“She said, ‘That’s great, Normie! Now all you have to do is get an E for eating excellence.’ They only care about my weight.”
Stacey felt terrible for Norman. His parents were part of his problem — and they didn’t even know it.
“I think you should tell your parents how you feel,” Stacey suggested. “Tell your mother if you can’t tell you father.”
“She’ll just tell me to flush my system,” said Norman glumly.
Stacey was desperate to cheer up Norman. “Here’s what you do if she says that,” said Stacey. She put her hand to her forehead as if she were saluting. Then she brought her palm and thumb down over her eye as she said, “Flussshhhhh!” as if she were a toilet flushing.
Naturally, this cracked Norman up. (When dealing with seven-year-old boys, toilet jokes work almost every time.) He imitated Stacey. “Flusshhhhhhh!” His face beamed with laughter.
Stacey felt a little guilty about telling Norman to do this. His mother might not appreciate it. Still, she didn’t really care. She liked seeing Norman laugh.
By six o’clock Saturday evening my brain felt as if it were about to explode. I had been given more dating advice than I could handle.
This was thanks to Mary Anne. No sooner had I finished one magazine article than she handed me another. No matter how fast I read, she was always one article ahead of me.
After learning about “you-directed conversations,” I read articles with titles like “Taking Charge of Your First Date,” “Flirting With Flare,” “Subtle Signs to Show You Care.” One was even called (believe it or not) “Eating Tips for New Daters.” (Don’t eat things that can get stuck in your teeth or that will give you gas. Gas! I couldn’t believe it! Though I suppose belching — or worse — would be totally mortifying.)
I was slowly growing more and more annoyed with Mary Anne. It was hard to confront her, because she was trying to help me. But I felt like screaming, “Mary Anne, is anything about me okay the way it is?”
There really was no point in asking, though. The answer was obviously no.
I kept telling myself to be grateful for Mary Anne’s help. After all, she had a steady boyfriend. She had to know more about it than I did. Still, she was definitely getting on my nerves.
Mary Anne sat on my bed while I got ready for our double date. “Dawn, you’re not wearing that, are you?” she asked, as I pulled one of my new sweat skirts out of the closet.
“You said it was cute,” I reminded her.
“I know, but not for tonight. You need something special.” She was already dressed in a nice flowered dress. Earlier I’d fixed her hair in a French braid. (It was a little too short for a braid, but with bobby pins, gel, and a bow at the bottom, I made it look nice.) She wore a little blush, some mascara, and lip gloss. Mary Anne looked pretty, but not especially special.
“Look at you,” I pointed out. “You’re casual.”
“Logan already likes me the way I am,” she replied. (I noticed this was the second time she’d said that.) “You’re just starting to date Lewis.”
I threw up my hands in frustration. “I don’t have any other skirts or dresses,” I cried. “I mean, I don’t have anything special.”
“Let me see what I have,” said Mary Anne.
As she walked out the door, I shook my head in disbelief. A year ago I would never (ever) have expected to be taking fashion advice from Mary Anne. Imagine — Mary Anne, the girl who used to wear jumpers and pigtails, was now telling me how to dress! It was strange but true.
“Try these,” said Mary Anne, returning to the room. She threw a denim skirt and a black turtleneck on my bed. I tried them on. I thought I looked kind of plain, but Mary Anne was ecstatic. “Perfect,” she proclaimed. “I’m going to call Logan and tell him we’re ready.”
I needed more time. But Mary Anne was out the door before I could say anything.
Standing in front of my mirror, I sighed at my image. Mary Anne was wrong. I was too plain. Working quickly, I applied blush, mascara, and lots of navy blue eyeliner. The final touch was the hot pink lipstick I’d bought at the drugstore that afternoon.
The next problem was my hair. Mary Anne had advised me to set it and then pull it back, letting curly wisps fall out of the clip. “It’s very romantic this way,” she said, as she decided which wisps belonged where.
But just that afternoon I’d read a magazine article saying pulled-back hair turned guys off. (“Let him see your feminine glory loose and flowing free,” is what it said, to be exact.) So I opened the clip and let the curls “flow free.” I looked like a little kid with big loopy curls. Luckily I had some hair gel. I put gel on the sides, and looked a lot better.
I jazzed up the outfit with a pair of black textured stockings I’d bought at Zingy’s and a pair of short black boots I already owned. My skirt needed to be shorter, so I rolled it up two inches and untucked the black turtleneck. Much better, I decided, as I left my room.
When I met Mary Anne on the stairs, she frowned. “What happened to your hair?”
“I like it better this way,” I insisted.
“It’s okay, I guess,” she said skeptically. “But you went overboard with the eyeliner.”
“If it looks so bad I’ll take it off,” I snapped turning on the narrow stairs.
Mary Anne grabbed my arm. “You don’t have time. Lewis and Logan are already on their way over. The eyeliner isn’t that awful.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“No, it’s fine. You’ll just make a big mess if you start to redo it now. We don’t want to be late for the movie.”
“I thought we were eating first,” I said.
“Logan and I decided we should eat later,” said Mary Anne. “Since we’re going earlier, we can catch an earlier movie.”
“Thanks for telling me,” I grumbled.
Mom and Richard were watching TV in the living room. When I came in, Richard frowned. Mom shot him a glance that said, “Leave her alone.” I have to give Richard credit (and thank Mom). He didn’t say a word. He just pretended to be concentrating on the TV program.
“Have a good time,” Mom said, as the doorbell rang.
“Home by ten,” said Richard, glancing up from the screen.
“You said ten-thirty,” Mary Anne reminded him.
“Ten-thirty on the dot,” Richard agreed.
Logan stood at the front door, looking pretty much as he always does. (“Exactly like Cam Geary,” Mary Anne likes to say.) It probably took him all of ten minutes to comb his hair and put on a clean shirt. Boys have it so easy.
“I like your hair that way,” Logan told Mary Anne.
“Thanks,” Mary Anne replied, taking his hand. In the driveway, Mr. Bruno was waiting for us with the motor running. Logan jumped into the front seat, leaving Mary Anne and me in the back with Lewis.
The minute I saw Lewis, that melty, mushy feeling hit me all over again. He was not only handsome, but he had a pleasant face. He’d seemed nice in his letters, and from his face you could tell he was nice. His letters had shown the real Lewis.
“Hi,” I said to my date. Then I remembered one of my ten conversation boosters. Always use the person’s name. “Hi, Lewis,” I added quickly.
“He heard you the first time, Dawn,” Mary Anne said, with a nervous giggle.
“I know that, Mary Anne,” I replied, an edge to my voice.
“Hi!” Lewis laughed. “Are you ready to show me Stoneybrook nightlife?”
“That should take about three seconds.” I chuckled. Suddenly I remembered another conversation booster. Avoid negativity. Be upbeat. “Actually, there is a great deal to see and do here in Stoneybrook. The nightlife is one of the great things about our town. I’m out practically every night of the week!”
I was stopped cold by the expression on Mary Anne’s face. She was looking at me as if I had lost my mind.
“Well, not every night of the week.” I giggled. “Many nights, but not every night. I mean —”
“Dawn is joking,” Mary Anne interrupted me. “She’s always kidding around. Aren’t you, Dawn?”
Lewis and Mary Anne both looked at me. “Yes, I guess I am,” I replied, feeling like a moron. “That’s me. A real kidder.”
“Dawn, tell Lewis about California,” coached Mary Anne.
“California is great,” I began. California is a subject I like to talk about. “The last time I visited my father and Jeff, I felt like I’d never left, in some ways. But in other ways I felt a little odd to be back. I think that was because —” I stopped myself. This was all wrong. I wasn’t supposed to talk about me. I was supposed to be “you-directed” and talk about Lewis. “I’d much rather hear about Kentucky,” I said.
“Logan’s probably told you most of it,” Lewis said.
Everyone loves a compliment, I recalled. “Tell us about Louisville,” I said. “Anywhere you live must be completely fascinating, Lewis.”
I was proud of myself. I’d been “you-directed” and delivered a compliment. Plus, I’d thrown Lewis’s name in for good measure.
Lewis gave me a wary look. Maybe he wasn’t used to such dazzling conversation. “It’s not all that fascinating,” he began, but he told us about Louisville. I wasn’t really listening because I was thinking ahead to the next thing I should say.
Notice something special about the person you’re talking to. What could I notice about Lewis? Suddenly I came up with a good one. “Hey, I just realized something,” I blurted out.
“Dawn!” Mary Anne said. (It came out “Daw-aaa-unnnnn!”) “Lewis was talking.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized. “It’s just that I realized your name is Lewis, and you live in Louisville.”
“So?” asked Mary Anne.
“So, Lewis, Louie. Don’t you get it?”
Lewis moaned. “Ever since I was little, people have always said: ‘Hey, Lewis, do you own the whole town?’ Or if I ask a question, they say: ‘This is your town, you should know.’ It drives me crazy.”
“Oops, sorry,” I said.
“No, it’s okay.” Lewis smiled. “You didn’t know.”
He was so nice!
When we reached the theater, I was surprised to see that Gone With the Wind was playing. I’d thought we were going to see a new movie that had just come out. One I was really looking forward to. “We’re seeing this in honor of Lewis, since he’s from the South,” Mary Anne said, as we stood in the ticket line.
While the boys bought the tickets, Mary Anne pulled me aside. “This is a very romantic movie. That’s really why I picked it,” she whispered. “When a kissing scene comes, rest your hand near Lewis’. Give him the chance to hold it. Oh, and there are some scary parts in this movie. Lean in toward him at those times, like you’re really scared.”
“All right,” I agreed, since Mary Anne seemed to know what she was talking about.
“Anyone want popcorn?” Logan asked, as we passed the snack counter.
“Sure,” said Mary Anne.
“How about you?” Lewis asked me.
“No thanks, Lewis,” I said, remembering to use his name and not to eat anything that might get stuck in my teeth.
Suddenly I felt a sharp pinch on my arm. It was Mary Anne. “Dawn would love some popcorn,” she told Lewis. “She adores popcorn. Don’t you, Dawn?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. I do,” I said. (I certainly wasn’t impressing Lewis with my brains this evening. But maybe that was okay. Boys aren’t supposed to like smart girls. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.)
“I’ll get the popcorn, since you paid for the movie,” I offered. “Ouch!” Mary Anne had pinched me again.
“Are you okay?” Lewis asked me.
“Yes, um, I just had a cramp,” I lied.
“Oh,” Lewis said. “Do you want to go home?” (Oh, great! I said to myself. He thinks I’m sick.)
“In my leg, that’s all,” I said, hopping a little for effect.
“She always gets leg cramps,” Mary Anne jumped in. “By the time you come back with the popcorn, she’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” said Lewis. He looked worried as he joined Logan at the snack counter.
“Stop pinching me,” I hissed at Mary Anne.
“Sorry, but I had to talk to you alone. You have to have popcorn,” Mary Anne said impatiently. “That way you can reach for it the same time he does. It’s a way for your hands to touch.”
When we found our seats, Mary Anne made a big production of climbing over Logan so that Lewis and I would be sitting together. Thank goodness the lights finally went down and the movie came on.
Lewis’s style of sharing popcorn was to hand me the bucket, then take it back. There was no chance of meeting in the middle.
So it was up to me.
When I had the popcorn, I propped it up between us on the arms of the seat and waited. My eyes darted back and forth from the screen to the popcorn. I’d have to be quick if I wanted to get my hand in there at the same time Lewis did.
At last he reached for the popcorn. I went for it at the same time.
But I missed. (Boy, did I miss!)
Instead of gently brushing his hand, I knocked over the bucket. Buttery popcorn flew everywhere. “I’m so sorry,” I cried, jumping out of my seat.
“Sit down!” the woman behind me scolded angrily.
On my knees, I began scooping up popcorn.
“Sit down and forget about it,” Mary Anne snapped at me.
“Okay,” I mumbled, sitting on some popcorn that had landed on my seat.
In the scene where all of Atlanta was burning, I leaned toward Lewis as Mary Anne had instructed. But Lewis was on the edge of his seat, straining forward. He didn’t even notice.
And then, as if things weren’t bad enough, I started crying when Scarlett and Rhett’s little girl fell off the horse and died. Lewis turned and looked at me then. For a moment I thought he was admiring my sensitivity. Wrong.
I discovered what he was really gazing at when I wiped my eyes. Looking down at my hand, I saw that it was navy blue. (Practically.) It was smeared with eye makeup.
“Oh no!” I cried. I jumped up again. Eye makeup was all over my face.
“Sit down!” hissed the woman behind me.
“Sorry,” I muttered, as I stumbled over a zillion feet on my way to the aisle. In the ladies’ room I saw that the mess was even worse than I’d imagined. Blue-black streaked my cheeks. It took forever to mop up. And I had to go through the same thing all over again when Miss Melanie died. (Why couldn’t Mary Anne have picked a comedy?)
Gone With the Wind is a long movie. By the time we got out, it was nearly ten. “Let’s eat something quick at the coffee shop,” Logan suggested. “I can call my father from there.”
“I think we’d better go straight home,” I said, feeling pretty worn out. “Richard will be mad if we’re late.”
Reluctantly, Mary Anne agreed. On the ride home, she seemed determined to make the most of the last minutes of our date. “Dawn is so funny sometimes,” she told Lewis. “Dawn, tell Lewis what you did on New Year’s Eve.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“Of course you do,” replied Mary Anne. “Dawn put up a banner she’d found that said, ‘Happy New Year 1979.’”
“I don’t get it,” Lewis said, bewildered.
“There’s nothing to get,” said Mary Anne. “It’s just that another person wouldn’t have put the sign up. But Dawn always does things her own way. She’s a real individual.”
Lewis gave me that small quavery smile he’d used at the airport. The date was a complete disaster. And Mary Anne was only making it worse.
I thought the ride home would never end. But at last it did. We said good night, and Mr. Bruno pulled away.
“Well,” said Mary Anne, as we stood in the driveway, waving. “The least you can do is thank me.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“I tried as hard a
s I could to make this date a success. It’s not my fault that you did everything wrong. I did the best I could.”
“You’re right, Mary Anne,” I said furiously. “I would like to thank you. Thanks a lot for absolutely nothing!” Tears of anger sprang to my eyes as I turned and stormed into the house.
On Monday afternoon we held our regular BSC meeting. I had no intention of walking to Claudia’s with Mary Anne. If I did, I might have to talk to her. And I had decided never to talk to Mary Anne, the know-it-all Date Wrecker, again.
Mary Anne felt the same way. (Though why she should be mad at me, I had no idea.) But clearly she no more wanted to talk to me than I wanted to talk to her. Which was just fine.
Even though I gave Mary Anne almost a five-minute head start, I arrived at Claudia’s right behind her. (I suppose I do have longer legs than she does.) Mary Anne was only halfway up the stairs when I let myself in the Kishis’ front door. Without even looking at Mary Anne, I walked up the stairs and right past her.
“How was the date?” Stacey asked, the minute I entered Claudia’s room. (We had not discussed it at school. The cafeteria is not exactly an appropriate place for private conversations.
“Was it great?” asked Kristy eagerly.
“Tell us about it,” Claudia said excitedly.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I replied, as I sat on Claudia’s bed. “Mary Anne interrupted me when I spoke. In front of everyone, she treated me like an idiot. She told dumb stories about me. And she completely ruined my chances with Lewis. That’s all.”
Mary Anne had come into the room right behind me. Her eyes narrowed and her face turned pink with anger. “Would you like to hear the real story now?” she asked. “The real story is that Dawn made an idiot of herself. I did my best to stop her. Which is why I had to interrupt her sometimes. I told interesting stories about her, since she wasn’t saying anything interesting.”
I pushed up the sleeves of the black leotard I was wearing. “Mal, do you see this black-and-blue mark?”
Mallory winced. “What happened?”
“This is where Mary Anne pinched me every time she didn’t like something I said,” I pointed out.
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