Girlfriend Material

by Melissa Kantor

The other guy was less obviously cute. He had dark hair and a slightly big nose, and while the first guy’s body really did look like he played polo (in addition to working out ten times a week), the second guy’s was what Laura and I call soccer-player cute—you know, like, I’m in good shape, but my life’s goals extend beyond the acquiring of six-pack abs. Thinking about Laura reminded me of our phone call and that I was supposed to call her back, which, oddly enough, made me feel even lonelier than being surrounded by a group of total strangers did.

  “Hey,” said Jenna, looking up at the guys. “If you want to play, we got an earlier court time.”

  “Oh, great,” said the extremely cute guy. “Yeah, I definitely want to play.”

  “Me too,” said the just-regular-cute guy. “But we need a fourth.” The extremely cute guy gestured at Sarah’s bag. “Where’s Sarah?”

  Jenna turned to me, which meant the guys turned to me too. It felt weird to have so many pairs of eyes on me. “She’s over there.” I pointed across the pool to where Sarah was still talking with the towel girl.

  “Who’s she talking to?” asked the extremely cute guy, squinting. “I don’t have my contacts in.”

  “Victoria,” said Jenna.

  “Oh, great,” said the extremely cute guy. “That’s just what I need.”

  “Dude, you made your bed with that one,” said the just-regular-cute guy, laughing.

  “Dude, you lay down in that bed,” said Jenna, also laughing.

  The extremely cute guy shook his head and gave Jenna and the just-regular-cute guy the finger, but he was smiling a little too. “Screw all of you,” he said.

  “Actually,” said Jenna, “we might be the only ones you haven’t screwed,” she said, and the three of them cracked up.

  There’s nothing like an inside joke to make you feel like a total outsider. I tried pretending that instead of being a loser with nothing better to do than watch three strangers talk to each other, I was eavesdropping in order to take notes for my next novel—the story of a group of deeply disturbed New York City private school kids who realize how empty and meaningless their lives are when they meet an honest, kind girl from one of the Rocky Mountain states.

  I was deep in my Oprah interview when Jenna said, “Guys, this is Kate; she’s staying with Sarah. Kate, this is Lawrence”—she pointed at the extremely cute guy— “and Adam.” She pointed at the just-regular-cute guy. “And we are quite rudely washing Lawrence’s very dirty linen in public.”

  “Hey, my linen’s not what got dirty,” said Lawrence, and they all laughed again.

  Lawrence held out his hand to shake mine. “Nice to meet you, Kate,” he said. I reached up and took his hand, trying to imagine a guy at my school shaking hands with anyone but a job interviewer. He had a good shake— firm but not like he was trying to show he was capable of breaking every bone in my body.

  “Nice to meet you too,” I said. He flashed me a super-model smile. “Hey,” said Adam. “Where are you from?”

  “Utah,” I said. Just naming my home state in front of all of these New Yorkers made me feel like a hick. I should have lied. Oh, I pretty much split my time between Rome and LA. You know how it is.

  “Cool, do you ski? My family rents a place out there every February.”

  “Deer Valley?” I asked. I wondered if he and Jenna were related or something.

  Adam laughed. “No,” he said. “Because, as you—a native—no doubt know, the skiing totally sucks at Deer Valley.”

  “Watch it, Carpenter,” said Jenna, wagging her index finger at him.

  “Sorry,” he said, still laughing. “I meant to say that Deer Valley’s great.” As soon as Jenna looked away, he shook his head at me and made a face, scissoring his hands in front of his chest and mouthing It sucks to me. I started to laugh, which made Jenna look over at Adam, who quickly made his face neutral.

  “Yeah,” he continued as Jenna watched him. “I sure wish we skied Deer Valley. But we’re an Alta family.”

  “You are?” I said, really surprised. “So are we. I mean, me and my friends. We ski Alta.”

  “So you never know,” he said. “We might have skied together.”

  “We might have.” I realized I was not only nodding my head but smiling at him. And was it my imagination, or had the day suddenly gotten a whole lot warmer?

  “Well,” said Adam, “it’s nice to meet a fellow skiier.” He extended his hand. “You know, a real skiier.”

  “I resent that,” said Jenna. “If my boyfriend were here, he’d kick your ass.”

  I took Adam’s hand. “Yeah,” I said. As his fingers closed around mine, I felt a little pulse of something surge through my body. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to me that our eyes and our hands locked for a beat longer than necessary. “So what’s the deal?” asked Lawrence. “What time’s the court?”

  Jenna looked at her watch. “It’s, like, now,” she said. “Fifteen minutes. You guys should go change.” She swung her legs over the side of the chair and stood up.

  The three of them stood where they were for half a second or so, just long enough for me to imagine saying, You know, guys, I play tennis! They’d be amazed, then thrilled. I could see it now: I’d gather my stuff, and we’d all go off to the court. In my mind, the afternoon unfolded like a movie montage—Jenna and I having a friendly rally as the guys played a set or two. The four of us playing mixed doubles, Adam and I high-fiving as we beat Jenna and Lawrence. (Sarah arriving back to discover her abandoned bag on her abandoned lounge chair, then bursting into tears of loneliness and despair.) Just as I’d gotten to the part of the evening where Adam asked me to go for a walk under the stars and confessed his undying love for me, Jenna said, “Well, it was great meeting you, Kate. I’m sure we’ll see you soon.”

  “Yeah,” said Lawrence. “Good to meet you.”

  “I’m going to go get Sarah,” said Jenna.

  “See you,” said Adam.

  It was nothing short of a miracle that I managed not to blurt out, When?! When will I see you?!

  “Yeah,” I said. “See you.”

  Once they’d left, I had nothing to do but go back to reading. I opened my mystery, but once again I found it hard to concentrate on Miss Marple’s adventures. Only this time it wasn’t because of Brad and Laura. Or Sarah. I put the Agatha Christie away and took out a pencil and my writer’s notebook, which Ms. Baker had told us we should always carry. You think you’ll remember your ideas when you get home, but I guarantee that you won’t.

  I flipped open the small pad and tapped my eraser against a blank page. The problem, I realized, was that I didn’t have an idea for a story so much as I’d had an idea for my life. All of Kate’s dreams came true that summer when, shortly after she and Adam became a couple, Sarah had to return to New York for emergency surgery on the eardrums she had damaged by listening to excessively loud music as she drove.

  Did I really need to write that one down? Somehow I had the feeling I wouldn’t forget it.

  SARAH CAME BY TO GRAB HER BAG, and that was the last I saw of her. I don’t know why mobsters bother to off people when it’s so easy to make someone feel like she doesn’t exist. I ended up getting a ride home with my mom and Tina and spending the evening discovering, alone in my room, who done it.

  Nothing like life in the fast lane that is modern teenage life.

  Sunday morning, when I got up and headed over to the main house to get breakfast, my mom and Tina were sitting outside. I honestly didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but before I could announce my presence on the bottom step leading up to the deck, I heard Tina say, “But is that any different from how it’s always been?”

  “He’s just gotten so much worse,” said my mom.

  “This is not what I signed on for when I got married.” The word married was hardly out of my mom’s mouth when Tina saw me standing there. “Morning, Kate,” Tina said a little too brightly.

  “Oh, good morning,
honey,” said my mom, turning around and smiling at me.

  “Morning,” I said. I noticed there was a box of tissues on the table between them, but it didn’t look as if my mom had been crying. Maybe Tina just had hay fever or something.

  Henry put his face up to the screen door but didn’t open it. “I’m heading over to the club. Anyone want a ride?”

  “No thanks,” said Tina. “We’re off to Provincetown.”

  “Kate?” asked Henry.

  Another day being ignored by the Larkspur membership was a little more than I was prepared to handle. “Not just now,” I said.

  “If you want to go later, you can take one of the bikes in the shed,” said Tina.

  “Or you could come with us,” said my mom.

  “We’re getting haircuts,” added Tina.

  “You could get one too,” said my mom. “Maybe you want something a little more, you know, summer fun and flirty than what you have now?”

  Because what I have now is so … what, winter despair and spinsterish? “Thanks, Mom, but I think I’ll pass.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Well, I’m going to go get dressed.”

  “Me too,” said Tina, and she headed inside.

  I wandered through the kitchen and into the living room in search of something to read. There must have been two thousand books, almost all of which I’d never read, most of which I’d never even heard of. It was kind of intimidating. I took a book called Lolita off the shelf. It was by a guy named Vladimir Nabokov, and I’d at least heard of it, but I wasn’t sure what it was about, just that it was supposed to be dirty or something. I opened it and read the first line. Lolita. Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul …

  “There’s a great library in town.”

  I jumped about a mile, dropping the book in my surprise.

  “Sorry,” said Tina, coming into the living room. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I was just … reading.” I wondered if I should have asked before taking one of the books off the shelf, and I went to put it back.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” She didn’t check to see what I’d taken, which I thought was pretty cool. My mother definitely would have been all, What are you looking at? “But there’s also a wonderful little library in town. If you’re a book lover, you might like to browse there. It’s very old school.”

  “I’d like that,” I said.

  Tina walked toward the kitchen, then stopped and turned around. “Hey,” she said, “I meant to ask you this yesterday. I know it isn’t exactly what we talked about when we discussed your wanting a regular tennis game, but would you be interested in giving tennis lessons?”

  “I wouldn’t be not interested,” I said. “But I’ve never given a lesson before.” I tried to picture myself telling some little girl to pull her racket back and keep her shoulder to the net like my dad used to tell me. It wasn’t exactly brain surgery.

  “Well, I’ll give you the details, and you can decide. My friend’s husband has been trying to give their daughter lessons, and it’s been a little … tense. She was thinking maybe another teenager could reach Natasha better than her dad can.”

  “She’s a teenager?” I’d been picturing someone about four feet tall who might mistake me for an actual grown-up.

  “Well, just. She’s thirteen. She’s kind of a funny kid.” Tina shook her head at something.

  “Funny ha-ha or funny weird?”

  “Ummm …” said Tina. Despite what she’d just said, I got the feeling she wasn’t giving me all the details. “Let’s just say that for what it’s worth, I think she’d like you. She’s really a nice girl who’s going through a bit of a stage. We know the family from New York.”

  Tina crossed to a small table by the window and took a pad out of the top drawer. She wrote something on it, then held out a piece of paper. “Here’s Carol’s number,” she said. “That’s Natasha’s mom. We didn’t talk too much about money, but my guess is she’d pay you twenty dollars for an hour lesson.”

  Twenty dollars an hour?! I forced myself not to snatch the paper out of Tina’s hand. “I’ll call her,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you,” said Tina. “Natasha’s a really sweet girl. I think she could use a friend like you.”

  I decided to be flattered that Tina thought I could reach out to her friend’s daughter, instead of insulted that she thought I could be friends with a thirteen-year-old.

  When I turned on my phone, there was a new message on my voice mail. I hoped it was from Laura. Oh my God, Kate, you’re not going to believe this. Brad Lander gave me some kind of potion that made me think I liked him. Can you imagine?! Luckily I found the antidote, but I’m still pretty grossed out. Call me, okay?

  But it wasn’t Laura, it was Meg. “Hey, little sister.” Okay, I know I am, technically, Meg’s little sister, but does she have to say it like she’s forty years older than I am, rather than four? “I hope you’re having a good time.” Her voice had a singsong quality, as if she were speaking to someone who might still believe in the tooth fairy. “Mom said you’re settling in and adjusting and everything, which is good because I know you were freaking out before you left.” Read: Because I know you’re the most immature person in the universe. “So anyway, I hope you’re having fun in the sun and that we get to talk soon. Okay. Bye.”

  Ugh. I could not hit the delete key fast enough.

  As I dialed the number Tina had given me, I was worried Natasha’s mom would ask me all kinds of questions about my teaching experience, and I’d have to lie; but when I explained who I was, Carol just thanked me for taking on Natasha as a student (a student—like I had others!) and told me about ten thousand times that the biggest problem Natasha had was confidence.

  “Sure,” I said. “I know what you mean.”

  “Oh, you do?” said Carol.

  Her asking made me wonder. Did I? I mean, I knew what confidence was, and I knew what it felt like not to have any. Maybe not on the tennis court, but definitely on the much bigger court we call life. Still, I wasn’t sure Carol really wanted to hear that I believed I could help her daughter due to my having spent the past forty-eight hours as a social leper.

  Luckily, the question had been rhetorical. “That’s great,” she said. “So would ten o’clock tomorrow work for you?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. So would eleven or twelve or one or …

  “Wonderful. And is twenty dollars an hour all right?”

  Considering that the most money I’d ever made in my life was nine dollars an hour to babysit these six-year-old twins from hell who live on our block, twenty dollars to hit a tennis ball back and forth (something I’d happily do for free) was way more than all right.

  “Sure,” I said. “That would be fine.”

  “Terrific,” said Carol. “She’ll meet you tomorrow at ten. I’ll reserve a court.”

  The town of Dryer’s Cove was so damn quaint, it was like a postcard come to life. There was a general store, a liquor store, an old-fashioned pharmacy, a bookstore, some antique and clothing shops, a penny candy store, half a dozen restaurants, and the library Tina had told me about. As I slid the bike into the bike rack in front of the library, I realized I’d forgotten to look for a lock in the garage; but then I noticed that none of the other bikes were locked up. Between the trust in their fellow citizens this indicated and the tiny, old-fashioned wooden building I was about to enter, I felt like I’d stepped back in time, to 19or something. The fact that I was wearing a vintage sundress I’d bought with Laura at this used-clothing shop we like only intensified the feeling that I’d been transported to another decade.

  Even though I had only one hour of Monday scheduled, just having something to do the next day made me feel less lame for having nothing to do today. Wasn’t that what Sundays were for: hanging around doing nothing?

  I pushed open the door and found myself in a low-ceilinged, wood-paneled room. I took a deep
breath, loving the familiar smell of books. There was a small annex off to the left with some large armchairs set up so their occupants could look out the window at the library’s lawn with its charming gazebo atop a small hill. Straight ahead of me was a long table with newspapers and magazines spread out across it.

  I’d expected the tiny library to just have mysteries and romance novels and other summer reading, and they did have that stuff, but they had a lot of classics, too. After wandering up and down a few of the fiction aisles, I found myself looking at Lolita again. Was it stupid to check out a book when there was a copy of it at Tina’s house that she’d said I could borrow? Then again, it would be kind of nice to spend the afternoon sitting in that gazebo, reading and sipping an iced tea, and I didn’t really feel like going all the way back to the house to get the book and coming all the way back to the library to read it.

  The line to check out books was comprised entirely of the AARP set and me. When it was my turn to approach the desk, I tried exuding youthful enthusiasm for the tired-looking librarian.

  “Do you have a library card?” she asked as I slid the book toward her.

  I shook my head. “I just got here,” I explained. “I don’t have anything.” I gave her what I hoped was a charming smile. She wasn’t having any of it. “Do you have proof of residence?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “I’m staying with my … with a family friend.”

  Her lips were tight. “Mmmhmm. Name?”

  “Um …” Okay, how embarrassing was this? I couldn’t remember if it was Tina Cooper or Tina Melnick. Or was it Tina Cooper-Melnick?

  Someone had gotten in line behind me, and now he or she leaned forward slightly. I felt myself growing irritated with whatever senior citizen couldn’t wait five seconds to check out the latest James Patterson novel. If I could just have had a minute, I might have managed to remember the name of my mom’s oldest friend in the world, a woman who also happened to be my hostess.

  Instead of backing up, the person behind me stepped even closer. “Don’t believe a word she’s saying, Barbara,” he said. “This girl has book thief written all over her.”