“When I saw you, I tossed it into the other aisle.”
He stepped out and looked to the aisle to the left and to the right. “I don’t see anything.”
I started picking up more boxes of cereal. “I don’t know. Maybe someone picked it up.”
Right on cue, Dhonielle showed up, and I had never been so happy to see someone in my whole life. She handed me a box of tampons. “First you throw things and then you knock down a display? Are you going for employee of the year?”
Relief washed over me. Thank you, Dhonielle. Her snooping saved me. I was so buying her the biggest, most awesome birthday present next month. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m almost done cleaning up.”
She smiled. “It’s okay. Hi, Wes. I’ll leave you two alone.”
“See,” I told him. “I wasn’t lying.”
“Good,” he said, and piled on the last few boxes in the cereal pyramid. “I wouldn’t want you to feel like you ever needed to run from me.”
Run? I wanted to stay as close to him as possible, but I tried to act cool. I leaned back slightly, and, so much for cool, a cereal box fell and hit me on the head. “Ow.”
“Careful,” he said, picking the box back up. “You almost knocked the whole thing over again.”
Why was I such a klutz? “Maybe you should be the one running from me,” I told him. “First the play, and now knocking over a display in the grocery store. I’m an embarrassment.”
“Emily, I don’t care what some random strangers think. Or what happened in the scene. I thought it was funny. I told you that.”
“So you’re not totally mortified to be seen with me?” I asked.
“Not even a little. I’ll prove it. I’ll even give you a ride home.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said.
Wes finished picking out a few groceries (he’d been on a run for his mother, too), and I grabbed my carton of milk and took it and the box of tampons that I didn’t really need at this point in time, but had no choice but to buy, to the checkout.
We walked out of the store, and I realized this is what I wanted: a guy who didn’t care if I knocked down food displays or butchered Shakespeare or wore sweatpants up to my armpits. I wanted Wes, a guy who appreciated me for me.
16
Dhonielle was sitting on the bench in front of the grocery store. “Shouldn’t you be working?” I joked as Wes and I passed by.
She shrugged. “I wanted to make sure you and all your mess were long gone before I went back in there.” Then she explained to Wes the real reason. “I’m on my fifteen-minute break. I’ve been at work since six AM.”
I really didn’t know how she did these morning shifts all the time. I was always miserable after I did them, but I was much more of a night person than she was. “Seems like a rather boring break,” I told her.
She shook her head as if in defeat. “Well, that’s what happens when there’s no one to play cart-lympics with.”
“Cart-lympics?” Wes asked.
“Only the best sport in the world, created by yours truly,” I informed him. “I know you’re all into lacrosse, but I have to tell you, you’re missing out. My game has yours beat.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely. Right, Dhonielle?”
“I’d have to agree,” she said.
“You don’t have me sold,” Wes said, clearly trying to hold back a smile, but I saw that dimple of his make an appearance. “Just how do you play cart-lympics?”
I shook my head. “We could tell you, but…”
“What? You’d have to kill me?”
“That’s one way to go,” I answered. “I was going to say it’d be a lot more fun to show you.”
“You’re on,” he said, and gestured for me and Dhonielle to lead the way.
I knew I probably should have been heading home, but I really wanted to hang out. I looked at my sack with the milk. It was chilly enough out that it would be fine for a bit, and we were only going to play ’til Dhonielle’s break was over. It wasn’t like there was much of a risk of the milk spoiling, and I’d still get home in plenty of time to make the mac and cheese. It took less than an hour to prepare, and my parents’ potluck wasn’t until six PM. Besides, how could I resist introducing cart-lympics to more people?
It wasn’t much of a choice. I had to stay.
We walked behind the store to the lot where the trucks dropped off the groceries. Dhonielle held out her hands and said, “Welcome to our course.” Then she grabbed the shopping cart we kept back there, rolled it over to us, and jumped in.
I put both hands on the handle and in my best announcer voice declared, “Welcome to the cart-lympics, the death-defying, soon-to-be-world-renowned, Olympic-worthy grocery-cart races. The challenge, if you choose to accept it, is to make it around the course in the fastest possible time. First, you head north up the lot.” I started pushing the cart. “When you hit the yield sign, circle four times. This takes skill. You want to get the best time, but if you’re too dizzy, you may mess up.” Then I pushed Dhonielle back in the direction we came from. “Next you head south, making a quick left just before the grass, and then you must stop right at the white line. If you cross over, even an inch, your time is disqualified.”
Wes started laughing. “And why is there a person in the cart?”
“For fun, of course,” I told him.
“This doesn’t seem too hard,” he said.
“You say that now,” Dhonielle warned him. “But after those spins, you sometimes wind up going the wrong direction. Not only does it cut your time, but you end up feeling more than a little loopy.”
“That was the demo.” I pulled out my phone, punched up the timer, and handed it to Dhonielle. “Now we mean business. Ready?”
Dhonielle nodded. “I’ll count you down. Three, two, one, go!”
I raced my way up the lot, circled four times as Dhonielle kept track of each rotation, made my way back, and parked the cart like a pro.
“One minute, thirty-two seconds,” she declared.
“Still champion,” I cheered, and lapped around the cart doing my lame attempt at a Rocky impersonation. “My best was one minute, twenty-four.”
“I’m next,” Dhonielle said, and hopped out of the cart. “Wes, darling,” she said in one of her theatrical voices. “Would you do me the honor of being my passenger? I promise I shall not get us killed.” She assured him that we get a warning before any cars or trucks enter the area. A gate has to open before a vehicle can get into the lot. “And I’ve only crashed the cart into the sign or a wall once or twice.”
“Or three or four times,” I added. “But I’m still in one piece, so you should be okay.”
“Don’t listen to her. I’m a great cart driver.”
“I’m in,” he said, and hopped inside.
I held the timer this time and cheered as they made it to the yield sign. They headed back my way, and I almost doubled over laughing from the sight of Wes’s expression. He looked more than a little panic-stricken. “A minute, fifty-nine seconds,” I announced when they stopped. “You should have seen your face,” I told him.
“You have no control in there. You feel like you’re going to go flying off.”
“It’s like a roller-coaster ride,” I said. “It’s kind of exhilarating.”
“But on a roller coaster, I’m not getting pushed by a person who’s half-dizzy.”
“I’d say full dizzy,” Dhonielle chimed in.
“Even better,” he said, getting out of the cart.
“You’ve got to trust that the person won’t let go no matter what,” she said.
I took Wes’s spot in the cart. “Well, I trust you,” I told him. “Ready?”
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yep.” I didn’t give him time to think about backing out. “Three, two, one, go!” Wes took off, and I started screaming woo-hoo as we made our way through the course. I loved the rush of the wind as we raced up and down.
And the look of concentration on Wes’s face as he circled the yield sign was an added bonus. He was taking my game seriously. I kind of loved that.
He was extracareful pulling up to the line, making sure he didn’t go over. It cost him some seconds, but he parked perfectly. “Two minutes and fifty-two seconds,” I said. “Impressive. That’s the best first-time score yet.”
Wes looked proud of himself. “Yeah?”
“Mine was three minutes, twenty seconds,” I admitted.
“And I was four minutes even,” Dhonielle said. She looked at her phone. “I hate to break up the party, but my break is over. I need to get back in.”
We said good-bye to her, and then I turned back to Wes. “One more round?”
“Definitely.” He put his hands on the handle and stared right into my eyes. “Get ready to have your record crushed.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Big talk from a newbie. Let’s see what you got.”
I kept my eyes glued on his, and as I yelled “go,” Wes and I took off together.
When we finally came to a stop, my heart was racing, but I knew it had nothing to do with the game.
17
“Are you going to be able to drive?” I asked Wes as we got to his car.
“Yeah, but we may need to sit for a few minutes first.”
He was a little wobbly from cart-lympics. After Dhonielle went inside, Wes and I took a few more turns. Three inside the cart and three as the runner each. I don’t think either of our equilibriums were entirely back on track.
“That’s some game you created,” he said, his cheeks still rosy from the adrenaline rush and his hair almost as messy as mine. “One of these days, I will beat you.”
“I don’t know. I am the champ, after all. But I will take that as a challenge.”
“You’re on. You’ll have to let me know when you’re working.”
He was the first non–Northside Grocery person I’d introduced to my game. Not even Kayla or Jill had played. And it was cool that he seemed into it. The idea of his coming to visit me during my work breaks made me shiver—in the good way. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he wanted more than friendship. I mean, my heart told me we were supposed to be together. And I was pretty sure he sensed it, too.
I’d played cart-lympics with Dhonielle and nearly everyone who worked at the grocery store who was under twenty-two years old, but never did I get the sense that they were looking at me the way Wes looked at me after we hit the finish line. There just seemed to be this invisible force that radiated between us. And it didn’t feel like just my imagination.
I had grabbed my bike, and Wes was putting it on the rack on the back of his car. It wasn’t the one he usually drove. “Another new car?” I asked.
“My dad’s,” he said. “He likes me to take it every so often, so I don’t forget how to drive a stick shift.”
He opened the passenger door for me and waited until I was fully inside before he closed it. It was supersweet. I loved that he always did that. My dad did that for my mom, and while Dhonielle said things like that were corny and women can get their own doors and don’t need a man to do it, I liked it. It didn’t mean I wasn’t capable, it just meant he was being extracourteous to me. The same way I was trying to be to him by leaning over to his side of the car and unlocking his door. Sure, it was a small gesture, but I think the world could use more people doing kind things for one another, even if it is something tiny. And, hey, if the person going out of the way for me is also somebody I find incredibly cute, then that’s just an added bonus.
When Wes got in the car, he didn’t seem to be in too big of a rush to get going. He sat back and ran his hands through his hair, which was completely windblown. It looked hot. It reminded me what a mess I knew I looked like. Yet somehow being around Wes, I didn’t feel like a disaster. I actually felt good.
I glanced at the clock. I’d been gone for about an hour. If I didn’t get home soon, my mother would probably send out a search party, but I didn’t want to rush my moment with Wes, either.
“How often do you work here?” he asked.
“Just two or three shifts a week during the school year,” I said. “Some combination of Friday, Saturday, or Sunday and the occasional weeknight; but over breaks and the summer, I’m here a lot more.”
“Must be hard to fit it into your schedule,” he said.
I smiled at him. “Well, I don’t play a sport and sign up for every activity in existence like some people in this car.” I also had a nonexistent dating life, but I decided not to mention that.
“You do other stuff. You helped put together the dance.”
“Not by choice.” I almost threw in a dig about Amanda, but I bit my tongue. He was still friendly with her, and I didn’t want to ruin the mood by being all negative.
“Maybe not, but you still did it. It looks like it will be fun.”
Why was he bringing up the dance? Was this his way of hinting that he wanted to go with me? Was he waiting for me to ask him? “I’m looking forward to it,” I said, chickening out from asking what I really wanted to know.
I looked away from him and down at my lap.
His eyes must have followed mine, because he said, “Oh, I better get you home before your groceries are out too long.”
“Thanks,” I said, but I was secretly kicking myself. I hadn’t meant to stare at the sack of milk and make him think I wanted to leave. I just got nervous looking at him.
I watched as he put his hand on the stick shift.
“Have you ever driven a manual car?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I have no clue how it works.”
“It’s not too hard once you get the hang of it. Here, I’ll show you. Give me your hand.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. I put out my hand; he took it and put it on the stick shift, and put his hand on top of mine.
I was fairly sure I was going to explode from giddiness right there. He started saying something about holding down the clutch with his left foot and doing something else with his right foot, but honestly I wasn’t sure what he was saying. All I could think about was that WES ROSENTHAL’S hand was on top of mine.
What was happening?! This was so strange.
Did he really want to teach me about driving a stick shift, or was this his sly way of getting close to me? Why couldn’t I read him? It had to be a flirty thing, didn’t it? I couldn’t imagine Wes doing this with Omar or Mason. But what did I know?
“To get the car into first gear,” he said, guiding my hand up and to the left, “we move the stick this way.”
I nodded but kept my eyes on our hands. I was sure I was blushing. Not just because he was practically holding my hand, but because the whole thing was surreal. And the immature, childish part of me couldn’t help but think of the sexual innuendos surrounding his teaching me how to hold his stick. Was he oblivious to it? He really was a lot more mature than I was, but I knew two people who weren’t. Kayla and Jill were going to have a field day with this one when I told them.
The car started moving. Wes was talking more gibberish about easing off the clutch and giving the car gas. Then he guided my hand downward. “We pull down from first into second gear like this.”
“Nice,” I said, because I felt I should say something.
“Just keep your hand there.”
I had no intention of moving it.
“When we stop, we move it to neutral.” He moved my hand again when we came to a red light. And quite frankly, I have no recollection of what he said after that. The rest of the ride home, the only thing I could make sense of was my feelings. I was totally, head over heels, crazy for Wes.
His hand stayed on top of mine until we reached my house. It even lingered there for a few seconds after he stopped the car. This had to mean something. You didn’t do this with someone who was just your friend.
When we got out of the car, he took my bike off the rack. We stood across from each other. The only thing separa
ting us was the bike. He had one hand on the handlebars and the other on the seat. I mirrored his position.
This time, I made sure to look right at him when I spoke. “Thanks a lot for the ride.” My voice was lower and breathier than usual. I think it was because I was having a hard time keeping my heartbeat under control.
“Anytime,” he said. He didn’t make a move to leave.
Was he going to kiss me?
Neither of us spoke, we just stood there. My breath was getting shallower and shallower. Come on, Wes. Please make a move.
Ten seconds passed. Fifteen. We were just standing there, looking at each other. He had to feel what I was feeling.
I moved my fingers on the bike seat a little closer to his. I was pretty sure his edged forward ever so slightly, too. It was my turn. I moved my hand forward a little more, and he did the same, but he stopped shy of touching me. Should I just put my hand on his? Yes, that’s what I needed to do. I needed to be bold. I just needed to get up the courage.
Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, I cheered myself on. Only, I chickened out. But I let my fingers brush his slightly. It was enough, he leaned in. WES ROSENTHAL WAS GOING TO KISS ME. Only, he didn’t get the chance. We were interrupted.
By my father.
“Emily,” he called out from the window of his car as he pulled into the driveway.
NO! He was ruining my moment. He couldn’t have come home five minutes later? I turned to my dad. “I’ll be in in a minute,” I said, and watched him go inside.
I quickly looked back at Wes, but the spell was broken. He wasn’t going to kiss me, not now, not with the threat of my father looking out and seeing us. “I should probably get going,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, “and I better get inside. The milk and all. I have macaroni and cheese to make. It’s really good. You should try it. Well, not today, but sometime maybe. Okay, bye.”
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