It's a Mall World After All

  "Kelly likes him," I said. "So I figured while we were discussing Lady Macbeth's insanity and Duncan's murder, I could, you know, casually find out if he likes her too." Colton didn't blink. "He likes her."

  "He does? How do you know?"

  He shrugged like it was a silly question. "We talk sometimes. He told me on the drive over he hoped she would be here."

  "Then why hasn't he ever asked her out?"

  "He's shy. And we're in the middle of wrestling season, midterms, and Christmas." Colton picked up the liter of soda. "Have a little patience."

  I reached for the bowl of popcorn, but didn't start out of the kitchen yet. "Well, can I hurry him along? Is there any chance he'll ask her out before this weekend?"

  Colton shook his head at me, then walked toward the living room. "You're not quite grasping the nature of patience, Charlotte."

  Which matched, I suppose, my grasp of the nature of guys.

  Only Kelly showed up from the study group. She hadn't been able to reach a lot of the kids, and the ones she did talk to had other plans. Wesley didn't seem to mind, or notice, though. He and Kelly spent most of the time tossing popcorn pieces into each others mouth. I decided it would be a good idea to give them a little privacy, so twice I dragged Colton into the kitchen to help me with more refreshments.

  The first time Colton just rolled his eyes and tapped his fingers against the countertop while I opened the freezer, "Very subtle, Charlotte. You needed two people to carry out fresh ice cubes. You could have at least invented a jar lid for me to open."

  So the second time I did. I developed an insatiable craving for artichoke hearts and made Colton come along to the kitchen to open the jar. Once there, I went to the cupboard, took out a jar, then held it in my hands. "I think it ought to take you about five minutes to open this jar."

  "Why? Am I supposed to be a wimp or something?"

  "No. Some jars are just hard to open."

  "Not for wrestlers. We have to have good wrist con­trol." He held his hand out for the jar, but I didn't give it to him.

  "All right then, we'll just say I had trouble finding the artichoke hearts—about five minutes of trouble."

  "If you keep dragging me into this kitchen, it's going to look like you're doing it because you want to be alone with me."

  "Hey, you're right," I walked over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "Which means we could be in here for ten minutes and Wesley wouldn't get suspicious."

  Colton followed me to the table, but didn't sit down. He folded his arms and looked at me. "And then what's Wesley going to think when we come back ten minutes later?"

  I shrugged, "That your taste in women has improved? After all, you usually go for the cheerleader types."

  Colton sat down, grudgingly. "I've only been out with one cheerleader. The rest of the girls surrounding me at that time were her friends. They come together, you know, like eggs in a carton or pairs of socks—squads of cheerleaders." And then he gave me a look that was a question all by itself. "Besides, as long as you hate my best friend, why does it matter to you what types of girls I date?"

  For a moment neither of us spoke.

  I knew he wanted me to apologize for my attitude about Bryant. He was waiting for it, in fact.

  Which just goes to show you that getting slammed into a mat one too many times can turn a person delusional.

  Bryant was using my best friend. And besides that, this was the guy who'd kept my desk well stocked with spiders throughout sixth and seventh grade. Even after all these years I still remembered the horror of finding them crawling over my things. It's not that I cared about spider footprints or anything, but you figure if spiders have taken up residence in your spiral notebooks, a few of them have probably ventured out of the dark and onto your person. Maybe some of the more adventurous ones are even spelunking through your hair.

  Whenever I found one of Bryant's little gifts, I always had to stifle a scream and curb the desire to start swatting parts of my body.

  Bryant thought it was so funny.

  And now Colton wanted me to forget all of that and apologize for having a bad attitude about his friend? I couldn't. In fact, I was still counting on those stars I wished on in junior high to do their job. And when they did, Bryant would fall into a vat full of bloodsucking leeches.

  I looked at the table instead of Colton. Neither of us said anything for a minute. Finally he reached over, took the artichoke hearts, and twisted the lid off. He placed the jar down in front of me with a thud. "I'm going to go study, Charlotte." Then he got up and walked back to the living room.

  After that, the four of us went through the list of study questions, spewing off instances of symbolism, irony, and listing comparisons to other Shakespearean tragedies. Colton went through all of this with curt, formal answers in my direction.

  Which was fine because I totally did not care.

  When we'd finally gone over the entire list, the guys packed up their books, thanked me for the food, and left.

  Kelly shut the door behind them, then leaned up against it with a sigh. "That went well."

  I shut my book with a thud. "Good. Great. I'm glad. Of course, mostly I'm glad that I didn't have to fake amnesia, but the point is, I'm still glad." It didn't make sense, but Kelly smiled at me anyway.

  She was too far gone in the Wesley zone to pay any attention to my ramblings.

  "So you're going to spy on Bryant for me on Saturday, right?" I asked.

  She gathered her books together, still smiling, "If Wesley asks me out before then."

  "Oh, come on, Kelly. I got the two of you together today. You were alone for a while. You ate popcorn. That counts as a date, doesn't it?"

  "Nope." She slid her books into her backpack and zipped it up. "But there's always tomorrow." Then she sighed happily and began planning out her wardrobe for roughly the rest of the year.

  Let me say right now that when someone asks you what you want to be when you grow up, there's a good reason no one answers Cupid. This is mostly because being Cupid is a thankless job that often requires you to act like an idiot.

  I didn't want to do it again tomorrow. I didn't even want to think about it. Between school, my job, all the holiday activities, Christmas shopping, and wrapping all those presents, I didn't have time to think about much beyond the fact that I can never find the Scotch tape when I need it. This is why, I suppose, it's called invisible tape.

  And now, thanks to Kelly's stubbornness—or perhaps Wesley's stubbornness—I was going to have to put myself in some other impossibly awkward situation.

  I picked up the popcorn bowl, dumped the rest of the kernels into the trash can, and dropped the bowl into the sink. Pursuing justice isn't as easy as they make it seem in the movies. I gathered up our used soda glasses and dropped them into the dishwasher, then wiped off my hands and headed to my room.

  At least I hadn't played the amnesia card yet. You never knew when that might come in handy.

  As hard as I tried—okay, I admit it, I didn't try that hard—I never found an opportunity to talk to Wesley about Kelly on either Tuesday or Wednesday. I did, while passing him in the cafeteria lunch line, nod and say, "Live dangerously. Try the meat loaf." But that was it. And there's just not a lot of ways to introduce romance into a comment about meat loaf.

  After school I went to work, where I thought of several more chapter topics for my dissertation. Like, just because it is the season of brotherly love doesn't mean shoppers are pleasant. This is especially true if your store happens to run a special on SuperTeen talking action figures and then runs out of them. In that case, you get a lot of people complaining to you even though you are just a lowly perfume sprayer and had nothing to do with stocking action figures, running advertisements, or whatever. I mean really, did these people think I was stashing a supply of action figures in my perfume smock or something?

  After work I went to Brianna's house to help her with Spanish homework. She let me in, then yell
ed toward the kitchen, "How about working as a marine recruiter? Then you could at least meet hot guys!"

  "Shut up!" Amanda yelled back.

  Brianna headed down the hall toward her room, and I followed. "Amenity is home from college," Bri­anna said. "I'm helping her decide what she wants to do with the rest of her life." Over her shoulder she yelled, "I think the SWAT team would take you. After all, you have the right sunny disposition and people skills."

  "Yeah? Well, don't make me use any of my skills on you!" Amanda shouted back.

  I walked into Brianna's room and set my purse on her bed, which was already cluttered with crocheting stuff. "And why does Amanda need your career advice?"

  "She's supposed to be at school, but she's taking a week off—right before finals—to think about ways to make her life more meaningful. She's not sure if she wants to go back to college next semester, because she's just wasting time taking classes that don't interest her."

  I pulled Brianna's Spanish textbook off her desk and sat down. "Let me guess, she wants to start a band, right?"

  Brianna shrugged. "Surprisingly, no. She's hasn't made any announcements of joining a band, a protest group, or a cult. She's just not sure she wants to go back to college."

  "It's probably a phase. You know, like the time she became a vegan every other week."

  Brianna picked up the crocheting needle from her bed, pushed over Bryant's afghan, and sat down. "Every time she does something stupid, my parents look at me like I'm about to become Amanda-the-sequel. Remember when they caught my sister smoking? They still give me lectures about lung cancer. She dated a guy who thought he was a vampire, and now my parents interview anybody who takes me out. I practically have to have a Breathalyzer after every party I go to because Amanda used to get drunk in high school, and now she's quitting college. Any moment my parents will burst into the room, pester me about what I want to major in, and insist it's never too early to think about life goals."

  I opened up Brianna's Spanish book, flipping through the pages until I found the review questions. "So what do you want to do with your life?"

  "I have no idea."

  "Hey, you have something in common with your sister." Her gaze shot over to mine. "The only thing I have in common with my sister is a few chromosomes."

  We studied Spanish for about an hour, and then went to the kitchen to get something to eat. Amanda was still there. She sat at the table with a plate full of nachos in front of her and a book in one hand.

  Brianna opened the fridge and peered inside. "You could always be a refrigerator repairman. There's no shortage of appliances in America."

  Amanda turned a page in her book, but didn't look up. "There's no shortage of a lot of things in America, and it's repair person. The word repairman is sexist."

  Brianna took out a block of cheese and set it on the counter. "Which reminds me. I thought you were all gung ho to graduate in Women's Studies. You were going to save women everywhere from oppression by doing important things like insisting people call you Ms. Whatever happened to that?"

  Amanda lowered her book. "I don't want to just study women's issues. I need a career where I can actually do something about women's issues." The book went back up. "And also a career where I can actually make a living."

  Brianna poured tortilla chips onto a plate and sliced cheese on top of it. "Do you mean to say you want a career where you can make money—that green stuff which is the root of all evil?"

  Amanda didn't answer right away. She fingered the spine of her book. "I'm not becoming materialistic. I've just realized it's hard to make a difference when you have no resources. Money is a resource, that's all." She lifted her book up again. "I mean, have you seen how much hybrid cars cost?"

  Brianna put our plate of nachos into the microwave to melt the cheese. She stood by the oven, her arms crossed, which made her look like her mother. "Well, if you want a good career, don't you think you should finish college?"

  "Probably. But I need to figure out what degree I want to earn. I thought I'd come home, where I could have some peace and quiet and think about it. Thanks, by the way, for giving me so much peace and quiet." She picked up her glass and took a quick sip. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

  I knew why Brianna was staring at Amanda. It was the same reason I was staring at her. These were the first words Amanda had said in years that actually made sense.

  "I'm not staring." Brianna took the plate from the microwave and bumped the door shut with her elbow. "We're just taking a break from studying Spanish." She took a few steps toward the kitchen door, then turned back. "You could be a doctor, you know. You could work in one of those clinics for the poor."

  "Yeah. Maybe," Amanda said.

  "You'd be a good doctor." Brianna paused for a moment, as though she was going to say more, but Amanda had already turned her attention back to her book.

  We walked out of the kitchen and went down the hall. Brianna was ahead of me. I'm not sure whether she heard Amanda's muffled, "Thanks," or not.

  nine

  Thursday morning I walked by Wesley's locker four times so I could accidentally run into him. I had it all planned out. I would talk to him about his position on the dance committee. He was on the cleanup crew, but I would pretend I didn't know that and ask if he was too busy to help out with decorations. From there, we'd make general small talk about the dance until I mentioned how fun it is to go with a date and suggest he take Kelly.

  On my fifth pass through the hallway with no sign of Wesley, I leaned up against the row of lockers and tried to think of a plan B. Was there any way I could work the whole conversation into the brief time we saw each other during English class?

  "Hi, Charlotte."

  Wesley appeared before me unexpectedly, startling me so much I banged my shoulders into his locker. Then in an attempt to appear casual and not plotting, I gripped my books to my chest and stared at him. "Hi, Wesley."

  He didn't move. I didn't move.

  He nodded in my direction. "Uh, can you scoot over so I can get to my locker?"

  "Sorry." I slid out of the way, blushing. "Is this your locker?" A stupid thing to say because, hello, I'd passed him at his locker like a hundred times before. Despite this bad start, I launched into my plan. "What a coincidence. I was just thinking of you. I mean, I was wondering what dance position you're on."

  His eyes narrowed like he couldn't understand me. "Dance position?"

  Oh, this was going well. I'd just asked the guy his dance position. Like excuse me, Wesley, are you about to do a pirouette? I thought so. When you're done with that, perhaps the two of us could do a little waltzing in the hallway or something.

  "I mean your dance committee position," I said. "What committee are you on?"

  "Oh." He nodded as he opened his locker. "Cleanup crew."

  "That's great." Where was I supposed to go with this? I suddenly couldn't remember. I only knew I had to work Kelly into the conversation. "I'm doing decorations with Kelly."

  "I thought you were doing refreshments with Preeth."

  "I am, but I'm helping Kelly too because, you know, she can use all the help she can get." Oops, not the thing you want to say to a guy to entice him to date your friend. "Not that she's incompetent or anything. She's very competent. And smart. Well, of course you know she's smart because she's in NHS with us. I just meant she's busy. Although not so busy that she doesn't love to go out. Because she does. And she likes to dance too."

  There is a time in every plan when you know it's time to cut and run. I had long since past that point.

  Wesley stared at me in that same way people stare at mimes. You know, just waiting to see what bizarre thing they're going to do next.

  I took a step away from the lockers. "So the dance should be really fun."

  "Yeah," he said.

  I didn't wait around to see if he had more to add. Even a mime has a certain amount of pride.

  At lunch Brianna filled us in on the latest gossip abo
ut who was going to the dance as a couple and where they were going before and afterward. "Colton asked Olivia," she said. "I've never met her, but Bryant says she's nice."

  "Colton asked Olivia?" I repeated, and then because I knew I sounded disapproving added, "He's one of the people in charge. What's he going to do if there's a problem with the music or something?"

  "Let the deejay take care of it?" Aleeta said.

  I bit a carrot in half and crunched it into little pieces. "Olivia didn't strike me as that nice. She seemed egotistical, if you ask me."

  "Well, I guess we'll get to meet her and see for our­selves," Brianna said.

  Yeah. And with the way things were going, Olivia and Brianna would probably become great friends and then— My thought process stopped. If Bryant had any romantic designs on Shelby, he wouldn't want Colton to bring Olivia to the dance, would he? Olivia was Shelby's friend. Olivia would see Bryant and Brianna together and tell Shelby about it.

  It didn't make sense.

  Unless Bryant really did tell Shelby he had a girlfriend, and I was wrong about the whole thing.

  I ate another carrot, slowly this time, and mulled it over in my mind. Had I jumped to conclusions about Bryant, like everybody said?

  It suddenly seemed possible.

  I should have been happy, or at least relieved, but I wasn't. It felt as though my thoughts had scattered up in the air and they didn't know where to land. Was I intuitive or suspicious? A busybody or a good friend?

  I continued to eat my carrot sticks, pulverizing them into nothing.

  It didn't help that I knew Colton and Olivia would spend the evening dancing together while I stood at the refreshment table passing out cookies to happy couples.

  I could have been the one dancing with Colton—but no, I'd placed my loyalties with Brianna, the girl who was now poised to become Olivia's new friend. I couldn't even skip out on the whole stupid event because I was stuck on the refreshment committee—and oh yeah, the decoration committee too.