by Sarah Daltry
The shower’s warm and it helps. Except I feel really sad. I don’t know why I feel sad. I’m sure it’s my horrible sleep habits, but something’s bothering me. I tried to tell George what happened and he was jealous, so that seems like it might be good, but he didn’t even send me a message. You probably said something, I try to convince myself. He probably doesn’t realize you fell asleep.
When I get out of the shower, I notice that the control pad embedded itself in my cheek. I really don’t remember anything. I guess not sleeping for days will do that. Before I head to the kitchen, I check my phone again. Nothing. Then I check my email and my Live account, just in case. Nothing anywhere. They’re probably sleeping, I think. Plus, George had to pick up his car. I’m sure it’s nothing at all. But I hate that I feel sad and disappointed about a boy. I’m too old to be thinking like a tween.
“Your dad wants to take you Christmas shopping,” my mom says when I sit down to dinner. I look up from my beef stew.
“When’s he gonna be home?”
“Tuesday.”
“I’m not going to the mall next week,” I tell her. “Do you know what it’s gonna be like?”
“He feels bad. He’s been traveling a lot, honey. Go to the mall with him.”
“Fine. What do you want for Christmas?”
“I could use a new set of diffusers,” she says.
I stare at her. “Do they sell those at Sears?”
She nods. “Probably.”
“Fine. I’m doing all my shopping at Sears.”
“Why Sears?”
“No one goes there. So what kind of diffuser?” I ask and eat more of my stew.
“Surprise me.”
I guess my plan for tonight is to research diffusers. Last year, she asked for a Willow Tree. Having no idea that it was a figurine thing, I went to Home Depot online and bought her a miniature tree. An actual willow tree. It’s dead now, because willow trees don’t do well in Massachusetts in January. My aunt bought her a gift card somewhere and she got herself the figurine she wanted. Which might be dead, too, considering the look of it.
After beef stew and a handful of Oreos, I go back to my room. I text Anna, but she’s busy with Chad. They’re going Christmas shopping and then looking at lights or something. I have no emails or other texts. Seynar hasn’t even updated his blog. I read up on diffusers and promise myself I’ll ask my mom to narrow it down. There are hair diffusers, some kind of oil thing diffusers, tea diffusers, and camera diffusers. Knowing me, I would buy her something for a camera when she meant tea.
Since there’s nothing else to do, I go online and see if anyone’s playing FDX. They’re not and the stupid game just reminds me of George, so I switch to Magic. It’s brainless, but it’s Friday and there are always people online. My screen pings in the middle of a match; I have a message from George. I smile, play Overrun and trample over the ten-year old I’ve been playing, and sign out of Magic.
I really shouldn’t be this excited to read his message.
George
The blazing cliffs make for a pretty awesome backdrop. “Stay close. This is exactly the kind of situation where we get overtaken by swarms of tiny monsters,” I warn.
“Argh. A swarm of reaper looking things. But they’re huge,” yells Lanyon. “You said they’d be tiny.”
“This is no time to be sizeist. Murder the tall sons of bitches,” I answer.
“It’s cleaving time,” Ally yells and her paladin begins hacking lanky reapers in half.
“There isn’t anything natural around here. What the hell am I supposed to do?” Katie asks. She must be tired, because she’s not focused and she misses the obvious.
“Command the seething seas of raging flame,” I say as I lute tattoo the nearest reaper.
“Oh, yeah. Fire.” She begins to wield flame.
There are a lot of these guys. Too many really. We’ve obviously stumbled onto something important since the minions are nonstop. It’s exciting at first, but soon it gets a little redundant. In fact, I’m not sure, but I think Ally might have left and Katie’s character is just standing still. “Listen, guys. They must be limitless, like popcorn refills at the Golden Era Cinemas. We need to move. There’s-”
Balls. My Xbox, TV, and lights all go out at once. “Um, hello?” My mic is a hunk of dead air. There isn’t even any feedback. The power has, quite obviously, gone out.
I stare hopelessly at the dead screen. Man, I hope the autosave picked up. I debate whether I should text or call someone, but it’s pretty light out now. Cars are on the street starting their morning commutes. That means it’s time for me to get to bed. I doubt anyone’s going to be wondering what happened to me and I need to get some sleep before I head back to get my car.
I jump in between my Empire Strikes Back sheets, cover my head, and start my usual techniques of listing as many alien races as I can before I fall asleep.
***
I don’t know what time it is because my alarm clock is just flashing twelve at me every few seconds. The power must have come on at some point, but the sky’s dark again. It has to be at least five. Winter makes it dark early, as my mom loves to say in surprise every single winter.
I stagger out of bed and manage to reach the bathroom in a haze. I peek in the mirror. I look like the chicken wing guy from Poltergeist. My face has been abused by my lying on my arm during sleep. My hair has also taken on a hellacious change; it’s askew and looks as if Guile and Cloud had a hair orgy.
After a soothing encounter with my friend, the shower, I roam downstairs. The house is empty.
“Hello?” I shout. “Did I miss the zombie apocalypse?”
“I’m in here,” my mom calls from the laundry room.
Instead of going in there to have a normal conversation, I opt instead to continue yelling across the house. “Is Dad home yet?”
“No. He just got out of work.”
“Can he take me to get my car when he gets home? It stalled near Denny’s.”
“You can ask him, but I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Cool. What’s for dinner?” I yell.
“Fend for yourself stew.” I hear her laugh a bit. She thinks she’s a laugh riot.
I poke around the kitchen and, after foraging, I find a number of treats. I also randomly find some red construction paper. This makes me think of Katie for some reason. I grab the scissors and spend a few moments building a craft for an idea that is as dorky as it is unlikely to be of use. But you never know. It could be geek gold. Once my craft is complete, I opt for a semi-stale bag of Smartfood and a package of Pop-tarts. Tucking my new construction away, I bring my spoils back to my room.
With power restored, I have the opportunity to communicate with humans again. I send Lanyon a quick message asking if he’ll join me in rescuing Crimson Lightning. Then I decide to try and message Katie. But what do I do about it? Do I send her a friendly message? Do I try to see if she wants to hang out? She didn’t seem too excited to deal with Seynar. Maybe she is interested in me. There’s only one way to find out, I guess.
I jump on Live and send her a quick message. Hey, fun playing with you. Does that sound sexual? I hope not. Or do I hope so? Eh. Risk is my middle name; I’m leaving it. I continue. We should try to get back to that cool devil cliff thing again. I have to pick up my car with my dad, but afterwards, if it isn’t too late, do you want to-
Does she want to what? What sort of dateish but noncommittal thing can I ask her to do? I scratch my brain for what kinds of things they do in the movies. Well, they go to movies. But that seems redundant. The mall is out. Oh, what the hell? I should watch more chick flicks, but the only thing I can think of is Happy Gilmore. I guess mini-golf; that seems kind of datey but still innocent.
Do you want to go mini-golfing with me or something? Let me know. George.
I don’t want to bitch out so I just send it and wait. After a moment, it hits me. “Finger in my birthday cake. You can’t mini-golf in the fucking wint
er.”
Katie
He asked me on a date. I think. Well, he asked me to do something. Although I guess he asked me to do something in June, since he picked mini-golf. Hmmm. How do I reply? Do I joke that it’s a date and pick a random day in the summer? Do I point out that it’s winter? And that, by the time he gets his car back, it will likely be after nine? Do I just say okay and see what happens?
I stare at the message and start typing. That sounds nice. But-
Crap. I sent it like that. There are so many sentences that could start with “but,” so I type quickly to try to say what I meant to say. But it’s winter, so maybe something inside. As I get to maybe, though, my screen pings. New message. I send mine and go back to his.
But Seynar?
Oh, hell. How is this my life? I guess this is what they mean when they say “when it rains, it pours.” I’ve had all of two boyfriends. Nate in high school, who was my first kiss, but who then broke up with me the week after Prom because he decided to go by Nathaniel. And also to date boys. Then there was Chuck during my first year of college. I lost my virginity to him, mostly because his name was Chuck and I had a crush on Zachary Levi. It was awkward and messy and we had sex a few more times before we both realized we didn’t really like it. Or each other.
Now, though, I’m caught in between two guys. One who seems to like me, or at least likes poking me with his erect body parts. And another who doesn’t like me because the first one keeps poking me with his damn erect body parts.
I send George a message back. Seynar is to guys I am interested in as Edward is to vampires.
I don’t speak girl, he replies. Is that bad?
Pick me up at ten? I reply.
He sends me a party invite and I put on my headset.
“This is complicated. My fingers don’t type fast enough,” he says. “So, you wanna do something?”
“Is it a date this time?”
He pauses. “I’m still a little antsy about the Seynar T-virus.”
“I took a scalding hot shower. A long, deep cleaning, scalding hot shower.”
He’s silent for a few minutes and I don’t know what to say. He’s not my boyfriend, although I kind of would like him to be, I think, but he’s really hung up on this Seynar thing.
“Hello?” I ask after like five minutes.
“Sorry,” he says but he doesn’t explain. “Yeah, okay. It’s a date.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
And then, after a few more minutes of silence, I say bye and that I’ll see him later. Why does the word date shut things down so damn fast?
***
My mom comes into my room at nine with laundry and pauses in the doorway. “What are you doing?” she asks.
“Deciding what to wear,” I say as I stare at the four outfits laid out on my bed.
“Did I just hear you in the shower again?”
I nod. “I had to shave my legs.”
She looks over at my bed. “Are those…”
“Yes, Mom. They’re skirts.”
“Are you going on a date again?”
“I am.”
“With the same boy?” Her voice slowly rises in pitch.
“No. A different boy,” I say.
“There’s more than one boy?” She can barely contain her excitement as she drops the laundry bin and starts doing crazy shit to my hair. I let her, though, because I like this boy. This stupid boy I just met with his huge glasses and chaos mop hair and a Geo Metro and a lute. My God. I like a boy with a lute.
“There’s only one boy,” I say. “The other one was a mistake.”
“That skirt on the right is really pretty,” she says.
It’s purple satin with a top layer of black lace. I let my mom finish my hair, then change into the purple skirt and the black cardigan set that goes with it. I dig through my closet for shoes that aren’t boots or sneakers, but they all look stupid. I settle on Chucks, because well, Chucks are always cool. Even with a skirt. My mom opens her mouth to say something, but then looks at me and closes it.
“My little girl,” she says.
“I’m twenty-one, Mom.”
“Can you try to let me enjoy this?”
“Sorry.”
I even let her take a picture like it’s fucking Easter Sunday and we’re going to see the damn bunny.
Realizing I don’t have George’s number, I settle in by the window and wait. He’s almost twenty minutes early. I debate about going out to the car, but I see him open and close his door three times and I have to admit: it’s pretty much adorable.
George
“You need a new car,” my dad says as he stares blankly at Crimson Lightning. Next to him, just about standing in the road and eating a Snickers, is Lanyon.
“I can’t afford a new car.” I tell him.
“You can’t afford gum.” My dad chuckles, proud of himself.
I get in the car. “In brightest day, in blackest night, work, motherfucker, or I’m screwed, all right?”
Lanyon sticks his head in the window. “That needs work. And why are you screwed?”
“I need the car for my date tonight.”
“Date?” Lanyon spouts. “Can I come?”
“No, you can’t come. What is wrong with you?”
“The list is long and full of scientific terms. What if I get my own date?” he asks.
“Maybe another time. This is our first date. Or second. Anyway, no double dating tonight. And where are you going to get a date?”
“I pump out pheromones like Purple Girl on meth. The ladies love a slice of Lanyon pie.” He then proceeds to flex. It’s sad, really. “A date with Katie? What about Seynar? Is this some kind of love triangle?”
“Highlander,” I tell him.
“I hope so. I hate love triangles. Especially when one person is a cool monster that they make all stupid and bitchy so tweens will get all excited about it.”
“Try the engine.” This comes from my dad. All he’s done is stare at the car. He has touched nothing.
“He didn’t touch it,” I say to Lanyon.
“Maybe he Carrie-d that shit.”
I turn the key and Crimson Lightning sputters to life like Moloch the Mystic trying to sing Botticelli. “Engage. Thanks, Dad. Get in Sir Lanyonsalot. We must prep for my date.”
“Really? Are we going to buy shoes and an outfit?” I shake my head. “Good. Because that would be some serous Crystal Skull shit.”
“No, we have a much more important bit of preparation to execute.” I drive off, waving, after I say thanks to my dad. “We must come up with someplace for me to go on this date.”
“That’s easy. Just ask her to take you to her whispering eye.” He snorts.
“That is not going to fly. Besides, she’ll know what it means. I need an actual date idea. The problem is I have no goddamn clue as to what to do.” I know this is futile and stupid, but I’m desperate. “Can you help?”
“Me? I’m about as useful as red shirts on a scout mission. No. I think we need to go to someone with a different skill set than us.”
“Who?”
“Trevor,” he says.
“Your brother?” I ask him. “Isn’t he fourteen?”
“Thirteen. But he’s had like ten girlfriends. And he’s dumb as a barrel full of lawnmower parts. So he must know some tricks.”
Although I feel as if my ego is being raped by Freud’s cocaine-fueled erection, I agree. Such is my state. I agree to ask for dating advice from a thirteen-year-old. Can death be far behind?
***
We get to Lanyon’s house. It’s still T-minus two hours before I have to meet Katie. Trevor, be it fortunate or not, is home.
“Sho nuff, son. You know I got me lots of bitches,” Trevor says after we explain our, or rather my, dilemma.
“Listen, I appreciate the help, but if you’re going to talk like a douche, I’m gonna slap the retinas out of your head,” I say.
“Right. Sorry,
” he corrects. “Seriously, though, girls are simple. They just want to be made to feel important. Just be confident, kind, and make an honest effort to listen and care about what she has to say, and it will go fine.”
“Wow. That’s actually good advice,” I admit.
“It sure is,” says Trevor. “And then, if you’re really smooth, she’ll let you come on her face.”
“Jesus Christ, Trevor,” says Lanyon. “Where should he take her on a date?”
Trevor’s still laughing but he manages to cough something out. I can’t hear it, though. I check to make sure my newly made craftwork is safe in my jacket pocket before asking, “What?”
“Someplace quiet, dark, and beautiful. You know. Like the reservoir.”
Fuck this kid. He may be a big barrel of douche, but it seems like he knows his shit. Of course, I so don’t know mine, so how can I judge? I suppose fate will decide. Fate and some girl with pretty eyes.
Now armed, I sit around and play Street Fighter with Lanyon and Trevor until about 9:30. Then I bid my fond adieus and drive to her house. What will her eyes tell me tonight? I wonder.
Katie
He waits until ten of to get out of his car. Then, he gets out, shuts the door, adjusts his pants, checks his teeth in the driver’s side window, and walks up to my door. I let the curtain fall into place and pause, waiting nearly a full minute after he rings the bell to answer it.
“Hey,” I say and invite him in. My mom peeks around the corner, but I shoo her away. “I’m just gonna get my coat,” I tell him and leave him standing in my living room.
“Please wear that pea coat I bought you? Please?” my mom begs as I go into the hall.
“Shhh,” I whisper. “You’re going to embarrass me.”
Surprisingly, she doesn’t say anything, just goes to the hall closet and takes out said pea coat. It’s got all these big buttons on it with like anchors and shit. But it’s that or a hoodie and I guess it will look better with the skirt.