The Girl Who Invented Romance

by Caroline B. Cooney

  “What’s she doing? Are you going to eat those crackers or not? The sound of the wrapper is getting to me. I really love crackers, you know, and if you’re not going to eat those crackers, I’ll eat the crackers.”

  I was hurt. I had been on the brink of sharing with Will what I hadn’t even shared with my own brother: my ultimate fear. And Will interrupted to talk about crackers?

  “Hey, you two,” said Jeep, “why didn’t you say you were coming over here? Hi, Kelly. Shove over, will you?”

  He and Wendy, arms around each other, faces full of affection and laughter, were bouncing beside us.

  I gave Will a look of heartfelt relief for babbling about crackers. What a gift. Otherwise my family problems would have been heard by the last girl on earth I wanted listening. Will nodded infinitesimally.

  “Kelly, you change seats,” ordered Wendy, “and sit next to Will so I can sit with Jeep.”

  Will gave me an I’m-on-your-team smile. I got up, feeling like a stick figure wearing rags, and circled the table while Will slid my chili, drink and crackers to my new place. Jeep and Wendy arranged themselves across from us. It was nice to be next to Will, but it meant I had to look at Jeep and Wendy.

  How come Jeep didn’t think that maybe Park’s sister wouldn’t be totally warm and friendly toward him? How come Wendy didn’t guess that I hated her for throwing my brother over? How come Wendy didn’t guess that I really really really hated her for using my intimacy quotient?

  “I’ve decided to set next week’s soap in an amusement park,” Wendy told us, as if we were interested. “Jeep has recorded some great honky-tonk music for the merry-go-round and we’ve got wonderful screams for the roller coaster. I think I’m going to have the Ferris wheel break and Octavia fall off.”

  “Poor Octavia,” I said. “She just recovered from her pregnancy. Now she’s going to fall a hundred feet to a hideous splatty death next to the cotton candy? Don’t do it, Wendy.”

  “I love it,” said Wendy to Jeep and Jeep only. They squeezed a kiss between sentences. “Kelly takes this stuff seriously. She’s really worried.”

  She’s not a scriptwriter, I thought. She’s the script. She’s a piece of paper. She just wants to be read by the world. She doesn’t care about her effect on living people, like Parker or like me.

  “Do you realize that when you’re having these heavy thoughts,” said Will to me, “your mouth opens slightly and your eyes slip out of focus?”

  “She doesn’t have heavy thoughts,” said Wendy. “She’s got a weak jaw.”

  “Hey,” I said indignantly.

  “Watch it, Wendy,” said Will, “or I’ll have to throw chili at you and ruin your pretty sweater.”

  “It is a nice sweater, isn’t it?” said Wendy contentedly.

  Will and I laughed. He ate two more hamburgers, which kept him busy for the same number of minutes.

  “I just want to go on record as saying I stand in awe of your burger-eating capacity,” I said.

  “And to think I was trying to show off by making baskets or As. All I had to do was snack.” He ate the fourth burger. “Now I’m all sad.”

  “Because you have a stomachache from eating four hamburgers?” asked Wendy.

  “Because they’re gone. I love to eat. Wish I could make every meal last for hours.” He eyed the crumbs from his rolls.

  “This is not a high-tech solution,” I said, “but you could try taking smaller bites.”

  Will laughed.

  Wendy went back to her favorite topic (Wendy) and we listened. Jeep was not talking. He was sitting there, handsome as a soap opera star. Wendy was living out her own drama. Jeep was her male lead. And Parker had been what? Her twist in the plot?

  Into my ear, Will murmured, “You have to control your face, Kell. It’s impossible to tell what you’re thinking, but you’re definitely thinking something we’d all like to tune in on.” His breath against my cheek and ear made me shiver. When I turned to smile, our lips were nearly touching. I counted the freckles on his cheek, measured his eyelashes, admired flecks in his hazel eyes.

  “Come along, George Peters,” said Wendy, which startled me because I never think of Jeep that way. “Things to do, people to see,” she told us, taking Jeep’s hand. They rushed away.

  “Aren’t people mysterious?” I said.

  “There’s nothing mysterious about those two. Wendy wants to run the world and Jeep’s willing to be run.”

  Still and all, they were surely the most romantic-looking. A lot of kids were glad when Wendy went back to Jeep. It looked better, they said. Parker just wasn’t her type.

  Will was talking basketball. “We’re in a battle between our two coaches. The head coach says it’s enough to do your best; you don’t have to win. The assistant coach says winning is the only thing that counts. Ever.” He twirled my chili bowl. “You going to eat this?”

  “No. Have it.”

  He ate my chili between sentences. “When we’re at practice, I agree with the head coach. You do your best and it’s enough.” He crushed the crackers into the chili. “But when we’re in a game, all I care about is winning. I love to win.” His voice was as intense as Wendy’s in a soap. “Winning is everything.”

  Winning.

  The purpose behind every game, every crossword puzzle, contest, footrace or argument. “What is winning?” I said.

  “Being first.”

  I wondered what it would be like to be first with Will.

  “I’d like us to win the state basketball championship and have my jersey retired in the glass trophy case in the front foyer,” said Will. He smiled at his daydream. “What do you want to win?”

  “Happily Ever After.” I was surprised and sorry I’d said it out loud.

  He didn’t laugh. He didn’t get up to leave. His smile was sympathetic. “I’ve seen a lot of divorce. I guess I don’t have much faith in happily ever after. A girl who wants that wants it all.”

  “But you see, I had it all. Or, at least, I thought my parents did.”

  “Maybe they do. Maybe this is a temporary lapse.”

  Will drove me home, enjoying the traffic as much as he enjoyed me.

  And what was this afternoon, Will? I thought. Something real?

  Or a temporary lapse?

  CHAPTER

  12

  You could look at me and see.

  I couldn’t see. I wore my favorite outfit but when I glanced in the mirror to check it, I didn’t spot the difference.

  In the first class of the school day, Faith said, “You look sparkly, Kelly.”

  “I do?” It’s Will, I thought. I’m in love. “Maybe it’s my shirt. This is my best color, you know.”

  Megan looked hard at me. “I suppose. But Faith’s right, Kell. You seem bouncier than usual.”

  “I had a good night’s sleep.”

  What a lie. I’d hardly slept at all. I lay there thinking alternately of Will and of me, layering us like lasagna: first the pasta, then the sauce. First Kelly, then Will, then Kelly, then Will, until we were one.

  Forget the squares on my board, Will. Forget the skiing in Colorado and the cruise to the Bahamas and the hot-air balloon ride. Just telephone me. That’s all I ask.

  Around three in the morning I got out my romance game.

  By now I had worked out a name system so you didn’t draw a boy or a girl card but got a blank card. You had to fill in a name, and as you played, you landed on squares that built the character of your date by chance, and then you went out with him, thus collecting Traits and Dates.

  I named my date Will.

  Immediately chance turned him into a slob who had bad breath, drove a rusted-out station wagon and worked at a landfill for a living.

  “Well, that’s no fun,” I said to myself.

  This time I gave myself four dates to take around the board and named them all Will. Will One, Will Two, Will Three, Will Four.

  And this time it worked the way a game should. It was dumb, i
t was funny, it had a nice pace, it made me laugh.

  Will One never took me on a date. I’m sure he would have if he could have, but Will One never landed on a date square. My rule was that you couldn’t go to Happily Ever After with somebody you’d never dated, so good-bye, Will One.

  Will Two was rich, which was nice, but bald, which was not. Will Two, in spite of being addicted to TV reruns, bought me a ski lodge and flowers.

  Now, poor Will Three never developed any character at all. He dated me five times, so I could go to Happily Ever After with him, but who wants a future with a personality-free man?

  Will Four.

  Now, there was a man a girl could love. He was thoughtful, had high-voltage sex appeal, was a rock star with long blond hair and never complained. His only vice was that he slept with four dogs. Oh well, I told myself, it’s probably a big bed. I can get used to the dogs.

  I knew Will Four was the man for me when Your date composes a love song just for you appeared in his cards. I played slowly, hoping Will One would take me on at least one date and Will Two would land on a Lose all vices—now your date is perfect! Square.

  At four in the morning, I landed on a Broken Heart.

  JUST LIKE LIFE!

  WITH NO EXPLANATION WHATSOEVER

  YOUR DATE DUMPS YOU FOR GOOD.

  CRY ALL NIGHT.

  A jagged lightning streak ripped through the red heart drawn on the board, leaving one half bleeding on the ground.

  Land on that square and whatever date number you roll next is off your list forever.

  If I rolled Will One, it wouldn’t matter, because he never took me out anyhow.

  If I rolled Will Two, I could shrug.

  Will Three had yet to develop personality, so presumably I wouldn’t notice when he was gone.

  But Will Four! What if I rolled a four? That would mean I’d have to keep playing the game with the other, lesser Wills and end up at Happily Ever After with one of them—or with nobody.

  For some time I jiggled the die in my palm.

  I would have said I’m not the slightest fraction superstitious. Certainly not while playing a board game that I myself invented.

  But I never rolled that die. At four-fifteen in the morning I set the game back under the bed, dropped the die on the floor, turned out my light and never knew which Will would have been out of my life if I’d rolled one more turn.

  But I did obey the square. I cried myself to sleep.

  I don’t even know why. Tears came. Not soft salty streaks on my cheeks, but terrible bitter sobs, as if something dreadful had happened and I just hadn’t been told yet.

  But all things are better in the morning.

  I woke up happy, even with only two and a half hours of sleep. I dressed eagerly, glad to be able to atone for my baggy sweatshirt of the day before. Carefully I chose a plum-colored shirt loosely tucked into new vivid blue jeans. My hair looks like gold against that plum color. I could hardly wait to get to school. School would not be a board game. It was the real thing with a real Will, who really enjoyed me. Who really sat by me in sociology and had a real personality and really drove me to Wendy’s and really was careful when people like Wendy were within listening distance.

  I planned how to enter the room. After Will, not before. I’d be with Faith, although she wouldn’t know she was an escort. I’d be very casual. Then I’d smile. Our eyes would meet. We’d have a secret interest in each other.

  He’d pass me a note when Ms. Simms was hidden behind her papers. I’d send him one. He’d say, “That shirt is a great color on you.” He’d text-message me on the phones we’re not allowed to touch in class: “I have 15 minutes after school and before practice. Meet me. Student lounge.”

  I bounded down to breakfast and to a mother and father who were not speaking to each other. Whatever fight they’d had was over. They were in a state of truce, or else putting up a front for me.

  My mother said, “Croissant, Kelly?”

  My father said, “Orange juice, Kelly?”

  My mother said, “Your father will drive you to school, Kelly.”

  My father said, “I don’t believe I offered to do that, Violet.”

  Had this been going on for ages and I’d just never noticed? They sounded and looked as if they’d had plenty of practice behaving like this. “I can take the school bus,” I said. Parker must have gotten an early ride with friends. There was no sign of him.

  “You’re late. He’ll drive you,” said my mother. Her jaw was set so tightly it hurt my mouth to see her teeth.

  “No, it’s okay. Really. The bus is fine.”

  “Whose side are you on?” demanded my mother.

  We weren’t even having an argument. I didn’t even care how I got to school.

  “She’s not on a side, Violet,” said my father. “There are no sides. Can you please grow up?”

  “I believe,” said my mother icily, “that that is what you need to do.”

  Thick angry silence again.

  “What are we talking about?” I said. I wanted to think about Will and love and dates and flirting.

  “I have no idea,” said my father. “Get in the car. I’m taking you to school.”

  “I have meetings after work and into the evening,” said my mother. “I won’t be home for dinner.”

  “Neither will I,” said Dad.

  They both shrugged. They’ve been married so long their shrugs are identical, but they didn’t notice.

  In the car I said, “What’s happening, Daddy?”

  “Let’s see. I’m going to buy a newspaper, go to work, and this evening, I’m going duckpin bowling with Charlie and Frank. Be home maybe ten o’clock.”

  “I mean with Mother.”

  He was furious. Not annoyed. Furious. “Kelly, stay out of it.”

  “Okay, okay. I was just asking. It’s my family too.”

  “Some family,” said my father as we pulled in front of the school.

  It was some family. I had a lovely family. I adored my family. I wanted my family to last. Intact. In love.

  I shivered all over. Dad saw nothing and drove away too fast.

  The first three periods of school were torture.

  A hundred times I silently practiced, “Hello, Will,” trying to get exactly the right tone.

  I dawdled behind Faith, getting to sociology almost last, sliding into my seat just as Ms. Simms was lifting her arm and placing her hand under her elbow. This is perfect, I thought. I get to send Will a quick grin while the rest of the class is getting out paper and pencil and nobody will notice and it will still be private and special and something to cherish.

  What a game I was playing.

  I waited for Will to turn in his seat so I could get past the silliness of the game and into the real thing. But Will did not turn and he did not look.

  Not once.

  All through class I kept turning toward Will, casually and slowly so the class would not notice, although I thought Will would. Faith was turning toward Angie in the same way at the same time.

  We’re like flowers, Faith and I, I thought. Turning toward the sun. Please shine on me.

  But Angie was turned inward and Will was turned away.

  Will gave me not one word, not one lift of his chin, not one half smile to indicate that we had ever associated or shared any thoughts or time.

  Finally I stopped trying to catch his eye.

  Idiot, I told myself. You spent a few minutes with a guy who’s more interested in hamburgers and somebody else’s chili. It was not a romance. It was nothing.

  CHAPTER

  13

  He didn’t call either.

  How could he not call?

  We had shared so much and enjoyed the sharing so much. He had to call! He couldn’t get along any better with any other girl. Megan hadn’t ever gone out with him to start with. I didn’t know if he had done much dating. But surely after such a nice time at Wendy’s he’d have to call.

  No.


  The phone didn’t ring.

  Oh—it rang. Faith called with her usual monologue about Angie. I didn’t say a word about Will. I still couldn’t share him even with my best friend. Faith wanted the world to tune in to her needs. I myself wanted no attention, no sympathy, no understanding.

  I wanted Will.

  The week passed.

  School was hard.

  Will would greet me in sociology and in history. “Hey, Kelly. How are you?” which was more attention than anybody else got from the guy, but still.

  I’d answer, “Fine, thanks, Will.” Which was a lie.

  When he had a basketball game that evening, I’d say, “Good luck tonight.” He’d nod and smile to himself, thinking of the game, not me.

  In my heart I went back over every sentence we’d exchanged to see where I had gone wrong. If I studied my textbooks that intensely, I’d be graduating first in my class.

  I went to two games. One was against Prospect Hill. Blaize was sitting on the away team’s bleachers. In the last quarter, Will got sweaty and angry, leaping high for rebounds, sneakers squeaking, chest heaving. Nothing existed for Will but winning. And nothing existed for me but Will.

  No cheers, no food, no gossip, no other people.

  I knew now what Faith meant about her crushes. A clone of Will was clinging to me. An undercurrent to every thought and motion. It was like having company that never left. You loved them and hated them for giving you no peace.

  Ms. Simms okayed the board game for my project. If I really thought I had something, she said, she would show me how to apply for a copyright. I said I didn’t really think I had something.

  I finished the board game on a non-basketball game night.

  The board was remarkably pretty. I’d put a lot of effort into decorating and coloring it. Cut and traced a lot of folded paper hearts to get exactly the right sizes for the turns and curves of the game. Bought a lot of rubber stamps and experimented over and over with just the right bouquets and themes. The game was easy and fun to play. But then, I knew it by heart.

  Good phrase. I didn’t know the game by eyes, by mind or by fingertips. I knew it by heart.