Clarissa's Choice

by MS Weinman

  “Michelle,” Jay said, “did you notice how pretty Clarissa looks today?”

  “I did. Who do you think she is dressing up for?”

  “I kind of hoped it was for me,” Jay said, raising his head and looking at Clarissa.

  Clarissa looked in his mesmerizing blue eyes for an instant, then she pushed him over into the grass.

  Michelle settled in the wrought-iron chair at the kitchen table, while Clarissa gave her mom a kiss on top of her short spiky hair. She retrieved two Diet Cokes from the refrigerator and sat down next to her friend. Michelle cracked open her drink. After taking a long swig, she said, “Momma T., you look gorgeous as usual. I love your outfit.”

  Clarissa’s mom smoothed her aqua cashmere sweater down over her tailored black skirt. “Thank you, dear. Even at my advanced age, I like to make the boys’ heads turn.” Then, her slim, petite frame danced among the stove, sink, cabinets, and refrigerator. Her black pumps clicked on the slate floor. Cans dumped. Spices poured. The smell of spaghetti infused the air. “Speaking of outfits, did you see how lovely Clarissa looked today?”

  Oh. My. God. “Don’t start, you two. I swear, Michelle, if you gang up on me with my mother, I will ban you from this house forever.”

  Michelle wrapped her arm around Clarissa’s shoulder. “Sorry.” Giving Clarissa an I’ll-shut-up-soon embrace, Michelle added, “But when was the last time we saw Clarissa in a skirt? Junior high school graduation?”

  Momma T. muffled a laugh. Glancing over her shoulder as she stirred the contents of a large pot with a wooden spoon, she asked, “Michelle, do you have anything you want to put on the grocery list?”

  “How about those lime tortilla chips?”

  “Go write them down.”

  Michelle stepped over to the magnetic grocery list clinging to the white refrigerator. She took the black felt-tip pen out from above the list and began to write.

  Clarissa’s mother looked over her shoulder again. “How are things going with you and Rick?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Depends on what day you ask me. Some days, he treats me like a queen. Other days, he ignores me.”

  Placing the spaghetti-stained wooden spoon in the holder next to the stove, Clarissa’s mom turned to face Michelle. Her eyes were soft and caring. “Ladies, the boys can’t respect you unless you respect yourself. All decisions must be made with self-love. Remember, Michelle, you must value yourself.”

  Clarissa rolled her eyes. Great. Another “boyfriend lecture” from my mother. Probably cause another breakup.

  Michelle replaced the pen, walked over to Clarissa’s mom, and hugged her. “I’ll remember.”

  Clarissa padded down the hallway into her room. Sitting on the floor with her back resting against her bed, she turned on her laptop and was greeted by the background picture of a beautiful sunset. I love that picture.

  Dusk had always been her favorite time of day. Clarissa adored sitting at the beach in her teal chair, her feet buried down to the cool part of the sand. The beach was almost deserted at dusk. She marveled as the sun changed the cool blue sky to a warm shade of pink and then vivid oranges and reds. The clouds reflected shades of purple gray, as if they wanted to provide relief from the intensity. The ocean became glass-like as the sun dipped into the water. She felt a complete sense of peace.

  She knew some people loved the sunrise, the beginning of a new day. To her, sunrise meant the end of a perfectly good night’s sleep. Sunsets marked both endings and new beginnings. It could be the end of one of those really great days—hanging out at the beach all day, bodysurfing, and gossiping with your friends. A day when your skin feels warm on the outside from the incessant sun yet you are chilled from swimming in the cold water. Sunset was the end of those terrific days but also a time to put to rest the truly awful days when you have bad hair, PMS, and just got a crappy grade on your math test. For Clarissa, sunset brought the anticipation of the night too. Would there be a party? Maybe some romance? Or would she stay home, give herself a pedicure, watch TV, and eat a huge bowl of rocky road ice cream? There were so many choices in a sunset.

  Clarissa’s phone vibrated beside her. Text from cousin Serena:

  “Looking forward to seeing you this weekend. Should be a blast!”

  Clarissa jotted a short reply:

  “Can’t wait to see you. What’s the weather like in LA? Any parties?”

  Then, she opened the folder named Journey. The black vertical cursor line blinked on the otherwise blank page. Clarissa gnawed on the skin around her fingernail. Don’t do that. She rubbed her palm against her skirt. Finally, she placed her fingers on the keyboard and typed.

  March 25

  Tony Brooks?!?

  A brisk wind sent Clarissa’s curls flying in a frenzy around her face. She pulled the hairband off her wrist and tamed them into a ponytail. Standing at the top of the stairs after homeroom, she took a deep breath. As she let it out, she retucked her white tank top into her jeans. This is it. Yesterday, was he waiting or walking by? Her flip-flops whacked the soles of her feet as she slowly walked down the stairs. Don’t trip.

  A girl’s voice rang out from behind her, “Clarissa.”

  Oh no, not now. If I stop to talk, I’ll miss Tony—if he’s even there. Leaning over the railing, Clarissa attempted to spy the bottom of the staircase. A hand, gently placed on her shoulder, pulled her back.

  “Hi, Clarissa, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I know.” Get me out of here.

  The girl began a monologue. Clarissa heard “Blah, blah, blah …” as she plotted her escape. Stop talking. I have got to get down these stairs. OK, here it goes. “I would love to catch up with you, but I have got to get to class. Maybe you can come find me at lunch? In front of the outdoor stage?”

  Looking stunned, the girl said, “Oh, OK—”

  “Bye,” Clarissa said and started back down the staircase. God. Now how am I going to know if Tony was waiting or just happened to be there? As she reached the landing, she raised her head and looked down the second flight of stairs.

  “Waiting,” she whispered.

  Tony smiled up at her and extended his elbow. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she threaded her arm through his, and they walked arm in arm the few paces to Clarissa’s classroom.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” Tony asked.

  “Oh, I’m going to visit my cousins in LA.” Inhaling the smell of his shaving cream, she felt a strong desire to move her body closer to his. “What are you doing?” she quickly added.

  “Not sure. Probably just hanging out with the guys. Well, I’d better be off. Have a great weekend.”

  “You too,” Clarissa responded as Tony rushed away.

  Clarissa was spinning again. Why does he always leave me feeling this way? Does he want to ask me out or not?

  Chapter 3

  With her head down on her desk, cheek pressed against the simulated wood-grain tabletop, Clarissa fought back a tear. She sucked on a Tic Tac, hoping that it might mimic some antidepressant medication. The weekend in LA had been fun, but thoughts of Tony had bounced through her mind the entire time. Was he really interested in me? Would he hook up with some beautiful blonde over the weekend?

  So when she reached the stair landing this morning and Tony wasn’t there, her heart sank. I’m just going to leave my head down on this desk all day long.

  The voices of her fellow students caused an annoying whir in her head. She pressed the palm of her hand against her temple. Then, she heard someone call “Clarissa” from the doorway. She dislodged her cheek from the desk and turned toward the sound. Tony.

  He motioned for her to come to the door. She gave a sideways glance at the clock on the wall and ran to him. Tony held out his left arm. “I’m running a little late this morning, but I didn’t want to miss my daily walk.” Slipping her arm through his
, they took a quick walk to the stairs and back.

  “Are you coming to our baseball game tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure. I have swim practice.”

  Tony looked down at a crack in the sidewalk. “Oh … there are a bunch of us going out for pizza afterward. Maybe you can make it to that?”

  What is that? It certainly isn’t “Clarissa, do you want to go have pizza with me?” Is he going to ask me out or what?

  “Yeah, Michelle and Rick already told me about the pizza thing,” Clarissa said.

  Peeking at his watch, he said, “Oh … OK. See you later then.” And he raced away.

  “It’s a definite date,” Michelle said as she munched on a barbecue potato chip. “He asked if you wanted to go out for pizza after the game.”

  Clarissa fished a sandwich out of her brown paper bag. She gave it a quick glance and returned it, searching for something else. “He asked if I was going out for pizza after the game with everybody.”

  “Well, what are you going to do now? I distinctly remember you telling me that you couldn’t go … swim practice … homework …”

  “I guess I could come after practice. I’ll make part of the game, and then I can go to pizza with you guys.”

  “With Tony!” Michelle interjected and popped a potato chip into her mouth.

  “With everybody.”

  The weight of the laptop on her thighs was starting to pester her. Ten twenty-four. I’ve been working on this paper for over four hours. Clarissa shifted to her stomach, propped up on her elbows, and continued to pound away on the keyboard. A copy of Lord of the Flies and pages of scrawled-on notebook paper lay next to her on her denim comforter.

  Pictures of friends in single- and multi-photo frames lay on every possible surface in her room. The beige walls were adorned with a board displaying hundreds of swimming medals and posters of Missy Franklin and Natalie Coughlin—her favorite swimmers.

  Her cell phone rang. Clarissa rolled up onto her knees and snatched up the phone. Looking at the name, she grumbled to herself, “Not now, Michelle. I’ve got to finish this paper.”

  Reclining back against her pillows, she stared at her wall. “So, Natalie, what do you think? Is this paper going to help me get into Berkeley? Will I be swimming for your alma mater in a couple of years?”

  The comfort of the down pillows against her back made her drowsy. Pulling the laptop back on top of her thighs, she resumed typing.

  The steel bleachers reflected the sunlight; Clarissa held her hand to her forehead above her sunglasses as she searched for Michelle. Once she spotted her friend, she climbed the steps and crossed in front of several spectators, trying not to step on any toes or spill any drinks. Sitting down next to Michelle, she could feel the heat of the metal plank through her khaki cargo pants.

  “How are they doing?” Clarissa asked Michelle.

  “Great. They’re ahead 2 to 1, and Rick hit a double.”

  “What about Tony?”

  “A single and no errors.”

  Clarissa looked out at first base. The muscles in Tony’s arms flexed as he pounded his fist into his glove, just waiting. The white ball ricocheted toward him off the bat. He picked it up with ease and tagged the runner. Clarissa’s heart beat a little faster. Tony tossed the ball back to the pitcher. Clarissa continued to stare at him.

  “There is a game going on,” Michelle teased.

  Clarissa reluctantly turned her gaze away from first base. She tried to follow the ball with her eyes, feeling overjoyed when the players ran down to first, allowing her to ogle Tony unnoticed, at least unnoticed by everyone but Michelle.

  The ninth inning ended with Ocean City beating Santa Domingo 2 to 1. Michelle and Clarissa stood up and cheered then sat back down. Michelle was waiting for Rick. Clarissa had no idea what she was waiting for. Her palms began to sweat, and she started rubbing them against her pants. Michelle rested her hand on top of her friend’s and halted Clarissa’s nervous motion.

  “Easy, girl,” Michelle said as she gently squeezed Clarissa’s hand.

  As he ran his hands through his sweaty strawberry-blonde crew cut, Rick came straight up the bleacher seats toward them. He gave Michelle a kiss on the lips and Clarissa a peck on the cheek.

  “Ugh, you’re all dirty,” Michelle said. Rick opened his arms like he was going to give her a tremendous bear hug, but Michelle gave him a straight arm to the chest. “If you go take a shower, I will probably get very close to you tonight.”

  “Yeeesss!” he said as he leaped down the bleachers toward the locker room.

  Michelle hollered after him, “We’ll meet you at the car!”

  Clarissa had not taken her eyes off Tony since the game ended. He had walked to the dugout and sat down with his back to Clarissa. He had retrieved a drink and a towel from under the bench. Once he had drained the water bottle, he had toweled off his face and neck. After what felt to Clarissa like an eternity, he stood up and faced the bleachers. He squinted as he looked into the bright sunlight. Clarissa didn’t know what to do. The butterflies flew rapidly in her stomach. Should I wave at him? As if to answer her unspoken question, Michelle took hold of her hand again. Tony started toward them. Michelle waved at him as he ascended the bleachers.

  When he reached them, Michelle said, “Great game, Tony.”

  “Thanks,” he replied. Then, looking directly at Clarissa, he said, “Clarissa, I’m so glad you made it. I didn’t think you were coming when I didn’t see you at the start of the game.”

  “I got here as fast as I could after swimming. You played great.”

  Tony put his hand on Clarissa’s shoulder. “Are you guys coming out for pizza?”

  “Yeah,” Clarissa replied, feeling herself lean into his touch.

  After they ordered their pizza, Clarissa, Rick, and Michelle joined the rest of the baseball team. They took their seats on the long green vinyl-covered benches and poured drinks from the plastic pitchers of soda. The first thing Clarissa noticed when she entered the dining room was No Tony. But she had managed to relax and was now enjoying the conversation.

  As she sipped her root beer, a pair of hands gently covered her eyes. Clarissa put her drink down and enveloped the hands with her own. She peeled them away as she looked over her right shoulder.

  “Hi,” Tony said.

  “Hi.”

  “Can I squeeze in here?” Tony pressed in next to Clarissa as he exchanged greetings with his teammates. They sat very close—Clarissa’s entire right side touching Tony’s left. He placed his left arm behind her, resting his hand on the bench next to her left hip. She could feel his arm nestled against her back.

  Clarissa picked up her root beer and began a slow, continual sip, holding her glass with two hands to steady her nervous tremor. Tony turned toward her. Then he looked away. Then he turned toward her again. He opened his mouth as if he intended to speak, said nothing, closed his mouth.

  The waiter reached between Michelle and Clarissa, replacing the cardboard number with a large vegetarian pizza. He deposited a stack of three white plates in front of Michelle.

  “Can I get that for you?” Tony asked as he leaned forward to get a piece of pizza for Clarissa. He removed his free hand from the bench and placed it around Clarissa’s shoulder, as if to steady himself. When he leaned back, his hand lingered on Clarissa’s shoulder for an extra second or two before returning to the bench.

  Tony’s pizza arrived, and he turned to eat and talk to his teammates. Clarissa concentrated on her eating. She took midsize bites of her pizza, not too small like a prissy girl, but not too big like a pig. She made sure her mouth was closed while she was chewing. She wiped her mouth after every bite and ran her tongue over her teeth to check for chunks of food that might be residing there. After one piece, she was exhausted.

  Tony wolfed down three pieces of pizza and pushed his plate
away. He took a gulp of his Coke. His hand returned to Clarissa’s shoulder and pulled her into his body.

  “I have to get something from my car. Will you come with me?”

  “Um … sure,” she replied. As they got up, Clarissa knocked over her root beer. She quickly grabbed some napkins to stop the spill before it trickled into Michelle’s lap. Oh jeez, I am such a klutz.

  “Where are you two going?” Michelle asked.

  “We’re getting something out of Tony’s car. We’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time,” Michelle said and raised one eyebrow. Shrugging, Clarissa trotted off to follow Tony.

  Tony grabbed the keys out of the front pocket of his jeans and unlocked the passenger door of his Mustang. With his back toward Clarissa, he reached into the car to retrieve something. Clarissa tried to see around him. He brought something to his chest and slowly turned around. Extending a single red rose toward Clarissa, he said, “This is for you.”

  “Wow, thank you.” Clarissa’s hand shook, she hoped not visibly, as she took the flower from Tony. “It’s beautiful.”

  Tony looked down at his shoes as if he were inspecting them for scuff marks. “Um, Clarissa, would you go to the prom with me?”

  What? Oh. My. God. “I’d love to.” Did I say that too fast? Oh, who cares? The prom!

  Tony lifted his gaze from his shoes and looked back at Clarissa, a relieved grin on his face. “OK … good.”

  A heavy silence hung in the air. Clarissa twirled a curl. What do I say now?

  “Do you want to go back in, or should we listen to some music?” Tony gestured toward his car.

  Thank you, Tony. “Music,” Clarissa eagerly replied. She really wanted to spend some more time alone with Tony, and she didn’t want to walk back in to the restaurant, allowing everyone to stare at her flower.

  Clarissa got into the car as Tony held the door. He shut it and ran quickly around to climb in the driver’s side.