“What do you want to get?” he asked.
“Um, not sure. What are you getting?”
“I’m not into coffee, so I might get a smoothie.”
“Perfect. That sounds good.”
The lady behind the counter told us what flavors she had, and we both got blueberry pomegranate smoothies with whipped cream. We sat down at one of the tables and I worried that we’d have nothing to talk about, but he asked me how my day was. We were talking about how much we both hated memorizing stuff for school when Mrs. Kharazzi walked into the café. She walked up to the counter and ordered a latte. She put her bag down and gave me a smile.
“Hello Landry.”
“Hi, Mrs. Kharazzi,” I said. “This is Vladi.”
She nodded at him.
“Landry talks about you a lot,” he said. “You’re her favorite teacher.”
“Oh well, she’s a wonderful student. Have you read any of her stories?” she asked smiling.
He shook his head and my face got warm. I almost never let anyone read anything I wrote. It just felt like my writing was super personal, and I was always afraid if I shared it with someone that they wouldn’t like it and it’d hurt my feelings. Man, my mom was right. I was a sensitive person.
“Maybe one day then,” she said winking. “Have fun you two.”
“She seems nice — just like you described her,” he said.
I nodded as I took a sip of my smoothie.
“She was the one who gave me advice on Ashanti and dealing with everything after her grandma died,” I said.
“That’s rough. I’ve never lost a grandparent. I lost a great-grandpa, but I hardly knew him,” he said shrugging. “He was back in Russia, so I don’t remember him so well.”
“Do you go back at all? To Russia, I mean,” I asked.
“A few times since we moved. It’s weird though. I know I grew up there as a kid, but it doesn’t feel like home or anything.”
I nodded. “Last time I went back to Chicago it felt strange to me, too. You know, everything looks the same, but it feels different.”
“Exactly. Like something’s changed, but I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s us and we’re older now.”
“None of my old friends even texted or messaged me about getting together when I went back,” I said. “I reached out to them, but nothing.” I hoped he didn’t think I was some friendless loser, but he nodded.
“I get that,” he said. “I sort of keep in touch with a few people from back home — emails and all — but when I went back they didn’t exactly kill themselves to make time for me. I’m not saying everyone should drop everything just because I arrived, but I flew all the way over there and they can’t be bothered to even come and say, ‘Hi,’ or something?”
“That’s how I felt. I know Chicago’s not as far away as Russia or anything, but it sort of hurt my feelings that they couldn’t take some time to meet up with me.”
“Yup, that’s how I felt, too,” he said. “None of my friends at Central knew what I was talking about when I brought that up. It’s nice to have someone who gets that.”
I tried to hold back the huge smile that was spreading across my face, and he squeezed my hand as we finished our smoothies.
“I have a paper coming up on the Revolutionary War. Would you mind helping me find some books on it and then we can sit and hang out?” he asked. “This way my mom can see that I did study today.”
He checked titles on the computer, and I wrote down the call numbers. I kept wanting to smile because we were finally just hanging out. I glanced around the library and there were other boyfriends and girlfriends there doing homework or studying together. It made me feel kind of warm inside to know we were one of those couples. Ashanti had gone to the library with Jay a couple times, but no one else in my group of friends had done that with a guy they liked. Was this what being in high school was like?
“What? Why are you smiling like that?” he asked.
I felt dumb telling him, so I just shrugged.
“Landry, what’s up? Seriously, do I have, like, smoothie on my face or something?”
I couldn’t believe someone as cute and popular as Vladi would ever feel insecure, but he was looking so uncertain as he waited for me to respond.
“No, you’re fine. I’m just happy we’re hanging out, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” he said smiling. “Me, too.”
We walked over to the history section of the library, and he reached for the paper in my hand. I got a little jolt of electricity as his hand brushed mine. He didn’t seem to notice as he read the call number. Maybe I was affected more by stuff like that than him.
“Okay, here’s the first book. It looks dull and boring and I haven’t even started it yet,” he said opening the cover. “Yup, I was right. Look at how tiny the print is. I’ll go blind reading this.”
I laughed. “Yeah, that one doesn’t seem like a lot of fun. This one here has pictures in it. Pictures make everything better.”
He laughed. “Definitely. This whole time period is so boring to me. My history teacher last semester was super interesting. She’d bring in movies about whatever we were studying or sometimes she’d read from a novel that was from the same time period. I liked her class. This guy is so dull that people fall asleep in class, and he doesn’t bother to wake them up anymore. I think it’s because he’s embarrassed it happens so often.”
“Wow, public school must be different. I can’t imagine anyone at Hillcrest falling asleep and living to tell.”
Vladi cracked up. “I have heard your school is a lot stricter. This guy, Jason, fell asleep last week. He actually drooled onto the desk, and Mr. Oxford acted like he didn’t notice. I felt bad for the person who had to sit there the next hour. I mean, Jason wiped the drool with his sleeve, but come on — that’s gross.”
“Do I need to bring antibacterial wipes with me next year?” I asked.
He cracked up. “So you’re definitely coming to Central then?”
“I think so. There are a lot of people in my class going to St. Faustina’s. I haven’t made up my mind though.”
“Why not? What does St. Faustina’s have that Central doesn’t?”
I shrugged. How did I say St. Faustina’s, a smaller private school, seemed safer — more structured, like I’d be protected there — whereas Central, a big public school, seemed like being thrown into the deep end of the pool without floaties.
“It’s a little smaller and seems like you get to know the teachers and students better with the class sizes,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s missing a major thing.”
“The dress code?” I asked.
“Ah, no.”
“It’s not as laid back as Central?”
“Me. It’s missing me,” he said.
“Oh well, yeah, there’s that,” I said as my face got warm.
“Oh, so you don’t care if I’m not there,” he said, putting a book back on the shelf.
I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not and I didn’t want to jump in and say, “Oh, of course I do!” and look dumb if he was just joking around. So I played it safe and just shrugged.
“Seriously? I don’t factor into your decision at all?” he asked. He seemed hurt, and I could tell from how serious his tone was that he meant it.
“Of course, but I dunno. It’s a hard decision to make. My friends haven’t all decided where they’re going yet and it’s…” I paused and tried to find the right words. “Well, Central seems so huge and I feel like…”
“Like what?”
“Like…”
“Landry, you can tell me anything,” he said.
Um, no, no I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell him how sweet I thought he was or that I started my period two days ago or that I knew I wasn’t supposed to kiss him in the library, but I kept hoping he would try anyway. However, it was cute that he wanted me to share everything with him. I was super scared about starting high school, but I wanted hi
m to think I was this confident, sophisticated girl who had it all together. Problem was that I wasn’t. But if he and I were going to work out as boyfriend and girlfriend then I guess he’d have to like me as I was because pretending would get old fast. I wasn’t even sure I was that good of a pretender and let’s face it — once I got to high school and wet my pants from fear on the first day (or had other bathroom issues), he’d figure out real quick I wasn’t exactly Miss Self-assured.
“I feel like I could get lost there and I don’t mean not knowing where my classes are, but just getting lost in the crowd. I almost had a panic attack at the open house. The whole place is huge and terrifying to me,” I said. I hoped he wouldn’t laugh at me or blow off my fears. If he acted like I was crazy, then I’d feel stupid and wouldn’t want to open up to him ever again.
“I can see that. It is a big school, but after a week, you start to figure out where everything is and you get to know people and it doesn’t feel quite as large. And sometimes it’s kind of nice being a little anonymous. It can be good being just another face in the crowd instead of being front and center all the time,” he said.
“Do you mean because of all the attention you get from basketball?”
He nodded. “Yeah, it’s weird. Sometimes I don’t know if people want to hang out with me because of that or what. I forgot my paper at home one day and I told my teacher I could have my mom email it to me at lunch and turn it in. He said not to worry about it. I could hand it in the next day and he wouldn’t lower my grade or anything.”
“Well, that’s nice.”
“Yeah, but there was a guy ahead of me who told him the same thing. Mr. Oxford said that his assignment better be an A paper because he was already knocking it down to a B. And if it wasn’t perfect, he’d get a C or lower.”
“Wow, so athletes get special perks, huh?”
“Yup. Is it like that at your school?”
I smirked. “Hillcrest is known for its academic stuff, not its teams. Our basketball team is full of guys all shorter than me and even if they were each a foot taller… yeah, I’m not even sure that’d help them.”
He laughed. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I mean, I’m glad my teacher was cool with me handing it in late, but there’s all this pressure. During the season it’s like, if I don’t play well then…” He shook his head.
“What?”
“I don’t want to say…”
“You told me I could tell you anything. Same goes for you. I’m not going to tell anyone or judge you,” I said.
He stared into my eyes. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but sometimes I feel like if I don’t play well then… well, do I have anything else going for me? Without basketball, I mean, would anybody care?”
I touched his arm. “Of course they would. And you have a lot going for you. You’re smart. You keep up your grades and play sports, too. That’s hard to do.”
“Yeah, but I have to work at it. I have to study a lot harder to get good grades.”
“Some people study all the time and are still average students. So you’re definitely smart and you’re focused. You have way more — what’s the word my agent uses all the time? Drive — that’s it. She’s always saying all the professional models are so driven, focused, and ambitious. You have all of that. And I never hear about you getting in trouble. In September everybody was talking about your school’s football team getting in trouble for drinking at a party.”
“Yeah, by the way, I wasn’t there. It was all seniors and juniors.”
I said he probably wouldn’t have done anything wrong even if he had been there.
“Well, that’s true because my dad would have killed me and my mom would have stroked out, so, yeah, you’re right,” he said smirking.
“People would still like you even if you didn’t play basketball.”
“What if I completely mess up in a big game and we lose and it’s all my fault — like no question about it. I ruined everything. Would they still be okay with me?” he asked.
“Yup, they’d still like you. They might set your lawn on fire and toilet paper all the trees, but they’d eventually go back to liking you.”
He laughed. “And would you still like me?”
“Yes, and I wouldn’t even be part of the angry mob setting your yard on fire. I’d try to stop them.”
“You’d risk your life to protect my grass from an imaginary mob. You’re the best girlfriend ever,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders. I thought I would die from happiness.
“But, seriously, even if you weren’t a good basketball player, it wouldn’t matter.”
“So you’d honestly still like me?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Okay, why?”
My face got warm and I could tell my cheeks were getting flushed. Oh how embarrassing. Even my stupid skin betrayed me and made me look awkward.
“Well, you know… because…” I said stammering.
“Not an answer. Why?”
“I just…”
“Still not an answer,” he said. His face was close to mine now, and I was finding it difficult to breathe and think at the same time.
I cleared my throat. “Because you’re so sweet and nice and you have the best—” Eyes, hair, smile, tush. “—personality.”
“So not because I’m so good-looking, huh?” he said. “I’m just kidding.”
His face was not even two inches away from mine. I felt like I was going to pass out. And then this little thought crept up on me. Would he still like me if I weren’t a model? And how did I ask him that? How would I even word it? If I said, “Would you still like me if I hadn’t been in that competition?” He’d say he didn’t know about that before he asked me for my email address or he might think I was stuck up or say, “You’re not that cute,” or something. But now I wanted to know.
“Do you ever worry about that stuff?” he asked.
I swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“If people only like you because you’re some model or, you know, cute or whatever.”
“Modeling hasn’t exactly made me popular with the girls at school. I think more people hold it against me than anything else. No one is trying to get close to me because of that… at least that I can tell,” I said. I mean, how did I say other than Kyle Eiton and possibly himself?
“People hold it against you? Like jealousy or what?”
I told him I wasn’t sure what their deal was.
“Do guys try to talk to you because of it?” he asked.
I wanted to say, “You tell me,” but I just shrugged.
“So they do.”
“Maybe one or so,” I said.
“I didn’t even know about your modeling stuff when I first was getting to know you,” he said.
Well, that was true. But what about my appearance? Did that matter to him?
“Why did you talk to me in the first place?” I asked.
“You seemed sweet. You were so quiet when we first met, but there was something about you. When Devon was flirting with this one guy right in front of another guy, who it was so obvious he was into her, you got this look on your face. I could tell you felt bad for the other guy who liked her. Most of the girls I meet trash the guys who dare to go up to them. It’s like you work up the courage to talk to a girl and then right in front of her friends she tears you down — so embarrassing.”
“I bet you’ve never gotten shot down in your life,” I said.
“Well, once or so, but I see it happen all the time. Girls can be so mean.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me about it.”
He laughed. “You weren’t like that though. You were shy that first time we went to Ignatowski’s, but as you got to know me, you opened up more and I liked talking to you a lot.”
“I liked talking to you, too. I thought you’d be more, I dunno, intimidating or something.”
“I just thought, she’s so sweet, funny, and nice and has this great person
ality and those pretty eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded. “But you’re more than just some pretty face.”
“I’m not that pretty.” I pretended to look at a book spine. “I’m just tall and models have to be tall. I’m not even—”
“Hey.” He put his hand on the side of my face. “Don’t say that. You’re beautiful, but you’re so much more than that, okay?”
I nodded.
“You are the sweetest person ever,” he said, and then he kissed me on the forehead as we stood behind the Revolutionary War section shelves. And just like that, my stupid phone began to buzz. You’d think a phone set on silent would be a little quieter, but this one could probably be heard over in the Korean War section. Vladi moved away and I took my phone out. It was my mother. How did she know when to text and ruin a romantic moment?
“My mom,” I said, holding up my phone.
“Don’t you ever wonder how they know exactly when to jump in?” he asked smiling.
“That’s what I was thinking. She said she’s pulling up in front of the library now. Do you want a ride or is Steve coming to get you?”
“I can call Steve.”
“Are you sure? She asked if you want her to take you home,” I said, showing him the text. I hid the above message with my finger that said, “You better be good. No smooching, young lady.”
“Well, if she doesn’t mind. Do you need to pick anything up before I check out?” he asked.
I shook my head and we went to get his books. He held my hand as we walked over to the front desk. Then he dropped my hand fast. I glanced around praying no other girl was walking in that he wanted to look unattached and available for. Then I saw her — the girl he was hiding from — except it wasn’t a girl exactly. It was my mother. And she was heading right toward us.
“Did she see?” he whispered.
“Nah, our hands were blocked by the desk and she’s still smiling,” I said.
“Hi kids. I just ran in to use the bathroom. Here are the keys. I’ll meet you outside,” she said handing them to me.
Could she have been more embarrassing? First, calling us, “kids”? I mean, Vladi was in high school. And then saying she had to go to the bathroom? I didn’t want him to know I used the bathroom. Sure, I had gone to the restroom when he was around before, but I didn’t make a big deal about it. You just couldn’t take my mother anywhere.
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