Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK

by Betsy St. Amant

  Dad managed to wait until Mr. Keegan cleared the end of the row before leveling a Look at me. I’d only gotten the Look twice before in my entire life. Once, when I was nine and let the neighborhood dog inside our house for a bath and ended up soaping the entire hallway. The second time was when I was twelve and missed curfew by three hours because of losing myself in a book at the public library. Dad had called the police, and I remembered their laughs now as I rushed up the walkway to the front door. “We’ve got kids across town pushing drugs, and he’s worried because his little girl is studying too hard.”

  I cleared my throat, deciding it would be wise to speak first. “Mr. Keegan asked me at church a few weeks back to make friends with Wes. He’s worried about him and thinks I’d be a good influence.” Odd how the image Wes painted of his dad and the Mr. Keegan I knew at church seemed composed by two different artists. But that was a thought to ponder another time—like when Dad’s eyes weren’t shooting sparks. I quickly continued. “So, I ran into Wes a few times at Got Beans, and we started talking.”

  “Talking? Do you mean the literal term of talking as in having a conversation, or talking as in the weird dating language you teenagers have today?” Dad crossed his arms over his polo.

  “The first one.” Which was true. Dad didn’t ask me if I’d kissed him, and I wasn’t about to volunteer that information. But if I had any hopes of going on a real date with Wes, my one opening loomed before me. It was probably the smallest window I’d ever seen, but it was there, and I had to try.

  I took a deep breath. “But now that you mention it, Wes has hinted around about wanting to ask me out.” Better to ease Dad into the idea than blurt out that Wes already had. “You know, one day. In the future.”

  Dad lifted one eyebrow, and I had the uncanny urge to raise mine back. “And?”

  “And … I’d like to go.” A glimmer of an idea blazed across my mind, a flash of hope as quick as a lightning bug on a summer night. I schooled my tone back to a disinterested drawl. “Sort of how you’d like to go out with Ms. Hawthorne.” I risked a peek at him from under my lowered lashes.

  Dad stared at me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he respected my crafty train of thought or just wanted to ground me for life for even implying such a bargain out loud. Probably both.

  We stood in a silent stare down as shoppers brushed past us. A woman plucked a box of tampons from behind Dad’s right shoulder, yet he never blinked. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head, could sense him weighing his desire to go out with Ms. Hawthorne against his desire to keep me eternally eleven years old and horse crazy instead of boy crazy.

  His shoulders slumped slightly. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” I hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, but shocked was an understatement.

  Dad tilted his head to one side. “On one condition.”

  “Fair enough.” My heart raced. What condition? That I wear a chastity belt? Polish my promise ring? Never shave my legs again?

  “It has to be a double date. I don’t trust him alone with you.” He rubbed his fingers down the length of his face. “Any boy, for that matter, but especially that one.”

  I almost didn’t even hear the insult directed at Wes. “Double date?” My lips twisted to the side as I thought. Who in the world could Wes and I double with? Definitely not Claire and Austin—assuming he was even giving her the time of day yet. Maybe Marta. Marta and … who? My eyes widened. Luke. Marta and Luke. She’d do it for me because she was my friend, and Luke would do it … well, Luke would do it because of the rose. I’d have some fast talking to do, but it could work.

  I exhaled loudly. “Fine. Double date it is.”

  “Okay, then.” Dad sized me up with another look then nodded once and started pushing the cart down the aisle. I cast a glance up at him as I matched his pace, unable to stop smiling.

  I think for the first time in our entire lives, we understood each other.

  I bounced the basketball under my palm, the feel of the orangey-brown rubber more foreign to me than Taco Bell was to Marta. I was book smart, not sports smart—or even remotely coordinated, for that matter. If my gym teacher had seen the apple incident in the grocery store last night, I could guarantee she’d have removed all sports equipment from my reach.

  A few feet across the hard gym floor, Marta held out her hands to catch the ball. “A double date?”

  I tossed it to her. It bounced once between us before landing in her manicured hands. Her host mom had insisted they get matching mani-pedis the night before. I avoided looking at my own ragged nails, which could more than stand a coat of clear polish or two. “Have you ever been on one?”

  Marta shrugged. “We go out in groups a lot in Stuttgart. Is that the same thing?”

  “Sort of. But don’t worry, it’ll be fun.” I had yet to convince Wes of this fact, though, or even see him since our kiss for that matter. I offered my cell number as he walked me home that night, but he just said he’d find me. If this had been any other guy, I’d have feared I was getting the dreaded brush-off. But for some reason, I trusted he’d be around. Maybe it was the look in his eye after our kiss. Or the way he’d said “PK” in that tone that was pure Wes.

  I shivered and rubbed my bare arms. Despite the late-October chill outside, the air conditioner in the gym was running, and here we were in the most ugly blue-and-yellow gym outfits known to man. No one else looked cold, though. Probably because they weren’t remembering being kissed by a leather-wearing, tattoo-sporting, motorcycle-driving hottie.

  Marta threw the ball to me. “I will go. Anything to avoid another shopping trip with my host family. So who is my date?”

  “Luke. He’s in my English class.” I lobbed it back.

  The ball stopped abruptly in Marta’s grip. “The one whosent you the rose?”

  “That’s him.”

  “And you want me to go out with him? Tonight?” She laughed, loudly enough to cause stares from the other students in our class doing this stupid passing exercise. “While you’re with another guy?”

  “I didn’t say it was ideal.” Far from ideal, actually. I clapped my hands for the ball, ready to get it over with. The gym exercise. The pending conversation with Luke. This potentially disastrous double date. All of it. Why did my dad have to have his dating rules? If he could go out with my teacher, why couldn’t I go out with who I wanted? I’d given my dad about this much grief during my entire life, and instead of more trust, I just got more rules.

  Although when I was with Wes, I sort of understood why Dad had them.

  I shook my head, my frustration peaking. “So are you on board or not? And don’t pretend you don’t know what the phrase means.”

  Marta attempted to spin the ball on one finger like our gym teacher had earlier in the period. “Ja, I’m on board. I’m not saying this won’t be a sinking ship, though.” The ball fell to the ground with a thump, and she scooped it up. “Do you want me to help you convince Luke? You know, smile and bat my eyes?”

  She fluttered her lashes at me dramatically, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe this date would be okay after all. At least I had my new best friend as backup.

  Now to convince Luke he wanted to go with Marta instead of with me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ding-dong.

  My hand jerked, smearing lip gloss from my mouth to the bottom of my chin in a sticky trail of Think Pink. Wes was here. I darted from my bedroom mirror to my purse to check the time on my cell phone. 6:28 p.m. He was even on time. No, actually, two minutes early.

  What had I done to the guy?

  I zipped my purse and took one last look at my reflection, my heart hammering so loudly I was surprised the floor didn’t vibrate under my feet. Luke and Marta were meeting us at the movie theater in thirty minutes, then we were getting coffee afterward at Got Beans. I figured sitting silently for two hours in the dark before any of us were expected to make conversation would be a smooth way to avoid the awkward factor
—especially after Luke’s reluctance to the whole arrangement and Marta’s pretend, yet exaggerated, offense at his hesitation. Oh, today had held one afternoon I was glad I never had to repeat.

  Not that Wes had taken to the idea of a double date any better, but when I’d confirmed that was the only way it would happen, he’d agreed with only three eye rolls. I’d expected more.

  The bell chimed again, jolting my feet into action.

  Dad and I reached the door at the same time, and I coughed at the sudden wave of Old Spice. “What did you do, shower with that stuff?” I waved my hand in front of my face His cheeks reddened. “I might have spilled it.” His date with Ms. Hawthorne—Kathy? Was there a different protocol when your teacher was dating your father?—was tonight, too, and he was obviously more than a little nervous. “Is it too much?”

  I patted his shoulder, so grateful he’d allowed me my (supervised) freedom for the evening that I felt downright compassionate. “It’ll be fine. Just drive with the windows down the first ten minutes.”

  He reached for the doorknob, and I hip-checked him out of the way before realizing that wasn’t exactly respectful. “Sorry.” I braced my back against the door as the bell chimed a third time. “I was going to get it.”

  “Then get it already.” Dad smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt, and I could swear there was a slight tremble to them.

  I yanked open the door, all smiles. Ms. Hawthorne smiled back. “Oh. Hi.” Not Wes. I should have known he wouldn’t be early. I stepped aside and waved her in. Why hadn’t Dad gone to pick her up? Weird.

  “Hello, Addison.” She entered the foyer and grinned at my father. “David.”

  “You look nice.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, and I grabbed his elbow before he could start nervously jingling his spare change.

  “Dad, better hurry. You guys don’t want to be late.” And if he wasn’t there when Wes arrived, even better. I wouldn’t have to deal with the overprotective looks and any embarrassing claims about shotguns (that we didn’t own).

  Too late. Wes appeared over Ms. Hawthorne’s shoulder onthe front stoop. “Hey.”

  I smiled back. “Hey.” Then we stood together in the foyer, one truly uncomfortable, awkward group of people.

  “Well, we should get going.” Dad broke the silence first and motioned for Ms. Hawthorne to step outside. “Addison.” He ushered me through the doorway next, pausing momentarily to shake Wes’s hand. “Wes.”

  “Sir.” He nodded, reclaiming his hand as quickly as possible. But I could tell it took a lot for Wes to say anything at all, and somehow it just endeared him to me further. He really was trying—for me. Me. Not Poodle—er, Sonya.

  We all stepped outside in the evening air, the brisk breeze a welcome relief to the nervous sweat breaking out along my hairline. Dad locked the door behind us, and I headed down the driveway toward—oh no. Wes’s motorcycle! Group date or not, there would be no way Dad would let me on that thing. My mind conjured and rejected a dozen excuses and justifications before I realized Wes had brought his dad’s Jeep instead. Crisis averted. Apparently he’d thought ahead as well.

  Or just figured I was still too much of a gummi bear to get on his bike again.

  Wes headed for his side of the Jeep, keys in hand. I decided to overlook his lack of opening the door for me. Again, this whole date-night, movie-and-popcorn thing was new to him. He deserved a few breaks. Besides, who really did that anymore?

  Dad hesitated on his way to our sedan on the other side of the drive. “Shouldn’t we all ride together?”

  I froze, one hand on the handle of the passenger door of the Jeep. “Why?” He didn’t even trust me in a car alone with Wes for the three minutes it took to drive to Crooked Hollow Theater? What did he think would happen? Good grief, there were only two Stop signs between our house and our

  destination. Please don’t embarrass me.

  Dad opened the passenger door of the sedan for Ms. Hawthorne, and I felt a random pang of resentment that Wes hadn’t done that for me. I shot a sidelong glance at Wes, but he didn’t seem to realize my train of thought. He tossed his keys from one hand to the other as he impatiently waited for my dad’s explanation. And Dad better have one because if he thought for one minute I would get in that car with him and—

  “It makes more sense to ride together.” Dad shut the door and walked around to his side. “And it would save Wes the gas money.”

  “But the movie theater is across town from Got Beans. Isn’t that where you’re going?” Not that that reason carried much weight, since it literally meant a five-minute difference, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Dad rubbed his hand over his forehead. “That’s where we’re going.”

  “Right. You and Ms. Hawthorne.”

  Dad’s brow pinched. “And you and Wes.”

  A prickle of dread started at my midsection and worked its way up to my chest, stabbing with tiny needles of fear. My mouth dried. I couldn’t breathe. Dad and I stared at each other as our conversation in the grocery store slowly replayed in my mind in painful slow motion. “It has to be a double date…. I don’t trust him alone with you…. Fine, double date it is….” I had automatically assumed a double date with friends, while Dad obviously meant with him and Ms. Hawthorne.

  Oh man. This was worse than going down. This was dive-bombing. This was exploding from the sky in a burst of fire.

  Panic gripped my throat in a relentless vise. I glanced at Wes, whose face paled as he widened his eyes at me and shook his head.

  This. Was. Not. Happening.

  Me and Wes? Going out with my dad and my teacher? And on a Friday night, no less? If anyone from school saw us, the rumor mill wouldn’t just churn. It’d self-implode.

  I clenched my hands into fists. This was a war. I must fight. For my dignity. For my new relationship with Wes that was about to be destroyed before it even got started. For overprotected teenage girls everywhere.

  This was my moment.

  Clearing my throat, I shoved down the panic and tried for diplomacy. “Dad, I think we misunderstood each other.”

  He paused, one hand braced on the open door of his car. Inside the vehicle, Ms. Hawthorne twisted in her seat, watching the back-and-forth dialogue with a confused frown. “How so?”

  “When you said double date, I thought you meant with my friends. I made plans with Luke and Marta from school.” I held up my cell phone, as if it could somehow justify my story.

  Dad shrugged, my cell apparently not relying the proper message. “Cancel.”

  Cancel? After all the grief I went through just getting Luke to agree to go on a double date—with another girl instead of me? I’d embarrassed him enough just by asking. My heart actually hurt. I pressed a hand to my chest. Was this a heart attack? Was I going to fall out in the driveway beside Wes’s Jeep? I could hear the teaser news trailer now. “Teenage girl dies of mortification overload. Details at eleven.”

  “Dad, I can’t.”

  “Then I’m afraid Wes has to go home.”

  I turned to Wes, pleading with my eyes for him to agree. He shook his head, hands raised as if he wasn’t touching this with a ten-foot pole. I didn’t blame him. I rushed around to his side of the Jeep and stood in front of him, my back to my father.

  “This is our only chance. Please.”

  “I didn’t sign up for going out with your dad, Addison. He’s my father’s pastor.” He grimaced. “Do you know how weird that is?”

  “Ms. Hawthorne is my English teacher.” I laughed, the sound void of any humor. “I could write a manual on weird.”

  Wes groaned. “Are you really asking me to do this?” He ran a hand over his hair and sighed, glancing down at me and then away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” I widened my eyes and tried to look even sadder than I had that day at Screamin’ Cones. It hadn’t worked on the clerk, but maybe Wes cared a little more. He better.

  “Like I just kick
ed your puppy.” He tilted his head to one side. “Actually, I’d rather let a dog bite me than go out with your dad.”

  “Very funny.” I gripped his arm, willing him to look into my eyes. “Listen, you already agreed to a double date. Let’s get this over with. Then next time can be just us.”

  His eyes said he doubted it, and I sort of did, too, but my arsenal of weapons was rapidly depleting. I squeezed his arm. “Please. For me? I’ll even buy your coffee.”

  He smiled then, and I knew he was budging. “With whip?”

  “And sprinkles.”

  Wes snorted. “You come anywhere near my coffee with sprinkles, and we’re going to fight.” His eyes smoldered as he looked down at me, and I sort of wished he’d kiss me again. Then I remembered my dad was standing about fifteen feet behind me and changed my mind.

  “So, deal?”

  “Deal.” Wes stepped away from me and exhaled so loud his breath clouded in the evening air.

  Victory! “We’ll meet you at Got Beans,” I called across the driveway to my dad. He shook his head but got in the carwithout further comment. I slid into the Jeep, exhausted. I’d won a battle, but the biggest war was still to come.

  I was determined to reschedule my double date with Luke and Marta.

  SORRY, DATE’S OFF. WILL RESCHEDULE.

  HAHA. U AMERICANS HAVE ODD SENSE OF HUMOR.

  NO, 4 REAL. LONG STORY. BUT WE R ALREADY HERE!

  I’M SO SORRY.

  LUKE BOUGHT POPCORN AND IS TAKING ALL THE BUTTERED PIECES.

  NO SYMPATHY. I’M AT GOT BEANS WITH MY DAD AND ENGLISH TEACHER.

  OH. YEAH.

  WILL PRAY 4 U.

  I smirked at Marta’s last text then turned my phone off and dropped it in my purse. She’d better pray hard because if Wes leaned any farther away from the table, he was going to fall out of his chair. I’d never been more convinced of body language telling a story more so than when I looked at Wes’s crossed arms, slumped shoulders, and legs angled toward the door. Everything about him screamed “escape,” and I could more than relate.