A Match Made in High School (10 page)

Nana flipped out in a good way. “Oh, Tommy! A girlfriend! I’m so happy for you,” etc. But Uncle Tommy got real y quiet. Then he said, “And this person’s name is Alan.” He stepped aside, and this absolutely gorgeous, dark-haired man walked through the door. I swear to God his eyes were the exact color of this jade pendant my mom has. *Swoon.*

So Nana says, “Is this another friend? Where’s El en?”

Gorgeous Guy total y stifled a grin.

Uncle Tommy said, “No, Ma. Not El en.
Alan
. Ma, I’m gay.”

Nana ran off crying but came back about five minutes later and eyebal ed Alan from head to foot. She said, “Wel , you’re no El en. Have you got a job?”

Alan: “Yes, ma’am. I’m an architect.”

Nana: “Got any of those diseases?”

Alan: “No, ma’am. Total y clean.”

Nana: “Let’s get two things straight, Mr. Total y Clean Architect. If you ever hurt my boy—body or soul—I’ll break your kneecaps. And second, nobody cal s me ma’am. It makes me feel like an old lady. You may call me Agnes.”

Alan: “Thank you, Agnes.”

Nana said, “Go on and help yourself to a Little Smokie, there, El en.”

Dad burst out laughing. Alan laughed too, but said, “No, thank you,” because he’s a vegetarian.

“Vegetarian?” Nana cried. “Now that’s too much!” She turned to Uncle Tommy. “You’re not a vegetarian are you?”

“No, Ma,” he said. “I eat meat.”

Dad muttered, “I bet you do,” and Mom socked him in the arm.

Uncle Tommy said, “Ma, I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” she said. “For forty-three years I’ve watched you live a life of misery. And I suffered along with you. That was hurt. Now, after all that time . . . I’m final y not hurt, Thomas Daniel Sheehan. Not hurt. No. I’m relieved. I only wish it hadn’t taken you forty-three years.” She hugged Uncle Tommy and whispered, “My baby boy. My baby boy.”

It would have been a perfect—albeit twisted—Hal mark moment if Dad hadn’t blurted out, “Wait a minute. Are you saying you knew all
along
he was gay?”

112 Kristin Walker

She said, “A mother knows her son.”

Uncle Tommy kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Ma.”

Dad said, “I need a drink.” He helped himself to a large glass of whiskey and slumped on the couch. Mom sat next to him, took his drink, swil ed a mouthful of it, and then handed it back. He put his arm around her and pul ed her closer. It was like they’d had a conversation without saying a single word. Like Dad had said, I don’t know how to handle this. Then Mom said, I know. This is a tough one. But I’m here for you. And then Dad said, Thanks. I love you for that.

Bizarre.

But wait! It gets better. Several fat whiskeys later, Dad and I were alone at the table. He was absolutely soused. He turns to me and says, “You’re not gay, are you, Fiona?”

I said, “
What
?”

Drunk Dad: “I mean, you’ve never had a boyfriend. And you’re not exactly . . . girly.”

Me: “Uh, thanks a lot there, Dad.”

DD: “Nononono. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the way you are.”

Me: “Ohhhkay . . .”

DD: “I wouldn’t want you to think you couldn’t be who you real y are and that we wouldn’t love you for whatever or whoever you are and so you had to be somebody you didn’t want to be just for us, ’cause it’s not what we want for you. Ya know?”

Nope. I did not, in any sense of the word, know. “Dad, what the hell are you talking about?”

He gulped some more whiskey. “I juss don’t want you to be unhappy for forty-three years. Thass al .”

“Dad.
Dad
.” I thumped the table so he’d look at me. “I’m not gay, Dad. I’m just unpopular.”

Dad wheezed, “Thanggod. I’sso happy to hear that.”

Then he passed out on his dinner plate.

Needless to say, Mom drove home.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, you just can’t tell who you’re going to end up with. You might spend your whole life dreaming about one type of person, only to find happiness with somebody completely different. Someone you figured you had nothing in common with just might turn out to be your dream guy. And you know he’s your dream guy because you become a better person. He brings out all these great things in you that you never knew or believed were there. And if you’re real y lucky, you do the same for him.

It makes it even more incredible that people find each other, considering most of them are looking in the wrong places to begin with.

By ThE TIME hALLowEEN CAME ARouNd, Todd ANd

I had already earned a total of forty bucks, giving us a budget of six grand for October, on top of the twenty dollars we’d banked from September’s budget. Six thousand twenty was way more than our September costs had been, so I volunteered to take Sam out trick-or-treating and babysit afterward for free, just to get some time with her without Señor Shitslacks there. Marcie said she wanted to come too, so we decided to make it a “ghouls’ night out.” Get it? Okay, that was bad. Actually, we decided to be zombie princesses. Mar and I went crazy buying makeup and tiaras and glowin-the-dark jewelry and crap. We got so into it. Probably because it’d been a while since either of us had dressed up for Halloween.

When we got to the Picklers’ house, we could hear them from the driveway. The yelling coming from the master bedroom window was probably traveling through the whole neighborhood. She screamed that he didn’t have any respect for her. He bellowed that she overreacted to everything and never gave him a moment’s peace. Mar and I weren’t sure what to do. The yelling stopped the instant I rang the doorbell.

Half a minute later, the door opened. “Oh, Fiona,” Mrs. Pickler faltered. Her eyes darted behind me. “Come on in. Sam’s in the family room.” We followed her inside. “Sam?

Fiona and Marcie are here.”

Sam sat curled up in a corner of the couch, reading. She didn’t even look up. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair was even messier than usual. I noticed she’d chewed the nail polish off her fingers. Mrs. Pickler went back upstairs, so Mar and I sat next to Sam. “Are you okay?” I asked. Sam stayed quiet and shrugged. Then she muttered, “I guess.”

“What are you reading?” I asked.

“
Island of the Blue Dolphins
.”

“Oh, I love that one,” I said.

“What’s it about?” Marcie asked.

Sam inhaled shakily. “A girl whose parents leave her behind on an island and she lives there by herself and has a great time. Just her and her dog.” Sam wouldn’t look up from her book. I saw a dark spot appear on the page. A tear. I scooted close to her and put my arm around her shoulder. “Hey Sister-witch, don’t be upset. It’ll be okay. People fight sometimes.”

“They fight all the time.”

“Well, maybe sometimes people fight all the time, but it doesn’t mean they don’t like each other. Deep down.”

“They don’t,” she muttered.

“How do you know?”

Sam turned her puffy-eyed face to me. “Because they say, ‘I hate you,’ and, ‘I hate you too.’ I’ve heard them.” Tears 116 Kristin Walker

spilled down her perfect cheeks. I couldn’t take it. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed.

Marcie said, “People say all kinds of things they don’t mean. Especially when they’re fighting.”

Sam seemed to soften a bit. “They do?”

“Absolutely,” Marcie said.

I lifted Sam’s face. “Listen, dry your eyes. If they see you crying, they might not go out and we won’t be able to have our awesome night together. Now, let’s talk about something else until they’re gone. Deal?”

She wiped her cheeks and forced a smile. “Deal. Can I stay up until midnight?”

“Nine.”

“Eleven-thirty?”

“Ten.”

“Deal.”

Sam’s parents finally left, and we started getting into our costumes. I pulled Sam’s shredded lace gown over her. I drew even darker circles under her eyes with some eyeliner, and pinned a bloody rhinestone tiara on her head. “You make a gorgeous princess of the undead,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said.

“All you need is a prince,” Marcie said.

Sam’s face turned bright pink. She stooped down to adjust her torn white stockings, even though they looked fine.

“Are you blushing?” I teased. “Why are you hiding?” She started giggling and shaking her head no. “
Samantha Louise
Pickler
!
Spill
!
Now
!” I started tickling her ribs. She wriggled and laughed, and finally said, “
Okay
!” so I let her go.

“What’s his name?” I demanded.

Sam grinned. “Logan Clarke. He’s in my math and science classes.”

“I knew it!” I cried. “So what’s he like? Does he like you back?”

Sam shrugged coyly. “I dunno. Maybe. He’s nice. Super cute.”

Marcie and I both squealed like we used to in middle school whenever we saw our favorite boy-band on TV. We pulled Sam to the floor between us and peppered her with questions. How long had she liked him? (Only a few weeks.) Did she ever talk to him? (Sometimes.) Did he ever talk to
her
first? (Sometimes.) Did she know that if he talked to her first, that it meant he probably liked her? (It did? Omigod.) Did he ever seem nervous around her? (No, but she was nervous around him.) Did he ever mention doing anything together?

(Actually, he did say maybe they could do some homework together sometime.)

“Omigod, he totally digs you!” I said.

“Do you think?” Sam said.

“Totally!” Mar said.

All three of us squealed this time. We were so hyper. Sam grabbed her trick-or-treat bag and we spilled out of the house laughing and jumping around like total dorks. It was awesome.

We were in such good moods, we even decided to hit Todd’s house for candy. Sam rang the doorbell, and when it opened, this hideous, rubber monster face roared at us. Sam screamed. Todd started laughing and took off the mask. I 118 Kristin Walker

yelled, “Put it back on! Put it back on! Your hideousness is terrifying!”

Todd did a fake yuk-yuk-yuk at my joke. “What are you guys supposed to be? Is it Prom Night Massacre or something?”

Sam sighed at Todd’s obvious stupidity. “We’re zombie princesses, Todd. Can’t you tell?” She stuck her arms straight out in front of her and said, “BRAINS! BRAINS!”

I patted Sam on the head and said, “Sorry, Sam. You’re wasting your time with this one.”

Todd rolled his eyes at me. “Zombie princesses, huh?”

He looked us up and down. “I see. Nice job, Squirt. Hey Marcie.”

“Hi Todd.”

He gave my lower half an extralong stare. “Hey, hold on. Well, look at you, Princess. You stayed dry! Congratulations!”

He reached into his candy bowl, and while he dropped a handful in Sam’s bag, I positioned myself directly behind her and gave Todd the finger so she wouldn’t see it.

“Why do you keep flashing your IQ like that?” Todd said.

I gave him the same yuk-yuk-yuk back.

“By the way, Princess,” Todd said, “our budget is due tomorrow. Did you do it?”

“
Me
? No. Did you?”

“Nope.”

“Crap.”

“How long are you guys going to be out?” he asked.

“I dunno. An hour?”

“I’ll stop by Sam’s and we’ll hammer it out. That okay with you, Squirt?”

“Fine with me,” she said, examining the contents of her bag.

Todd put in an extra handful of candy. “See ya then.”

Sam grinned at Todd. “
Gracias
, Señor,” she said.

“Sayonara.”

Todd raised an eyebrow but said, “Have fun trick-ortreating, Squirt. Make sure Fiona takes lots of potty breaks.”

He waved and shut the door before I had a chance to fire back.

“What did he mean by that?” Sam asked.

“Nevermind,” Marcie and I said together. We hooked our arms into Sam’s and set off.

“Todd isn’t that bad,” Sam said.

“You’re not fake-married to him,” I said.

“Do you have to really be boyfriend or girlfriend with the person you fake-marry?” She kicked an orange, decapitated chrysanthemum blossom down the street.

“God, no,” I said. “Don’t make me puke.”

“Besides,” Marcie said, “some people already have boyfriends or girlfriends, but they didn’t get matched together.”

“You guys don’t have boyfriends, right?”

“Nope,” I said.

“Todd has a girlfriend, though,” Marcie said.

“Is she fake-married to someone else too?” Sam asked.

“You’ll never guess who,” I said.

“Don’t make me guess, then,” Sam said. “Just tell me.”

I whispered, “Gabe Webber.”

120 Kristin Walker

“
Gabe
?” Sam said. I shushed her. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Doesn’t Marcie know about him?” She waved to some other trick-or-treaters we passed—a dinosaur, a skeleton, and a mermaid.

“Yes, I know about Gabe,” Marcie said with a sigh. I guess after nine years, she was getting sick of the subject. Oh well. Too bad.

Sam said, “Wouldn’t it be great if you could trade?”

“That’s what I said!” I cried. “But we’re not allowed.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Sam said. “Maybe Gabe’s not that great after all.”

“Oh yes, he is,” I said. “He’s perfect. Right, Mar? Tell her.”

Marcie kicked at some soggy yellow leaves and nodded.

“Yes, Gabe is all right. In fact—”

“All right?” I cut her off. “He’s more than all right. He’s gorgeous, for one. Totally sweet, for two. Don’t you remember when he picked you up after he accidentally knocked you down, Mar?”

“How could I forget? You keep talking about it,” she said.

“Hey, I can’t help it if I have a major weak spot for blatant gallantry. Talk about a dream guy. And he, like, oozes cool. He’s so confident about everything. Never freaks out. That I’ve seen, anyway. I’ve never once seen him with a bad temper. Have you, Mar?” Marcie shrugged.

“He sounds
per
-fect,” Sam said.

“He is,” I agreed.

Marcie sighed really loud this time. “Fiona. Please. I can’t take it anymore.”