Playing with Matches (17 page)

Amy didn’t notice me as I awkwardly stood there, and eventually I had to interrupt.

“Hey, Amy?”

She looked up. “Oh, hi, Leon. I wondered where you ran off to.”

Not enough to look for me, apparently.
“You about ready to go?”

One of the human piles of garbage shot me an evil look but didn’t say anything.

Amy yawned. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I’ll go get Johnny.”

I found him standing in a corner, his tongue rammed down Jessica’s throat. He disengaged just long enough to tell me he had another ride home.

Amy joined me at the top of the stairs. So did the two pricks she’d been talking to.

“Leon, you don’t mind if we give Andy and Conner a ride home, do you?”

I minded.

“Sure. You live nearby?”

“Actually,” said one of the asswipes, “we live out in Wright City.”

“That’s like twenty miles west of here,” I whined.

He laughed. “Then we better hit the road.”

29

NOT EXACTLY PARADISE, BUT BY NO MEANS AN UNPLEASANT EXPERIENCE, BY THE DASHBOARD LIGHT

I
stood next to the pump at Garzi’s Gas ’n’ Go, spending my last ten bucks on fuel. It had taken us half an hour to drive Dumb and Dumber out to Wright City. Amy sat turned around in her seat, talking to my passengers. All they talked about was music I didn’t listen to, movies I hadn’t seen, and pop stars I hated.

No one talked to me. I was a hired chauffeur.

Now we were back in St. Christopher. It was nearly two in the morning. Amy sat on my hood, talking on her cell phone.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll be home in ten minutes.” So much for any alone time with Leon.

Amy rummaged in her purse and pulled out her ever-present cigarettes.

“You shouldn’t smoke while I’m pumping gas.”

She lit up. “I’m too young to die.”

I angrily shoved the pump back into the slot. I might as well not have existed tonight. Christ, was this what dates with Amy were always going to be like? Because if it was…

Amy slid up behind me as I was replacing the gas cap. She placed her hands on my hips and ground her chin into my shoulder.

“You’re annoyed. I can tell.”

If I’d been born with a spine, I might have said something. Instead, I laid my hands across hers.

“No, I’m not.”

Amy snuggled closer. “What’s wrong, Leon?”

“You, uh…kind of ignored me tonight.”

She pulled back and I turned around. “I’m sorry. I guess you were bored. Why didn’t you dance?”

“You know the stereotype that white people—”

“Tell you what.” Amy interrupted my joke. “Next time we do what you want.”

“Okay.”

And then we were kissing. Hard. It wasn’t like kissing Melody, or the two or three other girls I’d kissed. Amy pressed her face so hard into mine it almost hurt. She wrapped her hands around the back of my head, like she didn’t want me to pull away. After a few seconds we slowed down and took it easier. She pressed her tongue into my mouth. I placed my hand on her forearm, then ran my fingers up her bicep. After a brief hesitation, I slid my hand into the armhole of her sleeveless top. She didn’t stop me when I began rubbing her shoulders from inside her shirt.

After about five seconds, she pushed away and wordlessly got into the car. I wiped some drool off my chin and followed.

Okay, that was pretty nice.
Who cared if Amy liked to dance or asked me to give her friends a ride? She was into
me
! At least for now.

I returned home around three, hours after my curfew. Not that it mattered; I couldn’t remember my parents ever staying up to wait for me. And yet, when I walked through the door, I found my dad watching
M*A*S*H
reruns in his bathrobe.

“Dad! Didn’t think you’d still be up.”

He turned off the TV and stood. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said, obviously lying. “Where have you been? You’re late.”

“Sorry. I was at a party, kind of lost track of things.”

Dad had a funny look on his face. “Have you been drinking?”

“Huh?”

Dad’s voice was less than civil now. “You drove home. Have you been drinking?”

What was this, MADD night? “No. No, I didn’t drink.”

There was a brief silence, during which I could tell that Dad was smelling my breath. Then he smiled. “I’m going to have a grilled cheese. Want one?”

I nodded. The encounter had frazzled me a bit. Though Dad had never spanked me as a child, I had the uncomfortable feeling that if I had driven drunk, he’d have whupped my ass.

Dad was buttering bread in the kitchen.

“You know,” I said, getting out the griddle, “you’ve never waited up for me before.”

“You never really went to parties before.”

“Yeah.”

My father tossed the sandwiches onto the stove. “Did you have a good time?”

I thought about the video game marathon I’d ended up participating in. “It was okay.”

“So what’s this new girl like?”

I never really felt like discussing my life with my folks, but for some reason I needed to open up that night. “She’s beautiful. Blond, a cheerleader. She’s great.”

Dad nodded appreciatively. “So are you two dating now, or what? Hand me the spatula.”

I remembered how I’d been ignored for hours. I remembered Amy’s beer-soaked kisses and thought how I would gladly suffer through more nights like this if I could taste those nicotine lips again.

“I dunno, Dad. I wanted to for the longest time, but now…” I shrugged.

Dad didn’t say anything; he just tended the food for a bit.

I continued talking without any prompting. “Dad, did you ever have a girl just turn you on so much, make you so crazy, that it didn’t matter how she treated you? Like you were willing to have a crappy time just so you could be with her? Does that make sense?”

Dad scooped the sandwiches onto plates. “Oh yeah,” he answered decisively. We sat down at the table.

“I mean,” I continued around cheesy mouthfuls, “she’s nice; she’s fun; but when we went out tonight, I really didn’t enjoy it. It’s weird.”

Dad nodded. “It happens.”

“But she’s wonderful! Any guy would kill to go out with her. And she likes me. I guess. So why couldn’t I just enjoy it? It’s not like when I—” I caught myself just in time. No need to remember
that.

Dad finished his last bite. “Son”—he looked me square in the eye—“we all come to this point sooner or later. If this is the first time you’ve been messed up by a woman, it sure won’t be your last. Would you like a piece of advice? You know, from someone who’s been there?”

I nodded eagerly.

“Get used to it.” With a grin he patted my shoulder and walked off to bed.

I sat in the dark kitchen, feeling thoroughly confused. Instead of snuggling naked with Melody, I was talking to my dad. I’d given up sex, a girlfriend, and a best friend so I could grope Amy at the gas station.

But that wasn’t all Amy and I had. I remembered how she’d talked to me about her family problems. How she’d made me realize I was more popular than I thought. How she’d promised that I would get to choose what we did next.

Things would work out. They had to.

30

YOU WON’T HAVE MELODY HENNON TO KICK AROUND ANYMORE

“J
UST SO YOU KNOW,” bellowed Mr. Hamburg the following Monday, “SOME SUBHUMAN BARBARIAN DRANK THE LAST COFFEE IN THE TEACHERS’ LOUNGE.” His voice dropped to an ominously low volume. “And did not make a fresh pot. SO I APOLOGIZE IF I AM NOT MY USUAL JOLLY SELF.”

Across the room, Melody sat in silence. Now that she’d changed lockers and lunch tables, this was the only time I saw her anymore. It had been a week since our breakup, and I didn’t have the courage to try to talk to her again.

“AS I MENTIONED YESTERDAY, 1960 USHERED IN A NEW ERA IN THE POLITICAL ARENA,” lectured Mr. Hamburg, as quietly as the bombing of Dresden. “MR. SANDERS? MISS HENNON? I THINK YOU DID SOME RESEARCH ON THAT EARLIER THIS SEMESTER. COULD YOU EXPLAIN?”

“Yes….” I started to answer, but for the first time since Columbus’ voyage, Melody volunteered to answer a history question.

“In 1960, Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy had the first televised presidential debate. People who heard it on the radio thought Nixon did better; those who saw it on TV thought Kennedy had won. A lot of people think that was because Kennedy was handsome.”

Melody turned and looked directly at me. “It goes to show, people will always choose a pretty face. Looks count for everything.”

The whole class must have known that Melody was mocking me. People were staring. I had to say something.

“Kennedy was a lot more than a face. He was a great president.” I glared at Melody.

“No one knew that at the time, Leon. All they knew was they had a choice between someone who was ugly and someone who wasn’t, and
they made their decision.
I just hope the voters ended up happy.”

Hamburg grimaced, the closest he could come to a smile. “WELL, I THINK MR. KENNEDY PROVED HIMSELF IN OFFICE….”

I refused to look at Melody again. I didn’t need this crap. I wasn’t going to let it annoy me.

“And then she said everyone voted for Kennedy because he was good-looking,” I whined, very annoyed.

I sat on a table in the gym, talking to Rob, who was busy pressing a cotton ball to the hole in his arm. The gym was filled with about a dozen cots for the annual Honor Society blood drive I was spending study hall passing out pretzels and juice to the donors. A few cots away Jimmy and Johnny raced to see who could bleed a pint first. Dan was harassing one of the Red Cross workers, apparently trying to buy a plasma bag. Buttercup made the rounds, snapping photos of people with needles in their arms. At the far end of the gym, Honor Society president Dave Scaff lay moaning in a most pathetic way, his face a strange shade of green.

Rob took a swig of juice and pondered. “You really think Nixon was better looking? I mean, Kennedy slept with Marilyn Monroe.”

“That’s not the point! Melody was talking about me!”

Rob flipped his bloody cotton ball into the biohazard bin. “So what’s it matter to you?”

“I don’t want her to think I’m a jerk.”

“I don’t see how you have much of a choice. You dumped her. She’s history. Of course she’s not going to like you.”

I stood and began pacing. “Melody’s so nice. I wish we could still, you know, be friends like before.”

“Dude, no chance. You dumped her for someone hotter. But she’ll live. We’ve all been dissed; it happens. You’ve got Amy, and Melody will find someone else.”

I snorted at the thought of Melody on the dating scene. “Right.”

Rob shot me a funny look. “Was Melody just a pity date, then?”

“Of course not!”

Rob helped himself to more pretzels. “So why do you think you’re the only guy who’ll ever ask her out? Melody’s no hottie, but she’s not gross or anything.”

I felt angry, and I wished I could blame Rob. He was right. I’d been guilty of thinking of Melody as a charity case. Her life wasn’t over. I’d moved on; so would she.

I peeled off a
BE NICE TO ME, I GAVE BLOOD
sticker and slapped it onto Rob’s chest.

“Hey,” he complained. “Be gentle. I’m a quart low.”

“Well, thanks for giving. Remind me to mark your bottle so it doesn’t turn anyone black.”

Rob waited till he was halfway across the gym before shouting “Yeah, Leon, I wouldn’t donate if I were you. At least until those sores heal.” For the second time that day, everyone turned and looked at me.

Luckily, I was spared further embarrassment. Dave Scaff finally finished squeezing out his pint. He stood up, stumbled, and knocked his bag to the floor, where it burst in a bloody mess. Dan howled. Then he laughed.

31

SHUT UP! NO, YOU SHUT UP!

T
he next night I sat with Rob and Samantha at Pioneer Lanes, enjoying the sight of Amy bending over to put on her shoes. I doubted she’d like bowling all that much, but she had said it was my turn to pick what we did.

It wasn’t league night, so the only other customers were a young couple with several unruly kids. I began to search the rack for the perfect ball.

“So how come we didn’t see you two at the party?” Amy asked Rob and Samantha.

Rob was entering everyone’s names into the scoring machine. “I had a family thing.” Those of us who knew Rob realized that this probably meant he had been grounded.

“I had better things to do,” answered Samantha in her holier-than-thou tone. I doubted she’d even known about the party.

Amy was first in the bowling lineup. She looked regretfully at her long nails, then attempted a between-the-legs shot. It rolled four feet before bouncing into the gutter.

“Here,” I said, “let me help you.” I placed Amy’s hands correctly around the ball. Putting one hand on her hip and another on her arm, I showed her the proper stance, only lingering for a few seconds. Amy tried again and this time managed to knock down the ten pin. I didn’t realize I still had my hand on her upper arm until she broke free and kissed me. The moment was somewhat ruined by Rob shouting “Hands where I can see them!”

As Rob took his turn, I noticed that Samantha was looking a little down. “What’s your problem?” I asked, in an attempt to be sensitive.

Samantha gave me her usual contemptuous look before explaining. “I had a fight with Ben.”

Obviously, she expected us to want to know what had happened. Out of Samantha’s line of sight, Rob and I did a quick rock, paper, scissors. His rock crushed my scissors, so I had to be the one who asked.

“About what, Samantha?” My voice oozed with false sincerity.

“Oh, my cousin’s getting married. When I told Ben she’s keeping her own last name, he made some joke. Then it got blown all out of proportion.”

Amy was drying her hands with the fan thing. “You’re really not going to change your name when you get married?”

Samantha had been stooping to get a ball, but froze. “If I choose to get married, I certainly will keep my own name, Amy.”

With the exception of Buttercup, everyone had issues that they were overly sensitive about, that made them fly off the handle. With Samantha, it was feminism and women’s rights. Even Johnny knew better than to go there. Amy, however, wouldn’t let it drop.

“What about when you have kids? You’re not going to do that dumb hyphenation thing, are you?”

For a second I thought Samantha and Amy would have a knockdown, drag-out chick fight right there in the alley. (Hey, a guy could dream, couldn’t he?) Samantha kept her composure, however, by grabbing her ball and smashing eight pins. Too bad they weren’t in her lane.

Rob stepped up and crooked his thumb at our lane, indicating that it was my turn. I ended up with a spare. When I returned, Samantha and Amy were having an animated discussion about women in the workplace.

“Do you mean to say,” snapped Samantha, “that there’s no such thing as sex discrimination?”

Amy shrugged. “I’m sure it happens sometimes. But instead of crying about it, people should just work harder.”

Samantha was doing a good impression of her bowling ball, her eyes and mouth perfectly round. “How can you say that?”

“It’s like with black people. They didn’t start off having equal rights, but now they do.”

Rob stood up. “I’m getting a soda. Anyone want anything?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll have a…”

Rob was already walking to the snack bar. He looked angry, but then, he always looked angry.

I told Amy it was her turn. Samantha was so riled she wouldn’t even talk to me. This went on most of the game. Amy and Samantha would argue politics; I’d be ignored; and Rob would laugh at us behind his hand. By the tenth frame everyone was so wound up we declined to play another game.

I helped Amy with her coat and we walked off into the warm April night.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Amy was saying. “When I get a job, I’m going to succeed on my own. And if people don’t think I’m good at what I do, I’ll just work harder and prove them wrong.”

As we drove home, I turned the conversation to teacher bashing, a nice, neutral subject. Amy’s opinions were making me uneasy somehow.

But as I kissed her that night, I tried to tell myself it wasn’t important. We were only seventeen, after all. Who cared about the politics of gender discrimination? Was it really such an issue?

Amy got out and made the “call me” sign with her thumb and pinkie. I didn’t drive home; I just cruised. I swung by the twins’ house, but I saw Jessica’s car out front. The Taco Barn was packed, and the lock and dam was empty.

I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I was hardly surprised when I found myself on the outskirts of town, in front of the familiar gate. I let the engine idle and looked across the dark yard and the silhouettes of the horses, toward the dim outline of a battered pickup. A light was burning in the living room. The front door opened and a vague figure stood in the door. Gunning my engine, I sped off.