Hey, Nobody's Perfect

by Ann Herrick

  "Sorry you had a bad day." Ilana slipped on her jacket and gave her hair a final check in the mirror taped inside her locker door. She brushed aside her long bangs. "It's just that I don't think that seeing lots of Keeley and not much of Brad is such a heavy burden."

  "Well, excuse me. I know it's not as serious as people starving in—"

  "I shouldn't lecture so much." Ilana brushed her bangs in the opposite direction. "Just cause I'm going to the game with Gavin …."

  "What? I thought Gavin was only giving you a ride. I didn't know you were 'going with' him."

  "Well, he did say something about heading out to Luigi's for pizza after."

  "Sounds good. Maybe Brad and I will see you guys there."

  "You and Brad?" Ilana rolled her eyes. "Are you—"

  "Hey, Siv!" Keeley wheeled his way next to me and Ilana, bumping some poor freshman out of the way as he maneuvered through the packed hallway. "Are you ready to work on our project?"

  I slapped my forehead. I'd so forgotten that Mom had invited him over for the afternoon—and for dinner. "Oh. Uh. Right. Our project."

  "Gotta run," Ilana said. "Nice to see you, Keeley."

  "You too, Ilana." Keeley pulled a sheet of paper out of his notebook. "I think before we go to your house we should stop at Stan's Market and check some prices. We have to be sure our menu is within budget."

  I hesitated. If everyone kept seeing me ride off with Keeley, they'd get the wrong idea. But other than wearing a sign announcing that we were just partners for a class project, I didn't know what to do. I noticed Keeley tap his fingers on his wheelchair while he waited for my response. I didn't really have much choice. "Sure, let's go to Stan's."

  As we headed down the hall, we passed Marcy, Todd, Brad, and the rest of the entourage. I would've said hi, but I didn't want to call attention to myself while I was with Keeley. On the way to the van, Keeley rambled on about ingredients while I daydreamed about Brad.

  It was drizzling when we got to the parking lot. Keeley unlocked the van for me. While I waited for him to get in, I tried bending my wrist. Pain shot up my arm. Annoying, but still convenient when it came to Dad pressuring me about softball.

  I glanced at Keeley as he locked his wheelchair in place, started the van, and smoothly pulled out. Because he'd been born without legs, he hadn't had to relearn everything. The bruised bone in my hand made me realize it wasn't so easy doing things differently to get around a disability. I had to grudgingly admire Keeley. He seemed to move comfortably in a world that revolved around people with fully functional arms and legs, which was more than I could say for myself at the moment. I tried to change thought channels. Guilt was not my favorite program.

  "Hey, you gotta listen to this." Keeley put on some music and turned up the volume. "It's the latest by Radical Conflict. You'll love it."

  I'd never heard Radical Conflict. The screeching, wailing racket that roared out of the speakers made me totally hope I'd never hear them again. I wanted to slap my hands over my ears. My momentary admiration for Keeley evaporated into the noise-polluted air.

  "How do you like it?" Keeley shouted over the din.

  From the way he grinned at me, I had the feeling he knew exactly how I felt about it. "About as much as I like any noise above seven hundred decibels."

  "You get the most out of it that way!"

  "I think I'd get more out of it with the sound off."

  "You're no fun," Keeley said. But he turned down the volume a bit. "I thought this music might loosen you up."

  "Loosen me up?" I dug my toes into the bottom of my shoes. "I don't need to loosen up. Just because I don't dress flamboyantly or have crazy hair doesn't mean I'm uptight!"

  "Okay, okay." A quick small smile flashed across Keeley's face.

  I let out a sigh of exasperation. Maybe I was just the tiniest bit reserved. But I did not need to "loosen up!"

  "By the way," Keeley said. "I'm going to need your help."

  Help? What kind of help? All I could do was gulp and say, "What?"

  "Give me directions to Stan's Market."

  "Oh." Duh. "Go three more blocks, and turn right. Then left after one block. You can't miss it." I felt kind of stupid for worrying he meant something dramatic, instead of something simple like directions to the store. And what if he had needed me to do something more ... physical? Why should it bother me?

  We parked in a lot across the street from Stan's Market. I was about to dash across in the middle of the block, when I remembered Keeley would need to go to the corner where the curb was sloped for wheelchair access. Over the past few years almost all the curbs in Willamette City had been made wheelchair accessible. I knew Russ made the most of it with his skateboard, but I'd almost forgotten the original purpose.

  When we crossed the street, Keeley nodded his head toward the front door of Stan's Market. "Slight problem."

  Four steep steps led to the door. I hadn't thought about that. Now what? I wondered. Then I remembered a sign in the front window. "There's wheelchair access around back."

  It wasn't much. I had to help push Keeley across a small patch of grass to get to a ramp. Since the ground was damp, maneuvering across the grass was difficult, and my bandaged hand throbbed as I struggled to keep us going in the right direction. The ramp was fairly steep, so I kept on pushing until we reached a landing by the back door. If Keeley had been alone he probably would have been out of luck.

  "Sorry about this entrance," I said, feeling for some reason it was my fault. We went inside to a dark back room, then into the store itself.

  "Yeah, well, at least there was something." Keeley sighed. "People usually don't think about it, but a few regulations about accessibility can make a big difference." He grinned. "However, I'll get on my soapbox about that some other time." He pulled out his clipboard from the pack on the back of his wheelchair. "We're here to check prices. Ms Baker said Stan's Market was a good place to 'shop' because it gives the school a ten percent discount, and we could figure that into our costs."

  We checked the price of turkeys and compared stuffing mix versus making our own bread crumbs. "Hold it," Keeley said in the middle of one aisle. "I found the canned sweet potatoes." He tried to read the price, but the shelf was too high. "I guess you'll have to check that one."

  "Ninety-nine cents for the twenty-eight ounce can."

  Keeley wrote it down.

  Stan's was a small store with narrow aisles, so it was kind of hard to maneuver, but we managed. Farther down one aisle I noticed Marcy and Todd in front of the gourmet bakery. I didn't want them to see us. I gulped back a load of guilt. I wasn't sure if I was more worried that Todd might say something stupid to Keeley, or that Marcy might shoot me a look of disapproval because I was with Keeley. He wasn't part of her high-powered superstructure and never would be. If I thought he was kind of weird, what did she think? She surrounded herself with people who were gorgeous and/or super jocks at school. Keeley was neither.

  "What do we need for the fruit salad?" I asked, in a not-so-clever attempt to direct Keeley to the produce aisle.

  "Let's see." Keeley checked his list. "Apples, pears, and—hey! Look who's here."

  Gah! My ploy didn't work.

  Keeley headed straight for the gourmet bakery. I figured I'd better follow him, since it looked as if Todd had spotted me when Keeley rolled up to him.

  "Hi. I'm Keeley Parrish. I'm new at Willamette City High." He stuck out his hand. No one shook it, so he rested it on the arm of his wheelchair and drummed his fingers.

  "Uh, hi. I'm Todd Whitely." Todd glanced at me, then down at the floor. "I've, um, seen you around school."

  I was surprised Todd had the capacity to be uncomfortable.

  "Hel-lo. I'm Mar-cy Strat-ton." Marcy spoke in a loud voice and very slowly, as if Keeley was hard of hearing and not too bright. "It is nice to meet you!"

  "SAME ... HERE!" Keeley shouted. The sarcasm was lost on Marcy.

  "We've gotta run," I said, not wanting to
prolong the introductions. "See ya!"

  Marcy looked relieved. "Good-bye, Kee-ley."

  Part of Marcy's problem, I decided, was that she totally lacked the skill of hiding her true feelings about anything. It must be kind of hard to go through life like that. Maybe that's why she was so bitchy. Not that I had a speck of sympathy for her.

  I charged over to the produce section. Keeley caught up with me a couple seconds later.

  "Take it easy. It happens," Keeley said. "I used to get really ticked off, but now I just get annoyed. Some people automatically think if someone looks different on the outside, there must be something different on the inside." He reached over and touched my hand. "Not everyone feels comfortable enough when they first meet me to call me a jerk, like you did."

  "Flattery will get you nowhere."

  "Right." Keeley winked, and pointed his index finger at me. "Let's finish checking prices."

  When we were done, we went to my house. Russ had left a note that he was spending the night at Spike Joray's house. Mom wasn't home yet, so we had the place to ourselves. Dad would have freaked out about me being home alone with a guy all afternoon. But Dad no longer lived there.

  We added up our expenses and found we were within our budget. Then we started making a timetable for preparing the meal. That's where I kept getting tripped up, trying to figure out how long the turkey would need to cook, how long it would take to make the stuffing so that could be started in time to get the turkey in the oven at the right moment, etc.

  A bit later Mom rushed in the back door carrying a bag of groceries. "Hi," she said. "Don't worry. You won't starve. I'll have dinner ready in about forty-five minutes."

  "No rush, Mrs. Groner," Keeley said.

  I checked the time. Maybe Keeley wasn't in a hurry, but I had a basketball game to go to and I didn't want to be late. "Need any help, Mom?"

  "No, thanks. You two can just clear off the kitchen table, and go relax until dinner."

  Keeley and I gathered up our stuff and headed for the living room. I was going to turn on the TV, but Keeley said he'd rather just talk.

  I sat in the easy chair. "What subject?"

  "Alex, I'll take 'Sivia' for one-hundred dollars."

  "I don't come that cheap."

  Keeley smiled as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You've heard a lot about me. Tell me about you."

  I shrugged. "Not much to tell that you probably don't already know," I said. "I've lived in Willamette City all my life. My brother's a pain, my folks got divorced a few months ago, and the bruised bone in my hand will take its time healing."

  "I hear you're a great softball pitcher."

  "I had a couple good games last year."

  "Rumor has it you'll replace the star pitcher who graduated, and you'll probably take the team to the state championship."

  "Where'd your hear that? My father? Being a parent, he's legally obligated to exaggerate my—"

  "No, no." Keeley shook his head. "That's the word at school. From what I've heard, you're really good."

  "Oh. I don't know."

  "You don't exactly sound enthusiastic." Keeley looked at me with concern. "What is it? Don't you like softball?"

  "Oh, I love softball!" I blurted out. "It's just the pressure from—"

  "Dinner's ready!" Mom called.

  Ah, saved by the dinner bell. Sort of. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell Keeley how I felt when Dad pushed me too hard.

  I almost fell over when I got to the dining room. The table was set not only with our best china, but there was a bouquet of flowers. And the spread that Mom put on! Baked chicken, cauliflower with cheese sauce, romaine-and-cucumber salad, and her special corn-flavored biscuits.

  After we scarfed our way through all of the above, we had baked pears for dessert. Mom hadn't fixed a meal like that since before plans for The Divorce had been announced.

  "Mrs. Groner, everything was delicious," Keeley said as he polished off the last bite of baked pear.

  "Yeah, Mom." I was still slightly stunned. "It was great."

  "Thanks," Mom said. "I had fun preparing it. It was good practice. I just might start having dinner guests more often."

  Dinner guests? I supposed Mr. Hawkins would be first on the list. Ewww. How majorly weird would that be?

  We all helped clear the table and load the dishwasher. Then Mom announced, "Sorry. I have to run off. I told Ted—Mr. Hawkins—I'd give him a ride to the airport. He has another last-minute, out-of-town meeting."

  I drew Mom aside. "Um, I need a ride to the game over in Springfield," I whispered. "Could you—"

  "Sorry, no," Mom said with a trace of irritation. "I've got to pick up Ted and head straight to the airport." She glanced anxiously at the clock. "And I have to leave right now." She nodded toward Keeley. "Look, why don't you just ask—"

  "That's okay," I said quickly. "You'd better hurry, or you'll be late."

  As Mom dashed off to get her coat, Keeley said, "What was all that about? Or shouldn't I ask?"

  "Um, no big deal." I pulled out the universal dodge. "Just girl talk."

  "Oh." As I figured, Keeley didn't care to hear about any girl talk. "Thanks again for a great dinner, Mrs. Groner," he called as Mom flew out the door, waving as she went.

  I thought about sneaking off and calling Ilana. But then I remembered she was going to the game with Gavin and they probably would have left already. I guess Dad was my only hope. He would probably be stopping by any minute. If only I could get rid of Keeley before Dad showed up.

  I was just about to say something to Keeley to get him to leave, when Dad arrived.

  "That makeout-mobile is in the driveway again!" Dad shouted.

  I tried to signal Dad to be quiet, but he raved on. "Is that same guy here? I'm going to give him a piece of my mind—"

  "Hi." Keeley wheeled over and offered his hand to Dad. "I'm Keeley Parrish. That's my van in the driveway."

  Dad did a doubletake. He blinked a couple times, then finally shook Keeley's hand. "I'm Sivia's father," he said. "So, that's your van. Well, I guess you could never try anything funny with my—I mean, are you a good driver?"

  "Never even had a parking ticket," Keeley said with a straight face.

  "Well, good. Good." Dad stuck his hands in his pockets. "Where's Russ?"

  "He's staying over at a friend's house." I hated to ask this in front of Keeley, but I couldn't wait forever for him to leave. "Um, Dad, could you give me a ride to the game in Springfield?"

  "Sorry, honey. One reason I came a bit early is because I, well, have a date tonight."

  "Oh."

  "I could give you a lift," Keeley offered.

  "That's okay—"

  "Good idea!" Dad said, obviously relieved. "Keeley can drive you!" Obviously, he no longer thought of Keeley as some sinister van-driving player-type.

  "But—" I started to say.

  "It's settled. I've got to run." He kissed my cheek and began to leave.

  Then he stopped and turned back. "Nice meeting you, Keeley. And, Sivia, I'll be over tomorrow. We can discuss strategy until your hand is better. You'll face a lot of the same batters as last year, so we'll have a line on them."

  "But, Dad, I was going to—"

  "Gotta run, honey." And Dad was out the door.

  It was just me and Keeley, and he was waiting to take me to the game.

  "We'd better go if we're going to get there on time," Keeley said. It was almost a question, as if he weren't absolutely sure I was actually going with him.

  Maybe I should stay home, I thought. Sometimes Dad breezing in and taking charge of my life kind of wore me out. But I'd told Brad I'd be at the game. He'd be looking for me. What would he think if I didn't show? This could be my only chance with him! "Okay. I'll get my jacket."

  As we pulled out of the driveway Keeley said, "Your Dad seems like a busy guy."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He has a date tonight, but he stopped by to see you first. Tomorrow's he's
going to help you work out your pitching strategy."

  "He wants to teach me and Russ everything he knows about sports. And everything else, for that matter. It's great that he wants to spend so much time with us, but ...." I stopped. How could I complain about Dad wanting to spend time with me?

  "But what?"

  "But ...." I hesitated. I'd known Keeley only a few days. However, if nothing else, he was a very open person, and, well, it was kind of weird, but I felt as if I could talk to him. "Sometimes he assumes that I'm just always going to be available whenever he wants. Tomorrow morning, for instance. I was going to go to the track at the university and run."

  "You run?"

  "I don't race. I just run to stay in condition and to, well, clear my mind."

  "So call your Dad in the morning and tell him not to come over until after you've gone for a run."

  "I couldn't do that. His feelings would be hurt."

  "He's a grown man. He didn't really say what time he'd get here. Besides, what about your feelings?"

  Since The Divorce, I tried not to think too much about my own feelings. But I wasn't ready to talk about that with Keeley. "The turn to Springfield is coming up on your left."

  "Oh, yeah, I see the sign. Thanks."

  We rode along for a couple of minutes, then Keeley said, "A 'Deer Crossing' sign? Are there really deer around here?"

  "Sure. Even in residential areas you'll see them. Sometimes they'll just run out onto the road. You don't want to hit one. It could totally wreck your van."

  "Not to mention what it would do to the deer."

  "Yeah, that too."

  It wasn't long before we were in a line of cars headed for the school. Streaks of red from the taillights seemed to dance as they reflected off the raindrops.

  "I hear this is a big game," Keeley said.

  "If Willamette City wins, they'll own first place. If they lose, they'll be in a tie with Springfield." A tingle of excitement ran up my neck. Whether I was playing or watching, I got worked up over a game, no matter what the sport.

  When we reached the school we inched our way into the parking lot. I figured it'd take us forever to find a place to park, but Keeley pulled up right in front of the school. It was a For-Disabled-Only spot. I'd almost forgotten.