Dating the It Guy

by Krysten Lindsay Hager

  “Did you finish your paper?” she asked. “My partner hasn’t even watched the show yet. I knew I was going to get stuck doing the whole thing.”

  Her partner, Kirk Woodsen, with his bleached hair and a deep tan, talked loudly about the basketball playoffs. “He teaches tennis to five-year-olds, probably because they are on the same mental level. He told me he wants to get into modeling,” she said, rolling her heavily lined eyes. “I should tell him my mom’s an agent, and maybe then he’d do some of the work.”

  When class ended, I wondered if I should go over and say something to Brendon. I packed up my stuff slowly, hoping he’d come over to me. When I got up, I realized I was the only one left in the room. Meanwhile, Brendon was in the hall talking to Lauren.

  “Hey, Emme,” he said.

  “Oh, hi,” I said. “I didn’t see ya there.” Oh, how lame. I’m such a loser.

  “I had a student board meeting this morning, which took forever. Did I miss anything important?”

  I shook my head, and Lauren gave me the same condescending smile people give annoying children. And I felt like a kid next to her, with her high-heeled sandals and a short jeans skirt, while I was wearing a T-shirt with a cat on it and sneakers. What a femme fatale.

  “Do you have a minute? Wanna grab something to drink?” he asked me.

  I nodded.

  “I’ll see you later, Brendon,” Lauren said, making a point to rub his arm as she left to meet her friend. Yeah, I always groped people when I said good-bye, too. Brendon and I went over to the Coffee Beanie Weanie across the street. He got an espresso and a cookie, and I ordered green tea. He offered me part of his chocolate chip walnut cookie and told me he was in charge of setting up tutors for the homework help lab. I offered to help, but he needed tutors in chemistry and advanced algebra. I barely made it out of algebra one and only because my math tutor went over all of my homework for me.

  “I almost forgot. I got a bunch of teen magazines for our project,” he said, unzipping his backpack. “I dropped this one in the store, and this woman looked at me like I was a pervert, but look at this singer’s outfit. It looks like she was attacked by a mountain lion.” He pointed to the ripped-up shirt and jeans the singer, Crystalline, wore.

  “It says, ‘You can look like Crystalline with Cosmic Powders makeup. She’s wearing peony blush and shimmering violet lip cream,’” I said, making a mental note to check out the lip cream later on lickitylips.com.

  “Look at this picture of Lorenzo Crawford,” he said. “He’s definitely wearing makeup, but you don’t see the brand named.”

  I could have pointed out I was wearing the same shade of bronzer as Lorenzo, but I decided to keep it to myself. Brendon made a joke about how Lorenzo’s last movie was all about him posing and being tan. I could smell his cologne as he leaned over. If it took the rest of my life, I would do everything I could to find out what cologne he used…without actually asking him and sounding like a stalker.

  “You know Kirk—from our class?” he said. “He uses fake tan. I saw it in the locker room once.”

  I realized how close he was sitting to me, and I hoped my mint green tea was masking any bad breath issues.

  “Rory thinks he wears contacts to make his eyes bluer,” I said, not sharing I did the same thing to make my hazel eyes look like they were dark green.

  He laughed, and we went back to the magazines. My head was reeling from sitting so close to him. I focused on finding examples for the project, but I caught him staring at me when I glanced up. He seemed embarrassed, and I figured he was probably staring at my messy hair.

  “Since you’re so busy with activities and stuff, I don’t mind finding the articles for the next project,” I said.

  “No, it’s okay. I found a couple last night, and there’s a lot of stuff in this issue.” He started to grab a magazine, but it slipped out of his hands. “Sorry,” he said as he got up to get it.

  He put the magazine between us, and when I moved forward to see it, he put his arm across the back of my chair. Now lots of guys did put their arms on chair backs, even Kirk did that with Rory, and he definitely wasn’t interested in her, but I couldn’t help but hope it meant something. I got this shivery feeling, and he asked if I was cold. I shook my head. I always got a feeling before something major was about to happen, and it has nothing to do with being cold, but I didn’t know why I got the feeling. Grandma used to do the same thing and always said, “Somebody just walked across my grave.” Somehow I didn’t think Brendon would understand if I told him I needed to move my future burial plot to a less high-traffic area.

  “Are we still on for the art fair?” he asked.

  I had only been circling it with hearts on my calendar since he asked.

  “Sure, I think I’m still free,” I said.

  We finished up our work, and he walked me out to meet Kylie.

  “Okay, I’ll pick you up at three tomorrow,” he said, walking off.

  “Can I ask a stupid question?” Kylie asked as soon as Brendon was out of earshot. “What’s he like? Because he’s so well-known, and I can’t imagine what it’d be like to grow up with your whole life under a microscope. I mean, my mom remembers his first birthday party pictures being shown on the news. And he’s hot, but he’s not like I-know-I’m-a-hottie hot, but more like a confident, ‘Yes, I am hot. Any questions?’ I mean, he has to have noticed there aren’t any guys who look like him walking around.”

  “I should tell him what you said.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Kylie said.

  “I get what you mean—he’s grown up with everybody knowing his dad and watching him, but he’s pretty down to earth.”

  “So what’s up with you two? You guys didn’t do any work last Saturday, and now you’re going to an art fair.”

  “I dunno. He just asked me to go with him.”

  “Asked you to go with him as his study buddy or asked you to go with him because he’s desperately in love with you?” she asked.

  I said we were just friends, but she wouldn’t let it go.

  “Okay, duh, obviously I like him, but let’s be honest. He’s out of my league. He’s out of most people’s league. It’s weird because normally if I like a guy then one of two things happens—either he likes me and asks for my number…or I find out he’s not into me and I cry in my pillow and listen to man-hating music for at least three days,” I said. “But this time’s different because he’s, I dunno, not just ‘some guy.’ I mean, I’m not putting up a shrine to him in my room, and I haven’t rooted though his garbage can, but I have as much chance of going out with him as Kirk does of getting an ‘A’ in this class.”

  “You listen to man-hating music?” she asked, and I narrowed my eyes at her. “Whatever. Anyway, Em, he’s asked you out once already, and you are seeing him tomorrow. Plus, he’s always staring at you.”

  I said he was probably just bored in class today, but she wouldn’t let it go.

  “I’m not just talking about today. When we watched the movie on Monday, he watched you instead, and whenever I see you guys, he acts like there’s no one else in the room,” she said.

  I couldn’t hold back the big, stupid smile spreading across my face. “He does? For real?”

  She nodded. “You know, it’s weird. Here you were all upset you didn’t have a partner at the beginning of the semester, and then you ended up with like, Mr. Perfection, as your partner.”

  As I left, she made me promise to e-mail her when I got home tomorrow with all the details.

  Chapter 5

  In the morning, I went to see Grandma before meeting Brendon. I downloaded some meditations for lowering blood pressure, which was what the doctors said caused Grandma’s stroke in the first place. The nurses had moved her to a different room, and she was agitated. I tried to get her to eat some applesauce, but she just wanted to know when she could go back to her old room. My mom went to talk to the head nurse, and Grandma got concerned about where my mom went.
r />   “Where did she go?” Grandma asked.

  “Just in the hall,” I said. “Do you want me to turn the TV on for you?”

  But Grandma wasn’t listening to me. She kept craning her neck, trying to see Mom.

  “She’s just outside the door at the nurse’s station,” I said. “See? She’s right there.”

  “Gabrielle?” she called. “Gabby?”

  My mother poked her head in the room. “Yeah? Do you need something, Mom?

  “Just wanted to know where you went,” Grandma said.

  I exchanged a look with Mom. She shrugged and went back to talk to the nurse.

  “Gabby? Gabby? Where did she go?” Grandma asked, leaning forward.

  “She’s still right outside the door,” I said. “Do you want some more water?”

  We left at one o’clock, when she started falling asleep. I didn’t want to go, but the nurse practically shoved us out the door, saying Grandma needed her sleep. It seemed like all she did was sleep, but I didn’t want to cause problems.

  I hated seeing Grandma acting out of it and so dependent. It was like she was a little kid. Grandpa was starting to be more reliant, too. It was beginning to scare me. They used to take care of me, and it made me nervous how suddenly I was the stable one who needed to be responsible. I couldn’t even rely on myself, so how could my grandparents rely on me for anything?

  When I got home, I tried to focus on other things, but it seemed stupid to worry about what I was going to wear when I went out with Brendon while my grandma was dealing with health problems. I knew she wouldn’t want me to stay home and worry all afternoon—and honestly, it wouldn’t help her—but why did she have to go through it? It wasn’t fair. I tried to take my mind off things, and I went outside to see what the temperature was. It was cool and seemed like it was going to rain, which was good because I hated myself in shorts. I used to wear them all the time in middle school, but now I felt weird about it, even though a lot of girls wore them to class. I was thankful for air conditioning so I didn’t look completely stupid wearing jeans to school.

  After debating what to wear, I decided to put on my khaki jeans and a blue-and-red shirt, which was like a formfitting baseball jersey. I considered cute red sandals, but I switched to a more comfortable pair of sneakers. After all, I could barely walk in those shoes on a good day, and the last thing I needed was to trip over my own feet in front of Brendon. I still didn’t feel quite right, so I put on the red lipstick Margaux gave me for Christmas, which always made me feel more confident. Brendon texted me to say he was in the driveway.

  When I got in the car, Brendon told me to pick out something to listen to. It sounded easy except for the fact I had the worst taste in music. Everybody knew I loved any stupid song written for a six-year-old girl, but I couldn’t help it. Margaux always made fun of me because I used to have a sleeping bag with a girl band called the Sweetie Gals on it. I still used it as a blanket when I got cold. However, I didn’t want Brendon to know I counted the days until the Sweetie Gals reunited, so I tried to find a song I thought he’d like. Then I saw it—Sweeties for Always. He owned a Sweetie Gals album, too.

  “Do you have a sister?” I asked.

  “Nope, just an older brother. Why?” he asked, and I held up the phone showing the album. “Oh, I downloaded it when it was on sale for ninety-nine cents. It’s not bad, though.”

  “I know, I have the same one,” I said. “Oh wow, you have the same TV theme song album I have, and we have a lot of the same chick flick movie soundtracks. So weird. If I find a Paulo Estevez song on your playlist, I’m gonna start to wonder.”

  “I didn’t even know the TV one was in there,” he said laughing. “And I don’t own any music by Paulo or anyone who wears leather pants, but I have to admit I do own another Sweetie Gals album.”

  “I went as one of them for Halloween once. I was Bridget,” I said. I wished my mouth and brain worked together a little better under pressure, but luckily he laughed.

  “She was my crush when I was thirteen,” he said. “I had her poster on my wall.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I wouldn’t lie about something so important. Then she started dating a basketball player and broke my heart. I’ve never fully recovered.”

  “Her loss,” I said, and he laughed.

  He parked on one of the side streets, and we walked down to see some of the different art displays. I began to relax.

  “Some of this stuff is super ugly,” he said.

  “The sculpture over there looks like someone threw macaroni and cheese on it.”

  “Fun fact: gluten-free, dairy-free mac n’ cheese is Bridget’s favorite food,” he said.

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Hey, the Sweetie Gals’s Web site doesn’t lie,” he said, smiling.

  “Is that how you knew she was your soul mate?”

  “Soul mate is such a strong word, and no, considering she chose some athlete over me.”

  “In her defense, you’re still in high school,” I said.

  “Hey, what happened to ‘her loss’?” he asked.

  “You’re right. She should have waited for you.”

  He gave me that smile where his eyes shone and the world dropped away. “Exactly. I am worth the wait, aren’t I?”

  I swallowed. “I’m sure you are.”

  “That whole section of iron zombies over there is freaking me out,” he said. “Let’s have a contest of who can find the weirdest stuff.”

  “Okay, but I have to warn you, I’m super into art—even the odd stuff. I just feel like if someone put all their creative energy into something then we should—” I stopped. “You’re laughing at me!”

  “No, I’m not, I just think it’s cute how, I dunno, idealistic you are…and sweet.”

  “Another way of saying, ‘naïve’?”

  He squinted. “Naïve? No. You don’t strike me that way at all. Why?”

  I shrugged. When I was dating John, he told me how much he loved my sense of humor. Then one day, in front of everyone, he said what he liked best about me was how funny I was and how I had this “adorable naïve quality.” I felt so stupid and immature. Kylie told me to blow it off, but Margaux said she got a weird, controlling vibe from him. She said, “There’s a reason he always dates younger girls.” I tried to ignore it at the time, but there was something to what she said. Plus, his ex-girlfriend always followed him around like a little puppy, and he didn’t like it when I questioned him or didn’t go along with his opinion on something.

  “All right, I think I found something even you’d have to admit is a little strange. It’s a five foot tall, completely rusted rabbit. Looks like a tetanus shot warning sculpture,” he said.

  He was right—it was odd and seemed like you could take a layer of skin off just by touching it. But I wanted to mess with him a little.

  “My great-grandparents used to have one,” I said. I tried to look serious.

  “Uh-huh…wait, for real?” he asked.

  “Yeah, my great-grandfather bought it for a fiftieth wedding anniversary gift right before he died,” I said. “We have it now in our backyard. I’ll have to show it to you when you drop me off.”

  He didn’t know what to say, so I took pity on him and told him I was joking.

  “Not cool. You had me believing I insulted your dead great-grandfather’s taste in lawn art,” he said.

  “Actually they did have lawn art,” I said. “They had those little girls on a swing and the little Dutch boy and girl who lean over like they’re going to kiss. I used to push them together so they could actually touch.” Could I puh-lease just shut up now?

  “But no five-foot rusted rabbits?” he asked.

  “Sadly, no.” It was getting easier to talk to him, and I almost felt relaxed around him. Almost.

  “Oh man, there’s a clown,” he said.

  “Yeah, cute.”

  “Seriously? I’m about to flee to the safety of my car, and you think thos
e things are cute?”

  I shrugged. “When I was a kid, my grandpa took me to the circus and got all the clowns to sign autographs for me. They were nice clowns, so I guess I never got scared of them. But are you? I mean, is it an issue?”

  “Stop smiling!”

  “I’m not smiling,” I said, biting my bottom lip.

  “You are so smiling. It’s not unusual to be afraid of clowns,” he said.

  “It is a little unusual when you’re, you know, the age you are,” I replied.

  “I wouldn’t say I’m ‘afraid,’ in so many words. It’s more like their presence makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Oh, much better. More mature than the whole I-wet-my-pants-because-I-saw-a-clown thing.”

  “You don’t know the back story to my terror, okay? You wouldn’t be so quick to judge if you knew what I had been through,” he said. “You see one of those—”

  “Cheerful bringers of joy?”

  “More like terrors in rubber noses. Anyway, one of them scared me as a kid. My dad was on the campaign trail, and this clown was trying to make a point with him, so he came up and scared me, just to see if he could get a rise out of my dad in front of a crowd.”

  “How awful! I’m sure it goes against the clown code of honor,” I said.

  “Well, you might be right because later the company who supplied the entertainment claimed the guy was never on the list. He snuck in just to terrify me to prove a point. Ever since then, I think about who is hiding behind the makeup—the mask, you know? So that’s what it’s all about.”

  “What a crappy thing for someone to do to a little kid.”

  “And now I can’t date girls who wear heavy makeup—I get flashbacks,” he said, smiling.