Smile for Me (2 page)

“Of course, Kim. I see can see your driveway from mine. We are neighbors.”

And there it is—Kim turns to look at me, her face colored with utter confusion. She has no idea who I am. I hate when Dave is right. “Jason’s brother, right?

Martin?”

The pain of this is almost unbearable. Jason’s brother? He is in the tenth freakin’ grade! “Marshal. Jason is my
younger
brother.” She just nods her head.

No apologizing for not recognizing me or— god forbid—for getting my name wrong. “We have three classes together.” I am embarrassed for pushing the point, but I can’t help myself.

“Right, of course. Wel thanks Marshal. I’l see you next week, I guess, for tryouts.”

“And tomorrow in European History, Calculus, and Chemistry.” I don’t even think she hears me. The moment I handed over her back pack she jumped into her car and shut the door. Dave is totaly right—I have got to get over her.

Chapter Three

I went to sleep thinking of anyone
but
Kim Penney. So why am I out here again this morning? Waiting to see her before school? Because I am a masochist. It is raining this morning. Even standing under the porch overhang I am stil getting wet because the wind is slanting the rain directly towards me. That must be her walking quickly down the driveway. I can hear her car chirping, and I see a gray figure with a big gray umbrela. I don’t know much about girl’s clothes, but I do know that they come in more interesting colors than beige and gray. Maybe no one ever explained that to Kim. I raise my arm and wave widely at her. After several long heart beats she offers me a smal tilt of her umbrela in response. It’s better than nothing.

“Mom went to the store. There’s milk, but I didn’t see strawberry Pop-Tarts.” I can barely understand Jason around his mouthful of cereal. He is such a barbarian.

“I got it covered.” From the lower row of cabinets where mom keeps the pots and pans I pul out the box of strawberry Pop-Tarts.

“You’re hiding food? Weirdo.”

“Desperate times, dude.” I am completely unashamed. If it were left up to Jason, I might starve to death.

Jason rode the bus again and I got to school early despite going through the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru for coffee. I know where Kim’s locker is. I can’t help but stalk her a little, please don’t judge me too harshly. So while Kim is finishing with her SAT prep group I am leaning as casualy as I can manage against her locker waiting. Something about that less-than-an-encounter from this morning has brought on a revelation. I think it might be my own fault if Kim Penney hasn’t been noticing me. Just because I don’t normaly work very hard at getting dates doesn’t mean that I can’t. I happen to think I am pretty darn charming.

“Excuse me.” Kim barely spares me a glance when she shows up.

“Good morning to you too.” Holding out the extra coffee I brought for her, I move aside to give her access to her locker.

“What’s this?’

“Caramel mocha something—it sounded reasonably girlie and also tasty.” I wiggle the hand that is stil holding her cup slightly. If she doesn’t take it I wil be so humiliated.

“It’s for me?” She stil doesn’t take the cup.

“Wel I have my own.” I paste on a confident smile and show her the already half empty cup of plain old coffee, milk, and sugar in my other hand. “So, this one must be for you.”

“Why?” She finaly reaches out for the coffee. Her fingers feel soft and cold against mine, probably because I’m holding the contrastingly hot cup. I am astounded by how much I enjoy the brief contact. I always thought holding hands was more of a girl thing.

“I just wanted to say good morning. What did you think of the play? Did you finish reading it?” I know that she probably have kept reading despite my advice not to. That is just the kind of person she is—no such thing as
too
prepared.

“It’s funny. I liked Beatrice—not Hero though—she was kind of worthless.”

“I know! I always liked Beatrice better too. I am hoping to get the part of her boyfriend Benedick. Patterson is renaming him Benny.”

“I like Beatrice.” Kim’s voice is wary. Like she isn’t sure why we are talking. I decide to ignore her wariness. “But, I’d be happier with something smaler though. No smal parts only smal actors, right?”

“That’s true, but most people stil don’t usualy hope for the bit parts.”

We are walking down the hal now. My class is in the opposite direction, but nothing could turn me away. Something about Kim gets my blood pumping. I feel more alive when I’m talking with her.

“I’m not most people.”

“No, Kim Penney, you certainly are not.”

She stops just outside a classroom and turns to me. “I don’t understand you, Marshal.” At least she got my name right today. “I’m not a very complicated guy.” Is it possible that I wasn’t being obvious enough? Did that many guys bring her coffee in the mornings?

“Thank you for the coffee.” She turns around and disappears into the classroom. The bel rings, and I am late for Brit Lit.

It seems this morning was a good place to start. In al the classes I share with Kim she gave me a smal wave back when I waved to her. I managed to feel impressed rather than annoyed when she corrected our teacher in Calculus (correcting a teacher takes some serious bal… guts) and in European History I am sure she noticed that I turned in my test first. That had to win me some points.

Steve and I have newspaper on Tuesday afternoons, or I would have walked her to her car again. I am wondering where the line is between flirting and stalking. It could be a good thing that Mr. Bilings is pretty harsh about tardies. I don’t want to scare her; after al,
nothing says I love you like a restraining order.

“Whoa, are you humming? What is with you today!?” I didn’t notice Steve sitting down next to me. As a point of fact, I was humming.

“I’m not
humming.
Dudes don’t hum.” I take a little longer than necessary to pul out my notebook just to avoid meeting his eyes.

***

At home I find Jason and Mandy hunched over a text book at our kitchen table. Wel Mandy is hunched over, Jason is tipping his chair back on two legs trying to see into the family room and watch television. I am in such a good mood I can’t help having a little fun at his expense. It is extremely easy for me to upset his balance with a thump on the back of his chair as I walk past. Arms and legs flailing wildly, Jason and his chair clatter loudly onto the tile floor. I wil shelter you from the string of profanity he let loose on the way down.

“Watch your language! There’s a lady present, Jase. She shouldn’t have to suffer just because you’re a klutz with a foul mouth.”

“Where do you think I get it from?”

Mandy swalows down the last of her laughter. “It’s true, Marshal. I am the Johnson family reigning champion of dirty words scrabble.” Mandy is ful of surprises.

“Realy, she’s worse than a sailor.” Jason seemed to be talking more to Mandy than me.

“Whoever said sailors used so much foul language anyway?” Mandy wants to know.

“Actualy I don’t know—why do sailors get such a bad rap? You never hear Popeye cursing.”

“Maybe they just edited that out for the kids. I bet Popeye could curse like a… wel a sailor.” You are probably wondering why I am stil standing here listening to them. Did you ever watch that show about the Duggars and their 25 kids? Wel I am never sure why it is actualy on the air. They are so boring, but whenever I happen to come across it I always end up watching the whole show. That is what Mandy and Jason are like, boring but somehow fascinating.

“Nah—he was too busy showing off for Olive Oil to have a potty mouth. Now Pluto—I bet that’s where the potty mouth was.” Jason is stil talking

“Like from Mickey Mouse?”

“No. The big guy that was always kidnapping Olive away from Popeye—Pluto.”

“His name was Bluto. With a B, like butthead.”

“That’s stupid, who would name their kid Bluto?”

“Who would name their kid Popeye?”

Jason has righted his chair by this point and the two of them are so involved in their inane debate I might as wel have left. So I do.

On my way upstairs I can hear them continuing the argument behind me. That wil probably be it for whatever schoolwork Mandy was going to get out of Jason. She is either very good at playing it cool in front of me, or I am losing my girl radar. She sure didn’t seem to be particularly affected by my presence.

Most of the next week is the same. Not about me eavesdropping on my brother and his friend—that would be dumb. I meant that I kept up my Make-Kim-Penney-Smile-For-Me campaign. I met her in the mornings at her locker. Just to say ‘good morning’, and remind her that I exist. I didn’t try the coffee thing again, but I did offer her one of my Pop-Tarts on Wednesday. She declined. On Thursday I thought she might be warming up to me when we were comparing notes on our Calculus homework. Then Claire Haines popped up out of nowhere.

“Marshal, I can’t wait for the play. I’m sure you are going to be just fabulous.”

“Thanks Claire. We are going to do our best.” I turned around to answer her—I didn’t want to be rude.

“You know you are the only reason anyone goes to those things.”

“That’s not true. Everyone always works realy hard. Kim here is trying out this fal.”

“Who?” Now, at first I thought Claire was just being rude. This would not be out of character for her. So I turned around and reached out to touch Kim’s arm, but she was gone. Seriously—she just left me standing there.

I didn’t let that discourage me though. I stil met her in the mornings, and waved to her in class. I sit next to her now instead of behind her in European History. I hate the front row, but sacrifices must be made. So, the milion dolar question: have I made progress? Not realy. Today is Monday, so after a ful week of stalking/charming her she finaly initiated a conversation with me this morning.

“Do you need help with your history?” She asked before I could even get out the carefuly scripted ‘good morning’ I’d been working on during the drive to school.

“What?”

“In European History? We have another paper due next week. If you want I could tutor you.”

“What makes you think I need a tutor?”

“Wel I’m not just going to write it for you. If that is what you’re getting at.”

At this point I was fairly evenly split between anger and amusement. That paper was already finished and just waiting for me to hit print on my laptop. “I’m not
getting at
anything. You brought up history class.”

“I just thought… wel why are you bringing me breakfasts than?”

Why was she doing this to me? “I didn’t bring you breakfast today.” I bit out the words and walked away. Realy, I couldn’t take it anymore. I shouldn’t have to explain flirting—it definitely loses something in translation.

I’m not sure you could exactly say I’ve been avoiding Kim, but I haven’t gone out of my way to speak to her either. Maybe I need to face the facts: Kim Penney is just exactly as dry as her boyfriend, Paul. I have always thought that underneath that uptight overly scholastic personality she was hiding someone happier and more fun. You know— a personality to match her great legs. It is possible that was wishful thinking.

Kim Penney Fantasy of the day #1:
Here is how this morning should have gone down.

Kim would start walking faster the minute she could see me waiting for her. “Good morning Marshall!” I would get a great big smile out of her
before she started to open the locker. Maybe she would even hug me. A hug sometimes follows a smile—doesn’t it? She’s tall, so if I pulled her close
her face would fall even with my collar bone and I would feel her soft hair against my cheek. In my fantasy all her pretty hair is loose. I can definitely
imagine her arms wrapping around my neck, and how her waist would curve under my hand… right, moving on.

“What’s this?” I would ask as she hands me a white pastry bag.

“Breakfast! I stopped for danishes. I thought I should bring you something for a change.”

“Thank you.” And I would take a bite right away. I would not hurt her feelings by looking at her like she was trying to poison me.

“Marshall? Could you help me with my history paper? I know you have probably had it finished for days. And I am sure it is A plus work,
since you are the smartest guy in class.”

“Of course Kim, I would be happy to. Why don’t you come by my house after school?” I will spare you the portion of the fantasy that happens
when she shows up for the study date.

Anyway, that isn’t what happened. So here I am, in the auditorium waiting for tryouts, making notes (for the
behind the scenes
piece I promised Mr. Bilings for the school paper), and pretending like I’m not waiting for Kim to walk in. Today is for students whose last names start between A and M. ‘Penney’ clearly fals under tomorrow’s N through Z category. I know she wil be here anyway; Kim doesn’t do things in half-measures. That is one of the things I like about her.

When she does come in I pretend not to notice the very intense look she shoots my way as she walks to a seat in the front row. I cannot decide if that look was a little regretful or if that is just my admittedly over active imagination. She had, after al, accused me of trying to trade Pop-Tarts and coffee for ilegal homeworkassignments. She should feel some remorse.

Chapter Four

I don’t get nervous on stage—ever. I was a tree in the first grade when my elementary school did Goldilocks and the Three Bears for back-to-school night.

I’ve been on stage ever since. I love it. So why is it that Kim Penney has the ability to make my palms go sweaty before one lousy audition? Why did I let myself look over at her at least 50 times during my 70 second monologue? I stil did fine, but not my best. It would be worth it if I thought for even one second that she noticed me looking at her, but even I can’t imagine that to be true.

“Marshal! Wait! Marshal!” Dave and I are already halfway out the door before Kim’s voice turns me around.

“Unbelievable, dude!” Dave hisses before jogging away.

“Marshal!” Kim is a little out of breath when she reaches me. She is wearing this not at al sexy loose fitting white blouse that shows absolutely nothing, and it is driving me crazy. I swear I am not usualy like this, but she does things to my brain functions.

“What can I do for you Kim?” I hope I sound like I am stil irritated from this morning.

“No one was doing the right play.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The play! Everyone was just up there talking—I had no idea what about, and I learned the whole play!” I have never seen Kim even a little nervous. She is always cool and colected and ful of answers. Right now I am very afraid that Kim is going to burst into tears. “The whole play? You memorized al of Much Ado About Nothing?”

“Wel, most of it! Didn’t you? What were talking about? ‘Brewster and Roosevelt’? I didn’t understand a word you were saying.”

“You didn’t understand me, like you couldn’t hear me? Or like it wasn’t funny? It’s supposed to be very funny.” My heart is pounding more now at the idea that I’d blown my bit rather than at the sight of her trying to catch her breath.

“Wel I suppose it was funny, but what does that have to do with Shakespeare?”

“Not much, it’s from Arsenic and Old Lace. It’s a dry humor though—like Benedick.”

“I don’t understand!” She is almost screaming now and al the color is gone from her face. I am very worried she is going to have a nervous breakdown and al I can think of is calming her down. What in the world am I going to do if she pukes in the halway?

“Okay, let’s get you out of here.” I take that seven hundred pound bag off her back, (no wonder she was out of breath—who could run with this thing?) and slip one arm around her waist to steer her towards the parking lot.

Her impending breakdown is obviously my first priority, but I am an excelent multi-tasker and an entire section of my brain is devoted to memorizing the feeling of light headed giddiness brought on by being this close to her. I take her directly to my truck. It is an old hand-me-down pick up from my uncle, but I love it. There isn’t a whole lot of room in the cab for her, me, and al her books, but I squeeze us in and turn the key in the ignition. Nothing. Nothing again. Then I remember—I decided not to stop for gas this morning because I was worried I’d miss Kim at her locker. I thought there would be enough to make it to the Shel station on the way home. Why does Dad never offer me the keys to his Corvette?

“Oops. No gas.” I could not be more embarrassed. This never happens in my day dreams. Two years I have been waiting for Kim Penney to need something from me, and no gas!

“There’s more room in my car anyway. I have a gas can in the trunk—we can come back for your truck.” She is totaly cool with my complete and utter failure as a man. That somehow makes it worse, but I am determined so I hurry back to the passenger door and help her out.

“What about my books? I need my books.” She mumbles when I put her into the passage side of her own car. I swear she is in some kind of shock, but al my medical training comes from reruns of ER so I could be wrong.

“We can get them later, when we come back for the truck.” Putting her car in drive I head towards the coffee house on Oleander St.

My mom always offers people hot beverages when they’re upset. They serve their scones on doilies and have realy obnoxiously pink to-go cups here, but the coffee is good. Plus I have always thought it was kind of a date-ish place. And whatever, I know this is not a date, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.

Inside, I find us a table in the corner and thankfuly Kim no longer looks like she is going to puke. We are sitting on opposite sides of the table, but it is one of those high top circular tables that are only designed for one or maybe two people so we are stil quite close together. I have to remind myself that this isn’t a date, because my imagination is begging me to fly into a Kim Penney Fantasy of the Day. When the waitress comes I order a tal coffee with milk and sugar and a chocolate chip muffin. Kim asks for some kind of berry tea and yogurt with granola. Even my grandma doesn’t consider yogurt and granola
snack
food.

“Okay.” I say once she’s started eating. “So you didn’t know what a monologue was?”

“I looked it up!” She puls a memo pad out of her purse and starts reading. “A long speech by one actor in a play, or movie, or as part of a theatrical or broadcast program.”

“Wel that is
accurate
.” I can’t help but chuckle at her.

“This is not funny! I
have
to try out tomorrow. Now I’m not ready. What wil I do?” The color is draining away from her face again. I want so badly to pul her into a hug. Just to comfort her. I have no idea why she is so very upset, but I want to make it better.

The inappropriateness and inherent uselessness of a hug are clear to me, so I hook my ankles around the legs of my stool to help keep my impulses in check and instead I just reach out and touch her hand. Just the tips of my fingers are covering hers but it is enough to quiet her mild hysterics. For just a moment we are both staring down at the table. Her hand looks tiny next to mine. Pale too, but not sickly pale just a pretty peach color that tels me she is probably serious about her sun block. Although, that would have been easy for me to guess even without the visual aid. Kim is serious about everything.

“Okay, so you can do a monologue from
Much Ado About Nothing
there isn’t realy a rule against it. It’s gonna be fine.”

“It isn’t a rule, but people don’t usualy do it?”

“Wel no, usualy not.” I try to keep my expression light and casual. The truth is that reading from the actual script you are auditioning for is kind of a big no-no
.
“Patterson might not care though.”

“I have to be in the play.” She stresses every word. She could just as easily have been saying
I have to breathe in and out.

“I can tel.” This makes no sense to me; what is with her and this play? She’d never even read it until last week. “So do you want me to help you get something else ready?”

“There isn’t time!”

“Calm down.” Kim is nearing hysterics again. I take this as a good excuse to curl my fingers under hers until I am more holding her hand than touching it.

“There is time. This isn’t Broadway you know. Patterson doesn’t seem very difficult to please.”

“Seem? Don’t you know? I thought you said you’d done this before?” Kim looks at me suspiciously. Unfortunately I can’t help laughing at her again. Al that single minded determination must create quite the tunnel vision if she isn’t even aware that Patterson is new.

“I have. Lots. But Patterson in the
new
drama teacher. Miss Channing left at the end of last year.”

“She was the old drama teacher?”

I have beaten my laugh down to a wide smile by this point. I like that Kim is a bit of a mystery. I like that she surprises me sometimes. The best student in school and she has no idea who the drama teacher is despite her apparent new passion for theater. And what is with that anyway? “Please tel me why this is so important to you, Kim. If I don’t figure it out I won’t I’l be able to sleep tonight.”

“I doubt that me or my interests have that kind of effect on your sleeping habits.” She moves to pul her hand free, but I apply a little pressure and keep it trapped beneath mine.

“You would be very surprised.” I use my free hand to shove a piece of chocolate chip muffin into my mouth as a way to fil the awkward silence my admission created. Real slick Henries, I think to myself, she’s going to think/know you are a stalker.

She is looking at me like I was speaking in Latin. I swear she goes out of her way to
not understand
when I’m making any kind of a pass at her.

“Okay, so you need a new monologue—got any ideas?” I ask her trying to keep my voice light.

“If I did, I wouldn’t be so close to freaking out right now.”

If this is
close
I am not sure I want to witness an actual freak out. “Okay, wel do you have a favorite play?”

“I liked this one.”

“umm… other than this one?”

“I don’t know; I am not big on plays.”

“Then, why….” Kim is glaring at me, so I decide not to finish that question. “How about movies? What’s your favorite movie?”

“I don’t know! I don’t watch TV.”

“Who doesn’t watch TV?”

“Me!” Oops. I think I insulted her.

“Okay, not a big deal. I’l pick something for you. Were you thinking comedic, or dramatic?”

“Sleeping Beauty.”

“What?”

“My favorite movie—Sleeping Beauty.” There is a pause while I process this information. “You look surprised.”

“I am. Good surprised though. I am glad you have a little whimsy in your life, Kim Penney.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Cal me Kim Penney.”

“Wel, it is your name.”

She is almost smiling at me. Just a ghost of a curve is hanging out at the edge of her mouth. I am grinning from ear to ear. “Your name is Marshal Henries, but I bet most people leave off the Henries.”

“I guess it is just how I think of you... Kim-Penney… I like your name, does it bother you?”

“You say that like you
think of me
a lot
.
”

The last traces of her almost smile are gone now. Is the idea of me thinking about her so repulsive? “So, Sleeping Beauty?” I pul out my smart phone and fiddle around on the internet for a few minutes until I find something. “There is bit where she is talking to herself in the woods, about dreaming of a prince. It’s a little sugary for my taste, but Patterson wil eat that up.”

“An owl.”

I swear Kim Penney is never having the same conversation as I am. “What now?”

“She isn’t talking to herself—she is talking to an owl. You can find that on your phone?”

“Sure, a laptop would be more convenient though. Come on, let’s go. When we get to my place I’l look up it up and we’l get started.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Kim Penney, you are the smartest girl I know. So I am going to let you figure that out on your own.” It took us awhile because we needed to stop for gas and then go pick up my truck. Not my most shining moment. It is getting late, and Kim and I have only just printed out her lines.

She is standing in my living room staring at the wal over my shoulder carefuly reciting each line with little to no inflection in her voice. It is lucky for me that I finished the last little bit of tomorrow’s homework while I was waiting for my turn to audition, but for Kim I am sure I would be wiling to take an incomplete on an assignment if I had to. And I probably would have had to. I try to make myself comfortable on the couch as I cal out instructions and feed her lines when needed.

“You have to move more. You wouldn’t stand stock stil, you’re thinking aloud— pace around and move your hands.”

“You can’t turn your back to the audience. Just pivot on the bals of your feet.”

“Don’t just look at me, there are going to be lots of kids in the auditorium tomorrow you should make eye contact with as many people as possible.”

“I know I am the only person here—try and pretend.”

“No, there should be a pause after that line.
I have met someone
and then you wait for the audience to react. Try counting to five before you continue.”

“You can’t move your lips while you’re counting, Kim.”

“Keep going, if you mess up the lines tomorrow just play through it.”

We have been at it for almost two hours when Jason and Mandy walk in.

“Whoops. We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in Marshal’s dreams.” He pipes up as soon as he sees Kim.

Mandy swats him. “Come on, Jason. You said you’d buy me pizza.”

“So we’l order in.” He flops down into an easy chair with his most obnoxious smile smeared across his face. “We don’t want to miss a free show!”

“Take a hike, Jase.” I am seriously considering dragging him out of the room in the most painful way possible, but he must have some smal sense of self preservation, because with only a minimal amount of suggestive-turned-creepy winking and eyebrow wiggling he alows Mandy to tow him out the front door.

“I’m sorry, about my brother. He’s… wel, I’m just sorry about him.”

“He’s right though.” Now I know exactly what my brother’s spastic eyes were saying and I wish he was right, but I am pretty sure that isn’t what Kim is referring too.

“What about?” Can she hear how nervous she makes me?

“The pizza. We should order some food—I need to eat.”

Good going, Henries—of course she’s hungry it is after 7:00. Mom is taking a night class at the community colege so we were supposed to be in charge of our own dinner tonight. “Of course, I’m sorry. Did you want pizza? There is a pretty good Chinese place…”

“First Wok? I love them.”

I knew we were perfect for each other. “Chinese it is.”

By the time the doorbel rings with our dinner I am pretty satisfied with Kim’s monologue. She is the hardest worker I have ever met. Every time she messed up it was like I could see her brain rewinding and she would dive right back in. That is my excuse for almost forgetting to feed her. I was that absorbed in enjoying watching her work.

I love shrimp fried rice from First Wok. It is like magic. Tonight I barely taste it as I eat. Instead of concentrating on my dinner I am entranced by Kim. She ordered beef and broccoli over plain brown rice. I didn’t even know you could make rice more boring, but Kim succeeded. She’s beautiful. I could watch her eat Chinese food al night. Just like in everything else in life, Kim is perfect with chop sticks. Normaly I would cave and grab a fork but I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Kim, so I am suffering through with chop sticks.