by Don Calame
I’m not really sure what to talk about. I’m so much in my head, wondering how this is going to go.
“What’s the book?” I finally say, my voice cracking a bit.
“This?” Valerie laughs. “It’s kind of embarrassing. It’s a travel guide to Venice.”
“Oh. Are you going there?”
“No. That’s the embarrassing part.” She looks down, her red hair curtaining her face. “I just like to imagine. So sometimes I read travel guides and pretend I’m going to the different places. I know, it’s bizarre. My family makes fun of me all the time.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not. That’s half the fun of going on a trip, anyway. Imagining what it’ll be like.”
“That’s what I think, too,” she says. “And, anyway, I’m going to go someday. It’s beautiful. Here, sit down. I’ll show you.”
I take a seat next to her on the bench, and she shows me some of the pictures in the Venice travel book. Churches and paintings and canals.
“It’s hard to believe there’s a real city like that,” I say.
“Yeah. It’s supposed to be one of the most romantic places in the world.”
I glance up from the book and see that Valerie is looking at me.
“Hi,” she says, smiling.
“Hi,” I say, feeling my heart pound. Like just before a roller coaster takes off.
“So. What I was trying to tell you last week . . .”
“Yeah?” Here it comes: the Kelly’s-interested-in-you speech.
Valerie takes a deep breath. I don’t know why she’s finding this so difficult.
“I like you, Matt.”
“I like you, too,” I say.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I like you like you.”
Oh.
Oh.
If my brain could make a noise, it would be the sound of a thousand screeching brakes.
Right. My God. How could I not have seen that coming?
Now that I think about it. The swing. The ice. Asking for my number. Asking my opinion about the bikini. Coming over to see how I was feeling.
And me, like an idiot, trying all the time to get her to talk about Kelly. I mean, Kelly can’t even remember my name. And then, it’s like my mind starts running a bloopers reel of all the things that bug me about Kelly: The way she rips on people like Helen Harriwick. How she embarrassed Valerie by making fun of her for not shopping. How she got drunk at the party and then used me to get back at Tony.
“Well?” Valerie says, trying to look at me but also trying not to. “What about you?”
Yeah, I like Valerie. She’s amazing. She’s smart; she’s cute; she’s funny. And I don’t feel like I have to pretend to be someone else when we hang out. Which is totally cool. No wonder I was so protective of her in the bikini shop. And why I was so anxious to call her back to let her know I was okay.
I suddenly realize my mouth is hanging open. Not a very attractive look. I quickly shut it. I want to tell her how I feel. Except maybe I’ve waited too long. She’ll probably think I’m lying. But the longer I wait, the worse it’ll be.
“Yes,” I say. “I do. I like you. A lot. Very much. Definitely. I do. Yes.” Okay, bring it down a notch.
“Phew,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I thought when you didn’t answer that maybe you didn’t.”
“No. I do. I just thought —”
Valerie leans in and kisses me. Her lips are soft and warm on mine. She smells even better up close.
I am suddenly light-headed.
This is nothing like I’d imagined it would be.
It’s all so surreal.
And I don’t want it to ever end.
But it has to.
Right when the number 87 pulls up and opens its doors.
We step up into the bus and find two seats together halfway down the aisle.
Valerie wastes no time in taking my sweaty hand in her dry one. It was so quick and unexpected that I didn’t have time to rub my palm on my pant leg. “You’re nervous.” She smiles at me but doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Yeah,” I say. “A little.”
She pats my leg reassuringly with her free hand. “Don’t worry. I know Always a Bridesmaid sounds like a horror film, but really, it’s just a romantic comedy.”
After several stops, the bus is getting pretty full. The guy sitting across the aisle from me has some serious BO. I’m not sure if I should mention the smell to Valerie, because I don’t want her to think it’s me. But I also don’t want her to think I’m mean by pointing it out. I wish I could just chill out and stop thinking so much, but all of a sudden it feels like everything is so important.
“I loved kindergarten,” Valerie says. Somehow, while I’ve been stressing over some stranger’s body odor, Val’s gotten onto the subject of grade school. “That’s when I started learning English. Before that I just knew French. That’s all we spoke in my house. But my kindergarten teacher wanted to make sure we were bilingual, so she would teach us a new English word every day, and anytime you spoke English in class instead of French, you got a piece of candy. And I was all over that. I think I had, like, fifteen cavities before I got to first grade.”
“Yeah,” I say, breathing through my mouth. “I took Spanish until fifth grade, but all I can remember how to say is Mi gato está en el árbol and Mi perro está en su casa. Which, honestly, won’t get you very far if you go to Spain.”
Valerie laughs. “You want me to teach you some French?”
“Sure,” I say. “But like I said, I’m not really good at remembering languages.”
“Okay, wait.” Valerie lets go of my hand and opens her purse. She takes out a small canister of Godiva Mint Chocolate Pearls. “Here. Every time you say something right, I’ll give you a candy. And these are my favorites, so you know I’m serious.” She rattles the little container for emphasis.
“Then I better focus.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’m only going to speak to you in French for the rest of the bus ride. You’ll have to figure out what I’m saying and then repeat it. I’ll give you clues, so don’t worry. Ready?”
“Sure.”
She places her hand on her chest. “Je m’appelle Valerie.”
Well, at least she’s starting easy. “Je m’appelle Matt.”
“Très bon.” Valerie nods and hands me a tiny ball of chocolate.
“Très bon,” I say, popping the candy in my mouth. This is fun. I could see where this technique might work.
Valerie surreptitiously points to the guy across the aisle from me and whispers, “Cet homme a une odeur terrible.” She pinches her nose and scrunches up her face.
I laugh and nod. “Cet homme a une odeur terrible.”
Valerie picks up another chocolate pearl, but this time she places it in my mouth. Her finger lingers on my lips for a split second, which sends a shiver down my spine. If learning a language was this much fun in school, I would be multilingual by now.
The ride to the movie theater goes by much too fast. We laugh and speak French and eat candy the whole way. It’s strange how easy it is to be around Valerie. It’s like everything about her makes me feel good. The sound of her voice, her jokes, the feel of her hand in mine.
I still feel too embarrassed to use the coupon Mom gave me, especially now that this has turned into an actual date. So I buy the tickets with my own money and Valerie insists on buying the popcorn and soda, which is really cool because I was ready to pay for everything.
We make out through pretty much all of the previews. At first, I’m totally in my head wondering if I’m doing it right, if my mouth is opened enough, or too much, where I should put my hands, wondering if the chocolates have given me bad breath.
I finally have to tell my brain to shut the hell up. It gets better the more we kiss because I’m lost in all my senses. The salty taste of her lips, the clean smell of her skin, her hair, the chills all over my body. Mostly, I keep my eyes shut, but once in a
while I open them and see that hers are closed.
If she wanted to, I’d kiss her through the entire movie. But I’m glad we decide to watch the film, because it’s pretty funny and I like hearing Valerie’s laugh. I don’t know why, but it makes me like her even more.
I’VE BEEN HAVING A BLAST this week with Valerie. She’s shown me how to play chess, which is more fun than you’d think it would be, and I’ve shown her how you can play “Stairway to Heaven” on the guitar and make it sound like you’re garroting chickens. Our French lessons have been coming along très bon, as well.
Valerie laughed when I told her that I’d heard she wasn’t allowed to date until she was eighteen. She has no idea who started that rumor, but it made her feel better about having to pursue me so hard.
We’re hanging out with Sean and Tianna in Valerie’s basement. Valerie is letting me beat her at chess, while Tianna and Sean are curled up on the couch, watching one of Tianna’s anime DVDs.
“You guys should give this a chance,” Sean says. “Once you start watching, you get totally addicted.”
“It’s true,” Tianna adds. “Sean was resistant at first, but now that’s all he wants to do. Well, that and make out.”
“You have to do something while you wait for the DVD to cue up,” Sean laughs.
“I’ve tried watching,” I say, studying the chessboard. “I just can’t get into it.” I move my castle three spaces forward.
Valerie clears her throat and shakes her head.
“What?” I say.
She widens her eyes like she’s trying to send me the answer telepathically.
“Damn.” I finally see that my queen is vulnerable, and Valerie lets me move my castle back, even though you’re not really allowed to do that once you let go of your piece.
I’m examining the board for another move when I get a sudden jolt of panic.
“Oh, my God, what time is it?” I ask, grabbing my cell phone from my pocket and looking at the time. Crap. It’s almost five. I’m going to be late for Ulf again. That’s three times this week. Not to mention the day I skipped altogether. “I have to go.”
I give Valerie a kiss, say, “Au revoir,” and bolt from her house.
Things always seem to conspire against you when you’re late. And today is no different. Cars pull out of driveways right in front of me, lights turn red just as I approach them, and every person over eighty in Lower Rockville must be out for a walk this evening.
I pedal my bike like mad, dodging obstacles left, center, and right, because Ulf has already given me several warnings this week.
It’s five twenty-three when I finally make it to the Elk Hills Country Club. I lock up my bike and tear through the front door. The lobby is choked with a throng of men in suits and women in gowns — another wedding, or retirement party, or cotillion. The club is always hosting some kind of reception.
Normally, I’m happy for the place to be busy, because it means nobody’s looking at me, but today it’s just another pain in the ass I have to navigate.
When I finally make it to the pool, I see Ulf sitting on the ledge with a pile of wet change beside him.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say, scurrying over. “I lost track of time.”
Ulf just sits there, staring into the water.
“It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Ulf sighs. “Yes. This is what you said last time. I am thinking that maybe you have bitten off more bullets than you can chew.”
“I’ve just been busy lately.”
Ulf stands and looks at me. “I would have more respect for you if you just quit rather than make me tell you that you are no longer welcome.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ulf glares at me. “I am talking about that you do not want to be able to swim the one-hundred-yards butterfly!”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why? To impress a girl? That is a very stupid reason.”
“No. It’s not that. Not anymore.”
“Then why not quit? It is the easier way.”
“Maybe I don’t want the easier way.”
Ulf frowns. “Most people want an easier way. You are not alone. Most people do not want to hang on when they can no longer hang on. That is why they come close and receive no cigar.”
I shake my head and stare at the ground. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I told you. I just lost track of time. That’s all.”
“This is fine. You can continue to pretend that you have not given up. I am no longer going to live in the make-believe.”
With that, Ulf turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, wondering what the hell just happened.
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS UNTIL CHAMPIONSHIPS. Twenty-four hours until I become the laughingstock of the Rockville Swimming Association.
I’m finishing up my fourth semi-continuous lap of clumsy butterfly, and I’m sucking air. Kelly’s swimming in the lane right next to me, but I don’t care what she thinks anymore.
It’s the first time I’ve attempted the stroke at practice. I only had to stop and tread water twice, which for me is a huge accomplishment. Still, I’m pretty sure my form is so bad that even if I manage to complete all four laps in the actual race, I’ll probably be disqualified.
Coop’s hanging on the pool ledge when I arrive.
“Hey,” I say, trying to find my breath.
He smirks at me. “I don’t see why you’re still killing yourself over this. I mean, Kelly’s out of the picture now, and I’m sure Valerie doesn’t give a crap one way or the other. Why don’t you just drop out?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sliding my goggles up onto my forehead. “I guess I don’t want to let the team down again.”
“Oh.” Coop nods. “I didn’t realize you had such a sense of loyalty.” Coop’s been saying things like this all week at swim practice. It’s like he’s always in a bad mood.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything.” Coop spits into his goggle lenses, trying to defog them. “Unless you think it means something.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hey, look, I get it, okay? Whole nations have gone to war over the Wookiee’s smile.” Coop rinses his goggles out. “I’m not surprised you and Sean are bailing on me for it. I mean, I wouldn’t do it, personally. But I can see how you guys would.”
“We haven’t bailed on you.”
“Oh no? How many times have we hung out this week?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been counting.”
“Because there’s nothing to count. We haven’t hung out once this entire week.”
I’m trying to remember, but everything’s been such a whirlwind. “I guess . . . I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah,” Coop says. “Busy with Valerie’s mouse house. I know.”
“Hey. Don’t talk about her like that.”
Coop snorts. “Whatever, dude.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t hurt my feelings, butt plug. Please. No. I’m just learning your true colors. That’s all.”
“Okaaay,” I say. “Look, why don’t we see if Sean wants to go check out a movie this afternoon?”
“You know what? I can’t. I’ve got this funeral to go to. I’m mourning the death of our friendship.”
Coop pulls his goggles on, pushes off the wall, and swims away.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. This really sucks.
I’m about to slide my goggles down and get back to my fly when I see Sean running over to a bench and grabbing his sister’s light-blue towel. He flings it over his shoulder and carries it to Cathy, who’s sitting beside the pool.
“Next time I want it quicker, Grunt,” Cathy says, yanking the towel from Sean. All the girls nearby laugh.
The poor guy. Sean’s really taking one for the team. So why can’t Coop see that?
Sean scurries over to my lane and slips into
the water next to me. “This has been the longest two weeks of my life. Thank God there’s only one more week left.”
“Sorry, dude.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ll get by. It’s not the first time I’ve had to be her slave. Besides, it’s totally worth it.”
Someone clears their throat loud and long. “Are we having a nice, relaxing morning, ladies?”
I glance up to see Ms. Luntz towering over us, her hands on her wide hips, her flip-flop-clad dumpling feet right on the edge of the pool. It’s very difficult to look at her. It’s like she’s walking around naked all the time now. On the bright side, I just can’t take her that seriously anymore.
“Maybe if you actually tried a little, Gratton,” Ms. Luntz jeers. “Maybe then you wouldn’t be a complete embarrassment to the team. This is the first time I’ve even seen you swim butterfly at practice. A day before championships. Did you think all you had to do was just come in your Speedo and you’d magically be good at it?”
I feel Sean kick me under the water. I can see out of the corner of my eye that he’s ready to crack up. I try to ignore him.
“I’ve been practicing, Ms. Luntz. It’s just —”
“Excuses are like male nipples, Gratton.” Ms. Luntz runs her tongue over her teeth. “They’re completely useless.”
Ms. Luntz suddenly looks up, a German shepherd catching a scent. “Hey! Wendy Stevenson! That’s your fourth bathroom visit this morning!” She points toward the girls’ restroom, where Wendy stands frozen, caught in Ms. Luntz’s laser vision. “Did we drink a gallon of juice at breakfast this morning?”
Ms. Luntz marches off to deal with the serial-bathroom-goer.
Sean inspects his nipples curiously. “I guess they are kind of useless.”
“Let’s go,” I say. “We better start swimming.”
Sean suppresses a laugh. “Okay, but don’t think you can just come in your Speedo and magically be good.”
I smack the water, splashing Sean, who paddles away, chuckling.
I kick off the wall and start back in with the fly. It feels pretty good that I can start off so strong now. If only I could keep this pace up over four laps, I might actually finish the race without being completely humiliated.