Don't Bet On Love

by Sheri Cobb South

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I wondered aloud. “Still, you could have refused to go along with it.”

  “Yeah, I guess I could have,” Gary admitted. “But to tell you the truth, I kind of liked the idea. Besides, I didn’t want to let Mark down after he laid twenty bucks on the line. Let’s face it—would you bet money on Colette going out with me?”

  “But if you don’t think he can win, why did you agree to it?” I asked.

  “Well, when Mark said you’d help me, I thought maybe there was a chance.” A deep flush crept up Gary’s neck and spread across his face. “You see, I’ve—I’ve been crazy about Colette since the first time I saw her, but she doesn’t even know I exist. I mean, why should she? There’s nothing special about me at all.”

  I’d been determined to figure out some way of wiggling out of the deal, but now I began to have second thoughts. I don’t know exactly what weakened my resolve. Maybe it was because Gary was so different from the rest of Mark’s friends, who all tried to act like they were very special.

  First there was Eddie, who lettered in three sports and considered himself a sort of superjock. And then there was Steve, who looked like a male model and was more vain about his appearance than most girls I knew. As for Mark, he was good-looking, too, and he knew it. He also seemed to think he was some kind of financial wizard. In a world full of guys all trying to act super cool, Gary’s total lack of pretension was a refreshing change.

  “Well,” I said at last, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

  Gary looked at me in amazement. “You mean you’ll help me?”

  I took a deep breath and resigned myself to the inevitable. “Yes, I’ll do it. That is, I’ll try to do it,” I amended hastily. “But remember, no promises.”

  “Hey, that’s great, Molly....” In his enthusiasm, Gary flung out his long arms. One elbow connected with his glass and knocked it over, sending ice cubes and soda streaming across the kitchen counter. “Oops!”

  I grabbed a dishtowel and tried to mop it up before it ran onto the floor.

  “I’m awfully sorry…” Gary began.

  “Never mind,” I said with a sigh, already regretting my moment of weakness. “It was an accident. It could have happened to anybody—almost.”

  Gary swung around the counter to help with the cleanup and almost knocked me over as I was just finishing up.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Gary, you’ve got to stop saying you’re sorry all the time,” I told him. “If you want Colette Carroll to take you seriously, you have to stop apologizing for being alive!”

  Gary looked mildly surprised. “Was I doing that? I’m—”

  “Don’t say it!” I interrupted, throwing up a hand to stop him. “Come on—we might as well get started.”

  I poured him another soda, then led the way back to the den. I cleared my books and notebooks off the couch so he could sit down.

  “Algebra,” I mumbled, stacking up some scattered papers.

  “If you’re having trouble, I’d be glad to help you,” Gary offered. “After all, I owe you one.”

  “You mean you actually understand this stuff?” I asked, looking at him with new respect.

  “Oh, sure! What are you having trouble with?”

  Gary had never struck me as any kind of a genius, but since I was barely squeaking by with C’s, I couldn’t afford to be choosy.

  “Factoring polynomials,” I said, showing him the problem I’d been working on ever since I’d come home from school. “I’ve done this thing three times, and I come up with different answer every time.”

  For the next twenty minutes we tackled my algebra homework. To my surprise, Gary turned out to be an excellent tutor. He never talked over my head like my algebra teacher sometimes did, and he didn’t treat me as if I were stupid when I made dumb mistakes. In fact, he was much nicer to me than I deserved.

  “I think I’ve got it!” I cried triumphantly when the next problem worked out right on the very first try. “Thanks loads, Gary.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, algebra’s no problem—it’s girls that I can’t figure out.”

  “So, tell me about you and Colette,” I prompted him. “If I’m going to try to get you two together, I need some background.”

  “Well, you know she transferred to Carson High last spring,” Gary began, leaning back on the couch with a dreamy expression on his face. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw her. It was in driver’s ed, and it was my turn to drive. Colette climbed into the backseat and said, ‘Well, it looks like we’ll be driving partners.’ I took one look at her in my rear view mirror, and when I saw how gorgeous she was, I got so flustered that I put the car in reverse instead of forward and crashed right into the side of a building.”

  “I remember hearing something about that,” I said, trying hard not to laugh.

  “Yeah, the whole school heard about it!” Gary said with a rueful smile. “That got Colette’s attention, all right.” The smile faded. “But then she asked for another driving partner. And she hasn’t spoken to me since.”

  “Well, you can’t go on crashing cars just to keep her attention,” I pointed out. “Do you have any classes with her this semester?”

  “We’re both in Mrs. Adamson’s fourth period history class, but we sit on opposite sides of the room,” Gary said. “Her locker is close to mine, though, so I see her in the hall several times a day.”

  “You said she doesn’t speak to you. Do you speak to her?”

  “Well, I try,” he said. “The only trouble is, she’s so beautiful that I get all choked up and can’t think of anything to say.”

  “That’s why you’ve got to plan ahead,” I told him. “Start thinking right now of something you can use to begin a conversation. Then when you see Colette in school on Monday, you can go right up to her and say...” I paused, waiting expectantly for him to come up with an opening remark.

  Gary furrowed his brow, obviously thinking hard. Suddenly he shouted, “How do you think the Lakers will do in the NBA playoffs?”

  I groaned. “No, no, no!”

  Gary looked crushed. “You don’t like the Lakers?”

  “Forget the Lakers!” I said. “Forget the NBA playoffs! That might be okay for Mark or Eddie or Steve, but not for Colette!”

  “What should I talk about, then?”

  “I don’t know,” I sighed. This was going to be even harder than I had feared. “What do you have in common?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Gary said, sighing, too.

  “Wrong! You’ve got a history class in common—use that as a starting point. Talk to her about the assignment or something. Or, if you can’t think of anything else to say, talk about the weather,” I suggested. “That’s always a nice, safe topic.”

  “Great!” he exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and heading for the door. “I can’t wait till Monday! Thanks, Molly—you’re a lifesaver!”

  “Whoa! Where are you going in such a hurry?” I asked.

  “Home! Today’s Friday—I’ve got only two and a half days to think of something to say!”

  Waving good-bye, Gary ran out of the room—and tripped over the same step he’d tripped over on his way in.

  I sat there shaking my head, both amused and puzzled. Gary was a strange person, all right! On the basketball court he moved with precision and grace, and yet anywhere else, he couldn’t walk and chew gum at the same time. He could explain algebra to me, yet he couldn’t put together a coherent sentence when his dream girl was around. How on earth was I going to turn him into the kind of boy Colette would fall for? I couldn’t help thinking about the musical My Fair Lady. Compared to the obstacles I faced, Professor Henry Higgins’s task of transforming Eliza Doolittle into an elegant lady was a cinch!

  On the other hand, I didn’t have to look very far to find examples of awkward, homely-looking guys who had somehow managed to land gorgeous girls. Of course, those guys usually had other attributes that made up f
or their shortcomings, like style or charisma. Unfortunately, Gary Hadley had neither.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The following Monday I waited with Gary in the hall near his locker, keeping a sharp eye out for Colette Carroll.

  “Have you got your opening line prepared?” I asked him.

  “Well, I thought maybe I’d ask her how she did on last Friday’s history test—unless you think that’s too personal,” he added quickly. “If it is, I could—”

  “No, I think that’s just fine.”

  “Do you really think this will work?” he asked nervously. “I’ve been worrying about it all weekend!”

  “Of course it will,” I said with more assurance than I really felt. “Now, try to calm down. Remember, you’re not asking her for a date or anything. You’re just making a little casual conversation. People do it all the time.”

  Gary swallowed hard. “What if I go blank?”

  “If you go blank, you can always fall back on the weather,” I reminded him. “Get ready! I see her coming!”

  Gary snapped rigidly to attention, all six feet six of him.

  “Will you relax?” I hissed. “Try to act natural, like you were stopping by your locker and just happened to run into her.”

  Having given Gary his last-minute instructions, I took up a post at the water fountain across the hall so I could watch the proceedings from a discreet distance. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Colette approach, her long, dark curls bouncing with every step she took. I bent over the fountain, pretending to take a drink, and when she drew up even with me, I nodded for Gary to make his move. He squared his shoulders and took a jerky step forward.

  “H-hi, Colette,” he stammered.

  She paused and looked at him curiously as if she vaguely recognized him but couldn’t remember exactly who he was. “Huh? Oh hi,” she replied without much interest.

  “I—uh—I was just wondering…” Gary cast wild, desperate eyes in my direction. I nodded again and smiled reassuringly.

  “Yes?” Colette prompted him.

  “Uh—we’ve been having lots of weather lately, haven’t we?” he blurted out.

  Colette looked mildly surprised for a moment, then turned her glamour-girl smile on high beam. “Yes, lately it seems as if we’ve been having weather every day,” she agreed, and continued walking down the hall.

  Gary shut his eyes and beat his head against the wall. “I can’t believe I said that! She must think I’m a total moron!” he moaned.

  I hurried over to him before he could knock himself unconscious. “You weren’t all that bad,” I lied, but Gary refused to be comforted.

  “I was terrible! What’s wrong with me, Molly? Why can’t I talk to girls?”

  “I’m a girl,” I pointed out. “You don’t seem to have any problem talking to me.”

  “Yeah, but that's different. You're just Mark’s sister.”

  For some reason, that remark upset me. Then I reminded myself that this was only Gary Hadley, and it really didn’t matter one bit what he thought of me.

  “All you need is a little practice,” I insisted. Suddenly I had an inspiration. “Why don’t you come over to my house after school? I just thought of a dynamite way to teach you how to carry on a conversation. It’ll work like a charm, or your money back.”

  At that, Gary brightened a little. “Just what I always wanted,” he joked feebly. “A fairy godmother with a money-back guarantee!”

  “Be sure to come dressed to play basketball,” I called after him as he started down the hall.

  Gary turned and stared at me. “Dressed to play…? I don’t get it.”

  “You will,” I promised. “See you this afternoon!”

  For the rest of the day I had a hard time concentrating on my schoolwork. I was sure hit upon the perfect way to teach Gary the art of social conversation. All he really needed was a little confidence. And since he couldn’t talk to girls, we’d start off with something he could do: play basketball.

  When the final bell rang that afternoon, I practically ran the three blocks home. I went straight to my room, where I threw off my school clothes and put on boxer shorts and an oversize T-shirt. Then I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, grabbed my tennis shoes, and went downstairs to wait for Gary.

  He arrived about fifteen minutes later, dressed in gym shorts and a gray T-shirt bearing the words “Carson H. S. Phys. Ed.” in maroon letters. His long legs were incredibly skinny, and his oversize feet in their heavily padded high-tops looked enormous. His goofy glasses were held in place by an elastic strap across the back of his shaggy head.

  “Come on in, Gary,” I said, opening the door wide. “Let me get Mark’s basketball, and we’ll start.”

  Mark had been watching TV in the den, but he heard what I said. “Molly’s going to play basketball? This I gotta see!” he crowed, sticking his head out into the hall.

  “Oh, no you won't!” I said firmly. “Besides, I'm not going to play basketball. I’m going to show Gary how to carry on a conversation with it.”

  “Why would he want to talk to a basketball?” Mark asked.

  “Would you just cut the clowning and tell me where it is?” I demanded impatiently.

  “It’s up in my room somewhere. I’ll get it for you if you’ll let me watch,” he offered.

  “No way! I’ll get it myself.”

  I started up the stairs with Gary at my heels. When we reached Mark’s room, I flung open the door and froze on the threshold. Mark’s bed was unmade, and the blue carpet was barely visible underneath mounds of dirty clothes. On top of the cluttered desk was a half-eaten sandwich that was curling at the edges. I shuddered to think how long it might have been there.

  “Yuck! No wonder he keeps the door closed,” I said, wrinkling my nose in disgust. “If the health department knew about this place, they’d condemn it!”

  “Are you sure there’s a basketball hiding in here?” Gary asked, peering at the mess.

  I shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out. I’ll check the closet, and you look under the bed.”

  As Gary knelt on the floor beside the bed, I gingerly picked my way across the room and opened the closet door. A tennis racket and a baseball mitt tumbled down from an upper shelf, narrowly missing my head. I was just about to push back the row of shirts hanging from the rod, when a sharp cry of pain came from beneath the bed.

  “Owww!”

  “Gary!” I cried, whirling about in alarm. “What happened?”

  A moment later Gary’s head emerged, dusty but intact. “I think something bit me,” he said, grinning wickedly.

  I snatched up the baseball mitt and threw it at him. “You scared me half to death!” I scolded, laughing.

  “I did find the ball, though,” he said, reaching under the bed and drawing it out.

  “Great! Let’s leave this pigsty and get started!”

  Gary followed me back down the stairs and out the door to the basketball hoop mounted on the front of the garage, where he'd often played with Mark and their friends.

  “I still don’t see what basketball has to do with talking to Colette,” he said.

  “They’re not so different, really,” I told him. “A conversation is like throwing a ball back and forth. You say something to her, she says something back to you, and so on and so forth.”

  “Like a passing drill?” Gary nodded in understanding. “I think I'm beginning to catch on.”

  “All right,” I said, bouncing the ball once or twice. “Think back to what happened this morning. What was your biggest mistake?”

  “Making a first-class fool of myself,” Gary replied without hesitation.

  I shook my head.

  Gary looked seriously alarmed. “You mean I did something worse?”

  “Well, yes, in a way. Your biggest mistake was asking a yes-or-no question.”

  “That’s bad?”

  “It is when you want to start a conversation. You ask the question. Colette says yes or no, and then
she leaves. You have to ask her something that requires more than a one-word answer. Make her talk to you!”

  “Or else she'll take her ball and go home,” Gary said with a grin.

  “Exactly! Now, let’s try it,” I said, tossing him the basketball, “I’ll be Colette, and you start a conversation with me.”

  “Okay.” Gary dribbled the ball a couple of times, then tossed it back to me. “What do you think of Mrs. Adamson’s history class?”

  “It's okay, I guess. Her lectures are kind of boring, though,” I answered, throwing the ball to him.

  “Yeah, but she’s easier than Mr. Overton—at least, that's what I’ve heard.” He threw the ball to me.

  “I've heard that, too, but I find it hard to believe. What are you going to do your term paper on?” I asked, heaving the ball at him.

  “I haven't decided yet. What about you?”

  “Me neither,” I answered, catching the basketball as it came back.

  As we kept tossing the ball back and forth, the questions and answers got sillier and sillier, but I could tell Gary was feeling more at ease with the whole idea.

  “Want to go to the prom with me, Colette?” Gary asked at last, firing the ball in my direction.

  “Love to,” I answered, and hurled the ball back to him.

  “Great! Pick you up at seven,” he said, and shot the ball over my head at the goal behind me. It bounced once on the rim, then fell in.

  “You did it!” I shouted triumphantly.

  Gary paused to push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” he said with a grin, and we both knew he wasn’t talking about making the basket.

  “See? All you needed was a little practice,” I said as we went back into the house. Mark, who was still watching TV, looked up as we entered the den.

  “Finished talking to the basketball?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” I answered.

  “Did it talk back?”

  “Yep,” Gary replied. “It said your room is a health hazard, and it wants to come live with me.”