by Amy Reece
“Well, Jack,” I suddenly didn’t know where to put my hands. “I need to let you get back to work. I’ll, uh, talk to you later.”
“I’ll walk you over to Starbucks. Manny, I’ll be right back.”
“Sure, take your time,” Manny seemed unconcerned. Maybe he was playing it a little too cool.
“Yeah, take your time.” Shelly said with a snicker. I’m pretty sure Jack shot her the finger as he ushered me out the front door. I could hear her cackling as we left.
“I am so sorry about that,” Jack began.
“Don’t worry about it. It was very sweet. It was less awkward than a tea party.” I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Only slightly. Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t I pick you up after your tryouts tomorrow and we can take Megan out for dinner and a movie? Or is that too lame?” It was cute to see him unsure of himself.
“It’s perfect. Just the sort of things friends would do.” I should have let it be, but I couldn’t resist reaching up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. “See ya tomorrow. Thanks.” I left him standing in the Starbucks parking lot.
I was halfway to the door when he called out, “Hey!”
I turned back around expectantly.
“Tara did good. You look great!”
Tara was about halfway through a venti caramel macchiato when I joined her at the table. “Success? Judging by the look on your face,” she guessed.
I told her about our conversation while she had an insufferable ‘I told you so’ look on her face.
“So, you guys are playing the ‘we’re just friends game’? Kinda lame.”
“I don’t think he’ll try to take it any further until he’s off probation. He’s so damn noble,” I groused. “If he even wants to take it farther.”
“He does. Trust me on that. And in the meantime, you can enjoy torturing him,” she advised.
“Tara! That’s awful.” I thought for a moment. “Torture him how?” I asked slowly.
“Well, keep kissing him on the cheek, for starters. You should have seen the look on his face when you turned around to come in here. It was priceless. BTW, ‘just friends’ don’t typically go around doing that, you know. Unless the guy is gay.”
“Been there, done that, remember?” I interjected.
“Yes, I remember. That asshole. Why are we still friends with him?”
“Because we’ve known him since middle school. And he’s basically a good guy. But I can’t believe I wasted my first kiss on him.”
“Nuh uh, doesn’t count,” she stated emphatically. “That absolutely does not count. You get a do-over.”
“Oh, good. I want it to be Jack. I hope I don’t have to wait till I’m 20.”
“If you play your cards right, he could be your first everything, bow-chicka-wow-wow.” She waggled her eyebrows up and down suggestively.
“Wow. You had to go there. Not talking about this. Let’s go. I’ve got stuff to do and Jack said he’d call me tonight.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.”
–Henry David Thoreau
Why is it that when you’re dreading something, the time seems to fly by? I mean, seriously. I found myself in my last period English class the next day with shocking speed.
“Hey,” Jack tapped me on the shoulder. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped. He sat back in his seat abruptly and I felt like a jerk. I wrote a brief note on a half-sheet of notebook paper and turned around and set it on his desk.
I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a bitch. I’m just nervous—dreading these stupid tryouts.
I could hear him scratching a reply. He leaned forward and tossed it on my desk.
You could never be a bitch. Don’t worry about it. Remember how good you’re going to look in that skirt.
He had drawn a pair of pom-poms after the words. Quite the artist.
I wrote my reply under his.
I will not hesitate to kill you.
I could hear him chuckling as he read my reply. He scratched another reply.
Wait for me after class. I have a present for you.
When the bell rang, way too soon in my opinion, he gathered up his stuff, shouldered both our backpacks and said, “Come on. I’ll walk you to the gym.” I followed like a prisoner on the way to the gallows. “You know, I could stay and watch. Be your moral support and all that,” he offered.
“Absolutely, positively not,” I assured him. “I do not need anyone witnessing this debacle.”
“Nice SAT word. I was only teasing.” He pulled me into a deserted hallway and fished around in his backpack, pulling out a small, badly wrapped package. “Here. A good luck present.” He handed it to me.
“Jack, you didn’t need to do this,” I began. I pulled the wrapping off and found a new lock, the kind Veronica had used last time I was in the locker room. I started laughing. “Thanks. I was so wrapped up in my misery that I didn’t even think to get a new lock. I really appreciate it.”
“Well, we can’t have you getting your cellphone stolen again. This kind of lock is really hard to break into. I can personally guarantee that,” he said with a knowing look.
This was so touching I had to hug him. Yeah right. But I wanted to. I always want to. He hugged me back for far too short a moment and then pushed me away with what sounded like a groan.
“You are going to be the death of me,” he breathed. “Now, come on. You don’t want to miss your tryout.” I followed along, trying to hold in my triumphant smile.
When I got to the gym, I signed in and joined the other soon-to-be rejects on the bleachers. I looked around at my competition and my heart sank. There were some very pretty, very athletic-looking girls here. Wait, why was I disappointed? Did I really want this? Nah! It must be my competitive nature peeking through. I couldn’t possibly truly have a desire to be a cheerleader, could I? Inconceivable, to quote The Princess Bride.
It turned out that this was only an informational meeting and there would be a clinic after school Monday through Wednesday where we would learn a routine and the actual tryouts would be Thursday, in groups of three. We would be judged on our knowledge of the clinic dance, sideline, jumps, and tumbling. What the hell was sideline? On tryout day we would be required to wear red shorts, plain white shirt or tank top, hair in a high ponytail, and all jewelry out. The decisions of the judges were final and would be posted on the auxiliary gym doors by 9 p.m. Thursday evening. They handed out a bunch of paperwork we were also required to complete prior to the tryouts. Then the coach launched into the financial obligations involved and fundraising opportunities. I had no freaking idea being a cheerleader was so expensive! I nearly walked out right then, but managed to stay put through the rest of the lecture on draconian cheerleading in the 21st century.
***
By the time Jack picked me up at 4:30, my head was spinning. I sank, exhausted, into the passenger seat of his beautiful red Mustang, my hands full of paperwork.
“Ally!” Megan squealed from her car seat in the back.
I turned to greet her. “Hey, girlfriend. You ready for our hot date?”
She giggled in response. “Jack, she said it’s a date!”
“Yeah, I heard.” He gave me a smile as he closed the door for me and went around to the driver’s side. “So, how’s the newest OGHS cheerleader? When do I get to see that skirt?”
“Ha, ha,” I said. “Turns out there’s a lot more to it. Today was just an informational meeting to give us all this.” I waved the paperwork at him. “There’s a clinic next week to learn the routine, then the tryouts are Thursday.”
“You’re a cheerleader?” Megan breathed in worshipful awe.
“Not yet, sweetie. I still have to try out.” I turned back to Jack. “I don’t know about this. These people are really serious. I thought I’d go in, wave some pom-poms, say ‘ready, okay,’ and be on my way. And it’s mondo-expensive. I had no idea.”
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br /> “I want to be a cheerleader,” Megan continued, unabashed by my negativity toward her revered sport. “Will you teach me, please, Ally?”
“Well, if I make it, I will teach you whatever I learn, but I don’t think I’ve got a very good chance of making it.” To Jack I said quietly, “I don’t even know if I’ll go back.”
Jack reached over and touched my hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Can I just say that I love it when he does that? “Do you believe this cheerleading thing will help you find out what you need from Veronica?”
I thought for a minute. “Yeah, I guess I do. I hope so.”
“Then,” he continued, “you will go back and try out. And you will make it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you. You do what needs to be done.”
I squeezed his hand. How did I stumble onto such a sweet guy? If I could only get him to get over his ridiculous, noble idea that he wasn’t good for me. “Thanks,” I said quietly.
“I really need to see you in that skirt,” he teased and put his hand back on the steering wheel.
I gave him a mock disapproving look and turned back to Megan. “So, girlfriend, what movie are we going to see? Sci-fi, horror, or does your brother want to see the latest chick-flick?”
She giggled again. “We get to see a cartoon.” She named the latest Pixar movie to hit the big screen. “Is that okay? Do you like cartoons?” she asked worriedly.
“I love them! I have every Pixar movie ever made on Blu Ray. You can come over to my house and we’ll have a movie marathon.”
“Wow,” she whispered. “Can I, Jack? Please?”
“Sure, squirt. Sounds fun.” He reached to squeeze my hand again.
We got to the movie theater and Jack bought our tickets. I tried to pay for mine since we were ‘just friends’ and all, but he simply gave me a disgusted look and continued paying. “Come on. Let’s get some popcorn.” We decided to get a large bucket and put Megan between us with the popcorn on her lap. Jack stopped to get a booster seat for her on our way into the theater. I realized that Jack acted more like Megan’s father than her older brother, perhaps because of their age difference or perhaps because her real father was out of the picture. I also realized we probably seemed more like a young family out for the evening to the people around us in the theater. To my surprise, I found this didn’t bother me in the least. We got settled as the previews started. Jack opened the box of candy he had bought for Megan and she commenced feeding pieces to each of us. She seemed to delight in Jack’s monster noises when he pretended to bite it out of her hand. I was seriously falling for this guy. He had to have some faults, didn’t he? Any at all? Well, he did have a tendency to be bossy and take over sometimes, but even that could be filed under ‘sexy confidence.’
Previews over, we settled down to watch the feature. Megan turned out to be a good theater patron, laughing in all the right places, but not talking or being disruptive any other time. About halfway through the movie, she poked me and motioned for me to look at Jack. He was clearly asleep, slunk down in his seat with his head resting against the back, mouth open slightly. We both smiled at each other.
“He always falls asleep during movies and T.V.,” she whispered. “Auntie Trina says he works too hard and takes too much classes at CNM.” Only it sounded more like ‘cinnamon’. She was completely adorable.
As the credits began to roll, he woke up with a confused look around. “Wha…? Where’s Megan?”
Megan giggled. “I’m right here. You took a nap.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “A $10.25 nap.”
Jack smiled sheepishly. “Money well spent. I’m starving. You guys ready for some dinner?”
“Can we go to El Patron? Please, Jack?” Megan begged.
“Well, let’s make sure that sounds good to Ally. You need to check with her,” Jack replied.
“Ally, it’s really fun. They have music and dancing!” Megan enthused. “And tacos. I love tacos! Do you want to go?”
“Music and dancing? What kind?” I have to admit I was picturing a bar. It was the only place I could think of that would have music and dancing, but I couldn’t visualize Jack taking his little sister to a bar.
“Tell her, Jack,” Megan tugged on his hand.
“You’ve never been? It’s that big place over on Montgomery; used to be a Garduños?” he asked. At my headshake in the negative he continued, “It’s pretty decent Mexican food, and they have a two-man band in the back room and people dance. It’s really kind of a senior citizen-thing, but Megan loves it.” He shrugged. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”
“No, of course not. This is Megan’s date and it sounds fun.” To the little girl I said, “Does Jack dance with you or do you just watch?”
“He dances with me! He loves to dance!” Jack was rolling his eyes. “But he’ll dance with you too. So will I.”
We drove a few miles to the restaurant, a sprawling adobe behemoth that had opened in the last year. I had never been and was looking forward to trying a new place. Also to maybe having an opportunity to dance with Jack. And eat with him. And look at him. And smell him. I had it so bad for this guy.
As we entered the front lobby, Jack said, “Why don’t you and Megan go grab a seat over there”—he nodded toward the fairly crowded waiting area—“while I get us on the list. I’ll try to get us a seat in the back with the band,” he assured Megan.
I watched him approach the reception podium where an attractive young woman, probably in her early twenties, was taking names. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could tell she was more than amenable to trying to accommodate Jack’s request for special seating, if her admiring glances and coy smiles were any evidence. I truly don’t think Jack was attempting to schmooze her, but I also don’t think he was aware of how truly good-looking he was. I knew from experience that he simply needed to smile down at her from his nearly 6-foot height, and she was putty in his hands. I chose to be amused rather than annoyed since he seemed unaware of the undercurrents. He came to sit down by us with one of those little plastic pagers that lights up when your table is ready.
“She said she’d try to get us a table by the band,” he assured Megan. “What?” he asked as he noticed I was trying not to laugh.
“Oh, nothing. I’m sure she’s gonna try real hard,” I said with a smirk, nodding my head toward the girl, who had watched him walk away, eyes never leaving his backside. I can’t blame her at all since I, myself, had enjoyed the same view on numerous occasions.
“Huh?” he asked in a clueless manner that was really kind of cute. “She was really nice. I think we’ll get a good table.”
“I’m sure we will,” I replied quietly. He gave me a quizzical look.
Megan got up from her seat and plopped herself on Jack’s lap, leaned against his broad chest, and yawned. “Hey, now. Don’t you go falling asleep on our date.” He brushed her long, dark hair out of her face and then tickled her.
She giggled and said, “Like you did?”
He tickled her more and said, “Yeah, like I did. What a boring old big brother, huh?”
She snuggled sleepily against him. “You’re not that old.”
“Oh, but I’m boring, huh? Is that it?” He tickled her some more.
Just then the plastic pager lit up, notifying us that our table was ready. The hostess, after a last, longing look at Jack, handed us off to a waitress, who led us in a labyrinthine path through the restaurant to a table very close to the two-man musical group.
Jack said to the sleepy little girl in his arms, “Is this good? Close enough for you?” She smiled shyly and nodded.
In very short order we had chips and salsa in front of us, which seemed to revive Megan. As soon as we had placed our order, she hopped down from her seat and tugged at Jack’s hand. “Dance with me,” she ordered.
He looked at me with amusement. “Well, at least she’ll never be a wallflower. Excuse us for a moment?
Come on, Princess.” He took her hand and led her to the small area set aside for dancing. There were several other couples already dancing, and Jack had been correct; they mostly consisted of the 60 and up crowd. The musicians played oldies, most of which I didn’t recognize. Jack and Megan drew many amused glances from their fellow dancers as he attempted to lead her through basic steps from his much greater height. She clearly had a good sense of rhythm and was enjoying herself immensely, judging by the wide grin on her face. At the end of the song, they came back to the table and Megan climbed back in her seat and drank thirstily from her Sprite.
When Jack attempted to sit down, however, she said, clearly appalled, “But you have to dance with Ally now!”
“Sorry, how I could I be so silly?” Jack stood back up with a half-smile at me. He approached me and held out his hand. “May I?”
I put my hand in his and we took to the dance floor. “I’m not nearly as good as Megan,” I said. “She really has some moves.”
He laughed softly and replied, “Well, you have other attractions.” He pulled me into his arms and we began to dance to some old-timey jazz song. I really haven’t done much dancing in my life, but Jack made it pretty simple. I tried to follow, enjoying being close to him, touching him.
“What’s this song called? Do you know?” I asked.
“‘The Girl from Ipanema,’” he replied. “They play it every time we come here.” He began humming along. I was amazed at his level of maturity; he seemed unembarrassed about dancing with his little sister or knowing a classic jazz song. Most guys his age would be more worried about not appearing “cool” or whatever. I stared up at his clean, strong jaw line, noticing he had a slight five-o’clock shadow and wanting very badly to reach up and run my hand or lips along it and feel how scratchy it was. What would it feel like to be kissed by him? Would his whiskers leave red marks on my fair skin? I was dying to find out. “Hey,” he interrupted my reverie softly. “Song’s over.” I belatedly realized the music had stopped while I was staring up at him like a love-struck idiot.
