Fifteen

  Claire

  “I’m back,” I said as I came through the door.

  “Oh good,” Mom called from the kitchen.

  But I couldn’t see her right then. After what had just happened with Gray, I needed to be alone. “I’ll be down in a minute. Need to go to the bathroom.”

  I ran upstairs, shut the bathroom door, and locked it. Then looked at myself in the mirror. There was still a tiny bit of cinnamon roll icing by my bottom lip. I scooped water into my dry mouth, then pulled my hair into a ponytail, and took off my glasses. I washed my face completely, taking off my eye makeup and everything. When I was done, I had black under-eye mascara rings and cheeks red from scrubbing. But no amount of cleaning could take away the memory of Gray’s thumb on my lips.

  I dropped the toilet seat cover and plopped down. Why did he have to do that? I didn’t want to be aware of him as a guy, as someone I could be attracted to. I wanted to keep things on a friendship level. I’m sure he did too.

  Even though I didn’t plan to date in high school, I wasn’t so stupid to think I wouldn’t have crushes from time to time. I just wouldn’t let them go anywhere. And I definitely didn’t want to crush on a boy who was in love with one of my best friends.

  But he was cute. And smart. And funny.

  And in love with your best friend!

  Ugh. I got up and tissued off the mascara with makeup remover, then stared at my mouth. What had he seen when he touched me? Why had he left his hand there so long? I traced the path his thumb had taken with my fingertips. And even now, I still felt a tingle remembering the bit of roughness about his thumb.

  Gah. I threw away the tissue. This was stupid. Gray was my friend. He had a crush on Lindsey. He was simply helping me clean off my face. That was all. It didn’t mean anything.

  There was no way I would let it mean anything.

  I went downstairs to see if Mom needed help with Baby Jack.

  Sixteen

  Gray

  The door from the garage into the kitchen banged shut and my dad’s voice rang out, “Hello, everybody!”

  “Dad, Dad!” my little brothers screamed as they came running in from the game room.

  I paused the movie. At the other end of the couch, Berger grunted. “This flick is for creepers.”

  “Yup.”

  My father walked into the den with one of my brothers clinging to each arm like happy leeches. He looked wiped. His bright blue tie hung loose around his neck and his few eye wrinkles seemed deeper than ever.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said.

  “Grayson’s watching opera,” Marcus said as though this news might get me in trouble.

  “Is he?” Dad said. “This must be stopped, I think.”

  Marcus giggled.

  “Whose turn is it today?” Travis said.

  My father ruffled the red curls Travis got from our mom. “Yours, and you know it.” Dad handed him his dark brown leather briefcase. “Carefully on the desk, remember.”

  Travis took off at a determined pace.

  Marcus jumped up and down. “What about me?”

  “Today your mission is the jacket. Can you handle such responsibility?”

  Marcus saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Dad shrugged off his gray suit coat and passed it to him. “On the bed neatly. No throwing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Marcus said, then dashed up the stairs as fast as six-year-old legs could move.

  “He’s gonna step on it,” I said.

  Dad sank into the leather recliner. “It’s okay. The whole suit needs to go to the cleaners anyway.”

  “How’re you doing, Mr. Langley?” Berger asked.

  “Fine, Trey. A little tired. So, you boys enjoying an afternoon of opera?”

  Berger laughed.

  “We’re watching The Phantom of the Opera,” I said.

  “Can I ask why?”

  I shifted in my seat. “Uh, there’s … ”

  My dad waited, his elbow on the arm of the chair, his head on his hand as if he was only idly curious. But I didn’t know what to say. I’d never told him about any of the girls I’d liked over the years. Never really wanted him to get involved in any way. Even last year when I’d gone out with Savannah Birmingham a couple of times—doomed because I really liked Lindsey—I’d given him the least amount of i
nformation possible. And he hadn’t pushed it.

  But now … now it was worse. It almost seemed like talking about Lindsey would jinx it.

  “There’s a girl,” Berger said.

  “Obviously,” Dad said.

  Great. Blurt it all out, why don’t you? I glared at Berger. “Thanks for the help.”

  “No problem,” he said.

  “A girl who presumably likes that movie?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “And do you like it?”

  “No,” Berger said.

  I laughed. “It has its moments.”

  “Really?” Dad asked. “I’m told it’s very romantic.”

  “Who says?” Berger asked.

  Dad grinned. “A woman.”

  I set the TV remote on the floor so I wouldn’t accidentally turn the movie back on. Anything to ignore the stares I was getting. “Just because you don’t like musicals doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

  “No, but do you like it?”

  “Well, I can see why some people—”

  “I think I have my answer,” Dad said.

  Berger laughed. “And there’s not just one girl, Mr. Langley.”

  “Oh?”

  I heaved across the couch and slugged Berger in the shoulder. “You can stop talking now.”

  But Berger adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose like he did when he was about to say something he thinks is really funny. “There’s also a girl who keeps following him around and a girl who’s training him how to act around the girl he likes.”

  Dad frowned. “Not sure I understand, but this sounds like a longer conversation.”

  I could have strangled Berger—a feeling I was completely used to. “Thanks for everything.”

  He showed me his teeth. “I aim to please.”

  My brothers’ pounding footsteps echoed from upstairs. Dad glanced up. “Not right now, though.” He gave me his serious look. “You know you shouldn’t change who you are for a girl, right?”

  “I know, I know.”

  “I mean it, Grayson.”

  I wanted to hit Berger even harder for starting all this. “It’s no big deal, Dad. I’m just checking out a movie she likes, that’s all.”

  Dad stood up and eyed me. “We’ll talk more later.” He fished out his wallet. “When do y’all have to leave for work?”

  “An hour.”

  He tossed thirty dollars on the coffee table. “Order some pizza, will you? I need to change.”

  “Okay.”

  He started to walk out, but turned back. “Have you heard from your mother?”

  “No, why?”

  “She said something about needing to switch the time y’all get there on Friday.”

  Oh, no. I’d completely forgotten. “That’s not this weekend, is it?”

  “Why, you have plans?”

  “I have to work.”

  “You always have to work.”

  “Yeah, but I—”

  My brothers raced in, saving me from finishing. Travis catapulted himself against Dad. “I win, I win.”

  “You cheated,” Marcus said.

  “You’ll need to work it out with your mother,” Dad said, then put a hand on each of my brothers’ heads. “Race you boys upstairs!” They took off with a loud clatter, my dad shouting, “I’m coming!” and my brothers shrieking.

  I stared at the paused movie screen. The Phantom was definitely ticked off. So was I. How could I spend all my available free time at my mom’s place this weekend? It was a forty-five minute drive—and that was if traffic was good. It would make it harder to do anything Claire might cook up for me with Lindsey. And we didn’t have much time before Adam got back. Even worse, my mom would want me to sit around with her and her old husband Mel while she tried to work on her relationships with my brothers and me. The ones she’d walked away from four years ago.

  “Order the pizza, man,” Berger said. “I’m starving.”

  I shook myself and grabbed my phone from the end table. “Right.”

  What was Claire going to say about all this?

  Seventeen

  Claire

  The credits rolled on The Phantom of the Opera and Lindsey clicked the DVD player off. “Still fabulous.”

  “But sad,” I said.

  “Yeah, but fabulous. I’m so glad you thought of doing this. It’s been too long.”

  Perfect. She walked right into my evil plan. I was having trouble coming up with situations where Gray could just happen to stop by. It would be so much easier if school had already started and he could join us for lunch and things like that. But it hadn’t. So I figured it was time to find out what Lindsey might want to do. “True. It seems like there are a lot of things we haven’t done in a while.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you, me, and Rose having a sleepover. Or Saturday mornings at IHOP. Or singing show tunes in the back of your father’s convertible. Or hiking through the woods at night.”

  She laughed. “We never did that. C’mon, let’s get something to eat.”

  I followed her into the kitchen. “But I know you wanted to. You’re so outdoorsy.”

  “Right.”

  She took salsa from the fridge and poured it in a bowl. Then she grabbed a brand new bag of tostada chips from the pantry. And because Rose’s house and Lindsey’s house were like second homes to me, and because I’m kind of anal, I pulled out an already opened bag of tostada chips and took off its clip.

  Lindsey shook her head. “Still doing that, huh?”

  “Yup. And it’s not going to change anytime soon.”

  She poured iced tea and we sat at barstools at the high kitchen counter. We munched happily for a minute, then I dove right back in. “So what do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About having breakfast this Saturday at IHOP.”

  “Uh, not sure.” She bit into her chip.

  “Why not? We could invite a bunch of theater peeps and Rose and Sam. It would be fun.”

  “I don’t know. Sounds like a lot of work.”

  “Then we could keep it small. Just a few of us.”

  Lindsey stared at her glass of tea like she’d forgotten what it was for. Something was definitely wrong. Her bubbly self had gone into hiding. “What’s the matter?”

  “Adam may not come home on Sunday.”

  Hooray! I worked to keep my voice level. “Why not?”

  “His parents have to come back for work, but his grandparents want him to stay a couple days longer, so he might.”

  “He can’t be gone too long. That’s the last week before school.”

  “I know.” She stirred the salsa around in the bowl with a chip. “I just hate it because when he lived there two years ago, he had a really serious girlfriend. He’d been there all his life until he came here.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “And now I think he wants to stay so he can spend time with her.”

  Hmm. I’d seen Lindsey happy about a guy or furious with a guy, but I didn’t remember ever seeing her bummed out over a guy. She’d never needed to be. Her relationships were usually short and there was always another guy waiting in the wings. I wasn’t sure how to react, and I felt like a real pig for being happy Adam wasn’t around. Maybe I should’ve just thought about the fact that she liked him.

  I gently pushed her hand to one side of the bowl and dipped my chip. “Why do you think so?”

  “I don’t know. He seemed kind of edgy on the phone—like he couldn’t wait to hang up.”

  “Could you be misreading it?”

  “Maybe. But I doubt it.”

  “He’s an idiot then.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “No, he’s not.”

  “Tell me something—and don’t get mad—”

  She angled her head at me like she was already angry. “What?”

  “Why do you like him?”

  Lindsey straightened into her defensive posture.


  I held up a hand. “Don’t get mad, don’t get mad. I’m not saying anything bad about him.” Although I wanted to. “He’s just so different from the guys you’ve dated before and from the guys you’re friends with.”

  Her expression grew thoughtful. “Well, besides the fact that he’s a Latin god … ”

  “Yeah, besides that.”

  “He just gets me. I don’t have to perform for him. I don’t have to make him laugh like I do everybody else.”

  “You have to make people laugh?”

  “You know what it’s like at school during lunch. People hanging—”

  “Boys.”

  “Boys hanging around our table like they’re waiting for the next show. I always have to be ‘on.’”

  This was news. And if it was true, I couldn’t believe I’d missed it. How could I possibly not have known this about Lindsey? She’d been a friend since kindergarten. I sipped my tea. “I thought you liked it.”

  “I do. Most of the time. But there are days I want to just sit there and eat.”

  “So do it.”

  She shoved her bag of chips away. “And have everybody asking me what’s wrong? It’s easier to just perform.”

  A low thud echoed from the front of the house. “Anybody home?” a deep voice called out.

  Lindsey and I stared at each other. “No way,” she whispered.

  Eighteen

  Claire

  “In the kitchen,” Lindsey yelled.

  I curled my toes around the metal rung of the barstool. There was no mistaking that voice, even if I hadn’t heard it in months—Lindsey’s brother, Austin.

  Austin, with his big nose and ready smile, who could make any girl feel beautiful. Austin, who I’d fallen in love with when I was eight years old and was ready to marry until he broke my heart by going off to college when I was eleven.

  At twenty-three, he lived somewhere in Dallas and didn’t come home very often. Having siblings who were so much older than us was one of the reasons Lindsey and I got along so well when we were little. It was nice to know there was someone else who felt like she’d been born too late.

  Austin strolled into the kitchen, whistling. His handsome face lit up when he saw us. “Hey!”