One of the Guys (16 page)

I can't say no to that. I want the childhood Cowboy back, the daring boy who would stuff French fries up his nose. I nod. “We'll meet here beforehand. We'll talk it through.”

He smiles, but his eyes don't crinkle this time. “Thanks, McRib.”

As I hop from the truck, he calls out again. I stop, and he hands over my worn copy of
Moby Dick
. “Thanks for lending it to me,” he adds. “Sorry it took me so long to get it back to you.”

I tuck the book into my bag. “Later, Cowboy.”

I watch the blue truck drive to the end of the street, to Cowboy's ranch brick home at the end. I exhale, relieved. The Carrie date is officially booked. Plus, things feel good with Cowboy. He'll be okay. He can do this.

“Finally get your book back?” a voice asks.

Loch stands in his driveway, basketball in hand. He dribbles a few times, his chin painted with dark winter stubble. I make my way over, elated to see him. After I drop my book bag on the ground, he passes the ball to me. I shoot an easy layup, raise my hands in the air, and cheer.

We play for some time, passing the ball back and forth, taking turns shooting. I tell him about my broken Maxima and how Cowboy came along at the right moment. He tells me how some kid threw up in the Teddy Bear gift shop the other day and about his plans to search the lake for Champ again. Finally. Someone wants to continue to hunt. I'm all in.

“I've got a good feeling about finding him this time,” Loch says. “When the weather warms, he'll want to come to the surface. He's done hiding. I know it.”

I should tell him about what Emma asked me earlier. That she wants to date him. People like to hear those things, even if he isn't interested. She's nice. She's funny. She's sweet. He should be, at the very least, flattered.

Now, Toni. Tell him now about her NOW
.

I pass the ball back and smooth out my skirt. My knees are freezing. The sun's gone down now. “My mom's probably freaking out about now. Later, Loch.”

Loch palms the ball and steps toward me, but stops. He smiles softly. “See you around, Toni.”

sixteen

S
ATURDAY NIGHT.
T
HE NIGHT OF

Cowboy's fake-date debut. Emma's kicking my ass in
Mario Kart
when the doorbell rings. I peer out the front window. Cowboy's waiting on my front porch, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the chilly air. Beneath his leather jacket, he wears a navy blue button-down and skinny black tie paired with black pants and shiny dress shoes. His sandy-colored hair is neatly combed, and his pale skin is spotted with nervous splotches of red.

Behind him, Ollie stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his puffy green coat. His curly hair is a mess, his jeans skinny and black. His sneakers are a stark neon blue. All shiny new clothes I've never seen him wear before.

When I open the door, Ollie nods and says, “McRib.”

I let them both inside. As Cowboy walks past me, I detect the stinging scent of cologne. I wiggle my nose and hold back a sneeze.

“You look nice, Cowboy,” Emma says. She sits on the bottom step, sipping a Dr. Pepper. Her eyes move to Ollie for a moment, but quickly return to

Cowboy.

“The tie's not too much?” Cowboy asks.

“It's perfect. Very gentleman-like.” Emma rises. “Ollie could learn a thing or two from you.”

“Hey, I did my job, didn't I?” Ollie shrugs and wipes his sneakers on the floor mat. He looks up at Emma again, but she's already leading us into the living room.

Mom is upstairs folding laundry, her favorite activity. No joke. Now there's a passion I won't inherit. When we enter the living room, Brian closes the Ben Franklin biography he's been reading and sits up. Emma and I's game of
Mario Kart
is paused on the TV.

“Greetings!” he says, way too loud. “What are you fine upstanding teenagers up to this evening? No trouble, I hope.”

“Cowboy's got a date,” I say. Not a
total
lie. “We're helping him prepare.”

“A date, huh? This I know something about.” Brian cracks his knuckles. “Who's the girl?”

“Her name is Carrie,” Cowboy says. “She smiles a lot, apparently.”

“She goes to Winston,” Ollie adds, sliding off his coat. He wears a button-down purple shirt. Now that I take a closer look at him, his curls are unusually tidy. Is he dressed up for something? He's not booked tonight.

The way Ollie says
Winston
suggests Carrie might be a handful or something. I narrow my eyes.

Brian stands and nods. “Ah. Toni could help with that. She knows those Winston gals.”

I wouldn't say I
know
them. “Yeah, I'm trying to help him get ready,” I say. “So…”

I wait for Brian to leave. He gets the hint right away this time. He warns us to stay out of trouble again because, you know, we're teenagers, trouble is what we do, and then goes upstairs.

“Your stepdad is super nice,” Emma says.

“Yeah, I guess.” I cringe. Brian is nice—too nice sometimes—and I never know how to react to all of that hyper-niceness. For some reason, it makes me uncomfortable. Probably because there's something wrong with me.

Ollie glances at the TV. “Aw,
Mario Kart
. Wait. Who's Peach? She's the worst.”

I blush. “She's actually not so bad.”

He points at me, amazed. “You
chose
Peach?”

“Okay!” Emma announces, circling Cowboy. She's in work mode. “He looks good to me, Toni.”

“Oh, come on,” Ollie interjects, done teasing me regarding my video game choices, it seems. “There must be something you can improve. The guy's not perfect.”

“You're so right.” Emma picks a tiny piece of lint from Cowboy's shoulder and giggles. “There.
Now
he's perfect, Luke.”

Ollie shakes his head, but smiles. His earlobes are bright red. As Emma paces the room, her hair bounces. Ollie leans against the wall by the fireplace and watches her.

“What if I don't know what to say during this thing?” Cowboy asks, panicked. “There's like a 100 percent chance of that happening.”

I take Cowboy's elbow and lead him to the couch. Together, we sit down. “Just breathe,” I tell him calmly.

“I'll text you topics to bring up if the conversation lulls.” Emma speaks quickly. “But DO NOT check your texts in front of her sister or her parents. That's not gentlemanly. Just excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and text me if things get too quiet. When you return to the table, start the new conversation with whatever line I give you.”

“It isn't really like me to start a conversation…” Cowboy fidgets with his tie.

I pat him on the back. “That's the beauty of this, man. You don't need to be you. You're George, Carrie Sanders's boyfriend for the last six months. George
would
start a conversation. Did you go over the George facts I emailed you?”

Cowboy rubs the back of his neck and nods. “She sure went into detail about this imaginary person.”

Emma stops pacing for a moment. “George's favorite food?” she asks.

“Peanut butter,” Cowboy replies.

“Favorite movie?”

“
Titanic
.”

“I hate that movie with a white passion,” Emma says, shaking her head. “You ever seen
Road House?
Now that's a classic.”

Ollie says, “It's okay, but
Ghost
is a better Swayze movie.”

Emma looks at Ollie like he's just grown a second head or something. After a few moments, she smiles. “I almost forgot about that one.”

“Hello? Not the time to discuss ancient movies!” Cowboy waves his arms. “It's almost time to go, and I'm not feeling any better about this whole thing!”

I rest my hands on Cowboy's shoulders and look him straight in the eye. “All will be fine.”

Cowboy sighs. His breath is minty. “I can't do this. I can't…”

“Katie Morris,” Ollie says. “You want to give her the perfect night, right? Just remind yourself this is all for her.”

Cowboy doesn't need money to give Katie Morris the perfect evening. If he could practice talking to new people, he may be able to win her over through conversation. He can be charming. When he talks.

Cowboy rises and wipes his palms on his knees. Ollie crosses the room and slaps Cowboy on the back. “You're getting paid to go out with a beautiful girl,” he says. “With no obligation to call her again.”

Emma snorts and smooths out her pristine white jacket. “You're so full of it.”

Ollie points to himself and smirks. “You speaking to moi?”

“You're the only one full of shit around here, aren't you?” Her eyebrows raise. “You would call five seconds after the date ended. Don't pretend you wouldn't.”

“How do you know what I would or wouldn't do?” Ollie asks. His lips curl slightly, like he's holding back a smile. Are they flirting?

Emma inspects her nails and then looks to me, a bit frazzled. The only other time I've seen that look was during finals weeks. “What time is it? A gentleman is never late.”

I glance at my phone. “Time to go. Ready, Cowboy? Saddle up.”

Cowboy lowers onto the couch again. He puts his head between his knees, trying to catch his breath. When I see him like that, I want to call the whole thing off. His anxiety is much worse than I thought, and I don't want to torture the guy.

But then he lifts his head with a determined expression and says, “I'm ready. Let's do this.”

It's after midnight. Emma and I are shivering in Cowboy's driveway, awaiting his return. The light above the garage falls over us in a pale wave. The neighborhood is quiet. Eerie. I pull my black snow cap down over my ears and jump up and down to keep from freezing. Emma texts someone on her phone, smiling to herself. Maybe she's chatting with Kevin again. I don't ask.

Cowboy texted me about twenty minutes ago, but his message was simple:
Done. On way
. I'm not sure how to decipher that. He could be saving the good news to tell us in person. Or he could be saving the bad news. I hope the fake date went well, more for Cowboy's sake than for the business.

A pair of headlights appear around the corner, followed by the clunky sound of Cowboy's old truck. Emma looks up and slips her phone into her coat pocket, flushed. As the truck pulls into the driveway, Emma skips toward it and swings open the driver's door before the engine's even off.

“Can I park first?” Cowboy asks, irritated.

Emma backs off. The driver's door hangs open. “Of course, of course,” she breathes. “Please do.”

Cowboy grumbles, shifts the truck into park, and cuts the engine. He hesitates before climbing out, his breath a puff of fog. It's too dark to read his face, but when he slams the door shut, I get a bad feeling.

“Welcome back!” Emma exclaims way too loudly.

“Quiet,” Cowboy says softly, moving past us. “You'll wake the neighbors.”

Emma shoots me a look. I better handle this. I take a deep breath and follow Cowboy to the front door while Emma hangs back.

When we reach the porch, Cowboy pulls out his house key. Gently, I ask, “So? How was it?”

He smiles, but it's forced. “It went very well,” he states. His voice is monotone. “Everyone bought it. I was George the whole night.”

“Really?” I touch his elbow. “Because if things didn't go as planned—”

“Better than planned.” He concentrates on turning the key in the lock. “It was perfect.”

“Feel better about Katie Morris then?” I'm having a hard time reading him. Is he mad about something else? Or is he lying to me? “You got in some good practice—”

Again, he cuts me off. “I'm really tired, McRib. It's exhausting pretending to be someone you're not. But everything's cool. Don't worry. Your business is safe.”

He opens the door, tells me goodnight, and disappears inside. The porch light clicks off. I stand in darkness for a few moments until I hear the sound of Emma's approaching high heels.