Nothing but Trouble after Midnight, Page 7

Early the next morning, I downed a tall glass of frosty water and headed out the garage door. Both of the road bikes were off their hooks, and my mother was kneeling next to a bed of bright pink impatiens in the front yard, proving that the familial definition of early and mine were off by a full hour or two.

  I strolled down the driveway, waved at my mother through the trees, and set my GPS watch for the Riverside Trail. No ipod. No distractions. I needed time to think. Last night, my best friend posed as my boyfriend, and I had to figure out if it were to win a bet or if it were something more, and as much as I needed help sorting through this little dilemma, I couldn’t imagine talking to anyone about my feelings for Rob. Trust me, I knew I had them; I just didn’t know what to do with them, and the last thing I wanted was to put them out there in the open.

  I took the sidewalk to the front of my neighborhood and glanced over at the gate house. Clyde was busy with a line of incoming cars, so I crossed the main road without the usual wave and entered the Riverside Trail at the head. I joined bikers, rollerbladers, walkers, and fellow runners for my Saturday morning ritual.

  The seven-mile trail was a converted railroad track and ran parallel with the main road for about a mile, swerved in and out of canopied trees, and then crossed over the river before it ended in a loop around a small botanical garden. The Riverside Garden Club, of which my mother is a member, cultivated an impressive array of native wildflowers and seasonal blooms in beds scattered around benches. The park-like setting attracted insects, butterflies, tired rail-trailers, and couples in love, and each time I rounded the curve, I noticed an ample representation of each.

  It was one of the nicest trails in the area, but the internal debate kept me from enjoying the scenery, and after forty-nine minutes and thirteen seconds of deliberation, I returned home without an answer.

  I headed into the garage and grabbed a bottle of water from the drink fridge, and taking successive swigs of water, I meandered into the yard where I found my mother pruning bushes by the front entryway. “You need help, Mom?”

  “Sure, that would be nice.”

  I pulled a few weeds from the bed and made a small pile on a stepping stone. I glanced at the street. “Shouldn’t the boys be back by now?”

  “Which ones?”

  “Hmm, I wonder.” I pretended to consider the question. My father and brother biked with a group of guys from my dad’s Rotary club every Saturday morning, and over the years, the guys formed two packs, based on speed, which was usually, but not entirely, dependent upon age. Mr. Dixon was a few years older than my father and led the fast pack. I knew his daughter from the cross country team. She was two years older than me, but during my freshmen year, we roomed together at the state meet. That was when she told me this horrible story about how her father actually lifted her boyfriend’s prints off a glass and ran a full criminal check on him. Mr. Dixon’s a detective by profession, and after hearing several stories about her dad, I realized that I didn’t have it too bad.

  I looked toward the street again, seeing slivers of yellow, red, and blue flow by the trees, and then the steady stream of bright colors climbed the driveway. I turned to my mom. “I’m gonna’ head in now.”

  Her eyes dropped to a tiny pile of weeds next to me. “Hmm, thanks for all your help, dear.” I think sarcasm runs on both sides of my family; thus, according to the Punnett square, it was genetically impossible for me to avoid.

  “Yeah, don’t mention it,” I said and started toward the driveway.

  The reason I left my weeding post was around six feet tall and dripping with sweat, and as I approached him, he was in the middle of a water bottle shower, squirting cool liquid on his face, the top of his head, and down his neck.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey,” he said back while the last few droplets of water dripped from his bottle.

  “You need another one?”

  He nodded, and I went to the fridge. I grabbed an armload of water bottles and passed them out like candy to trick-or-treaters.

  “Thanks,” Rob said, twisting off the cap and consuming half the bottle. He glanced at the other guys; they were huddled together and talking about the conditions of the ride. “In case you were wondering, your dad’s still talking to me.”

  “So?”

  “So,” he repeated. “It proves that I won the bet.” That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear, and I felt rejection take hold of my heart.

  I looked down, sweeping a leaf with my running shoe. “What’s the payback this time?” I figured he was going to make me wash his car again. That was my payment for the whole borrowing-the-keys incident, but Rob waited until he and Tom went trail riding on a drizzly afternoon. So, while he cleaned the mud off his mountain bike, I washed and waxed his whole Jeep. Then when he finished with his chore, he pulled up a lawn chair and sat under the coach lights of his garage. He read Pride and Prejudice, making intermittent jibes at my literary tastes as well as my car-washing capabilities.

  “Well, the Jeep’s still clean.” He flicked his head in the direction of his house and laughed. “But the lawn—”

  “You know what?” A hodgepodge of feelings, but namely rejection, fueled my next response. “I’m not doing anything for you. It was a dumb bet, and it proved absolutely nothing.”

  “No, it proved you were wrong.”

  I stepped closer to him, whispering my next statement. “I’m not wrong because we’re not actually dating, and if we were, then my father wouldn’t like you anymore.”

  “Yes, he would.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “Would too.”

  “Would not.”

  We were headed toward conversational infinity, so Rob held up a hand. “Listen, Chlo, I think I know a way we can settle this.”

  “Yeah, how?”

  “I’ll show you tonight. Say around five o’ clock.”

  My eyes narrowed in skepticism “For what?”

  “A date.”

  “Like a real date?”

  He nodded.

  “To where?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Then how will I know what to wear?”

  “Just wear a dress.”

  “What kind of dress?” For a girl, this was a very logical question since certain events necessitated a certain style of apparel.

  “I don’t know. How about one of the bazillion dresses you have hanging in your closet?” He put on his bike helmet. “I’ll see you later, okay?” He started coasting down the driveway on his bright yellow Trek, and my mother sidled up next to me. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop...”

  “But?”

  “Are you and Rob going out tonight…like on a date?”

  “Yeah,” I said, and my mother smiled, like she did when I brought home all As on my report card.

  She peeled off her gardening gloves. “I guess we better get going then.”

  I offered a perplexed look.

  “Because we don’t have much time to find you a dress for tonight.”

  -15-

  Real Date

  By a quarter till five, I was sitting in the family room, since it was the perfect vantage point to wait for Rob. The back of the room had double French doors, which opened onto the patio, and the front was a wall of windows, looking out onto the front walkway. From the couch, I could spot him—whether he arrived by foot or by car like a normal date. Either way, I didn’t want to be surprised, and I kept watch like an owl, swiveling my head from side to side. But when I spotted him coming up the front steps, I took an immediate interest in the television and concentrated on each breath.

  When the doorbell chimed, I jumped a little, and my father emitted a low chuckle.

  “Uh, could you get that, Dad?”

  “Why don’t you get it? It’s for you anyway.”

  “But I can’t answer the door.”

  “Why not?”

  I heaved out an exasperated sigh. “Because.”

  My moth
er rose from the couch, thus ending the pointless discussion, and a few moments later, Rob entered the family room, freshly showered and dressed in grey slacks and a crisp, white button-down shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his hands were buried in his pockets.

  “Hi,” I said first.

  “Hey,” he said back. “And uh…hello, Mr. Preston.”

  My father smiled graciously. “Make yourself at home, Rob.”

  Rob sat down next to me, leaving enough space for the dog. That is, if our pup hadn’t been sent to a farm several years ago. Rob leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “When did the Yanks score?”

  “Bottom of the second. Must have been while you were driving here.” My father gave him an inquisitive look. “Didn’t you have it on in the car?”

  “Nah, someone doesn’t appreciate sports radio.”

  “Trust me. I know where she gets that from.” Then my father mimicked my mother, who was in the kitchen and out of ear-shot at the time. “‘It would be nice if we could talk for a change.’ But whenever I turn it off, you know what she does?”

  Rob knew. “Reads a book.”

  “Exactly,” my father replied.

  Rob and my father watched the game again until the next commercial, and then he slapped his thighs. “Well, I guess, we better get going.”

  The three of us rose on cue, and my mother emerged into the room again, wiping her hands on a dish towel. I smoothed down my dress, and Rob examined me for a moment. “Is that a new dress?”

  “Yeah…why?” I fished for a compliment.

  He shrugged. “Just wondering.”

  Then my father placed his hands on my shoulders. “Yeah, her mom took her out shopping this afternoon. I wouldn’t have agreed to this one.” It was deep red, a halter top style, and much shorter than the other dresses in my closet.

  Rob’s eyes drifted toward my mother. “Well, in that case, thanks, Mrs. Preston.” She smiled, and my cheeks colored, probably turning the same shade as the aforementioned dress. Then we headed for the front door, and miraculously, we left without a review of my curfew. It was smooth. It was easy. And it was really nice for a change. But halfway down the steps, my father stopped us. “And Rob?”

  “Yes, Mr. Preston.”

  “Have her home by midnight.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I was in shock, but Rob wasn’t. And that’s when I had the big a-ha moment. Yes, sadly it took me until the curfew thing to figure it all out. The pricey prom dress, the after-prom party, the new dress for the date, and yippee, the curfew extension had everything to do with my parents’ feelings for Rob (and not me). My parents adored him, trusted him. After all, the boy had a key to my house, and I was about to embark on a new chapter in my dating life.

  With a grin only plastic surgery could enhance, I climbed into the Jeep. My favorite band was playing, and we headed down the interstate toward Downtown Orlando. He veered off the highway and found a parking spot by Lake Eola, and as he cut the engine, I smiled over at him. “You know the play starts in a couple of hours,” I said smartly, already figuring out his plans for the evening.

  “Yeah, well, I like to be early.” He came around to open my car door, and I followed him to the back where he unloaded a picnic basket and a blanket. “But I also like to eat.”

  “Aw, how sweet.”

  “Yeah, while you were out shopping, I was slaving in the kitchen all afternoon. I was just going to make a couple of sandwiches, so you can thank my mom for revising the menu.”

  We found a quiet spot near the edge of the lake where he laid out the blanket, and then gestured for me to open the picnic basket. Inside, it was like food Christmas. I pulled out a thermos of homemade raspberry lemonade, chicken salad on lightly toasted Panini, fresh fruit salad, and decadent brownies. We heaped food onto our plates and ate ravenously. Then remembering my manners, I said, “And my compliments to the chef.”

  “I’ll thank my mom for you, but seriously, wouldn’t you have been just as happy with a couple of baloney sandwiches?”

  “No,” I dismissed decisively and stabbed at a fresh strawberry with my fork.

  He sighed. “Listen, I’m not going to do this every time.”

  I smiled at the thought of there being a next time, but decided against expressing any of those feelings. “Well, of course not, Rob,” I teased. “Because that wouldn’t be very original. Now, would it?” He shook his head and sunk his teeth into his sandwich, and before I took another bite, I tried to shift the conversational gears. “No, seriously, I appreciate everything you did for tonight.”

  “Yeah, I appreciate what you did too.”

  “What? Spend the afternoon shopping?”

  “Yeah, because you look great in that dress.” He swiped his lips with a napkin and smiled.

  “Thanks.” I gestured toward him with my fork. “And you don’t look half bad yourself.”

  I got a low chuckle out of him. “Only you would say a thing like that.”

  “Really? What do you expect me to say? Some line to feed your massive ego?”

  “Do you really think I’m that conceited?”

  I inhaled through my nose, held it for a moment, and let it out with the truth. “No, not really, but I think you’re confident though.” I shrugged. “Probably because you happen to excel at everything. Like sports, school…” I rolled my eyes as I added the last example, “…and girls.”

  “It’s not any different for you.”

  “Well.” I bit down on my lip. “I tend to coast on my natural abilities. I don’t really push myself that hard.”

  He set his plate aside and lowered himself to the blanket, propping himself up on an elbow. “Maybe it’s better that way, Chlo.”

  “Huh?” I responded, lowering myself to the blanket and mirroring his position. “What do you mean?”

  He licked his lips. “When you strive to be the best all the time, then you set yourself up for an inevitable fall. Because someone will always be smarter, funnier, faster…” He grimaced. “And maybe, even better looking.”

  I gave him a look of mock-horror. “Oh, no! That’s just not possible!”

  He winked at me. “Nah, not while I’m in my prime.”

  “So it’s all downhill from here, huh?”

  His dimples sunk deep into his cheeks, and he laughed. “Oh, you’re funny.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “But am I the funniest person you know?”

  “Well, Chloe.” His smile softened. “I bet you have made me laugh more times than anyone else.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably true.”

  He continued on, “And when you were little, you used to make up all the songs about everything. And while you were singing, you would strum along on that pink guitar of yours.”

  “Which I never really learned to play, by the way”

  “Yeah, but it didn’t matter to me,” he assured me.

  “Because I was the best singer in the whole world, huh?”

  “No,” he paused. “Just the most creative.”

  I tried to hide my overwhelming smile by looking down at the blanket, but soon, I noticed his hand, inching toward mine. He didn’t hold my hand; instead, his fingers traveled across it slowly. His touch was gentle, somewhat explorative, and after a while, I joined in the playfulness of the moment. I enjoyed the warmth of his skin and noticed the subtle calluses on his palm, and eventually, his fingers slid slowly through mine, joining our two hands as one.

  As we held hands, we never spoke, and I wondered if we didn’t know what to say to each other as we crossed into new territory. Things were changing between us, and it was as if our words were intimidated by our actions.

  “Should we get going?” he asked.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, but I really wanted to stay with him on the blanket. After all, I was more concerned about missing what might evolve between us than what Shakespeare penned four hundred years ago.

  He sat up. “You want anyt
hing else to eat?”

  I reached into the open container of brownies. “Maybe I’ll have one more of these.” He closed the lid, and then the two of us started repacking the basket. After he folded the blanket neatly, he thumbed toward the parking lot. “I’ll take this back to the Jeep if you want to wait here.”

  “Okay,” I said as he started walking away from me, and I examined him like he was a hot guy strolling by me at the mall. I liked his walk, his steady gait and fluid movements, since it exuded both confidence and a sense of maturity beyond his years. I always believed that a guy’s walk revealed a lot about who he truly was, and Rob conveyed himself accurately with every step he took.

  I watched him load up the Jeep, and as he returned toward me, I offered him an overzealous wave, which he returned with a subtle nod of the head, and for some reason, I kept my eyes on him. I didn’t divert my attention toward the lake; instead, I watched him, noticing the broadness of his shoulders tapering toward his waist and his developing muscular frame.

  He reached my side. “You ready?” He nodded toward the outdoor amphitheater, and as we started down the wide sidewalk, moving closer to each other, our shoulders brushed a few times until our hands joined together. We resembled an official couple on a date, and then I felt exceedingly giddy like a girl holding her first boyfriend’s hand down the hall in school.

  Once we arrived at the box office, I spotted Miss Randall, our English teacher. Rob joined her in line while I waited by a group of Riverside’s faculty, which were mostly old relics from the English department. I noticed Mr. Martinez, our widely appreciated physics intern, off to the side. He offered me a slight smile, and I knew Courtney would tear off a limb if I didn’t take advantage of this chance meeting.

  “Hey, Mr. Martinez.” I flicked my head toward my single, and very pretty, English teacher. I intended to ask the obvious, since they were the only members of the faculty in their twenties. Riverside was like teacher utopia, and teachers never left—well except for death or retirement, whichever came first. “Are you dating my teacher?”

  “I am your teacher.” That wasn’t the point. Plus, I never saw him as a typical teacher. I think it had something to do with first meeting him on the beach when he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  “Well, isn’t there some rule against faculty fraternization?” I wondered.

  He frowned. “Nope, just with students.”

  I went for a new topic. “You like Shakespeare?”

  “Not really. It’s just a faculty night out.”

  “Yeah, I get it. It’s not your scene. You’d rather be—”

  He tapped the side of my head. “Listen, just tell Courtney if she wants to talk to me, she still can. As long as she remembers that I’m her teacher now. Comprendé?”

  I nodded.

  Rob sidled up next to me as Mr. Martinez joined his colleagues. “Who was that?”

  “Just the physics intern.”

  “Now, I know why you two rush to class every day.”

  “Oh, it’s not me,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s not my type.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

  I squeezed Rob’s dimpled cheeks. “He doesn’t have any of these.”

  “Well, I guess, I’m in luck then.” He grinned and took my hand again, leading me to our seats. I saw our teachers a few rows ahead of us and noticed that Mr. Martinez sat a few seats away from Miss Randall, dismissing my earlier suspicions. I gazed across the audience and spotted a group of girls from our English class. In a loud stage-whisper, I turned to Rob, “Jessica’s here.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She already had plans, so I had to take you.”

  I punched him in the arm, but soon apologized, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re on a date.”

  “So we should act differently now?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Nah, that wouldn’t be any fun!” His hand slid down my left side, and he found one of my terribly ticklish spots. I sputtered a cacophonous laugh and caused a “blue hair” to shush me with narrowing eyes.

  The play hadn’t even started yet, and for the duration of it, we remained relatively quiet. But when our scene from Act IV appeared on stage, I looked at him and he looked at me, and we mouthed our first few lines to each other, since that was the extent of my memorization.

  During the final act, I nudged him. “You better not fall asleep.”

  “I won’t.” He winked at me. “I want to see how it ends.”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” I returned flatly.

  After the play, Miss Randall and her Riverside cohorts intercepted us while his warm hand was still in mine. “Rob Callahan and Chloe Preston, are you two…? Well, I’ll be. I just paired you up because I thought you’d make a cute couple.” I thought back to ninth grade when I played the part of Juliet in the final act of Romeo and Juliet. My teacher paired me up with this kid named George, who actually wore a T-shirt with the Periodic Table of Elements on it. He was like the anti-Romeo, and I was just glad that I got to play dead for most of the scene.

  “Miss Randall,” Rob started with his dimpled grin. “Are you trying to collect a matchmaking fee?”

  Her eyes narrowed at him, but Mr. Martinez seemed to appreciate his sense of humor. “Are you the one who helps her with physics homework?”

  Rob extended a hand. “Rob Callahan.”

  “Alex Martinez.”

  Rob draped an arm around my shoulders. “So, tell me, how is she in class?”

  “Well, since you asked, she’s a pain in the neck. She sits next to Courtney Valentine, and the two of them whisper and giggle all hour.”

  “Tell me about it. I live by both of them.” And Rob shared a few gems from our formative years. Mr. Martinez wished us a good night, and Rob and I strolled around the perimeter of the lake, stopping by the playground at the far end of the park. I pulled him through the open gate and over to the long row of resting swings. I sat down and looked at up him with pouty lips. “Oh, please, Rob?”

  “Sure, why not?” His hands found my waist, and he pushed me up into the air several times. I pumped my legs enthusiastically. Then his phone rang, and even though I was curious about his conversation, the swinging back and forth turned his sentences into fragments. All I heard was, “No way…I can’t believe it…” He spoke dramatically and eventually rounded the swing set, standing in front of me with the explanation. “The game went into extra innings.”

  “Oh,” I said, relieved it wasn’t something important.

  “You mind if I...” He thumbed at the bench.

  “No, not at all.” I closed my eyes, leaning all the way back in the swing with my legs stretching out in front of me and my body parallel to the ground as I glided back and forth through the humid night air. There was something about the swings that transported me back in time, and I could almost hear the laughter of children and feel the sunshine on my face.

  “Hey, I dare you to jump,” he said abruptly.

  I opened my eyes. “But I’m in a dress, Rob.”

  “Yeah, like that’s ever stopped you before.”

  I came up with another reason. “Well, I’m trying to act like a lady on our date.”

  He found that somewhat amusing. “Did you decide that before or after you punched me?”

  Before the swing completely stopped, I jumped off, showing little evidence of any ballet training, and landed most ungracefully on my feet, then bottom, and lastly hands into the warm sand. I sprang to my feet, continuously brushing the sand off as I moved closer to him. He masked his chuckle with his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  I gave him a little shove. “No, you’re not.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not.”

  “So did the Sox win?”

  He nodded.

  “Good, I’d hate for some game to ruin our date.”

  “Don’t worry, Chloe. Nothing could ruin tonight,” he said sweetly and took my hand ag
ain, leading me over to a park bench on the edge of the wide sidewalk. Sitting close to each other, he gently draped his arm around my shoulder, and I leaned against his chest. He filed his fingers through mine, and I glanced all around us, noticing the stars dotting the heavens and the colorful blooms in the gardens, and in the center of the lake, the wondrous fountain shot a continuous stream of water into the night sky. No one crossed our path now, and the moment was cinematic perfection.

  “Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked softly.

  “Yeah.” I swallowed down a little knot in my throat. “And you?”

  He placed a soft kiss on my temple, his lips traveling closer to my ear and his warm breath reaching my neck. “Of course, I did. And do you know why?”

  “No…why?” I asked softly.

  “Because I was out with my best friend.” And for some reason, those last two words gave birth to doubt. It began in the pit of my stomach and swirled around until I felt the full effects of it. He whispered something in my ear, something like “It’s a nice night,” but I didn’t hear him as I rose from the bench. “Can we go home now?”

  “W-w-why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I started toward a bright yellow spot across the lake. “I’m just ready to go. That’s all.”

  On my run this morning, I never considered the third and most obvious possibility. Rob wanted the best of both worlds; he wanted to be friends who dated. No commitments, just all the benefits. And it all made sense to me now. He was going away to school in a few months and probably didn’t want some girlfriend back home. I cursed my own stupidity, and I wanted to cry because, in the course of a perfect evening, the best date of my life, I opened up some sealed off part of my heart. I had let out those feelings, the ones I had been trying to ignore for the last ten years, and in doing so, I realized I was completely in love with him. At six. And still at sixteen.

  He caught up to me. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

  “No.”

  He placed a hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “C’mon, just tell me.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Yeah, well, the truth usually is.”

  Neither of us said anything for a long moment, and then I turned around to face him. He spoke again, very softly this time, “Let’s go some place where we can talk, Chlo.”

  I nodded slowly, and even though we never said another word on the way back to the Jeep, I knew exactly where he was taking me.

  -16-

  Rewriting History

  He rolled up my driveway, and the two of us walked through the woods, only stopping when we reached the base of the old oak tree. His eyes lifted slowly to the opening in the tree house. “After you,” he said, and I climbed the side of the tree, stepping on the wooden two by fours that served as the ladder. When I was about half way up, I glanced down at him, and he was looking away, just as he had done when I wore a dress as a little girl.

  My head emerged into the small opening, and the inside felt even smaller than I had remembered, and I took a deep breath of the past. The air was warm and muggy, and the smell inside reminded me of the lumber aisle at Home Depot.

  On all fours, I crept across the wooden planks and found my spot against the wall, and when I stretched out my legs, they reached halfway across the floor of our childhood hideout. He joined me, taking his seat on my right, his long legs reaching way past mine now. Our shoulders touched lightly, and he offered his hand, laying an open-faced palm gently on my thigh. I rested my hand on top of his, and his warm fingers encircled mine.

  The sounds of the night surrounded us. There was a rustling of the leaves, and the crickets strummed their only tune, but neither of us spoke a word. My head raced with thoughts, which never formed into complete sentences, as he peered out of the window on the right. The small opening had served as our lookout for years and was there in case we were ever attacked by neighboring invaders.

  I drew a deep breath and squeezed his hand. “You’re my best friend, Rob. You were the only person who cared enough about me to find me on Monday. I was really hurt, more than you’ll ever know, but you made it better.”

  “You’re my best friend too, and I’m closer to you than to anyone else.”

  “But I don’t want to date my best friend.”

  His voice registered his disappointment. “Okay.”

  “Unless…” I felt the need to explain further. “We’re not just friends anymore, because I don’t believe in the whole friends-with-benefits movement.”

  He turned, his eyes finding mine. “I don’t either.”

  “But isn’t that what you meant earlier?”

  “No.” He shook his head and smiled. “I know you’re not like that, and you should know that I’m not either.”

  “But you’re leaving for school—”

  “In four months.”

  “But—” I tried.

  “None of that matters, Chlo, because I want to be your boyfriend.” He smiled sweetly before he added, “Again.”

  I smiled back. “But you have to promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me that we’ll still be friends no matter what happens.”

  “I promise.” My heart fluttered as he spoke earnestly into my eyes, and very gently, he rested a palm on the side of my face. His thumb swept across my lips, and he looked like he intended to kiss me. “And…”

  “Yes?”

  “I do remember that day.” His smile warmed my insides. “You were wearing a pink swimsuit with a little ruffle across the top, and your hair was up in pigtails, and we were telling each other stupid knock-knock jokes. We were both cracking up, and I remember thinking that you were the coolest girl in the world and that I…anyway, I remember, Chloe.”

  “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I know a good knock-knock joke.”

  “There are no good knock-knock jokes.”

  I started one anyway. “Knock, knock.”

  “Who’s there?” he mumbled.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah who?”

  “Aw, I’m happy too, Rob.”

  “Oh, you’re so funny.” He went for my ribs, and I started laughing. I targeted his belly, but unfortunately, he didn’t have any good ticklish spots on his entire body. (Well, as far as I could tell.)

  “Do you know what was really funny?” I asked, giggling.

  “What?”

  “The look on Riley’s face when she came into your room last night.”

  “Yeah, I know.” We both started laughing, and my head tilted back as his lips found my ear. “May I kiss you?”

  I felt six all over again, and even though it’s impossible to go back in time and relive the past, it is entirely possible to recreate the same exact moment and make it better. Much better. With his lips still near my ear, he added. “I’ve thought about this moment for a long time.”

  I didn’t hesitate with my reply. “Me too, Rob.” I closed my eyes, completely under the spell of his intentions, and waited for his lips to meet mine…finally.

  “But,” he began, and I opened my eyes slowly. My gaze fell downward, and then he lifted my chin with his hand. “We’ll only have one first kiss, Chlo, so this moment will only happen once for us.” I smiled at his beautiful, calculating mind. “Think about it. Is this,” he hesitated, “exactly the way you imagined it?”

  “Well, my imagination is usually better than reality...” He looked dejected, and I rested my hand against his smooth cheek, and very softly, I added, “…until now.” Then I wrapped my hands around his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin under my fingertips, and while his hands cradled my face, I closed my eyes. Then his warm lips pressed against mine.

  “See, I didn’t turn away this time,” I whispered against his mouth.

  He patted my cheeks. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t have let you.”

  Our mouths
smiled against each other as his lips parted slightly. He kissed my upper lip a few times, gently moving to my lower, softly sucking it. Slowly, he explored the contours of my mouth, and I let him, without thinking, without forcing my thoughts on him. I let him control the moment, knowing his sweet intentions and not wanting to spoil the moment with my growing desire for him. Gradually, his fingers crept from my face and into my hair. He found the tendrils on the nape of my neck and twirled them playfully with his fingers. As his mouth closed, he planted a final kiss on my eager lips. Even though his kiss bore the sweetness of a boy with his first girlfriend, we were no longer children experimenting with puppy love because desire tugged at our innocence. And while his lips lingered by mine, he pushed out a breath and spoke, “We need to take this slow.”

  “I know.”

  He guided me onto his shoulder, and gently, he caressed my hair. Words were unnecessary now, and I soaked in the afterthoughts of our first kiss. And now, with my lips dangerously close to his neck, my eyes wandered freely across his still body. Surely, my fingers and lips grew jealous of the places where eyes could travel without reproach: down his chest, I thought of the swirls of brown hair that I wanted to explore; and across his lap, the mystery of a man’s body still lay hidden to me; and out the length of his long legs, I envisioned our bodies intertwined while our fingertips discovered each other for the very first time. All my fears succumbed to fantasies, and I felt the warmest rush of affections for him. His hand caressed my back now, and his soft lips touched my forehead. I wanted him to kiss me again and cross the line of innocence, but into our quiet moment, a notorious neighborhood invader chanted in a singsong voice:

  Rob and Chloe

  Up in their tree

  K-I-S-S-I-N-G

  First comes love

  Then comes marriage

  Then comes baby

  In the baby carriage.

  Quickly, we separated like two kids getting caught in the act, and following the song, Courtney leaned all the way into the opening of the tree house. “Aw, I’ve always wanted to sing that to you two.” Then she giggled back down the tree.

  Rob turned toward me with an enormous smile. “Too bad she didn’t sing it ten years ago. Then you would’ve known that the baby comes after marriage and not the K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

  I shoved him into the corner and scampered across the floor, meeting Courtney at the base of the tree.

  She bit down on her lip. “So, tell me, how was your date?”

  “It was nice,” I said evenly.

  Then Rob joined us. “Yeah, we had a good time.”

  Courtney looked at us with narrowing eyes. “That’s all I get.”

  “Yup,” we chorused.

  “My two best friends go out on a real date, and that is all I get!”

  We nodded in unison.

  “Wanna’ know what Josh and I did tonight?”

  “Sure.” Rob took the bait.

  “Each other.” She spun on a heel and marched home.

  “She’s kidding, right?”

  I nodded, and he followed me into the woods with another question. “How do you know?”

  “Because we tell each other everything.”

  “Everything?” he repeated uneasily.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not yet,” he returned with a smile, and then he led me toward the garage door. Under the coach lights, he offered one last kiss on my lips and repeated his line from the previous night: “Goodnight, Chloe, and sweet dreams.”

  He got into his Jeep, and I entered my house, dark and quiet, and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I sprawled across my window seat, pulling up the blinds a few inches and gazing into the woods behind my house. I watched as the faint glow of his headlights illuminated the darkness, and while touching the humid glass, I whispered a soft “I love you.”

  -17-

  The Four Fs

  Days later, I professed my love for him, several times actually, and in front of the brightest kids in the whole senior class. Even Jessica and Kendra stood up during our standing ovation, and everyone remarked on our acting ability, which was quite ironic, since neither one of us was acting anymore. Consequently, Rob and I had reached a level of honesty that we hadn’t known in years—ten years to be exact. And sometimes, I had to remind myself that I was sixteen now, and I couldn’t blurt out my real feelings for him.

  At six, there were no rules. We could fall in love and talk about marriage and how many kids we wanted to have, and whenever it was my turn to pick the game, I always wanted to play house. He was the daddy, and I was the mommy, and if Brad or Riley joined in, then they played our children. Each day, Rob would climb down the ladder of our tree house and go off to work while I tended to our house. Even then he was a thoughtful husband, bringing me wildflowers from the woods and fresh blooms from his backyard, and I, in return, prepared his favorite meal from fallen debris off the forest floor.

  But at sixteen, there are lots of rules, and you don’t discuss marriage or the number of children you want to have. You’re supposed to talk about movies and music, and right now everyone was talking about one thing: PROM!

  At present, I was sitting on a padded, pink bench and reading East of Eden—which is a considerably long book—while Courtney, Caitlyn, and Callie were in their dressing rooms.

  Courtney popped out her head. “I need your advice.” I placed my book face-down on the bench and stuck my head in her dressing room where she posed like an actual Victoria’s Secret model. “Is this the last thing I should be wearing when he loses his virginity?”

  My mouth dropped open. “No.”

  “How about this?” She held up something black and equally seductive, and I slid into her tiny dressing room and scolded her. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Why?” she asked in mock innocence.

  “Because he’s completely in love with you, and I know you don’t love him.”

  “I might.”

  “What about Mr. Martinez? And Operation Intern?”

  “That plan goes into effect in a few weeks…after the school year ends. But I need something to do until then.”

  “You mean someone.”

  She chewed on a nail. “Maybe.”

  “Have you ever considered a real hobby?”

  “Well, I…”

  I quipped back, “Something other than collecting broken hearts.”

  She smiled knowingly and pulled off her slinky negligee. She stood there like a marbled Aphrodite, wearing just a bright pink thong. She spun around and narrowed her eyes at me. “Well, what about you? Why are you out there reading a book when you should be in here trying on something for the big night?”

  “But we’re not going to do anything.”

  She rested her hand on my shoulder. “Listen, just because you’re not going to have sex with him, doesn’t mean you can’t be sexy for him.”

  “I know.”

  But I didn’t, and I was glad when her tutorial continued, “I know you’ve jumped on that whole waiting-until-marriage bandwagon, but being sexy starts with these.” She snapped the elastic of her own unmentionable. “I bet you still wear those horrid granny panties, don’t you?”

  “Bikini cut,” I corrected as Courtney slipped back into her sundress. She dragged me to a table of neatly folded underwear and handed me a red pair. I examined it. “It’s like a triangle with string.” I glanced at the price in comparison to my typical selection. “And they even charge more for these.”

  Courtney winked. “Yeah, sometimes, less is more.”

  Yeah, what did I know? I bought three: deep red, soft ivory, and basic black. I used up most of the cash in my wallet to buy three pairs of underwear that I might never wear. Because if I did, I would have to hand wash them in my sink and dry them with a hairdryer in the privacy of my bathroom. Then I’d have to store them in a secret place, since it’s not like G-string underwear can quietly enter the laundry world without getting notic
ed by my mother.

  After we left Victoria’s Secret, we walked around the mall for a while, and then headed to the food court for dinner. As Caitlyn sipped her soda, she zeroed in on Callie. “So, how far have you and Mike gone?”

  Callie grinned and held up two fingers. Caitlyn’s green eyes slid around the table and found mine, and I shot one finger into the air. The middle one.

  “Technically, you haven’t even made it that far.” Courtney patted my other hand in successive taps. “It’s French, feel, finger, and—” She mouthed the final f-word, not because she was opposed to saying it, but there were little ears sitting behind us.

  “Omigod, he kisses you without tongue.” Caitlyn was appalled at the information, but then she smiled like only Caitlyn can—condescendingly. “What kind of guy does that?”

  I swirled the ice in my lemonade and thought about our promise to take things slow. “A very, very good one.”

  -18-

  The Schedule

  About Rob being a good guy, that was never an issue until I came down with a bad case of Promitis. Now, the day started out fine. The girls and I followed the schedule: manicures at eleven; followed by lunch, which was pointless since we were full of butterflies; and then we headed to the hair salon for our two o’ clock appointments.

  I, of course, opted out of the whole salon experience since I have naturally curly hair and hairdressers only envision two things when they see me in their chair; they either want to straighten my curls or tease them to Medusa proportions—neither of which was acceptable to me.

  Anyway, guess what I did during their hour-long appointment? Yup, I read my book. Well, I tried to read my book, but the lady next to me wanted to chat. “Are you reading that for school?” she asked sweetly.

  “Nope. For my boyfriend.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice,” she said, introducing herself as Betty. Her hand felt limp in mine, and her dull, yellowy eyes revealed her age. “Are those your friends in there?”

  “Yes, we have our prom tonight.” I told her about my friends and their dates. I even flashed a picture of Rob, and she smiled, telling me he was very handsome and reminded her of a young Lawrence Olivier. I was only familiar with the older one who portrayed the aging King Lear in the Shakespearean film, but I thanked her anyway. She was sweet and reminded me of my Grandma Preston, since she had a knack for getting me to talk about myself. But when Betty got called for her appointment, I returned to my book. I was reading intently when Caitlyn taunted, “Hey there, geek.”

  I kept my eyes on the page. “Geek is most often associated with those who are knowledgeable about computers, of which I am not; therefore, I am not a geek, but a nerd. So, if you plan on insulting me, please use the correct terminology.”

  She let out a single huff, and I smiled victoriously as I slid the bookmark into the four-hundred-page novel and glanced up at my friends. Courtney looked like a real beauty queen with her traditional updo, and Caitlyn was cuter than usual with her jagged part and bobby-pinned style, but Callie had been totally transformed. She had exchanged her ponytail for a half-up, half-down style, and the hairdresser added random spirals throughout her locks, drawing most of her dark brown hair into a clip and leaving a few wispy tendrils to frame her heart-shaped face.

  I stood up in front of Callie. “Wow.”

  “Is that all you can say?”

  “Hey, it’s more than what Mike’ll say.” She looked concerned. “C’mon, Cal, he’s going to be speechless.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yeah, I know so.”

  For my three friends, prom meant something completely different. For Callie, it was about the fulfillment of a fantasy. For Courtney, it was about the glamour. And for Caitlyn, it was about the schedule. And speaking of schedules, we arrived back at my house at a quarter after three, getting an early start on our makeup. Courtney and I took over my bath upstairs, and Caitlyn and Callie claimed my brother’s for the afternoon.

  Since Courtney and Caitlyn showed up at school in full makeup every morning, we regarded them as the experts on the matter. Callie, on the other hand, had always been a bit of a tomboy, and I viewed face paint as somewhat optional, ranking it below ironing, coffee consumption, and the morning paper.

  Later on, I sat there in my bathroom, watching Courtney apply her makeup from the vantage point of my vanity stool. Picking up a tube of gloss, I slid it over my lips while Courtney leaned into the mirror, examining her face closely. She smiled, apparently pleased with what she saw, and then she turned her eyes on me and frowned. “I know you’re into that whole natural girl look, but it’s prom, Chlo. You should let me do your eyes for you.”

  I pushed out an exhale and dropped my shoulders, feeling like the next contestant on the makeover game, and Courtney popped open her makeup tackle box with an enormous grin. She pulled out a myriad of brushes and palettes of eye shadow, and I closed my eyes as she swept a base coat over them. Then I felt the cool, wet brush draw lines in the creases of my lids, and like an artist creating a masterpiece, she chose her colors carefully and painted my eyes with artful strokes.

  “Okay, open up,” she requested. “I need to line your eyes and brush on a little mascara.” She finished my eyes, and slowly, I turned on the stool like at a beauty salon. Seeing my reflection in the mirror for the first time, I had to give Courtney her kudos: my light eyes popped from my face.

  Then she rested a chin on my shoulder and said, “We really should have taken a before photo.” And with that said, my mind drifted back to one of Courtney’s middle school slumber parties when we did just that. “Do you remember when we raided your step sister’s closet and pretended it was our prom night?”

  “Yeah,” she returned, and then she gasped dramatically. “Do you have those pictures in your scrapbook?”

  I nodded enthusiastically, and Courtney and I bolted down the stairs and rushed into the family room. After grabbing the scrapbook from the bookcase, we headed into the other bathroom. “Look at this,” I said, holding the page open to the two-page spread.

  Caitlyn ran her fingers across the photos and sighed. “Look, it’s all seven of us.”

  “We thought we were so cool,” I said.

  Courtney added, “Yeah, what did we know?”

  “Nothing, but we were lucky to have one another. Middle school can be so awkward,” Callie said. She had always been the tallest girl in the class, and the complete opposite of Caitlyn, who had always been promoted to the top of every pyramid.

  “You know what? We’re still lucky,” I added as we fell into a group hug.

  “Okay, okay, break it up, girls.” Caitlyn said, sounding like a lame administrator trying to limit PDA in the halls. “Because I didn’t make time for this in my schedule.”

  Courtney and I saluted the little general and headed up the stairs to put on our dresses.

  Once inside my bedroom, I lifted the corner of my mattress, and Courtney raised an eyebrow. “Is that where you keep your secret stash?”

  “No, it’s where I keep these.” I pulled out a flattened pink bag and removed a silky pair of ivory panties.

  “So, will tonight be your first time?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “Listen, Chlo, it’ll probably hurt a little at first, but after a while, you’ll get used to it, and eventually, you won’t even notice it’s there.”

  “Are we still talking about the underwear?”

  “Yeah, but when you’re ready to do the other thing, it’ll be the same speech—except for the part about not noticing. Well, unless the guy is really—”

  “Great,” I cut in. “Now, Caitlyn can omit the sex pep talk from my wedding day schedule.”

  “C’mon, you’re not going to wait that long.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You know, it’s not a sin to do it before then.”

  “Actually,” I said, spreading my hands to the sides, “it is.”

  A knock hit t
he door, and I slid the bag under my mattress and shoved the balled-up underwear into my pocket. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me…Caitlyn.” She sounded emotional, a sad kind of angry.

  “What did Brandon do now?” Courtney accused as she opened the door. Caitlyn sat down on the edge of my bed. She dropped her face into her hands for a moment, and then quickly regained her composure. “He waited until now to pick up his tux. Apparently, there were some major waves down at the jetty, and then they hit traffic on I-95...” After three years, we had heard lots of stories about long lines, lost items, and bad traffic, so Courtney and I nodded during the whole story. “…Anyway, his pants were like a half a foot too short, and the seamstress is home with a sick kid, so they’re trying to locate someone from another store to come in and do the alterations for him.”

  Just then my mom stepped into my room, glancing at Courtney and me with a huge smile. “Girls, you should get dressed now. The Callahans are here.”

  Caitlyn heaved out a heavy sigh. “Oh, just go to the prom without us then.”

  “Nonsense.” Courtney put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you made time for unforeseen problems in that schedule of yours.”

  “Problems? Yes. Major wardrobe malfunctions? No.”

  “Well, he could start a new trend,” Courtney said with a smirk. She and I felt the same way about Brandon Edwards and would like nothing more than to see him show up at prom in a pair of floods. “Since capris tux pants are all the rage over in Europe.”

  I gave a decisive nod, and Caitlyn bought it. “Maybe in a few years when the runways of Paris reach Riverside.”

  Courtney laughed. “It was just a joke, Cait.”

  “Oh gawd, I’m too stressed out to find humor in all of this.” She collapsed onto my bench like a Hollywood starlet in one of those forties films. You know, Vivien Leigh playing opposite of a young Laurence Olivier, perhaps.

  Then Callie floated into the room. “I was just with Mike, and let me just say this: he looks hot.” She hit the final “t” with emphasis and fell onto my bed. “I’m so in love with him.”

  “Yeah, we know.” Caitlyn grumbled from the bench, and Callie glanced over at us with a questioning look. We filled Callie in on the details but had to omit our personal commentary, since Caitlyn was still there, sulking and doing her best to kill our pre-prom euphoria.

  Now, if Caitlyn were first in command among our circle of friends, then I would be next in line to take over in her absence, or in this instance, her annoying presence. “Ahem,” I cleared my throat in preparation for a speech. “In light of the recent events, I think we should stick to the original game plan and get dressed for prom. We cannot sit around all night and wallow in our misery.” My eyes rested on the wallowing one, and then I decided on a big finish. “After all, it’s what Brandon would want us to do…so let’s do it for Brandon!” I followed it with a rallying coach’s clap, and Caitlyn shot up from the bench and marched up to me.

  “You have the dumbest sense of humor.”

  “At least I have one,” I fired back.

  “Okay, okay, break it up, girls,” Callie said with a grin, dragging Caitlyn downstairs to my brother’s bedroom and leaving us to get dressed in peace. I slid into my ivory gown; Courtney filled out her red satin one; and together, with our tiny purses, painful shoes, and body glitter, we tiptoed into the hallway and peered over the ledge. The landing opened over the family room below, and it was the perfect spot to spy on everyone else in the house. We watched as Caitlyn and Callie joined the moms off to the side while the guys relaxed on the couch, chortling at the flat screen. No one even noticed us, and I turned to Courtney with a grin. “We should throw paper airplanes at our dates.”

  Her eyes widened. “Yeah, good idea.”

  We moved stealthily back to my room, pulled some paper from the printer, and made a small fleet of planes. Then we resumed our places at the wall. Narrowing my eyes, I bit down on my lip and fixated on the top of Rob’s head.

  “Look out!” Caitlyn shrieked, foiling our plans.

  I faced Courtney. “Seriously, why can’t we leave her here?”

  She frowned at me. “Just be the bigger person.”

  “Oh, like that’ll be hard.”

  “You know what I mean, Chlo.” Courtney dragged me down the stairs, and we landed in front of our dates.

  “Hey,” Rob said, gathering me into a hug. He found my ear, and his lips got so close it tickled. “You look really pretty tonight.”

  “Yeah, you too,” I mumbled reflexively.

  Then the camera flashed in rapid-fire succession as the four of us crossed into the family room. It all felt surreal. My friends were there, and their parents too, and the room filled with mindless prom prattle. I knew Rob was with me, and I felt his warm hand in mine; but as we plunged deeper into the cacophonous chaos, it all felt differently than I expected, differently than I imagined. And I grew exceedingly nervous.

  “Here’s your corsage,” he said, and I replied with a “Yeah, your thingy is in the fridge.” A few moments later, my mother showed up with his boutonnière, and I stared at the two flower-to-go boxes in our hands.

  Rob added softly, “I’m supposed to put this on you, Chloe.”

  “It’s okay. I can do it myself,” I added quickly, but felt instantaneous regret since women’s lib and prom go together like sand and stilettos.

  “Sorry,” I said and wished my life came with a backspace button. “What I meant to say was, ‘Yes, that would be nice.’” Of course, my apology was aimed at his shoes, which were very shiny and black, and I wondered if they were as painful as my golden pair. I had heard about brides having two pairs of shoes for their wedding day, the pair to wear down the aisle and one for the reception, but at prom, most girls end up barefoot—but hopefully not pregnant—by the end of the night.

  “Hope you don’t mind that I shaved my head.”

  “What!” My eyes darted to his hair, and I was relieved to find his auburn waves gelled back to perfection. Then I narrowed my eyes at his smirking face. “Why would you say a thing like that?”

  “To get you to stop staring at my shoes.” He smiled some dimples. “And it worked.”

  “I’m sorry.” My shoulders slumped with my admission. “I’m just a little nervous.”

  “Hey, it’s just me.”

  “I know that.” My voice dropped to a stage-whisper. “But I feel like everyone’s watching us, and I don’t know how we’re supposed to act in front of our families now.”

  “We’re not.” That statement was both comforting and frightening, and in the crowded family room, he drew me into a hug and kissed my cheek. His kiss calmed me, and I smiled up at him, letting him know I was back to normal again. We stepped out of the hug and exchanged floral boxes. I pinned the boutonnière on his lapel, and he slid the corsage on my wrist. And just like that, my nervousness lifted like the fog with morning sun.

  “Aw, now, that’s a Kodak moment!” Aunt Nancy gushed as she dropped by us with her camera. She moved in closer, never quite mastering the art of whispering. “Well, it’s too bad your friend’s date doesn’t have his own tux like Josh. Then he wouldn’t be holding up the whole show. Now, would he?”

  Caitlyn heard this, and after seeing her pained expression, I felt sorry for her. And I knew she was in no condition to work on scheduling revisions, so I sought the advice of Mrs. Callahan. “I need your help. What should we do if Brandon doesn’t get here for a while?”

  She smiled at me, and then at an approaching Caitlyn. “Well, you should start taking pictures now. Begin with the four of you, and then with each couple, saving you and Brandon for last. And if you really want to save time, you should plan on eating here.” She started walking into the dining room, and the women in the house trailed behind her. “Nance and I could set the table with the…” My mother nodded. “The good china, and we could order take-out from that great Chinese place up the road.”

  Caitlyn fol
lowed Mrs. Callahan as cancellations were made and orders were placed; then everyone migrated to the pool for pictures. My backyard was prom-picture paradise; our pool area had a wooden bridge over a river of rocks, a large gazebo in the back corner, and several garden landscapes.

  The four of us girls lined up on the bridge, huddled in the gazebo, and posed one at a time in front of the colorful blooms; and when it was time for the couples to be photographed, Callie and Mike went first, followed by Courtney and Josh, and lastly, it was my turn to be photographed with Rob.

  He took my hand and led me to the center of the bridge. I slid my arm around his waist, and he draped an arm around my shoulders. My left arm hung at my side, and then I tried it on my hip, but finally decided to rest it on the railing of the bridge. Rob did the same, but my mother, playing the photographer’s assistant, crept forward and brought our hands together. “Now, that’s much better.”

  Rob turned toward me. “Your hand’s all cold and clammy,” he said in a hushed voice, but not without a big grin, since we were being reminded to “Smile!”

  I faced him with a plastered grin. “Well, your hand is all hot and sweaty.”

  “What do you expect, Chloe? I’m standing outside in one hundred degree heat and wearing a tux.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be so hot if you weren’t wearing a black tux.” I smiled broadly, partly out of obedience to the photographers’ wishes, but mostly from the sheer pleasure of broaching a debatable topic.

  “So, we’re back to that again?”

  “Listen, I thought we agreed on brown.”

  “No, we did not agree on anything. You and my mother did.” He paused, waiting for the comeback that never came and offered me his most adoring smile. “Are we having fun yet?”

  “Oh, tons,” I said, and then we both turned toward the cameras, which was where we thought we should be looking, but we were wrong.

  “Oh, no, no, no…” Aunt Nancy scolded us. “It was much better when you two were looking into each other’s eyes.”

  Rob faced me, arched an eyebrow like a cartoon villain, which only made me laugh uncontrollably, and then as if his look hadn’t been amusing enough, he added, “Look, deep into my eyes” in the voice of a creepy hypnotist.

  Suddenly, the doorbell interrupted everything, which was fine because we were done with pictures anyway.

  “Oh, I hope it’s Brandon,” Caitlyn exploded and raced into the house. Then Rob turned to me with a half grin. “I hope it’s Chinese.”

  They both got their wish when Brandon walked in the door with several bags of Chinese food and some aptly lengthened tux pants. Apparently, he and the delivery boy met in the driveway. Brandon paid the bill, which was generous of him, but it also placed him back on the “getting some” status for the night. So it was like he paid to have sex, but isn’t that how most guys view prom anyway?

  After Brandon and Caitlyn had their pictures taken, we sat down in the dining room. Rob and I ate off each other’s plates and joked about the Chinese restaurant scene from The Christmas Story, and even though we recited the same movie quote every time we had Chinese together, we still found it amusing.

  The eight of us wrapped up the meal and reached for our fortune cookies in the center of the table. Rob kept his to himself, but that didn’t prevent my curious eyes from drifting in his direction. It said: Stop searching forever; happiness is right next to you. His eyes lifted and caught mine briefly; then he shoved his fortune into the pocket of his tux pants—where it would soon be forgotten and returned with the tux the following day.

  Later on, as we headed out the front door of my house, Rob asked, “And what did your fortune say?”

  I smiled over at him. “Mine said, ‘You are in good hands this evening.’”

  He offered a broad smile and reached for my hand, filing his fingers through mine. He held my hand down the front steps of my house and during the limo ride, and he was still holding my hand when we arrived at prom.

  -19-

  Prom Night

  The eight of us entered the ballroom, finding a table near the edge of the dance floor, and we reserved our seats with tux coats and wraps before we stepped onto the floor. Rob and I danced together for a few fast songs, smiling back and forth at each other, but not carrying on much of a conversation.

  He tilted an imaginary cup toward his mouth, and I nodded. Then we exited the floor with Courtney and Josh in tow, landing at the refreshment table in the back of the ballroom. There were pretzels, mints, bottled water, and bright red punch, and the table was being manned by a couple of teachers. And Mr. Martinez was one of them. Rob paused in front of the physics intern, and they acknowledged each other with a nod. Then my teacher’s eyes fell on me. “You look nice,” he shouted over the music.

  “Thanks,” I hollered back and grabbed a bottle of water. I thumbed at Courtney. “She did my makeup.”

  Mr. Martinez looked at Courtney briefly, but all he said was, “Punch?”

  “Uh-huh,” she replied and took the outstretched cup from his hand. It was awkward, but somewhat undetectable to the untrained—or should I say unknowing?—eye.

  We returned to our table for a few songs, but stepped out onto the floor when the DJ played the first slow song of the night. At that moment, I realized Rob was much better at slow dancing as he twirled me in and out of a few turns with ease. Then, he drew me close to him, and I rested my head on his shoulder. We lined up perfectly, and I shut my eyes as we rocked slowly in a circle.

  Throughout the night, we took breaks from the dance floor and circulated the ballroom, visiting with different friends from school: our journalism cohorts, his baseball buddies, and toward the end of the night, we crossed paths with our cross country teammates. They were encircling our coach, who actually wore a 5K T-shirt and sweatpants to the dance, and as we came closer, he offered us a toothy grin. “No way! Are you two dating?”

  “Yeah, Coach,” Rob returned with a smile. “She finally caught me.”

  The coach chuckled, and then Doug, Riverside’s top runner, shot two pointer fingers at my boyfriend. “Yeah, man, couples that run together, stay together.” And to this, Lilly, his girlfriend, nodded and took another bite of her organic raw food bar.

  “Well,” I started plainly. “Rob and I never run together.” Lilly dropped her jaw, exposing partially masticated food particles, and I did my best to convey Rob’s exact sentiments: “Because if we did, then one of us wouldn’t be getting our optimal workout.”

  I turned toward him and smiled cynically, and he responded with an arm draped around my shoulders. “Yeah, and speaking of running,” Rob started. “We should really get back to…”

  “Our table,” I added.

  “Since it’s our turn to…”

  “Sit there.”

  Rob and I arrived at our empty table, and he slid his chair close to me, leaning over to talk. “By the way, I made that comment in middle school.”

  “I know.”

  “And if it really means that much to you, we could run together.”

  “Really, Rob?” I returned enthusiastically, thinking how nice it would be to run with him on the beach or along the Riverside Trail. “Maybe we could run down to the pier tomorrow morning.”

  “Sure,” he started with a mischievous grin. “As long as you can slice a minute off your pace.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but Rob laughed it off, and a moment later, Brandon plopped down across the table from us. He leaned in toward me and yelled, “Hey, Loser!” Then Caitlyn collapsed on his lap, and their tongues gravitated like magnets. His hand groped at her breast, and she pushed it away, and then he grabbed it again, and she pushed it away again…

  Rob shouted near my ear, “I think our turn is officially over.”

  “You wanna’ dance?”

  “Sure,” he flicked his head at the other side of the ballroom. “But let’s talk to Tom and those guys first.”

  “Grrr.”

&nb
sp; “Listen, I went to prom with your friends. The least you can do is spend some time with mine.”

  “Yeah, but my friends don’t totally suck.”

  His eyes drifted across our table at the “little” fallacy in my argument.

  ****