Girlfriend Material (6 page)

Henry put his face up to the screen door but didn’t open it. “I’m heading over to the club. Anyone want a ride?”

“No thanks,” said Tina. “We’re off to Provincetown.”

“Kate?” asked Henry.

Another day being ignored by the Larkspur membership was a little more than I was prepared to handle. “Not just now,” I said.

“If you want to go later, you can take one of the bikes in the shed,” said Tina.

“Or you could come with us,” said my mom.

“We’re getting haircuts,” added Tina.

“You could get one too,” said my mom. “Maybe you want something a little more, you know, summer fun and flirty than what you have now?”

Because what I have now is so … what, winter despair and spinsterish?
“Thanks, Mom, but I think I’ll pass.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I’m going to go get dressed.”

“Me too,” said Tina, and she headed inside.

I wandered through the kitchen and into the living room in search of something to read. There must have been two thousand books, almost all of which I’d never read, most of which I’d never even heard of. It was kind of intimidating. I took a book called
Lolita
off the shelf. It was by a guy named Vladimir Nabokov, and I’d at least heard of it, but I wasn’t sure what it was about, just that it was supposed to be dirty or something. I opened it and read the first line.
Lolita. Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul …

“There’s a great library in town.”

I jumped about a mile, dropping the book in my surprise.

“Sorry,” said Tina, coming into the living room. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I was just … reading.” I wondered if I should have asked before taking one of the books off the shelf, and I went to put it back.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” She didn’t check to see what I’d taken, which I thought was pretty cool. My mother definitely would have been all,
What are you looking at?
“But there’s also a wonderful little library in town. If you’re a book lover, you might like to browse there. It’s very old school.”

“I’d like that,” I said.

Tina walked toward the kitchen, then stopped and turned around. “Hey,” she said, “I meant to ask you this yesterday. I know it isn’t exactly what we talked about when we discussed your wanting a regular tennis game, but would you be interested in giving tennis lessons?”

“I wouldn’t be
not
interested,” I said. “But I’ve never given a lesson before.” I tried to picture myself telling some little girl to pull her racket back and keep her shoulder to the net like my dad used to tell me. It wasn’t exactly brain surgery.

“Well, I’ll give you the details, and you can decide. My friend’s husband has been trying to give their daughter lessons, and it’s been a little … tense. She was thinking maybe another teenager could reach Natasha better than her dad can.”

“She’s a teenager?” I’d been picturing someone about four feet tall who might mistake me for an actual grown-up.

“Well, just. She’s thirteen. She’s kind of a funny kid.” Tina shook her head at something.

“Funny ha-ha or funny weird?”

“Ummm …” said Tina. Despite what she’d just said, I got the feeling she wasn’t giving me
all
the details. “Let’s just say that for what it’s worth, I think she’d like you. She’s really a nice girl who’s going through a bit of a stage. We know the family from New York.”

Tina crossed to a small table by the window and took a pad out of the top drawer. She wrote something on it, then held out a piece of paper. “Here’s Carol’s number,” she said. “That’s Natasha’s mom. We didn’t talk too much about money, but my guess is she’d pay you twenty dollars for an hour lesson.”

Twenty dollars an hour?!
I forced myself not to snatch the paper out of Tina’s hand. “I’ll call her,” I said. “Thanks.”

“No, thank
you
,” said Tina. “Natasha’s a really sweet girl. I think she could use a friend like you.”

I decided to be flattered that Tina thought I could reach out to her friend’s daughter, instead of insulted that she thought I could be friends with a thirteen-year-old.

When I turned on my phone, there was a new message on my voice mail. I hoped it was from Laura.
Oh my God, Kate, you’re not going to believe this. Brad Lander gave me some kind of potion that made me think I liked him. Can you imagine?! Luckily I found the antidote, but I’m still pretty grossed out. Call me, okay?

But it wasn’t Laura, it was Meg. “Hey, little sister.” Okay, I know I am, technically, Meg’s little sister, but does she have to say it like she’s forty years older than I am, rather than four? “I
hope
you’re having a good
time
.” Her voice had a singsong quality, as if she were speaking to someone who might still believe in the tooth fairy. “Mom said you’re settling
in
and
adjusting
and everything, which is good because I
know
you were freaking out before you left.” Read:
Because I know you’re the most immature person in the universe
. “So
anyway
, I hope you’re having fun in the sun and that we get to talk
soon
. Okay. Bye.”

Ugh. I could
not
hit the delete key fast enough.

As I dialed the number Tina had given me, I was worried Natasha’s mom would ask me all kinds of questions about my teaching experience, and I’d have to lie; but when I explained who I was, Carol just thanked me for taking on Natasha as a student (
a
student—like I had others!) and told me about ten thousand times that the biggest problem Natasha had was confidence.

“Sure,” I said. “I know what you mean.”

“Oh, you do?” said Carol.

Her asking made me wonder. Did I? I mean, I knew what confidence was, and I knew what it felt like not to have any. Maybe not on the tennis court, but definitely on the much bigger court we call life. Still, I wasn’t sure Carol really wanted to hear that I believed I could help her daughter due to my having spent the past forty-eight hours as a social leper.

Luckily, the question had been rhetorical. “That’s great,” she said. “So would ten o’clock tomorrow work for you?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said.
So would eleven or twelve or one or …

“Wonderful. And is twenty dollars an hour all right?”

Considering that the most money I’d ever made in my life was nine dollars an hour to babysit these six-year-old twins from hell who live on our block, twenty dollars to hit a tennis ball back and forth (something I’d happily do for free) was way more than all right.

“Sure,” I said. “That would be fine.”

“Terrific,” said Carol. “She’ll meet you tomorrow at ten. I’ll reserve a court.”

The town of Dryer’s Cove was so damn quaint, it was like a postcard come to life. There was a general store, a liquor store, an old-fashioned pharmacy, a bookstore, some antique and clothing shops, a penny candy store, half a dozen restaurants, and the library Tina had told me about. As I slid the bike into the bike rack in front of the library, I realized I’d forgotten to look for a lock in the garage; but then I noticed that none of the other bikes were locked up. Between the trust in their fellow citizens this indicated and the tiny, old-fashioned wooden building I was about to enter, I felt like I’d stepped back in time, to 19or something. The fact that I was wearing a vintage sundress I’d bought with Laura at this used-clothing shop we like only intensified the feeling that I’d been transported to another decade.

Even though I had only one hour of Monday scheduled, just having something to do the next day made me feel less lame for having nothing to do today. Wasn’t that what Sundays were for: hanging around doing nothing?

I pushed open the door and found myself in a low-ceilinged, wood-paneled room. I took a deep breath, loving the familiar smell of books. There was a small annex off to the left with some large armchairs set up so their occupants could look out the window at the library’s lawn with its charming gazebo atop a small hill. Straight ahead of me was a long table with newspapers and magazines spread out across it.

I’d expected the tiny library to just have mysteries and romance novels and other summer reading, and they did have that stuff, but they had a lot of classics, too. After wandering up and down a few of the fiction aisles, I found myself looking at
Lolita
again. Was it stupid to check out a book when there was a copy of it at Tina’s house that she’d said I could borrow? Then again, it would be kind of nice to spend the afternoon sitting in that gazebo, reading and sipping an iced tea, and I didn’t really feel like going all the way back to the house to get the book and coming all the way back to the library to read it.

The line to check out books was comprised entirely of the AARP set and me. When it was my turn to approach the desk, I tried exuding youthful enthusiasm for the tired-looking librarian.

“Do you have a library card?” she asked as I slid the book toward her.

I shook my head. “I just got here,” I explained. “I don’t have anything.” I gave her what I hoped was a charming smile. She wasn’t having any of it. “Do you have proof of residence?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “I’m staying with my … with a family friend.”

Her lips were tight. “Mmmhmm. Name?”

“Um …” Okay, how embarrassing was this? I couldn’t remember if it was Tina Cooper or Tina Melnick. Or was it Tina Cooper-Melnick?

Someone had gotten in line behind me, and now he or she leaned forward slightly. I felt myself growing irritated with whatever senior citizen couldn’t wait five seconds to check out the latest James Patterson novel. If I could just have had a minute, I might have managed to remember the name of my mom’s oldest friend in the world, a woman who also happened to be my hostess.

Instead of backing up, the person behind me stepped even closer. “Don’t believe a word she’s saying, Barbara,” he said. “This girl has book thief written all over her.”

The voice was familiar. Very familiar. I turned to see the miracle worker who’d gotten the librarian to stop frowning.

“We have
got
to stop meeting like this.” He was smiling like he was really glad to see me. “Hey, Adam,” I said, smiling back at him. He was wearing a white Oxford and a pair of jeans, and he looked very definitely more than just-regular cute.

“So,” he said, “trying to pull a fast one on the fine people of Dryer’s Cove, are you?”

“I can’t help her without any information, Adam,” said the librarian.

As I was trying to imagine
any
of the guys at my high school being on a first-name basis with a librarian, Adam stroked his chin and looked me up and down. “She seems a reliable sort,” he said. “I say, give her a card.”

“It doesn’t quite work like that,” said the librarian. “The best I can do is let you check the book out for her.”

“Hmmm,” said Adam. “I guess I’d have to see what she’s reading before agreeing to that.” He reached over, took the book off the desk, and studied the cover. “
Lolita?!
I don’t know. This is a pretty filthy book, young lady, banned in several of the more pious of these great United States.”

I could feel my cheeks blazing. Why couldn’t I have opted to check out
Little Women
? Now he’d think I was some kind of pervert.

Adam held the book up so the librarian could see it. “I have to admit, I’m shocked to see you, of all people, dealing in pornography, Barbara.”

“Just give me the book, Adam,” said Barbara, but she was smiling at him. Clearly I was not the only person in the Dryer’s Cover library who found Adam more than a little adorable.

“I’m just giving you a hard time,” he said to me. “It’s a great book. I read it last summer.” He put a stack of what looked like comic books on the counter. “Can I give you these too?” he asked the librarian.

“Of course,” she said.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a comic book reader,” I said. I was a little disappointed, actually. After he’d said that thing about reading
Lolita
, I’d assumed he was really into literature, but maybe he’d just had to read it for a class or something. Who knew what those New York private schools assigned for summer reading?

“Oh, these aren’t for me,” he said, shrugging in the direction of the books. “I’m doing an internship with low-income, at-risk kids at the community center. Today’s Manga Sunday.”

“Low income? There are low-income kids on Cape Cod?”

“Here you go, Adam,” said the librarian.

“Thanks,” he said, sweeping up the books under his arm. “Sure there are low-income kids on the Cape,” he continued. “There’s a year-round population here that’s really struggling.”

“And by struggling, you’re not just saying they don’t winter in Deer Valley,” I said.

“Exactly,” he said.

Without discussing it, we started walking toward the exit together. Adam held the door for me, then followed me onto the porch. We stood there for a minute.

I tried to think of something witty to say.

“Oh, here’s your book,” he said, handing me
Lolita
. “Sorry for giving you a hard time about it.”

“That’s okay,” I said a little too quickly. “I mean, I didn’t mind.” Standing there on the porch of the library with our books and stilted conversation, it was like we really were something out of 1955. I smiled at the idea.

“What?” asked Adam, noticing my smile.

“This town’s just so quaint,” I explained. “I feel like one of us should say, ‘Well golly, let’s go get a pop!’”

Adam laughed and then, in a really enthusiastic voice, he said, “Golly, Kate, I’d love to get a pop with you. Would
you
like to get a pop with
me
?”

Okay, was he joking?

I didn’t want to say yes if he was only joking. Then again, if I said yes and he
was
only joking, I could pretend
I’d
been joking too. But would it be obvious that I hadn’t been? Maybe if I said yes with an accent. But I’m not really good at accents, and if he was serious, wouldn’t it be kind of weird if I responded to a serious invitation by saying yes with some random accent?