Double Date (2 page)

Kimmy let out another groan. She balled her hands into fists at her sides. “Just answer my question, Bobby. I called your house last night, but you weren't there. Did you forget about me?”

“No way,” Bobby replied, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She shoved it away.

“Actually,” Bobby continued, “I got a better offer.” He grinned at her.

Her mouth dropped open. No sound came out.

“Hey, Kimmy, you wouldn't want me to
lie,
would you?”

Kimmy glared at him. The anger faded from her eyes. Her expression turned hard and cold. “Bobby, you really are a pig,” she said through clenched teeth.

Bobby snickered. “Yeah, I know.”

“You're a pig,” Kimmy repeated. Then she began jogging quickly down the hall, her black hair bobbing.

“Hey, Kimmy—” Bobby called after her. “Should I call you later?”

She shouted a curse and disappeared around a corner.

Chuckling, Bobby stepped into the music room.

“Hey, Bobby.”

“Get your guitar, man. You're late.”

Bobby nodded to Arnie and Paul, the other two members of his band. He went to the cabinet to get his guitar. The three of them had no room to practice at home. Mr. Cotton, the music teacher, had agreed to let them practice in a music room after school.

They had just changed the name of their group from
The Cool Guys to Bad to the Bone. In the four months they'd been playing together, the band changed its name at least once a week. Bobby said they spent more time thinking up names than practicing.

Paul, the keyboard player, noodled impatiently on the keys, waiting for Bobby. Paul was broad shouldered and athletic, with dark skin and large brown eyes. He had a surprisingly light touch on the keyboard. He was the hardest-working member of the band and took practice much more seriously than Bobby or Arnie.

Arnie pounded the drums without much skill. The best thing anyone could say about Arnie's drumming was that he kept a steady beat. Most of the time.

Arnie was in the band mainly because he was Bobby's best friend. Arnie had short red hair, pale blue eyes, a goofy grin, and wore a small rhinestone stud in one ear. The line of pale blond fuzz on his upper lip, which he claimed was a mustache, only made him look sloppy.

Bobby plugged his guitar into the small amp. Then he turned up the volume until it squealed. He sat down on a folding chair in front of Arnie and Paul and started to tune each string.

Bobby loved his guitar. It was a white Fender Strat. “The kind Jimi Hendrix used,” he told everyone. Arnie once said that Bobby loved his guitar almost as much as he loved himself.

Bobby had reacted defensively. “Hey, man,” he shouted, “why
shouldn't
I love myself? I'm all I've got!”

“Very deep,” Paul had muttered. “Bobby is sooo deep.”

Bobby finished tuning. He bent down and reached into his guitar case for a pick.

“Let's get started,” Paul urged. “I've got to leave early to pick my mom up at work.”

“Where are my picks?” Bobby said, frowning. “I always leave them in the case. But—”

“Maybe you were picking your nose with them again,” Arnie suggested. He let out his high-pitched hyena giggle. No one else laughed. No one
ever
laughed at Arnie's attempted jokes.

“Arnie, you're about as funny as the dry heaves,” Bobby muttered, still searching for a pick.

Paul groaned. “Did you forget we're playing at an actual club Friday night?” he demanded.

“Where were you last night?” Arnie asked Bobby, ignoring Paul's question. “Did you go out with Kimmy?”

Bobby turned back to grin at him. “No. Ronnie.”

Arnie's pale blue eyes went wide. “I thought you had a study date with Kimmy.”

“I did,” Bobby replied. “But Ronnie called, and—what can I tell you?” He shrugged. “I can't be two places at once.”

Arnie laughed. “You're bad. You're really bad.”

“Kimmy will get over it,” Bobby said. He found a pick and ran it through the strings a few times.

“I'm surprised you didn't go out with both of them at once,” Paul said dryly.

Bobby started to reply, but a movement at the door made him stop. “Hey!” he called out as two girls hesitantly entered the room.

He recognized the Wade twins at once. Everyone at
Shadyside High knew Bree and Samantha Wade. The twins had moved to Shadyside the year before. They had quickly assumed the reputation as the most beautiful girls in the school.

Identical, they both had creamy smooth skin and straight black hair. Perfect hair that shone like in shampoo commercials. They had round green eyes, high cheekbones, and warm, natural smiles.

Bree was shy. She seldom spoke in class. Samantha was more outgoing and lively. The girls had friends, but no close friends. They went out on dates, but neither of them had steady boyfriends.

Strumming the guitar softly, Bobby stared at them as they entered. Bree lingered by the door. Samantha stepped into the center of the room. They were dressed in faded jeans and striped shirts.

They are
cool!
Bobby thought. Earlier in the year, he had thought about asking one of them out. But he just hadn't gotten around to it.

“Is Mr. Cotton here? We're looking for him,” Samantha said, her eyes on Bobby.

“No cotton here,” Arnie told them. “But I have some Q-Tips in my locker.”

No one laughed.

“We haven't seen him,” Paul told them.

“He usually clears out when we start to play.” Bobby smiled.

Samantha smiled back. Bree had her hands jammed into her jeans pockets. “Maybe he's in the teachers' lounge,” she suggested to her sister.

The twins started to leave. “Hey—stay and listen!” Bobby called to them.

“We've got to find him,” Samantha replied.

Bobby studied them as they made their way back to the hall. Wow, what great bods! he thought.

“What do you want to play first?” Paul asked. He was tapping all his fingers on the edge of the keyboard.

“I want to play
them!
” Arnie declared, meaning the twins.

“They are
hot!
” Bobby agreed. “Did you see the way one of them was checking me out?”

“That's because your fly is unzipped,” Arnie joked.

“I can't tell them apart,” Paul offered. “Which one was Bree and which one was Samantha?”

“What difference does it make?” Bobby demanded. “They're both totally hot!” He was silent for a moment. “Talk about dating two girls at once! What would it be like to go out with twins? Wow.”

Paul shook his head. “Bobby, even you wouldn't do that.”

“Sure he would,” Arnie said enthusiastically.

“Sure I would,” Bobby murmured thoughtfully. “I'd go out with one on Friday and the other one on Saturday. And make them swear not to tell the other.”

“No way,” Paul insisted.

“Why shouldn't I give each of them a break?” Bobby demanded, warming to the idea. “I mean, why not spread it around? Those two girls have been deprived for too long.”

“At least he isn't conceited,” Paul muttered dryly.

Bobby spun around to face his two friends. “You don't think I could do it?”

“I think they'd tell each other,” Paul replied. “And then they'd tell you to get lost.”

“Want to bet?” Bobby demanded heatedly.

Arnie twirled a drumstick in his fingers. He studied Bobby's serious expression. “You really think you could date both Wade twins in one weekend?”

“No problem, guys,” Bobby boasted. “No problem at all.”

“
I
'm late. I've got to run,” Paul said. He slid his keyboard into the cabinet. “My mom is going to be waiting in the street.”

“Good practice,” Bobby commented, his eyes on the heavy gray clouds outside the music room window. “Maybe you guys won't embarrass me Friday night.”

“The two
Tommy
songs need work,” Paul said, hurrying to the door. “We weren't together. And the tempo was way too slow.”

“Yeah,” Bobby agreed. He played a fast riff from one of the
Tommy
songs. “I've been listening to the CD. That's the right tempo. Same as The Who.”

“Who's on first?” Arnie chimed in.

“What's on second” was Bobby's reply.

“I'm out of here,” Paul said.

Bobby unplugged the white Fender Strat from the amp. He grinned at Arnie. “Think the Wade twins are still around?”

“You're really going to do it?” Arnie asked.

“You can have them when I'm done,” Bobby told him.

“You're a real friend,” Arnie joked. He started a drumroll but dropped a stick. It clattered to the floor and rolled in front of Bobby. As Bobby bent to pick it up, he saw Melanie Harris step into the room.

Bobby tossed the drumstick at her. “Think fast!”

Melanie let out a surprised squeal and ducked out of the way. The drumstick hit the wall and bounced across the floor. “Give me a break,” Melanie said. She bent to pick up the drumstick, then scowled at Bobby.

Bobby laughed. He watched Melanie as she crossed the room to Arnie. She was a short girl, a little chunky. She had waist-length straight brown hair that she usually wore in a single braid. She had beautiful brown eyes and a great smile.

Bobby had fallen for that amazing smile. The previous spring he had gone out with Melanie for nearly three months. A record for him.

But Melanie stopped smiling at him when she discovered he was dating other girls behind her back. She broke up with him immediately, tears running down her face. She hadn't smiled at him since.

Now she was going with Arnie.

Just as well, Bobby thought. He really didn't like the emotional ones. Why did she have to cry the night she broke up with me? he wondered. Was she trying to make me feel bad?

Bobby watched her as she handed the drumstick to Arnie. She looks great in those tight jeans, he thought. She wore a silky black vest, open, over a golden yellow shirt.

Not bad, Bobby told himself. If she'd lose a few pounds, I might even ask her out again. I mean, when Arnie's finished with her.

Melanie and Arnie were chatting quietly. Bobby carried his guitar to its case to put it away. “You coming Friday night?” he called to Melanie.

“Arnie is forcing me,” Melanie replied.

“It's going to be great,” Arnie told her. “We had a great rehearsal today. Didn't we, Bobby?”

“Awesome,” Bobby replied, clasping the guitar case.

“What do you think we should wear?” Arnie asked. “We never talked about that.”

“How about bags over your heads?” Melanie suggested. She snickered. “You know. Just in case your music makes the crowd ugly.”

“A bag would mess up my hair,” Bobby muttered. He carried the case to the cabinet and shoved it inside.

“I was just kidding!” Melanie exclaimed. She groaned. “You are the vainest person I ever met!”

“Takes one to know one,” Bobby shot back. He unplugged the amp and started to roll up the cord.

Melanie and Arnie talked quietly again. Bobby carried the amp to the cabinet and lowered it to the cabinet floor.

He heard girls' voices out in the hall. The Wade twins?

“Got to run,” he called to Melanie and Arnie. He started to the door.

“Hey, Bobby—” Melanie called to him. “Don't do it.”

“Huh?” He turned back. Her dark eyes were trained on him, narrowed in disapproval.

“Stay away from Bree and Samantha,” Melanie warned.

Bobby couldn't keep a grin from spreading across his face. “Arnie told you?”

Melanie nodded. “Bobby, I'm warning you,” she said. “I know those girls. They're not what you think.”

Bobby laughed scornfully. “I can get along without your advice, Mel.”

“I'm serious,” Melanie insisted. “Stay away from them.”

Bobby shook his head hard, as if shaking away her warning. “I'll leave you two
lovebirds
alone,” he said sarcastically.

He hurried out of the room. The long corridor was empty. His sneakers squeaked against the hard floor as he started to his locker.

Melanie's warning repeated in his ears. What is her
problem
anyway? he thought. He decided she was still messed up because of breaking up with him.

Melanie hasn't gotten over me yet, he told himself. Well—who can blame her?

As he turned a corner, he nearly banged into an open locker door. He stopped short—and a startled girl appeared from around the other side of the door.

“Hi,” he said, recovering quickly, turning on his smile. “Are you Bree or Samantha?”

S
he gaped at him as if she had never been asked that question before. Her straight black hair fell over one eye.

“I'm Bree,” she said finally in a soft, velvety voice.

“Hi, Bree,” Bobby replied, stepping close, his eyes locked on hers. “I'm Bobby Newkirk.”

“I know,” she said shyly. She brushed the hair away from her face.

“Did you find Mr. Cotton?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. My sister and I wanted to ask him about chorus. I mean, it's kind of late in the year. But we thought maybe we could join. In time for the spring concert.”

She sighed, as if explaining all that was a chore.

“You sing?” Bobby asked, studying her face. He liked her green eyes, liked the pale gloss she had on her full lips.

“Well, Samantha and I think so. But I'm not sure
what Mr. Cotton thinks.” She smiled for the first time, a brief smile. Then she shyly looked away.

“I'm in a band,” Bobby told her. “Did you hear us? I mean, out in the hall?”