Nothing but Trouble after Midnight, Page 6
Kimberly Blackadar
“Daddy?” I asked softly.
“Yes?” He hung an arm around my shoulders and drew me closer to him.
“I was wondering if I could go to Courtney’s beach house after prom.” I took a breath and waited for the negative reply.
“Did you ask your mother?”
“No, she always says to ask you, so I figured I’d just eliminate the middle man.”
“Hmm, that makes sense.” His eyes remained on the field. “Will Rob be there?”
I was trying to figure out if this information would fall into the pro or con column. “Uh, yeah…I think so.”
“Well, tell him to have you back in time for church then.”
“Oh-okay,” I managed and slid next to Courtney again, and when I told her about my dad’s second act of kindness, the first being the pricey prom dress, she said now would be a good time to ask for something else I wanted. After all, wishes come in three’s, but I, of course, reminded her that so did bad omens.
“Whatever,” she said and found my ear. “So, when you get married, I’ll be your maid of honor, right?”
“Yeah,” I said back.
She put her arm around my shoulders. “Good. You’ll be mine too.” With that decided, she placed an open palm in front of me, and I tapped it with two fingers. I flipped my hand over, palm facing up, and she thumped two fingers in the center of mine. We formed a “C” with our fingers and tapped our hands on top of another. That was the secret handshake of the Seven Cs, and we used it to close any friendship deal.
I watched the remainder of the ball game next to Courtney, and Riverside took it easily: 7-1. After the game, Rob climbed the bleachers with his bat bag slung over his shoulder. He set one foot on the bench next to me and rested a forearm on bended knee. “You catch any of the game?”
“Yeah.” I yanked the brim of his hat down over his eyes. “You played all right.”
“Aw, that means so much coming from my number one fan.” He lifted up the red Riverside cap, ran his fingers through his hair, and replaced the hat in the same exact place. “Do you want to work on English tonight?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Hey, don’t sound so excited.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but doing homework on a Friday night makes me feel like a loser.”
“But it’s not homework, Chlo.” He leaned in closer to me. “It’s for extra credit.”
I brought a finger to my lips. “Shh, that’s even worse.”
-13-
And a Movie
After the game, I slid down the wall outside the training room and got comfortable since Rob’s last words were: “It could be a while.” I scanned the halls for conversation, and soon one started toward me. It was Tom Richardson with his newest girlfriend Katie. Her arm was threaded through his, and her head was propped on his shoulder.
“Waiting for Rob?” Tom asked.
“Yeah.”
“What are you guys doing tonight?”
I shrugged. “Just hanging out, I guess.” I wasn’t willing to admit our plans to anyone, not even the studious valedictorian of the senior class.
“We’re all headed to Chip’s house,” Tom invited and then turned to strike up a conversation with one of his passing teammates.
Katie slipped from his side. “And just so you know, it’ll be a small crowd. You know, ours.” Her crowd included the likes of Jessica and Kendra, and their little clique reminded me of those kids on Dawson’s Creek since they conversed in SAT words and exchanged partners faster than in square dancing.
My friends were the complete opposite. We avoided polysyllabic words outside the classroom and never dated the same guys; we viewed guy swapping as the cardinal sin of friendship.
I looked up at Katie and uttered, “Uh, that’s nice,” wondering if I had ever used the phrase and really meant it. I probably would have considered other phrases of vernacular irony, but Tom found his way back to the conversation and added earnestly, “Hope you guys can make it.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.” And speaking of SAT words, one little gem popped into my head: abacinate. It meant having your eyes gorged out with hot, metal pokers. Yes, a gruesome form of torture, but it was comparable to attending Chip’s little gathering.
I opened Much Ado about Nothing and decided to look at my lines, and by the time I had read over the passage twice, Rob emerged with his right side wrapped in a bulky pack of ice from shoulder to elbow. “You up for going to Chip’s tonight?”
My eyes were on our scene for class, which was the first reason why I was fuming mad at him, and he was trying to give me another one. I lifted my head slowly as my eyes narrowed into a slits.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
I closed my book and chucked it at him. He picked up the play, which had ricocheted off his shin and into the middle of the hall. “Oh, that’s right. We’re supposed to be doing this tonight.”
“Yeah, that,” I said, gesturing at the book in his hands, “is the real reason I’m mad at you.”
“Why?” He tossed it into my open bag and chugged some Gatorade.
“Why?” I repeated. “You’ve read it, so you knew what was in that scene.”
He shrugged.
“Rob, our characters tell each other that they…”
“So?” He smiled. “I’ve said it to you before.”
“Like ten years ago.”
“And nothing’s changed, right?” He teased with a twisted smirk. His line sounded familiar—only because it was mine from Saturday night. But love at six is completely different than love at sixteen, and maybe my feelings for him had never changed, and maybe I still loved him that way, but it didn’t mean I felt comfortable saying it to him—especially not in a room full of immature seniors who were looking for any excuse to laugh at the lowly junior in the class!
Still chuckling to himself, he handed me his keys, and I drove to his house, parking his Jeep in the third stall of his garage. I followed him inside, and we chatted with his parents for a moment before heading to his room. I plopped down on the edge of his bed and checked my texts while he sat at his computer.
I glanced up at him. “Whoya’ writing?”
“Just someone I met at campus,” he answered evenly. Rob went for a campus tour of Georgetown last month and came back with a few cyberspace pen pals.
“Is it a girl?” I chided in that annoying voice I had reserved for my brother.
“Yeah…so?”
“A little weekend hook up?”
“No, I don’t do that.”
“Is she your girlfriend then?”
“No, because at the time, I had a girlfriend.”
I offered him the skeptical tone. “Oh, so she’s just a friend.”
“I am capable of being friends with a girl.” He tossed me a glance over his shoulder. “You should know that.”
“Yeah, but I don’t count.”
“Why not?” He spun around in his chair, smiling. “Is there something anatomically wrong with you?” I rolled my eyes as he got up from his chair. “I’m going to take this off,” he said, gesturing toward his saran-wrapped arm. “You want anything from the kitchen?”
“Nah.” I slid off the end of his bed and walked around his room. It had changed over the years, but I could still remember when his walls were painted sky blue with cumulus clouds and wooden planes dangled from his ceiling. Then his mother redecorated with a baseball motif, but now, his collection of autographed baseballs and team trophies had been relegated to the bottom shelf of his bookcase, and his walls were a soft grey. A picture of Mount McKinley hung over his bed, and his comforter was a muted plaid of soft blues and grays. His room was extremely neat, and the only trace of clutter was on his bulletin board over his desk, where he had pinned up some sports tickets and photos. There were photos of friends, team photographs, some shots of him on bike trails and hikes, youth group pictures, and a Homecoming picture of him and Kendra. I lifted up on my tippy toes and noticed all the pictures of me. There was a real skuzzy shot of me after a cross country meet, and I considered removing the evidence from the board as his voice reentered the room. “You know, I have more pictures of you than of anyone else.”
“Really?” I started counting.
“Uh-huh, Kendra pointed that out to me.”
I didn’t conceal the grin, since my back was turned to him. “I bet that caused a fight, right?”
“Yeah, but we fought all the time.”
I thought about the last few months with Austin. “Yeah, I know how that is.”
“At least, we don’t fight like that. You know…over stuff that matters.”
“Yeah, that’s because we’re not dating.”
“And if we were, then you’d probably get mad if I did this.” I felt the slightest tap on the back of my head, and when I turned around, I saw a gargantuan grin on his face. He was on his bed with his hand buried in a bowl of popcorn.
“Here, catch,” he teased; then a piece hit my forehead.
“You have rotten aim, Callahan.” I jumped onto the bed and scooped up a handful of hot ammunition.
“That’s because I have to rest my right, Chlo.” He launched a fistful into my hair, and I dumped some on top of his head.
He reached for more, and I did the same.
Then our eyes met. “All right. This is war,” I declared. And it was—the sort of war that resulted in laughing, play wrestling, and a lot of popcorn casualties all over his room.
“Stop,” I tried, but he ignored my comment and chucked more at me. I laughed and picked up pieces off the bed and pelted him in the nose. He started laughing uncontrollably and pointed a finger in my direction. “You have so much in your hair (a big belly laugh)…that you look like a Christmas tree (another obnoxious laugh)…wrapped in popcorn garland.” I shook my head like a wet dog and gave him a pelting popcorn shower.
A loud knock hit the door, and we froze like statues.
“I hope it’s not your mom,” I whispered.
He faced the door. “Uh, come in.”
Riley entered the room, and her eyes grew into saucers, and for the first time, I noticed his bedroom. It was popcorn, popcorn everywhere. I glanced at the bowl. And not a bite to eat.
“Watcha’ need, Ry?” he asked evenly.
“Um, I smelled popcorn and I…” she muttered.
He showed her the empty bowl. “Sorry, it’s all gone.”
She examined us for a long moment, and then she left the room without another word. We waited a whole nanosecond before we collapsed on the bed and started laughing. Rob and I lay in opposite directions—with my head at his feet and his at mine—and after considerable laughter, we were holding our stomachs because our bellies actually hurt. So I lay there, wondering if my stomach felt like I had done a hundred crunches, would my abs show similar results? Because if so, I should laugh more and exercise less. And still thinking, I rolled up on my side and spoke to his feet, which were a bit hairy—not exceedingly ape-like or anything, just very manly like his legs, arms, and chest. “Listen, I’ll help you clean up this whole mess even though you were the one who started it.”
“Wow, you’re such a good friend, Chlo,” he returned sarcastically because if anyone were keeping track, he would beat me in the kindness race.
I collected some pieces off the bed. “It’s the least I could do…after what you did today.”
“And what was that?”
“What you always do.” I dumped a handful of popcorn into the bowl, and he slid off the bed with a knowing smile.
“Listen,” he started as he collected popcorn off the floor. “I have a question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Why’d you date him?”
“Why does every girl date him?”
“Yeah, but you’re not every girl,” he returned evenly.
I heaved out a heavy sigh. “Actually, I ask myself that all the time.” I should have left it there, but for some reason, I continued. Rob had that effect on me. Talking to him was like being under oath, and I had to tell him the truth. “At first, it was just physical attraction, but after a while, we became friends, close friends, and I guess, it just went from there.”
“Sometimes it happens,” he said, and I thought to myself, Yeah, and sometimes it doesn’t.
When most of the popcorn was off the floor, I realized I had a piece caught in my bra wallet—you know, the place between the cups where girls can stash cash when they don’t have a purse or any pockets. I dislodged the piece and dropped it into a bowl, feeling the need to explain. “Things always get stuck in there.”
“Oh,” he said. “Guys don’t have that problem.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather have ours than yours.” That was a real conversation stopper, and we picked up the remaining pieces in silence.
Then he placed the bowl on top of his dresser and said, “Well, I think that does it, so I guess we should work on that scene now.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out my copy of Much Ado about Nothing. I sat down on the end of his bed, and he sat next to me. I opened my book to Act IV, and he glanced over at me. “Okay, you need to start crying, so I can say my first line.”
His line was: “Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while,” but instead of crying, I informed, “Rob, I can’t cry on a command.”
“Why not? You’re a girl, aren’t you?”
I pushed out a loud and long exhale like I was experimenting with my lung capacity, which was quite good since I’m a long distance runner and all.
“Listen, why don’t you try Method Acting? It’s a technique where you think about something sad, and by drawing on your own personal experience, you’ll portray the correct emotion in the scene.”
“Should I think about my break-up with Austin then?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Or how I felt when my dad got rid of my dog? He was a really bad dog, but still.” I wiped away a little tear and looked over at him. “But if I’m really in the mood to cry, I think about my Grandpa Preston. I miss his little one-liners, and I wish I would have written them all down because I can’t remember half of them anymore.” He brought me to his shoulder and patted my back. “Oh, and I miss your Grandma too. She sang all those beautiful folk songs with her Irish lilt.” I started blubbering through the first few lines of the Irish Lullaby. I heard audible swallows coming from him. His hands were folded in his lap, and I wondered if I should hold his hand, like I did on the day of his grandmother’s funeral…
Grandma Callahan’s funeral was held in a big Catholic church across town. Rob wore a dark suit, and I wore a black dress for the first time in my life. I was only nine, and I spent the entire service staring at my shiny black patent leather shoes. But when his mother began to sing “On Eagle’s Wings,” Rob started sobbing. I held his hand in mine and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.” And that was the first and only time I had ever seen my best friend cry…
“Hey,” Rob said, slapping his thighs. “Maybe we should forget reading this scene tonight and work on memorizing our lines first.”
“Yeah…okay.”
“We could watch a movie.” He gestured toward the top of his dresser. “And look, we already have popcorn.” At the mention of popcorn, I smiled, thinking of all the places those pieces had been.
He grabbed the remote off the top of the TV and propped up some pillows against the wall. He took the right side, and I got comfortable on the left. He started flipping through a million channels at a voracious rate. I saw many options that we didn’t have at my house, since my mother didn’t believe in TV and my father didn’t believe in paying for it. If the satellite company offered a PBS / Sports pack, that would be adequate for the Preston family.
Minutes passed, and after watching a millisecond of a million programs, I began to stare at him, hoping he’d feel the weight of my evil glare.
Rob faced me and arched an eyebrow. “You see something you like?”
I stared back at him, zeroing in on the little freckle at the tip of his nose. “Nope.”
Then he turned away again, laughing.
Finally, we settled on a teen romance that neither of us had seen before, but about half way through it, I decided I could have gone my whole life without ever watching it. It was like an extended cliché on dating, and after experiencing some of my own relationships and seeing my friends with their boyfriends, I decided it held no resemblance to real life.
“Oh, c’mon,” I scoffed at the television screen. “No guy would ever say that.” Rob didn’t offer a response, so I turned and found out why. He had fallen asleep. I slid off my side of the bed and pulled a navy blanket off the top shelf of his closet. I draped it over him, and when I did, a little corner of his mouth retreated in his cheek. I whispered, “You’re welcome, Rob.”
I returned to my spot and pulled the blanket over my legs. The movie droned on, but my eyes fell on him. I watched his face as he slept soundly next to me, noticing how his eyelashes fluttered and his expressions changed, and I leaned over and lightly touched his face with the back of my hand. It felt like soft sandpaper, and I wondered what it would feel like to kiss his face. Slowly, I lowered my head to his shoulder, his good one, and let my imagination travel to places where my lips dared not.
-14-
The Bet
My phone rang several times before I flipped off the side of the bed and scooped it out of my bag. “Uh, hello.”
“Do you know what time it is, young lady?”
“Uh, no.”
“Why not? The Callahans don’t have any clocks over there?”
Clocks? I spotted one on Rob’s night stand, and it was almost midnight. “Uh…sorry, Dad,” I muttered.
“It’s okay. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Yeah, um, a few minutes,” I repeated, and the conversation ended there. I felt confused. I stood there, replaying the words in my head. I was quite sure my father left out the part where he explains how rules are there to protect me, and how he’s disappointed in me, and even though he wishes he didn’t have to punish me, I had left him no other choice this time.
“That was my dad,” I told Rob.
“Yeah, I figured,” he said inside a yawn and walked over to me. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why? Was your dad upset?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” I stammered and searched the floor for my shoes.
Rob walked over with a pair of pink flip flops. “Maybe I should let you wake up before I ask you any more questions.”
I nodded, and we left his bedroom and tiptoed across his dark house. He opened the sliding glass door, and we walked back to my house in silence until I realized, “Listen, Rob, my dad was just being nice over the phone, but he’s still going to ground me for the rest of my life—which means you need to find another prom date!”
“That sounds a little harsh.”
“You don’t know my dad.”
“Trust me, I do.” He stepped in front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “And he’s not going to be that upset.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because you were with me.”
“So?”
“So, your dad loves me.”
“Only because I’m not dating you.”
“Let me get this straight. If we were dating,” he started, gesturing between us, “then your dad wouldn’t like me anymore.”
“Yup.”
“You wanna’ bet?”
“Sure,” I accepted quickly. It was a rhetorical bet anyway, and unlike other wagers in the past, I had absolutely nothing to lose this time.
As we came to the end of the path, I noticed my father sitting on our back porch. My dad was dressed in weekend wear, a white T-shirt and a pair of plaid lounge pants, and as we entered my fenced-in backyard, he stood up, greeting us with a smile.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Preston,” Rob apologized as he closed the gate behind us. “But we fell asleep during a movie.”
“Must have been a lousy one.”
“Yeah, but it would make a great cure for insomnia.” Rob offered, and my father replied with a low chuckle. Rob was a master at polite adult humor, but I, on the other hand, had only one comedic weapon in my arsenal of humor: sarcasm.
“Then we should get it for Mom. It’d be much cheaper than Ambien.” As soon as I said it, I knew it was the kind of joke that wasn’t really funny because it was too close to the truth. Lately, my mom suffered with my father’s long absences and filled the void with medicinal friends like Ambien and Prozac.
“If only it were that easy,” my father said quietly and maneuvered the conversation in another direction. “You pitched a great game tonight. How’s your arm holding up?”
“It just has to last through the playoffs.”
“Are you expecting to take regionals this year?”
I shot a finger in the air. “And on that note, I’m going to bed.”
“Okay, goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night, Dad.” I planted a quick kiss on my father’s cheek and offered Rob a smile. “See you tomorrow.”
He returned the smile and stepped toward me. “Goodnight, Chloe.” Now, there was something different about the way he said my name, and then it hit me—about the same time as his kiss landed on my cheek. It was soft and warm and completely boyfriend material. His lips drifted to my ear. “And sweet dreams.”
I entered my house in a complete fog as an odd feeling crept over me, something similar to having the flu. My whole body felt weak, but somehow, I managed to make it up the stairs and into my bedroom. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights as I sprawled across the window seat. There, I waited for Rob to turn toward home, and since it was completely dark in my room, I knew he wouldn’t see me. But as he walked out into the open, he lifted his head toward my bedroom window. My heart raced faster and faster as his eyes remained on my room, and when he offered a little wave, I gasped out loud and fell to the floor.
****
“Yes?” He hung an arm around my shoulders and drew me closer to him.
“I was wondering if I could go to Courtney’s beach house after prom.” I took a breath and waited for the negative reply.
“Did you ask your mother?”
“No, she always says to ask you, so I figured I’d just eliminate the middle man.”
“Hmm, that makes sense.” His eyes remained on the field. “Will Rob be there?”
I was trying to figure out if this information would fall into the pro or con column. “Uh, yeah…I think so.”
“Well, tell him to have you back in time for church then.”
“Oh-okay,” I managed and slid next to Courtney again, and when I told her about my dad’s second act of kindness, the first being the pricey prom dress, she said now would be a good time to ask for something else I wanted. After all, wishes come in three’s, but I, of course, reminded her that so did bad omens.
“Whatever,” she said and found my ear. “So, when you get married, I’ll be your maid of honor, right?”
“Yeah,” I said back.
She put her arm around my shoulders. “Good. You’ll be mine too.” With that decided, she placed an open palm in front of me, and I tapped it with two fingers. I flipped my hand over, palm facing up, and she thumped two fingers in the center of mine. We formed a “C” with our fingers and tapped our hands on top of another. That was the secret handshake of the Seven Cs, and we used it to close any friendship deal.
I watched the remainder of the ball game next to Courtney, and Riverside took it easily: 7-1. After the game, Rob climbed the bleachers with his bat bag slung over his shoulder. He set one foot on the bench next to me and rested a forearm on bended knee. “You catch any of the game?”
“Yeah.” I yanked the brim of his hat down over his eyes. “You played all right.”
“Aw, that means so much coming from my number one fan.” He lifted up the red Riverside cap, ran his fingers through his hair, and replaced the hat in the same exact place. “Do you want to work on English tonight?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Hey, don’t sound so excited.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but doing homework on a Friday night makes me feel like a loser.”
“But it’s not homework, Chlo.” He leaned in closer to me. “It’s for extra credit.”
I brought a finger to my lips. “Shh, that’s even worse.”
-13-
And a Movie
After the game, I slid down the wall outside the training room and got comfortable since Rob’s last words were: “It could be a while.” I scanned the halls for conversation, and soon one started toward me. It was Tom Richardson with his newest girlfriend Katie. Her arm was threaded through his, and her head was propped on his shoulder.
“Waiting for Rob?” Tom asked.
“Yeah.”
“What are you guys doing tonight?”
I shrugged. “Just hanging out, I guess.” I wasn’t willing to admit our plans to anyone, not even the studious valedictorian of the senior class.
“We’re all headed to Chip’s house,” Tom invited and then turned to strike up a conversation with one of his passing teammates.
Katie slipped from his side. “And just so you know, it’ll be a small crowd. You know, ours.” Her crowd included the likes of Jessica and Kendra, and their little clique reminded me of those kids on Dawson’s Creek since they conversed in SAT words and exchanged partners faster than in square dancing.
My friends were the complete opposite. We avoided polysyllabic words outside the classroom and never dated the same guys; we viewed guy swapping as the cardinal sin of friendship.
I looked up at Katie and uttered, “Uh, that’s nice,” wondering if I had ever used the phrase and really meant it. I probably would have considered other phrases of vernacular irony, but Tom found his way back to the conversation and added earnestly, “Hope you guys can make it.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.” And speaking of SAT words, one little gem popped into my head: abacinate. It meant having your eyes gorged out with hot, metal pokers. Yes, a gruesome form of torture, but it was comparable to attending Chip’s little gathering.
I opened Much Ado about Nothing and decided to look at my lines, and by the time I had read over the passage twice, Rob emerged with his right side wrapped in a bulky pack of ice from shoulder to elbow. “You up for going to Chip’s tonight?”
My eyes were on our scene for class, which was the first reason why I was fuming mad at him, and he was trying to give me another one. I lifted my head slowly as my eyes narrowed into a slits.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
I closed my book and chucked it at him. He picked up the play, which had ricocheted off his shin and into the middle of the hall. “Oh, that’s right. We’re supposed to be doing this tonight.”
“Yeah, that,” I said, gesturing at the book in his hands, “is the real reason I’m mad at you.”
“Why?” He tossed it into my open bag and chugged some Gatorade.
“Why?” I repeated. “You’ve read it, so you knew what was in that scene.”
He shrugged.
“Rob, our characters tell each other that they…”
“So?” He smiled. “I’ve said it to you before.”
“Like ten years ago.”
“And nothing’s changed, right?” He teased with a twisted smirk. His line sounded familiar—only because it was mine from Saturday night. But love at six is completely different than love at sixteen, and maybe my feelings for him had never changed, and maybe I still loved him that way, but it didn’t mean I felt comfortable saying it to him—especially not in a room full of immature seniors who were looking for any excuse to laugh at the lowly junior in the class!
Still chuckling to himself, he handed me his keys, and I drove to his house, parking his Jeep in the third stall of his garage. I followed him inside, and we chatted with his parents for a moment before heading to his room. I plopped down on the edge of his bed and checked my texts while he sat at his computer.
I glanced up at him. “Whoya’ writing?”
“Just someone I met at campus,” he answered evenly. Rob went for a campus tour of Georgetown last month and came back with a few cyberspace pen pals.
“Is it a girl?” I chided in that annoying voice I had reserved for my brother.
“Yeah…so?”
“A little weekend hook up?”
“No, I don’t do that.”
“Is she your girlfriend then?”
“No, because at the time, I had a girlfriend.”
I offered him the skeptical tone. “Oh, so she’s just a friend.”
“I am capable of being friends with a girl.” He tossed me a glance over his shoulder. “You should know that.”
“Yeah, but I don’t count.”
“Why not?” He spun around in his chair, smiling. “Is there something anatomically wrong with you?” I rolled my eyes as he got up from his chair. “I’m going to take this off,” he said, gesturing toward his saran-wrapped arm. “You want anything from the kitchen?”
“Nah.” I slid off the end of his bed and walked around his room. It had changed over the years, but I could still remember when his walls were painted sky blue with cumulus clouds and wooden planes dangled from his ceiling. Then his mother redecorated with a baseball motif, but now, his collection of autographed baseballs and team trophies had been relegated to the bottom shelf of his bookcase, and his walls were a soft grey. A picture of Mount McKinley hung over his bed, and his comforter was a muted plaid of soft blues and grays. His room was extremely neat, and the only trace of clutter was on his bulletin board over his desk, where he had pinned up some sports tickets and photos. There were photos of friends, team photographs, some shots of him on bike trails and hikes, youth group pictures, and a Homecoming picture of him and Kendra. I lifted up on my tippy toes and noticed all the pictures of me. There was a real skuzzy shot of me after a cross country meet, and I considered removing the evidence from the board as his voice reentered the room. “You know, I have more pictures of you than of anyone else.”
“Really?” I started counting.
“Uh-huh, Kendra pointed that out to me.”
I didn’t conceal the grin, since my back was turned to him. “I bet that caused a fight, right?”
“Yeah, but we fought all the time.”
I thought about the last few months with Austin. “Yeah, I know how that is.”
“At least, we don’t fight like that. You know…over stuff that matters.”
“Yeah, that’s because we’re not dating.”
“And if we were, then you’d probably get mad if I did this.” I felt the slightest tap on the back of my head, and when I turned around, I saw a gargantuan grin on his face. He was on his bed with his hand buried in a bowl of popcorn.
“Here, catch,” he teased; then a piece hit my forehead.
“You have rotten aim, Callahan.” I jumped onto the bed and scooped up a handful of hot ammunition.
“That’s because I have to rest my right, Chlo.” He launched a fistful into my hair, and I dumped some on top of his head.
He reached for more, and I did the same.
Then our eyes met. “All right. This is war,” I declared. And it was—the sort of war that resulted in laughing, play wrestling, and a lot of popcorn casualties all over his room.
“Stop,” I tried, but he ignored my comment and chucked more at me. I laughed and picked up pieces off the bed and pelted him in the nose. He started laughing uncontrollably and pointed a finger in my direction. “You have so much in your hair (a big belly laugh)…that you look like a Christmas tree (another obnoxious laugh)…wrapped in popcorn garland.” I shook my head like a wet dog and gave him a pelting popcorn shower.
A loud knock hit the door, and we froze like statues.
“I hope it’s not your mom,” I whispered.
He faced the door. “Uh, come in.”
Riley entered the room, and her eyes grew into saucers, and for the first time, I noticed his bedroom. It was popcorn, popcorn everywhere. I glanced at the bowl. And not a bite to eat.
“Watcha’ need, Ry?” he asked evenly.
“Um, I smelled popcorn and I…” she muttered.
He showed her the empty bowl. “Sorry, it’s all gone.”
She examined us for a long moment, and then she left the room without another word. We waited a whole nanosecond before we collapsed on the bed and started laughing. Rob and I lay in opposite directions—with my head at his feet and his at mine—and after considerable laughter, we were holding our stomachs because our bellies actually hurt. So I lay there, wondering if my stomach felt like I had done a hundred crunches, would my abs show similar results? Because if so, I should laugh more and exercise less. And still thinking, I rolled up on my side and spoke to his feet, which were a bit hairy—not exceedingly ape-like or anything, just very manly like his legs, arms, and chest. “Listen, I’ll help you clean up this whole mess even though you were the one who started it.”
“Wow, you’re such a good friend, Chlo,” he returned sarcastically because if anyone were keeping track, he would beat me in the kindness race.
I collected some pieces off the bed. “It’s the least I could do…after what you did today.”
“And what was that?”
“What you always do.” I dumped a handful of popcorn into the bowl, and he slid off the bed with a knowing smile.
“Listen,” he started as he collected popcorn off the floor. “I have a question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Why’d you date him?”
“Why does every girl date him?”
“Yeah, but you’re not every girl,” he returned evenly.
I heaved out a heavy sigh. “Actually, I ask myself that all the time.” I should have left it there, but for some reason, I continued. Rob had that effect on me. Talking to him was like being under oath, and I had to tell him the truth. “At first, it was just physical attraction, but after a while, we became friends, close friends, and I guess, it just went from there.”
“Sometimes it happens,” he said, and I thought to myself, Yeah, and sometimes it doesn’t.
When most of the popcorn was off the floor, I realized I had a piece caught in my bra wallet—you know, the place between the cups where girls can stash cash when they don’t have a purse or any pockets. I dislodged the piece and dropped it into a bowl, feeling the need to explain. “Things always get stuck in there.”
“Oh,” he said. “Guys don’t have that problem.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather have ours than yours.” That was a real conversation stopper, and we picked up the remaining pieces in silence.
Then he placed the bowl on top of his dresser and said, “Well, I think that does it, so I guess we should work on that scene now.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out my copy of Much Ado about Nothing. I sat down on the end of his bed, and he sat next to me. I opened my book to Act IV, and he glanced over at me. “Okay, you need to start crying, so I can say my first line.”
His line was: “Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while,” but instead of crying, I informed, “Rob, I can’t cry on a command.”
“Why not? You’re a girl, aren’t you?”
I pushed out a loud and long exhale like I was experimenting with my lung capacity, which was quite good since I’m a long distance runner and all.
“Listen, why don’t you try Method Acting? It’s a technique where you think about something sad, and by drawing on your own personal experience, you’ll portray the correct emotion in the scene.”
“Should I think about my break-up with Austin then?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Or how I felt when my dad got rid of my dog? He was a really bad dog, but still.” I wiped away a little tear and looked over at him. “But if I’m really in the mood to cry, I think about my Grandpa Preston. I miss his little one-liners, and I wish I would have written them all down because I can’t remember half of them anymore.” He brought me to his shoulder and patted my back. “Oh, and I miss your Grandma too. She sang all those beautiful folk songs with her Irish lilt.” I started blubbering through the first few lines of the Irish Lullaby. I heard audible swallows coming from him. His hands were folded in his lap, and I wondered if I should hold his hand, like I did on the day of his grandmother’s funeral…
Grandma Callahan’s funeral was held in a big Catholic church across town. Rob wore a dark suit, and I wore a black dress for the first time in my life. I was only nine, and I spent the entire service staring at my shiny black patent leather shoes. But when his mother began to sing “On Eagle’s Wings,” Rob started sobbing. I held his hand in mine and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.” And that was the first and only time I had ever seen my best friend cry…
“Hey,” Rob said, slapping his thighs. “Maybe we should forget reading this scene tonight and work on memorizing our lines first.”
“Yeah…okay.”
“We could watch a movie.” He gestured toward the top of his dresser. “And look, we already have popcorn.” At the mention of popcorn, I smiled, thinking of all the places those pieces had been.
He grabbed the remote off the top of the TV and propped up some pillows against the wall. He took the right side, and I got comfortable on the left. He started flipping through a million channels at a voracious rate. I saw many options that we didn’t have at my house, since my mother didn’t believe in TV and my father didn’t believe in paying for it. If the satellite company offered a PBS / Sports pack, that would be adequate for the Preston family.
Minutes passed, and after watching a millisecond of a million programs, I began to stare at him, hoping he’d feel the weight of my evil glare.
Rob faced me and arched an eyebrow. “You see something you like?”
I stared back at him, zeroing in on the little freckle at the tip of his nose. “Nope.”
Then he turned away again, laughing.
Finally, we settled on a teen romance that neither of us had seen before, but about half way through it, I decided I could have gone my whole life without ever watching it. It was like an extended cliché on dating, and after experiencing some of my own relationships and seeing my friends with their boyfriends, I decided it held no resemblance to real life.
“Oh, c’mon,” I scoffed at the television screen. “No guy would ever say that.” Rob didn’t offer a response, so I turned and found out why. He had fallen asleep. I slid off my side of the bed and pulled a navy blanket off the top shelf of his closet. I draped it over him, and when I did, a little corner of his mouth retreated in his cheek. I whispered, “You’re welcome, Rob.”
I returned to my spot and pulled the blanket over my legs. The movie droned on, but my eyes fell on him. I watched his face as he slept soundly next to me, noticing how his eyelashes fluttered and his expressions changed, and I leaned over and lightly touched his face with the back of my hand. It felt like soft sandpaper, and I wondered what it would feel like to kiss his face. Slowly, I lowered my head to his shoulder, his good one, and let my imagination travel to places where my lips dared not.
-14-
The Bet
My phone rang several times before I flipped off the side of the bed and scooped it out of my bag. “Uh, hello.”
“Do you know what time it is, young lady?”
“Uh, no.”
“Why not? The Callahans don’t have any clocks over there?”
Clocks? I spotted one on Rob’s night stand, and it was almost midnight. “Uh…sorry, Dad,” I muttered.
“It’s okay. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Yeah, um, a few minutes,” I repeated, and the conversation ended there. I felt confused. I stood there, replaying the words in my head. I was quite sure my father left out the part where he explains how rules are there to protect me, and how he’s disappointed in me, and even though he wishes he didn’t have to punish me, I had left him no other choice this time.
“That was my dad,” I told Rob.
“Yeah, I figured,” he said inside a yawn and walked over to me. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why? Was your dad upset?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” I stammered and searched the floor for my shoes.
Rob walked over with a pair of pink flip flops. “Maybe I should let you wake up before I ask you any more questions.”
I nodded, and we left his bedroom and tiptoed across his dark house. He opened the sliding glass door, and we walked back to my house in silence until I realized, “Listen, Rob, my dad was just being nice over the phone, but he’s still going to ground me for the rest of my life—which means you need to find another prom date!”
“That sounds a little harsh.”
“You don’t know my dad.”
“Trust me, I do.” He stepped in front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “And he’s not going to be that upset.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because you were with me.”
“So?”
“So, your dad loves me.”
“Only because I’m not dating you.”
“Let me get this straight. If we were dating,” he started, gesturing between us, “then your dad wouldn’t like me anymore.”
“Yup.”
“You wanna’ bet?”
“Sure,” I accepted quickly. It was a rhetorical bet anyway, and unlike other wagers in the past, I had absolutely nothing to lose this time.
As we came to the end of the path, I noticed my father sitting on our back porch. My dad was dressed in weekend wear, a white T-shirt and a pair of plaid lounge pants, and as we entered my fenced-in backyard, he stood up, greeting us with a smile.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Preston,” Rob apologized as he closed the gate behind us. “But we fell asleep during a movie.”
“Must have been a lousy one.”
“Yeah, but it would make a great cure for insomnia.” Rob offered, and my father replied with a low chuckle. Rob was a master at polite adult humor, but I, on the other hand, had only one comedic weapon in my arsenal of humor: sarcasm.
“Then we should get it for Mom. It’d be much cheaper than Ambien.” As soon as I said it, I knew it was the kind of joke that wasn’t really funny because it was too close to the truth. Lately, my mom suffered with my father’s long absences and filled the void with medicinal friends like Ambien and Prozac.
“If only it were that easy,” my father said quietly and maneuvered the conversation in another direction. “You pitched a great game tonight. How’s your arm holding up?”
“It just has to last through the playoffs.”
“Are you expecting to take regionals this year?”
I shot a finger in the air. “And on that note, I’m going to bed.”
“Okay, goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night, Dad.” I planted a quick kiss on my father’s cheek and offered Rob a smile. “See you tomorrow.”
He returned the smile and stepped toward me. “Goodnight, Chloe.” Now, there was something different about the way he said my name, and then it hit me—about the same time as his kiss landed on my cheek. It was soft and warm and completely boyfriend material. His lips drifted to my ear. “And sweet dreams.”
I entered my house in a complete fog as an odd feeling crept over me, something similar to having the flu. My whole body felt weak, but somehow, I managed to make it up the stairs and into my bedroom. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights as I sprawled across the window seat. There, I waited for Rob to turn toward home, and since it was completely dark in my room, I knew he wouldn’t see me. But as he walked out into the open, he lifted his head toward my bedroom window. My heart raced faster and faster as his eyes remained on my room, and when he offered a little wave, I gasped out loud and fell to the floor.
****
