by Ruth Houston
She hung up, and I pounced, but in a subtle manner. "Who was that?"
"Martin Rifkin," she smiled. "We're going to go see a movie tomorrow."
"Which one?" I asked casually.
"I don't know yet. I guess we'll decide when we get there."
"Oh," I said. "So is it, like, a date or something?"
She shook her head. "No, just a movie between friends, I guess. I'm treating, even though he suggested it. I owe him."
"I see," I said. "How about I fill up your schedule for the rest of the weekend. What are you doing on Sunday?"
Woah. Did that just come out of my mouth?
"Uh, nothing," she replied, looking at me hard. "Maybe I'll go play tennis with the girls… Rebecca, or someone, I don't know. You really shouldn't be asking me out."
"I'm not asking you out. I don't even like you," I said, waving my hand. When she looked at me with her mouth slightly open, I hastily clarified: "No, I mean, I like you. But I don't like like you. I like like Eva."
Her expression relaxed. "Okay then, as long as that's clear, then it's fine with me. Huh, I'm so thrilled that you like me. What an honor," she fluttered her eyelashes.
"Don't flatter yourself," I groaned.
She grinned, showing me she had just been jesting. Man, you really have to pay attention to this girl when she talks. She just jokes around most of the time, but then again, when she's being serious, you really have to listen. "What do you want to do?" she asked me.
"I'm working on that," I said, tapping my temple lightly. "Don't worry about it. We'll just hang out."
I can't believe I just asked Winter to 'hang out', and what's even worse, she just agreed. Oh man, Zack, what have you gotten yourself into? She wasn't supposed to agree, she was supposed to decline the offer before I made a total fool of myself.
Well, you got yourself into it, I thought grimly. Might as well stick it through.
Chapter Eleven: Busy Weekend
Winter
Saturday.
8am. My alarm went off. I slapped it and wondered vaguely how much more abuse it could endure. Ten minutes later, I was dead to the world yet again, buried deep beneath my warm comforter and cotton sheets. Twenty minutes after that, the stupid clock managed to ring again, and I dragged myself out of bed, grumbling the entire time.
9:30am. I got dressed. My oldest pair of running shorts and a red and faded Champion t-shirt were the lucky choices of the day. I called up Rebecca and we headed on down to the school to rally for a while. Amidst good-natured teasing and jesting, a bet arose, of which I graciously accepted the loss of a long set ending in a 4-6, 6-3, 5-7 tiebreaker. I now owed Becks a week's worth of ice-cold Gatorade, lemon-lime flavored.
11:30am. I ended up back at home in one piece, which was a miracle, considering Becks' driving skills. I counted three red-lights and five extremely terrified pedestrians that we zoomed by en route to Storey Road, terrorizing the neighborhood. Lunch consisted of half a cream cheesed bagel, an apple, and a large glass of water. Afterwards, I lazed around for a long while, reading a bit of an assigned book for school, listening to my CDs, sitting in the backyard and writing in my journal, and trying my hand at a sketch of my mother's prized yellow rose bush and failing spectacularly.
3:00pm. While looking at the clock and wondering what else I could do (other than that heinous mountain of homework I had been assigned) I suddenly remembered that Martin was going to pick me up and we were going to go see a movie.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered to myself as I slashed through all the clothes in my closet. "How could you forget, Winter?" I stopped. "Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity," I said to my mirror image mounted on the back of my door, a girl standing there barefoot in shorts and a t-shirt with her hair still up in a sweaty ponytail and her red Adidas sweatbands still on her wrists. I shrugged. In that case, I had been insane since I had first started learning to talk. Oh well, why break the habit now?
3:30pm. I was out of the shower; I changed into some nicer clothes that would be more acceptable for an afternoon downtown (my trademark jeans and a white tank), and trotted downstairs. A moment later, I was back upstairs and applying a teensy bit of makeup – light coat of mascara, tasteful smidge of eyeliner, and some lip gloss. I stuffed my cell phone, thirty dollars, and pack of Eclipse gum in my back pocket (never leave home without it).
Shoot. Now I was a little on the early side. Did he say four o'clock? I glanced at the time on the microwave. Fifteen more minutes to go. What could I accomplish in fifteen minutes? Not much, judging by what I had accomplished today in the eight hours since I had woken up. I dawdled around for a bit longer, then recalled from some sudden brilliant stroke of memory that I had forgotten to inform my parental units I was going out this afternoon. My mom was gone, out grocery shopping or clothes shopping at the mall with her friends, or something. Whatever it is that moms do on the weekends, she was doing it. I hadn't seen her all day. My dad… hmm, where was he?
Ah, in his office, typing away at his computer and making money for us to spend. How lovely.
"Hi Dad," I popped into his home office, looking around. "You really need to pull open the blinds. It's so dark in here." I did it for him, seeing as he wasn't about to get up from his oh-so-comfy seat.
"Hi," he replied, swiveling around in his office chair to greet me. "What's going on?"
I pulled open one of the mini-blinds, flooding the room with light. "Is it okay if I go out this afternoon? I'm going to go see a movie with my friend."
"Sure," he said. "Right now?"
"Yea, I'm leaving in about ten minutes. I'll be back by –" This caught me. When would I be back? I didn't even know when I'd be home or what we would do after the movie.
"Uh, maybe by seven or eight?" I said. "I'll call if the plans change."
"That's fine," my dad said, returning to his computer. "As long as you're home by curfew, it's fine by me."
I nodded and went back out into the living room. I picked up one of my mother's home furnishing magazines and flipped through it idly. Ah, the Weekends of Winter Bruin. What an interesting show I'd make.
When the doorbell rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"Hey," I said, opening the door.
"Hey Winter," Martin said. He looked nice (as always) – his light brown hair was slightly spiked up, and his khakis and sweater were tasteful but casual. For a split second, I admired the way his grey sweater brought out his eyes.
"Daddy, I'm leaving," I hollered into the empty house. I received no answer but knew he had heard. "Okay, let's go."
We didn't stop talking the whole time we were driving, and I somehow always kept him laughing at something or other. Conversation came naturally, and there was never an awkward moment.
When we reached the theater, I was struck by how many people there were.
"Why are there so many movie-goers today?" I asked Martin as we stood in the long line for tickets, craning our necks over the crowd to read the digital bulletin that announced all of today's movies. I tugged lightly at the sleeve of his sweater and held on for fear of being separated from him in this huge crowd.
"Maybe there's some big one coming out today," he suggested. "Hey, any idea what you want to see?"
"Nope," I said honestly, reading all the names of the movies with bewilderment. I didn't go out to the movies very often. "You choose."
"How about an action one?"
"Sounds good."
We ended up watching some kind of Indiana Jones wannabe movie which had decidedly better graphics than acting. Halfway through the movie we began chatting instead of watching, until some middle-aged lady behind us reprimanded us and asked us politely but firmly to stop. So we paid attention for a little bit… before Martin began resorting to countering his boredom by flicking popcorn at me. I threw Skittles at him, and a particularly wayward grape one hit him straight in the eye. He slapped a hand to his eye and gave me a hurt look. I knew he was just pretending, and whisper
ed mockingly, "Poor baby."
He grabbed my arm and threatened me with a Sprite can held over my head.
I shook my head furiously when I realized I couldn't escape his iron grip, and he gave me a malicious grin.
Someone screamed.
We both jumped, and he returned his soda to the cup holder, but didn't let go of my arm. We looked around wildly, until he pointed at the screen. The villain was about to burn the poor maiden alive.
Martin and I looked at each other, and began sniggering uncontrollably.
"Shh – we have – to be – quiet," he managed to get out through our hilarious laughter.
I shook my head and muffled my snickers by burying my face in his shoulder. He let out a loud "Ha!" and I clapped a hand over his mouth, which just made it seem all that much funnier.
Our hilarity didn't end until the hero had managed to sweep the fair lady out of danger's way. I sensed that he his chuckles had stopped when I didn't feel his body shaking anymore. I didn't move from where I was, but turned my head to look at the screen. When I looked up at Martin, his sparkling dark grey eyes were watching me. He pointed at my hand, which was still restraining his mouth, and I quickly removed it. After that, we settled back in our seats and finished watching the movie.
"So what did you think?" We were walking out of the theater.
I considered for a moment. "I think the hero was gay, the villain was on Jerry Springer once, and the fair maiden was a prostitute."
He grinned. "I completely agree. Thanks for treating, anyway."
"I owed you," I said. "I'm not sure it was worth it, but there you go. So where to next?"
We allowed the surge of people coming out of the theater to sweep us along.
"How about something to eat?" he suggested. "Most of my popcorn ended up on the ground, and most of your Skittles ended up in my lap. You like pizza?"
"I love pizza," I smiled. "How about Carly's?"
"That's my favorite pizza place!" Martin exclaimed. "Man, who knew?" he asked the clouds wonderingly.
One pizza and one hour later, we were back in front of my house.
"Thanks for taking me out today," I said softly.
"You're welcome," he said, giving me a slight smile. "You're cool, Winter."
"Why, thank you," I grinned. "You're not so bad yourself."
"I had fun today," Martin admitted, his grey eyes focusing on our clasped hands between us.
"Me too," I said, reaching forward and hugging him. "But I wanted you to know… that, um, I like you," I continued. "But the thing is, I'm not sure I want more than outings and movies, you know?" I prayed he would take this easily.
I felt him sigh in relief. "Thank god," he said, grinning at me. "I was just trying to figure out how to say the same thing to you. I like you and all, and you're cool, but I don't think it's love at first sight, you know?"
"I know exactly what you mean," I said, smiling. "Thank you though, Martin. I really do like you." I reached up and brushed a kiss on his cheek.
He the turned his head and returned the favor. "Good night, Winter," he said. "I hope I'll see you again really soon."
"Same here," I said. "Hopefully we still have mirrors in our house."
He looked at me, speechless for a moment, his mouth moving silently, then the street rang with his honest laughter. "I was hoping for something a bit less narcissistic than that," he smirked.
"Okay, how about this: I hope I'll get to see you, Martin Rifkin, really soon."
He chuckled as we parted. "Bye, Winter."
"See you around." I waved until his car disappeared.
~*~*~*~
Sunday.
8am. My alarm went off. I punched it as viciously as a judge does his gavel with no qualms. I sat up in bed, stretched, breathed deeply, and looked around my room. A second later I bounded out of my covers and jogged off to the bathroom. My teeth were clean in a flash, my pajamas were traded for a just-above-the-knee-length denim skirt and black spaghetti strap top, and I was downstairs and eating breakfast within seven minutes.
"What's got you so energized this morning?" my dad asked me as he watched me shifting restlessly in my chair during breakfast.
"Dunno," I said cheerfully. "I just feel like – I don't know, like I could anything today! Ever have one of those days, where you just feel like you're on top of the world? And you can do just about everything?"
My dad chuckled. "Live it up while you can," he advised, "And spread the good cheer."
"I think I will. I'm going out today, is that alright?"
"Sure," he said. "Be back by eleven. Tomorrow's a school day."
"Okay," I said happily. "See you in a bit."
He waved as I trotted out of the room. I took a short walk around the block and decided it wasn't smart to wear flip-flops when one goes power walking. No matter, I wouldn't be doing much more power walking for today. When was Zack going to pick me up?
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket as I passed Darren Walker's house down the street and summoned up Zack's cell phone number.
"'Lo?"
"Hi Zack," I said. "What's up?"
"Uh, I kind of just woke up," he said slowly. His voice was low and hoarse, and for a second, I shivered, even though the day was starting out beautifully – no wind, and the sun was smiling at me cheerily.
"When are you going to come?" I asked, recovering quickly.
"When do you want me to come?"
"As soon as you can," I laughed. "Come on, hurry up. Today's a good day. Don't waste it!"
"Okay, okay," he said, and I could hear a reluctant smile in his voice. "If it makes the princess happy, I'll be there in twenty minutes, tops."
"Just brush your teeth and change and stuff," I said, skipping past old Mrs. Haskin's house and turning the corner back onto my street. "Let's go get breakfast together!"
"Did you eat?"
"Yep," I said happily. "I can eat again."
"Okay," he chuckled. "See you in bit."
"Bye!"
"Later."
True to his word, less than twenty minutes later I was in Zack's car. We had opened the sun roof and all the windows, letting in the fresh morning breeze.
"So what's got you so cheery this fine morning, Princess Winter?" he asked me as we stopped at a red light, a hint of teasing in his voice.
"I don't know!" I said, smiling from ear to ear. "Today I just feel… I don't know, invincible! Unbeatable! Unconquerable!"
"Indestructible," he contributed.
"Unbreakable!"
"Imperishable!"
"Impregnable!" I shouted.
"Impenetrable!" he yelled.
"Indomitable!" I screamed out the window at the pick-up truck next to us. The guy looked stared at us, startled.
"Undefeatable!" he tried bellowing it out his own window, but failed when he started laughing.
"Unbeatable!" I continued, now giggling too.
"I think we said that one," he grinned at me. His golden eyes sparkled at me, holding nothing but sheer elation, and I threw my head back and laughed, just from pure, unadulterated happiness. What a day!
"Well I'm glad we both use the thesaurus often," Zack said. "Can we go eat?" he then complained good-naturedly. "We've been driving around aimlessly for a while, gas is not cheap, and the last thing I ate was half a sandwich for lunch yesterday."
"Yes, let's," I said. "How about Caroline's Pies? They serve breakfast there."
"I've never been there before," he said curiously. "What's it like?"
"They serve you breakfast, and if you buy a pie the same day you get free coffee and juice, and they make the best apple pies in the world," I gushed. "I can't believe you've never been there before!"
"So sue me, I don't go out to eat much," he said, holding one hand up defensively, but grinning.
"Let's buy a pie," I said. "Apple."
"Cherry."
"Ew! No! Apple."
"Pecan, then."
"Ooh, their pecan is pre
tty good, but no – apple!"
"Peach."
"No, I don't like peach. Apple!"
"Pumpkin."
"I love pumpkin! But I want apple today."
"Banana cream?" he pleaded desperately as he slid on his sunglasses.
"What's so bad about apple?" I asked. "It's wonderful."
He groaned. "I'd prefer it if we didn't spend my money on my least favorite type of pie. Please."
"Why don't you like it?" I asked curiously.
"You don't want to know," he waved it off. "Let's just not get a pie."
"No, we must buy a pie, for lunch or something," I insisted. "And I do want to know. Why do you hate apple so much?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
I stuck my tongue out at him. "You are too going to tell me," I said.
He shook his head.
"Tell me, please?" I begged. "I'll keep bothering you."
He sighed in defeat. "Fine. Making a long story short, when I was little, say, 'bout six or seven, we had this huge Christmas dinner." He paused, and suddenly his eyes glazed over – I had never seen him so genuinely wistful or happy about anything before. Then, his expression turned rather painful. "I mean, it was big. All my cousins came, and some of them decided it would be extremely funny to stick a whole bunch of junk in my piece of pie. Let's see, there was a marble – "
"They wouldn't!" I gasped. "You could have choked and died!"
He nodded. "They put all sorts of stuff in there – a dead cockroach – " I made a face. "Some small leaves, a dime, I think, and some dirt, maybe even some dog turd from the backyard. I think they figured most of it was organic, except for the dime and marble, and I would live if I bit into them. Guess what I got a bite of first?" he said grimly.
"Cockroach?" I suggested in a small voice.
He nodded. "The one, the only. I swear, my cousins were laughing so hard they could have died. It wasn't very funny to me. Put me off apple pie for life." His mouth was set in a grim line.
I grinned at him. "Well, today's the day we're going to change that, because today, you, Zackary Crowne, are going to eat apple pie!"
"No," he groaned. "Please, no. Spare me," he beseeched me dramatically.