When It Happens

  "Because when your sweat evaporates, that’s how you cool off.”

  “I knew that.” He smiles at me. “I was just seeing if you did.”

  Then Dave talks about basketball, explaining the rules and special techniques and stuff. I’m so not into sports, but I let him go on because he’s gorgeous. Then our food arrives. And the worst thing happens. When I reach for the mustard, I knock over his soda. Dave jumps out of the booth before it pours all over his lap. But his sleeve is soaked.

  “Oh!” I yell. “I’m sorry!”

  “It’s okay,” Dave says.

  I pull a bunch of napkins out of the napkin holder. “Here, let me—”

  “No, it’s okay. I got it.”

  When he comes back from the bathroom, I still can’t think of anything interesting to say.

  Then Dave’s like, “What are you thinking about?”

  “I like that photo,” I tell him. It’s of an old cobble-stone street somewhere that feels like Europe. With lots of plants hanging out of the windows.

  “Oh.” He points behind me. “I like that one.”

  When I turn around to see it, I’m like, He has to be joking. It’s a loud, annoying painting of a boring landscape. Totally impersonal and with stupid colors. It reminds me of the guy on PBS who does these really gross paintings and you’re supposed to paint along with him. As if you would want to.

  “Yeah, right,” I laugh.

  “No,” Dave says. “I’m serious.”

  “Oh!” I look at it again. “Well, yeah. It’s nice.” It is not nice. It is horrendous. But everyone knows that people in a relationship should have different interests. You can’t expect someone to like all the same things you do.

  “You know,” he says, chewing, “I didn’t think you would go out with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Like, you went out with Scott, and he’s . . . really . . . smart.”

  “So then why’d you ask for my number?”

  “I always thought you were cute. Remember when I sat next to you at the junior meeting?”

  I nod. If he only knew how many details I remember.

  “I was hoping you liked me. But I didn’t know if I was smart enough for you.”

  “But you’re smart!”

  “Yeah.” He squeezes my hand. “But you are absolutely brilliant.” He lets my hand go and touches my cheek. “And really cute, too.”

  I am insanely happy.

  When the check comes, I remember what Maggie said to do. She said that since Dave asked me out, he should be the one to pay. And that I shouldn’t offer to pay for my half the way I usually do.

  I bite my lip. My lips are dry and crackly. And of course I didn’t bring any Chap Stick. So I have to think of a way to lick them without Dave noticing before we kiss later.

  Dave pays. I exhale.

  I kind of blank out during the ride to my house. Neither one of us is talking much. I’m way too nervous about the kiss. He must be, too.

  We hold hands walking to the porch. Then we’re standing on the porch. The light is on. I look over at my neighbors’ yard to see if anyone’s watching.

  “Thanks for dinner. And the movie. I had a good time.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dave says. “I had a good time, too.”

  I look up at him. His brown eyes look black in the night. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

  I wait for the rest to happen.

  Dave leans toward me. I lean toward him.

  And then he kisses me.

  On the cheek.

  Dave says, “So . . . see you Monday.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “See you.”

  Even after he’s gone, I’m still standing there. Still waiting for my real kiss.

  CHAPTER 12

  more determined than ever

  september 6, 7:58 p.m.

  “That’s a fucking awesome plan,” Mike announces. He twangs the strings of his bass, tuning up again.

  “Why do you have to have a plan?” Josh asks. “Why can’t you just ask her out?”

  This makes Mike defensive. The man likes his plans. “What’s wrong with having a plan?” Mike says.“Three years ago when everyone thought The Cure was going to break up, Bloodflowers came out. Why? Because they had a plan. And they acted on it. And now look.”

  “Fine,” Josh says.“But when Tobey freaks her out acting like a psycho and she hates him, can I say I told you so?”

  “You are sort of obsessed,” Mike tells me.

  “I don’t know what my problem is,” I say. I’ve been trying not to think about the fact that Sara and Dave are out together right now. I keep messing up my chords. I keep forgetting how the lyrics go. And I’m the one who wrote them.

  “Dude,” Mike says. “Stop stressing. Remember what you’re capable of. Cynthia’s wet panties were on the floor before you could say ribbed or glow-in-the-dark.”

  “You my hero, dog,” Josh says.

  I only think about having sex with Sara once every three seconds. But talking about her that way with the guys seems like I’m disrespecting her. I’ve told them everything about the other girls I’ve been with. But it’s different now.

  Josh clashes the cymbals. "Are we doing this or what?”

  We’re working on our set for Battle of the Bands. Actually, we only get to play one song.Two if we make it to the final round. But we’re still narrowing it down.

  We go through this Led Zeppelin number Mike’s convinced will rule. Then Mike says,“This is the one.” I kind of disagree, though. His vocals aren’t sounding all that.

  “I think one with a drum solo would be better,” Josh says from behind the drums.

  “Oh, really?” Mike says. "And why’s that?”

  “It’s heavy drum sessions that shake up the scene. Everyone knows this.” Josh taps his sticks together.

  “Then how come—”

  “Michael!”

  The sound of Mike’s mom indicates that practice is over. Since it’s Saturday, we can practice until she gets home from doing errands. We also get the garage from after school until she gets home from work. Then it’s time for dinner and homework. At least, it is for Mike. His mom hovers over him like a dark cloud with a perpetual absence of silver lining. If he doesn’t do all his homework, we can’t use the garage. She even checks it over and everything. So his grades are pretty good. But he’s a slacker at heart, like me and Josh.

  The door swings open. Light from the kitchen filters in.

  “Hi, boys.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Panalba,” Josh and I say together.

  Her heels click across the cement floor as she walks toward us. “How’s the world-famous MindFlame this evening?”

  I get a little thrill whenever I hear anyone say the name of our band. I thought of it myself. It’s a whole lot better than What Jesus Would Do, which is what Josh wanted. Or Mike’s idea, the Jeans Creamers. I guess our band is sort of weird. We’ve been described as “out there.” But I really feel like we’re on the verge of a breakthrough. Plus, we have a reputation for kicking ass with our classic rock covers. So the gigs we play are mainly class reunions and pre-midlife-crisis birthday parties and even some pool party and barbeque-type events in the summer. Which don’t suck since we always get paid really well. Josh has been lining up more gigs for this year. And of course Mike is organizing plans to record our demo.

  “Making progress,” I say.

  Mrs. Panalba rubs Mike’s face. “What’s this on your face?” she says.

  “Ma!” Mike yells. He jerks away. "Get off!”

  “What is that?” She touches his face again.

  “Nothing!” Mike slaps her hand away. "God!”

  “Aren’t you using the Clearasil I got you?”

  “Ma! Jeez!”

  “Okay, okay.” She heads back toward the kitchen. "Take care, boys.”

  “We’ll try,” Josh says.

  Mrs. Panalba gives Josh a funny look. She closes the door.

  “I swear,
it’s like her sole purpose in life is to humiliate me,” Mike says.

  Josh shrugs. “Yeah, but that’s parents.”

  We start packing up.

  “You guys wanna chill at the mall?” Mike says. He gets off easy on non-school nights. And my curfew isn’t until one.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “I can’t,” Josh says. “I’m still on lockdown.”

  Josh is grounded, like, every other week. He’s always doing something stupid. This time it was chucking his dad’s bowling ball through the window while demonstrating his stance to this chick he was trying to impress. Real impressive.

  Mike and I decide to take my car. As I drive, Mike yammers on about all his elaborate plans for the band’s inevitable success.

  When we’re sitting at the food court with enough fried food to feed a small country, Mike says, “We’ve gotta get your mind off things.” He’s looking at something over my shoulder. "And I think I know how.”

  I turn around. And that’s when I see them.

  Cynthia and Marnie are slumming it in line at Cinnabon. If this were last year, it would have been perfect. I was nailing Cynthia, and Mike’s been trying to get with Marnie for a long time.

  I’m tempted for a second. How easy it would be. How good she looks. But hooking up with Cynthia again would be such a pain. She’d start nagging about how she wants to be my girlfriend.Then she’d start demanding to spend more time with me. It’s a road I don’t want to go down again.

  “I’m out,” I say. I stand up and get my garbage together.

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mike looks at me like I’m insane.

  “Can you get home okay?” I say.

  He glances over at Marnie. “Definitely.”

  “See you.”

  “Later.”

  Walking across the parking lot, I’m more determined than ever. There’s no way I’m giving up. It has to happen.

  CHAPTER 13

  yin and yang

  september 8, 12:33 p.m.

  “How many calories does a banana have?” Caitlin says.

  “Eighty,” Heather says. She picks some fuzz off Alex’s shirt.

  I can’t believe I’m sitting at Dave’s table and his friends are actually treating me like I’m good people. And Dave made me feel included right away. I felt sort of bad ditching Maggie and Laila, but they said it was okay as long as I still eat with them sometimes.

  Dave puts his arm around me. “Are you gonna eat your Ho Ho?”

  I was so looking forward to this Ho Ho. But peeking at the other girls’ trays, I detect a substantial lack of desserts. I don’t want to be all eating my Ho Ho with everyone staring at me.

  “No,” I say. “You can have it.”

  Glancing around the cafeteria, I can tell that a lot of other kids are noticing me sitting over here. It’s nice to finally feel accepted.

  By Music Theory, I’m drifting happily along in a pink bubble.

  “What’s up with Tobey?” Laila says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s been staring at you since he walked in the door. Don’t you notice anything?”

  I look over at Tobey. He quickly looks away.

  “Drool much?” Laila says.

  “I was only seeing if he was looking at me!”

  “Protest much?”

  “Okay, people!” Mr. Hornby says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s move on to scales!” He sits down at the piano and begins to play. We’re supposed to hum along. While we hum, I look at Tobey. He’s really tall, like maybe six-one, which you can tell from the way he’s folded up in his chair. His hair is dark and his skin is pale. Like yin and yang. I’m drawn to those eyes again. They’re big and deep blue. Almost a violet color. And he has these really long eyelashes.

  Tobey catches me looking at him. When he sees me, his eyes get even bigger. He looks serious and contemplative. If I didn’t already know about him, I’d think he was extremely intelligent. Which is usually the main thing that turns me on about a guy. But Tobey’s a total slacker. His confidence is amazing, though. His expression says, I’m looking at you because I want to and I don’t care if you know it.

  It’s really weird, but for a few seconds we’re both just staring at each other. Why is it that when I look at him now, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time?

  I look away.

  I forget what we’re supposed to be doing. Laila jams her elbow into my side, and I start humming along like I didn’t miss anything. For the rest of the class, I refuse to look over at Tobey. But I can feel him staring at me.

  After class, I take a long time getting my stuff together. I’m seeing if Tobey will try to talk to me again. My stuff only consists of a notebook and a book and a pencil, so I pretend to look for something in my notebook. I’m in a state of panic until I see Tobey leave.

  Why am I so disappointed that he didn’t say anything to me?

  As Laila and I are walking out, she goes, “What was that about?”

  “What?”

  “Oh, please. Like you don’t know.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Like you weren’t staring at him for the whole class,” Laila says. “What? Did he reprogram your brain so now you can’t think straight?” Laila says this in a nasty tone. That’s because she hates anyone like Tobey. People who don’t do anything and still pass classes severely annoy her. She can’t understand why anyone would want to slack off like that. I mean, Laila’s so dedicated to being first in our class that she doesn’t even mind not being allowed to date. Plus, she apparently has no interest in romance. Which could be because she’s convinced her parents stopped having sex in 1987. But Laila would definitely not understand why I already feel like there’s something between me and Tobey. Not that I even understand.

  “Hmm? I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” It feels like I’m floating out of the room instead of walking.

  “Fine. Be that way,” Laila says. “You know you’ll tell me eventually.” She whisks off to her locker without saying bye.

  I lift my bag out of my locker and try to figure out what I need to take home. But I can’t even remember what I did today. I think it’s Monday. So Laila, as usual, is right. But here’s the question: Why is the boy who is taking over my brain Tobey instead of Dave?

  “Hey,” Dave says. “Need a ride home?”

  “Oh,” I say, startled. I wasn’t expecting to see him again today. “Yeah.” I rearrange my sketchbook so I can also fit my enormous calc book in my bag.

  “Here,” Dave says, gently pushing me up against a locker. “Let me get that for you.” He takes my bag and puts it on the floor.

  He leans into me. He runs his hands down my waist. He presses up against me.

  He puts his lips on mine.

  This is it. He’s finally kissing me. For real.

  I’m not sure if the kiss is life-altering, the way I was hoping it would be. But at least it’s finally happening.

  CHAPTER 14

  something real

  september 8, 3:41 p.m.

  "Laila?” I say.

  She’s working her lock combination.

  “Laila?”

  Laila has that jumpy reaction you get when someone scares you.

  “You scared me,” she says.

  “Sorry. It’s just that you didn’t hear me.”

  “So that’s a reason to scare someone?”

  I really hope that Laila gets easier to deal with in the very immediate future.

  “Can I talk to you?” I say.

  “You already are.”

  “Not here. Can we go somewhere?”

  "Uh ...” She eyes me suspiciously. “Like the courtyard?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just give me a minute.”

  I stand there watching Laila cram her bag with more books and notebooks than I’ve probably had in my entire life.

  “That’s amazing,” I say.
br />   “What?”

  “How much you have to take home. Isn’t your bag mad heavy?”

  “Yup.” Laila slams her locker and spins the number wheel on her lock. "Let’s go.”

  We walk to the courtyard, which is in the opposite direction of the main doors.This is a good thing because it means we don’t have to risk running into Sara and the asshole.

  Outside, we sit on a bench.

  “So,” Laila says.

  “So,” I say. I clear my throat. “I’m not really sure where to begin.”

  “The beginning’s always a good place.”

  I try to remember what I’m supposed to say. I had this great speech all planned. But after the way Sara was looking at me in class just now, I’m all distracted.

  “I know Sara’s going out with Dave, but . . . do you think I’d have a chance with her?”

  "Um. I don’t think you’re exactly her type. No offense.”

  “It’s just . . . she’s been sort of looking at me in class so . . .”

  “She was probably just trying to figure out why you were looking at her.”

  So I guess I wasn’t all that inconspicuous. “But do you think there’s a chance she might like me?”

  “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Look,” Laila says. “Sara’s my best friend. Even if she told me she liked you? I couldn’t tell you.”

  “She said she likes me?”

  “No, I said if she said she did, I couldn’t tell you.” Laila sighs. "Why do you want to know, anyway?”

  “Wouldn’t you want to know if someone liked you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It would be useless information. I’m not allowed to date.”

  “Oh.”

  Anyone else would be completely mortified to admit what she just said. But Laila sits there, scuffing her sneakers against the ground like it’s nothing.

  “Is that it?” she says. “You want to know if she likes you just to know?”

  “No.” I squint at the sun.

  “Then why?”

  I turn to look at her. This is Sara’s best friend. Maybe if she sees that I’m for real, she’ll help me. But Josh is right. I don’t want to come off like some demented lunatic, all liking a girl so much who I don’t even know.