by T. J. Dell
Smile For Me
By: T.J. Dell
Contents
Chapter One. 2
Chapter Two. 8
Chapter Three. 15
Chapter Four 21
Chapter Five. 31
Chapter Six. 36
Chapter Seven. 41
Chapter Eight 48
Chapter Nine. 57
Chapter Ten. 62
Chapter Eleven. 69
Chapter Twelve. 75
Chapter Thirteen. 83
Chapter Fourteen. 87
Chapter One
A high of 85 degrees. It isn’t even windy. I stretch my arms high over my head, urging my muscles to wake up, as I step out onto our front porch. It is a perfect day. With October just around the corner, I am determined to enjoy the last summer-y day before Fal swoops down on us. I live 15 minutes from the high school. The first bel won’t be ringing for at least 60 minutes. You are probably asking yourself why any self-respecting 17 year old guy would drag himself out of bed so needlessly early on a Monday morning.
A chirp-chirp sounds across the street. Kim Penney is walking down her driveway holding the keyless entry remote out in front of her. I wil deny it to my dying day, but truthfuly—she is the reason I am standing out here before I’ve even toasted my Pop-Tarts.
Kim Penney Fantasy of the Day #1: Maybe today Kim’s car won’t start. Maybe she left the lights on all night and the battery died, maybe she woke up to a flat tire.
Neither of these are very plausible considering Kim Penney is more responsible than any of the adults I’ve ever known. Despite the fact that she is actually a few months younger than I am. Probably, she has never let the gas gauge drop beneath one quarter, or driven her tires over the recommended mileage.
But this is my fantasy so let’s say her tire is flat—hell, as long as we’re at it all of her tires are flat.
‘Can I give you a ride, Kim?’ I ask as I pull up next to her in my Dad’s vintage ’63 Corvette Sting Ray. My dad has lent the car to me for the day—for some reason I can’t even imagine.
‘Oh, Marshall! You are a life saver. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t happened along. Is this your car? I just love it, how fast can it go?’
I know what you’re thinking but it’s my fantasy and that is what she would say.
Also she would be wearing a skirt. I’m not a perv or anything. I’ve just got this feeling that Kim Penney would look smoking hot in a skirt.
Instead she insists on wearing any of her several variations on beige colored pleated front slacks. You know— the kind you can only buy in the granny department.
Of course as this plays out in my mind her car purrs to life and she puls out onto our otherwise empty street after triple checking her side and review mirrors. I pick up the morning paper and head back inside hoping my brother, Jason, hasn’t taken the last strawberry Pop-Tart. I hate the blueberry ones.
Jason is sitting at the kitchen table happily spooning cereal into his mouth and tracing his finger through a maze on the back of the Cocoa Puffs box.
“Damn.” He mutters under his breath and I see him start over again.
“I hope Cuckoo isn’t depending on you to get to his breakfast.” I joke as I reach into a cupboard.
“What?” Jason twists around and looks at me like I have two heads.
“Cuckoo. Like Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs… the bird on the box, dude!” Jason can be a little thick headed sometimes.
“Oh. Whatever.” He goes back to his maze.
“Where are the Poptarts!?”
“Right in front of you dude. ” His impression of me sucks.
“No. These are blueberry. Where are the strawberry ones?”
“Sorry, man. I ate the last one.”
“You’re having cereal!”
“The Pop-Tarts were more of a midnight snack.”
I consider strangling him, but I figure it would probably bum out my mom. So instead I pour myself a bowl of cereal.
“How’s The Professor this morning?”
Half the school cals Kim The Professor just because she gets good grades. It is so lame.
“Don’t cal her that. You sound like a douche. It isn’t a crime to be smart.”
“It’s not about her smarts man. You’re smart—and you don’t act like you’re 40.”
“Just don’t cal her that. And I was only getting the paper anyway.”
“Ri-ght.”
“Where’s the milk?” I shove a few half empty cartons of juice around in the fridge in hopes that the milk is hidden behind one. It isn’t.
“Oh, I forgot. This was the end of the milk too.” He picks up his bowl in both hands and gulps down the remnants with a loud slurp. Sometimes my brother is so gross.
“We’re leaving for school in like ten minutes, so hurry up.”
“Why so early?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Could it be because, thanks to my bottomless pit of a brother, there is nothing edible in the house? I want to hit a drive thru on the way.”
“Whatever, I’m taking the bus with Mandy today anyway. Too bad though—I could go for an Egg McMuffin.” I decide not to point out how much he doesn’t need three breakfasts. Sure now he looks good. Not as good as me, but good. One day al this calorie overload wil catch up to him—I’l mention it then. “What’s with you and Mandy?”
Mandy Johnson lives a couple streets over from us. She is a junior. That puts her right between me and Jason, who is a sophomore. We al used to play together when we were kids but she’s always been closer to Jason. Of course that was before girls had cooties. Her and I both work part time at a pizza joint in town, Slices. She’s pretty cool.
“Nothing. We’re just buds. She’s gonna help me with my geometry homework.”
Now things were starting to make sense. “You mean she is going to do your geometry homework.” Jason shrugged his shoulders. “Potato-pot-ah-to.”
“I don’t know what she sees in you.”
“Not me, man. You. Al she ever talks about is Marshall and I did this and Marshall that. Working with him is so much fun—blah blah blah.” Surpise. We did work a lot of the same shifts over the summer. And I did drive her home a few times. That was just because she doesn’t have her own car, and she’s not exactly out of my way… I had no idea she thought of me that way. She is pretty cute. Lots of curly red hair, and nice eyes—blue, or maybe they are green. Was that why she was helping Jason so much?
“If that’s how she feels then you’re kinda taking advantage of her. That’s pretty low, dude. Even for a bottom feeder like you.”
“Hey! She totaly offered to help. And besides, she realy doesn’t do the work for me. She just watches me, and tels me when I screw up.”
“Which I bet is a lot.”
“Yeah, it is.” He shrugs again. Jason has no shame.
He could get the same grades I do—he’s just so lazy. As long as he’s skating by with C’s he figures there’s no point in trying harder. Not that I’m nerd number one or anything, but it doesn’t take that long to double check a homework assignment, or read over your notes a second time. I have a very good shot at Valedictorian in the spring—Jason won’t ever be able to say that.
There are 827 cars in front of me at the McDonalds drive-thru. If I didn’t want that Egg McMuffin so bad I would just bail, but I have brit lit first period and that class is hard enough without having to deal on an empty stomach. There is nothing good on the radio so I decide to indulge.
Kim Penney Fantasy of the day #2: The car in front of me is a big dark SUV, but I am thinking it is Kim’s blue Honda Accord.
That is, of course, forgetting that I saw her leave her house
more than 40 minutes ago and that she is probably in the school library right now working with the SAT prep group. She isn’t in the group. Kim doesn’t need the help; she’s in charge of the study group.
I can imagine Kim getting all the way to the cashier before she realizes she’s left her wallet at home. I very smoothly walk up to the window and pay for her breakfast. I bend down to the driver’s window and give her a chance to thank me. Except—there isn’t a lot of room between the cars and the wall and I don’t think I could pull that off without brushing against the wall.
The outside wall next to the drive-thru lane is pretty gross. At least a decade worth of old chewed up gum is pressed onto the discolored brick, and there are several reddish stains that I think are burst ketchup packets—I think that’s what they are. I have a pretty vivid imagination, but even I can’t romanticize this. Haven’t these people ever heard of a power washer?
Fine. Forget the drive-thru. We could be inside. And she wouldn’t need to forget her wallet anyway. I would just sidle up next to her and say
‘I’ll take care of that’ before I hand over a few bills. I just might say something really slick like ‘keep the change’ even though no one tips fast food cashiers. It just always sounds so cool in the movies.
Since I paid for breakfast it only makes sense that she sit down and eat with me. At a table—not a booth, since imaginary Kim is wearing a skirt and at one of the tables I would be able to check out her legs… what do you want? I’m a guy. I bring up the european history papers we turned in last Friday. Not because I have a particular passion for european history, but because I know I am going to get an A. And nothing impresses Kim Penney more than good grades.
‘That’s great Marshall’ she says. ‘Paul always struggled in that class you know.’
“Hey! Kid! You got the money or not?” I shake myself free of the daydream. A middle aged man wearing an ancient looking headset is leaning out of the window with an open hand extended waiting for me to pay for my breakfast. How long had I been zoned out? I silently pay for my breakfast and head towards school. That was embarrassing!
Paul Arnold is Kim’s boyfriend. He was a senior last year, now he is away at colege. I’m not positive, but I think they are stil technicaly together. Much like Kim, Paul never had trouble with a class in his life. But haven’t we already established my, my-daydream-my-rules philosophy? I don’t know what she sees in him anyway. The guy is duler than toast. Realy—we were on the school paper together for three years. For three years he was in charge of the school lunch menu, and that is al. He could have had his pick of stories last year—being a senior and al. He wasn’t interested. I am pretty sure he just needed an extracurricular for his colege applications. There is a big party in the press room (Mr. Bilings’ classroom) at the end of every year, but he never showed up to a single one. Duler than toast.
Thanks to the Egg McMuffin I am almost late for school. Dave and Steve are saving my usual seat for me, which is pretty close to the door, so our teacher doesn’t give me any trouble for slipping in a moment after the bel rings. Dave, Steve, and I have been buds for years. They are both on the newspaper with me, and Dave is in the drama club with me too. Steve quit drama after our freshman year. He figures he peaked as palace guard number three in our fal production of Aladdin.
Dave passes me a note: You have yellow goo on your face.
Reaching up, I can feel crumbles of imitation egg stuck to one corner of my mouth. Stupid Egg McMuffin. I am trying to wipe my face clean with the palms of my hands when Ms. Parker notices. “Mr. Henries? Would you care to join the conversation when you’ve finished grooming yourself?”
“Um… mrow.” I lick the back of my hand and do a half hearted imitation of a cat giving himself a bath. This brings a few chuckles, but not enough to completely dispel my urge to crawl under a rock somewhere. For a day that started out so sunny and nice, I am having a realy sucky morning.
Chapter Two
Things didn’t realy improve from there. Egg McMuffins always sound like a good idea and then you end up with a five hour stomach ache. Not that I’m some big wuss or anything, but it was hard to enjoy chili cheese dog day at lunch time. Dave was happy though—he got my hotdog.
My last class of the school day is european history. Kim Penney sits in the seat in front of mine, so it is also one of my favorite classes. Kim has this realy long brown hair. She always wears it braided and it stil fals to her waist. Most days I spend half the class dreaming about unbraiding it. Thinking about how incredible it would look if she would wear it loose just once. Today I am mostly thinking of how many minutes left until the bel. I probably shouldn’t have let Dave finish off my lunch; now that my breakfast has finaly—albeit grudgingly— been digested I am pretty hungry.
Here’s the thing about taking a class with Kim. You never get to answer a question. She is always the first one to raise her hand, and she is always right. It is unbelievably annoying. That leads me to the other thing about Kim—despite my undeniable obsession with her, she actualy drives me nuts. She always has.
The day she moved in across the street from us mom sent Jason and me over with a basket of food (probably cookies or muffins but I don’t remember) to say helo and welcome blah blah blah. That was two years ago and right before the start of the tenth grade. Kim’s hair wasn’t quite as long back then and she was stil wearing glasses (I guess she got contacts or something because the glasses disappeared last year) but that is pretty much al that’s changed.
I can’t say for sure what she was wearing, but I imagine it was beige. She’s almost as tal as I am. At the time she was actualy a bit taler than me, but I grew a lot that year. Her eyes are this realy bright blue— like notice them from across the room blue. Even at 15 I could appreciate how perfectly shaped she is. Actualy at 15 that was practicaly al I noticed. But just so you don’t think too badly of me, it didn’t take me very long to realize that besides being pretty Kim is also realy smart.
Back when we were riding the school bus she would always be reading a book. Not something for a class or even Harry Potter but big heavy classics like Pride and Prejudice.
That day, when we brought the basket of food over, Kim was unpacking a box of cds. I wanted an excuse to hang around the moment I saw her, so I offered to help. That was the beginning of the end for us.
“You’re not doing that right.” Kim came up behind me where I was stacking cd’s onto a shelf. “You have to stand them on end so you can read each title.
“Oh. I wasn’t done. I just thought it would be easier if I emptied the box first. That way I won’t have to keep bending over.” I tried to explain it to her, but she looked like she didn’t believe me. I turned each CD on end and started lining them up. I remember feeling kind of sheepish and wanting to do something to impress her. Before I could think of anything she came back.
“No. They should separated by genre. You know—rock, jazz, and my mom has a lot of show tunes. Otherwise it wil take us forever to find what we want.” She was picking out the sound tracks from the shelves I’d already arranged alphabeticaly as she spoke. Shoving the pile of show tunes at me she continued. “Here.
You’l have to start over.”
“I know what genre means.” I grumbled at her. She wasn’t acting particularly grateful, and I was beginning to think I liked her better when she wasn’t talking.
I’d almost finished when she came back to my side of the room.
“What happened? They were alphabetized!”
“You said by genre.” I reminded her through clenched teeth.
“Obviously I meant you should alphabetize within each…. never mind. It wil be quicker if I do it myself.”
“Good. I only offered to be nice anyway.”
“Wel I’l finish up.”
I didn’t even answer her. I just stomped out the front door like a spoiled kid—mostly because I was a spoiled kid and partly because I was embarrassed that she didn’t like me more. Girls almost always
like me. I’m not a bad looking guy. I am pretty tal and I got lucky with missing most of the realy bad acne years.
Recently I have started clipping my hair very short and I like that better than the messy curls I had at 15, but even with the messy curls I wasn’t having too much trouble getting dates.
Anyway fast forward a couple of years, and she is stil correcting people and insisting her way is the only way. It might be less annoying if she weren’t usualy right. Today we are having a review for the tomorrow’s test on the First World War. Kim answers every question. At least six other hands (including my own) go into the air every time, but Kim’s is the only one Mr. Avery sees. Everyone already knows your smart Kim, I think loudly at the back of her head (refusing to be distracted by her glossy brown hair), can’t you give someone else a chance?
When the bel finaly rings I am al set to make a beeline for the snack machine, but Kim is blocking the aisle as she takes her sweet time packing up the insane amount of school supplies she has spread across her desk. Realy? Who needs two notebooks, three different colored pens, and a highlighter just to take notes? We are the last two people in the room. Probably I could have turned around and gone out the other side of the row, but I am so irritated by this point I want to make a show of tapping my foot obnoxiously behind her. I’m fairly sure she doesn’t even notice. When I finaly make it to the door way I can hear Kim behind me asking Mr.
Avery about a recommendation letter for her colege applications. For some ridiculous reason this irritates me even more. If anyone doesn’t need extra recommendations to go with their colege applications it is Kim Penney.
Much much later in life I might be self aware enough to admit that my irritation with her intense focus on classes is actualy jealousy. Not jealousy of her grades
—I can do just fine in the academic world on my own. No, I am jealous of the stupid notebook. If she paid me a fraction of the attention she did her notes I would be one very happy guy.
I am crumpling up the mylar wrapper from my snack and wondering if the snack machine having strawberry Pop-Tarts qualifies as irony as I walk into the school auditorium. This is the first meeting for our Fal play. We are going to do a modernized version of Much Ado About Nothing. I tend to be on the fence about modernizing the classics, but I doubt anyone would tryout if we attempted Shakespeare in its original format.