by N. K. Smith
“Guess not.”
I look at her for just a second longer, but since it’s making her uncomfortable, I turn my focus to Val and Myka. They’re sort of an odd pair. Someone said he’s goth or something, but I don’t see it. He doesn’t wear make-up like the kids in the city. He looks way too relaxed and natural to be goth, but maybe that’s his weekend identity.
Myka on the other hand, she’s a trip. Ever since she came to this town, she’s worn crazy clothes and even crazier eye make-up. Like tonight, she’s got all that black stuff highlighting her eyes, but above it is a sparkling purple. It matches her hair and outfit. I don’t know what that thing is called. It’s like a torso wrap or something. Saige showed me pictures of women wearing it when we looked at Victorian fashion for the book. It doesn’t look comfortable, but she wears it every day, so it can’t be that bad.
A couple of years ago, there was a thing at school. Some of the parents wanted to enforce a dress code that came with restrictions on make-up. A bunch of kids protested it, including Saige, which is weird, because she wears normal clothes, and I can’t even tell if she wears make-up. But these kids, which totaled about a third of the school, all came in dressed as zombies. They were, uh, what’s the word when everyone is exactly alike? Not identical, but conformist. They all had on the same white shirt, splashed with red paint. The girls all had on those plaid skirts and white tights, and the guys all wore the same blue pants and tie.
It was pretty cool. The principal decided against the strict dress code and just reissued the “pledge of decency” at the next pep rally.
That was one of the first times I really looked at Saige and wondered what other tricks she had up her sleeve. If she was willing to protest something by dressing up as a zombie, what else did she keep secret? Because until then, I was sure she was just the quiet girl who hung out with the chick with the crazy hair.
Snapping draws my attention back to the table, and I see Myka flicking her fingers in my direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I catch Saige staring at me, too, but as soon as I tilt my head toward her, she stops.
“Where’d you go there, Foxy?”
I give Myka a smile. “Sometimes I get swept away in daydreams or distracted by shiny objects.”
“Saige, too.”
When I shift in the booth, I find Saige still picking at the salad. “That bad? Let me get you a refund.”
She lets out this deep breath, like she’s been holding it for years, then turns her eyes to me and says, “The salad is fine. I don’t need a refund.”
“Are you distracted by shiny objects?”
She flicks her eyes to Myka, then back to me. “No. I’m. . .”
“When she commits to anything, she’s very dedicated and single-minded about it, but the problem is getting her to make a decision one way or the other.”
“Really?” I reach out and take a lock of her hair between my fingers and let it slide through. It seems like a natural thing to do, but it’s got Saige all wide-eyed and frozen, so I pull my hand back. “Because it seems like you’re a girl full of opinions.”
“It’s like he knows you already,” Valentine says.
Myka nods. “She’s a walking contradiction.”
“Jesus, guys! Can we focus on something other than me?”
“But you’re the most interesting thing here,” I say, and she goes a bit pink. Glancing at my watch, I see my break was over about five minutes ago. “Dang. Got to go. See you guys later.”
I slide out of the booth, but stop before I leave, I wag my finger at Saige in a playful way and say, “You’re a tough nut to crack, Saigey, but I think I can do it.”
This time, her mouth drops open a little bit as she turns her wide-eyes from me to Myka. “So tomorrow. Four. Dinner and a graphic novel workshop.”
I don’t give her time to realize I snuck dinner back into the deal or time to back out of it because it seems like maybe she’d like to. They stay in that booth for another half an hour. I keep an eye on them from my spot in the back, and I smile when I see Saige finally eating that stupid salad.
***
“So here’s one for you since you’re a word girl,” I say after sitting in silence for far too long. “Which word is spelled incorrectly in the dictionary?”
Saige looks at me like I’m an idiot. “I doubt any of them. Don’t you think dictionaries have tech writers and copyeditors?”
“Wrong. Want the answer?”
She tilts her head to the side. “Sure.”
“Incorrectly.”
It takes her a second to get it, but when she does, she shakes her head. A smile grows, and I feel triumphant.
To keep it going, I look around. “This is a great apartment. You live here all by yourself?”
She brings her legs up onto the couch. “Yep.”
“What’s that about? I mean, you’re only eighteen, and this place looks lived in.”
“My grandma and I had an arrangement. She let me live alone as long as I didn’t get into trouble or drop out.”
There’s a story there, but I don’t think now is the time to ask about it, so instead I nod toward the sketches I did last night. “Do you think that’s the look Myka wants? I don’t know much about steampunk, and Wikipedia said a bunch of stuff about the Wild West and the Victorian era. I don’t know anything Victorian, so I had to look up some pictures. The women had big butts back then.”
Saige twists up her mouth and narrows her eyes at me. “There’re bustles, not actually their asses.”
I chuckle at how serious she’s being. “I know. Wikipedia explained that, too; I was just being funny. Do you know that word?” While I find this amusing, it’s clear she does not. “Ah, come on, Saigey, it doesn’t have to be that deep all the time, you know? Quit being so intense.”
“It’s pretty much who I am, Fox.”
I smile and nod while I clap my hands once. “There! You finally said my name. Do it again.”
“Are you, like, ADHD or something?”
“Nope, just easily amused and distracted like I told you last night. Come on, say it again.”
For a second, I think she’s going to get pissed because she might be the kind of girl who can’t lighten up even a little, but then she rolls her eyes in a way that lets me know she’s not really annoyed.
“Fine. Fox.”
“Yessss!”
“You’re a dork.” Her voice is light and there’s a hint of a laugh to it.
“Wrong. I’m an epic dork. Get it right, will ya?”
Saige bends down, grabs a little wooden box out from under the couch, and sets it on the coffee table. Flipping open the lid, she looks up at me. “Want to smoke a joint?”
She plucks a pack of papers and a bag full of weed out of the box.
“Nah, that’s okay.”
“Will it bother you if I do?”
I shake my head. “I’m not anti-pot or anything, just don’t do it. I’ve got a natural high going, if you couldn’t tell.”
“You had water at the party. You don’t drink either?”
Thrilled she noticed and remembered the water bottle I held during our brief chat, I try to contain the urge to jump up out of this chair like I’ve won some huge victory. Instead, I manage to be as calm she is when I say, “My mind’s better without all that stuff.”
As she starts to break up the pot into fine pieces, Saige asks, “Have you ever gotten drunk or high?”
“I got drunk in ninth grade.” I pause. “The second ninth grade.” At my clarification, her cheeks go a bit rosy. “Just seemed like depression in a bottle, so no need for that.”
“Because of your natural high?”
“Yep.”
Some of my friends enjoy pot, so this is not the first time I’ve seen the ritual of creating a joint. She seems to be an expert. “So you get high a lot?”
“Not a lot,” she says. Her voice is almost defensive. “Just sometimes.”
“Is it easier to write when you’re high?”
“Not especially.”
I decide to change the subject once she puts fire to the end of her joint. “So I have the perfect soundtrack to this book we’re writing. Well, you’re writing. I’m just drawing.”
“Just drawing.”
I barely hear it, but when I ask her what she said, she says it again.
“What?”
“Like everyone can just draw. That’s talent.”
“Oh, my God, Saige. Did you just compliment me?” She’s not impressed, but I can’t stop now. “Is that—”
“The first time I’ve ever given someone a compliment? Ha, ha. I can be nice, you know.”
We’re staring right at each other now. “Prove it.”
“Didn’t I just prove it with the whole compliment thing?” She takes another hit from the joint, then snubs it out before getting up to light an incense by the fireplace.
“That wasn’t proving anything beyond being capable of being nice.”
“I’m a nice person,” she says.
“I know, but other people don’t know; that’s the problem.”
“What?”
When she’s sitting again, I say, “People think you’re mean, but I think you’re great.”
It must be the wrong thing to say because she narrows her eyes at me again. “So this soundtrack of yours?”
I push the fact that I just said she was great and she completely ignored it to the side, and pull my mp3 player from my pocket. “Got a dock?”
She points to the built-in shelves across the room, and I see it. Once the player is in the cradle, I turn around. “So this music is modern, but feels like old school bluegrass or country. Perfect for a Victorian wild west novel.”
After I push play, the Avett Brothers’ “Pretty Girl from Raleigh” starts, followed by “The Traveling Song.”
Halfway through, she says, “You listen to this?”
I shake my head at the tone of her voice. It’s obvious she’s not a fan. “You’re just not ready to listen to it.”
“Not sure I’ll ever be ready for this.”
I place my hand over my heart like she’s stabbed it and say, “How dare you say anything bad about The Avett Brothers. I don’t think we can hang out anymore. Sorry.”
Saige gives me a smirk as she crosses her arms over her chest. “If I knew it was that easy to get rid of you, I would’ve had you play this earlier.”
“Oh, so it’s like that, now is it?”
“Like what?”
“First, you’re supposed to be proving you can be nice. Second, now that I know you want me to leave, I’m not going anywhere.” I mimic her posture and fold my arms over my chest. She tries not to, but I can see she’s fighting a smile.
“I and Love and You” starts at the exact right time. I can see that she’s really listening to it, not just the instruments, but the words, and she likes it. “Yeah, now you’re into it, aren’t you?” I ask.
She doesn’t respond, so I block the looming silence. “Don’t worry, for you The Avett Brothers may be an acquired taste, but luckily, you’re going to hear a lot of them this summer.”
Chapter 5
Saige
After we work on the novel a bit, I don’t let Fox take me out to dinner because the thought of trying to eat in front of him is too much to handle. It’s not like I’m anorexic or anything, but I’ve always felt strange about eating in front of people I don’t know.
“What did the ghost tell her baby ghost when he ate too fast?” Fox asks when I tell him we’ll go out to dinner another time.
“What?”
“Stop goblin your food.”
As much as I want to hate the joke, I can’t. The jokes he tells are totally stupid, but they worm their way inside me until I can’t help but chuckle. “So lame.”
“But you laughed. Now you try.”
“Try what?”
“Tell me a joke. A joke about food.”
My sigh is deep and drawn out. “I only know one food joke,” I say after thinking hard for a minute.
“Throw it at me.” God, I wish he wouldn’t smile like that because it’s hard to concentrate with all those perfect teeth shining at me.
“Okay, so knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Lettuce,” I say.
“Lettuce who?”
“Lettuce in and we’ll tell you.”
He doesn’t laugh. Instead he makes this drawn out sound, almost like a groan. “Cheesy, Saige, cheesy.”
“And yours aren’t?”
“Here’s a cheesy one for you. What is a cannibal’s favorite cheese?”
I adopt a bored tone. “I don’t know.”
“Limburger.”
I crease my brow and bite the inside of my bottom lip as I try to work it out. “Limburger?”
“Limb. Burger. Get it? Now that’s a cheesy joke.”
“What do you do? Just sit around at home in your free time memorizing corny jokes?”
He smiles. “Now you know my secret. Want to hear one about corn?”
“No!” I shout, but can’t keep from giving him a grin of my own. I put my hands on his arms and push him toward the door.
“Seriously, you’re not hungry? We’ve been working for hours.”
“No.” I open the door and give him a weak shove. “Not hungry. Now go do stuff artists do.”
“Like cut off my ear?”
With my hands wrapped around the edge of the door, I shake my head. “Please don’t. It’s a bit dramatic and then I’ll be forced to visit you in the hospital.”
“And be nice.”
“Exactly.”
“Fine. The ear stays, but I’ll see you soon, right?”
“Yeah.” I close the door, go to the kitchen, and put a frozen pizza in the oven while I try not to think about how Fox is kind of awesome.
***
It’s just after five in the evening on Friday, and my nerves are getting the better of me. When he texted last night, Fox specifically brought up dinner. I declined several times, but when he kept texting, I caved and agreed.
We were supposed to be getting together to work on this damn book, but even yesterday when he came over, we barely got any work done. He showed me his new concept for the futuristic steam engine locomotive, and I showed him my dialogue ideas for the beginning. He wouldn’t take the paper though, so I ended up reading them to him.
And tonight, I have no grand idea that we’re going to get any work done at dinner. So it’s not even disguised as a work meeting, which means it’s one of two things. Two people going out to spend time or a date. I’m not sure I want either of them to be the truth of it, so when I hear his knock on the door, I grab my notebook. At least this way, it’ll make me feel like it’s a work date.
I mean a meeting. Fox doesn’t want to date me. He’s just a popular dork—an epic popular dork—doing Myka—a popular novelty—a favor, so he needs me.
I don’t even know why I’m thinking about it. Who cares? Not me. I don’t care.
But when I open the door and see him dressed in a nice black button down shirt and loose jeans, one hand tucked into a pocket, and that damn smile on his face, I’m not so sure I don’t care.
Because he’s cute.
Like, really cute.
So now the only question is, how am I going to mess this whole thing up?
“Hey, Sapphire Saige.”
His words throw me off guard, even though I should be used to them by now. “Sapphire?”
“Yeah, ‘cause of your eyes. They’re the prettiest blue I’ve ever seen. Like precious gems.”
Christ. “Ready to go?”
Down on the street, I head toward my Subaru, but he stops at this crazy looking pale blue VW bug. He looks so flipping proud, like a kid bringing home an A on his report card. Only, I doubt he ever did.
“You drive this. . .this. . .this thing? You’re the owner of this monstrosity I’ve seen in the school parking lot day in and day
out for years?
“Yep.”
I motion to the whole thing with a wild wave of my hands. “It’s like a clown car.”
He opens the passenger side door and motions me inside. “If by like a clown car, you mean totally and completely awesome, then you are correct.”
“I’m not riding in that,” I say, but I don’t mean it.
“Don’t be so scared of adventure. This car would take us to California and back.”
I don’t know why he picks it, but California is my dream place, so instantly I feel like he’s reached inside my head and plucked out something special. I don’t know what to think about it, so instead, I just get into the rusted out bug and hope to hell the seatbelt works.
He closes the door, and we listen to The Avett Brothers on the way to the restaurant. No big surprise there. I wonder if he ever listens to anything else. When we get to the restaurant, he actually gets out of the car and opens my car door.
I give him a look and hope it expresses my confusion over what the hell this outing is. Meeting, hanging-out, date. But he just flashes a look of his own which lets me know he’s not going to tell me.
Fox doesn’t try to take my hand or anything, but this still feels formal, like I’m on a path of togetherness or something. As he opens the door for me again, I stop. I’m not able to look him right in the eyes, but I manage to force the words out. “Just so you know, I’m paying for my own meal.”
It’s a little harsher than I mean it to be, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He just laughs at me. “Alright. You can pay for my meal if you really want to.”
“Shut up.” I say, intentionally making my tone lighter. I walk past him.
I normally don’t eat at this restaurant. It’s always been a favored hangout of Pechimu High’s coolest, so I’ve never had reason to be here. Now that I am, with Fox no less, I’m not as anxious as I thought I’d be. Anxiety isn’t one of my normal issues. I mean, I think lots of people have internal nervousness, but lots of kids get put on medication to stop it from getting to the outside. I’ve never had that problem.
When I was little, my therapist said I used callous thought and behavior to distance myself from people enough that all the unease churning inside my body could never find an outlet. She was probably on to something but I never saw much point in changing. It’s a cold hard fact that people suck, and those who don’t suck aren’t dependable anyway, so there is no use putting your hopes and dreams in them.