“You look totally awesome.” She adjusts the bow in my newly crimped hair and smiles like a proud parent. I’ll admit, I got the crimping idea from Kelly, but in my defense, it’s a cute look, and a lot of girls are trying it.
“I can’t believe you got my hair to behave. It’s never looked this good.” I admire the hard edges as perfectly ridged as a Ruffles potato chip, and I give an approving smile. “If I can master this, I’ll wear my hair like this forever.”
“It’s a classic look. It’ll never go out of style. I’ll probably crimp my hair for my wedding one day.” She helps me to my feet and helps push my good foot into a pink pump. “You sure you want to wear something with a heel?”
“I’m positive,” I say, almost falling over. The doorbell rings, and I nearly jump right back out of my tiny pink shoe. “He’s here!” I hop up and down in a panic.
“Relax—don’t do it.” She gives a little wink. “Or maybe you should do it.” Her black lips lunge toward me. “Do you have protection?”
“What?” My heart bleats like a lamb to the sexual slaughter. “Trust me, we’re not there yet.”
“Oh, yeah? Ten bucks says he’s got a rubber in his pocket with your name on it.” She closes her eyes and moans with a ridiculous look on her face. “Melissa!” She says my name all squirrely.
“Shut up.” I hobble down the hall. “What are you doing tonight?”
“I’m headed to Dancing Waters with Audrey and Stephanie.” She lifts her shoulder with a coy look in her eye. “It’s ladies’ night—but it’s not the ladies I’m going there to see, if you know what I mean.” She gives a hard wink. “Besides, I plan on doing some serious slam dancing.” She clutches at her metallic stud belt that my mother has dubbed “the punisher.” The words BOY TOY are spelled out in rhinestones across her oversized buckle. “No wimps allowed.” Her mouth opens with a mild look of shock as she plucks off one of her lace fingerless gloves. “I almost forgot. It’s for good luck. Now you’ll have one, and I’ll have one.” Heather shimmies her boobs at me. “May the best material girl win!”
“Thanks, but what are we vying for?” I slip my hand into the glove, and it feels and looks like sheer lace perfection.
“A home run, of course!” She giggles up a storm as she helps me down the hall.
To my horror, Joel Miller is standing in my living room having what appears to be a civilized conversation with both my mother and my father.
“Oh my God.” Death come to me now. “Hey!” I try to sound bright as I barrel toward the exit. Heather must sense my unease because she makes a big show about saying good night to my parents while I hustle Joel out the door.
“Nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Malinowski!” he calls back.
They coo in unison like a couple of love-struck pigeons, and I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole. Thankfully, Heather has the wherewithal to shut the door behind her, thus entombing my parents in their tiny slice of suburbia while Joel and I make a run for his truck. Heather disappears like the good little witch she is, or at least the black lipstick leads you to believe.
“God, you look good.” His eyes widen just taking me in.
His denim eyes glow against the blue of his flannel, and underneath that lies an Ozzy concert T-shirt. “And you look amazing. Bark at the Moon suits you well. Is it bad that I love that you’re wearing Ozzy?”
“Not at all. I thought of you when I picked it out.” He helps me into his truck, and I glance back at the house, only to see Mom and Dad with their noses pressed to the window.
“Drive fast.” I sink in my seat.
And he does. Joel takes us to La Chispa, a Mexican restaurant just across the street from the Galleria. It’s strange. I’ve technically been out with Joel more times than I can count, but tonight, this official “date” has me shaking just like that very first time I stepped into his truck.
We head inside, and he helps pick out a table in the back where I can leave my leg out in the aisle without the threat of tripping an entire herd of salsa wielding waiters.
The air thickens with silence as soon as we take a seat. It’s strange that after all this time with him, suddenly everything feels so formal.
“So, um”—I clear my throat as my cheeks heat to a temperature that rivals the surface of the sun—“tell me something about Joel Miller that I don’t know. What are some of the things you like to do? Outside of football.” There. My father once told me that if I wanted to keep a conversation going, a surefire way of doing that was to keep asking the other person questions about themselves.
“Me?” Joel inches his head back a notch and frowns as if the subject of Joel Miller were off the table, and I laugh.
“Yes, you. Now spill. I want some dirt.”
“Dirt?” He shakes his head as if he’s really stumped. “I don’t know. My parents have a boat—The Great Flight. It’s docked down at the marina. I love that damn thing.” He looks to the ceiling wistfully. “We spent some serious summers hitting the water on that beast. One year, Frankie and I took it out for a joyride—almost crashed it into a barge.”
“Sounds like The Great Fright. Did the boat survive your seaworthy driving skills?”
That wide grin of his that I’ve grown to love takes over. My stomach does a belly flop because there’s that L word again.
“More like unseaworthy driving skills, but, yes, all is well. And my parents were none the wiser. I do like to take it out every now and again—just hang out—think. It’s peaceful. I’ve even gone there to spend the night. You know, get away from it all.” His expression grows altogether serious. “I’d love to take you out on it sometime. I think you’d really like it.”
“I think I would, too. It sounds like fun. And maybe I can help you look out for those barges. I’d hate for any innocent barges to land in a thigh-high cast.”
“Very funny. But I’m betting you’re more of a distraction than Frankie could ever be.” He glances down to my lips as if they were the exact distraction he was hoping for.
“In that case, we should definitely stay docked. I think it would be safer for all lips involved.” We share a laugh just as the waitress comes by, and we place our orders.
“So, tell me something about yourself.” Joel reaches over and thumps his fingers over mine. “What’s your favorite song?”
“Like ever?”
“I was thinking more like on the Bark at the Moon album.” He gives a crooked grin. “But I’ll take ever.”
“Hmm…” I consider this a moment. “To answer your first question, I’ll have to go with ‘You’re No Different.’ I think of it as one of those social commentary pieces that Billy Joel is so good at.”
“You’re invoking Billy Joel in a conversation about Ozzy?” He crunches down on a tortilla chip and swallows. “You’re more eclectic than I thought.”
“Eclectic.” I tap my chip in his direction. “Now there’s a three-dollar word.”
He drums out a laugh. “I like it when you call me out on my bullshit. So, what’s up with the social commentary?”
“You know ‘You’re No Different.’ It sort of speaks to the Glen kids versus the San Ramos kids. We’re basically all just people trying to get through life. The only difference being the dollar amount in our parents’ bank accounts.” A moment of silence thumps by. “Ignore me. I’ve got my essay on the brain. It’s basically the same premise. It’s stupid. I know.”
“It’s not stupid. I get it.” The smile glides off his face as he pauses. “So, do the San Ramos kids feel that different?”
“Hell yes.” I think about it for a moment. I probably don’t want to get too tied up in a social commentary of my own, especially not on this historic date night with Joel Effing Miller, so I change the subject. “What’s your favorite song on the album?”
“‘Rock ’n’ Roll Rebel.’” His foot brushes over my pump, and his eyes grow heavy. “It reminds me of you.”
“Me? I’m lousy. I want to listen to new w
ave, and I can hardly keep up with the music. My birthday is in a few weeks, and I’m going to ask for my own phone line and my own radio—I’m going for the gold.” My face heats ten degrees. “I mean, we’re not broke or anything. My parents don’t really believe in giving us things, not even at Christmas.” True as God. They’re not trying to be cheap, just practical. “Well, I mean, they’ll give us each like twenty bucks, but as far as opening something, it just goes against their beliefs. You know, carrying out an act of commerce is a sin.” And why are my lips still moving?
He grimaces at the thought.
Great. Make him hate your parents and their anti-social beliefs in economics.
“That’s cool.” His brows are still furrowed with what looks like a mix of concern and sorrow. “So, when’s your birthday?”
“Oh, gosh, I promise I wasn’t trying to play up my birthday.” I shove another chip into my mouth to keep from speaking again, like ever.
“I want to know. My birthday is coming up, too.” He grins, and his dimples dip in so deep I’m half-tempted to poke a finger in them.
“November first, right after Halloween. I missed the big day by just a few hours. Pretty lame, right?”
“Not lame. I like that you get all the limelight to yourself. You deserve it.” He says it so sincerely, I believe him. “I’m December 23rd. Now that’s a lame birthday.”
“Ooh, that’s tough.”
He nods and lifts a finger as if accepting an award.
“Well, I’ll be sure to give you all the attention you’ll need that day.” My face burns hotter than a thousand suns, but for once I don’t care. I’d love to help Joel’s big day feel special.
Joel opens his mouth and doesn’t say anything. God, I’m so stupid! It’s not only Christmas break, but we’re totally not together. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
“I meant, like if I see you at the mall or something.” Nice backpedaling. I should get an award myself, Idiot on the Loose.
He presses his lips together as if holding back a smile, and thankfully the food arrives right on cue. My eyes expand at the sight of all the cheesy goodness set before me. I’ve been so nervous for the last twenty-four hours that I forgot to eat.
“I’m starved.” I moan as I begin scarfing down enchiladas like there’s no tomorrow. It takes a full five minutes before I notice Joel just sitting there staring at me. Seriously gawking in awe. “Is something wrong?” I knock back my water just to ease the inferno in my mouth.
“No. I’m actually impressed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl eat before. And just when I was beginning to think your kind survived off birdseeds.”
Was I not supposed to eat? Shit! How do I know absolutely nothing? He must think I’m a pig.
“Um, sorry—I’m usually not this hungry. I was just…”
“Don’t even think of apologizing. I’m admiring you. I hate it when a girl orders a salad and tries to play it off like she’s not dying for a bite of my burrito. It’s like they’re purposefully trying to make you believe they don’t eat. But you’re different. You’re just you. And I like that.” His hand reaches across the table and interlaces with mine, his eyes never breaking the spell. “You’re no different than me.”
“I like what you did there.”
“Do you?” He’s holding my hand and flirting, and holy hell, I’m falling hard.
I nod. “And I’m sort of admiring the fact you could say the words dying for a bite of my burrito with a straight face.” We break out in a short-lived laugh.
“You’re a pervert.” His lips twist to the side, and now I’m wishing I were seated next to him so I could taste them.
“Hey, it’s your burrito all the girls want a bite of.”
“Touché. So what’s next?”
“We bark at the moon.”
* * *
If barking at the moon is something you do in the heart of the Glen Heights Galleria, then we’re at the right place. I’ve always loved the Glen Heights Galleria, with all its glass enclosures, the mirrored escalators that zigzag four stories in the very heart of this Mecca of merchandising. It’s so much more open and airy than the San Ramos Mall, but with all the snobs from the Heights running around, it’s a place mostly avoided by the San Ramos kids—with the exception of the movie theater. Everyone knows the movie theater at the Galleria is safer and nicer than the one at the mall, so it’s usually the one conjoining factor between the kids on the Hill and us.
Joel helps me get onto the escalator, and all the way up I admire the ever-expanding architecture. Years ago, this was an outdoor mall, but when I was a kid they enclosed it, so everything is still new and polished, with its dark-brown flooring and cobalt-colored walls. I look up at all the people on the third floor where the cinema is located and feel like a queen with her king at her side as we ascend to their height. There are tons of people from school here, and strangely enough, it feels like every single one of their eyes are trained on us. I can tell by their scowls that these are primarily members of the Kelly Fan Club. The Kiss Ass Brigade can do just that—kiss my shiny, white-as-my-cast ass. I bet Mr. Sardona would approve of that descriptor. Or at least I’d like to think so.
We hop off, or hobble as it were, and head to the ticket stand.
“You up for Stop Making Sense?” he suggests. It’s an entire movie featuring a new wave band, and I’m more than excited to see it—although, Heather might fight me on that new wave title; she swears the Talking Heads are punk. I’m literally a hair away from geeking out at the prospect.
“Sounds good to me. I love the Talking Heads.”
“Then let’s burn down this house.”
He purchases our tickets, and we head inside, despite the raw tension we seem to be eliciting. I’m not sure how Joel feels about the attention, but I’m sweating buckets as the collective eyes of the student body press against us. All I can think of is any second now Kelly is going to pop out from behind a curtain with a knife in her hand.
We head into the theater a bit early, and Joel helps me land a seat on an aisle. A couple of the Charms and Head Monsters are seated in the middle, and their mouths drop open once they spot us.
“Only trip the people you don’t like,” Joel whispers.
“Right.” I tear into the Lemonheads he bought for me. “I’ll try to keep that in mind when the lights go out.” Or when Kelly walks in, which I’m on high alert for. “Hey, speaking of dark theaters, guess what movie is coming out right after my birthday?”
“Care Bears.”
“No, doofus.” I pluck some popcorn out of his bucket and chuck it at him. “That already came out, and I did enjoy it, thank you very much. But what I’m talking about is that new horror movie they’re hyping, A Nightmare on Elm Street. I’m totally psyched to see it.”
“I’ve seen the previews. I’d better go with you.” His lips twitch as he holds back a smile or a laugh, both knowing him.
“Why’s that? Because you don’t think I can handle a little horror on the side?”
“No.” He rocks his arm into mine. “So you can hold my hand—because maybe I’m not so good with a little horror on the side.” He gives a sly wink as the lights dim down to nothing.
Joel reaches over and interlaces his fingers with mine, and my heart thumps all the way into my ears. It’s one thing to have kissed Joel in a dark park after a few hits off a joint, alone at his house, but for him to brazenly pick up my hand in public—without the aid of a narcotic, no less, seems to have just taken this, whatever it may be, to a whole new level. “Just in case things get scary,” he whispers.
“Just in case.” I lean into him, and our foreheads accidently knock. “Ouch! Sorry. Did that hurt? God, I’m such an idiot. You should probably get your helmet before you end up with a skull fracture.”
“Relax. No helmet needed, I promise,” he says sweetly. “And I’m the one who’s sorry. I was gunning for a Lemonhead.” Joel glances down at my lips as if I’m the Lemonhead in question. “You look li
ke you’re in pain.” His eyes graze over my features, serious as shit. “Maybe I should kiss it and make it better.”
My lips part voluntarily at the proposition.
“Maybe you should.” I edge my mouth closer, closer still until I feel the first soft bump of his lips. Joel Miller has the softest lips on the planet. His mouth opens for me, and I fall inside with wild abandon. Who cares if the entire student population from Glen sees us? There’s nothing wrong with the two of us dating.
After all, he’s no different than me.
Joel
Weeks drift by, and Mel gets a new cast, a shorter one, and of course, I’m the first to offer to sign it.
“If you stop wiggling, you might actually be able to read it when I’m done,” I tease as she continues to twitch her leg over the cafeteria bench. It’s raining out today, so all of the cliques have been effectively evicted from their rightful places and forced to cohabitate in this one, tiny, humid quadrant. The cliques have always been bullshit if you ask me. Not to mention the fact that it’s starting to smell in this small boxy room, getting too warm too fast. Somewhere from the back, Def Leppard’s “Photograph” plays just loud enough to take my mind off the brewing stench.
“I can’t sit still. Jennifer is only three tables away. It’s the closest I’ve been to her in weeks.”
“Go over and say hi.” I have no clue what they’re squabbling about, but Melissa said it was stupid, and mostly Jennifer’s fault. In other words, none of my business.
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