One of the Guys

by Lisa Aldin

  I should tell him about what Emma asked me earlier. That she wants to date him. People like to hear those things, even if he isn’t interested. She’s nice. She’s funny. She’s sweet. He should be, at the very least, flattered.

  Now, Toni. Tell him now about her NOW.

  I pass the ball back and smooth out my skirt. My knees are freezing. The sun’s gone down now. “My mom’s probably freaking out about now. Later, Loch.”

  Loch palms the ball and steps toward me, but stops. He smiles softly. “See you around, Toni.”

  sixteen

  SATURDAY NIGHT. THE NIGHT OF

  Cowboy’s fake-date debut. Emma’s kicking my ass in Mario Kart when the doorbell rings. I peer out the front window. Cowboy’s waiting on my front porch, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the chilly air. Beneath his leather jacket, he wears a navy blue button-down and skinny black tie paired with black pants and shiny dress shoes. His sandy-colored hair is neatly combed, and his pale skin is spotted with nervous splotches of red.

  Behind him, Ollie stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his puffy green coat. His curly hair is a mess, his jeans skinny and black. His sneakers are a stark neon blue. All shiny new clothes I’ve never seen him wear before.

  When I open the door, Ollie nods and says, “McRib.”

  I let them both inside. As Cowboy walks past me, I detect the stinging scent of cologne. I wiggle my nose and hold back a sneeze.

  “You look nice, Cowboy,” Emma says. She sits on the bottom step, sipping a Dr. Pepper. Her eyes move to Ollie for a moment, but quickly return to

  Cowboy.

  “The tie’s not too much?” Cowboy asks.

  “It’s perfect. Very gentleman-like.” Emma rises. “Ollie could learn a thing or two from you.”

  “Hey, I did my job, didn’t I?” Ollie shrugs and wipes his sneakers on the floor mat. He looks up at Emma again, but she’s already leading us into the living room.

  Mom is upstairs folding laundry, her favorite activity. No joke. Now there’s a passion I won’t inherit. When we enter the living room, Brian closes the Ben Franklin biography he’s been reading and sits up. Emma and I’s game of Mario Kart is paused on the TV.

  “Greetings!” he says, way too loud. “What are you fine upstanding teenagers up to this evening? No trouble, I hope.”

  “Cowboy’s got a date,” I say. Not a total lie. “We’re helping him prepare.”

  “A date, huh? This I know something about.” Brian cracks his knuckles. “Who’s the girl?”

  “Her name is Carrie,” Cowboy says. “She smiles a lot, apparently.”

  “She goes to Winston,” Ollie adds, sliding off his coat. He wears a button-down purple shirt. Now that I take a closer look at him, his curls are unusually tidy. Is he dressed up for something? He’s not booked tonight.

  The way Ollie says Winston suggests Carrie might be a handful or something. I narrow my eyes.

  Brian stands and nods. “Ah. Toni could help with that. She knows those Winston gals.”

  I wouldn’t say I know them. “Yeah, I’m trying to help him get ready,” I say. “So…”

  I wait for Brian to leave. He gets the hint right away this time. He warns us to stay out of trouble again because, you know, we’re teenagers, trouble is what we do, and then goes upstairs.

  “Your stepdad is super nice,” Emma says.

  “Yeah, I guess.” I cringe. Brian is nice—too nice sometimes—and I never know how to react to all of that hyper-niceness. For some reason, it makes me uncomfortable. Probably because there’s something wrong with me.

  Ollie glances at the TV. “Aw, Mario Kart. Wait. Who’s Peach? She’s the worst.”

  I blush. “She’s actually not so bad.”

  He points at me, amazed. “You chose Peach?”

  “Okay!” Emma announces, circling Cowboy. She’s in work mode. “He looks good to me, Toni.”

  “Oh, come on,” Ollie interjects, done teasing me regarding my video game choices, it seems. “There must be something you can improve. The guy’s not perfect.”

  “You’re so right.” Emma picks a tiny piece of lint from Cowboy’s shoulder and giggles. “There. Now he’s perfect, Luke.”

  Ollie shakes his head, but smiles. His earlobes are bright red. As Emma paces the room, her hair bounces. Ollie leans against the wall by the fireplace and watches her.

  “What if I don’t know what to say during this thing?” Cowboy asks, panicked. “There’s like a 100 percent chance of that happening.”

  I take Cowboy’s elbow and lead him to the couch. Together, we sit down. “Just breathe,” I tell him calmly.

  “I’ll text you topics to bring up if the conversation lulls.” Emma speaks quickly. “But DO NOT check your texts in front of her sister or her parents. That’s not gentlemanly. Just excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and text me if things get too quiet. When you return to the table, start the new conversation with whatever line I give you.”

  “It isn’t really like me to start a conversation…” Cowboy fidgets with his tie.

  I pat him on the back. “That’s the beauty of this, man. You don’t need to be you. You’re George, Carrie Sanders’s boyfriend for the last six months. George would start a conversation. Did you go over the George facts I emailed you?”

  Cowboy rubs the back of his neck and nods. “She sure went into detail about this imaginary person.”

  Emma stops pacing for a moment. “George’s favorite food?” she asks.

  “Peanut butter,” Cowboy replies.

  “Favorite movie?”

  “Titanic.”

  “I hate that movie with a white passion,” Emma says, shaking her head. “You ever seen Road House? Now that’s a classic.”

  Ollie says, “It’s okay, but Ghost is a better Swayze movie.”

  Emma looks at Ollie like he’s just grown a second head or something. After a few moments, she smiles. “I almost forgot about that one.”

  “Hello? Not the time to discuss ancient movies!” Cowboy waves his arms. “It’s almost time to go, and I’m not feeling any better about this whole thing!”

  I rest my hands on Cowboy’s shoulders and look him straight in the eye. “All will be fine.”

  Cowboy sighs. His breath is minty. “I can’t do this. I can’t…”

  “Katie Morris,” Ollie says. “You want to give her the perfect night, right? Just remind yourself this is all for her.”

  Cowboy doesn’t need money to give Katie Morris the perfect evening. If he could practice talking to new people, he may be able to win her over through conversation. He can be charming. When he talks.

  Cowboy rises and wipes his palms on his knees. Ollie crosses the room and slaps Cowboy on the back. “You’re getting paid to go out with a beautiful girl,” he says. “With no obligation to call her again.”

  Emma snorts and smooths out her pristine white jacket. “You’re so full of it.”

  Ollie points to himself and smirks. “You speaking to moi?”

  “You’re the only one full of shit around here, aren’t you?” Her eyebrows raise. “You would call five seconds after the date ended. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t.”

  “How do you know what I would or wouldn’t do?” Ollie asks. His lips curl slightly, like he’s holding back a smile. Are they flirting?

  Emma inspects her nails and then looks to me, a bit frazzled. The only other time I’ve seen that look was during finals weeks. “What time is it? A gentleman is never late.”

  I glance at my phone. “Time to go. Ready, Cowboy? Saddle up.”

  Cowboy lowers onto the couch again. He puts his head between his knees, trying to catch his breath. When I see him like that, I want to call the whole thing off. His anxiety is much worse than I thought, and I don’t want to torture the guy.

  But then he lifts his head with a determined expression and says, “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

  It’s after midnight. Emma and I are shivering in Cowboy’s driveway, a
waiting his return. The light above the garage falls over us in a pale wave. The neighborhood is quiet. Eerie. I pull my black snow cap down over my ears and jump up and down to keep from freezing. Emma texts someone on her phone, smiling to herself. Maybe she’s chatting with Kevin again. I don’t ask.

  Cowboy texted me about twenty minutes ago, but his message was simple: Done. On way. I’m not sure how to decipher that. He could be saving the good news to tell us in person. Or he could be saving the bad news. I hope the fake date went well, more for Cowboy’s sake than for the business.

  A pair of headlights appear around the corner, followed by the clunky sound of Cowboy’s old truck. Emma looks up and slips her phone into her coat pocket, flushed. As the truck pulls into the driveway, Emma skips toward it and swings open the driver’s door before the engine’s even off.

  “Can I park first?” Cowboy asks, irritated.

  Emma backs off. The driver’s door hangs open. “Of course, of course,” she breathes. “Please do.”

  Cowboy grumbles, shifts the truck into park, and cuts the engine. He hesitates before climbing out, his breath a puff of fog. It’s too dark to read his face, but when he slams the door shut, I get a bad feeling.

  “Welcome back!” Emma exclaims way too loudly.

  “Quiet,” Cowboy says softly, moving past us. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

  Emma shoots me a look. I better handle this. I take a deep breath and follow Cowboy to the front door while Emma hangs back.

  When we reach the porch, Cowboy pulls out his house key. Gently, I ask, “So? How was it?”

  He smiles, but it’s forced. “It went very well,” he states. His voice is monotone. “Everyone bought it. I was George the whole night.”

  “Really?” I touch his elbow. “Because if things didn’t go as planned—”

  “Better than planned.” He concentrates on turning the key in the lock. “It was perfect.”

  “Feel better about Katie Morris then?” I’m having a hard time reading him. Is he mad about something else? Or is he lying to me? “You got in some good practice—”

  Again, he cuts me off. “I’m really tired, McRib. It’s exhausting pretending to be someone you’re not. But everything’s cool. Don’t worry. Your business is safe.”

  He opens the door, tells me goodnight, and disappears inside. The porch light clicks off. I stand in darkness for a few moments until I hear the sound of Emma’s approaching high heels.

  “Well? Are we still in business?” she whispers.

  “I think so,” I say with uncertainty. I should knock on the door. Force Cowboy to talk. But Emma slaps me on the back and giggles with excitement. I don’t want to ruin her mood. Together we walk back to my house for a night of junk food and manicures.

  Maybe Cowboy is just tired. I hope.

  Monday at school, Winston girls actually say hello to me. They ask how I’m doing. I get invited to some parties. Suddenly, I’m known. I am no longer New Girl with the romantic name. I’m a powerful business woman. I’m a woman with connections.

  I’ve decided to give Cowboy some space for now, but I still don’t know what happened on his fake date. I haven’t heard from Carrie though, so I assume things were at the very least satisfactory. I’m running late this morning so by the time I stop at my locker, the hallway is almost empty. As the last bell rings, I curse and start jogging. Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open. I startle and drop my books.

  A black high heel steps on my French book as I reach to pick it up, pinning it to the floor. I’m surprised to see Carrie Sanders staring down at me. Her silky black hair falls into her face. The weird thing is she’s not smiling.

  “Can we talk?” She doesn’t move her heel from my book.

  I stand, dread creeping in. My heart is already pounding. “What’s up?”

  “I want my money back,” she spits, pressing her books to her chest. Her face is filled with fury.

  I blink a few times. “Cowboy said the date went great.”

  “Your weird friend made things worse.” She rolls her eyes. “My sister is never going to let me live this down.”

  “First of all, he’s not weird,” I reply, trying to keep my cool. “Second of all, what happened?”

  “You know, I didn’t ask for much.” She digs her heel into my book. “A boy who didn’t swear. A boy who would answer some simple questions. A boy who would pretend to be George. But George talks. Your guy spoke eleven words all night! I counted! And one of those was shit.”

  I groan. “Um…” I don’t know what to say. I knew something was off with Cowboy, but I chose to leave it alone. “What were the other ten words?”

  Carrie glares. “I. Am. Not. Really. George. My. Name. Is. Justin. Sorry.”

  I lean back like the wind just got knocked out of me. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” she hisses. “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “Full refund. Of course.”

  My cheeks burn from embarrassment as Carrie follows me to my locker. I pop it open and dig through my bag for the cash. Cowboy must’ve been too paralyzed to text Emma or I for help because he never did. Foolishly, I thought that had been a good sign. I thought he had everything under control. Why did I let him go on that stupid date?

  Carrie tucks the cash I give her into her sock and says, “You must think we’re just pathetic girls with too much money, huh?”

  Before I can respond, she walks away, her black heels clicking against the floor. I stand there a moment, shaking. And here I thought I might be accepted by these girls. I’m the pathetic one.

  After school, I stop over at Cowboy’s to demand an explanation. His mom lets me in. She has dark circles underneath her eyes, and she’s wearing a blue bathrobe. According to Cowboy, she’s been depressed since the divorce. She doesn’t say much to me.

  Cowboy and Ollie are in the basement, playing a game of Mario Kart. The glow from the TV provides most of the light. There’s no furniture so they both sit on the carpet, which still smells new. Cowboy’s dad planned to create a massive entertainment center down here, but that didn’t happen before he moved out. All that remains is fresh paint, new carpet, and an old television set.

  I stand at the bottom of the steps and watch them, hurt they would perform this after-school ritual without Loch and I. Ollie finally acknowledges me with a “McRib.”

  “Hey.” I swallow my hurt and sit down beside Ollie. Cowboy won’t look at me. His eyes are glued to the television. “I think you know why I’m here,” I tell him.

  Cowboy drops the controller. “I’m sorry!” he exclaims. “I just couldn’t be her fake boyfriend!”

  “Should’ve booked moi,” Ollie says. He keeps playing.

  “What went wrong?” I look to Cowboy. Waiting.

  “I should’ve said no.” Cowboy shakes his head. He’s red again. “I’m sorry. I thought I could do it. I thought it would be good practice for me or something.” He pauses. Frowns. “I was wrong.”

  “These girls think I’m taking advantage of them now,” I say, my voice unsteady. “That I’m making fun of them or something.”

  “Aren’t you taking advantage of them?” Ollie pauses the game and stuffs a handful of chips into his mouth.

  I can’t believe he would even suggest that. Of course I’m not taking advantage of them. “I’m providing a service.”

  “Why do you care what they think of you anyway?” Ollie smacks his lips. “You’re going off to college next year. It’s not like you have history with them or anything.”

  I sigh and pick at the pale blue carpet. “I just care, okay?”

  “A riveting answer,” Ollie replies. He smacks Cowboy on the arm. “Come on, man. It’s no fun to beat you unless you try.”

  Cowboy picks up his controller. The two continue the game as if I’m not even there. For a few minutes, I watch them, but I can’t pay attention. My mind is elsewhere. I never felt worthy of Winston. From the start, the whole thing felt like a mistake. It was this place
where I was dropped because of one stupid prank gone wrong. I could never live up to Winston Girl Standards. Could never be one of them. Could never learn to embrace my womanhood or whatever. If I did, that would set me further apart from the guys. As I watch Ollie and Cowboy play, I realize that there’s nothing I can do about that. It’s happening anyway.

  I stand and narrow my eyes at each of them. But they’re oblivious to subtle girl anger. So I leave.

  seventeen

  COWBOY’S OUT. LOCH AND OLLIE don’t have the time to keep up with the demands of the service alone. We need more dudes. Emma and I acquire two new recruits over the next few weeks. The first being Ollie’s older brother Jason, who recently decided to “take a break” from college. Jason’s got a lot of free time, plus he’s trustworthy. The second is Henry Gardner from Burlington High, who moved here last year from Alabama. At one time, I thought Henry might become part of our group, but he eventually fell into a different crowd. He’s sweet with a cute Southern accent. Bonus.

  The day before Christmas, I lounge on my bedroom floor and work on my latest marketing ploy. Gentleman brochures. Winston girls interested in the service will now receive a profile of a boy, similar to the way a college would provide a brochure for a potential student. Included with each brochure: a photo of the boy, his schedule, and any special talents (tailored to fit client needs, of course). Not only do these iron out scheduling conflicts, but it practically guarantees customer satisfaction. The girls will pick the guy, rather than Emma and I scrambling to find a decent match.

  A slant of rare winter sunlight creeps through the blinds and shines across the photos of the guys surrounding me. As I stare at the photo of Loch in a tux, I fidget with the string on my oversized black sweatpants. He looks really, really good in the photo. It’s ridiculous.

  To disguise the profiles, I place them inside a college envelope. I match each boy with a school that best represents what he has to offer for a particular date.

  Ollie = Yale University

  Loch = Purdue University

  Jason = University of Vermont

  Henry = Mississippi State

  I pry my eyes from Loch’s picture and stuff his profile into a Purdue envelope. Too bad there’s still a handful of those photos on the floor. He’s everywhere. Looking at me with that subtle grin. When there’s a knock on my door, I shove everything underneath my bed and pop open my laptop. Mom walks in, her fuzzy slippers scratching against the carpet. She shouts, “Merry Christmas!”