“Oh, no,” said Marianne. She tossed another chunk of toast and hit the grill by accident.
Beth nodded dramatically. “She did.”
“Yeah.” Mickey nodded, too. “She really did.” Apparently, he wasn’t as bored by the story as he claimed. “And then, do you know what Andy did?”
“I’m telling it!” said Beth.
Marianne heard their back door open, and then Patrick yelled from the porch, “All right, you beasts, time for dinner.”
“I’m busy,” said Mickey, at the same time as Beth said, “I don’t like garlic bread.” They looked at each other excitedly and yelled, “Jinx!”
“I said it first,” said Beth.
“No, I did.”
“No—”
“Enough,” said Patrick. He appeared behind the kids and snatched them both up by their waists. The wall was only about five feet tall, so Marianne could see him clearly. “Oh. Hey, Marianne,” he said.
She waved.
“Don’t mind these two,” he said. “They haven’t really figured out the whole jinx thing, yet.”
“I’ve noticed.” Marianne had tried to explain to them before that jinx only worked if you said the exact same thing, but they’d just pitied her for her woeful ignorance.
Patrick glanced at his house and then back at her. “Don’t move. I have a message I’m supposed to give you.”
Marianne raised her eyebrows. “Okay.”
“Be right back.” Patrick walked away with the two squealing children. Marianne heard him deposit them in the kitchen, come back out for one that escaped, and then shut the door to lock them in.
Patrick appeared at the wall again and pointed at her. “I see you got your lip all taken care of.”
“Yeah. It didn’t bleed long.” Marianne touched her mouth where her scratch was. “Um, thanks for your help back there.”
“Absolutely. I’m always glad to rescue girls from old ladies.”
Marianne waved that off. “I can handle myself just fine. That wasn’t my first brawl with Nana, you know.”
“I hope you’re joking.”
“Nope.” Marianne stood up and dusted the crumbs off her jeans. “You should have seen the black eye she gave me last Christmas. Now that was a fight.”
Patrick smiled his perfect smile at her and leaned his arms on the wall. “Somehow that doesn’t reassure me about your self-defense skills.”
“Actually,” Marianne walked across the patio so she wouldn’t have to talk so loud, “I think your sister has it on video if you’re interested.”
“Oh, I could just see that.” Patrick rolled his eyes. “You, fighting for your life, and Danielle standing back with the camcorder.”
“Pretty much.” Marianne smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.
He smiled back and then looked at the ground on her side of the wall. They were suddenly out of things to say. Marianne searched the yard around her for inspiration.
“So, about Nana...” said Patrick, at the same time as Marianne said, “What was the message?” They looked at each other for a split second, and then said, “Jinx.”
Marianne was pretty sure he’d been first, so she kept her trap shut. Patrick pointed to himself and then to her.
“What?” she mouthed.
Patrick pointed to each of them again and raised his eyebrows.
Marianne mouthed, “You,” and pointed to him.
He gave her a suspicious look and tried to tell her something, but it was too long for Marianne to read his lips. She shrugged.
Patrick held up his finger and disappeared. He came back with a piece of blue sidewalk chalk. He looked around for somewhere to write, but the top of the wall was too rough for anything to be legible. Marianne bit her lip and gestured silently to her patio. Patrick hesitated for a second and then climbed up on the doghouse. She stepped back so he could jump the wall. He landed with a gentle clack on the concrete. Like a gazelle. Sad, internal whimper.
He crouched down and wrote, “You were first.” His writing was in all caps. Marianne wondered if that was usual for him or not. Patrick looked up at her, and she shook her head. “Are you tricking me?” he wrote.
Marianne smiled and knelt down on the patio. She held out her hand for the chalk and wrote, “I’m not that evil.”
He took the chalk back. “You are tricking me.” He underlined the “are.”
She crossed out his last line and wrote, “Your tricking ME.”
Patrick corrected her English with an apostrophe and an E. “Burn,” he wrote.
Marianne grimaced dramatically and took the chalk. “Facial Disgracial.”
Patrick sat down cross-legged on the cement and shrugged.
“You were first,” she wrote. “Promise.” She crossed her heart with her finger.
“Okay,” said Patrick out loud. “I’m talking now.” He looked scared.
She nodded.
“Wow. You really weren’t tricking me. I guess you’re not evil, after all.”
Marianne glared at him.
“Whoa,” he said. “I was going to free you, but I think I’ll wait till you calm down a bit. I don’t want to get yelled at.”
Marianne snatched up the chalk. “I hereby kick you out of my backyard.”
“What?” Patrick shook his head at her words. “I can’t read that, your writing is too messy.” She chucked the chalk at his leg, but he caught it before it hit. He looked at her meaningfully and said her name. “Marianne.”
She grabbed her throat and coughed. “Thank you,” she said in a raspy voice.
“Any time.” He was smiling at her the way he’d done back on Nana’s porch, that inscrutable way she had no idea what to do with. People weren’t supposed to look each other in the eyes that long. They were sitting pretty close together, too, which made it worse.
Marianne looked away and brought her hair forward over her shoulder. “I thought you were terrified that I would yell at you.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “I thought I’d be merciful. Try to get on your good side.”
Again with the eye contact. Marianne readjusted her position from her knees to sit down. “I don’t have a good side.”
“I know. You hate me. And it’s totally unfair, too...” He leaned back against the wall of her brown stucco house and gestured toward himself. “Because I’m an awesome person.”
Marianne laughed. “I don’t hate you.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, “you do.”
“No.” Marianne tried to seem really cute. “I just don’t like you very much. There’s a difference.”
“That is so unfair,” he said. “Last week—”
Marianne raised her hand to cut him off. “Do not mention last week.”
He shook his head. “You are so weird.”
“I said, don’t mention last week.” Marianne could feel her face getting hot already.
Patrick put one knee up and rested his arm on it. “You really do have the most fascinating reactions. Someone should do a documentary on you.”
Marianne didn’t know if she should be flattered or offended. She decided to be flattered on the inside and offended on the outside. Always a safe way to go. “Are you trying to make me cry?” She pointed threateningly at her eyes. “‘Cause I will.”
“See that, right there...” He looked at her sideways, like he was examining a bug. “You’re so open, and yet not. I cannot figure you out. I can never tell when you’re serious, or just being shy—”
Marianne picked up a handy twig and threw it at him. “Stop studying me.”
“But you’re interesting.”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t like being interesting.”
“Got that part,” said Patrick. “Better get used to it.”
Marianne lifted up her chin. “Death first.”
Patrick laughed and looked away across the yard.
“What?” she said.
“Death first,” he imitated. “Who says that?”
Just then, Danielle’s back door opened, and she shouted, “Patrick?”
“Yeah,” he said, without getting up. “I’m over here at Marianne’s.”
“Oh,” said Danielle quickly. “Um, never mind.” She closed the door.
Marianne looked back at Patrick. He didn’t seem the least bit curious about why Danielle had wanted him. Something was funky here. Marianne was sure that Danielle was match-making, and that Patrick knew it. What she didn’t know was how he felt about it. Only one way to find out.
She dusted the chalk off her hands and started to get up. “Do you need to go?”
He shook his head and pointed at her. “Speaking of death...” he said, not moving from his spot.
He wanted to stay. Marianne sat back down on her heels, hoping her face didn’t show how agitated she felt. “Speaking of death?”
“Yeah. What’s with you trying to poison Nana?”
“What?” laughed Marianne. “Is that what she told you in your super-private talk?”
He nodded. “Oh, yes. She filled me in on all your underhanded activities. Really, Marianne, trying to plant those new pills in with her daily meds? That’s just sick.”
Marianne blinked. Ah yes, the new vitamins she’d added last week. What a drama queen. “Well… and here I thought I was being so sneaky.”
“She doesn’t want your quack remedies. And, don’t repeat this last part because she told me in confidence, but,” he leaned toward her and whispered, “she’s planning on living forever. She’s taken steps to ensure it.”
Mayday, mayday, mayday—he was totally in her airspace. She didn’t want to lean back, but she couldn’t make any words come out with him that close. She readjusted her position, trying to be nonchalant. When she did speak, her voice sounded all sappy and breathy. “Bummer. All that wasted effort.” Oh, and don’t forget her little schoolgirl flick of the hair behind the ear. Smooth. It was getting darker now, though. Hopefully, he didn’t see.
Patrick smiled and picked up the twig she had thrown at him. He started breaking it into pieces. “You’ll have to think up some really ingenious ways to use up the rest of your poison. Nana’s convinced that you have a stockpile.”
“Easy,” she said, brushing his comment aside with her hand. “I have plenty of enemies.”
“How could you have enemies?”
“Have you met me?”
He tilted his head down at her. “You only think you’re scary. You’re really not.”
She leaned forward. “Then why don’t I have any friends?” If Marianne had a brick, she’d have hit herself in the head with it. She had only meant to be funny, but she’d touched way too near the truth. She’d sounded whiny.
“I didn’t say that you had friends, Marianne. I only said that you don’t have enemies.” Patrick’s words stung a bit, but she could tell from his tone that he was teasing her. “I haven’t forgotten about your, what was it? Oh, yeah... rad social skills and charming demeanor.”
“Ew,” said Marianne. “Don’t quote me.” To cover her embarrassment, she smiled way too big and leaned down to start smudging out the chalk words with her fingers.
“I was just kidding,” said Patrick. He sounded a little confused. “I mean...”
Marianne looked up in a panic. He had read her reaction! That’s it—she was going to start wearing a tinfoil hat whenever she was around him to block the mind-reading.
“You know...” He looked like he was struggling to keep his words light. “You do have friends, right?” The look on his face was the same one people got when watching World Vision commercials. For just thirty cents a day, you could save this poor, lonely little girl.
“Yeah,” said Marianne. It didn’t sound much like “yeah,” though. It was more like, Pcheah-AHH. She nodded. “I have lots of friends.” Okay. Panic time. His pity was just building and building; she was watching it happen on his face. She had to convince him that she’d been joking. “Lots of friends,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Rich friends, good-looking friends, really smart friends, friends with superpowers... They all love me.” Marianne laughed a little, but he wasn’t exactly buying it. He was trying to read her mind again with his eyes. She stopped laughing and grimaced. “Okay, I lied,” she said seriously. She tugged her t-shirt down. “None of my friends have superpowers.”
Patrick shook his head at her. “You’re funny.”
He’d bought it. Marianne had that same rush as when you almost trip down a staircase but catch yourself on the railing. Patrick opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something else, but didn’t.
“What?” asked Marianne. Actually, wait. She so did not want to know. “Uh, never mind.”
“Never mind?”
“Yeah.” She waved him off gently with her hand. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”
Patrick smiled hugely at her. “You really don’t have any friends, do you?”
Guess he didn’t buy it, after all. Well, she could handle it as long as he kept smiling and didn’t show her any sympathy. Marianne rolled her eyes. “Hey, it’s not my fault if people can’t handle the coolness.”
“Yeah,” he said in mock bitterness. He chucked his twig across the patio. “They’re just wimps.”
She imitated his tone. “Straight up. That’s why I just stick with the crazies—Nana and your sister.” She flung her long hair back, model-on-the-beach style. “They appreciate the coolness,” she said breezily.
Patrick looked down at his shoes.
Marianne instantly dropped her eyes down, too. Had she still seemed pitiful? She’d only listed two friends, after all. No amount of humor could cover up that gem of information. She put a tiny, please-be-my-friend smile on her face and looked up at Patrick under her bangs.
He was giving her the World Vision look again.
Marianne wiped the simpering look off her face and hugged her knees to her chest.
Patrick shrugged. “Don’t worry about those jerks, Marianne. They’re not worth your time.”
He seemed to be one of those people who couldn’t stand to see others in pain. It wasn’t the worst character trait in the world. She shrugged back at him. “By they, I suppose you mean all the rest of sane society? Yeah, who needs friends like that?” She laughed and looked down at the concrete. “Just kidding. I’m fine, really. Companionship is totally overrated.”
“Well...” Patrick waited for her to look at him again and nodded upwards at her. “We’re friends, right?”
All Marianne’s muscles tensed and released in an instant. The jolt to her system was totally inappropriate to the situation. There was nothing shocking or life-changing about telling someone that you were their friend. He was just being plain and open—they were obviously friends after today’s conversation, but just saying the words made Marianne feel like they were making a pact. Like he was promising her something. “Sure,” she said, softly.
“Good.” Patrick looked truly pleased with her response. “Because, like I said before, I’m totally awesome. You don’t need any more friends than me.” He winked at her, and her head whipped around in the other direction before she even knew that she wanted to look away.
Talk about an overreaction. It’s not as if he’d confessed undying love to her, or anything. Get a grip, Marianne. “Well, um,” she started talking even before she knew what she was going to say. “You’d better be really awesome, because I can be pretty needy. Watch out.”
“I’ll do that.” He looked like he was about to say something else when they heard more noises coming from next door.
Beth popped up in her spot on the doghouse. “Whatcha guys doing?”
“Just talking,” said Patrick.
“Oh,” said Beth. She sighed contentedly and just stared at them. Apparently, she was settling in to watch for a while.
Patrick smiled at Marianne and shook his head a little. Maybe he was just as bummed by the intrusion as Marianne
was. Oh, wait... that was in her dreams. She could hope, though, as long as it was kept tightly locked inside her head. Seriously, Patrick had almost been flirting with her. Marianne re-crossed her legs that were going numb from being in one position. She squinted at Patrick. “What were we talking about?”
“Well,” said Beth, from over the fence. “I was telling you about my friend Heather and my friend Lori.”
Saints preserve us. Marianne turned and grinned at Beth. “That’s right, you were.” She looked sideways at Patrick. “But did your uncle get to hear it yet? I’m sure he’ll want to hear the whole thing later tonight.”
Patrick said, “Nice try,” under his breath, and then raised his voice. “Beth already told me all about it. Didn’t you?”
“Oh, yeah,” scoffed Beth. “Patrick knew waaaay before you did, Marianne. He thought it was so funny.” She giggled into her hand again. “He was cracking up.”
“Naturally,” said Marianne.
“I always make Patrick crack up,” said Beth. “It’s because—”
“Beth!” hissed Danielle from the back door.
Beth started visibly and turned around. “Sorry.” She turned back to them and said, “I forgot I’m not supposed to be out here.” She started to climb down from her spot and her mom walked up behind her.
“Hi, Dan,” said Marianne.
“Hey, loser,” said Danielle. “You guys should turn some lights on. You look weird sitting in the dark.”
Marianne climbed to her feet and went inside to flick on the switch. She came out the back door and heard Danielle say in an annoyed voice, “What are you waiting for, then? Get it done!” Marianne stayed on the porch—she wasn’t sure she was supposed to have heard that.
Patrick looked up at the patio cover in dismay and scratched his jaw. “Very smooth, Danielle.”
Danielle grimaced and glanced back toward her house. “I think I heard the baby.” And then she was gone.
Marianne knew exactly what Danielle had meant by “get it done,” and they were going to have to have a little chat about it after Patrick left. Marianne stayed standing on the porch, giving Patrick the option to get up and leave if he wanted.
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