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Getting Late”)

Mr. W snags you as you are pondering the poets.

“It’s slow for the moment,” he says. “Why don’t you take lunch now, Christopher?”

“Okay,” you say.

You will check receipts later to see what poetry books went out in your absence.

You are headed out the door when you meet …

Brendan.

“I’ll sell you a book,” you tell him. “But then I’ve got my lunch break.”

“Come to the diner with me,” Brendan suggests.

You agree.

You are, you confess now, strangely nervous.

WHAT are you going to talk to Brendan about?

You’ve never hung around with him alone before.

You hang around with, let’s face it, girls.

The guys who are your friends? Two. Whom you’ve know forever. Jason, with whom you no longer have a thing in common. And Alex … away.

Being treated. For depression. And a suicide attempt.

These are your guy friends.

Sometimes you miss Jason.

You definitely miss Alex. But you’ve barely kept in touch with him and he’s not big on keeping in touch with your either.

You want him back. Better.

But meanwhile, girls are easier to be friends with.

Girls talk about things besides sports and (duh) babes.

You review your sports data.

You realize you pretty much used it up the night before.

What would John Wayne do???

Phone.

12:15 A.M.

Parents. They actually say when you tell them what time it is here: “IT’S GETTING LATE, ISN’T IT?”

You say, “It’s Saturday night.”

Your mother says, “Oh? Did you have a date?”

“No,” you say.

The conversation pretty much loses it from there.

But you were writing about the bookstore.

Actually, cut to the diner. You and Brendan have done some sports talk on the way there.

After you’ve ordered, you reach deep and say, “Who do you like in the WNBA?”

Brendan gives you a strange look. “Phoenix still rules for me,” he says.

Then he says, “But I’m not that big on sports.”

“Me neither,” you say, way too quickly.

To cover your major sports knowledge gap, you tell Brendan about the poet/logo jock and he laughs.

After that, you are not so worried about talking to him. True, it’s not like hanging out with Alex.

With Alex you could go off about your fantasy of becoming a cowboy or discuss the latest baby-sitter/housekeeper your parents had left behind to look after you while they did their vanishing act.

But you had history with Alex and besides, you were younger then.

You no longer fantasize about becoming a cowboy.

And your parents no longer leave you with a baby-sitter/housekeeper.

Brendan actually asks you what it’s like not to have your parents around. You say living on takeout is not as much fun when it’s a 24/7 option.

Then, so you don’t sound as if you’re feeling sorry for yourself, you say that the freedom is great.

Brendan nods.

He doesn’t talk about his parents, so you don’t ask. (Can’t tell a book by its cover.)

You find yourself telling him a little about Alex. (Not a lot about Alex, though. Maybe the whole school talks about what happened, you don’t know, but he’s got a right to his privacy and you’re not going to talk about it. Besides, it’s hard to talk about even to your closest friends.) So you chat and chew and Brendan tells you a little about his old school.

You ask, before you think, if his old school had Cro Mags in it and he looks puzzled.

So then you have to explain that Cro Mags is short for Cro-Magnon cavepeople.

“The jocks at school? Those are universal,” he says.

“I’m not sure if that is good news or bad news,” you say, and he laughs.

Ducky the entertainer.

Somehow, the conversation shifts around to the girls at school.

“You know a lot of them,” he says.

Bond. James Bond. A girl in every locker.

“Friends,” you say. “Somehow, this past year, we started hanging out and became friends.”

You’re not sure how to explain it, other than that.

Luckily, Brendan doesn’t ask deep questions. He nods and says, “Well, about Amalia. Is it my imagination, or has she been a little distant lately?”

“Amalia,” you say. “Distant?”

He nods. “Every since I came back from camp. She’s nice. She’s friendly. She laughs at my jokes and we go out. But she’s — I don’t know. It’s like she’s taken a step back.”

“Oh.” You decide it’s better not to mention you noticed it too.

“I don’t think there’s anybody else,” Brendan says.

He pauses.

Your cue.

“No,” you agree. You tell him you’re sure about that.

He looks relieved for a moment.

“She’s not like that,” you add.

“I don’t think so,” Brendan says. “But for some reason I don’t feel as if I know her the way I did at the beginning of the summer.”

You’re not sure what the problem is either. “Give it time,” you say.

Lame, but serviceable.

Brendan nods. “It’s what I figured,” he says. Then he switches to you, as in:

B: What about you and Sunny?

D: ????

B: You know, like dating?

D: [Nervous laughter.]

B: Seriously.

So you tell him you’d never be interested in Sunny that way. And you know she wouldn’t be interested in you that way either.

Brendan says, “Don’t kid yourself. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

Those looks! Is that what they mean?

You want to slide down under the table and stay there.

You reject the whole idea. What does Brendan know?

You laugh again and say, “Why ruin a beautiful friendship?”

Then you say, “I’d better get back to work.”

You talk with Brendan about working in the bookstore on the way back. Your dramatic account of the shoplifter lasts most of the trip. Then you say good-bye to Brendan … although you can’t say good-bye to what Brendan said.

How could Brendan be so off about you and Sunny?

Can’t a guy and a girl be friends without the whole world making something of it? Why is that so hard for the world to accept?

And Sunny would never go for it, anyway.

Even if it was a possibility.

Which it IS NOT.

Aug. 22

Sunday.

Not. Possible.

No reason to go there.

You’re Ducky.

She’s Sunny.

You’re friends.

End of story.

Aug. 23

2:23 P.M.

Mondays at the bookstore are S … L … O … W. …

Not that bookstores are usually party scenes.

Mr. W came in and opened the store with Sunny.

When you get here at 2:00 he bolts.

Leaving you and Sunny alone together.

Stop this.

* * *

You and Sunny and ninety gazillion books and a whole store full of people.

For a moment you are tempted to think about asking Jay (the friend formerly known as Jason) for his advice.

He dates girls. He listens to the Cro Mags talk about dating girls.

The girls who go out with those guys seem ordinary and nice.

(THEN WHY ARE THEY DATING CRO MAGS????)

Maybe Jay could give you some help.

Then you remember his stupid efforts to introduce you to girls. Any girls. As if girls were interchangeable. As if people were interchangeable.

You do not need Jay’s advice.

Besides, this isn’t a girl-guy thing. Just because Brendan said so, that doesn’t make it true.

He’s way off base. Out of the ballpark. In another game.

Jay would just start talking about what a “babe” Sunny is.

She IS cute.

Well, pretty.

Beautiful, maybe.

Here she comes.

Stash this.

You have shelved books. Tallied receipts. Boxed returns. Unpacked books.

You are NOT going to vacuum. No housework at the bookstore.

Sunny has spent some quality time in the coffee room. The boxes of tea are in alphabetical order. The sink sparkles. She’s put hooks under the cabinet to hang the mugs on, so they’re not jammed on the table with the coffeepot and microwave.

It now looks neat, clean, organized.

She brings you a cup of hot tea.

You discuss the coffee that the bookstore keeps on hand for Mr. W and employees.

Sunny says she has a plan. She is going to start using the petty cash and buying decent coffee when her father isn’t around. She’ll put it in the old coffee tins and maybe he’ll never notice that he never has to buy a new can of coffee.

It’s a plan, you concede.

“Meanwhile, I made you tea because the coffee is vile,” Sunny says.

“Tarbucks,” you offer and Sunny laughs. You notice that her eyes crinkle in a good way when she does.

Well, you’d noticed it before. Now you notice it again.

Stop. This.

Aug. 24

9:45 P.M.

Avoiding the Subject

“Hi,” Sunny says. “It’s me.”

“Hi,” you say.

Then you run out of things to say.

Sunny doesn’t notice.

Does she?

She tells you Maggie is hanging in there. She reports that Dawn wants to “explore more

piercings” but that her father has said a big NO. She says she dreams of owning a retro bowling shirt with her name embroidered on the pocket. She wants to find it just hanging on the rack. Or better yet, in a big bin of jumbled-up clothes, the kind that vintage stores put out for buck-a-bag sales.

“It would bowl you over?” you offer.

Sunny laughs. Hard.

Are your jokes that funny?

Or is this some girl-guy thing?

You are not ready for this. This is not for publication, but you aren’t ready.

At least, you’re pretty sure you aren’t.

You are not going to write about it anymore. You’re going to write about something else.

9:55 P.M.

Okay. You’re home now. You can stop thinking about the Sunny situation.

Anything else.

That’s it. You’re down for the night.

Well, at least you didn’t write about that subject again.

Aug. 25

Late A.M. Wednesday

Park. Bike. You.

Thinking.

Are you laughing too hard at Sunny’s jokes?

Being around her makes you feel like laughing, generally. You feel, you know, pretty good.

Oxygenated.

Caffeinated.

But in a good way.

You’ve always laughed at her jokes. She’s always laughed at yours. You get each other’s sense of humor.

If you stop laughing at Sunny’s jokes now, it’s going to be bizarre.

Early P.M.

Break room. Bookstore.

Did Sunny just ask you out on a date? Is “Hey, wanna catch the extremely bad action flick at the

‘plex when we’re out of here?” a date invitation?

Evidence:

For:

You suggest calling up the rest of the gang, to maximize the sounds of disgust, throwing popcorn-at-the-screen potential.

Sunny says, “Nah, let’s just go together.”

You say, “Sure.”

Then you bolt in here and grab the old journal like a life raft.

Against:

It’s Sunny. And you. FRIENDS.

This is all Brendan’s fault.

Yeah. Brendan. You’ll blame him.

Like that’s going to fix things now.

Besides, it’s not Brendan’s fault.

Stop freaking, Ducky. Just act like yourself.

This is not a situation, except in your own DUCK BRAIN.

6:10 P.M.

Mr. W is having an in-depth discussion with a new potential full-timer.

She looks okay.

With school starting soon, he’s going to need someone full-time.

But that’s not what is important here. You are avoiding the subject.

You are propped near the bookstore entrance, scribbling.

While Sunny is CHANGING.

As in, slipping into the bathroom to change clothes from her work clothes to something else for going to the movies.

You think about this WAY too much. Like, did she bring clothes from home just for this NOT

DATE?

Is she getting dressed up?

Did she plan the whole thing?

Should you — what?

BREATH MINTS.

Gotta go.

Later. Eons Later. Mind-altering, Time-traveling,

Significant Amounts of Time Later

Really only 11:20 on an ordinary Wednesday night.

You wish.

Okay. Back to pre “it’s not a date” panic.

You buy two packs of breath mints at the pharmacy and eat about six on the way back to the bookstore.

Your whole brain smells like peppermint.

Fortunately, Sunny doesn’t notice when she emerges from the break room.

She looks good. The flitty top thing especially. Definitely dressier than bookstore mode.

“Nice look,” you say.

Sunny smiles and her eyes crinkle and you blurt out, “Want to get something to eat?”

“Great idea,” she says, and her eyes crinkle even more.

You practically run from the bookstore. You do not remember Sunny saying good-bye to her father and telling him you’ll bring her home later (although you know she must have).

You do not remember how you ended up in Galaxy Deluxe.

But there you are in the brand-new retro joint, staring at the menu while Sunny admires the bowling-trophy decor.

You do not remember what you ate.

You do remember part of the movie. It’s so bad that you and Sunny are collapsing against each other laughing.

You are whispering the action hero’s lines before he says them.

The girl — the damsel in distress — stands around looking slightly malnourished and screaming a lot.

Just like in the John Wayne movies of ancient history, except those girls looked better fed.

Don’t the people who make movies get it?

Clearly not. And you yourself did just pay money to see this old-fashioned, high-tech piece of junk.

And then, Sunny takes your hand while she is in a mid-laughing fit.

She’s grabbed your hand before.