Book_Grrl: Can I bring someone?
No response. Part of me itched to pick up the phone, to check to see if Jack was still there. But I sat motionless, afraid to upset the balance between the silence on the phone and the silence on the screen. The cursor blinked. Todd hadn’t logged out. Maybe he was e-mailing Brian or wired into some multiplayer game while chatting with me. But probably not. I thought to type the message again, in case it hadn’t shown up on his side. But I could see it. Probably he could too. Whatever happened was meant to be. Then Todd’s icon dimmed. I stared for several seconds before realizing he’d sent a message at the very last moment:
Prez_Emerson: Sure.
Jack didn’t kiss me, but he did come inside to shake Dad’s hand again. When we left, he held open the door to his truck. Even better, he didn’t freak out when we reached Valley View Estates and turned right—at least not until I told him to pull over in front of the Death Star.
“You’re kidding,” Jack said. “Can I park around back or something?”
“Nope. Here’s fine.”
“I’m going to get towed.”
In front of any other house in this part of Valley View Estates, I would’ve agreed. Some of the residents might even call the police to check for “undesirables” in the neighborhood. But in front of Todd’s house? Not going to happen.
We stood in the cold, staring up at the mansion.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Jack’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t take a step toward the house, either.
“We could always do something else,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“You think they are?”
I really wasn’t sure how the geek squad would react, but I was pretty sure they wouldn’t riot just because a jock entered their inner sanctum. Besides, Jack’s letter jacket felt thin through my mittens. He couldn’t possibly be warm, especially since the temperature had dropped ten degrees with the sunset. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.”
No one met us at the door. I just opened it and walked right in, but that was standard operating procedure for Geek Night. Jack balked at the threshold, and I had to tug him inside.
“It’s okay.” I slipped off my coat and slung it over one arm. “I swear.”
Whizzes, bangs, and pops came from the basement, along with canned laughter from the Cartoon Network. I caught the scent of brownies—fresh baked—and caramel corn, and looked at Jack. He blinked, that little-boy grin spread across his face. A coil of tension inside me loosened. Things really would be okay.
The clomp of hard-soled shoes rang through the hall. Todd’s dad, Charlie Emerson, roared into the space. His tie was still on, but it was loose at his neck. He worked late a lot, cutting last-minute deals, in between passing out free hot dogs, soda, and balloons. Last summer I’d earned extra cash by helping kids in and out of the inflatable super jump (shaped like a castle for the Emperor of Emerson Motors, of course).
“Who owns that red Toyota out front?” Mr. Emerson bellowed.
And if Jack had attended as many Geek Nights as I had, he would have known: Bellowing was Mr. Emerson’s standard operating procedure. But Jack had never attended any Geek…anythings. His smile vanished. He raised a hand halfway. With his other hand, he fished around in his pocket for his keys. Mr. Emerson raced past us and flung open the door.
“My God! Would you look at that!”
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s mine. I can move it.”
“What?” Mr. Emerson shut the door with an emphatic click. “Don’t you dare. I was just admiring her. She’s a beaut!”
Now Jack really was fazed. He cast me a look, but all I could do was shrug.
“What year is it?” asked Mr. Emerson. “Early eighties?”
Jack nodded.
“Whatcha been doing for upkeep?”
And then they were off. Words like brake pads and fan belts left Jack’s mouth and entered Mr. Emerson’s ears. Quite possibly two happier people never existed.
“Impressive,” Mr. Emerson said.
“I’m hoping to get another hundred thousand miles out of her,” Jack added.
Her? Who decided that trucks were girls?
“Hey, Dad?” Todd stood halfway up the basement stairs.
“It’s so unusual,” Mr. Emerson continued as if he hadn’t heard Todd, “for a boy these days to know something about automotives. Grown men come into my dealership, can’t even change the oil in their own cars.”
Todd rolled his eyes, then sent me a “here we go again” look—a look Mr. E. noticed.
“Bethany!” Todd’s dad called out. “Why, I didn’t see you standing there.”
What? With all the car talk? That wasn’t surprising.
“We’ve really missed you at Todd’s…” Mr. Emerson glanced over his shoulder at Todd. “What is it you call these things?”
“Geek Night, Dad,” said Todd.
Mr. Emerson shook his head, and a short sigh escaped his lips. “You know what, son?” He said this to Jack. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “This is my—”
Jack flashed me a smile.
“My friend,” I finished, flustered. “Jack Paulson.”
“Well, of course!” Mr. Emerson waved a hand, indicating Jack’s height. “Who else could you be?” Before Jack could answer, Mr. Emerson pumped his hand. “You’re having a great season. Think you boys will make it to the state tourney this year?”
“We’re trying,” Jack said.
“Pleasure to meet you. Real pleasure,” Todd’s dad said. He headed up the stairs, but he paused halfway. “Hey, you wouldn’t be up for a little one-on-one, would you?”
A little…what? I glanced at Todd, who looked like he wanted to throw up, and then at Jack, who shrugged.
“Hey, son,” Mr. Emerson said, and this time he was actually talking to Todd. “Go get your old basketball.”
That Todd owned a basketball, old or otherwise, was strange enough. That he hadn’t taken a knife to it and left it to rot in some landfill was downright bizarre.
“Dad, I don’t think—”
“Go on,” said Mr. Emerson. “It’ll be fun.”
If fun involved throwing the patio doors wide open, shoving grills, and heaving frozen iron patio furniture around so Jack, Mr. Emerson, and a handful of skinny freshman wrestlers could go three on three—then, yeah, I guess we had fun. But as much as I loved watching Jack play, the frigid air drove me back inside. I hugged myself and shivered.
“Oh, look,” Todd said, his tone dry. “It’s the son he never had.” He turned from the pulse of the basketball and left the room.
I found him sitting on the stairs that led to the basement and took a seat one step below him. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?” Todd asked.
For bringing Jack, I almost said, but I owed him the truth. I wasn’t sorry about that. Not really. I was sorry Todd’s dad could be so…so…I tried to think of the right word, but could only say, “Everything?”
“It’s okay,” said Todd. “Besides, when people come over, my dad can make believe I’m popular.” He leaned back and peered up the stairs. “This must be a dream come true for him.” He sat up and examined me over the edge of his glasses. “And when you show up, it reassures him I’m not gay.”
I didn’t know whether to giggle or blush, so I did both.
The thump, thump, thump of the basketball reached us in the stairwell. From the cadence, I guessed Jack had the ball—the rhythm, the control, it was all his. I listened, intent on the sound. I didn’t realize I’d tipped my head back and closed my eyes until Todd laughed.
“You really like him,” he said.
“I do.” It felt good to confess. “And I think, at least I hope—”
“He does,” Todd said.
I looked at him.
“Like you,” he finished. “You think he’d be playing basketball with the Emperor of Emerson
Motors if he didn’t?”
Probably not. The notion of it, of Jack liking me—really, truly liking me—gave me goose bumps. I smiled and shivered. I caught Todd rolling his eyes. “Oh jeez, Todd, I’m—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “It would be really stupid to get upset about the outcome when you were never in the race to begin with.”
“What?” Sometimes Todd went off on tangents that mystified me.
“Do I have to spell it out for you, Reynolds?” he said.
Uh, yeah.
“You know those teen movies, the ones where there’s a girl and these two guys, the popular jock and the dork?”
So much for tangents. I knew exactly where this was going.
“The whole audience knows she’s supposed to end up with the other guy,” he said. “You know, the dork?”
I gave the slightest of nods.
“Well, this isn’t the movies.”
No, it wasn’t.
“And I’m not that guy.”
“You’re not that guy,” I echoed, buying a little time to think. Was Todd giving me the green light where Jack was concerned? Did I really need him to? Maybe not. But until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted his okay.
“Then who are you?” A pair of red high-top sneakers appeared on the landing. Jack moved to take a seat on the top stair, but Todd nearly tumbled down three steps making room for him.
“So, man,” Jack said, in mock seriousness. “Really. Who the hell are you then?”
“Damn, I didn’t—I mean, I’m—,” Todd began.
“The future student body president of Prairie Stone High?” I suggested.
“You thinking about running?” asked Jack.
“Bethany’s my campaign manager.”
His what? “I thought I was your stylist.”
Todd brushed away my comment. “That too.”
“It might be nice for a change,” Jack said, “you know, having someone who’s smart and not just pop—” He broke off and looked away. An embarrassed Jack Paulson was cute.
Really, really cute.
But the word he didn’t speak stayed with us. Jack inspected his shoes. I shifted. Todd stared into space.
“You know,” said Todd, “it wouldn’t hurt to have a celebrity endorsement.”
“Me?” Jack touched his chest with his fingertips.
“Yeah, you. An inroad to the jock vote.” Todd nodded way too vigorously. I was surprised he didn’t rub his hands together like an evil genius. “I’m starting to really like this idea.”
“He’s going to have to do something about this, though.” I lifted a strand of Todd’s hair between two fingers, then let it drop. “Tell him, Jack, being president is all about the hair.”
Jack grinned at me. Todd tried not to.
“You might as well come all the way downstairs.” Todd gave the stairwell a fleeting glance. “The hard part is over.”
“For you, maybe,” Jack said. “But I gotta go where no jock’s gone before.”
Todd pursed his lips, then smiled. “Why didn’t you tell me he was funny?” he said to me. “Come on. Let’s go.”
We headed downstairs, into the glow of Geek Night, the video games, the neon signs.
“Whoa.” Jack halted, and I bumped into him. He remained rooted, steadying me with one hand, but his attention was clearly on something else, something that took up most of one wall. The plasma-screen television. If any inanimate object was assigned a gender, it shouldn’t be a truck. Instead it should be Todd’s ginormous television. I had yet to see a boy pass by without getting snared in all her high-definition glory.
“Christmas,” Todd said. He continued through the room with barely a glance at the TV.
And Jack was the first—the only—boy I’d seen turn away from it. I remembered the tiny flat-screen in the place of honor in Jack’s living room and gave his hand a squeeze.
Like the Mangers’s basement, the Emersons’ also had a wet bar that took up one entire side of the room. Only this one featured every designer caffeine known to man. Brian was playing bartender—a friendlier, far more likeable option than Rick.
Except when we approached, Brian flung open the mini-fridge and pulled out a Red Bull. He shot Todd a death glare, then stomped past me, past Jack, all without acknowledgment.
“What the—?” Todd pointed to the bar, but Brian ignored him. “Whatever.” Todd jumped up with one hand on the granite countertop, swung his legs over, and landed on the other side. It was a smooth move. Of course, I’d seen him practice—and wipe out—at least a hundred times before.
Drinks led to light sabers, or did for Todd and Jack. Sadly, this was the sort of thing that happened at Geek Night. As a rule, I stayed away from light sabers, although when Todd said things like, “Luke, I am your father,” I sometimes wished I had a blaster.
The boys dueled, and the light sabers clashed. Jack looked pleased by the authentic, straight-from-the-movies whiz and hum. He had natural athletic ability, but Todd had more Jedi training time. Clash, whiz, hum. Clash, whiz, hum. It continued until, light sabers crossed, the special effects silent, a voice rose from the other side of the room.
“She wants to date a prick? Well, I can be a prick!”
Ahh. So that explained why Brian was being such a jerk. Part of me wanted to mention the wand incident. It put him in close second when it came to the prick contest. But I heard the hurt and regret in Brian’s voice.
Todd stepped back, shut his eyes for a moment. “I’m going to have to cut off his Red Bull supply,” he said.
Todd’s distraction was too much for Jack. The competitor in him took over. He lunged forward, ready to take Todd down. Todd parried, took a step to the left, and sank his light saber into Jack’s chest.
They stood like that for several seconds. Jack held both hands in the air, a startled expression on his face. Maybe I should’ve told him about Todd’s three years of fencing lessons—the compromise between him and his father over sports.
Then Jack threw his head back and laughed. The boys shook hands and did a punch, slap, shove thing that I chalked up to male bonding. Todd secured the light sabers above the bar, then turned to Jack.
“Isn’t there a T-wolves game on tonight?”
Jack shrugged. “No biggie. We’re not having the greatest season.”
“Come on.” Todd pointed to the television and the group that surrounded it. “Like any of these guys need to see this episode of Naruto for the hundredth time.”
The boys walked off together, leaving me behind, forgotten. I pulled my legs up so I sat cross-legged on the granite countertop. I planted my elbows on my thighs and watched them. It looked like the start of a beautiful friendship.
We need to talk!
That was all Moni’s e-mail said, but I knew the code by heart. Weekends with her dad were jam-packed and hectic. Sure, she could chat on the eighty-mile drive south to Prairie Stone, but the code also meant whatever she had to say wasn’t for parental ears.
I could hardly wait for her call.
In fact, I cleared off everything in anticipation. Homework, done. Dishes from Sunday night dinner, done. A long conversation with Jack, done. We’d even talked about the party at Rick’s.
“We don’t always have to go to those,” he said.
I felt the last bit of leftover tension from the party slip away. “We don’t always have to go to Geek Night.”
“Hey, I’ll go wherever there’s a game on.” Which was exactly what he was doing now, watching some sports thing on ESPN with his dad.
As a bribe, I even let Shelby have full, unsupervised access to the pom-poms. I snuggled into the pillows on my bed and waited for the phone to ring.
I didn’t have to wait long. “Guess who I had brunch with?” were the first words from Moni’s mouth, not even a “hello” to get things rolling. In the background, I could hear a car door slamming and the crunch of tires, and I guessed she’d already said good-bye to her dad.
/> “Wait,” I said. “I know this one. Orlando Bloom.”
“Better than Orlando Bloom.”
There was better than Orlando Bloom in Moni’s world? The actor had always been Moni’s ultimate brunch—or anything—date. She’d watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy so many times that she could finish any of Orlando’s lines. It was fantasy life on an epic scale—and Moni knew how to dream big.
And how to fall hard. That was why I’d planned to listen first before telling Moni about Rick’s party. It could wait. And the blonde—Amanda—the one who dissed me and my dad’s class? Maybe that should wait forever.
I heard her keys drop, then the scrape as she opened the front door. Moni was a barely contained bundle of news and nerves, so, to give her an opening, I said, “What’s better than Bloom?”
“Two words: Rick. Mangers.”
“Not Rick the—”
Moni drew in a breath. “You can’t say it, because it’s not true.”
I wished it weren’t. Or that it was all just a case of mistaken identity. That there were two Rick Mangers, the nice one Moni was crushing on, and his evil, party-throwing twin.
“He called Saturday,” Moni continued. “When I told him I wouldn’t be back until tonight, he said—get this—that it was ‘too long to go without seeing his spark plug.’ You did notice the his, right?”
Rick Mangers was even smoother than I had guessed possible.
“And then he drove all the way to Minneapolis this morning just to meet us for brunch. Can you believe it?”
Actually, I couldn’t. But I couldn’t doubt it either. Despite Moni’s enthusiastic fantasy life, she could tell reality from fiction, and dream dates from real boys. Even if the idea of Rick Mangers driving to Minneapolis sounded like something from a romance novel.
“Really,” I said, hoping Moni wouldn’t hear the tightness in my voice.
“It was the best. We went to this place Monica wanted to go to, of course.” Moni made gagging noises. “But it wasn’t that bad. And get this. Rick totally distracted Monica so I could, you know, have an actual conversation with my dad.”
The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading Page 18