by Paul Kropp
Maggie seemed to take my father’s inspection quite well, shaking his hand in a businesslike way and giving both of us a big smile. In fact, Maggie’s smile was so big that I’d forgotten she used to wear braces. Then I noticed that her eyes were quite large and quite blue, and actually quite attractive as eyes go.
But what really stopped me cold was Maggie’s outfit. Instead of her standard school outfit of baggy-everything, she was wearing a little miniskirt and some kind of tight top. I tried not to stare, but from the corner of my eye I could see that Maggie actually had a drool-worthy shape. Following her into our computer/TV/everything room, watching her butt as it moved under the skirt, I came to a remarkable conclusion.
Maggie is a babe!
Of course, Maggie was also my friend and former dating adviser, so I really shouldn’t have been noticing. We were doing a project, that’s all. Homework, that’s all. And I was heartbroken—languishing—so I really shouldn’t be paying attention to women, any women.
Together, we worked on the project. Maggie is a spread-it-out-on-the-floor kind of organizer while I’m a type-it-on-the-computer kind of guy. Between the two systems, a pretty nifty PowerPoint show came together with lots of decent history, some cool images and an animated graphic or two. One advantage of having a real smart partner on a project is that you’re almost guaranteed an A. On this one, I could see an A+, the kind of mark I sorely needed in history.
Near the end of the afternoon Maggie stopped being all business. The project was nearly finished, the sun was a golden orb outside the window, and Maggie was sitting on the floor in the pool of light that poured through the blinds.
“Al, do you think it was my skin?” she asked.
“What?” I said, clueless.
“My skin,” she repeated. “I’ve got this awful freckle-skin. It’s all blotchy and disgusting. Is that why Braden dumped me? Is Rochelle’s skin nicer than mine?”
“I don’t think guys notice skin that much,” I said matter-of-factly. “Besides, your skin is nice, freckles or no freckles.” That observation was true, really. Maggie didn’t have too many zits or anything that terrible, she just had freckles. Redheads have freckles, that’s all.
“So is it as nice as Rochelle’s?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. I had a hunch that Maggie didn’t need a detailed analysis of skin surface; she needed some ego-boosting.
“So what is it?” she asked. “Maybe I’m a bad kisser. You know, I really don’t know that much about kissing.”
“But you gave me all those instructions,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s not like I’ve kissed a dozen guys. Most of what I wrote you I got out of Cosmopolitan. I’ve only had two boyfriends.”
“Really?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “The way you talked…”
“Well, I guess I didn’t want to seem stupid.” She looked away from me. “I mean, that’s why I needed all that advice from Allison and Hannah when you were getting close to third base with Rochelle. I’ve never gone that far.”
“Hannah the Honker?” I said, amazed.
“Oh, you’d be surprised, Al.”
“I just figured that somebody like you would have lots of guys going after you…”
Then we stopped talking and just looked at each other. In some other room, my father was playing an ancient disk of “Love Me Tender.” A yellow stream of sunlight came beaming in the window at the two of us. One of Maggie’s legs was up against mine, and our faces, at that moment, were almost touching.
“Maggie,” I said, “there’s a way we could answer your question. The one about kissing.”
“Yeah?” she said.
“We could…”
Then I leaned my face into hers, and she tilted her head back a little, and our lips touched. We could have ended it right there. In fact, I was half expecting Maggie to push me away or even hit me.
But she didn’t. She opened her lips and put her arms around my back, pulling me to her. So I put my arms around her, then began playing with her lips and her tongue with my tongue—gently, oh so gently—just as Maggie had instructed.
“Oh my god,” I said when we came up for air. “You are such a good kisser.”
“So are you,” she replied. She sounded surprised, either at me or the kissing or herself. Maybe that’s why she pushed me back and quickly got up off the floor.
In a minute she had dusted herself off, cleared her throat and gotten back that Maggie McPherson Consulting voice I knew so well. “Looks like Rochelle and Braden will never know what they’re missing.”
“Yeah, I guess not,” I said.
“But business is business, Al, and if you can afford a little more advice…”
“Yeah, I can,” I told her.
“Well, when you started going out with Rochelle I had another girl in mind for you. I had already done all the preliminary work. I had you all set up for a blind date.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, so when you get over languishing,” she went on, “I guess I could set something up for you. Usual fees, of course.”
“I thought you quit as my adviser.”
“I did,” Maggie said. “But let’s see if this girl works out and we can renegotiate something.”
24
Outside the Fee Schedule
IT’S AMAZING HOW quickly a guy can get over languishing when the prospect of another girl comes up. It’s like in Romeo and Juliet, the way Romeo forgets all about Rosalind after Act I. So when my two days of languishing were finished, I found myself standing nervously on a downtown corner, the last Friday in May, holding flowers in my sweaty left hand.
I felt like a guy from the dating shows on television, the ones where some snide guy sits in a limo while the poor contestant stands waiting for his date, holding a bouquet that gets a cartoon label: cheap flowers bought at corner store.
Okay, maybe they were cheap, but they were still flowers. When I told Jeremy about this, he said that only a wuss would bring flowers for a blind date. But Jeremy’s advice, I realize, is based on years and years of inexperience. I’m better left to my own devices, as somebody once said, maybe Keats or Shelley. Besides, instruction set number three said that girls like little gifts. Might as well start this the best way I know.
It was ten minutes after eight on my watch. The girl was supposed to meet me here, at this corner, right at eight o’clock, so maybe I was being stood up. The flowers felt more and more ridiculous as I waited, and people walked by looking at me with vague smirks on their faces. I was ready to give up when the door to the apartment building opened and Maggie came out.
“What happened?” I asked her. “The girl didn’t show up?”
“No, your blind date is here,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Like where?”
“Here,” she repeated. “Right here. I’m your blind date, you idiot. How long does it take you to figure these things out?”
“You?”
“Me. So what do you think?”
Maggie stepped back so I could get a good look at her. She was dressed in a short, short skirt that made her legs look terrifically long, she wore a top that showed everything she usually kept hidden under a sweatshirt, and her hair actually sparkled as if it were dusted with jewels.
“Cool!” I said. So much for pretending I could put two words together to make a real sentence.
“Thank you,” Maggie replied, blushing just a little from all my staring. “And thank you for the flowers, Alan. They’re lovely.”
Right. I had flowers in my hand. I was so busy staring that I’d forgotten all about them.
“Just remember the instructions, Al. Keep your eyes up.”
“Right, eyes on eyes.”
“Lay on the praise.”
“You look great,” I said. “You are great.”
“You’ve learned a lot,” Maggie said, taking my hand. “I got us tickets to a concert; the Foosballs are playing at the Phoenix.”
“Oh,
the Foosballs,” I said, a little stunned. “One of my favourite groups.” This was a lie, of course. I’d never even heard of the Foosballs and I could tell from Maggie’s glance that she saw right through me. Still, it was a date, a real date, with a girl more glorious than I could possibly have imagined a few months ago.
“Here, you can study this while we wait for the bus.” Then she handed me a neatly folded piece of paper.
PROJECT: ALAN
Instruction set 4
Your goal tonight is to help create a wonderful date. The good news for you is that you’re only responsible for half of it; the other half is my job. The bad news is that you are responsible for half of it, so try not to be too klutzy or clueless.
Do’s
Look at my eyes. Keep your eyes up there, buddy.
Use sucky phrases like “Gosh, that’s a really interesting idea,” or “How do you keep your hair so perfect all the time?” I rather like compliments: authentic ones are best, but inauthentic ones will do.
Be funny. You really are an amusing guy, so don’t freeze up.
Be confident. You’ve had a lot of experience with girls now, so there’s no reason to be timid.
Stick to your immediate goal. You want to make this date a success so there’s a date two, date three, date four, etc. I know your real goal is the et cetera, but there’s no timetable on that. Be patient. Await further instructions.
Don’ts
Don’t rush me. I’m a little nervous about all this, so give me the time I need.
Don’t kiss me again until I really want to kiss you. You’ll have to use intuition to determine the moment.
Don’t feel or fondle any more than I let you.
Don’t forget that no means no; so do unh-unh, nah, nix, and stop it right now. On the other hand, yes does mean yes. You can figure out the synonyms for yes by yourself.
Don’t give up. I really do like you, Al. But I’m a bit confused by all this, so don’t quit even if I mess up my end of things.
Need I mention that we had a wonderful time? The Foosballs really were pretty good. There was dancing and coloured lights and lots of cuddling together at the club. I really do like Maggie—I’ve always liked Maggie—except now it was different.
“You know what?” I said when we got back to her apartment building. We were kissing. In fact, we’d been doing a lot of kissing at the club, and in the taxi.
“What?”
“I think I’m falling in love.”
“In love or in lust?” she asked, though the lust part had been pretty obvious.
“In love,” I said, “seriously.”
“Oh my,” Maggie sighed.
“So now what do we do?” I asked.
“Kiss me goodnight,” she replied, “and await further instructions. I just need to figure out what they are.”
About the Author
PAUL KROPP is the author of more than fifty novels for young people. His work includes six award-winning young adult novels, many books for reluctant readers, and four illustrated books for beginning readers. He also writes non-fiction books and articles for parents, and is a popular speaker on issues related to reading and education.