Much Ado About Something

by Michelle Ray

  “That must be it,” said Sula, her eyes wide with mock sincerity.

  Hope said, “Maybe she’s sick of boys. Or maybe sick for a boy?”

  I answered quickly. “Just sick. Or tired. Sick and tired of all this talk, ladies. Let’s watch the game.”

  “If you’re sick, you should go home,” Maggie suggested.

  “No, no,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe you need a little of that vapor stuff to make your sinuses clear. What is it called? Ben-Gay?” Sula asked, and she and Hope dissolved into giggles. Maggie joined them after what appeared to be a significant effort not to.

  “That’s for sore muscles,” I answered, my voice even.

  Sula wiped her eyes. “Right. Ben-Gay heats you up? Or is it loosens you up? I can never remember which.”

  My friends, ladies and gentlemen. Classy and subtle. I turned away and took out my cell phone. “Hey, Mamá,” I said, attempting to sound natural. “I’m staying for the game and might not be home for dinner.”

  “What game?” she asked.

  “Soccer.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine,” I said with exasperation, and pretended I didn’t hear Sula, Hope, and Maggie snickering. Couldn’t anyone just . . . know me less well? “Uh, okay. See you tonight.” After I hung up, I stared at the players instead of my friends, setting an expression of serious interest on my face.

  Maggie O’Toole Who won the game?

  Ben

  The whistle blew and teams took positions. My eyes drifted to the sidelines and I saw B staring right at me. It was cool that she was there, but I was starting to rethink this. I had wanted her to come, but now all I wanted to do was show off. That or run right off the field and hang out with her instead of playing. And if I couldn’t keep my mind on the game when she was wearing her baggy sweats, what would I do when she was back in her uniform?

  My eyes drifted again. How weird having someone I actually liked watching me play. My mom and dad were usually traveling or working and couldn’t come, but most parents couldn’t. Even so, I had always wanted a special someone on the sidelines. And there she was. Other girls were just part of the scenery — fun but hardly worth noting. But B was different. I had wanted her to come last time we were together but she never would. Things seemed better this time.

  Okay, okay, it had only been a few hours, but maybe . . .

  A ball whizzed past me. I snapped to attention and ran.

  Beatriz

  I had to admit the game was exciting. Why did I stop following sports? Well, I’d never really started. Not at Messina. When my uncle had played professional soccer, Antonio and I would cut clippings about his team from the newspaper, and my mom would get tickets when the team came through town. The stadium would vibrate and hum, and I loved screaming, “Leo! Leo!” and singing victory songs with the crowd.

  What I had hated when I was little was my parents dragged me to the park for all of Antonio’s games. I had stubbornly insisted on bringing books and buried my nose in them, not even pretending to mask my irritation at the crowds, whose cheering pulled my mind out of the story.

  Since starting high school, not going to Messina games had become a source of pride for me. My own form of rebellion. But here I was. For Ben. What a strange and quick turn of events. And I kind of liked it.

  Ben

  When the game was over I ran right up to her, forgetting about her desire to keep things quiet. She looked really nervous, like she was about to bolt in the other direction, but she stayed where she was and even smiled when I grinned at her. Grinned. I was being a total goof.

  “What’d you think?” I asked.

  “You and my brother make a great pair.” Her eyes darted to the side and I followed her glance. Her friends were clustered and blatantly staring. “Well,” she said, “I gotta go home.”

  “You don’t want to, uh . . .” I hesitated, feeling really self-conscious with the others watching. “Hey, girls. Good game, huh?”

  They chirped and twittered.

  I looked back at Beatriz. “So, you’re going home?”

  She nodded and looked to be in physical pain from our conversation. I wished like hell that her friends would go somewhere else.

  “I can walk you to your car,” I said.

  A strangled noise escaped her throat, followed by, “I, uh, can find my way. Thanks.” She lowered her head and hurried off.

  I sighed and looked at Sula, Maggie, and Hope with irritation. “Thanks,” I said, and for a second they looked kind of sorry.

  * * *

  Mr. Robertson goes back to his paperwork. “The street is off school grounds, so it’s public property. The reporters can be there as long as they stay on that side of the gate.”

  “But the kids. This can’t be good for them,” says Ms. Crouse, her forehead wrinkled with concern.

  At this, Mr. Robertson sets down his papers, leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Katie, if they didn’t want trouble, then they shouldn’t have acted like damn fools. Far as I can see, the only ones suffering unnecessarily are you and me because we have to sit through a thousand extra meetings.”

  After a beat, Ms. Crouse adds, “And the girl. She suffered.”

  “Oh,” says Mr. Robertson, reaching for a pen, “her, too.”

  6

  Clay Chen Is Hopeful.

  Benjamin Richardson You’re nauseating. Or this is TMI.

  Clay Chen Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant hopeful about you.

  Benjamin Richardson Delete this, man. Not kidding.

  Ben

  I watched B saunter into the shadows and then I jogged back to where my friends were waiting for me near the center circle of the field. I saw their expressions and knew I was going to catch hell, but I couldn’t see any way around it.

  Peter had his arms crossed in a show of amazement. “Never gonna fall in love?”

  Clay chimed in. “You wish B would just disappear from the planet?”

  Peter needled, “Girls will ruin your game?”

  Gah. Nothing worse than having my own dumb words quoted back to me. I tried to slip past, but Peter took me around the shoulder. “I think you owe Clay an apology.”

  I stepped out of his grasp. “For what?” Like I didn’t know.

  “For being such a dick and making Clay feel bad about getting together with Hope when you had your sights set on B.”

  “I didn’t,” I argued. “It happened really fast. I still can’t believe it myself.” Damn. I’d just admitted we were together. “Listen, guys, she doesn’t want anyone to know about it.”

  They laughed. I was ready to tell them not to make fun of B anymore when Peter elbowed me and explained, “We’re the ones who made it happen, you idiot. It was almost too easy. A supposedly overheard conversation here, a text message there. You two were just waiting for an excuse to hook up again.”

  I leaned my head on a locker. “Is that why she was so nice at the party?”

  “Nah,” said Peter. “That’s what gave us the idea. She’s been into you longer than she’d admit.”

  That may be, but she did not like anyone in her business. I walked away, shaking my head. I didn’t bother to shower or change, but grabbed my clothes, threw them over my shoulder, and headed for the door. I needed to tell B about this face to face.

  • • •

  As I drove to B’s house, I got more and more worried. I didn’t know if she wanted me showing up unannounced at her place, but I also didn’t want to explain it all by text or email. What if she was so pissed that she wanted to end things before they really got going? I punched the steering wheel. That felt so good I hit the ceiling. Before long I was whacking anything I could, arms a blur. A beep knocked me out of my frenzy. I accelerated and continued down the road, breathing hard.

  I parked my car and stared at her white stucco house with a little dread. Last time I was here, I had admitted to B what had h
appened with Bexley. I’d just finished the phrase, “It didn’t mean anything,” when B took her backpack off and swung it at me so hard she gave me a black eye and a bloody nose. She’d run in and up the stairs, and I’d stayed on the lawn hoping she would come back and talk to me or even hit me again. Instead Antonio had come out and told me to leave. I’d really thought Antonio would try to get me kicked off the team or that it would change our playing relationship. It hadn’t, but it had definitely killed our friendship off the field. I wasn’t sure what another mess might cost me.

  I knocked on the door and B answered pretty quickly. The sun was setting and the light glinted in her hair and made her face glow like desert sand. Sounds corny, but it did. She was still in her sweats and her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and seriously, she looked incredible.

  “What’s up?” she asked, her eyes darting beyond me, maybe to see if I was alone.

  I could smell cinnamon toast wafting through the house — her favorite no-one-else-home-for-dinner-again meal. If I had to guess, I’d bet she also had scrambled eggs and some chocolate milk on hand. She’d always been big on breakfast foods.

  I wanted to pretend I hadn’t had a conversation with Clay and Peter and to say that I just wanted to see her again, to slip my arms around her waist and pull her into a kiss and lay her down on the white marble floor and—

  But I’d come to tell her something. “We’ve been played.”

  Beatriz

  I blinked a few times, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”

  “You and me. Us getting together was kind of a joke.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked miserable. I thought he was breaking up with me, and my anger rose so fast that I was shocked by its intensity. I mean, he didn’t even give it a chance, that bast–

  “Our friends,” he said, “They set us up. I’m glad they did, but it was a trick.”

  “What?” I asked sharply, my anger fizzing. Wait, those weren’t breakup words. What was he talking about?

  “Um . . .Were you told I liked you before I kissed you this afternoon?”

  I felt like I’d stepped into a bucket of ice water. “Yeah,” I said slowly.

  “That was your friends’ idea.”

  Fire melted the ice and I began to sweat. “How could you?” I sputtered.

  “Not me,” he clarified, his cheeks pinking. “Clay and Peter, Hope and, well, I don’t know who else. They did it. I-I had nothing to do with any of this. They fooled me, too.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, covering my face with one hand. “I can’t believe they would do that.” I wanted to close the door in his face and run to my room and cry. Or get my keys and run them all over.

  Just when I was about to totally lose it, Ben took my hand and pulled it away from my face. “It’s annoying,” he said gently, squeezing my fingers a little, “but I’m not exactly sorry. Are you?”

  I looked into his hopeful eyes and realized he really had nothing to do with this prank. He liked me. He did. And he wanted me to be okay. “I’m not sorry,” I scratched out. “Not if you — You do like me, right?”

  He smiled and took my other hand in his, too. “Yeah. I thought it was kind of obvious. I could hardly focus on the game today.”

  “Really?” I said. “I thought you were incredible.”

  One side of his mouth turned up. “Thanks.”

  We stood in not-quite-uncomfortable silence for a moment, and then I asked him in. “So now what?”

  “Now we act like we figured this all out on our own.” He smiled and my anxiety melted. “What are you up to?”

  “My folks are both working late and Antonio’s out. I made—”

  “Cinnamon toast and scrambled eggs?”

  “You remember?” Last time we were together, I didn’t think he was paying attention to anything but hooking up. This was unexpected and made me want him to stay even more. “I made more eggs than I can eat. Want some?”

  He nodded.

  Ben

  She wasn’t shouting or threatening to kill me. This was good. And now I was being invited to stay and eat. Was it the egg thing that got her? Couldn’t be. I knew a lot more about her than what kind of eggs she liked.

  We walked into the sitting room and, of course, the TV was off. I had mine on in the background even when I was doing work, which might explain the slight difference between our grades. I was as amazed as I’d been in the past by how white her whole house was. White walls. White floor. White carpets. White furniture. The TV wasn’t white, but still.

  “B, how did you all keep everything so clean?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s all so . . . white. Sparkling.”

  She chuckled. “It’s crazy, right? The houses of my parents’ Colombian friends are super colorful, or at least more than this. Our apartment when I was little was, too. But when we moved here, the fancy interior designer my parents hired said this was what all her clients were doing, so,” she threw her arms wide and shrugged. “My parents’ form of blending, maybe.”

  She pointed to the long white couch. After I sat, I watched as she tried to figure out where she should park herself. The usually-together B was flustered, and her uncertainty was kind of cute. With a wink, I patted the cushion next to mine, and she stepped forward then stopped. She looked apologetic and my first thought was, “Jesus, she’s gonna change her mind about the whole thing.”

  Instead, she said, “You need a fork and a plate.”

  “Why? When we kiss we’re sharing germs.”

  “Ew,” she said. “Why do you have to put it like that?”

  I had to laugh. Her squeamishness was adorable. For now.

  I stood to face her. “You really do need to relax.” I ran my fingers along her forehead to smooth out the worry, and she wrapped her arms around my waist. We fit together perfectly, and it felt totally natural, which surprised me. I hadn’t remembered it being this nice. I kissed her.

  Sula Blom Some of our friends are not online tonight. Interesting.

  Beatriz

  I’m pretty sure Ben made the kiss just a little slobberier than necessary.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, pulling out of his grasp and smiling. “You don’t need a fork, but we should . . .” I breathed out slowly, trying to regain my composure, then sat right next to where he had been. Side by side was the right thing. I think.

  We ate breakfast as the sun set. His ridiculously handsome face glowed in the last bits of afternoon light, the angles looking sharper and his eyes brighter blue, all of which made my heart start drumming faster. What I wanted was to kiss him and not stop. I was enjoying this little fantasy quite a bit until a noise — a little sigh or something dumb and girly like that — came out of my throat involuntarily. Caught. His eyes flicked to mine and at the shock of it, a crumb fell out of my mouth. Okay, more like a chunk. Very smooth. I knew he saw it happen and I thought he’d make some snide remark. But instead, he picked up the piece and fed it to me. Now usually I would find this totally sickening, but it was so sweet at the moment. Like melt-into-the-couch-and-die sweet.

  Something must have shifted in my expression, because he said, “If you like that, I can feed you the whole darn piece of toast.”

  I laughed. He did not feed me any toast, but he did brush my hair behind my shoulder and lean in to kiss my neck. Oh. My. God. My whole body burned and with his head right under my nose I could smell his shampoo — How can shampoo be that sexy? But man! — and I ran my fingers through his hair. The room spun and I leaned back, bringing him with me, his chest pressing against mine. He scooted forward so our lips touched, and then his kisses went lower, back to my neck and along the edge of my v-neck t-shirt until—

  “Stop!” I said, pushing him up. I scrambled away and collected myself. I couldn’t. Not this fast.

  Ben’s eyes were alert, but not angry. “Too much?”

  I nodded tightly. I did not want him to stop. Not for a second. But my brai
n said he had to. Stupid brain.

  In a stunning turn of events, he said, “Your pace, B. This time will be different.”

  Ben

  I deserve a medal for self-control. But I meant it. If pushing meant losing her, where would that get me? Maybe in her pants for a second, but then we’d be done, for sure. And I could tell she didn’t exactly want me to stop, which was progress. And a chance to prove myself.

  I went back to eating eggs. Cold scrambled eggs were not sexy. Which was good.

  Beatriz

  Phew.

  “Thanks, Ben,” I said, and he nodded, studying his eggs like they held the answer to some secret.

  It was quiet and the air between us was electrified, so I tried to think of a way to switch subjects. “I wish there was a way to get back at our friends. They really shouldn’t have messed with us. Or said the things they did.”

  “Yeah, you know what I couldn’t believe? My friends said you’d be better off without me—” His voice broke off and he got a funny look on his face then pressed his lips together.

  Ben’s misery made me want to hurt our friends. Just a little. I scooted closer so we were hip-to-hip and reached for my toast. He exhaled audibly and picked up his fork, resting his free hand on my thigh. My skin tingled.

  In a mischievous voice, he said, “It would be fun to make them think it didn’t work.” The only sound between us was the crunch of my toast and the sprinkling of sugar crystals and crumbs landing on my plate. “Trouble is,” he said, “I already told them I like you.”

  I dropped my toast. “You did? But I said I didn’t want anyone to—”

  “I know.” He touched a palm to my blushing cheeks. “But they saw the way I looked at you at the game. I’m not as good an actor as my famous father.”