Love, Love, Love

by Deborah Reber

  Molly must have sensed my spirit waning and her hopeful future with Spence at risk. So Molly did what she does best. She rallied. “We said you only had to stick with it for two nights out, right? So Saturday night will be number two. After that, we’ll come up with the perfect way to tell Julian the truth, okay? We’ll figure it out. Trust me.”

  What choice did I really have at this point? “Okay.” But telling Julian everything? The very thought of it made me queasy. So rather than dwell on nausea-inducing realities, I filed it away into the recesses of my mind and chose to focus on happier things.

  “I am excited about Saturday night,” I said.

  “Yeah, definitely. It’s going to be great. And, by the way, did you see the way Spence kept finding excuses to touch me back there?”

  No, actually, I hadn’t. The only thing I’d noticed was that Spence was acting a little too cool for us. But Molly didn’t wait for my answer. “Saturday night will firm things up for me and Spence. I have a feeling he’ll ask me to his prom, too. I bet their prom is amazing, don’t you think? I heard the after party is on someone’s yacht in Lake Washington.” Molly’s voice trailed off, no doubt caught up in visions of silk, wrist corsages, and limousines. I reached over and turned on KEXP, Seattle’s indie and alternative rock station, which was playing Death Cab for Cutie, and we drove the rest of the way home without saying a word.

  *

  Emmett usually made the call for our nightly rant, so I gave him until 10:14 p.m. before I decided to stop waiting for the phone to ring and take matters into my own hands.

  “Hey Ika Ilka, what’s up?” Emmett said after a few rings. Ever since our movie date last week, he’d taken to calling me by my faux middle name. Affectionately, of course (or at least, I hoped).

  “Not much. Is everything okay? I was waiting for you to call … it’s way past ten.”

  “Sorry. I guess I got caught up in school stuff. I’m really crunching. Other than that, it’s the same old same old,” Emmett said halfheartedly.

  “Oh, okay.” For someone who generally thought of school as nothing more than a giant hormonal holding tank, Emmett’s recent preoccupation with all things academic seemed a little odd. “So, do you want me to start, then?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  “Okay. Here’s me.” I took a deep breath before launching in. “I think the main thing is that Molly’s acting a little weird, like she doesn’t understand that this whole situation with Julian is so incredibly stressful for me. Sometimes I just feel like I’m inconveniencing her with my petty little problems, even though my petty little problems are pretty much all her fault, you know? Somehow, whatever’s happening with me always gets twisted all around until it’s about Molly. What Molly wants, who Molly likes, how Molly feels …”

  “I’m sorry … I know I’m breaking the rules here, but are you serious? You’re just noticing this now?” Emmett was flabbergasted. “Molly’s always only been about herself!”

  “Well, yeah. I know she can be a little self-absorbed, but—”

  “A little?” Emmett laughed like he was talking to a crazy person.

  “Okay, wait a minute here. Whose turn is it, anyway? Geez, Louise. May I continue?”

  “Sorry … my bad.”

  “How much time do I have left?”

  “You’ve got about fifteen seconds.”

  “Okay. Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted,” I said dramatically. “Oh, yeah. Well, I guess I said everything I have to say about Molly. Other things … um.” I racked my brain to come up with something else to rant about. There must have been something—hormonal angst, out-of-touch parents, acne. But I came up empty.

  “I don’t know … I guess that’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes, that’s it for me.”

  Emmett seemed surprised. “Why Janna Ika Ilka, I don’t believe you’ve ever not had enough crap to bitch and moan about to fill up sixty seconds.”

  He was right. But something about me was different. Despite the residual angst resulting from my frantic departure from Julian’s rugby game, I felt light, excited, mischievous, confident, exotic, flirty … dare I say, happy. I was reflecting on these changes when Emmett interrupted my thoughts.

  “Well, then, I guess it’s my turn,” Emmett said. “And me? I’ve got all kinds of crap I’m annoyed about. I’ve got yearbook crap, finals crap, Dad crap, Stepdad crap, and seasonal affective disorder crap. But the crappiest thing right now? My best friend seems to have vanished. And you know what? I kinda miss her.”

  Emmett’s proclamation caught me off guard, but I let him finish.

  “And it’s not just that she’s pretending to be someone that she’s not. That would suck, but I could handle it because I’d know that she, my friend who I adore so much, was still in there somewhere. But now? I honestly don’t even know who she is anymore. She’s dressing differently, she’s acting weird … she just doesn’t resemble the person I care about so much. And that? That really blows.”

  Emmett ended his rant, his words hanging in the air like a skywriter’s billowy message. My initial reaction was to feel attacked and defensive, but I tried to stop myself from getting too upset. Like Molly, Emmett had a flair for the dramatic. I knew better than to take Emmett’s diatribe personally. I’d just chalk it up to his frustration with the situation. After all, I knew I hadn’t changed. Yeah, I might have been dressing a little differently, but that was about it. For whatever reason, Emmett was making all this up in his head. I just needed to show him I was still the same Janna he knew so well.

  “Are you done?” I asked him.

  “Yeah, I think that about covers it.”

  “So, can I say something now?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Look, Emm. It’s pretty obvious that you don’t like the fact that I’m pretending to be from Hungary. And I get it, I really do. But you have to believe me when I say that I’m still the exact same person I was before the Starbucks incident. I still like eating entire boxes of Annie’s Macaroni and Cheese in one sitting. I still have an annoying little brother who tortures me on a daily basis. I still have nightmares about beauty pageants and stage fright. And I still love going to see old movies with you. Which reminds me. Charade is playing this week.” The classic Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn thriller was one of my favorites. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

  Emmett chuckled. “Well, isn’t that appropriate … Charade. Although I can’t think of a more fitting movie to go see with you, unfortunately, I can’t.”

  “Why not? Because of what happened last week? Look, I told you I won’t be in character when I’m with you anymore. It’ll be just you and me … the real me. I promise!”

  “No, really. I can’t. The yearbook has to go to the printer by Friday and I still have a kabillion things to do before it’s ready.”

  “Oh, well, maybe Charade will still be playing next week.” I was disappointed.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Neither of us spoke for a few seconds, maybe because we weren’t sure where this left us.

  “So, are we okay?” I finally asked.

  “Yeah, we’re okay.” Emmett sounded convincing enough that I believed him.

  “Please just trust me, Emm. I know what I’m doing.” But even as I so confidently spoke those five little words, part of me wasn’t so sure.

  I awoke Saturday morning to what was becoming an increasingly familiar sensation these days—nervous knots. But these knots felt different from the ones I had before the karaoke night or even showing up at Julian’s rugby game. That anxiety had stemmed from the fear of the unknown, of being unsure about what would happen, of whether or not I could pull off what seemed like an impossible feat. After my past problems with performing, who could have predicted that acting would come so naturally to me?

  But now? The nervous knots I had today? They were all about anticipation, pure and simple. Anticipation about what might happen tonight between Ju
lian and me, anticipation of how good it would feel to completely surrender myself to my alter ego, who, I had to admit, was growing stronger and stronger every day. But there was one more thing—something I’d been thinking about ever since Julian brought his lovely soft lips so close to mine when he kissed my cheeks. I was wondering—no, hoping—that tonight I might get my first real kiss.

  Don’t get me wrong. I had been kissed before. There was Cal Johnson, who kissed me at Samantha Greenberg’s bat mitzvah; Micah O’Brian, who slobbered on me after a particularly lame double date; and the handful of boys I kissed during an embarrassing game of spin the bottle at Ella Joslin’s birthday party in ninth grade. But these were nothing more than the kind of awkward, closed-mouth-squishing-of-lips kissing you do when you’re not really into the person but feel kissing is what you should be doing. I mean, let’s be real—inexperience and clumsiness isn’t exactly a turn-on. But I had the feeling tonight could be the night for the real thing.

  Of course, there was still the small matter that I was falling for a guy who thought I was an exchange student from Hungary. I hadn’t forgotten about that minor detail. But rather than dwell on our unlikely beginnings, I’d chosen to follow Molly’s advice and focus on what was happening with Julian right now. It was the best I could do without losing my mind.

  I did have occasional pangs of guilt about the whole thing, but when these happened, Molly was quick to put things in perspective for me. Because the truth was, as Molly and I had already discussed, Julian may not have even really liked me, or he might turn out to be a big, fat jerk. And if either of these things were the case, this all might end before I even had to tell him the truth. Therefore, why put myself through the drama of a painful confession if it wasn’t necessary?

  One thing I’d discovered in the past week was that I had an easier time suppressing my conscience when I actually became Janna Ika Ilka. Like when I dressed in my boho look or listened to Euro dance music or spoke in accent during routine interactions with strangers. I guess in some way embracing these characteristics made me feel like my alter ego wasn’t so far off from the real thing.

  And so that was why today I decided to get into character long before Molly and I met up with Julian and Spence at the bowling alley. While I was still lying in bed, I flipped through my Hungarian research binder, practicing a few key phrases I could throw into the mix tonight:

  Megismételné, kérem? (Could you please say that again?)

  Bocsánat! (I’m sorry!)

  Köszönöm szépen. (Thank you very much.)

  Nem értem. (I don’t understand.)

  And last but not least: Hívja a rendõrséget! (Call the police!)

  Hopefully I wouldn’t need that last one.

  After brushing up on my Hungarian, I got dressed for the day. Before I could get to the good stuff tonight, I had to survive a family volunteer outing—one that I’d tried to get out of but couldn’t, especially since I’d missed last weekend’s. Plus, next Saturday I was signed up for booth duty all afternoon at the Regatta at Green Lake. The Regatta was an annual event where high schools from around the city descended on the park en masse for boat races and spectator festivities. It was also the site of my junior class’s biggest fundraiser of the year, and Emmett, Molly, and I had all enlisted for the one to four shift.

  Frankly, I would have preferred to stay home and veg out or go shopping with Molly, but instead found myself trying to scrounge up an outfit that not only helped me get into character but was also beach appropriate. I came up with a pair of oversized overalls, a ribbed tank with lace around the neck, and funky sneakers. Since accessories had recently become an established part of my new look, I searched for something to spice up my outfit, finally choosing my army-green cadet hat. Not bad.

  Thankfully, my family ignored the fact that I was dressed in anything other than the unofficial Seattle weekend uniform of Crocs, jeans, and fleece. Everyone except for Henry, of course.

  “Now that’s an interesting look,” he said as I walked into the kitchen. I ignored him and grabbed a water bottle and proceeded to fill it up from the Brita.

  “No, really. I mean it. The hat is a nice touch, sis.”

  “Ready to go, guys?” my dad asked.

  “I’m ready, Dad,” Henry said. “But I don’t think Janna is. She looks really Hungary to me. Are you Hungary, Janna? Would you like something to eat so you’re not so Hungary anymore?”

  If looks could kill, Henry would have been six feet under by now. Instead, I ripped open an energy bar and rushed out the back door. “I’m ready, Dad! See you guys in the car!” I knew Henry was just messing with me, but still. As if what I was going through wasn’t stressful enough without having to cohabitate with a master bully. Thankfully, my parents’ favorite NPR radio show was playing in the car, so they put a ban on conversation, giving me a temporary respite from Henry’s tormenting.

  Today we were cleaning the beach at one of my favorite spots in the city, Discovery Park, and after winding down a steep drive, we parked the car and climbed over some large rocks to get to the beach, which lay at the base of acliff. Above us, the park’s well-known nature trails looped through woods and fields.

  I abandoned my shoes by the car and spent the next three hours walking along the beach, picking up stray garbage that had been left behind by careless picnickers or washed ashore, happy to have the time to chill out and just be in nature.

  Because it was low tide, the beach was dotted with shallow tide pools, and small sea anemones poked out of the sand like spiny chestnuts. Across the sound was Bainbridge Island, and beyond that, the snowcapped mountains of Olympic National Park peeked through a thin layer of clouds. Though I often dreamed of leaving Seattle behind for more worldly adventures, on days like today I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

  I managed to break free from the group for much of the time, giving me a chance to be alone with my thoughts while I made my way down the shoreline. I didn’t realize how far I’d gone or how much time had passed until my mom came jogging down the beach telling me it was time to turn back. My mom took the opportunity to check in with me about school, boys … life, something I was used to her doing whenever we had rare one-on-one time.

  “So, you and Molly have a double date tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are these the same boys you went out with last weekend?”

  “Yep.” I really wasn’t in the mood. I had a feeling my mom was disappointed that I hadn’t had much interest in or luck with boys. She seemed to have this romanticized perspective of teen romance, and I wasn’t quite living up to her vision.

  “Where are you kids going?”

  “We’re going bowling. Some place in West Seattle. No biggie.”

  “Bowling! That sounds like fun!”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Was she getting the hint yet that I wasn’t feeling particularly chatty?

  “And who is this boy you’re going with? What’s his name?”

  “Julian.” I couldn’t hold back the smile that appeared when I said his name. Unfortunately, my mom took this as a sign she could probe further.

  “Ah, so is this a nice boy, then? I can tell by the look on your face that you’re smitten,” she said.

  Smitten? “I don’t know … he’s pretty cool, I guess.”

  “And does he feel the same way about you?”

  I blushed as I thought about the possibility. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “That’s wonderful! It’s about time some boy took notice of what an amazing girl you are and likes you for you. Ah … young love. Ain’t it grand?” she sang. My mom put her arm around me and pulled me closer to her.

  “Mom!” I said, wrenching out of her hold. “Can we please stop talking about this?” Better nip this little mother-daughter chat in the bud before things got really uncomfortable.

  “Of course, sweetie.” I could tell by the sound of her voice she didn’t want to stop talking about it, but she acquiesced. All things consider
ed, my mom was pretty good at respecting my privacy.

  We walked in silence the rest of the way to the car, and as we padded along the beach, one thought kept repeating over and over in my head: Is it possible that Julian could ever like me for me?

  We got home from the beach around three o’clock, sandy, sweaty, and slightly sunburned. Damn. Molly and I weren’t meeting the guys until seven, which meant that the calm energy I’d gotten from the beach was replaced by nervousness in no time. I distracted myself by watching a Real World marathon on MTV, which actually worked for a while, mostly because, let’s face it, those people had way more problems than I did.

  I shut off the marathon by five thirty and jumped in the shower. Clean, scrubbed, and if I do say so myself, smelling fine, I grabbed my oversized tote and stuffed it with a few essentials: two hats, one pair of jeans, four tops (I needed options, although I was hoping to borrow something from Molly’s infinitely hipper wardrobe), “going out” shoes, makeup bag, purse, cell phone, pajamas, and toothbrush.

  When my mom dropped me off at her house twenty minutes later, Molly’s hair was set in Velcro curlers and she was putting on her eye makeup with the attention to detail of a debutante getting ready for her coming-out party. As I watched Molly construct her look, it became clear she was pulling out all the stops.

  “Wow,” I said once she was ready and gave me her best runway pose. “You look fantastic … as usual.”

  “Thanks! You don’t think it’s too much? I’m going for a blend of sex kitten and earthy girl.”

  “Well, I’ll be honest—I’m not seeing a lot of the earthy girl, but either way I think you look great. What are you worried about, though? Spence was all over you last Friday night.”

  “I don’t know,” Molly said longingly. “I feel like things with Spence could go either way. There’s something about him I can’t quite put my finger on, like he’s being elusive or something.”

  “Nice SAT word,” I said.

  Molly rolled her eyes at me. “Whatever. Anyway, tonight I’m going to seal the deal. Maybe even with more than a kiss.”