Gimme a Call

by Sarah Mlynowski

  “So, Nick, what middle school did you go to?” I ask him.

  “Carter,” he mutters.

  “Oh. Cool,” I say. I wait for him to ask me something in return. He doesn’t.

  So I turn to JT. Unlike his noncommunicative friend, he has perfect skin. He’s definitely cute in a leather jacket, gelled-hair sort of way. He could easily play Danny if the drama department ever decides to put on Grease. He’s also a bit sunburnt, although the spot on his face where he was wearing his sunglasses is pale.

  “You got some serious color,” I tell him.

  He smiles. “I know, huh? It’s the worst. I have a ridiculous farmer’s tan too.” He rolls back his sleeves so I can see his forearms. His tanned and well-muscled forearms.

  “I’m guessing you weren’t farming,” I say. Not too many farms in the area.

  “Golfing,” he says with a lazy smile.

  “Really?” I lean toward him. “You play?”

  He nods. “I have a handicap of fourteen.”

  I have no idea if that’s good or not. I haven’t done my golf homework yet. “You know,” I say, “I’m starting a girls’ team at Florence West.”

  “No way.” He inches closer toward me. “You’re a golfer?”

  “Not yet,” I admit. “But I’m gonna learn.”

  He looks me up and down. “I’m going to hit some golf balls tomorrow. Wanna come? I can show you some moves.” His eyes linger a little too long for his so-called moves to be purely sports related.

  I think he’s asking me out. “That sounds fun,” I say. But then I wonder. Should I go out with him? I’d better ask Ivy. He’s cute. Isn’t he? I don’t know what to do. Is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of my life? Never trusting myself to go out with a boy because I have to ask … myself?

  “Actually, I may have plans for tomorrow. But I’m not sure. Can I get back to you?”

  “No sweat,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “Lemme know. I’m going to get a drink. Want something?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” I give him my best hidden-braces smile. Now I just have to wait for her to call.

  Ten minutes go by.

  Twenty minutes.

  Thirty.

  A watched phone never rings, does it? But why hasn’t she called yet? It’s almost nine-thirty! Doesn’t she want to see how I’m doing? I’m used to her calling me every hour or so to check in.

  What if something happened to her? How would I know? What if the phone does die? I send her a text that says Ivy! Call me! Urgent!

  Ten more minutes. Twenty. Thirty.

  My phone finally rings. “Thank God!” I squeal.

  “Thank God what?” a voice asks. Not Ivy’s. Shoot.

  “Who is it?” I ask, annoyed.

  “It’s your sister. Hello? I’ve been gone less than a month, and you’ve already forgotten about me?”

  I feel a pang in my stomach. “Oh, hi, Maya! Sorry. Hi! How are you?”

  “I’m good. I miss you! We haven’t spoken all week!”

  “I’ve been really busy,” I say. “You know.”

  “Of course. Me too. I was wondering if you still want to come visit for Columbus Day weekend. Should we ask Mom and Dad to get you a ticket?”

  “Oh, um, yeah. Sure. That sounds like—”

  Beep!

  Yes! Call-waiting. Caller ID says it’s me. “Maya, I gotta go. Can I call you back later?”

  “Sure. Don’t forget about me. We’ll need to get you a ticket soon, because prices—”

  Beep!

  “I really have to go, Maya. I’ll call you tomorrow!” I hang up and switch over to Ivy. “It’s about time!”

  “What’s wrong?” she asks. “It better be important. We’re low on battery.”

  “I know, I know. I just need to ask you something.” I duck into a corner. “A guy named JT asked me out.”

  “Who?”

  “JT,” I whisper. “I don’t know his last name. He’s cute. He plays golf! He wants to hit some balls with me tomorrow. Can I go?”

  “JT Prause?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does he have dark hair? Does he look like he could play Danny in Grease?”

  I love how we think alike. “Yes!”

  “Then no,” she says. “You absolutely can’t go out with him.”

  My shoulders slump. “Why?”

  “Because he’s a tool.”

  “Really?” I ask doubtfully. “He seems nice.”

  “He’s not. He’s a loser. A big-time loser.”

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” I huff. “And anyway, if he’s friends with Jerome Cohen, he can’t be that big of a loser.”

  “I don’t mean he’s not popular. He’s a loser in life. He doesn’t even go to school anymore. He has a major gambling addiction. He stole from half the class and racked up like thirty thousand dollars on his parents’ credit card and they sent him to Heken. You know—the school for delinquents.”

  “Oh.” Never mind, then. I do not want to go out with a guy who goes to Heken. I don’t even want to associate with a guy who goes to Heken.

  “Plus, last year he sold Jenny McIntosh’s bra on eBay.”

  “He did not!”

  “Uh-huh,” she says. “Do not go out with him. He’s a sketchball.”

  “He seemed nice.” Although he was checking me out in a slightly skeevy way.

  “He isn’t. Do you want him to sell your bra on eBay?”

  “I wasn’t going to give him my bra. I was just going to hit some golf balls with him.”

  “Don’t. He’ll take your credit card while you’re not looking.”

  “I don’t have a credit card. You do?”

  “You get one next year. If you’re good. If you don’t go out with thieves. Why don’t you read up on golf instead? Yeah, that’s a good place to start. Spend the day reading about golf techniques. Did you finish all your homework today?”

  “Uh-huh,” I lie.

  Eeeeeeeep!

  “Damn, that’s the battery again! I have to figure out how to fix it. I’m going to a party at Laura Kingsley’s. I’ll be home late, so I may not call.”

  “’kay. Bye!”

  “Bye!”

  I hang up and drop my cell back into my purse. While I’m in there, I make sure my wallet still is too.

  chapter thirty-one

  Saturday, May 31 Senior Year

  Right before Karin picks me up, I stare at my still-uncharged phone. What’s its problem? I had it plugged in all last night, and it looked like it was charging. The red light was on and everything. But I still have less than a bar of battery. I really need to go to MediaZone tomorrow and get them to fix it or give me a new battery or something.

  When I hear the honk, I toss the phone into my purse and run outside. We go through our regular ritual.

  “Hair?” she asks, leaning over.

  “Dandruff-free.” I lean over and tilt my head.

  “You too. Breath?” She blows into my face.

  “Minty. Me?”

  “Scopey.”

  “Perfect.”

  Next we pick up Joelle, who’s dressed in an emerald tunic over jeans, and then Tash, who looks—well, there’s no other word for it—stunning.

  She’s wearing her usual—jeans and a black shirt—but these are skinny jeans and she’s accessorized them with black stilettos and a pale yellow scarf around her neck. Her hair is blow-dried and glam, and the contacts and the little bit of black liner make her eyes pop. Wowza.

  As soon as I walk into the party, I spot Celia sitting on Bryan’s lap. The chicken fingers I had for dinner almost make a reappearance. “I need a glass of water,” I tell the girls. “Come with me to the kitchen?” We all go.

  Sitting on the kitchen counter beside the party’s host, Laura, is my possible make-out partner, Harry. Is he back to being my prom date?

  “Hi, Harry,” I say with a nervous giggle. “Nice to see you. Do you
know where I can find a Coke?”

  I expect Harry to say hello. To possibly give me a come-hither stare. But he doesn’t even notice me. Did I scare him off? Or did I scare Frosh off? Did my hookups with Harry disappear faster than Alfonzo?

  “Hey, babe,” I overhear Harry say to Laura. “What color should your corsage be?”

  I reach inside the fridge and pull out a bottle of Coke. Laura’s chin has telltale red marks. So I guess that’s why I’m not going to prom with Harry. I scared Frosh off and now Laura is the one kissing him and being his prom date. Keeping track of my love life is giving me a headache. I turn to my friends. “I think I need some fresh air.”

  “Me too,” Joelle says.

  “Me three,” Karin says.

  A crowd of seniors is already outside, including another potential minefield: Sean Puttin, the preppy jerk who said I kissed like a fish.

  Unless Frosh did her job and remembered to keep her fish lips to herself. But how will I know? Asking—hey, everyone, did I make out with Sean Puttin?—is probably not the best way to find out.

  “Hey, do you know where Sean is going next year?” I take a sip of Coke and try to sound nonchalant.

  Karin’s eyes flash. “To hell?”

  Hmmm. It seems like I still kissed Sean Puttin. Thanks for nothing, Frosh.

  “I’m still so pissed at him for saying I kiss like a fish last year,” Karin says angrily.

  Huh? Now Karin kissed him? Karin wouldn’t have kissed him if I had. Unless I never did, and Karin kissed him instead!

  Karin fingers a curl. “Whatever. I know my lips are too thin. Although Stevey seems to like them as is. And anyway, at least they’ll be perfect by college after the lip injections.”

  I choke on my Coke. “You don’t need lip injections! You don’t need a boob job either. You look great the way you are!”

  Her eyes widen. “Boob job? Why would I get a boob job? Do you think I need a boob job?”

  “No!” I shake my head vehemently. “Absolutely not!”

  She wiggles her upper half. “I have nice boobs. But I definitely need to fix my lips.”

  I deliberate using up more of my potentially precious minutes and decide that, yes, I have to help Karin. When I have the chance, I secretly text Frosh: Good job with the lavish boob praise. Keep Sean Puttin away from Karin too. V. imp!

  All this juggling past and present is kind of exhausting.

  After dropping the cell back into my purse, I find my friends deep in a discussion about corsages. It’s prom fever. I check the area for Tom Kradowski. Is he here too? I should probably get to know him.

  “Have you seen Tom?” I ask Karin.

  “Doesn’t he go to his dad’s on the weekends?”

  I should probably know that. “Right. Of course.” I can’t believe I’m going to prom with someone I’ve never spoken to. Assuming he’s still my prom date. “Am I going to prom with him?”

  Joelle laughs. “Yeah. Speaking of prom, there’s Jerome.”

  Tash rolls her eyes. “Enough with Jerome. Can’t you forget about him already?”

  Joelle crosses her arms defiantly. “What’s your problem?”

  “It’s just enough. He broke up with you three years ago. It’s time to move on. It’s time to stop obsessing over him, stop going to his shows, and stop waiting for him to ask you to prom. He’s not going to.”

  Ouch. Tash is being harsh. On the other hand … it has been three years. Hasn’t it? I can’t keep track anymore. “Can’t you just go with someone else?” I ask, trying to make peace.

  “There isn’t anyone else I like,” Joelle snaps. “Letting him slip away was the biggest mistake of my life. I wish you guys could understand that. I’m going inside. Later.” She spins and walks away without looking at any of us.

  Tash sighs and grabs a handful of pretzels from a plastic bowl. “She’s such a drama queen. I don’t even think she likes Jerome. She just likes the idea of being a tortured artist.” She waves at someone across the room.

  I look in the direction she’s staring in and see Nick Dennings with his arm around Elle Mangerls, his sophomore girlfriend. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and jeans, but he definitely has a geeky-cute thing going on. He laughs at something his girlfriend says, and it’s a nice belly laugh, one that echoes around the room.

  “I heard his parents bought him a plane for graduation,” Karin whispers.

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask. That seems insane. “Like with a crew and everything?”

  “No—a small one. That he could fly.”

  “How does he know how to fly a plane?”

  “He’s been taking lessons,” Tash says.

  Imagine—having your own plane. Or having a boyfriend who has his own plane. Maybe I should go out with him. Not now, obviously—he has a girlfriend—but as a freshman. And he’s supersmart. And has a great laugh. So what if he had acne? He grows out of it. He’s a superb long-term investment. It would be nice to have a boyfriend again. And Nick would have to be a better boyfriend than Bryan. At least he wouldn’t one day decide he wants to move to Canada.

  I excuse myself to call Frosh. “Hey,” I say.

  “What’s up?” she asks. “I thought you were trying to save battery.”

  “I am. But I have an idea. Since you’re so desperate to have a boyfriend—”

  “I am not!”

  “Whatever. Do you know Nick Dennings?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Go out with him,” I say.

  “Nooooo.”

  “What’s wrong? Don’t judge him by his acne.” She’s so superficial.

  “It’s not because of his acne. I tried talking to him tonight, and he was completely lame.”

  “Give him another chance. He’s a great guy.”

  “Why, what does he do?” she asks with interest. “Cure cancer or something?”

  “Not everyone can be on the cancer-curing track,” I say. “He’s smart. And has a great laugh. And he has a plane.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Eeeeeep!

  Even though the sound gives me a mini heart attack, I ignore it and rush on. “He’s getting his own airplane! How cool is that? His mom sold her Internet company for a ton. Plus, his acne clears up and he’s actually really cute. You should lock him up early. He’s a keeper. He’d probably pay for our college too. And think of it—I could fly anywhere I want this summer! L.A., Miami, wherever!”

  She laughs. “You want me to go out with someone now because in three years his mother is going to be rich?”

  “It sounds kind of crass when you say it like that.”

  She sighs. “If I went out with him now, wouldn’t I have to stay with him until senior year?”

  “I suppose.”

  “That’s a lot of time for a trip to South Beach.”

  “It’s not just for a trip to South Beach.” Although that would be fun.

  “I’m not dating some guy with the personality of a wet sponge just so you can get a free trip. Sorry.”

  “Just talk to him again! That’s all I’m asking. Give him a chance. Please?”

  She clucks her tongue. “I’ll talk to him again. But that’s it. If there are no sparks, I’m giving up.”

  “Deal.” Oh! I have a brilliant idea. “If you don’t like him … see if Joelle does!”

  “But she’s still obsessing over Jerome Cohen,” she says cluelessly.

  “Exactly! Let’s get rid of Jerome Cohen. That relationship was obviously no good for her. If she falls for someone else instead, she won’t be obsessed with Jerome.”

  “Ha. You just want to have a best friend who has a boyfriend with a plane.”

  I laugh. “It can’t hurt.”

  chapter thirty-two

  Saturday, September 17 Freshman Year

  I find Karin, Joelle, and Tash on Kellerman’s living room couch. When I spot Nick Dennings standing by himself, fiddling with an iPod, I wave him over. I definitely don’t think he’s the right guy fo
r me, but I’m happy to play matchmaker and try to fix him up with Joelle.

  He looks at me, looks away, and then looks back at me. He seems unsure if I’m actually motioning to him.

  I wave again.

  He blushes in a “who-me?” way and then shuffles over.

  “What are you doing?” Karin whispers.

  “Isn’t he kind of cute?” I say. “He’s smart too. I think he’s a way better catch than Jerome Cohen.”

  “You’re crazy,” Joelle says under her breath.

  “Hello,” Nick says. “I’m Nick.”

  Er. “Yeah, we met before,” Joelle says, rolling her eyes. No, I don’t think the two of them are going to hit it off. They’re kind of like water and oil. Or water and a cell phone. And not in the good way.

  “Sorry,” he says, blushing.

  “I never remember people either,” I hurry to say. “I have the worst memory. It’s a problem.”

  Nick cocks his head to the side and smiles. “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate.”

  Huh? Was that English?

  Tash laughs. A big, deep, hearty laugh.

  “I don’t get it,” Karin says.

  I shrug.

  Joelle’s gaze bounces between Nick and Tash.

  “Old science joke,” Tash says, blushing.

  Interesting. Very interesting.

  chapter thirty-three

  Sunday, June 1 Senior Year

  There’s a loud knock on my door on Sunday morning.

  Early Sunday morning. Seven-thirty on Sunday morning.

  “Hon?” my dad says, opening the door. He’s dressed in pleated khaki pants and a crisp white shirt. “You’re still in bed? We tee off in half an hour. You better get a move on.”

  Huh? Obviously something has changed but I don’t under stand what. Why is my dad up so early? Why is he not in his bathrobe? Why is he looking fit? “We’re going for tea?”

  He laughs. “We’re playing golf. In half an hour. Get moving. I just put on a pot of coffee.”

  Seriously? I jump out of bed. I don’t think I’ve seen my dad out of bed this early since before he lost his job. And we’re going to play … just the two of us? What if we have nothing to talk about? And how does one play golf exactly? And what does one wear to play golf? I open my closet door and rummage through my stuff. Can I wear jeans? I have no idea.