Hey, Nobody's Perfect

by Ann Herrick

  "That's great." Ilana's smile brought a pink glow to her face. "I can use the help." Did I mention that, despite Ilana's up-to-the minute fashion tastes, she and Gavin sometimes acted as if they stepped out of my mother's high school yearbook?

  "And it won't hurt to have another committee to put on my college applications," Gavin said.

  Ilana's glow faded a bit, but it didn't stop her from diving into a discussion of the merits of balloons versus streamers, which nobody except people obsessed with college-application forms cared about. But at least their yakking gave me a chance to eat without having to make conversation with Keeley. As I ate my French bread, I chewed on some observations too.

  Keeley wasn't totally the obnoxious jerk I'd thought he was at first. Though I preferred low-key guys like Brad, there was nothing wrong with being—let's see, how could I put it politely?—a dorky extrovert. If Keeley reminded me of a pirate, with his silver medallion and crooked smile, what difference did it make? He simply wasn't my type, that's all.

  I just wanted to hook up with someone like Brad. Well, not someone like Brad. Brad himself. So if I treated Keeley strictly as my cooking-class partner, nothing more, nothing less, well, there was nothing wrong with—

  "A penny for your thoughts." Keeley rested his chin in his hands as he looked me over.

  "Sorry, I accept only PayPal." Fortunately, the bell rang and I made my escape.

  In the mass exodus from the lunchroom I lost track of Keeley, Ilana, and Gavin, but I bumped into Marcy. "Hi," I said, wildly groping for a topic of conversation, since I'd spotted Brad just a few feet away. "Going to the game tomorrow night?" Dumb question. Marcy was head cheerleader. (Leave it to a squad of perfectly nice females to vote Marcy as their leader. I suspected coercion, blackmail or extortion, one of those organized-crime type deals. To me, that was the only credible explanation. Well, that and the fact that she was the only one who could do a triple-double back flip, or whatever it was called.) Seeing the am-talking-to-an-idiot look on Marcy's face, I wanted to crawl under the linoleum.

  "She'd better be there." Todd grinned as he possessively squeezed her shoulder. "She has to cheer for me."

  Marcy bestowed one of her beauty-pageant-contestant smiles on Todd.

  "Sivia said she'd be there to cheer us on, too," Brad said.

  My tongue immediately swelled up to the size of a basketball.

  "Oh?" Marcy's eyebrows twitched. Just barely, but they definitely did twitch. "Well. How. Nice." She and Todd veered off toward the gym, and I found myself being shoved right into Brad. Sometimes being caught in the hallway undertow had its advantages. If only I could've thought of something more fascinating to say than, "Excuse me."

  "Sure," Brad said. For a second his blue eyes met mine. He smiled. Then there was a shift in the human riptide, and he disappeared from sight.

  I didn't see him for the rest of the day. At my locker I struggled with my books and poncho. The bandage which I hoped might eventually be a blessing was just then very much a curse. Or so I thought as my books tumbled to the floor.

  "I'll get them." Kneeling at my feet was Brad!

  "Th-thanks," I stammered as he handed me my books. Now I knew what romance novels were talking about when they tossed around the term Divine Ecstasy. I couldn't decide whether his eyes were turquoise or robin's egg blue.

  "Doing your good deed for the day, Brad?" Marcy asked in a voice sweet as raspberry-chocolate truffles. She brushed some imaginary lint off his sleeve.

  Brad blushed ever-so-slightly. "Hi, Marcy."

  Todd, who was holding Marcy's other hand, pulled his lips into a thin line. Jealously radiated from his eyes like a lighthouse beacon. Then he glanced at me. "Hey, Sivia." He gave me a little smile of, I don't know, amusement? "You're lookin' good."

  Marcy impaled me with her icicle stare. I don't know why. I was certainly no threat to her.

  "H-hi, Todd." I said, not sure what exactly Todd was up to. I mean, he didn't usually waste any words on me.

  I noticed Lona Randolph kind of hanging in the background. She was a cheerleader too, but shy and quiet except when she was cheering. From the way she looked at Todd, I guessed she would have loved to be the one whose hand he was holding. I wished she had the nerve to say something to him that would distract him from me, but apparently she didn't.

  "Hey, Sivia who's that guy I've seen you hangin' with today?" Todd said. "Not your boyfriend, I hope."

  Lona looked anxiously at me, as if she couldn't stand the thought of yet another "competitor" for Todd's attention. It must have been too much for her, because she turned and headed off in the direction of her locker. I wanted to shout after her, Wait, no, I am totally no rival when it comes to Todd!

  Marcy arched her eyebrows in sort of an amused contempt.

  I didn't know what was going on with Marcy and Todd, but I resented being put in the middle. "He's new in school," I said evenly. "He's in my cooking class."

  Just then Keeley wheeled around the corner and waved before stopping at his locker.

  "New guy, huh?" Todd snickered. "Well, I'd say he doesn't have a leg to stand on."

  Chapter Three

  "Hey, nobody's perfect, Todd," I said. "For example, you don't have any brains."

  Brad started to laugh, but Marcy's withering glance cut him off. He drifted away then, shamed by the Queen Bee of the Hallway.

  Marcy leaned toward Todd, tilting her face toward his. "Aren't you taking me to the mall?"

  "Sure." Todd bathed in the radioactive glow of Marcy's this-makes-even-grown-men-melt smile.

  I, however, was simmering as they disappeared around the corner. I glanced over at Keeley. His lips pulled down in anger. But when he saw me looking at him, his expression changed channels. He offered me a smile.

  "Hey, relax." He wheeled over and lightly touched my elbow. "Unclench those teeth. Believe me, there's a side of me that'd like to punch the guy. But I know that somewhere in the primitive part of Todd's brain is this illogical fear that he'll 'catch' what I 'have.'"

  "The problem is," I said, "is that primitive part takes up most of the space."

  "Careful." Keeley grinned. "I don't think Marcy would like to hear any more cracks about her Numero Uno Admirer."

  "Hmm. You're über perceptive for your first day at school here."

  "Aren't I?" Keeley grinned. "Sort of makes you nervous, doesn't it?"

  I shrugged. "Should it?"

  "I don't know." Keeley tilted his head to one side. "You tell me."

  "I don't snitch." I forced a small laugh, grabbed my poncho from my locker and hoped that Keeley's powers of perception would not clue him in to the fact that I was trying to make a quick getaway. Instinct had prodded me to come down on Todd for his dumb remark. But self-preservation told me that was as far as I dared go if I didn't want to end up a total enemy of Marcy.

  "Wait a second." Keeley reached out and caught my hand in his. "We need to go over our Home Arts assignment. How about this afternoon?"

  "Well. Uh. Hmm. I have a ton of homework."

  "This is homework."

  "Oh. Right." No perfectly good excuses zinged into my brain from outer space. "This afternoon? I guess so."

  "Great! How about your house? Mine's a mess. It's being remodeled. I'll even give you a ride."

  "Well, okay." I tried to stifle a laugh, but failed miserably.

  "Did I miss something?"

  "No. I ... I remembered something funny I saw on TV last night." What I was really remembering was one of Dad's umpteen lectures about the dangers of "makeout mobiles," and how he said no daughter of his would ever ride in one with some guy.

  When we went outside, I was actually glad Keeley had offered me a ride. It was totally pouring. We hurried to the van. Keeley unlocked the passenger side to let me in first. I climbed in, and first thing I saw was that there was no driver's seat.

  Keeley went over to the driver's side and opened a door through which a platform automatically lowered. He rolled on
to the platform, then had to wait in the rain while he was lifted up into the van. He rolled to the steering wheel and locked his chair into place. I watched, fascinated, as he maneuvered the van with all the hand gears. I had a hard enough time learning to drive Mom's car, and it was an automatic.

  When we got to my house we had a problem. Though there was a patio that made for a smooth path to the back door, there were two steps. "One step we might be able to handle," Keeley said, "But not two."

  "Hold on." I had an idea. I ran into the side yard and grabbed a piece of plywood. This pretty much disabled Russ's skateboard ramp, but it was for a good cause. I placed the plywood over the steps. "How's that?"

  "The door is wide enough," Keeley said. "Just open it. I'll back up and get some momentum. You get in back of me and push."

  And I'd thought my bandaged hand was such a traumarama. I wondered what happened to Keeley. How long had he been using a wheelchair? How had he lost his legs?

  I opened the door, came out and stood in back of Keeley.

  "Okay, push!"

  Because of my bandaged wrist, I really had to use my body to push him up the slope. But with the head start he gave himself, and me pushing, we sailed in the door.

  "Ah, a kitchen table," Keeley said. "If we pull up a leaf, that'll give me room for my chair."

  "Sure." For some reason I was embarrassed that he had to suggest it, that I hadn't thought of it.

  "By the way," Keeley said, "I've been assuming you have cookbooks—even though in class I got the distinct impression you aren't a big fan of cooking."

  "Of course we have cookbooks." I randomly pulled down several from the shelf. I knew we had cookbooks. I just didn't know what kind.

  "Hey!" Russ burst in the door, carrying his skateboard. "Whose van is in the driveway, and what the heck is part of my ramp doing—" He stopped in mid-sentence and stared at Keeley.

  I prayed he wouldn't say anything dumb.

  "I get it." Russ stared at Keeley's wheelchair. "That van is yours and you needed the ramp."

  "Russ, this is Keeley Parrish," I said before Russ could say anything truly embarrassing. "Keeley, my brother, Russ."

  "Hi." Keeley swung his wheelchair around so he could shake hands.

  Russ stared for a second, then declared, "You hardly have any legs! What happened?"

  "Rus-sel." I felt the color drain out of my face.

  Keeley waved off my concern. "Russ, I'd rather have someone ask than jump to the wrong conclusion." He looked at me when he said, "When people understand, they're less likely to think there's anything so weird about me."

  I gave him a who-me look.

  He turned his attention back to Russ. "Nothing 'happened.' I was just born this way.

  I'm a person with a disability. Basically all that means is that I'm inconvenienced, and just have to do things a bit differently to get around it."

  Keeley put everything so matter-of-factly. Guess he had a lot of practice.

  "Hey," Russ said. "Can I tryout your wheelchair sometime?"

  "Sure." Keeley grinned. "If you let me borrow your skateboard."

  "Deal!" With that, Russ headed for the pantry.

  I tried to picture Keeley zooming around on Russ's skateboard.

  "Okay. Where should we start?" Keeley cracked his knuckles. The sound drove me up the wall. "Turkey's traditional. But maybe we should have goose, or something exotic."

  "Let's stick with turkey." Even if it was only on paper, I wanted everything as simple as possible. I'd had experience helping Mom with a turkey, so at least I had some idea of how that should be prepared. Besides, the simpler everything was, the less time I'd have to spend with Keeley. Nothing against the guy, but ....

  I did notice something as we checked through cookbooks and discussed recipes. Keeley had the kind of eyes I wished I'd been born with. A lively light seemed to shine from his big brown eyes ringed with long, thick, dark lashes, which was totally unfair, him being a guy and all. Keeley looked up just as I was staring at him. I lowered my gaze to a cookbook to hide my embarrassment.

  "You know what?" Keeley asked, not waiting for an answer. "You have the most beautiful eyes. They're such an unusual shade of gray—almost silver."

  That sent a blush roaring right up my cheeks.

  "Hey, you guys want some potato chips?" Russ emerged from the pantry eating chips right out of the bag. For once, I applauded his timing.

  "Thanks." Keeley grabbed a handful. "My favorite brand."

  "You know what Dad said about junk food," I cautioned Russ. Gah! Must I keep sounding like a parental figure?

  "It's just a snack," Russ whined. Then, as if to show me up, he offered the bag to Keeley. "More?"

  Keeley shook his head. "No, thanks. A little junk food is okay. But I don't want to fill up on it. I need to stay in shape."

  I wondered what he meant. Did he need all his strength to use his wheelchair?

  Russ didn't hesitate. "What do you need to stay in shape for?"

  "Basketball, for one thing. I heard about a wheelchair club in town that I want to try out for."

  "Cool," Russ said. "Maybe I should cut back on the chips too. I'm on the team at school." He peered out the window. "It's stopped raining. We have a backboard around the side of the garage. Want to shoot hoops?"

  "Sure." Keeley turned and offered me his lop-sided grin. "Sivia here can hunt down a recipe or two. Just because I'm the master chef and she doesn't like to cook doesn't mean I should do all the work. I mean, we'll be graded as a team."

  With that, he abandoned me to a pile of cookbooks.

  I ground my teeth and flipped pages. So. He thought I wasn't going to do my share of the work. Why did I have to get stuck with him on this project? Humph. I'd show him. I'd choose a recipe, and we'd use it whether he liked it or not.

  I completely bypassed anything with more than eight ingredients or three paragraphs of directions, which eliminated a lot of recipes. Finally, one caught my eye. It involved sweet potatoes, which were traditional enough. Canned sweet potatoes. Just dump them in a pan, mash, add some melted butter, apple slices, and chopped nuts. It sounded both simple and delicious, which I was beginning to think was important. What if Ms Baker pulled a fast one, and had us really prepare our entire meals? Didn't she say something about making at least one of the dishes, if not all of them? Who knew which one she'd choose for us to make?

  "Hey!" Keeley burst into the kitchen, with Russ right behind him. "Find anything?"

  "As a matter of fact, I have." I shoved the book in his direction and pointed to the recipe. "There. We're going to use this."

  Keeley looked it over. "Sounds good."

  "It does?" Ack. Too much surprise in my voice. "I mean, it does, doesn't it?" I hoped I didn't over-correct.

  "I knew good things would happen if I just turned you loose with a few cookbooks."

  "Right." I picked up a cookbook. "If I hit you on the head with this, would it be assault with a deadly weapon or justifiable—"

  "Whew! Traffic was a mess this evening." Mom practically blew into the kitchen. She didn't say a word about the van or the ramp or the piles of cookbooks all over the kitchen table. She was pretty relaxed about stuff like that, especially since Dad wasn't around to make a big deal out of it. He was always the one to erupt if things weren't just so.

  As Mom took off her scarf she noticed Keeley off to the side. "Hello," she said, a smile lighting her face. "I'm Mrs. Groner."

  "Hi, I'm Keeley Parrish." Keeley pulled his wheelchair away from the table as he turned to greet Mom.

  Mom didn't bat one eyelash. Of course, I could bring home a guy with green hair, three legs, and six rings in his nose and it wouldn't faze her, or if it did, she wouldn't let it show. I had to confess, I tended to go pale if I saw someone wearing a weird shade of eye shadow.

  Suddenly Tigger pranced into the room. When he spotted Keeley he tried to come to a halt, but he skidded across the linoleum. He licked his paws a couple times to hide his e
mbarrassment, then leapt up onto the wheelchair. He placed his front paws on Keeley's chest, stared at him for a moment, then licked his chin.

  "Well," Mom said. "Now that Tigger's introduced himself, I guess you've met the entire family."

  I flinched when Mom said, "the entire family." Maybe Dad wasn't her husband any more, but he was still Dad.

  "You must rate pretty high," Russ said as Keeley scratched under Tigger's chin. "Usually Tigger's a one-person cat."

  "Cats are good judges of character," Keeley said with a grin.

  I felt steam rise from the top of my head. Tigger never wanted anything to do with me! I was glad, then, when he jumped off Keeley's lap and ran over to rub against Russ's legs and nuzzle his feet.

  "It was nice meeting you, Keeley," Mom said. "Sivia. I'm going to take a quick shower, then we can start dinner." She started to walk away, but stopped and uttered the fatal words, "Keeley, would you like to stay for dinner?"

  No! I held my breath, hoping Keeley couldn't stay.

  "Thanks, Mrs. Groner." Keeley flashed a disarming smile at Mom, but I could tell he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye. It seemed as if he could sense my discomfort at Mom's invitation, and he was enjoying it. "I'd love to stay for dinner."

  After Mom left the room, Keeley called home to let his folks know his plans. Then he said, "Come on. Let's have dinner going before your mother gets back."

  I felt pushed into a corner. On the one hand, I had no desire to work on dinner with Keeley. On the other hand, if I said no, I'd come across as a selfish creep who wouldn't do something nice for her own mother. "All right."

  Keeley took charge and soon, instead of plain old pork chops, we were fixing Pork Chops Olé. While Keeley browned the chops and started some rice, Russ chopped tomatoes, and I sliced onions at the sink. Within seconds, tears streamed down my cheeks.

  "There, there." Keeley pulled up next to me, slipped his arm around my waist, and gave me a "comforting" hug.

  Of course, I knew that he knew it was the onions and not stress that caused my tears, but I didn't appreciate his sarcasm. I wet my hand and flicked water in his face.