by Cassie Mae
I lift a shoulder. “I guess. I’m never bored, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“How do you handle it so well? I feel like I don’t have a head most of the time, but you manage the math club, your job, theater, orchestra… I mean, how are you not running from place to place?”
I let out a laugh. “I am.”
“You don’t look it. You always seem so…Zen.”
“Guess it helps when I don’t have a ton of people interrupting me as I run from place to place.”
She snaps her fingers. “That’s what I need! A people-repeller when I’m on the go.”
We both laugh at that because, really, I don’t think Kate will ever go through a day without talking to fifty people. And I know she’s joking. Kate likes having so many friends. I mean, I would, if I were comfortable with that.
“I think you handle it pretty well.” I pause to drink some water, then keep going in my oh-so-smooth stutter. “Y-You at least seem happy doing whatever it is you’re doing.”
“I guess I am happy doing everything, as stretched as I am. Like you said, how many chances am I gonna get after high school?”
I nod and shift my legs under the table, accidentally smacking her foot. “Whoops, sorry.”
Kate smiles. “No biggie.” She bends her leg so that her foot rests on the bench, and she places her chin on her knee.
I feel my eyebrows pull down as I study her. She scribbles over the kid’s menu, completely relaxed. She calls me Zen, but I don’t see that at all. I’m twitchy and sweaty.
“How do you do it?” I blurt.
“Do what? Lose at tic-tac-toe?” she teases.
The corner of my mouth twitches up. “No. You’re just always so comfortable around everyone. As if you don’t care what people think.”
“I must fake it well.” She laughs.
“That audition wasn’t faked,” I say, tilting my head.
“Theater is easy. When you’re on stage, you can be someone else. Live their life, and forget—”
Scott Prescott, a fellow junior and our waiter, interrupts by setting a large steaming pizza platter in between us. I don’t realize how far I’m leaning in toward Kate until the pan almost smacks my face.
Kate peeks over the pizza and finishes her thought. “You can forget your own life for a little while.” She smiles. “I wasn’t Kate on that stage, I was Ado Annie! Girl who cain’t say no.”
I open my mouth to comment on how, yet again, she’s just so comfortable doing whatever she wants, and I’m still in awe over it—over her, really—when Scott bends down so he’s crouching by her side of the booth.
“Well, I better ask now then, while you can’t say no.” He winks and tucks his pen behind his ear. “Wanna go out tomorrow night?”
My eyes toggle back and forth between the two of them. Scott’s got balls, I’ll give him that. I wish I could be one of those guys who would stand up and say, “She’s out with me. Get your own date.” But I’m not. I don’t even know if this is a date.
Kate doesn’t look uncomfortable in the slightest. She’s not shaking, or draining of color—both of which I’m definitely doing. She puts on a smile and spurts out with an Oklahoma! accent.
“Don’t you know, hunny? Ado Annie likes whatever guy she’s with.” She reaches over the table and grabs my hand, twining her fingers in mine. I think my eyebrows touch the sun.
Scott glances at me like he genuinely didn’t know I was sitting here. He straightens, gives Kate an awkward smile, and says, “Another time?”
She nods and drops my fingers as Scott slides the bill onto the table. He walks away, his shoulders slumped, running a hand over the back of his neck.
Kate dives into the pizza, taking the largest piece, folding it in half and eating it like a taco, tilted head and all. Like nothing weird just happened. Or maybe I’m the only one who finds any social interaction awkward.
“Mmmm, so good,” she says with her mouth full.
I want to ask why she doesn’t go out with anyone. How she handles all these people fawning over her. I really hope I don’t come off that way. Because, honestly, all I can think about is grabbing her hand back and keeping it in mine.
“Can I call in a favor?” she asks, then takes a sip of her water.
I shake my head from its daze. “Uh, sure.”
“I already owe you so much, but I think we should make this a regular thing.”
“Pizza?”
She laughs. “Break time together. You have the Wednesday, Friday, Saturday shifts, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I was looking over my schedule and stuff, and I’m going to need my breaks to rehearse. And since you’re a genius, I was hoping you could help me out?”
She attempts this squished lip-type pout, but can’t quite get it right since we both keep laughing.
Kate Ryan wants my help with something. The gears in my head crank to full speed as I think of different memorizing techniques I've read about. Also, I want to impress her a little.
Maybe a lot.
“Sure. Th-That sounds good.”
She drops her leg and kicks me lightly in the shin under the table. “Thanks. And don’t worry. I won’t make you practice the kiss with me.”
She laughs as I choke on a pepperoni. I won’t tell her that I wouldn’t be much help with that, since the one time I kissed a girl, I missed and hit her ear.
Kate keeps the conversation going, and for the life of me, I try to keep my face as calm as she looks. But under the table, my knees start bumping up and down again. Now that the thought’s been planted in my brain, watching her lips as they move, her eyes get wider when she’s excited over something, and the small dimple on the right side of her mouth, I can’t help but wonder… What would it be like to kiss Kate Ryan?
“When do you get off, lady?” Brit asks from a table by the door. She’s dressed all pretty with her blonde hair in curls and makeup just perfect. She and four of our friends stopped at Jamba Juice before heading out for the night.
“Should be around nine,” I say, shaking my head and laughing at the goofs she’s with who are blowing straw wrappers at each other across the table. “Hey, make sure you guys clean up after yourselves, or else I have to.”
Brit slaps Jeremy over the head. “Okay, okay,” he says. “I’ll pick it up.” He flashes his signature smile at me.
“Thank you, Jeremy!” I shout as I walk over to help Seth with an order. Brit comes up to the counter.
“When you get off, call me. You can meet up with us and we can finally hang together outside of basketball. I feel like we haven’t done that in ages.”
“We hung out three weekends ago,” I say over my shoulder, both talking to her and checking to make sure I’ve got the order right.
Brit chuckles. “We were at a basketball tournament. Of course we hung out. I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt for you to let your hair down, literally.” She looks me up and down. “And wear something other than yoga pants or your work khakis.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. Jeesh.”
She blows me a kiss as the others get up from their table. “I expect a call later, lady. Bye, Seth!” she yells as the door closes behind her.
“Bye,” I hear Seth say before he realizes she can’t hear him anymore.
I let out a snort. “Smooth, pal.”
He shrugs and laughs.
The minutes pass into hours, and finally 8:30 is here and there are no customers in sight. Nothing wrong with getting started on the closing tasks early.
I sing and hum the words to the song from Oklahoma!, “I Can’t Say No” as I wipe down the machines. We'd worked on some choreography at practice—rehearsal. Ah! I get all the stupid terminology mixed up—before work today, so as I check the tasks off the store’s closing list, I scoot around the lobby trying my best to remember the moves.
“He wants an over your left leg, under your right, at that part,” Seth says from the tables in the corner.
I throw
down my towel and place my hands on my hips, a huge smile on my face. “Well, Mr. Know-It-All. Care to show me how it’s done, then?”
He furiously shakes his shaggy brown head, like moving his feet in a motion other than walking might kill him. I pick up my towel and twirl it around, moving on to the next thing on the list.
I’m restocking the stuff behind the counter when Seth leans on it and says, “I’ll help you with the lines again, though.”
I pop up and rest my elbows on the counter, head in my hands. “Okay, shoot.”
“Now that I got that fifty dollars, you name the date.” He recites it perfectly, with such an authentic southern drawl. Whenever we go over lines, it’s like he draws from Will’s—Ado Annie’s love interest’s—personality. Not to the point where Seth is gone and only Will remains. But there’s no looking at his feet, or running his fingers through his hair, or tugging on the string of the hoodie jacket that accompanies his usual attire. Seth says the lines with such confidence. I wonder if he knows how good he is at this.
“Why don’t you want to be on stage?” I ask him.
His eyebrows pinch together, and the right side of his lip tugs. “That’s not your line.”
I stand up and rest my back against the machines I just cleaned, arms crossed over my chest. “You’re really good at this, Seth. Is the sound booth where you want to be?” I lean forward slightly “Or are you just too chicken to show off your mad skills on stage?”
His gray eyes drop to the ground. He can’t possibly be looking at a stain on the floor since I mopped it already.
“Hey, eyes up here, buddy.”
“You really think I’m good?” He’s still not looking at me.
“Yeah, I think you’ve got natural talent. Your personality is such that it takes on parts of another character. But you’re not ‘type acting.’ It’s you, with the added qualities of the personality you’re supposed to play. It’s quite impressive.”
His gaze finally meets mine. He shakes out his arms and shoulders and puts on the carefree smile I’ve come to call the “Will smile” in my head.
“Now that I got that fifty dollars, you name the date.”
“August fifteenth,” I say in my flirtatious, good-time-girl, way.
Will—I mean, Seth—cocks his head and scrunches his face in thought. “Why August fifteenth?”
“Because that was the first day I’se kissed.” I twist a bit, pretending I’m wearing a dress and attempting to be coy.
“Oh was it? I didn’t remember that.” Seth takes a step back, looking taller. He’s totally nailing Will’s optimistic and charming personality.
I again lean on the counter and Seth does the same, our noses are practically touching, we’re breathing the same air, and he must have spilled Aloha Pineapple on himself because he smells all tropical.
“That’s ‘cause you wasn’t there,” I whisper.
There’s a beat when we’re doing nothing but breathing, nothing but looking at each other and the muscles in my stomach do this tap-dance thing. He’s really good at acting. Talk about building tension.
Then Seth breaks character, dropping his jaw in a contemporary, oh-no-you-didn’t sort of way. We both laugh, our eyes meet, and finally his don’t leave mine.
He’s a really nice guy, you know? He doesn’t ask me to do anything for him. In fact, it’s the other way around. I’ve constantly been asking for help with this musical. Whenever he’s around I get to talk and he listens, commenting even if it is brief. But his comments aren’t mindless, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say” kind of comments. He thinks it through and gives his opinion. The only other person out of all of my friends who treats me this way is Brit. And I don’t get to see her nearly enough.
Seth is a great friend. It would be nice if he could be something more than just a Jamba Juice and theater friend. Most of my friends are situational. Which is fine. I don’t have time for more than that.
But in his case, I kinda wish I did.
“What are you two doing?” Harry asks as he rounds the corner and stares at us this close to giving Eskimo kisses. Seth bolts straight up and I take my time.
“We’re rehearsing lines for the school musical,” I say as I hand Harry the checklist. “Everything is done for the night.”
“Well then, clock out so I’m not paying you to stare into each other’s eyes over my countertops.” Harry shakes his balding head and makes sure the doors are locked. I can see the smirk forming on his lips, though.
“Good night, Harry,” I say after I’ve grabbed my stuff and Seth’s collected his. We go out to our cars and lean against them.
“Stay right there until we make sure my car starts.”
He smiles and nods, watching me as I get in my car and start her up just fine. The clock on my dashboard says 9:03. It’s a Friday. There’s still time to do something, and I don’t have an early game tomorrow.
I look at Seth through my open car door. He’s not looking at me; his eyes are focused on the night sky, his forehead scrunched in his thinking face, which kind of makes him look like he’s sucking on something sour.
He probably doesn’t want to be anything more than Jamba Juice-theater friends. He’s so busy, and I doubt he needs another friend. He’s got that quiet red-headed guy he hangs with all the time. Dylan? I think his name’s Dylan.
Brit did ask me to call her after I got off work. I wonder where those guys ended up? I have no problem meeting up with them. It’s just so hard to hang out with them sometimes. Always having to come up with things to say. Trying to make sure everyone’s happy. I turn back to Seth’s shaggy head through my car window.
“What ya going to do now, Seth? The night’s still young!” I throw my arms out to the sides and shout over my engine.
He runs his hand through his hair, and when it falls back to the same place it was, I can’t help but smile. “I dunno. Probably go home and study up on some stats.”
My mood drops. Sounds like fun…not. I don’t say it out loud because I don’t want to offend him.
Well, I gave him a chance to tell me “nothing.” To ask me what I was doing tonight. It’s clear we’re JJTs—Jamba Juice theater friends—and I can understand that. Even if it makes me a little sad.
“Okay, well. You have fun with that.” I’m closing my car door when it stops. I look up and my breathing ceases. Seth’s body is between the door and the car, his head bent down so it’s close to mine. He opens and closes his mouth, giving me enough time to wish again that he might hang out with me. But after a few seconds of no speaking, I realize his voice must be broken, so naturally, in trying to ease the tension, I reach out and wipe at the pink smoothie on the white T-shirt that’s hanging in front of me.
Whoa, the boy’s got some serious abs.
“How do you find the time to work out, too?” I lightly punch him in the stomach.
His eyebrows scrunch, and he wraps his hoodie around his middle.
“I-I don’t, really.”
“What?” My mouth drops open. “No way. You just happen to have abs of steel?”
“Th-They’re not abs of steel—”
“Yeah, okay.” I poke at them a few times and there’s definitely no movement. After about ten pokes he grabs my finger.
“Okay, stop,” he laughs.
The night is chilly and my finger feels good in his warm hand. Actually, I’m not cold anymore at all. As if the connection between his hand and my finger is spreading through the rest of me.
“Hey, Seth.” His eyes leave my finger, looking at me. “Suzi’s throwing a party next Friday night. You should come.” I’m not particularly looking forward to the party, but that wouldn’t be a very good selling point. Drunk kids and sweaty people dancing aren’t my thing. But if both Brit and Seth are there, it might actually be fun.
“Uh, well, I’d have to see what I have going on,” Seth says and lets go of my hand, immediately causing me to shiver. I nod and reach for the handle of the car. Clearly Seth’s
got other plans or priorities. I understand. Brit is waiting, so I might as well get a move on.
“Yeah, sure. You’re super busy. I totally get it. I’ll see you around, Seth.”
I pull the car door shut and give him a wave as I drive out of the lot. He’s still looking at my car when I glance back in my rearview mirror.
So much for trying to be more than JJTs.
It’s four-thirty in the morning, and Shelby, my baby sister, hasn’t stopped crying for the past half hour. I stretch out on my flannel sheets, cover a yawn, then hoist myself out of bed.
Mom’s head is thrown back in the rocking chair, her eyes barely open enough to give me a small smile when I walk into Shelby’s room.
“Sorry, hun,” she says just loud enough to hear over the small wails, “I’m just waiting for the medicine to kick in.”
“She sick?” I ask, running the back of my hand over the soft skin on Shelby’s forehead. She’s warm, but not scorching.
“I think it’s gas.” Mom lets out a tired chuckle before stifling a large yawn.
“I’ll take her,” I offer. My arms stretch out to the bundle.
Mom shakes her head, but slides my baby sister into my arms. “You have to rest before school.”
I give her a smirk. “I’ve got early morning theater rehearsal, so I have to be up now anyway. If she’s not asleep in twenty minutes, I’ll come and get you.”
Mom hesitates. I lightly tap her knee with mine to make her get out of the rocker. “Mom, I got her.”
A relieved breath escapes her lips as she stands. Her fingers lazily run over my hair as she passes me on her way to her room. I hope she gets more than twenty minutes.
I slip into the rocker, adjusting Shelby so she’s propped on my shoulder. Rule number one about gassy babies—get them to burp.
Her cries aren’t as loud as they were, even next to my ear. I start patting the top of her back, then the bottom, then the middle. Something Mom taught me when Shelby was born—something I think she learned off Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Not the most scientific method, but works most of the time.
The soft whimpers turn into sniffles against my neck. I yawn in tune with my baby sister. Then I shake my head because, unlike her, I have to stay up.