The day went on pretty uneventfully, minus my spectacular fall during a match of Wiffle ball. I definitely put the wiff in Wiffle. I had plans to study with George later, and one could say I was a tad bit excited. We decided it would be easier if we just had a scheduled time to meet each week rather than having to make a new plan all the time. Scheduled George time was very okay with me. I preheated the oven to bake some Toll House breakaway cookies and set them out to prepare them for their grand entrance into the oven and eventually my eager mouth.
The doorbell rang, and I almost skipped to answer it. If I was going to continue to play it cool for George and ignore how dorky-hot he was, I needed to act like a regularly functioning human being in front of him. My uncoordinated skipping was not helping me achieve normal-human status.
“Hey,” I said. He stood outside my doorframe with a Pizza Kitchen pepperoni pie in hand, and I don’t think I’ve seen anything more beautiful than George with a pizza. His almost-red hair was sticking out at odd angles, like he’d just woken up from an after-school nap and remembered he needed to be here. My mouth watered (for multiple reasons, mostly the pizza, though, to be honest) and I invited him inside.
“You’re seriously an angel for bringing pizza with you,” I said. “It’s like you finally understand how to get on my good side.”
“It’s been a long road to get here. Things Savannah doesn’t like: three-legged races and almost being hit by a car. Things she does like: pizza.”
And you, I wanted to say. Suddenly I felt silly for thinking it. Of course he wasn’t interested in me. He was adorable, charming, and actually nice. I was a sometimes-mean and generally unagreeable chubby girl. The reality of that thought stung me for a moment.
“You’ve learned quickly, grasshopper. I’m quite impressed,” I said.
We sat across from each other in silence for a few moments before the oven’s preheating alarm went off.
“Oh! I’ve got to put the cookies in!” I said.
“Did you make me cookies? Now I feel lame for bringing the pizza,” he said.
“They’re premade Toll House cookies. All I have to do is plop them onto a cookie sheet and put them in the oven. Another thing you will learn quickly is that I’m not the domestic goddess that my mother wishes I was. I can pretty much make mac and cheese and put frozen food in the oven, and that is the extent of my cooking skills,” I said.
“I’m still impressed,” he said.
Fiyero came up to inspect the pizza box sitting on the table, and George started talking in his dog voice at my fur baby and everything inside of me melted. I don’t know what it is about seeing someone you’re into interact with your pets that is so heartwarming, but it definitely made me swoon all over George again.
He opened the box of pizza, which was our signature half-pepperoni and half-pineapple. I scooped up a plate from our cabinet and set it in front of him just in time to catch a rogue pineapple from hitting the floor. Fiyero whined at me, knowing that if that pineapple had fallen, he would have had a delicious treat.
“What’s the quiz on this week?” I asked, settling into my spot. I grabbed a slice of pepperoni and started eating to my heart’s content.
“Polynomial functions,” he said, sighing. “You’d think this functions thing would be getting easier after a few weeks of it, but I’m still having the worst time.”
“Maybe you haven’t had the most qualified tutor in the world,” I said, picking off a pepperoni and popping it into my mouth.
“No, you’ve been great,” he said. “At least with your help I can fumble through problems with an inkling of an idea about what’s going on. Without you, my precalc grade would be in the toilet.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too much. You got an A on your last quiz, didn’t you?” I asked.
“A pity A. I got extra credit for coming to enough before- and after-school practice sessions with Kavach,” he said.
“There’s no shame in that game,” I said, “And I bet Kavach is way more comfortable giving As to people who actually give a damn about doing well in his class. You’ve been putting in the effort above and beyond most people.”
“Tell me what it’s like to be inside your head,” he said suddenly.
“Trust me, you don’t want to take a look around in there. There’s a lot of stuff going on that no one realizes,” I said, resting my head in my hand.
“Like what?” he asked.
I looked up at him, gauging how genuinely interested he would be in hearing all my deepest, darkest thoughts. His eyes met mine and never left, never feeling self-conscious about how long we looked at each other. My heart raced at the thought of telling this boy that I’d only met a few weeks ago about myself. He made me feel like I’d known him for years, like we’d put a bookmark in our friendship and we were picking up where we left off. I didn’t know whether to be excited or scared that I already felt so comfortable and familiar with him. I decided to stick with excited for my own sanity.
Mom decided now would be the perfect time to shuffle her way back into the kitchen, pausing to look down at me.
“What are you cooking?” she asked.
I turned around, trying to give her the “Please do me a solid and leave us alone” eye, but she didn’t register my silent plea.
“Baking,” I corrected. “There are cookies in the oven.”
She went over to the oven and switched it off, putting on an oven mitt hastily. She took the cookies out and tossed them on the counter.
“Those weren’t done!” I said, walking over to her.
“You know how I feel about having processed sugars in this house,” she said. Her eyes were wild, like she hadn’t slept in days. Her robe hung open to reveal her in a teensy-tiny camisole and shorts, her collarbone jutting out sharply against the robe. I tried to think back to the last time I actually saw her eat in this house, and I couldn’t remember.
“I made them for my friend. Remember George? The boy in our kitchen witnessing your freak-out?” I asked.
She started scraping the partially cooked balls of cookie dough into the trash can, disregarding all my yells asking her to stop. She was on her own mission in her mind, and nothing that I was saying could break her out of her daze.
Her eyes snapped to the pizza on the table and she started making her way toward it. I turned to George in horror as she made her way closer to him. This was the final straw. He’d never want to get to know me better after seeing Mom like this. We’d hit our friendship breaking point, and all I could do was watch it happen.
“Stop, Mom, stop!” I yelled. “He brought that; he bought it with his own money! Please stop!”
She stopped slowly, turning back around to face me. Horrified tears had already started falling down my face as I waited for her next move.
“Get it out of my house,” she said. “If it’s not gone before I get back, you’re grounded.”
Like a tornado, she exited the room. I was frozen to my spot, never wanting to look at George again. How could I after what he just saw? Anxiety sprouted from my toes and wound itself up my body like unwanted ivy on a building. When it reached my lungs, the force of it made me hitch forward. I held on to my chest in an effort to keep myself together at all costs.
George touched my shoulder tentatively, and I looked up at him. I tried to wipe my eyes quickly so that he wouldn’t notice I was crying, but it was too late. He’d seen the stream of tears already. Every part of me expected him to come up with an excuse to leave, any way for him to get out of this awful situation, but instead he asked the question that I didn’t realize I needed to hear the most.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I shook my head, not able to hold back the tears anymore. He wrapped me up into a hug and held my head to his shoulder. He didn’t try to analyze the situation or give any advice. He just held me as I cried. My hands locked themselves together behind his back, and in this moment I felt safer than I had in a long time. Here, like this, Mom’s
words couldn’t hurt me. The neglect from my dad over the past two years was a distant memory. With George I was able to forget all the ickiness that had become my life and be supremely content, even if it was just for a few moments.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. I nodded into his chest before pulling away. I wiped under my eyes to catch the makeup that made liquid trails down my cheeks.
“Oh, shoot,” I said, pulling on his shirt, which now had a mascara stain on it.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He picked up the pizza box, and I rested a quick kiss on Fiyero’s head before heading off, trying to silently apologize to him for leaving him alone with Mom for a while.
We piled into his mom’s car and he turned up the radio on full blast. It happened to be one of Pitbull’s latest hits, and George timed his signature “Dale!” in perfect unison with Mr. Worldwide. I burst out laughing at how ridiculous it was that George could sing every word to a Pitbull song and be incredibly funny after what he just witnessed. God, I needed the laugh.
The road twisted into the route to Sandcastle Park, the place where we’d had our eventful meeting for the first time. Today it was pretty empty—everyone must be busy on this Monday afternoon. That, or they heard our fight across town and everyone collectively decided that I needed some time in Sandcastle Park more than they did.
He led me to the playground that had a castle tower at the top of the slide. It had been an ongoing debate between Ashley and me whether the castle tower came before the naming of the park. It was a classic chicken-or-the-egg debacle. I liked to believe the castle slide inspired the name, since it was one of my favorite places in the entire park.
He sat down on one of the swings, and I joined him, swaying back and forth.
“Whenever I’m angry, when I feel like I could explode with all my nervous energy, I swing. And, since I’m new to town and don’t know any other parks besides this one, these are the swings of choice,” he said.
He started pumping his legs, and I followed him. Once we were high enough off the ground, I started to lean backward each time I went forward. There was a certain type of power in being able to manipulate when your blood rushed to your head. I felt in control of how my body was feeling in a way that I didn’t normally.
He let out a high-pitched yell as he reached the peak of his height of the swing and I thought it would break off from going so high. But he came down.
“Try it!” he yelled.
I let out a little scream, testing the waters.
“Louder!” he said.
This time my yell echoed around the park. As I let it out, I felt like a weight had lifted off my chest. The horrible energy that had been cooped up inside of me for weeks was let out in that one yell, and I felt free. I tipped my head back, relishing in my new weightless feeling. It was pretty damn glorious.
George leaped from his swing, landing feetfirst on the mulch in front of us. I let the height of my swing die down a bit before I attempted my jump, knowing that I’d probably break an ankle if I attempted the same jump as him.
He sat down on the picnic table across from the swings, where he’d set the pizza down. He opened the box back open and took out a slice, taking a big bite into it. I sat down across from him and rested my head in my hands. He kicked my shin under the table and motioned toward a slice of pizza, and I shook my head. I’d lost my appetite.
“I’m sorry you had to see that back there,” I said.
“Stop,” he said. “Seriously, we don’t have to talk about it.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” I said.
He tapped my foot with his until I looked back up to meet his eyes. “Every family has stuff. Don’t be embarrassed.”
“It’s just—the only person who has ever seen her like that is Grace, but she’s known us forever. She knew Mom before she changed and knows that whatever that was, wasn’t her. You didn’t know her before, and it makes me so sad that this is the Mom that you get to meet,” I said.
“You mean before the TV show?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, breaking eye contact with him. “Well, before my dad cheated on her, really. Things started spiraling pretty quickly after that.”
“That … that sucks,” George said.
“I always wished that I’d been born into Grace’s family, ever since I was little. She and Mrs. M have this amazing relationship, and Mr. and Mrs. M love the hell out of each other, and they always make all this time to be a family—I never realized how bad things were with our family until I went over to Grace’s house,” I said.
“What about your sister?” George asked.
“Ashley has been the one saving grace of everything happening in our family. She is the one who always held us all together, mostly the one who held me together. She’s the perfect opposite to me, calm, caring, and protective to my outspoken, stubborn, and opinionated,” I said.
“You say opinionated and outspoken like they’re bad things,” he said.
“Those two traits have gotten me in the most trouble over the years,” I said.
“Savannah, of course you’re outspoken and opinionated—you’ve got so much stored up inside your brain that it would be impossible for you to keep it quiet,” he said.
I blushed a deep red all over. “Can I appoint you as my official hype man? Can you just follow me around at all times and spin all my bad traits into good ones?”
“Sign me up.” He smiled. His brown eyes crinkled in the corners, and I wanted so badly to reach out and kiss him in this moment. I’d never felt that desire so strongly in my life before, that I needed to attach his face to mine or I would pass out right here in Sandcastle Park. I sat on my hands to keep from reaching out toward him involuntarily. I had no idea what my body was capable of with this overwhelming feeling taking over me.
“So,” he said, breaking me out of my daze. “I have this competition that I have to perform at for jazz band on Friday. I’m not sure if you like jazz or if you’re even into that sort of thing, but I wanted to extend the invite just in case—”
“I’ll be there,” I said. “Just tell me when and where and I’ll for sure be there.”
His blush was matching mine from earlier, and we both smiled like big dummies at each other. I tapped his foot under the table like he had done with mine earlier and he met my eyes again.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied.
From that moment, I decided that a blushing George was my new favorite thing to look at.
chapter TEN
I snuck out of the house before Mom had a chance to wake up and see me leave. I didn’t bother to leave a note. After the last few days, I figured she didn’t particularly care where I’d gone.
George texted me that their competition was at Merrill Middle School, a school from the county over. He was competing in two events—one with the full jazz band from the high school and one combo. The performance with the whole band was first, and I followed the Sharpie signs to the auditorium. I grabbed a program on the way into the auditorium and found a seat in the back, not in the biggest people mood at the moment.
I scanned the program until I found George’s name, and it sent a little shiver of excitement down my spine. I didn’t realize how excited I was to see him play until that moment.
“Next we have the Springdale band under the direction of Dr. Rauch,” someone announced from the side of the stage. George walked onto the stage with his saxophone in hand, his mess of strawberry blond curls tamed by an extreme amount of gel. It was weird seeing him in a shirt buttoned all the way to the top and dress shoes. I preferred his signature sneakers any day.
They started things off with a bang, George bouncing in time with the beat as he played. They all seemed to take their cues off him—each time he would breathe in they would start in on a new phrase. It was a choreographed dance that George was the center of. He stood up in the middle of the song to stand in front of the microphone at the fron
t of the stage. He closed his eyes and started to solo, riffing off the band behind him. He never missed a beat, even though it was completely made up on the spot. When he finished, his face spread into his signature lopsided smile before he went back to join the band again. I let out an extra loud “Go, George!” in the mixture of the audience’s applause.
The set was over all too soon, and everyone who came to watch Springdale started to file out of the auditorium. I waited until most people had left before I got up from my seat, looking at the program to see where his combo would be performing next.
“Savannah?” someone asked when I left the auditorium.
I looked up to find a young girl who looked a little bit like Grace, if Grace had blue eyes and was still thirteen years old.
“I’m Hannah,” she said. “George’s sister. He showed me your picture on Instagram, sorry if that’s creepy.”
“Not creepy at all,” I said, blushing just thinking about Hannah taking a spin through my Instagram feed. Thirteen-year-olds were a thousand times cooler on Instagram with their themes and what not. I wondered what she thought about my series of “hot dog or leg?” photos from last year. Ashley and I got a good laugh from them at least.
“We’re about to head over to his combo if you want to come sit with us?” she asked, motioning toward her parents standing in the middle of the Merrill Middle School lobby. Mrs. Smith waved at me and showed me the same lopsided smile that I’d come to recognize as George’s.
“Sure, that would be great,” I said.
“Mom, Dad, this is Savannah. George’s…” Hannah trailed off.
To Be Honest Page 9