Dating the It Guy

by Krysten Lindsay Hager

  “Those can be scary for a little kid,” he said.

  “Uh, I was twelve at the time, and my mom had to bribe me with cotton candy to get on it. I was so scared, and I was probably bigger than the horse,” I said.

  He cracked up. “Well, you did a good job of making me believe you were brave…even if it was a fat lie,” he said.

  I glanced up at the clock and realized Brendon would be waiting for me at his locker, so I got up. Darren asked if I wanted to hang out again after school since we both had to wait during seventh hour for rides, and I thought it would be fun to have someone to talk to.

  Brendon needed to stop at the public library downtown. I picked out some magazines to look at, but when I got back to the table, Brendon had already brought some books for me to read while he picked up stuff for his paper. The books were all mysteries, which he liked, but I wasn’t into. He told me to pick out the ones I wanted and he’d put them on his library card. I didn’t want any of them, but I grabbed two with interesting covers.

  “What about this Hans Von Swiller one? I read a bunch of his stuff over the summer, and he’s good,” he said, adding it to my pile.

  I hoped he wasn’t going to quiz me on them. On the way out, he asked me if I wanted to look at the writing section. I was ready to go, but he was already halfway down the aisle, so I followed him. He picked up a couple of books on writing and handed them to me. They all seemed the same to me, but I said they were interesting, and we went to check out.

  “Can we stop for something to drink?” I asked as we walked to the car. “There’s a new juice bar on the next street.”

  “We could just go to Beanie Weanies,” he said. “It’s right here.”

  If I wanted coffee, I would have said, “Hey, let’s stop for coffee,” but I wanted juice. However, I didn’t feel like arguing—or walking home. He ordered an iced mocha, and I stood there trying to figure out what I wanted.

  “How about a soda?” he asked.

  “You know I don’t drink pop,” I said.

  “Well, how about water?” he said as he checked his voice messages. “There are other people in line…”

  Great, he cared more about the guy in line behind me getting what he wanted. I bet he would have gone to the juice place if Lauren wanted it. Of course, she probably only drank pure spring water flown in from the Alps. I finally settled on a bottle of apple juice, but I made sure everybody in line and behind the counter knew I wasn’t happy about it not being organic. We sat down, and he automatically opened my bottle for me. I knew he was just trying to be nice, but couldn’t I open my own stupid juice? I kept thinking about my numerology book and figured that my attitude change had something to do with my moving into the number six year, where I was supposed to get my life in order and break bad habits. Maybe I was just adjusting. Then his phone rang, and I knew he was talking to a girl. He gave one-word answers, and he didn’t look at me once.

  “Yeah. Okay. I’ll call you when I’m done with this,” he said.

  Done with this? What the crap? I decided not to ask him about the call because he would just get defensive. I learned that the hard way last year when I asked my ex, John, who called while we were at the movies. I remember thinking it might have been an emergency because he got up and went into the lobby to take the call. Anyway, he almost took my head off and started accusing me of not trusting him. At the time, I had no reason to think something was up, but I had been getting weird vibes from him before the phone even rang. And, a few weeks after John flipped out about the call, I found out his ex-girlfriend, Brittanie, had been calling him a lot, and pretty soon the two of them were together, and I was alone. Sure, I was better off, but I was also hurt and humiliated to have to see them at school, making out near my locker. Margaux never said anything directly, but she hinted she might know something about an anonymous call to the school board complaining about people “going at it” in the halls because right after John and Brittanie hooked up, practically on my locker, the assistant principal made an announcement saying anyone “participating in any sort of lewd conduct or public displays of affection” would get an in-school suspension. She might not have been the most tactful person in the world, but Margaux was loyal.

  I knew Brendon wasn’t John, but there was a little part of me which worried all guys could be like that. Zach and Kylie’s relationship seemed great, but Zach was also protective and sweet. Plus there was the fact Zach worshipped the ground Kylie walked on and would probably have given her a vital organ if she needed one to survive. I wasn’t sure Brendon even came close to feeling that way about me.

  Chapter 11

  The next day, Mr. Horowitz told us about a local writing contest he wanted us to enter. He said we had to hand in one of our pieces for the contest, but we could choose which one to enter. I went through the stuff I had written in class so far, but nothing seemed good enough to enter in a contest. Darren already knew what he was going to enter, so he went through my class portfolio to help me find something.

  “How about this piece you wrote about your grandma?” he asked.

  I thought it was too personal, so I decided to hand in my essay about being scared on the horse. It was funny, and everybody seemed to like it when I read it in class. Mr. Horowitz stopped me as I was leaving class.

  “Emme, this essay on overcoming your fear is good, but I was blown away by your piece on your grandmother’s illness. I wish you’d consider entering it,” he said.

  It was the first time the man had said anything positive about my work. Normally he’d just sit back, put his fingertips together and say, “In-ter-est-ing,” whenever I read something or participated in class, so I agreed to do it. I guess I wanted him to like me. Besides, the chances of my winning and having to read it out loud in front of a room full of people weren’t good. Darren was waiting for me outside the room, and I told him I was submitting the story about my grandma instead.

  “Good choice,” he said.

  I forgot about the contest until Mr. Horowitz mentioned it in class two weeks later. He announced that twenty students in the area had been chosen to read their work at Java Café and the judges would pick the winners that night. He said Rory, Darren, Tom, and I had been chosen. I couldn’t believe it, and I overheard someone say she was shocked I had made it, too. It stung, but I tried not to let it bother me too much. After class, I couldn’t wait to tell Brendon.

  “Awesome. What did you write about? Your amazing boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Not quite. Oh crap.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to have to get up in front of all those people and read,” I said. “And the worst thing is Mr. Horowitz made me enter this sad story I wrote about my grandma. I’ll probably be so nervous, and I’ll start crying and make a fool of myself.”

  “You’ll be fine, and I’ll be there. If you start crying, I’ll pull the fire alarm, and everybody will clear out,” he said.

  “What if you’re not near the fire alarm?”

  “Then I’ll set the place on fire so it’ll go off on its own. Problem solved,” he said, smiling. “We have to go out and celebrate. What about going to the new Japanese place?”

  I wasn’t crazy about that restaurant, so I suggested we get takeout from the sandwich place and eat in the park like we had on our first date.

  “We have to do something more special than just sandwiches. I know—there’s this Italian restaurant right on the water. You’ll love it.”

  I almost choked when we walked into the restaurant. It was exactly like the one I had imagined us at before we ever started going out. There were lights all over the trees and fake indoor vines and candles on all the tables. The glow from the flames flickered against the glass and gave the place a magical look. Brendon kept smiling at me as I ate my spaghetti.

  “What? Do I have sauce on my face?” I asked.

  “No. I was thinking about the scene from the cartoon—you know where the two dogs are eating spaghetti,” he said.r />
  “Are you implying I look like a dog when I eat?” I asked.

  “You know what I mean, the part in the movie where they’re slurping the noodles, and they get caught on the same noodle.”

  I picked up a piece of spaghetti with my fork, but apparently it worked a lot better with cartoon dogs because the noodle broke and sauce splashed in his face. He wiped it off as we cracked up.

  When I was a kid, I used to have a coloring book my grandpa gave me where this teenage girl based on a doll did all these traditional date things like go to football games and have romantic dinners. Grandma was upset when he bought it for me because she thought the doll was an unrealistic role model, but she calmed down after my dad pointed out the doll had been an astronaut and a teacher, while all the boyfriend doll ever did was wear outfits that matched hers. As stupid as it sounded, I always hoped that I would have a similar life. Well, just with the fun dating stuff, not going out with a guy who wore clothes that matched mine. I had never had a coloring book moment before, and now it seemed like I was living that life. Sure, I didn’t have a pink convertible or the plastic mansion, and my hair was far from perfect, but I was happy. It was the first time I had ever lived up to a coloring book moment, and I hoped it would last.

  Chapter 12

  I got more and more nervous as the day of the contest grew closer. Kylie and Darren said I would be fine, but I had visions of passing out in front of the crowd or puking on stage. I tried to convince myself they were just nerve-induced visions and not any sign of what was to come. To help calm my nerves, I started wearing my bloodstone crystal all the time for self-confidence. At first I thought it wasn’t working, and then I realized I’d probably be in the psych ward without it. Brendon knew I was freaking out, so when we came home from school, he stopped and got a batch of my favorite organic peanut butter chocolate chip cookies from Leocadia’s Bakery and gave me a card to cheer me up. As I was opening the envelope, he put his hand out to stop me.

  “Okay, don’t laugh, but I might have written you a poem. Why am I even telling you this?” he said and sighed. “Just read it by yourself when you get inside, okay?”

  I was barely through the door when I started reading the poem. John, my ex, had given me a poem last year, but then I found out he e-mailed the same poem to every girl he went out with. Normally, he’d just changed the last line to rhyme with the girl’s name, but he couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with “Emme,” so he left the last part off. Brendon didn’t seem like the type to do something like that though.

  To: Emme

  Imagining a life without

  Longing to be complete

  Overcome by emotion

  Venerated

  Excited by the future

  Young and old alike

  Old memories awakened

  United

  Everyone thinks they know me

  Most pretend to care

  Many misunderstand my feelings

  Everyone should be so lucky

  Well, I guess it was romantic-ish. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was trying to say, but I guess I couldn’t expect something like, “I can’t stand to be without you, and even if one of us should perish, we’ll still be together, for our love is deathless, my darling, my sweet, my immortal beloved.” However, I’m a romantic and would have settled for “Looky, looky, I like you more than cookies.” I was just hoping for a more obvious “I like you” type of poem. I wasn’t expecting him to use the L-word yet, but it would have been nice to have the word show up there. Of course, John used to say “I love you” all the time, but at least with John, I could tell they were just words to him.

  It was a sweet gesture that he had written a poem for me. Although I was going to pretend it was too private to share if Margaux wanted to read it. She’d tear it apart and say it was all about him, which it kind of was. It was a weird poem to give to your girlfriend, but the fact he wrote anything at all was romantic.

  The phone rang, and I knew it was him. “Hey, I just finished reading it,” I said.

  “And?” he asked. “I don’t know what I was thinking giving a poem to a writer.”

  “I was completely prepared to lie to you and say it was good, but it actually is. I liked it,” I said. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something else, so I added, “Super good.”

  He didn’t say anything, so I started talking about my Shakespeare exam. I knew he was looking for me to say something more about the poem, but what could I say? I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he was trying to say, and I’d feel stupid if it seemed like I read too much into it. After all, I didn’t want him to think I thought one poem meant he was obsessed with me. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes I made with John and take the “I love you’s he used to spout off and make them out to be more than they were. Never again was I going to let my guard down. Brendon still hadn’t said anything, so I figured changing the subject was the best thing to do.

  At night, I went to lie down, and I ended up falling asleep, but I woke up with my heart pounding in my chest. My first thought was something had happened to Grandma, so I called the info desk and made them go check on her. The nurse sounded irritated, but then he always sounded sort of mad.

  When I woke up the next morning, I realized dealing with Grandma’s stroke was hitting me harder than ever. I was starting to feel like it wasn’t worth getting close to anybody because it hurt too much when you had to deal with the fact they might leave you. And I didn’t want to even think about what would happen if Grandma died. I snuggled deeper into my pillow and wished I had someone to talk to about all this. Just then the phone rang, and it was Brendon.

  “Hey, what’s up? I went for a run at five a.m., finished my calc homework, and went to the bookstore to start researching my psych paper,” he said.

  He had accomplished all those things, and I hadn’t even sat up yet.

  “While I was at the bookstore, I saw they had a new book by the astrologer you like, Holiday King. I don’t know if you’ll be as into this book because it’s about grief and dreams. Maybe it’s too close to what you’re dealing with, but I picked it up for you anyway,” he said.

  I didn’t know she had a new book out. He said it was called It’s Better to Have Loved and Lost than to Have Never Loved at All.

  I didn’t tell him that was what had been on my mind because I wanted to change the subject. Instead I told him he had perfect timing because I was freaking out over the reading in public.

  “I’m going to have to get one of those meditation CDs or something because I am seriously on edge,” I said. Even though I was thrilled he had called when I needed him most, I was still feeling anxious.

  “Wait a sec, it’s my other line,” he said. “Hold on.”

  As soon as he clicked over, I started feeling like I was going to be sick. My stomach felt like it had rolled over, my heart started racing, and my anxiety shot up.

  “Emme, you’re going to kill me,” he said when he got back on the line. “But Sam just called. He has pneumonia, and I have to handle the charity auction the night of your reading.”

  “What? But you promised.”

  “I know. I told Sam I couldn’t go, but now he’s sick, and there’s nobody else who can do it,” he said. “He said he called everybody he could think of, but there’s a play going on the same night, and half the student council is either in it or working backstage.”

  I don’t think he realized how upset I was since I didn’t start screaming, but it was only because I couldn’t even wrap my mind around what he was saying. My whole body was numb, and I felt dead inside.

  “I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he said. “Listen, I have to go make some calls now, but I’ll talk you tomorrow.”

  I reached for my aromatherapy soothing lavender stick to calm me and sat there staring at the wall until Rory called asking me what I was going to wear to the reading. I hadn’t even thought about it. I just wanted blend into the background so no one would no
tice me. Rory had it made because she always wore black, and she was so tiny she could wear anything and get away with it. Although maybe black wouldn’t be such a good choice in case I puked on myself. Of course, how much would it matter, seeing as no one I knew would be there to watch me throw up? I called Margaux, who said Brendon was being a selfish jerk and offered to go shopping with me to pick out a new outfit.

  “You’ll feel more confident if you look good, and we can always find a weird outfit to distract everybody in case you wet yourself on stage,” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I was joking,” she said. “You’re not going to wet yourself. C’mon, we’ll go to the mall, get you something cool, and you absolutely have to get new makeup. Nothing says confident writer like cat-eye liner. Kylie and I are both coming to the reading, but we’ll sit in back so we won’t freak you out.”

  On the night of the reading, Rory wore a sheer black T-shirt underneath a black jumper, with tights and clunky boots. The only color in her outfit was her bright-red lipstick. I wore an orange V-neck sweater I picked out with Margaux because I had read orange was supposed to be an energizing color. It was also supposed to be good for healing your love life, and seeing as mine was nearing the crapper, I needed all the help I could get. Plus, Margaux thought the glittery logo on the front would distract people. It didn’t say “serious writer,” but at least it was cute. Margaux felt women appeared more confident and powerful in red lipstick, so she picked out a lip gloss for me. It was a bright red, but sheer, so it wasn’t too obvious, and you could put a shimmery white color over it to make it extra glossy. It was called “Romeo and Juliet,” and I tried not to take it as a bad sign about relationships. Margaux told me to ignore the fact Romeo and Juliet’s relationship didn’t exactly work out and said, “They’re famous characters, and you write, so look at it as a positive sign.”