In Every Way (2 page)

The smell of maple syrup wakes me up on the first day of summer break. It’s not a bad way to wake up, that’s for sure. Grandma is an amazing cook, but during the school year I’m usually eating Pop-Tarts or cereal on my mad dash out the door. I’m not the kind of girl who wakes up two hours early to shower and fix my hair, and put on a ton of makeup with fifty different applicator brushes.

Don’t get me wrong—I’d love to be that kind of girl.

But look at me. Ew. There’s no point in “putting makeup on a pig” as this guy Bryce used to say in junior high. I remember the day clearly, the same way I remember just about every instance of being bullied. It was the first day back to eighth grade after the Christmas break, and Grandma had given me a makeup set for Christmas. I was in love. It was the good kind, from Sephora, this fancy makeup place in the mall. Until then, I’d only amassed a collection of drugstore lip gloss and some cheap powder that promised to eliminate shine. (Spoiler alert: it did not.)

I’d been spending a ton of time online looking up makeup tutorials, and I guess that’s what gave Grandma the idea. I was so excited, I spent forty-five minutes just on my eyeliner. Things were looking up for me. I’d lost ten pounds since school started, and now I had beautiful makeup.

And then, of course, Bryce ruined it all by calling me a pig. He said it in front of everyone in the cafeteria. Grandma had tried to comfort me by saying some of the students were probably doing their own thing and didn’t notice him say it, but it didn’t help much. Because I know he said it, and all of his friends laughed. Even one person knowing my humiliation was enough to ruin the rest of the year for me. It didn’t take long for me to gain back those ten pounds, and then about five more.

I put that makeup in my drawer and didn’t touch it again until freshman year when Grandma and I went out to celebrate her sixty-third birthday. She wanted to go to this Thai restaurant two towns over, so I figured I was safe from the prying eyes of my peers. I’d felt pretty that night. I haven’t felt that way since.

My mouth waters at the smell of breakfast rising up from the kitchen. As much as I want to stay in bed and begin my uber lazy summer of doing absolutely nothing until college classes start in August, it would be rude to make Grandma cook all by herself. The woman is my rock. She took over raising me when my teenaged parents moved out. Unlike most fifteen-year-old parents, mine actually loved each other and wanted to stay together. As far as I know, they still are together. They just didn’t think having a kid fit in well with their traveling-the-world-with-a-backpack scene, so they left me with Grandma. She’s somehow managed to be a mother, father, and both grandparents to me for my whole life. Her husband, my Grandad, died just a few months before I was born. She said I gave her back the life that was taken away from her.

So yeah, there’s no way I can make that woman cook breakfast all by herself. She’s far too important to me.

I crawl out of bed and climb over the mess of craft supplies I’d left on the floor last night. Although I consider myself a neat person, my room is kind of a disaster area right now. My dream is to become a kindergarten teacher, and although graduation is still four years away, I’m kind of obsessed with craft ideas for my future classroom. Plus, my cousin Aisha is a teacher and she said that coming up with creative teaching tools and crafts for the kids always gave you bonus points with the professors, so that’s what I plan on doing. Right now, I’m deep in the middle of about four Pinterest projects I found for kindergarten lesson plans. I’m having a blast, and I haven’t even started teaching kids yet.

I slip into the hallway, past the empty cat bed in the alcove near the stairs. My heart aches as I blow a little kiss toward the bed. My cat, Missy, died a few months ago. She’d been with me for as long as I could remember, my little calico fur ball of a best friend. But old age got to her eventually, and we buried her in the back yard. I haven’t found it in me to move the cat bed. Every time I walk past it, I can almost pretend she’s just snoozing in the other room and that she’ll be back any minute.

“Good morning,” I say, meeting Grandma in the kitchen. Though she works at an insurance company, I’ve always thought she would make an excellent chef. She has a way with food, and I’m not just saying that because I’m fat and love food.

“Morning, hun,” Grandma says, flashing me a smile that is all white teeth and red lipstick. Even though it’s Saturday, you’d think she’s going to work with how nicely she’s dressed. My grandmother is the opposite of me in that way. I’m all pajamas and T-shirts, she’s all silk blouses and dress pants.

“Can I help with anything?” I ask, opening the cabinet to grab plates to set the table.

“No, I have it all covered.” Grandma takes the plates from me and goes over to the table, setting them down in our usual spots. “Why don’t you make yourself a cup of coffee? Breakfast will be ready in a second. I made your favorites: French toast, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and thin sliced toast with butter.”

“That’s a lot of food,” I say, frowning. Usually we’ll have French toast
or
eggs and bacon, never both at the same time. I make some coffee and sit at the table. “I was actually thinking I might try to diet this summer so I can start out college as less of a fat cow.”

Grandma puts a hand on her hip. “You are not a fat cow!”

I take a sip of coffee. “It’s literally in my name, Grandma. Bess. Short for Bessie, as in Bessie the cow.”

“That is not what you’re named after,” she says, rolling her eyes as she piles several slices of French toast onto a plate that she puts in the center of the table.

I’ve been called Bessie the cow since I was five. It wasn’t until around the age of seven that I got smart enough to shorten my name to Bess. Now that particular insult comes less frequently.

I rest my chin in my hand. “We don’t really know what I’m named after, now do we?”

I heave a sigh and Grandma frowns, but she doesn’t say anything. My mother named me “Bessie” on my birth certificate, but then she never explained what gave her the idea. Maybe she knew I’d be a fat cow when I got older and she was just preparing me for it.

Grandma joins me at the table and we start filling our plates from the massive breakfast feast she’s prepared. “You didn’t have to do all of this,” I say, reaching for another piece of sausage. Then it hits me. I look up and fix her with an accusing glare. “Wait, why did you make all of this food?”

Grandma dunks a piece of French toast in syrup and gives me this apathetic look. “I don’t think you need to diet, Bess. That’s just asking for stress, and stress makes you way unhealthier than a little extra weight.”

I lift an eyebrow. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Grandma is a large woman. She’s been round and happy about it for as long as I remember. She’s the kind of lady who is unabashedly in love with food and doesn’t let someone’s perceptions of what’s attractive or not stand in her way. Unfortunately, I inherited her love of food, but not her love of being happy with your own body.

I hate my body.

I point my fork at her. “Why are you buttering me up?”

She waves a hand at me. “You’re being silly. I just wanted a nice breakfast since school is over. It’s to congratulate you on graduating, honey.”

I snort. “Just yesterday you said graduating high school was the easiest part of life and that no one should bother having a party for something so easy.”

“I was being facetious,” she says with a little roll of her hand. “Of course we should celebrate.”

“I’m still not entirely convinced that this breakfast isn’t some kind of bribe,” I say, going back to eating.

“So anyway, what are you planning to do this summer?” she asks, her voice light.

“Not a single thing,” I say with a smile. “College will be hard, so I want to take it easy.”

“Or—” she says, giving me this wide-eyed look like she just thought of the idea. “You could help out my dear friend Julie. She gets so busy during the summers and it’s so hard running that shop by herself . . .”

I shake my head. Grandma’s friend Julie owns this little boutique on the beach that sells overpriced (but cute) trinkets, clothing, baby stuff, and gifts.

“Not happening. That place is full of rich annoying people.”

“Julie’s not rich or annoying,” Grandma says, as if she’s making some kind of point here.

“I don’t really need a job,” I say, reaching for the jar of honey on the table. “Mom and Dad sent me more money a few days ago.”

My parents have been traveling my entire life, but they show their love, or whatever they want to call it, by sending me checks in the mail every so often. Sometimes they come once a month, sometimes a year or two will pass between the checks. I always get a birthday card and a Christmas gift, though. Recently, I received a check for five thousand dollars in an envelope that simply had a Post-It note stuck to the check. “Love you” was scrawled on it in handwriting that I’m not sure is Mom’s or Dad’s. Their checks still have Grandma’s address on them, even though they haven’t lived here since I was born. The life of a nomad is a strange thing, and I don’t pretend to understand it.

“It’s not exactly about the money,” Grandma says. She rolls her bottom lip under her teeth and gives me this shaky smile. “I kind of already told her you’d love to work there.”

“You what!” I drop my fork and it clangs to the plate, making this awful sound that grates on my nerves. “I don’t want to work at the beach, Grandma! There’s nothing but skinny jerks there!”

She gives me a look. “There are skinny people everywhere, kid. There’s also fat people, and tall people, and short people.”

I sigh. “I don’t care about
those
people. I only care about the women who are beautiful and stunning and make me feel like a total loser.”

Grandma snorts. “You are being silly. Julie really needs you. You can refuse her if you want, I guess, but it’d be good karma if you just get over your insecurities and go help her out for the summer.”

“I can’t just get over it,” I say, shaking my head as I stare at my food. Suddenly, and probably for the first time in my life, I am not hungry. “You don’t understand,” I say. “There will be girls I know from school there.”

“Bess, I wish you’d realize you’re a beautiful girl,” Grandma says. “Your weight is not an indicator of that. Working at the shop is just a job. You’ll probably be behind the counter the whole time. In that case, who cares? You’re not going on a date here, or joining some reality TV show beauty contest for God’s sake.”

I bite the inside of my lip. I guess she’s right about that. I can’t hide out in my room forever, as much as that might sound like a nice idea.

Besides, I
did
hope to go on a diet this summer. Maybe being at the store will keep me on my feet and give me more exercise. I could pack healthy snacks for the day, that way I can’t go into our pantry all day and eat junk. This could work, I guess.

“Fine, I’ll take the stupid job,” I mutter, focusing on my fork instead of my grandmother.

She reaches across the table and pats my hand. “You’ll be okay, sweetie. I promise.”

I run some gel through my hair, trying to tame it into some kind of decent hairstyle. Though brown now, it’ll lighten up after I start working this summer. It always does, turning as light as the sun can make it before I go back to school and spend the winter indoors. I could probably use a haircut, but there’s no time before my date tonight. Surveying myself in the mirror, I figure I look good enough for my date to like me.

She’s only seen me in pictures, and I’ve been told I look better in real life than on camera. I am not photogenic at all. Pictures of me always end up looking like I feel sick or nauseous, or like maybe I’m trying too hard to
not
look like those things.

Until now, Jenny and I have only been chatting through the app and then texting as of last night. I pick up my phone and call her for the first time.

She doesn’t answer, and I frown, wondering if she maybe forgot about tonight. A few seconds later, I get a text.

Jenny:
What’s up?

Josh:
I just called you, did it not go through?

Jenny:
It went through but ew, I’m not talking on the phone.

Uh,
okay
.

I give myself one last look in the mirror and then text her.

Josh:
Are we still on for our date tonight?

Jenny:
We better be. I’m all dressed for it.

Josh:
Where should I pick you up?

Jenny:
Meet me at the front of the apartments off Lakeside Dr

Josh:
see you in fifteen minutes

A girl who doesn’t want to talk on the phone is kind of weird. Maybe it’s even a red flag. I can text just like everyone else, but I’d prefer to talk on the phone, especially in situations that can easily be solved with real life talking. This whole ten minute text exchange was really a waste of time. Anyhow, I shrug off any weird vibes still floating in my mind, and I head out to my truck. It’s an older model Ford, the black paint all scratched up in places, but it’s mine and I love it.

On the drive over to pick her up, I’m thinking about the few things I do know about my date tonight. Though her profile was vague, when we chatted online, I found out she likes dancing and going to the beach. She’s allergic to grass, which is kind of unique. That’s also why she loves the beach so much because there is no grass on the shore.

These aren’t enough facts to know if I’ll have a love connection with Jenny, but it’s not like facts alone can ever tell something like that. We would need a spark, the stupid magical thing that happens when two people meet each other and know they’ll work out as a romantic couple.

I absolutely cannot say these things in front of the guys, because they’d laugh their asses off at me. But the “spark” thing is real, and I had it with Elise, and if I don’t have it with Jenny, then I’ll be back to square one in my dating life.

Jenny is standing by a rosebush in the circle driveway of the apartments. They’re pretty nice, a newer building near the college, and I wonder if she lives on her own or with roommates, because most of the population in this part of town are college students, not parents.

She gives me a little wave, smiling wide as I pull my truck to a stop and climb out. Jenny looks just like her picture online, only she’s a little thinner than I realized. And, not to sound like a dick, but I kind of like my girls to have more meat on them. But my mother has raised me to give everyone a chance and to see what’s inside a person, so I won’t let a little thing like that stop me from giving this my all.

“Hi, I’m Josh,” I say, walking up to her with my arm out for a hug, or maybe a handshake if she chooses to go that way.

She hugs me back quickly, then tucks her hair behind her ears. “I know who you are, stupid. We’ve been talking for a week.”

“Right, okay,” I say, shoving my hands in my back pocket. This isn’t going very well, but I guess she’s joking, or maybe she thinks she’s funny?

“Ready to go?” I ask, pulling open the passenger door for her.

“Yes, but I’m not a helpless invalid, Josh.” She narrows her eyes at me, a thick layer of black eyeliner so sharp it makes her look like a witch. “I can open my own doors, thanks.”

With that, she grabs the inside handle and yanks the door closed. I take a deep breath. Shit. Are guys not supposed to open doors now? I thought that was like, Gentleman 101 stuff. I walk around the truck, run a hand through my hair and realize too late that there’s gel in it.
Okay
, I tell myself.
Don’t be a gentleman because she doesn’t like that
.
Don’t state the obvious because she also doesn’t like that.

I climb into my truck and snap my seatbelt into place. “So there’s this great Italian place down near the water,” I say, shifting into drive. “I thought we could go there?”

She leans forward and messes with my radio, changing stations and frowning at every one. “I guess, if you want.”

“If you’re not feeling that, we could go somewhere else,” I say, pulling onto the highway. “I’m open to anything. We could do fancy food or Taco Bell, I don’t care.” I grin, but she just curls her lip at me in reply.

“Why would you take a girl to Taco Bell on a first date, Josh? Are you
trying
to be single forever?”

I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Jenny. I’m not sure this is starting off well at all. Did I do something? I want us to have fun here.”

She sighs too, folding her arms across her chest. “No, you’re fine. I’m just . . . I guess I just live in this fairy tale world.” She glances out the window and then looks back at me. “We can go to the Italian place, by the way. I don’t really care.”

“What do you mean about the fairy tale thing?” I ask, grateful for the food thing. Now at least we have a place to go.

She shrugs. “I live in a fairy tale world in my mind, because I want everything to work out perfectly. So I guess you’re screwed by default, because you’ll never be as good as the guys in my head.”

I think about making a joke about how if there’s guys in her head, maybe she should see a doctor. But I’m pretty sure that would only earn me another scowl. She doesn’t exactly get my sense of humor.

“I’ll try my best,” I tell her, wondering how exactly opening the door for her doesn’t fit into the Prince Charming fairy tale vibe. “You look really beautiful,” I say.

“Thanks,” she says, while gazing out of the window. “You’re not so bad yourself. Lately I’ve been going on dates with guys who seem okay in their pictures, but in real life they’re fat or gross.”

I glance down and pat my stomach. “See how you feel after you see how much pasta I can eat.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but she just gives me this weird look. Luckily, we’re now at the restaurant, so the conversation doesn’t have to continue while we park and get out of the car. I don’t go around to her side of the truck, choosing instead to wait for her to walk up to me. It feels so weird because usually I walk with a girl everywhere, but I’m trying to feel out what she likes and doesn’t like, and so far, all of my guesses have been wrong. My stomach tightens as we walk into the restaurant. If the car ride was any indication of the rest of the date, I’m not sure how I’ll get through it.

***

After dinner, Jenny suggests that we get frozen yogurt from this place her cousin works at. We stop there, even though I’m not even hungry, and get dessert while she and her cousin talk loudly about all of my pros and cons. I guess this is a thing they do in the girl world.

“Pro, he’s definitely hot,” the cousin says. She’d told me her name, but I don’t remember it now. “But that means that, con: he’s probably a man slut.”

“I’m not a man slut,” I say, looking up from my bowl of cookies and cream yogurt.

“
Con
,” Jenny says, pointing her spoon at me. “This is a private conversation so you shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”

I lift an eyebrow. “We’re all sitting at the same table.”

The girls exchange a look and I check the time on my phone for the thousandth time tonight. This date can’t possibly go any slower. I’m ready to get home, shower off the remains of this terrible date, and chill out in my pajamas. Maybe this is finally the motivation I need to delete the stupid dating app. Colby will be proud, if he ever stops laughing after I tell him about this date.

Jenny finishes off the last bite of her yogurt and then stands abruptly. “I’m ready to go home,” she says, and I’m reminded of a spoiled princess on some kid’s cartoon movie.

“Sure,” I say, rising and tossing my bowl into the trash. I wasn’t even finished yet, but who cares. “Nice meeting you,” I say to the cousin and I don’t believe a word of it because it wasn’t nice meeting her.

She gives me this appraising look. “You too. Jenny, call me later and we’ll talk.”

It’s not as subtle as she might think it is. They’re definitely going to talk about me. Who cares? I’m so over this date.

Jenny doesn’t talk much on the drive back to her apartment complex, and I’m grateful for the silence. This entire evening has been a nightmare. There was definitely no magic spark between the two of us.

I stop at the same place I picked her up, wondering if I should even bother to get out of my truck. Normally I would, but who knows what Jenny expects of me?

She slides over, pulling up the center console so that she can squeeze into the middle seat. She flits her eyes, giving me this sultry gaze. “I had fun, Josh.”

Before I can come up with a lie and say I had fun too, she puts a hand on my chest, letting her fingers slide down to my belt. I tense. This is not what I expected.

She leans in, smelling like some kind of powdery perfume, pressing her lips to my ear. “If you’re
really
good to me, maybe I’ll let you get some of this,” she whispers, pressing her boobs against my arm.

Normally, a come on of this nature from any girl would be hot. But I’m only feeling awkward as crap right now.

“Well, goodnight,” I say. “Would you like me to walk you to your door?”

She sits up and slides back into her seat. “Ugh, you perv! Like I’m going to let you have the goods on our first date!”

She rolls her eyes and hops out of my truck, slamming the door behind her.

I let out a sigh and watch as she bounces along the sidewalk, letting herself into the lobby without so much as a glance back.

Well, that was officially the weirdest date I’ve ever been on. Half the time Jenny seemed like she hated everything I said and did, and the other half of the time she was fawning all over me.

I put the truck in drive, already daydreaming about the glorious shower I will take to wash off the awfulness of this date. Then I’ll grab some Cheetos and watch TV until I’ve forgotten what a date even is. My phone beeps, and I check it before driving away.

Jenny:
Such a wonderful night! Thank you, my handsome prince charming! Can’t wait to see u again! Xoxo