You, Maybe (7 page)

Fourteen

THE MOVIE WAS
awful, not just because it was disgustingly violent but also because, except for Carson holding my hand, absolutely nothing interesting happened. Not that I was paying so much attention to the plot or anything other than Carson’s warm fingers interlaced with mine, but other people were actually groaning out loud. Next to us, Frankie and Margo were the only ones who didn’t seem to notice. Maybe because their eyes were closed the whole time.

“You want to go back to Frankie’s after?” Carson whispered to me, while the idiots on screen were running away from yet another fireball, machine guns in hand. “His parents are away.”

I shrugged. I am just as happy to mess around as the next person, with the possible exception of Frankie and Margo, because, my goodness. And I thought I was a nympho.

“We don’t have to,” Carson said. “If you don’t want to.”

“Okay,” I said.

He kissed the hair right over my ear. I so love that. It made my skin tingle, all the way down to my knees. “Okay yes or okay no?”

At the end of the movie, we headed out to the car. Margo said she had to go to the bathroom and asked if I wanted to come. I said no thanks, and stood around in the lobby with Frankie and Carson.

Emelina and Daniel emerged from the movie theater holding hands, blinking, and glided toward us.

“So . . .” Carson said.

“So,” echoed Emelina.

“That was a piece of crap, huh?” I said.

Everyone smiled. Daniel said, “You think so?”

“You didn’t?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Daniel said. “I guess I thought it was a brilliant failure. It tried to turn all the Hollywood tropes on their heads, which I appreciate, but ultimately didn’t come to any kind of, you know . . .”

“Satisfying conclusion,” Emelina finished, for him.

Carson nodded slowly. “That’s what it needed,” he agreed.

“And maybe a satisfying beginning,” I suggested. “And I bet a satisfying middle would’ve helped, too.”

“You’re a junior?” Daniel asked me.

“Sophomore,” I admitted.

“Ah,” he said.

“See you tomorrow?” Emelina asked me, and without waiting for an answer, she and Daniel swept out toward the doors. Again heads turned as they left. Maybe it was their walk.

“What happened?” Margo asked, approaching us.

“Nothing,” Carson said. “Let’s go.”

It was starting to snow when we got outside, so I pulled my hood up. Carson let the car heat up for a minute.

“You coming over?” Frankie asked.

“I don’t think so,” Carson answered. “We’re gonna, um . . .”

“You know my parents aren’t . . .”

“He said no, Frankie,” Margo said. “Shh.”

I sat back in my seat and stared out the window. I didn’t want to be a baby, or a killjoy. Maybe I just don’t know how to be cool. I sank down in my seat. Carson turned on the radio but this time I didn’t sing at all. We drove to the south end quietly. Carson pulled up in front of a small white house with a chain-link fence in front.

“Home sweet home,” Frankie said.

“Can you let them out?” Carson asked me.

I got out quickly and released the seat so Frankie and Margo could uncurl from the back. They both ducked down to say bye to Carson, then turned and walked up the dark path to the front door. Carson peeled out while I was closing the car door.

“Are you mad?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

We rode in silence for a while.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Nothing?” I asked. “Nothing? Really? Wow, that’s so Zen of you. Maybe it comes with your magic witch-eye. You really have a totally empty mind? That’s like the highest level of karmic enlightenment, isn’t it?”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he asked.

I didn’t say anything for a minute. “Sorry,” I came up with. Ah, well. It was lovely while it lasted.

Carson turned down a narrow winding road with no houses as far as you could see, and pulled over onto the frozen grass.

“So,” I felt myself start defensively chattering, powerless to shut up. “Do you think Daniel was right about the movie having some meta-meaning, like that it was trying to be a movie about an action movie? Because if so, I totally missed that. Or do you think Daniel is just full of—”

Carson interrupted by leaning across the gearshift and planting his mouth full on mine. We made out for a few minutes. When he pulled back a little, I finished my (edited) thought: “Himself.”

Carson took off his jacket and kissed me some more.

“Do I talk too much?” I asked him.

“Yes. Shh.” He kissed me some more.

“Mostly when I’m nervous,” I said, into the inside of his mouth.

He unzipped my jacket and slowly untucked my shirts, but didn’t stick his hand inside. “What time are you coming over tomorrow?” he murmured, pushing my jacket down off my arms.

“I can’t,” I said. Michael’s birthday. The entire Lord of the Rings, uncut, all day and night. “Sorry.”

“Yes, you can,” Carson said. He kissed little kisses up the side of my neck, which made me all tingly again. By the time he got to my ear I was practically panting. I moved my mouth to his and we made out awhile longer. He unhooked my bra through my shirts, on his first try.

As he slipped his hand toward my waist, I said, “You still like her, don’t you?”

“Who?” he asked, kissing me with tender little teasing kisses.

“Emelina.”

He pulled back and stared at me. “Why would you say that?”

“I saw the way you looked at her.”

He gripped his jaw closed. “I can’t believe you would say that.” He looked angrily out the window, at the darkness.

My fingers felt a little shaky. I didn’t trust myself to say anything so I just very slightly shrugged. My unhooked bra was making my T-shirts all lumpy. I crossed my arms over my misshapen self.

“Why would I have broken up with her, if I still liked her? Why would I be here with you, if I still liked her?” He kept his face turned away from me.

“I thought,” I began, but didn’t finish, because you cannot say to somebody, Oh, I thought she dumped YOU. Even if it’s true.

He looked at me, shooting daggers. “You thought what?”

No way. Not going there. I may be only a sophomore but I am not that dumb.

“You thought so little of yourself that you can’t imagine I would want you, rather than Emelina?”

I opened my mouth to protest that but the calamitous truth of his statement stopped me, put a cork right in my throat, as surely as if I had swallowed it. I could feel it lodged there, in fact.

“Oh, Josie,” he said, softening. Ah, the way he looked at me. It was back.
Thank you, thank you God
.

“I . . .”
Don’t mess up again, Josie, just shut the hell up
.

He touched my cheek softly with his big hand. “Josie.”

A tear fell from my eye onto his finger.

“How can I convince you how amazing you are?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes! You have this amazing body. . . .”

I shook my head. Body? My butt is too big, my boobs are too small . . . and Emelina? She’s perfect, skinny and long-legged and fashionable, with her long silky black hair, perfect skin, red lips. . . . Nobody in the world would say that I am pretty next to her.

“ . . . and a gorgeous face, for those of us lucky enough to get a glimpse, and you are so smart and independent and sharp and oh, Josie, why would you be jealous of anybody?”

A few more tears fell. My whole body was shaking.

“I’m fat,” I whispered.

“You are NOT fat. You are perfect. Oh, please don’t turn into every other girl. You are the only girl I know who isn’t constantly weighing herself.”

I swallowed. The last thing I needed was bulbous-red-from-crying nose. I managed a smile, a weak smile. “Sorry,” I whispered.

He wiped the last tear off my cheek with his thumb. “You are perfect. Perfect for me.”

“Right back at you.”

That made him smile. “Meant for each other, right?”

“Right.” I was still shaking a little. “Yes.”

He leaned toward me again, his lips soft and warm. “Tomorrow,” he whispered, “come a little early and maybe we can sneak up to my room . . .”

“Is it really important,” I asked, hating myself. “I mean, to you, for me to come, because I have . . .”

“I want to show you off,” he said simply. “Is that so bad? You’re my girlfriend. I want to hold your hand while we watch the Eagles kill the Cowboys and at the same time watch every other guy get jealous, because you are sitting on the couch next to
me
.”

“Seriously?”

“Josie, it’s been over for a long time with Emelina. She and I are just trying to be friends again.”

“Why?”

“Why? Why are you friends with your friends? We like each other, we care about each other, we went through a lot together.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Friends. You have to trust me. Don’t you trust me?”

“I guess,” I said.

“I trust you not to be chasing Michael Addison around anymore.”

“I was never chasing Michael around.”

“You know what I mean,” Carson said. “Why don’t you want to come over? These parties are important to me, and you know it’s the NFC championship this week. You knew that, right?”

I didn’t want to lie so I said, “Who doesn’t?”

“True,” he answered, satisfied. “So come.”

“I . . .”

“Why can’t you just say yes to me for once?”

I have plans with Michael, was the true answer, but how could I say so, then?

“Let me think about it,” I said.

“One of these days you’re going to wear out my patience, gorgeous,” Carson scolded, and leaned over to place his soft lips on mine again. “Mmm,” he said, tasting me. “Oh, Josie.” Again we got into making out. He is an amazing kisser, and his hands, oh, man, his hands. They were exploring me, my arms, my hands, my hair, my earrings, each of which he kissed, lightly, before making his way back to my mouth. He pulled back only very slightly, so I could feel his words with my own lips. “Wear a ponytail, okay?” he asked, and kissed me again. “You know that makes me so crazy. Or a braid,” he suggested. “I would love to see you in a braid. Mmm.”

Fifteen

“WHY IS YOUR
hair like that?” Michael asked, when I got to his house at nine thirty.

“Thanks,” I said. “Happy birthday.” I handed him the box I had brought.

“Hi, Josie,” his mom said, from the kitchen. “You’re really going to sit here watching these dumb movies with Michael for twelve hours?”

“Ten,” Michael corrected her. He shrugged at me. “Okay, twelve with breaks. You two always gang up on me.”

His mother winked at me and I wished for the house to collapse and swallow us all up instantly. I turned away from him and gestured toward the little gift I had brought. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Soon,” Michael said. He likes anticipation, too. “Let’s eat.”

We went into the kitchen, where his mom had laid out a great spread, as always: homemade corn muffins, two bowls of berries, and a frittata, fresh out of the oven. “You are wonder-woman,” I told her gratefully, taking my seat at her table.

“You know it,” she said, then added sheepishly, “but unfortunately I got called in to work. I should’ve gotten someone else to take the call for me. I can’t believe this woman went into labor. . . .”

“Stop apologizing, Mom,” Michael groaned.

“I just feel bad. It’s your birthday, and now Dad and I both have to work. . . .” His dad is great, too, very sincere; he works really hard and supposedly he’s this incredibly powerful lawyer, but his voice is slow and soft. He noticed when I cut my own hair last fall and complimented me on it. I love the whole family.

Michael shook his head. “We’re going to be in front of the TV when you get home, just like when you leave,” he said. “Seriously, don’t worry, okay?”

I smiled weakly up at her. She breathed deep and kissed Michael on his hair. “Sixteen,” she murmured. “What a fine young man you are, son.” She turned away quickly and scrubbed a pan in the sink. Michael rolled his eyes for my benefit but we knew each other too well; I could see everything going on in there, how much he wants to make his mom (as well as his dad) proud, how close they all are, how much he loved the compliment she just gave him, and even probably how disappointed he was that they had to work on his birthday. He is a fine young man, though; he would never be a pouty brat about their needing to work like I’d be to my parents. Boy was I hating myself at that moment, especially because I couldn’t help glancing down at my watch.

Michael’s mom turned around and watched us chowing down for a minute, then said, “Josie, you look different.”

“Ponytail.”

“Yes, but not just that. You look, sort of, scrubbed.”

I could feel myself blushing. Yes, I had scrubbed myself pretty well, used a big handful of my mom’s expensive facial scrub and did my eyeliner more like Emelina’s, subtle and slightly smudgy, no eye shadow. I felt very exposed suddenly, with no hair to hide behind.

Michael glanced up to check, and shrugged. “You look the same to me.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay,” his mom said. “I really should run.”

“Bye.” Michael wiped his mouth and stood up, bringing his plate to the sink. “Thanks, Mom. Don’t worry, it’s fine. Come on, Josie. I have all the DVDs in my room.”

I carried my plate over, too. “What do you mean, in your room?”

“I’ll show you,” he said.

“I’m so happy Michael has you,” his mom whispered to me. “Bye guys!”

“Deliver a good baby,” Michael called back.

I followed him up the stairs. As soon as Michael opened his bedroom door, I saw his new TV. “Wow,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Too much, huh?” He turned it on and flipped through some special features with his remote, then sat down on his bed. I leaned against his desk and watched him open the wrapping on my gift.

“It’s not that great,” I apologized. “It’s just a little thing.”

He threw the wrapping to the side and opened the box. He pulled the keychain out, looking puzzled, until he opened the black leather folded thing hanging off the ring, and saw the pictures of Fluffy and Sarge, one in each mini-frame. I watched his half-smile spread his mouth, then grow bigger.

“It’s supposed to be for pictures of your kids, I think,” I explained. “Or, like, if you are sweethearts, or maybe if you have two girlfriends, but I thought . . .”

As I babbled, he stood up, walked to his door, shut it, came over to me and leaned right up against me. “I love it,” he whispered, and put his arms around me and his mouth onto mine.

I didn’t close my eyes. I could feel my body molding to his, by habit, even maybe by desire.
But wait, no, I can’t do this.

I pushed him back, with increasing pressure until he stopped making out with me. “I can’t,” I whispered.

“She won’t come up,” he whispered back, pressing back into me.

“No,” I said.

Startled, Michael backed up. “What?” He still had the keychain in his hand.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Kiss you,” I said.

He backed up a couple more steps. “Why not?”

I swallowed, turned around, ran my hand over his neat desk set. “I’m going out with Carson Gold.”

“No,” Michael said.

I nodded, too chicken even to face him.

“You can’t be.”

I shrugged. “I am. And, um, the thing is? I kind of told him I would stop by, for a, like a half hour or so this afternoon, just like, you know, around one, one thirty or so, like an errand, and then I’ll come right back.”

“No,” Michael growled. “No, you’re not doing that.”

My cell phone rang. Great. Tru.

“Hello?”

“Josie, you never called us last night. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I said. Michael was glaring at me, his teeth and fists clenched. “Listen, Tru, can I . . .”

“How far did you go?” Zandra demanded. She had clearly grabbed the phone from Tru and her voice was loud, too loud.

“I’ll call you guys later, okay?” I hung up on them. They were going to be really mad, but I had to put out one fire at a time. Michael looked about ready to kill me.

“Michael, I just have to go for a few . . .”

“You’re not going!”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Michael. I have to go for like a few minutes. Please! What is the big deal? Your parents aren’t even going to be here the whole day, and you’re not giving them a hard time. Let’s just watch the stupid movie!” I pressed the power button of his TV.

He clicked it off, immediately, with the remote, which he chucked hard onto his bed, then grabbed my arm and spun me around. “What about me?” he whispered harshly.

I pulled away, slowly but definitely. “What about you?”

“You’re just dumping me? Happy birthday, good-bye?”

“No,” I protested. “I’m not dumping you. Don’t make such a big thing . . .”

“At least be honest, Josie. You are dumping me for the Golden Boy.” He turned his back to me, and kind of melted down to sit on his bed. “Why?”

“Michael . . .”

He flung the keychain I had given him across the room. It missed my head by inches, slammed hard into his closed door and landed on his rug.

I came and sat down beside him. “Why don’t we just watch the first movie?”

“No,” he said. “Go.”

“I don’t have to be there until one,” I argued. “It’s not even eleven.”

“Get out of here, Josie. I don’t want you here.”

“What do you want from me, Michael? Come on, don’t be a jerk about this.”

“What do I want?” He stood up and kicked his desk chair. “What do I want from you? Are you kidding me? I love you! I have been in love with you since like what, kindergarten? What do I want from you? I want to grow up together, I want to grow old together, I want to lose our virginity together.”

We stared at each other.

“You do?” I finally asked.

He turned away.

“You never said . . .”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he answered. “Or, anyway, you’ve always said all that about why do people think they have to couple off, be half a unit instead of wholly themselves, all that. Remember that?”

“Yeah.”

“But then Golden Boy comes along with his stolen flower and all of a sudden you just forget everything you believe in your rush to get him, the prize: Yes, yes, I’ll commit to you, I’ll be your girlfriend. I’ll do anything, be anything you want, Golden Boy. I bet he even told you to do your hair like that.”

“Stop it, Michael.”

“Do you love him? Do you even like him? Or do you just like the idea of him?”

I went and picked up the keychain, and put it down on the bed beside Michael. “I like him,” I said.

I went to his door and opened it. It was clear we weren’t going to be watching the movie, not for one hour, not for ten. I had to go; I couldn’t make him forgive me or pretend we could just go on like normal only without fooling around anymore. Maybe I had tried to convince myself we could go back to just friends, like in elementary school, but I guess even I knew that wasn’t realistic. Or fair.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” I said. “I do. I like him.”