Blue Eyes and Other Teenage Hazards (5 page)

We followed her down the stairs to the large game room.

“Sam!” Mrs. Taylor called. “Your friends are here!”

That sort of comment always made me wonder if Mrs. Taylor had actually talked to Samantha in the last three years.

Chelsea and Samantha were arranging supplies at several different card tables, laying out paper plates, plastic knives, and tubs of orange frosting. A group of children hovered nearby, eyeing the food. Chelsea and Samantha barely looked up when we walked in.

Mrs. Taylor towed us over to them anyway. “Chelsea, have you met Elise yet? She moved in a couple days ago.”

“Hi,” Chelsea said, then went back to pouring candy corns into a bowl.

Mrs. Taylor smiled at Elise. “We’re so glad you could help us out tonight, and it’ll be fun for the girls to get to know you better. Your mother tells me you surf.”

“I used to,” Elise said. “The only place to surf around here is the internet.”

“Surfing sounds fun,” Mrs. Taylor said. “Don’t you think that sounds fun, Sam?”

“Yeah,” Samantha said in voice that didn’t show any enthusiasm.

Mrs. Taylor surveyed the room. “Well, I think you have everything you need. We shouldn’t be gone more than a few hours. Call if you have any problems.” She then glided up the stairs and disappeared.

Elise and I set up folding chairs around the tables. By the time we were finished, five more kids came. Most were in the four-to six-year-old range, although there was one boy who couldn’t have been more than two. He wouldn’t let go of his sister’s hand, and followed her wherever she went.

Samantha briskly divided the kids into two groups and sent the younger ones over to Elise and me. She and Chelsea didn’t really talk to us after that.

The crafts went bad quickly. The children managed to get frosting everywhere. They didn’t like the licorice pieces we’d set out to use as mouths, and they made vampire teeth out of the candy corns. I took the bowl away when a freckle-faced boy tried to shove some up his nose.

None of the kids wanted to make ghosts, although the same boy entertained the other kids by shoving a succession of marshmal ows into his mouth until I took that bag away too. I was afraid he’d either spit out a huge marshmal ow blob or choke on them.

All of that took about a half an hour. Then the kids were bored.

“Story time!” Elise told them and made them sit down in a semicircle at the far end of the room. She rifled through the diaper bags until she came up with a few picture books. She handed me the first one.

I put on my cheeriest face. “Do you want to hear the story of Danny and the Dinosaur?”

“No,” the marshmal ow kid said. “I already know how it ends. He learns how to play baseball.” I ignored the kid and peered down at the other faces. “How many of you like dinosaurs?” The marshmal ow boy wiggled his feet so they hit the boy sitting next to him. “Dinosaurs can’t really play baseball. They’d eat people.” I was beginning to remember all of the reasons I hated babysitting.

Elise stepped in front of the kids. “Do you know the reason you’ve never seen me before?” Half the kids looked at her blankly. The other half shook their heads, clearly not grasping the nature of rhetorical questions.

“I’m Santa’s helper from the North Pole,” she said. “I’m here to check and see whether you’re being naughty or nice.” Five pairs of eyes grew wide. Marshmal ow boy’s eyes grew narrow. “Santa doesn’t send people to check up on you.” Elise nodded in agreement. “Usually he doesn’t, but you’re a borderline case. Santa can’t decide whether to give you presents or coal. He told me you didn’t share the toys he gave you last year and you also sass your mother.” The boy gulped and sat very still. He didn’t say a word for the rest of story time. The other kids, however, wouldn’t stay quiet. All through my reading of Danny and the Dinosaur, they kept interrupting me to ask Elise questions about the North Pole.

“Where does Santa keep the reindeer?” one girl asked.

“We used to keep them outside, but they kept flying away and getting lost, so now they’re inside.”

“Inside the house?”

“Sure. It’s a big house. They’re like pets, only they leave hoof prints on the ceiling sometimes. It bothers Mrs. Claus when they do that.” When it was Elise’s turn to read, she picked a book of classic fairy tales but changed the stories. She was in the middle of telling how Cinderel a told off her wicked stepsisters, took one of their dresses, and went to the ball on her own, when a girl raised her hand. “My little brother did a doo-doo.”

Elise regarded her patiently. “Santa’s special helpers don’t change diapers. But do you see that girl over there?” Elise pointed to Samantha at the craft table. “She’s common, ordinary rabble, and she’d be happy to take care of any doo-doo you’ve done. Boys and girls, repeat after me: Samantha does the doo-doo.”

The children chorused, “Samantha does the doo-doo,” while the girl led her brother over to the craft table. I did my best not to smirk at Samantha’s facial expression.

Elise opened the book of fairy tales again. “Now then, back to Cinderel a. What have we learned from this story?” The children stared up at her with blank faces.

“We’ve learned you can’t trust fairy godmothers to get you to the ball. If you want to go someplace in life, you have to get there yourself.” After Elise finished discussing this principle with the children, she went on to tell them the story of how Snow White left the seven dwarves and got a degree in advertising. The kids began yelling out questions about other story book characters. What happened to Shrek? To Mulan? To Rapunzel?

“Rapunzel went to beauty school,” I said. “So she could finally give herself a decent haircut.” The children laughed, but they weren’t the only ones. I heard deep male laughter and looked up to see Josh carrying a little girl. Another of Elise’s sisters trotted along beside him, half skipping as she came over to us. Josh plunked the littlest girl into our semicircle of children. “Abby and Olivia were convinced you were having more fun here,” he said. “I had to bring them.”

“How thoughtful,” Elise said. “You know how much I love entertaining kids.”

“You’re a natural,” I told her.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” To the seated children, she said, “Do you know who this guy is?”

“Josh!” her little sisters chimed together.

“That’s right!” Elise said with excitement. “It’s Josh, Santa’s bouncer. He does security at the North Pole.” She gestured to him. “He’ll show you some of his tricks. You guys can try to tackle him, and he’ll show you what he does to the rowdy elves.” The kids jumped up and swarmed him with glee.

“Thanks,” Josh told Elise, but he got down on the floor and wrestled with the kids, laughing. I guess he’d had lots of practice too.

Abby and Olivia weren’t interested in wrestling with Josh, so Elise got out cookies for them to decorate. I sat down on the floor with Josh and did crowd control—keeping too many kids from crawling on him at a time. When Josh had had enough of that, he told them we would play rock-a-bye-baby. This consisted of him taking a blanket from the couch and holding on to one end, while Elise held onto the other like it was a hammock. I put a child inside, and they rocked him back and forth while we all sang the song.

The kids loved it. As I sang along, I watched Elise and Josh, entranced. Usually I’m fine with being an only child. Sometimes I’m even glad there’s no one else around to bother me. But right then I felt the loss. This is what having brothers and sisters would have been like—this fun, this noise. I envied Elise the inside jokes she shared with Josh. I envied the way her little sisters looked up at her with admiration. I would never have any of that.

The older children abandoned their crafts and came over asking for rock-a-bye-baby rides, so Samantha and Chelsea got another blanket and formed a second line. We swung the kids until the first mother came by to pick up her children; then Samantha told the kids if they helped us clean up, they could have some cookies to take home. While Elise and I folded up the chairs, Samantha sidled up to Josh with a gleaming smile. “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” she said. “I’m Samantha Taylor.”

“I’m Josh Benson.” He nodded over to a table where Olivia and Abby had gone back to dipping their cookies into the bowl of frosting. “Those are my sisters. Unless they’re misbehaving, and then they’re Elise’s sisters.” Samantha let out a tinkling laugh. “You just moved in, right?”

“A couple of days ago.”

“If you need any help getting around or if you have questions, feel free to ask me. I’m available.” The way she said it made it clear she was available for more than questions.

I didn’t hear more of their conversation because Elise came up behind me. She whispered, “Great. The cheerleader is hitting on my brother. I will totally gag if she starts showing up at my house.”

“Make sure she sits in Goliath’s chair,” I said.

“It will be her seat of honor.”

We took our chairs over to the far side of the room and stacked them against the wall. “I bet she starts being nice to me now,” Elise said. “Girls always do once they like Josh.”

“Tell Samantha he likes dingy, helpless girls who snort when they laugh.”

Elise raised an eyebrow at me. “You have an evil streak, Cassidy. I like it.” I snuck a glance at Josh. He was smiling at something Samantha had said. “Do you think he likes her?”

“No. Josh thinks he’s too mature for anyone my age.”

“Oh.” It shouldn’t have stung, but did anyway. Josh thought I was immature. “How lovely for us.” A little while later my mother stopped by to give me a ride home. She asked if Elise needed a ride home too, but Josh had brought his car so Elise declined the offer. Mom spent a few moments exchanging pleasantries with Elise, asking her how she liked her classes and that sort of thing.

Mom was all smiles, but I could tell she was watching Elise closely, evaluating her, probably waiting for her to do something psychotic.

Elise didn’t, of course.

On the ride home I told my mom, “Elise is really funny and she’s nice too. All of the stuff before—I think that was just her having a hard time moving to a new place.”

“Why was her brother there?” Mom asked. “I don’t think Rachel will be happy when she finds out you had guys over.”

“It was just one guy, and he was only there because Elise’s little sisters wanted to come. I thought it was nice of him to stay and play games with the kids.”

“Hmm,” Mom said, unconvinced.

Really, my mother was way too suspicious. What sort of ill icit thing did she think was happening with fourteen little kids running around the room?

The next morning at breakfast, my mother mentioned to my father that she had met Elise’s parents. Mr. Benson had dropped his wife off at the caterer’s, gone to their store, and then picked her back up again when the women finished making cookies.

“The Bensons are that boy’s parents . . . Josh, right?”

“They’re Elise’s parents,” I said.

Dad grunted unhappily about this. “We should get to know them better.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“We’re friendly people,” Dad said. “We like to meet our neighbors.” He turned to my mom. “So what did you think of them?”

“They weren’t what I was expecting—you know, after all the things I’ve heard about Elise.” She shook some salt onto her eggs. “They were friendly, intelligent, caring, well-mannered . . . If they’d been stunningly good-looking, they could have been us.” Dad considered this for a moment. “Well, I guess teenagers rebel even in the best of families.” Then in unison their gazes both fixed on me.

I nearly choked on my scrambled eggs. “What?” I asked.

“Don’t ever do that to us,” Mom said.

Dad nodded.

“You don’t need to worry,” I said, sipping my orange juice. “I don’t plan on vandalizing my school.” Mom picked up her toast but didn’t take a bite. “The drinking is what I worry about. Girls get taken advantage of when they’re drunk. If anyone even offers you alcohol, just walk away. Don’t even discuss it.”

“I will,” I assured her firmly. But it didn’t matter what I said. I suppose the years of parenting had predisposed them to lecturing, and they couldn’t help themselves. For the rest of breakfast, I got the full discourse on the traps and pitfalls of teenage life.

On Friday, Elise stayed after school and went to chess club with me. Throughout the day, she had insisted the fact that chess club was held on Friday was a clear sign that none of the people in it had social lives; but despite all that, she had fun. She had printed out tiny pictures of Carter and Bell a and taped them to her opponent’s king and queen. “It’s to give me incentive to win,” she said.

She won one game and lost another, but the one she lost was to Bob Matthews, and he almost always won. I’d never beaten him.

Afterward, while my mom drove us home, I said, “See, didn’t you have fun?”

Elise leaned back into her seat. “It has obviously been so long since you had fun that you’ve forgotten what it’s like.”

“We can play tennis tomorrow,” I told her and then quickly added, “at the high school courts.” Just in case she was still harboring thoughts of being Bambi and Trixie up on campus.

Elise sighed, but in the end she agreed.

We weren’t the only ones at the high school Saturday morning. A couple of tennis courts were taken and a few students were using the track.

Elise checked around for cute guys, but finding no one she deemed interesting, she concentrated on the game. I wasn’t much of a challenge for her.

She had neglected to tell me she was skilled at the sport. She was one of those people who could place the ball anywhere. I spent my time sprinting around the court and considered myself lucky if I hit the ball back over the net. After she humiliated me in the first set, I insisted that we not keep score and that she return all my balls whether they were in or not. It made it a fairer game.

For the next half an hour I ran back and forth across the court while Elise coolly returned balls. Then she said, “Let’s take a break and get a drink.”

“What do you need water for?” I panted. “You haven’t even broken a sweat.”

With a wicked grin, Elise nodded toward the school. That’s when I saw the guys. Chad and Mike were about to use the track. They were warming up by the drinking fountain.

“I’m suddenly thirsty,” I said. “And my water bottle is empty.”

“Mine too,” Elise said, and we headed toward the drinking fountains.

We were halfway there before I realized I was not only thirsty but also hot, sweaty, and bedraggled. I pushed loose strands of hair back into my ponytail and hoped I looked sporty.

Chad and Mike lay on the ground, each with one leg bent and one leg straight, stretching out. I had no idea how to start a conversation with them. I racked my brain for something to say, but the only thing that came to mind was Hi, remember me? We talked about the school stew once. I got a drink from the fountain and hoped for inspiration.

Elise stopped in front of them, blatantly considering them. “That’s good,” she said, “but if you want to make the cheerleading squad you have to do the splits all the way.”

Chad glanced up at her and smiled. “I’ll remember that if I ever go out for cheerleading.” Elise swung her racket lazily back and forth. “They don’t work you guys hard enough at football practice, so you come here on your spare time?” Mike shrugged. “You can’t take a break if you want to be the best.”

“What a wonderful motto,” Elise said, still swinging her racket. “It sounds like the beginning of a cheer. Are you sure you don’t want to go out for cheerleading?”

“I think I’ll stick with football,” Chad said. “I like knocking men down.”

“So do the cheerleaders, from what I hear.”

Chad and Mike both laughed.

I still couldn’t think of anything to say. Why was this so easy for Elise?

Chad switched legs and stretched again. He was tan and muscular, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him.

Elise spun her racket slowly between her hands. “You know, I don’t know why they don’t have cheerleaders for tennis. It’s the more difficult sport.”

“Yeah, right,” Chad said, tilting his chin down in mock challenge. “I’d like to see the tennis team do squats or bench press 250.”

“They could do it,” Mike said, “collectively.”

Elise paused to take a quick drink of water. “If it’s so easy, you think you could beat us?”

“Sure,” Chad said, “right after you take us on in football.”

“We could do it,” she said airily. “Where’s the football? Let’s play.”

I had gone back to take another drink of water and nearly coughed some up my nose. What was Elise thinking? I couldn’t throw a football, and even if she could, I couldn’t catch one. Flirting was hard enough without turning it into a contact sport.

Mike straightened his legs, done with his stretches. “We didn’t bring a football with us.”

“In that case,” Elise said. “You lose. I’m pretty sure that’s how the rules go.” She was still spinning her racket but looking at Mike now instead of Chad. “Are you up for a game of tennis? Cassidy could lend you her racket.”

I prayed he would say yes. It would leave Chad and I on the sidelines watching them. “I’d be your cheerleader,” I put in. “What was your motto again? Something about being the best?”

Chad let his blue eyes rest on me. “You can’t take a break if you want to be the best.” I liked the sensation of having him gaze at me, of holding his attention even for a few seconds. “Right. The best. That should be easy to rhyme with something.” I looked upward considering. “The rest. The blessed. The dressed. The stressed . . . watercress.”

“Infest,” Elise added. “Oppressed. Digest.”

“Abreast—” I broke off because Chad and Mike both started laughing.

“I want to hear that cheer,” Chad said. “Go ahead and tell me that one.”

I felt myself color. “I meant abreast as one word. As in, ‘I want to stay abreast of the news.’” Mike laughed harder. “If that’s the sort of news you have, so do I.”

Chad stood up, grinning at me. “You’re bright red.”

There was a downside, I realized, to having a big vocabulary. Some words were best left unsaid around teenage boys. Maybe I should lay off the Shakespeare for awhile.

The guys, still laughing, told us goodbye and went to run laps. Elise and I walked back to the tennis courts. She was shaking her head at me the entire way.

All through the next set, I thought of words I could have chosen instead of abreast. Confessed. Messed. Depressed. Yep, I should have gone with depressed. That one worked well.

* * *

Monday, while Elise and I were walking to our lockers, Chad sauntered by. When he saw me, he smirked and asked, “Rhyme any good words lately?”

“I’ve given up poetry,” I said.

“Don’t do that,” he said, walking past me and down the hallway. “You were coming up with some good stuff.” I watched him for a moment, then turned to Elise. “Was that flirting or just general mockery?”

“Flirting,” Elise said, but I didn’t think she meant it.

For the next few days, Chad smiled at me every time we passed in the hallway, but never spoke to me again. Unless you count the time he walked by murmuring, “Pressed. Caressed. Undressed . . . Hey, you’re bright red again.” It was amazing how many suggestive words rhymed with best.

Still, this sort of attention was better than being ignored altogether. Homecoming was in two-and-a-half weeks. In my more delusional moments, I pictured Chad asking me and then worried that someone else would ask me first. In reality, I worried no one would ask me at all. Half the people at school already had dates.

Elise ate lunch at my table everyday even though we were the National Honor Society crowd. I knew, although she never came out and said it, that she was trying on the persona. She was testing us out to see if she could be happy in high school as one of the smart girls. She even raised her hand willingly in English and answered questions.

On Thursday after school, while I was putting books in my backpack, Josh walked up to my locker. I usually didn’t see him until Elise and I climbed into his car, so I was surprised by his visit.

“Is Elise around?” he asked.

“No. She’s probably still at her locker.”

“Good. I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“Oh?” My gaze went to him. He was leaning up against my locker in all his senior-guy studliness. Seriously, the guy had biceps. I wondered where he worked out since he didn’t do sports.

“I wanted to talk to you about Elise.”

“Oh.” This shouldn’t have disappointed me, but still did.

“How has she been acting at school? I mean, she’s not skipping class and drinking, is she?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

He didn’t look at me. He was scanning the hallways watching for her. “She’s been good at home, too. I can’t figure it out. She hasn’t challenged my parents’ authority in days.”

“Maybe she’s turning over a new leaf.”

“Or working on a new con. She’s quite an actress when she wants to be.” His gaze flickered to me. “You’d tell me if you knew she was up to something, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure.”

“She’s never kept her partying a secret before, but maybe her tactics are changing.” He looked past me and on down the hallway. “Elise is coming. Pretend we’re talking about something else.”

“What?”

He didn’t answer me. He just leapt into a conversation about one of his teachers—I wasn’t sure which one. I nodded and tried to keep from doing something stupid—like giggling.

If Elise thought it was strange that Josh was at my locker, she didn’t show it. “There you are,” she said.

He straightened. “Are you ready to go?”

As we walked out of the building, I wondered which of the two was really the better actor.

* * *

All day Elise had kept saying, “You’ll probably get a car for your birthday. When parents only have one kid, they always buy expensive presents.” But Mom and Dad gave me a new iPod. As I opened it, Dad said, “This is really a present for us. Now we don’t have to listen to that awful music of yours.”

My cake, however, was in the shape of a car. Mom handed me a knife and said, “You can destroy this one. But if you so much as put a scratch on mine, you’ll be walking until you’re eighteen.”

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I won’t touch your cake.”

Then all my friends chimed in and asked when I was going to take my driver’s test.

“I’m not sure. I’ll get to it sometime this week.”

Actually, I was going on Monday, but I didn’t want to tell them in case I didn’t pass the test. I couldn’t imagine having to tell everyone I’d failed.

Caitlin said, “You have to take us out for a victory ride as soon as you get your license.” Then Elise sang, “She’ll have fun-fun-fun ‘till her Daddy takes the T-Bird away,” only she changed “T-Bird” to “Accord.”

I laughed along with everybody else, but in my mind I could already see myself behind the wheel. Independent. In control. A license was the first step to adulthood.

On Monday I went down to the DMV for my driving test, completely confident. I’d put in hours and hours of practice. I could paral ell park perfectly. I could three-point turn without a hitch. I was completeness itself on all of my stops.

At the Division of Motor Vehicles, I was assigned Mr. Jensen as my tester. He was about sixty years old and looked devoid of any emotion except a general distaste of teenagers. I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back. We got into the car and I pulled into the street.

His sour mood made me feel nervous. Without thinking I said, “So, how does one end up with a dangerous job like this?” And then, a little faster, I added, “Not that I’m implying I’m a dangerous driver. I’m actually very safe.” He grunted and said something that sounded like, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I just meant you don’t have to worry that your life is in my hands because I’m always careful.” He looked at me suspiciously. “Concentrate on the road. Turn here.”

I turned and headed toward the college campus. I also bit my lip so nothing else stupid would fling out of my mouth.

He made the whole driving experience hard because he had a habit of mumbling his instructions. I kept having to ask, “What?” and then he’d look dour and repeat himself slowly. I hoped he couldn’t mark me off just because he didn’t like me.

We drove around campus awhile, and then he said, “Er by va mell lox.”

At least that was what it sounded like. I ran it through my mind again and again. I tried to make sense of the words so I didn’t have to ask him to repeat himself. It was no good.

“What?”

“Turn . . . by . . . the . . . mailbox.”

At this point we were practically past the mailbox, and I had to pull a sharp turn. The wheels squealed. Mr. Jensen looked dour again and wrote something on his notepad.

I could feel my palms start to sweat.

“Pull n front oda bookstore,” he told me, “and paral ell park between dose cars.” I pulled my car alongside of the first car—a green Volkswagen. I was a bit nearer to it than I wanted to be. I craned my neck to see over Mr.

Jensen, trying to decide if I was too close. I had horrible visions of sideswiping the car and having to fill out a police report and drive back to the DMV with green paint on my mom’s Accord.

“How many tries do I get at this?” I asked.

“One.”

“What if I promise I’ll never paral ell park once I get my license?”

“You still hatta pass it off.”

I sighed and tried not to look at the college students who were walking by. I put the car in reverse and backed up slowly. The whole time, my gaze was riveted to the side of the Volkswagen. I was so afraid that I’d scrape into it that I wasn’t paying attention to the back of my car, which ran up onto the sidewalk and into a bike rack.

A couple of the bikes jarred loose and crashed to the ground. Some of the college students stopped walking and clapped. I was so humiliated I put my head down. Unfortunately, the steering wheel was in front of my head, and I accidentally hit the horn. Mr. Jensen and everyone else in the vicinity jumped. Any of the students who hadn’t previously been staring now watched me with complete attention.

Mr. Jensen grabbed hold of the dashboard. “What are you doing?”

“I was just . . . I was just . . .”