The Oracle of Dating

  At the lunch table, my friends are asking a million questions. Jared? When? Are you sure? And I answer: Yes. Now. Definitely.

  AT 3:27 P.M. GERSTAD IS long gone, but she’s nice enough to let me stay in the art room as long as I close the door behind me when I leave. She was impressed that I wanted to stay after school on a Friday to finish my project. I didn’t tell her I was only staying late because I didn’t want to waste my own money buying paints to finish it at home.

  I’m standing at my desk, mixing dark blue with white, trying to create a pastel blue like in the photo. A noise makes me look up.

  Jared is standing in the doorway.

  “Hey. Come see how I’m doing.”

  He comes up close, peering at the drawing over my shoulder. “Nice job with the background.”

  “Is this blue right for her dress?”

  “Add a bit of yellow… That’s it.”

  “Thanks.” Unsure of what to do, I start painting the dress. He’s watching me, and he’s so close I feel his chest rising and falling an inch from my back. The air around us is charged with electricity.

  “I thought you said you had to work,” I say.

  “I do, in an hour. I just know I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t take you up on your offer.”

  “My offer?” My paintbrush is hovering dangerously close to the paper. Jared takes it out of my hand and puts it down.

  He turns me around to face him. Oh my God! He’s going to do it now!

  He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. My knees start to crumble. I close my eyes, clutch his shoulders. His kiss is open-mouthed and hot. It isn’t shy, it’s electric and demanding. He must have prepped for this—his mouth tastes like peppermint. Oh, God, I hope I don’t taste like the spaghetti and garlic toast I had for lunch!

  He lets me go too soon. My arms are still locked around his neck. I need him to keep kissing me senseless.

  I hug him, and he hugs me back, and I can feel the hard muscles of his arms squeezing me. It feels wonderful. His face is nuzzling my hair. We stand there for several moments before he finally breaks away.

  “I couldn’t wait, Kayla.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

  “Definitely.”

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Upper East Side. The hair and nail salons along Second Avenue are full of women getting ready for tonight. I’m meeting Tracey at Darcy’s, a cozy living-room-type coffee place à la Central Perk on Friends. And most important, they have the best chai soy lattes in Manhattan.

  I know Tracey’s going to freak when she hears about the art-room kiss, AKA the hottest kiss ever! I’m totally pumped to get another one tonight. Or two, or three…

  Walking into the café, I head to the spacious room at the back.

  I spot Tracey. And she’s not alone.

  Scott is with her. Their body language tells me everything I need to know.

  They haven’t seen me yet. Can I make a quick break for the door?

  Too late. Scott sees me. He waves me over.

  I go up to them and plunk myself on the couch beside Tracey.

  “Great to see you,” Scott says.

  There they are: his ridiculously white teeth. He’s definitely getting them bleached. No one who drinks as much coffee as he does has teeth that white.

  “Hi.” I’m not going to say it’s great to see him and I’m sure he knows why. In fact, I’m sure this whole setup is to prove to me that I’m wrong about him (i.e. he really is a good guy).

  “Let me get you something to drink, Kayla,” he says. “Chai soy latte?”

  “Okay. No foam.” I try to give him a five but he doesn’t take it and goes up to the counter.

  Tracey turns to me. “I hope you’re not mad. Scott really wanted to hang out with you again. He wants to hear all about the Web site.”

  “You told him about it?”

  “Why not? He won’t tell anyone that you’re behind it.”

  “I don’t like being set up.”

  “That’s not what this is.”

  “Maybe not. It’s more of an ambush.”

  “I need you to support me, Kayla.”

  “I support you. I don’t support you and him. And if you try to convince me there’s no you and him, I won’t believe you.”

  She sighs. “I won’t try to convince you. It’s just important to me that you get along with whoever I’m dating.”

  “Past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior, Trace. Everybody knows that.”

  “You can be very judgmental.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.”

  Scott is back, putting the drink in front of me. “I’ve seen your Web site. It’s great. How do you know so much about dating? Have you had lots of boyfriends?”

  “You don’t need to have had lots of boyfriends to give dating advice. You need to learn from the ones you’ve had.” I give Tracey a pointed look.

  “So I guess you get some pretty crazy questions, huh?”

  “Sometimes.” I’m not going to facilitate conversation-making with him. I have a split-second fantasy of grabbing the tea light from under a nearby couple’s s’more kit and setting his hair on fire.

  Finally Scott gives up, and the conversation moves to work stuff, which is fine with me.

  At some point Tracey goes to the bathroom, leaving Scott and me and awkward silence. I decide to lay my cards on the table.

  “My sister is a great person.”

  “Definitely. She’s wonderful.”

  “She deserves someone who’s serious and reliable.”

  “Of course she does. I really care about Tracey.”

  I look straight into his eyes. “Don’t hurt her again.”

  His eyes widen. I can see he’s gotten the message.

  It doesn’t take a genius.

  THAT EVENING, ON THE SUBWAY, I have butterflies in my stomach. I pray that my deodorant is doing its job.

  My mind is replaying yesterday’s kiss in the art room and I keep wondering a) at what point in the date it will happen again, and b) whether I’ll be able to anticipate it in time to pop some gum.

  We’re meeting at the Forty-second Street subway station right next to the ticket booth. When I arrive, he’s already there. We hug a little longer than necessary.

  “How about Chevy’s?” he says.

  “Sure.”

  We walk outside, craning our necks to look at the Times Square buildings with their ticker tapes and huge fashion billboards. Jared takes my hand as we squeeze through the throngs of people on the sidewalk in front of the New Amsterdam Theatre. I like the strong grip of his hand as he guides me forward.

  In the restaurant, the waiter leads us to a booth and gives us menus. We look at each other over the table, smiling like idiots.

  “Thanks for coming out,” he says.

  “I’m the one who asked you, didn’t I? I’m glad you didn’t have to work.”

  “I finished a couple hours ago.” He toys with a sugar pack. “You know, I’ve read every blog on your Web site. Gives real insight into that brain of yours.”

  “Pretty twisted, huh?”

  “Nah. I’m just afraid to check the Web site when I get home. If there’s a blog called How to Survive a Bad Date, I’ll know where I stand.”

  I grin, and he cracks a smile. But I take his point; I’d better be careful not to use my own love life as blogging material. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

  The waiter comes by and we both order sodas.

  “So what’d you do today?” he asks.

  “I met my sister for coffee. But when I got there, she was with her loser ex-boyfriend. He’s going to break her heart again, I know it.”

  “What makes him such a loser?”

  “He doesn’t know what he wants. He says he loves her one minute, and that he isn’t ready for a serious relationship the next. She was on an emotional roller coaster the whole time they were together. He’s the
type of guy who always feels there’s something else out there, something better. He’s like my dad. That must be why Tracey’s drawn to him.”

  “That’s too bad. I learned a long time ago that you can’t tie your happiness to someone else. Your sister’s an adult and she’s responsible for her own life.”

  “I know. I’m protective of her, though. I keep feeling like I should be able to prevent her from making mistakes.”

  “You’ve got to learn to distance yourself. That’s what I had to do with my mom. She’s screwed up, I told you that. I can’t see her ever being clean. I had to distance myself so that I could stay sane, you know? It’s not the same as with your sister, it’s a lot more extreme, but you get the point.”

  “How often do you see your mom?”

  “Twice a year. I dread it. I know I should go more—she’s only two hours away. But I can’t handle it. I talked about it with Rodrigo. He said it’s okay if I put myself first, and that’s what I’m doing. Anyway, this is heavy talk for Chevy’s. So tell me, how’d you become the Oracle of Dating in the first place?”

  The waiter has to come back twice because we’re too busy talking to look at our menus. After we discuss the history of the Oracle, Jared tells me all about the youth center where he works. Lately he’s run into problems because a few of the kids have been swiping the art supplies. Most of the kids are foster kids, and Jared understands how it feels not to have the things you want. Problem is, if they keep doing it, the art class will be shut down because the center doesn’t have the money to keep replenishing supplies.

  Eventually two plates of food—chimichangas and fajitas—are put in front of us and the waiter cautions us not to touch the plates because they’re very hot. Still, I manage to embarrass myself when I accidentally rest my finger on the side of the plate and yelp. Jared tells me to dip my finger in his glass of ice water, which he won’t be drinking because he prefers his Coke.

  I have no room for dessert, but when he orders key lime pie and an extra spoon, I can’t resist a few bites.

  The bill comes, and the waiter puts it right in front of Jared. I grab for it, but Jared’s already holding it. “I’m getting this.”

  “Thanks, but there’s no reason you should. I’m a feminist.” I dig into my wallet and pull out a twenty, putting it on the table.

  Jared’s eyes narrow. He probably has no idea how sexy he looks when he’s annoyed. “I can pay for a freakin’ dinner, Kayla.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to set a precedent. I believe in going Dutch.”

  One side of his mouth turns up. “How about this—you let me pay this time, and we go Dutch in the future?”

  “Okay.” I put my twenty back in my wallet. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We leave Chevy’s. Jared takes my hand, and I hope it isn’t just because of the crowded sidewalk.

  “What do you want to do now?” he asks. “There’s an arcade down the street, and a pool hall and a rock ’n’ bowl place.”

  “Let’s take a walk and see where we end up.”

  We head north on Eighth Avenue. It’s a perfect night for November—warm enough that we can walk for a while without freezing, and cool enough to give me an excuse to get close to him. As we walk, we occasionally make fun of tourists with fanny packs, or stop to look at street artists’ sketches.

  We’re watching a middle-aged woman being sketched, and I turn to him. “You could do this. You’d be great.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.”

  We step into a café for hot chocolate and linger there for a while, the conversation flowing from one topic to another. Eventually, we see the streets get crowded, indicating the theaters must have let out. I catch sight of a digital clock on a billboard. “Oh, no!”

  “What?”

  “It’s after eleven. I have to get home.” I look around. “The 2 train is a couple of blocks back.”

  “All right. I can take that train, too.”

  We double back to the station, wait ten minutes and get on the train. The car is more than half full. Good for safety, bad for privacy. This is not, I realize sadly, the place where Jared will give me another one of those kisses. And in a few stops, I’ll get off the train and I’ll have to wait days! I don’t think I can handle that. Why can’t this be a hundred years ago, when I’d probably be married already, not dealing with this kind of frustration? He looks so tempting sitting there beside me, leaning his head against an ad that reads, Know HIV, I just want to eat him up.

  When my stop comes, he grabs my hand and gets off the train with me. “I’m not in a rush. I’ll walk you home.”

  I’m not going to argue.

  On the walk from the station, we’re pretty much silent. Both of us have popped gum in the past few minutes. I’m wired with anticipation.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  “Brooke. How I have her to thank for this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He stops and turns to me. We’re standing on the sidewalk in the darkness under a tree. “Because she made fun of you for not getting into the bar. That’s how I knew you’d showed up. When I thought you hadn’t, I figured there was no way you were interested. Why didn’t you tell me you tried to get in?”

  “I heard you left with Brooke, so I didn’t want you to know I’d made the effort to be there. It didn’t seem to matter.”

  “It mattered to me. I was really disappointed when you didn’t show. It was the second time I thought something would happen between us, and it didn’t.”

  “The second time? When was the first?”

  “Speed dating night. I thought, when you invited me, that you might put yourself in the same game as me as a way of, you know, breaking the ice. Obviously that theory went out the window when I realized you weren’t going to be playing.”

  “I had no idea. It didn’t even occur to me to put myself in the same game as you.”

  “Yeah, well, it was all in my head. But then in class, you were as flirty as ever. And, Kayla, you really do know how to flirt. So I figured you had to be interested, and I thought we might hook up at my show.” He chuckles. “And when you didn’t show up, there was Brooke. Do you want to know what we did when we left?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I think you do. We went to a diner and ate. She’s got a real French fry fetish, that one. Then she caught a cab home and I took the subway. It was no big thing for me. But then she started calling. I figured I’d give her a chance. So, Kayla, tell me something. The blog you did on lovesickness. What inspired it?”

  My jaw drops. “I… A lot of things.” I should never have posted that blog! I should’ve left it in the recycle bin on my desktop.

  “Don’t worry. I know the blogs are exaggerated to make a point. I’m not imagining you’re in love with me. Not yet, anyway.”

  We walk another block in silence. Once we’re a few houses from mine, I stop again. “Maybe we should say goodbye here. My mom and stepdad could be peeking out the window.”

  He grins and puts his arms around me. I sigh with pleasure at the feel of his lips against my cheek. He kisses along the line of my jaw until he finds my lips. I meet his kiss with all the pent-up passion inside me, our tongues touching, our breaths racing.

  “I’m totally tempted,” he rasps in my ear, “to find a park somewhere.”

  I laugh, still clinging to him, my nails pressing into the fabric of his shirt under his jacket.

  “God, you’re so beautiful.” He cups my face, brushing strands of hair aside.

  I smile and kiss him again. This time the kiss is slower and deeper. Heat surges through me. Our bodies are pressed together so tightly that our chests are rising and falling with the same uneven rhythm.

  Our lips pull away, and he’s kissing my cheeks and chin hungrily, and I throw my head back and look up at the stars with a dreamy grin.

  I feel him inch back a little, though he hasn’t let go. “Ka
yla, it’s got to be past midnight… Your parents are going to hate me.”

  I press my watch light: 12:19 a.m. Mom and Erland aren’t sticklers about being home at twelve on the dot, but he’s right, I better go in.

  We have one last kiss. I can’t think of anything to say, but I realize I don’t have to. After passion like that, saying I had a great time would seem silly.

  AT 1:47 A.M., I’M LYING in bed cursing him. Jared has awakened something in me that won’t be put to sleep. I feel like a runner, pumped and ready, waiting for the starting gun to go off. All I can think about is the pressure of his lips on mine, the tongue that tasted like peppermint gum, the way his strong, hard body pressed up against me, the way his arms locked around me…

  There is no doubt about it.

  I am in lust.

  sixteen

  “IS HE YOUR BOYFRIEND or what?” It’s Monday in the caf and my friends are on my case. Now it’s Sharese’s turn to bug me. “I don’t know is no kind of answer!”

  Which brings me to a question that many people ask the Oracle: at what point do two people who are dating become a couple?

  Is it when one person asks the other to date exclusively, and he or she agrees?

  Is it just a matter of two people falling into a couple’s routine and no words are necessary?

  My friends aren’t the only ones wondering if Jared and I are a couple. I’m wondering, too. We talk on the phone every night; even if he’s at work he calls to check in. And there’s been other boyfriendly behavior. Note-passing in class. Kisses before school, after school and in the hallway between classes. No roses or charms for my bracelet or anything, but it’s only the first week. I’m not the kind of girl that needs that stuff, anyway.

  I prefer words. More than any romantic gift or action, it’s his words that drive me crazy. Jared thinks I’m beautiful. I know that I’m not. But I believe that he believes I am.

  I kind of know what he means, because I think he’s beautiful, too. He’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and the most adorable, crooked smile. Most of all, I think he’s hot. And hot is not just about height and shoulders and all those things that make Declan McCall the talk of the girls’ locker room. Hot is about vibe, about sensuality, about electricity.