The Big F

by Maggie Ann Martin

  “Are you using some of the notebooks that I’ve been ordering behind Misty’s back?” Porter asked.

  “I actually have.” I smiled. “It’s a little therapeutic.”

  Porter smirked. “I feel like someone told you it might be.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I replied, flipping the “Open” sign to “Closed.”

  “Did Misty leave a lot for us to do tonight?” he asked.

  I groaned. Wednesdays were always restocking days. She’d asked us to stay behind and organize a shipment that came in this morning. It was in preparation for next semester already, and I couldn’t believe how fast the time was going.

  “I’m sure,” I replied, already heading toward the back of the store. There were five big boxes stacked up in the back room with a sheet of paper that said “Organize Me” on top. I grunted as I tried to drag them outside the room. Textbooks will now and forever be my greatest enemies. Porter laughed a little as he pulled a full box out without a problem.

  “I brought something for us to eat. It’s in the fridge if you’re hungry,” he said when we went back into the room to pull out another box.

  “Please tell me it’s pizza,” I whispered.

  “It’s your lucky night,” he said.

  He started taking the books out of the boxes and setting them in alphabetical piles around him. I did the same with another box, and we’d eventually combine them when we finished that box. We were a pretty good team. When Misty worked with us she always gave little hints and suggestions that were … less than helpful. But with Porter we worked quietly and efficiently, getting the job done faster than normal.

  “Question,” I said, finally breaking our working silence. “So, you’re from Valley View, right? How come we’ve never met before?”

  “I only moved to Valley View in my senior year,” he said. He continued to stack up books, and I wanted so badly for him to elaborate. It looked like I would have to pull some teeth to get this story out.

  “Why did you move here in your senior year?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I moved in with my dad. Will you pass me the Intro to Psych books? I need them over here.”

  “Sure,” I said, pushing the box his way. He continued to work in silence, but I was too curious to let this go.

  “Did you like living with your dad?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t ideal. But I survived,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he beat me to the punch.

  “I’m going to grab some pizza; do you want a slice?” he asked. I nodded and continued working.

  He brought the box out to me with two plates, and I gladly took a piece. My mouth watered at the sight of Moe’s pepperoni pizza in all of its garlic-crust glory. We both took a break, sitting on the ground and using the piles of textbooks as tables. My phone started buzzing in my pocket, and I saw that my dad had called me three times. Apparently since I’d forgotten that I was working late, I hadn’t told him that I was, in fact, alive and not dead in a ditch.

  “Whoops, forgot to tell my dad that I’m working late,” I said.

  “Do you still have a curfew?” he said.

  “Nah, he just likes to know that I’m not off being murdered or whatever,” I said. I sent him a quick text telling him I was closing up.

  He smiled and looked down in a very Porter way. In these little glimpses you could understand why girls in might find him maybe, possibly attractive. He liked to act all tough and smart and cool, but really he was just a nice kid with eyelashes that were too long for his own good.

  “What about your mom?” I asked. “How does she feel about you going to school up here?”

  He shoved more pizza in his mouth and took a long time to chew and swallow before responding. “She’s fine with it, I guess. One less person to intrude on her time at home.”

  I frowned a little, and he backtracked.

  “I’m just being dramatic, she’s like me. She likes being alone,” he said.

  “No one really likes being alone,” I said.

  The click that I’d become so accustomed to of the lights turning off happened above us. We sat in the dark for a few seconds before I got up and waved my arms around until they turned back on. Porter didn’t speak as he took another slice from the pizza box. Darn those lights. I’d been on such a roll.

  “And your dad—”

  “Do you want another piece?” he interrupted me.

  I nodded and reached for the slice in his hand, a stray pepperoni dropping onto my leg. He picked it up from my leg and ate it, licking the grease from his thumb. He smirked, and I felt my face getting hot.

  “We should probably finish up soon. I told Luke I’d call him in a half an hour,” I said.

  “Yeah, okay,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants before standing up. He offered his hand for me to stand up, but I pushed up on my own. In my urge to be independent I put my weight on the stack of books that I had been piling up and they slipped out from under me, sending the alphabetized pile into a tizzy. I cursed and started to reorganize them as Porter finished the rest of the other piles.

  We worked quickly and closed up before anything else could spill.

  FOREBODING:

  a strong inner notion of future misfortune.

  The next few weeks passed by in a blurry frenzy. Between spending shifts at the bookstore, driving Noah to his movie set, and working twice a week at Green Transitions, I’d become a productivity tornado. My communication with the outside world came only by way of text message, but even I realized that I’d become almost unreachable in the past few weeks. The fact that my best friend and boyfriend hadn’t disowned me was some sort of miracle.

  What used to be an intimidating stack of backlogged papers at Green Transitions had finally started to dwindle down. I met all the other interns, who were working either with policy makers or engineers in the office, and I was becoming more familiar with the environmental lingo that they all used without a second thought. And even though Ameera was a woman of few words, we’d managed to bond a little over our mutual love of coffee and Shonda Rhimes’s smash hit How to Get Away with Murder.

  That morning I’d made the drive into Cleveland early and picked up two coffees at Ameera’s favorite place, The Morning Brew (we ordered the yin and yang of coffees—her coffee black, mine with so much cream it was white). I was already going through my e-mails for the morning when she stormed in.

  “Have you seen this?” Ameera asked, holding out her phone to me.

  I glanced down at the screen to see a blaring headline. “Denton Named Least Green City in the State.” I scrolled down a bit to see where other cities ranked and let out a little sigh.

  “I hadn’t seen it,” I said, handing the phone back to her. “But that’s pretty bad.”

  “An understatement,” she said. “We’re going to need to do some damage control. You’re from Denton. I would love it if you could speak at an upcoming city council meeting about what it means for you, as a lifelong resident of Denton, to be living in the least environmentally conscious city in Ohio. I think they’d be more responsive to you than they would be to me.”

  “You want me to talk in front of a bunch of people? On purpose?” I asked.

  “You’ll be a natural, Danielle. Plus, I bet you know someone on the council. That could sway some of their decision,” she said.

  She did have a point. The city council included one of my old teachers and an overly friendly neighbor. Even with that small amount of clout, I wasn’t sure if I could form coherent sentences in front of a group of people. I barely passed speech class in high school because my words would stick in my throat every time I attempted to give a speech.

  “You’re putting a lot of faith in a C-plus-average Speech and Language student,” I said.

  She shook her head. “We’ve already established you’re more than your grades. The city council meeting is at the end of the month. Bring me a mock-up of your speech the next time you’re in.”


  * * *

  The remainder of the week I attempted to channel my inner Porter Kohl. I tried to find inspiration for my speech everywhere I went, but I wasn’t coming up with very much. I never understood how people could sit down and let their little muse take over. My muse required a lot of coaxing and bribing to even scribble out a coherent paragraph.

  On that Wednesday night, Porter and I had a surprising number of customers at the bookstore. Some of the students complained that their professor had assigned some last-minute books before midterms, and we were caught off guard by being busy again. The clock ticked to eight, and Porter turned the sign to Closed. I sat in the back corner next to the main bookshelf and added more to my speech after a stroke of inspiration hit out of nowhere. I was so engrossed in writing my ideas that I didn’t realize Porter was standing above me. He snatched the notebook out of my hands and, to my horror, began reading my city council speech.

  “Hello, everyone. How about that last speech? [Insert funnier joke here.] My name is Danielle Cavanaugh, and I am here on behalf of Green Transitions Environmental Policy offices in Cleveland,” he read dramatically.

  I stood up and tried to grab it out of his hands, jumping to try to reach it. Why did he have to be so tall! He stood on his tiptoes so he could continue reading it while I fought for the notebook.

  “I saw an article last week that made me pretty upset. It said that Denton was the least green city in Ohio. As a lifelong resident and environmental advocate for this city, I knew I had to find a way to make a difference,” he continued.

  “Seriously! It’s not done. Give it back!” I yelled, now attempting to pull him down via piggyback. He started to lean forward and I saw the ground quickly approaching. I clung on to his shoulders and waist and let out a scream as we changed altitude.

  “I thought about tying myself to the biggest tree in Florence Park to make a statement. I thought about going door to door to remind people of the joys of recycling. But the thing that I ultimately knew would make the most impact would be to speak with the policy makers of this city that I love so much. You all,” he continued.

  He abruptly stood up straight again, and I slid off his back. He handed the notebook back to me, and I huffed as the blood rushed from my head to the rest of my body. I tucked the notebook into my pocket and crossed my arms.

  “You’re incredibly annoying,” I said.

  “And you’re a good writer,” he said back. My stomach flopped. No one had ever said that to me before. I’d always been told that I could work harder, finesse this or that, but when I was writing about something that I cared about, it came out in a better form. “When is your speech?”

  “Like I’m telling you,” I said. “I can barely speak in front of strangers, let alone people I actually know.”

  “Can’t you just picture everyone in their underwear?” he asked.

  “I would prefer not to picture you in your underwear,” I said.

  “Ouch!” he said. He picked up a book that had been misplaced on the shelf behind me and rearranged it, resting his hand right above my head. I held my breath for a few moments as I realized just how close we were. “For the record, I’ve been told that I look rather refined in my underwear.”

  “Can we stop talking about underwear?” I said, slinking out from under his arm. I looked at an invisible watch around my wrist. “Look at the time. I have to head home. I’ll see you next week.”

  “Aw, come on, don’t leave!” he yelled after me as I walked away. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about picturing me in my underwear.”

  “Good-bye, Porter,” I called over my shoulder and out the door. I could hear him snickering as I closed the door behind me.

  I stomped out to the Jankmobile and shook my head, ridding myself of all visions of Porter Kohl sitting at the city council meeting in his underwear. I turned up the music full blast to clear my head and to inspire the muse to shift its focus back to environmental policy and off half-naked Porter.

  FAME:

  a public estimation or reputation.

  Noah was almost finished with shooting Peace, Love, and Corn Dogs, and they were gearing up to film a huge carnival scene where they needed extras of every age. I was told to recruit some of my friends to join me on set as extras for the day, and the lucky folks who decided to come were Zoe, Luke, and Porter. We got up incredibly early and carpooled in the Jeep to make it to Cleveland for a seven a.m. call time. I thanked each of them eternally, and Porter reminded me a million times that he was only in it for the craft services, which prompted a million eye rolls from me.

  When we made it onto the set, Noah flitted into the actors’ tent and hugged all his friends, including the director. It was an independent film, but apparently this guy was a pretty big deal for almost-Hollywood. Luke, Zoe, Porter, and I immediately found the craft services (which were admittedly pretty incredible). They had tiny grilled cheeses. How much better can life get? We stayed there for a long time, trying all the different jelly-filled donuts on the table along with engulfing an entire bowl of rock candies. If they didn’t stop us soon we would have to be rolled onto the set.

  “They aren’t going to make us do anything too embarrassing, do you think?” I asked Zoe.

  “That’s why it’s called acting, darling. Today we are ac-tors,” Zoe drawled.

  “Do the boys agree? I think they’re still just really impressed by all the free food,” I said.

  “Who cares about the boys; this is our moment to be on screen together. We’ve finally made it. I hope I get to eat a corn dog in the background. That would be epic,” she said.

  Porter came up next to me, holding a deep-fried Oreo in one hand and a mini grilled cheese in the other. He held out the Oreo to me. “You have to try this. It’s life changing.”

  The cookie, which had no business being deep fried, melted in my mouth, and I let out an audible groan. It truly was a life-changing experience.

  “Did you just moan after eating an Oreo?” Porter asked.

  I smacked him on the chest. “Shut up. It was delicious.”

  “You!” A lady yelled at us, and we all jumped, thinking we were getting scolded for eating too much. “Short girl, gangly boy, come with me.”

  Porter swallowed his mouthful of grilled cheese, and we shrugged at each other. I looked back at Zoe, whose eyes were huge, and Luke gave us an overenthusiastic thumbs-up. Oh boy.

  The casting director, who introduced herself quickly as Meredith, pulled us into a room where at least ten people sat around various screens looking at the shots they’d just taken around the carnival scene. She pointed to Porter and me flippantly.

  “How about them?” she asked.

  Everyone looked up from their screens simultaneously, staring at us for a few seconds before nodding as a group. Meredith clapped her hands and led us back out the doors without another word. Porter and I exchanged glances of confusion before being delivered into the heart of the carnival. There were set designers repositioning carnival booths around the open lot, and the carousel they’d brought in came to life as we walked out. “Check the gate!” we heard someone yell. It was all pretty magical.

  “Okay. So the line for Marcy and Ian is ‘Ugh, isn’t that just cringe-worthy?’ as they pass you two. How do you feel about kissing on screen?” she said.

  My heart dropped, and we quickly shut her down. “Oh no, we can’t possibly—” I started.

  “I mean, we aren’t like—” he said.

  “Romantic,” I finished.

  Meredith cocked her head. “You get paid more to be a featured extra. It’s for twenty minutes max, and you get the better food. Still have a problem?”

  He looked at me for a while, gauging my response. “Danielle, we don’t have to. This is … a little bit more than we signed up for, right?”

  “Well … it’s to help out Noah’s movie.… And we are ac-tors for the day, are we not?” I asked.

  He bit his lip and looked around as if waitin
g for Luke to come around the corner. “I mean, if you’re okay with it one hundred and ten percent—”

  “Let’s make a decision, people, we have a lot more to shoot today,” she said.

  I looked down at the ground for a few seconds and breathed to calm myself. “We’ll do it.”

  They had us set up on a bench near the entrance of the carnival, and I had a giant plushy pink teddy bear sitting next to me. Apparently that bear warranted whatever kiss I was supposed to give Porter. My typical hand sweat was coming back, and I felt like I might throw up. Should I have said no? Should I have asked for Luke to replace him? They picked us because of our look, right? Because we made the most sense cinematically to kiss in the back of the shot? I had no time to debate because the director came up and shook our hands and introduced himself before starting. I told him that I was Noah’s sister, and his face lit up.

  “He’s so talented,” he said. “I can’t wait to work more with him. I can’t believe this is his first film. You’ve got to get him out to LA.”

  I took the enormous compliment for my brother and smiled. The director described that we’d be cued to do different things to get the best reaction out of Marcy and Ian. He said that we should keep it simple first and we’d go from there. My sweat rate continued to go through the roof, and I was starting to feel dizzy thinking about doing this. Where was Luke? Would he see this and get angry? Or was he still mesmerized by the craft services?

  “All right, Danielle, Porter, we’re about to start,” he said. “And … action.”

  I stared at Porter’s chest for what felt like forever. I couldn’t look him in the eyes now that we were faced with having to really actually kiss. He bent down to meet my eyes and stopped just inches from my face.

  “We really don’t have to do this,” he whispered.

  “Cut!” the director yelled. He walked toward us, and I could feel my face heating up. My legs were bouncing up and down uncontrollably, and Porter leaned his closer to mine so they were touching, a small form of comfort.