If we’re going to have any chance at winning, we have to do better. We have to do more. Raise our game.
“This doesn’t have any personality.” I start examining every step of our machine.
“Yeah, it also doesn’t work.” Dan states the obvious.
“What’s your favorite machine you’ve seen online?” I ask the group.
Conor stands up quickly. He tucks a strand of his chin-length straight black hair behind his ear. “That’s easy—one that was Lord of the Rings themed, where it started by releasing a foot shaped like a Hobbit’s and ended up with a ring being put on a finger. Hilarious, ingenuous, and stuck pretty close to its source material.”
Dan looks thoughtful for a moment before he replies, “This may seem weird, but there was one that was a circus theme. Everything that moved had something Big Top–ish about it. It reminded me of going to the circus when I was little.”
“We don’t have any of those things,” I reply with a defeated tone. “We need to add ourselves to it. Why have a regular needle pop the balloon if we can do something different?”
“Okay! Okay!” Brady practically jumps out of his seat. “I always thought it would be cool if we could have, like, I don’t know, a medieval jouster on a horse stab the balloon with a lance instead of a needle.”
“Oh!” Conor exclaims. “My grandpa used to tell me about this game they used to play in Manila, Juego de Anillo, where you’d ride a horse or a bike, holding a dagger to catch rings that would hang from a tree or something else. Maybe we could have the jouster stab through some rings, which would then pull a string to release another object. It would bring some rich culture to our project. Something you pasty white folks don’t know anything about.”
“I’m half-Mexican,” I argue, although he has a point. We need to add more of us. More fun. More spice.
He bows down exaggeratedly to me. “Lo siento, senorita.”
“I love it!” Brady holds up his hand to Conor for a high five. “We could have a damsel in distress behind the balloon so when it’s popped, it’s like we saved her.”
“Ah, why does it have to be a girl that’s in distress?” Even though I often do my gender a disservice by being so boy obsessed, I feel the need to stick up for females since I’m the only girl in the room.
The guys collectively roll their eyes at me.
“It’s a theme,” Conor says.
“It’s also a lot of work,” Dan admits.
How often do you get a second chance? That’s what I really need right now, a second chance to prove … something. If not to Brady, then maybe to myself. Or both. We can make it better, make it fun, make it us.
It all comes back to Patience, Planning, and Perseverance.
“It is a lot of work,” I concede. Then I look right at Brady and add, “But it would be worth it.”
Brady studies me for a second, as if he’s seeing me for the first time since he walked into the room. He curls his lip in a smile, nods, and says, “Let’s get to work.”
After we’re done with some ridiculous and reinvigorating brainstorming, Brady walks me to my car. It’s the first time in weeks we’ve been alone.
“Everything okay?” I ask one more time, hoping he’ll open up to me now that it’s just the two of us.
He nods. “Yeah, totally.” He looks down at his phone, shutting me out once again.
I go through my mind trying to figure out what I could’ve done to make him so distant. Whenever Brady gets like this, I always think it’s my fault. But maybe he’s having a bad day. We’re all allowed our off days. Or, in my case, weeks. Months. Possibly years.
He finally looks up. “Are we completely nuts for redoing the machine at this point?”
“Well, we’re in a Rube Goldberg club, so clearly we don’t have all our marbles,” I tease. “But we can do it.” I remind myself to stay positive. It’s the only way we’re going to survive.
“Yeah, we can.” He pauses for a second. “Spending all this time with you reminds me of the old times. I’m really going to miss this next year. I’m really going to miss you, Hope.”
And just like that, Brady does a one-eighty and knocks the wind from me. How am I supposed to react to that? Doesn’t he realize how much those words mean to me? There are times I think everything between us is only in my mind, then he goes and says something that proves he also feels something between us.
I move ever so slightly, so I’m only a couple of inches from him as we walk out into the parking lot. He’s brave enough to tell the truth, so I force myself to say the easiest confession. “I’m really going to miss you, too. I’ve known you my entire life.”
He wraps his arm around me as a jolt of electricity ignites my entire body. “I know. I feel the same way.”
But does he truly feel the same way?
He continues, “Luckily, I’ve got a few months left. And we’ve got this competition together. I know we can win. Remember, Hope: step by step. You’ve got this.”
That’s all I need from him, a glimmer of hope (sometimes my name is so spot-on). I know I’ll hold on to this exchange when things seem dire. Although suddenly things seem to be looking up.
35 DAYS AWAY
The benefit of having Madelyn Austin as your best friend is that your weekends are anything but routine.
While most of our classmates are being predictable by going to the movies on a Saturday night, we’re making our way into Chuck’s, a small concert venue in Akron that allows sixteen-year-olds and up at certain shows. After we get our hands stamped to indicate we’re minors, we head downstairs to the graffiti-covered basement, where the opening act, some band we’ve never heard of, is blasting the music so loud my chest vibrates.
Truth be told, we rarely know the bands we see, but it’s better than sitting around our small town doing the same thing as everybody else. And, yes, this also prevents me from having to endure running into Brady and Parker as they hold hands, or catch them making out in the back of the movie theater.
The place is relatively empty, since the headliner isn’t scheduled to go on until ten, when we’ll already be on our way home. So we’re two of the few people who actually listen and dance to the openers.
Well, Madelyn dances while I lean against the wall and bob my head up and down.
“Come on!” Madelyn grabs my hand to drag me to the sparse space in front of the stage.
“I’ll get us drinks,” I scream over a cover of an old Green Day song.
“You promised!” she shouts back. “We’re going to have some fun, remember?”
Before I can respond, Madelyn runs right up to the front and begins to sing along, pump her fist, and dance like nobody’s watching. I’m envious of how uninhibited she is. I wrap my arms around my tummy, wishing I hadn’t picked such a tight-fitting shirt, as I make my way over to get us sodas. I squeeze between a couple that’s sitting down at the bar. Not surprisingly, the tattoo-clad bartender ignores me, as he’s busy chatting with two pretty girls. I pull out a twenty and hold it out on the bar, trying not to cringe when I notice how sticky the surface is. Madelyn found this place online during winter break and we’ve been the last two weeks, but it isn’t the cleanest. Even though you haven’t been able to smoke in bars for years in Ohio, the scent of cigarette smoke still lingers. (I got a nice lecture from Mom when she went to wash my jeans after our first visit, convinced I’d started smoking.)
The bartender helps the couple next to me and I hold out my twenty a bit farther, but he, once again, refuses to acknowledge my existence.
I’ve never been the kind of girl who guys notice. I’ve never been asked out on a date, unless you count going to homecoming every year with Madelyn. The only time guys go out of their way to talk to me is right before one of my parties. Or if I’m with my mom. There seems to be a twenty-foot radius of male admirers around Mom at any given moment.
Brady’s the only guy who’s ever seen me. He notices things like if I’ve gotten a new haircut. He c
ompliments me, makes me feel like I matter. It’s nice to have somebody besides my parents and Madelyn notice me.
Although Brady’s done the opposite of noticing me today. Another day of avoidance. We had an emergency group meeting to discuss the new machine and Brady was a no-show. If he’s so concerned about missing me next year, I would’ve thought he would put in more effort to be around me while we’re still in the same town.
I can’t make sense of it. How can someone I know so much about still puzzle me?
I feel a sting behind my eyes as I shake my head to try to get Brady and those all-too-familiar negative thoughts out. I’m here with Madelyn to enjoy the band, not feel sorry for myself.
Well, I’m also attempting to get drinks, but this bartender still refuses to acknowledge me and it’s technically his job to notice people.
“Excuse me,” I attempt to say over the music, but it’s no use.
“Dude!” Madelyn appears by my side. “We need some refreshments, stat!”
The guy looks up and gives Madelyn a nod as she orders a Cherry Coke and a Shirley Temple. Last week when I placed the same order, I got a disapproving headshake. But he simply takes the money Madelyn has out, and she gives him a five-dollar tip, on top of a four-dollar tab.
“Madelyn!”
She shrugs. “That guarantees us he’ll be more attentive next time.”
But Madelyn is never one to leave mere disses alone. “Yo!” she calls out to the bartender, who approaches us again.
“Need anything else?” he asks. I have to hand it to her—he doesn’t look at us with as much annoyance this time.
“Since we’ll be regulars, I thought I’d give you the pleasure of meeting my awesome friend, Hope. I’m Madelyn. I know you meet a lot of people, but you won’t have any problem remembering me once you see me dominate the dance floor.”
The guy laughs. “Is that right?”
“You laugh now, but just you wait.”
“You go to the U?”
He thinks we’re in college?
“I wish. We have eighteen months left on our high school sentence. We live in Nowheresville. Have you heard of it?”
The guy nods. “It’s right next to where I’m from, Desolation, USA.”
I watch with envy as Madelyn continues to banter back and forth with this complete stranger. She’s managed, within a couple of minutes, to turn this guy from finding us annoying to amusing. Well, Madelyn, at least.
He leans in closer. “You driving?”
Madelyn tilts her head toward me. “I’ve got my chauffeur right here.”
“You want me to top off your drink with something stronger?”
I give her a warning look. My mom barely allows me to drive an hour to a concert, especially after I smelled like a chimney the first time. If Madelyn gets drunk, I’ll never be able to leave the house again. Which, come to think of it, might be a dream come true for Mom. She’d always know where I was and there’d be no escape.
“Naw.” Madelyn gives the guy a wink. “The only spirits I require are of the rock ’n’ roll variety.”
Right then, the band plays a cover of some ’90s alternative song that Madelyn put on one of her Akron road-trip mixes. “Come on, Hope!” She pulls me by the hand—and since she’s stronger than me, I’m in a losing battle. “You have to dance to this song. It’s the best.”
I reluctantly join Madelyn on the dance floor with my Cherry Coke. I shake my hips back and forth. It’s not like I don’t know how to dance, but I can’t be like Madelyn.
“Hope!” she prods. “Let it go, have fun!”
I nod to get myself ready. I can do this. I’ve danced plenty of times around the house with my parents. We used to have dance parties when I was little. Mom would put on Margarita or Selena and teach me cumbia dance moves, as well as a couple of Mexican folk routines. So I do know a thing or two about dancing.
But something holds me back. It’s not like anybody’s watching me, or if they are, they don’t even know who I am. I just … can’t.
“Hope!” Madelyn jumps up and down while she sings along at the top of her lungs.
You know what, Hope? the voice in my head screams. Why the hell are you so concerned about these people and what they’ll think of you? You’ll never see them again.
Well, I’ll see some of them next week, but as I look around, nobody’s even glancing at Madelyn. They’re all doing their own thing. My head is right: I need to let loose, then maybe I’ll get out of my funk. Or maybe I’ll make a total fool out of myself.
Oh God, Hope, you’re driving me crazy. Shut up and dance.
I close my eyes and join Madelyn, who woots with approval as I start to move to the beat of the drum. I shake, I shimmy, and I don’t give a flying fig about what anybody around me thinks. Well, at least not over the next hour while I dance with Madelyn, who’s ecstatic I’ve “finally gotten over” myself.
The band finishes and a few other people have started to crowd around us for the main band, but it’s getting late, and since we need to make curfew, we head out. I’m still sweating as we head to my car, even though it’s snowing outside.
“What got into you?” Madelyn asks once we get into the car. “Don’t get me wrong—I love this side of you. I hope this becomes the norm, not the exception.”
I shrug, even though I am pretty proud of myself for simply letting go. “I decided not to care.”
“The world would be better off if we all decided to care a little less about the stuff that doesn’t matter.” Madelyn connects her phone to my stereo and puts on the mix she made for the hour drive back to Nowheresville. “Now we simply need to find you a new guy to obsess over and life will be wonderful.”
I don’t reply because this isn’t the first (and I doubt it will be the last) time Madelyn’s tried to get me to like a new guy. But I can’t help how I feel. There hasn’t been another guy. We’re in a small town. The options are limited. Plus, it’s really hard to have a crush on most of the guys in school when you’ve known them since kindergarten. There are some images that are hard to get out of your mind, like Josh Addison constantly digging for gold in his nose all through middle school or Joe Cooper getting his lunch freshly delivered (and hair combed and napkin put on his lap) by his mother every day at lunch until seventh grade. Even my mom thought that was too much.
What other guys are there? I haven’t even entertained the idea of another guy. Should I? Brady has had years to develop feelings for me. What makes me think it’ll magically happen in the next thirty-five days? He knows me better than he knows Parker. We always have a good time together, so I hate that it always comes down to this: me.
I can dance around and pretend to be happy for a couple of hours, but at the end of the day I’m not Parker.
Mom always tells me everything happens for a reason. Maybe there’s a reason Brady and I aren’t together, besides the fact he’s obviously not attracted to me.
I can look at the cold, bitter facts, but my heart still wants what it wants.
Although, I can’t forget about what happened yesterday. He had his arm around me. He admitted he was going to miss me.
Fact: You have to have some sort of feelings for someone in order to miss them. You don’t miss somebody who doesn’t mean anything to you. You don’t miss a random neighbor or classmate.
I know I mean something to Brady.
“Hope?” Madelyn turns down the music. “Are you okay? You got quiet all of a sudden. What happened to outgoing, doesn’t-give-a-crap Hope? She was just here!” Madelyn pretends to look in the backseat of the car and the glove compartment. “Where did she go? Hello? Hello?”
“I’m still here,” I reply, but that’s not true. I do give a crap. That sense of lightness and joy I had moments ago has disappeared. Sure, it was fun to dance around without a care in the world, but an hour of bliss can’t fix everything.
“Good, I think we should look at their calendar and see if we can pull off coming at least once dur
ing the week. I know Gabriela will probably have a coronary about you going out on a school night, but we need more of this in our lives. What about Wednesday? Music is the perfect antidote for hump day.”
“Well, we have to redo the machine so during the week is going to be tough,” I remind her.
“Right.” She sits back in her seat with her arms folded. I know she’s annoyed I can’t simply drop everything and go to concerts every night of the week, but I made a commitment to the team.
Madelyn sighs. “Man, I already miss Fun Hope.”
Me too.
33 DAYS AWAY
The concert feels like two years ago, not two days. Instead of feeling free, all I feel now is pressure. Being around Brady isn’t even giving me any comfort.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he tells me as the club takes over the downstairs TV room in my house. We’ve moved the machine here, since the changes are going to take a lot more time than a couple of hours each week in Mr. Sutton’s classroom.
Our large downstairs (couch and TV on one end and Mom’s gym equipment on the other) has been transformed into a basement of misfit toy scraps. LEGOs, ramps, strings, dominos, plastic funnels, and other random items we think we may need are scattered all over the floor and every surface.
“We need the space and the extra hours to get this right,” I say. I spent Sunday mapping out all the changes we need to make and items we need to buy. Dan and Conor are busy in the corner organizing our new elements. I look back at Brady. I didn’t see him all weekend, which isn’t anything new since Parker, but even today at school he was still a little distant. I try to bring him back to me. “Plus, if this machine doesn’t work, I’ll have to rely on my foolproof backup plan of becoming a professional bowler.”
“Huh?” He looks at me distractedly. “Sorry, I was somewhere else.”
It seems like lately his thoughts are always on someone else.
But maybe it’s just the stress of the upcoming competition. I try again: “Hey, you’ve been a little distant lately. Anything you want to talk about? Is it the club?”
Just Another Girl Page 4