"That's okay." Gideon looked at me. "I'd never take advantage of you. Besides, Helen would take a carving knife to my manhood if I ever did anything remotely like that to a girl."
"It's just that it seems that guys only like me for that reason, only, you know, in the dark. I used to think that's what I wanted, like it would make me feel special." My stomach fluttered and I felt hot all over. God, why was I saying so much? Shut up, Jory! I imagined Gideon turning from me with a cold Tyler expression on his face. This girl is crazy. Accuses all men of being potential rapists.
Gideon did run! I stared at him as he sprinted through the trees toward the parking area. Now I've wrecked everything. He's leaving. How am I going to explain to Mom and Helen that we have to walk back to Reno?
"Come here," he called.
I walked slowly toward him, blinking in the bright sunlight.
"I like you in the blazing sunshine," he said. "I like you because—I don't really know. It's just a feeling, but I feel good when I'm with you. Talking with you. Crawling around looking for beads on the floor. Anything. I just like you." He shrugged.
"I like you too." My voice sounded shaky. "I'm sorry I weirded out."
"No, thanks for telling me. I would've stayed awake all night rereading the Harry Potter books to figure out what I'd said wrong."
"You're such a dork."
"I'll take that as a compliment." He brought my hand to his lips. "My lady, I feel compelled to purchase said print of garbage for you."
We walked back to the photographer's booth and Gideon paid twenty-five dollars for a small framed copy of the photograph.
"Let me repay you." I dug into my purse, but Gideon pushed my hand away.
"No, make me a bracelet, but make sure it's manly since I'm going to have to start enduring mandatory PE five days a week. Something that will remind me of you."
"Maybe I should just spill a bunch of beads in your backpack."
"Too easy," he said. "Plus, you really do have talent. I want one of your early works so I can be rich someday."
"Yeah, right."
In the afternoon we took over running the booth while Mom and Helen grabbed lunch. Mom had sold all of her charm bracelets and started taking special orders. I liked working with Gideon; he kept making me, not to mention the customers, laugh.
And I liked that I could tell him things.
Chapter Twenty-nine
GIDEON
A few nights later, at beading, Helen leaned over a newbie and showed her how to throw little Timmy in the well. The lady giggled like a twelve-year-old even though she was most definitely menopausal. It felt kind of funny that these older women were becoming like friends to me—and that we actually had things in common. I never joined in the so-and-so-is-getting-divorced talk, but I felt like I could be myself around them, even with Mom listening. Hannah had commented the other night that I "vibrated with self-love." I teased her about sounding like something out of one of those sex-obsessed magazines—totally making her blush and stammer—but I kind of knew what she meant. I liked myself more now. Most of the time.
"That choker is so unique," Helen said.
"Is that bad?" I had seen something like it in a catalog, but I'd added a dangly cluster of beads to the front, making it a true Jory Creation. Was it too different?
"Jory, Jory, Jory." Helen shook her head, smiling. "As Bette Midler says, 'Cherish forever what makes you unique 'cuz you're a real yawn if it goes.'"
"Who's—"
"Some old actress." Gideon stood in the doorway. "Don't ask or you'll get a fifteen-minute reminiscence of all her sappy movies."
Too late. Everyone broke into major sharing. "Wind Beneath My Wings." Oh, yes, I went through a box of Kleenex and that was way before menopause. Oh, my gosh, wasn't she so funny in that movie with oh, what's her name again, she was in that—
"We better get out of here fast," Gideon said. "Unless you want to get stuck watching one of those sappy DVDs. She owns all of them."
Gideon pulled my hand and led me down the hall to his room.
"Jory would love her movies," Helen protested. "Bring her back here."
"You're not infecting my girlfriend with sappy-movie syndrome," Gideon called.
Girlfriend? I smiled all the way to my toes.
"I'll have to rent them." Mom's voice echoed down the hall.
Funny how the thought of snuggling up with Mom and a bowl of popcorn didn't completely horrify me like it would have only a few weeks ago. Maybe I could surprise her with a movie some night? We could bead at the coffee table.
Gideon pushed me into his room. "Narrow escape." He leaned down and kissed me. His fingers played around my waist, my hair, the back of my neck, and my ears.
"You're naked."
"What?"
"No jewelry." He pushed his hair over his eye. "It's something my mom says. Okay, that's so not what I wanted to bring up in this moment."
"I was in a hurry and forgot." Did he expect me to wear my green necklace all the time? Even when it totally clashed? "Sorry."
"Why are you apologizing? You don't need to apologize to me." He shook his head. "Don't do that insecure girl thing." He twisted his mouth into a frown. "That's not you."
Oh, yes, it is, I almost said out loud, except it wasn't quite so true anymore. Not that I didn't worry—okay, occasionally obsess—about stuff. I looked down at the floor, watching Gideon tap his bare toes. What if he stopped liking me? I was already freaking out about school starting. Would Gideon still like me when he saw all the other girls strutting around the yellow-tiled hallways in their new clothes, sporting summer tans and confidence? What if we didn't have any classes together? What if we did? How would Hannah and Megan treat us? Did that really matter?
"Oh, no. Please don't start staring at my feet again."
"Sorry."
Gideon yelped like he was in pain and put his hands up to defend himself. "No more apologies." He fell to the floor in slow motion. "I'm melting."
"Get up." I yanked on his arm, but he pulled me down on top of him and we kissed, running our hands through each other's hair, and up under our shirts, until I felt completely tingly all over. Not sure, I put my hand down near the band of his shorts.
"We better slow down." He sat up and smoothed my hair.
"Want to get ice cream?"
"Sounds great." I jumped up, relieved.
We walked around Virginia Lake on the paved path, trying not to wake up the ducks, because Gideon insisted they'd want to eat our ice cream.
"They especially go nuts for chocolate." He leaned over and licked my cone. "I better help you eat it fast."
"That's just an excuse. Admit it, you're in a chocolate mood." Gideon had already finished his vanilla cone.
"Maybe." He kissed my nose with cold lips. "Quiet. You're waking the ducks." Several wings fluttered nearby, but most of the ducks floated in little groups with their heads tucked under their wings. We walked across the street and sat on the swings at the playground.
"So tell me your mystery reason for saving money," he said. "Let me guess. You were planning to run off to Spain because you're in love with a matador."
"No, I'm not into animal cruelty, plus I have no Spanish accent. At least that's what Señora Rogers says."
"You're going to listen to a lady who insists on being called Señora with a last name like Rogers?"
"She swears she visits Mexico every year."
"Probably drinks the whole time." Gideon slurred his words and held up his hand. "Mas cerveza, por favor."
"Interesting. You know how to order beer in Spanish."
"Last summer my friend Toby and I thought it would be a good idea to learn how to order beer in every language. Thought girls would find it impressive. Plus, we'd planned to backpack all over Europe and hook up with all kinds of girls."
I imagined beautiful girls swarming all over Gideon in manicured parks and quaint sidewalk cafés. They would run their long fingernails through his wavy hair.
"What's wrong? Too dorky?"
I shook my head.
"You're jealous!" He laughed. "You're using your overly creative imagination to picture me with all kinds of girls, aren't you?" He bumped his swing into mine. "Well, don't. I'm right where I want to be. But I'm still figuring out where you want to be." He studied me in the dark. "So, let me guess. You're saving money to fly to New York where you'll be discovered by a famous fashion photographer who'll turn you into a supermodel."
I pushed back on the ground and swung into the air. Was Gideon just like every other guy on the planet, fantasizing about dating a beautiful model? "I could never model."
"Why not? You're tall, just the right amount of curvy, and you've got that attitude."
"What attitude?" I soared so high that the chain started squeaking. Gideon pushed off and matched me swing for swing.
"Mysterious." He stopped pumping and let himself slow down. "Sometimes you do this look."
The Look? "I'm the only one who can't do the Look," I muttered.
"You're doing it right now. I can feel it, even though I can't see it in the dark."
"Yeah, right." I jumped off the swing, landing so hard my feet hurt. "I'm not pretty enough to model. Not to mention I've got a bumpy banana for a nose." I put my hands over my face. "I was saving money for a nose job." There. I'd said it. Now he would know. And he could dump me and spread rumors all over school.
"Why?" Gideon came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I felt his breath on my neck; he smelled like vanilla. "You're so cute."
"I don't want to be cute." I turned around so fast that he backed away a couple of steps.
"Come here." Gideon hugged me to his chest. "You're just right."
"No, I'm not. The surgeon wouldn't even operate on me because it would be too hard."
"That can't be what he said." Gideon pushed my sort-of bangs back and kissed my forehead.
"It was a she. A condescending, go-see-a-psychologist-because-I-think-you're-crazy she doctor." I sniffed back tears. "She said I had unrealistic expectations."
"What were you expecting?"
"I had this notebook. Oh, God. Why am I telling you this?" I looked into his eyes for signs of disgust, but it was too dark to see. "Now you're going to think I'm crazy."
"What kind of notebook? Like a diary?"
"No, a notebook filled with pictures of nice noses that would make me look pretty so I'd fit in with my family. The only family trait I possess is my Great-Grandpa Lessinger's Super Schnozz."
"Super Schnozz?" Gideon laughed. "That's ridiculous. You totally look like your mother: the shape of your eyes, your long legs, perfect little earlobes, even your hands; maybe that's why you're both good at making jewelry."
"Earlobes?" My mouth hung open. "I want her delicate freckle-free nose, not her stupid earlobes."
"You might want to change your mind." Gideon reached into his pocket. "Here." He handed me a crumpled tissue.
I started to wipe my nose.
"No, open it." Gideon pushed my hand from my nose. "I tried to kind of wrap it."
I unfolded the paper. Inside, tiny pink hearts dangled at the ends of two delicate silver-chain earrings.
"I can't tell you how long it took me to get those little loops right." Gideon gently put the earrings on me. "And I thought playing the violin took finger work."
"You really made these? They're so cute. Beautiful, I mean."
"No, you're right, they're cute, and so are you." Gideon put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. "And that's good. Cute is good. Us guys with weird toenails like cute girls."
I actually kind of believed him.
Chapter Thirty
MORE ICE CREAM AND PHOTO SHOOTS
Sounding like a heavy smoker running a marathon, Bugsy struggled up the winding mountain road to Virginia City—an old 1800s ghost town now mining gold as a tourist attraction, complete with historical tours, Old West—themed casinos, gift shops galore, and old-timey photo places. I sat in the back seat trying not to get carsick as we rounded the curves. We'd have to go with the sepia-toned photo if I looked too green. Turns out all of us had suffered with our senior photos. Bald Ponytail Guy tried to hit on Megan (in front of her mom!), and Hannah had accidentally tinted her hair orange the night before her photo shoot. I hadn't given them every detail about my yelling-and-screaming-not-knowing-Gideon-sat-outside meltdown, but that didn't seem to matter so much anymore.
Although the fact remained that the only photo of me that would appear in the yearbook would be me with my hands over my face, me with my tongue sticking out, or me looking demented and lovey-dovey (the photographer refused to schedule a reshoot because I was, quote, "unstable"). So we'd all decided to get our own senior photo up at Silver Sadie's studio in Virginia City and pool our money to buy space in the yearbook. With only three days before the start of school, we also decided to make a day of it, gorging on chocolate at Grandma's Fudge Shop, riding the old steam train, and window-shopping. Megan wanted to tour some of the historic buildings, and we all agreed that it might get us back into learning mode.
"Check out those legs!" Megan veered away from a cyclist pumping his way up the mountain. "After spending time at the beach this summer, I think I'm definitely a leg woman."
"Looking at these guys makes me feel tired," I said. "I never want to ride a bike again." I scanned the hillsides, hoping to spot some wild horses.
"But you probably got so good at going uphill," Hannah said.
"No, I got good at reassuring Tyler that we wouldn't give away his secret while he drove me home." Actually, I'd really missed my daily Tyler talks since I'd gotten fired. Even though I hadn't told him about the whole nose thing, we'd had great discussions about appearances versus reality, mostly using our mothers as examples. It seemed a little crazy, but we'd become friends.
"Have you seen him since you—" Hannah turned around.
"Got fired? We've been to lunch a couple of times," I said. "I wish he didn't feel like he needed to keep something so important a secret. He really needs friends right now."
"I've actually talked to him a few times myself," Megan said. "That perverted law clerk started a massive affair with the temp who was answering phones. They both got fired. Sweet justice. Tyler's still pretty nervous about how I feel about his secret. I keep telling him that I don't care. I'm saving myself for mature college men."
"Like the ones we met at that frat party? Good luck." Hannah and I giggled.
"Yeah, I know. You've told me a million times." I watched Megan smile shyly in the rearview mirror. "I did kind of run into Will Fryer at the mall—summer has been very good to that boy, if you know what I mean." She raised an eyebrow. "And he is on the academic team."
"You should totally go for a serious guy like Will," Hannah said. "So beyond Tyler."
"Actually, I'm trying to convince Tyler to join the team too. He's super smart, but his dad wants him to stick with sports."
I leaned against the back seat, checking to see how I felt about Megan talking with Tyler. I felt okay. Not threatened. I wanted the best for Tyler. Maybe the three of us could go to lunch?
"Tyler's dad seems to be pretty tough on him," I said. "He has all these expectations for Tyler to be a man's man and date gorgeous girls, drive expensive cars, and learn the high-rolling casino business."
"Seems like he wants a clone." Megan swerved around a pair of cyclists. "That would totally suck."
I used to think my mom wanted me to be her clone. Turned out she was just too hard on herself. Maybe Tyler's dad should take up beading with Helen; it might give him a new perspective. I imagined Mr. Briggs, an Italian-suit-wearing, cigar-smoking gorilla, crouched down at the table, stringing beads with his ring-covered fingers. I chuckled.
"What?" Megan said. "I'm driving okay."
"No, I was just imagining Tyler's dad at the Jewel Cafe."
"You're really into that jewelry stuff, aren't you?" Megan said.
&nb
sp; "I think it's cool that you finally found a passion—something unique for you." Hannah turned to smile at me. Again. At this rate she'd make herself motion sick like she had at the Rodeo Carnival. Megan would lose it if Hannah hurled in Bugsy.
"You've got to cherish what's unique because you're a real yawn if it goes." I tried to remember exactly how Helen had phrased it. "Or something like that."
"I like that. Did you make that up?" Megan asked.
"Some actress said it. Bette Midler?" I shrugged my shoulders.
"Red hair, big nose?" Hannah asked.
"I guess." I let the phrase big nose wash over me. So what? Let people describe other people like that. I didn't have to do it. I didn't have to criticize how other people dressed. I didn't have to talk about their hair, or make fun of their belly bulges, big boobs, or big or small anything. I could be positive, see the best in people. Maybe even see the best in me.
Gideon does.
I let out a wish-I-could-be-making-out-with-Gideon sigh. I hadn't seen him in two days because Mom insisted on driving to Sacramento for school shopping (only so she could totally check out a bead store) and I'd promised Hannah and Megan I'd spend the last Saturday before school started with them. Gideon said taking a little break would be good. Let us cool off a bit. The other night after beading, we'd been kissing and doing a little exploring when he made me stop.
"You've been really honest with me," he said. "So I should be honest with you."
He looked nervous, fiddling with the edge of his quilt; I braced myself for bad news. Even the cat had jumped off the bed.
"You see..." He paused. I prickled with panic.
"I've kind of decided that I won't lose my virginity in high school." He said it so fast that it took me a while to figure out what he'd said. "I know that's so lame and dorky."
I laughed, even though I knew it was exactly the wrong response.
"I should tell you that one of my summer goals was not to die a virgin," I said, then waited while his eyes got wide. "But I've changed my mind. I think I confused sex with acceptance or self-worth or some other mumbo jumbo from the book my mom not so subtly left on my pillow last week." I wrapped my hand around his. "Anyway, I think that what I wanted from sex is something I need to discover for myself. I'm still trying to figure it out. So waiting is a good thing."
My Big Nose and Other Natural Disasters Page 21