Just You Page 6

  Emma came into the kitchen then to get a granola bar and/or spy on me, so I gathered my phone and chocolate milk and retreated to my room. “Is this even, like, a date?” I asked, sinking down on my unmade bed. “I mean, he said ‘Do you want to go’ not ‘Do you want to go with me’.”

  “Hmm, let’s see,” she said, like a parent explaining something obvious to a dimwitted child. “He calls you up and asks you to the movies but it’s not a date? Please.”

  My gaze fell on the crumpled sheet of paper on my night stand, the one I’d used last night to copy down Michael’s phone number from the call display. Already, without even looking, I could recite those seven numbers off by heart. Even my memory had it in for me.

  “What the hell am I doing?” I said, more to myself than to her.

  “Um, having a life? Moving on from the asshole who cheated on you? Giving someone else a chance? Going for it? Take your pick.”

  I exhaled. “All of the above?”

  “Right on. There’s hope for you yet, Granny.”

  Chapter 7

  My first mistake was letting Robin help me get ready.

  “I have two words for you,” she said. “Ample. Cleavage.”

  “I have two words for you,” I said. “No and way.”

  She shook her head at me and continued to dig through her closet. It was Saturday evening, after dinner. Robin had spent the day with me at my dad’s house, where we babysat both kids while Lynn worked, Dad corrected papers in his office, and Leanne did whatever it was that kept her scarce on weekends. It was just like old times. We loafed around the whole day, playing video games with Em and Jamie, filling treat bags for tonight’s trick-or-treaters, and pigging out on stolen candy. The instant Lynn walked through the door at six o’clock, Robin and I had bolted for her house. Which was empty. Again. He mother had taken to spending entire weekends at her new boyfriend’s downtown condo.

  “I don’t get you, Tay,” Robin said as shirts and jeans and shoes flew everywhere. “You have this amazing figure and you never want to show it off. You’ll be sixteen soon…don’t you think that’s a little old to still be a tomboy?”

  “You act like I wear greasy coveralls and work on old cars.”

  She backed out of the closet, several shirts draped over her arm. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it. Don’t cover it up under baggy sweatshirts.”

  God, she was annoying. Sometimes she seriously made me question why we were friends. “Is there anything I do right?” I picked up a bottle of sparkly pink nail polish. “All you do lately is get on my case.”

  She dumped the tops in my lap. “It’s because I see so much wasted potential in you. Now try these.”

  Wasted potential, I thought as I took off my (baggy) sweatshirt. Whatever.

  Robin left to raid her mom’s makeup drawer, and while she was gone I tried one of the tops she’d given me, a black v-neck sweater that strained so much across my chest that my bra showed right through it. Nope. Next I tried on a soft red empire top, but I didn’t like the way it fell at my waist. Strike two. I held up the next shirt—white, long-sleeved, with a low, scooped neck. I knew even before trying it on that it wasn’t me. And it wasn’t. It felt tight, itchy. Robin came back as I was adjusting the hem along my hips.

  “Oh my God.” She froze in the doorway, clutching a fistful of tubes and bottles. “That’s the one. Do not take it off.”

  I yanked at the neckline, trying to cover up what I’d been so careful to hide for the past two years. Ample cleavage, indeed. “It’s cut too low,” I said. “And it’s tight. I wear medium and this is a small.”

  “All my shirts are size small,” she said with a pout. “But that one stretches. It’s fine.”

  I frowned at my reflection in the mirror. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. And don’t you dare put that sweatshirt on over it.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” I lied.

  Dad was still out with the kids, supervising their trick-or-treating, so my stepmom drove us to the movie theater. Michael and I had agreed to meet there, which I thought was smart. If things went south, being stuck in a small car together would no doubt be uncomfortable. Having my own transportation allowed me a sense of freedom.

  The smell of popcorn and soft pretzels greeted our nostrils as Robin and I entered the theater. “There’s no one here,” I said, glancing around the empty lobby.

  “Everyone’s in the theater,” Robin said. “It’s a marathon, remember?”

  “What are we supposed to do, walk into a movie already in progress?”

  “No, Devon told me they’d meet us by the—there they are.”

  Devon and Michael were walking toward us. Robin skipped up to Devon and threw herself into his arms while I stayed put, waiting for Michael to reach me. When he did, he smiled, and my whole body turned to mush. “Hi,” he said, and I caught a whiff of cinnamon again.

  “Hi.” I was suddenly very conscious of my boobs on display in Robin’s white shirt, now concealed under my jacket. They’d stay concealed too, if at all possible. I did not want anyone—especially Michael—to think I was trying too hard.

  “Are you ready for some blood and gore?” Devon asked as the four of us crossed the lobby.

  “I’m ready for some Junior Mints,” Robin said.

  When Michael paid my way in, I knew this really had to be a date, and my nervousness increased tenfold. The end credits for another movie were rolling on screen as the four of us found seats near the back. Robin pushed into the aisle first, and I ended up with her on my left and Michael on my right. So either way I was blocked from making a run for it. I scanned my surroundings, but failed to spot any faces I recognized from the Redwood Hills parties. It hit me then that this was a double date and not a group thing at all. Dating in a group seemed a lot more casual, but a double date was a bona fide date. My anxiety shot straight through the roof.

  Robin jostled my elbow. “Try my Coke,” she whispered.

  I took a sip from her straw and almost spit it back out. It tasted like oven cleaner. “Is that diet?” She laughed and told me it was coconut rum. “I didn’t know they sold that at the concession stand,” I said.

  Michael nudged my other arm. “I didn’t see you around last weekend,” he said.

  “I was at home. I’m not at my dad’s every weekend.”

  “Oh, right. I think you told me that.” He turned toward the blank screen in front of us, showing me his striking profile for a moment before facing me again. “But if you wanted to visit your dad every weekend, would you be able to do that?”

  “Oh, um…” I crossed my legs, and then uncrossed them. The floor felt sticky under my feet. “It’s possible, I guess. I can see him anytime I want.”

  He smiled at me in that cute, unpretentious way he had. “Good.”

  I scrambled for some sort of reply, but was saved by the next movie starting. The plot of this movie completely escapes me because not a second of it soaked into my brain. For the entire two hours, I struggled to make sense out of Michael’s question while stealing sips of Robin’s spiked Coke. By the time the movie ended, I felt both buzzed and confused as hell.

  “That was gory,” Michael said as we all exited the theater for a twenty minute intermission.

  “Totally,” I said, even though I didn’t remember any blood. Just a lot of screaming. Or maybe that was only in my head.

  Robin and Devon went outside for a smoke while Michael and I hung back in the lobby, standing next to a huge cardboard cutout advertising the newest Pixar movie. He tried to make conversation but I wasn’t exactly responsive. I felt uncomfortable and jumpy, despite the rum. Warm too, but I held on to my jacket as if it were a coat of armor protecting me from an attack of flying arrows.

  When it came time for the next (and last) movie, Devon and Robin reappeared in the lobby, red-cheeked and laughing and smelling of smoke. Devon headed for the concession stand again while Robin walked with Michael and me back to the theater.

  “D
evon had to go get a bucket of popcorn and some Twizzlers,” she told us. “He’s still high from earlier tonight.”

  That explained the bloodshot eyes and sleepy expression. Robin didn’t look too sober herself, but I guess I didn’t either. That rum was strong. I stole a furtive glance at Michael’s eyes, checking to see if they were like Devon’s, but they seemed clear to me. Then I got sort of lost in gazing at him for a minute, and he caught me in the act.

  “I don’t even like taking Tylenol,” he said.

  “Neither does Taylor,” Robin told him, bumping me with her hip. “She’s seen too many After-School Specials.”

  “I hear Tylenol is one hell of a drug to quit,” I said. Robin and I started giggling uncontrollably while Michael looked on with an amused expression.

  “Come to the washroom with me,” Robin said suddenly, and then dragged me toward the nearest john before I even had a chance to tell Michael I’d be right back. We each went inside a stall. “So how’s it going?” she asked through the metal partition.

  “I don’t know.” I flushed the toilet. “It’s hard to talk at the movies.”

  We emerged from our stalls at the same time. “You seem kind of uptight,” Robin said as we washed our hands. “Even after drinking half my Coke.”

  “Yeah, because this is insane. You could’ve told me this was a double date, you know. I feel ridiculous, being here with him. I mean, he’s freaking perfect, Robin. How am I supposed to live up to that?”

  Our eyes met in the mirror as she fixed her hair. “Nobody is perfect. Give him a chance, Tay. I think he might surprise you.”

  Like Brian surprised me? I thought, following Robin out of the washroom. Michael was still right where we left him in the lobby, waiting for me. “Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand for me to take. All I could do was stare at it, hesitant and torn on what to do next. Part of me wanted to take his hand and let him believe I liked him, and part of me wanted to ignore it and let him believe I wasn’t interested. The problem was that both things were true.

  “Ready,” I said, and I took his hand. It was fine until I realized we looked like a couple, holding hands like that, and my arm tensed up. And then my palms started sweating. And finally I started inching away, little by little. Michael obviously sensed this sudden cooling off because by the time we were in our seats again, he had let my hand go. And from that point on, despite acting polite as ever, it was clear he’d given up on me. I couldn’t blame him, really, what with the dizzying mixed signals I’d been throwing out all night.

  I didn’t pay much attention during the last movie either. I sat there in silence, watching the screen without actually seeing it and methodically nibbling on popcorn. Every so often I’d glance at Michael, whose jaw had continued to grow increasingly rigid in the past hour. My rum buzz had worn off and been replaced by the heaviness of remorse. He’s a nice guy, I kept thinking. He deserves someone who’s open and trusting and secure, someone who’s…perfect. Someone other than me.

  As predicted, Michael offered to drive me home after the movie. Purely out of courtesy, I knew. My curfew was fast approaching, so I agreed. First, we dropped Devon and Robin off at some college party taking place at an old house on the north end of town. Before leaving the car Robin assured me that she’d get a taxi home in a couple of hours, and I made her promise to call me in the morning.

  “She’ll be okay,” Michael said, seeing the worry in my face as we pulled away from the house. “She’s tough, right?”

  I thought about the time I saw her kick a guy in the shins for brushing up against her in line at Taco Bell. And then afterwards he apologized and bought her a taco. “Yes,” I said. “She is.”

  It was a quiet drive home. Michael wasn’t even trying to make conversation anymore. The silence in the car got louder and louder with each city block, and I began to wonder who would break it first.

  Finally, with the car parked neatly in the driveway alongside my father’s Camry, Michael’s voice sliced through the silence. “Well,” he said, his eyes on the front door, where Leo had once again stationed himself behind the window. “I guess…”

  “I’m sorry for tonight,” I said, thinking an apology was the least I could offer him after such a disastrous date.

  He looked at me, puzzled. “What are you sorry for?”

  I inhaled deeply, catching the pungent smell of burnt pumpkin flesh coming from outside the open window. “Wasting your time.”

  He didn’t deny the fact that wasting his time was precisely what I’d done. “Why did you go tonight?” He didn’t seem angry or even annoyed. Just curious. Baffled by the mystery that was me.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I asked you out because I thought we liked each other. I mean, you seemed to like me before when we were talking at—.”

  “I did,” I said quickly. “I do. Like you.”

  He switched the car off, and I knew I was in for a long grilling. Hopefully he wouldn’t get frustrated when he realized I was just as puzzled over my actions as he was. “Then what happened? What changed?”

  I focused on a tiny chip in the windshield, the only visible flaw on the entire car, and mulled over his question. What happened? The answer was simple: I got scared. I liked him, the mere idea of liking someone scared me, and so I retreated. Simple as that.

  “A few weeks ago I found out that my ex-boyfriend—who I’d been friends with since we were five—was cheating on me,” I said bluntly. “I guess I’m not ready to start dating again.”

  He nodded, but didn’t seem any more enlightened. “Robin mentioned something about that, but she said you were over it.”

  “Robin likes to assume things.”

  “So you’re not over it?”

  “I’m over him.” I knew now was not the time to go into my assorted issues with boys and trust and expectations. “It’s not so easy to get past the betrayal part.”

  “So you think all guys are like your ex, right?” he said. He was pretty perceptive. Or more likely, Robin had mentioned that too. She’d probably told him all about me, listing my imperfections in order from least to most intolerable. When I didn’t contradict his words, a look of understanding dawned on his face and I knew he was probably imagining what a relationship with me would be like—maddening, exhausting, and so not worth the trouble.

  “Robin told me you just got out of a bad relationship too,” I said, trying to even the playing field. “Aren’t you worried the next one might turn out the same?”

  He traced the steering wheel with his fingers as he contemplated this. “Not really. Every relationship is different. And after my experience with her, I’m different.”

  “How so?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Let’s just say I have a better idea of what I want and what I don’t want.”

  I gave a short laugh. “My ex would probably say the same thing, after his experience with me. He made it pretty clear that I’m not what he wants.”

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said softly.

  “Don’t be. It was for the best. He’s happy now. But it does suck that we’re not friends anymore.”

  He reclined in the seat, tipping his head back as if he needed to work out a kink in his neck. As he did this I couldn’t help but notice how his shirt slid down to reveal the smooth curve of his collarbone. “Maybe we could be,” he said, straightening up again.

  “What?” I was still mesmerized by the way the light played on his skin.

  “Friends. Maybe we could be friends.”

  I tore my eyes away from his throat region and concentrated on looking into his eyes, which was even more distracting, in a way. He held my gaze as the air grew thicker and heavier around us. “Okay,” I said, and then I leaned over and kissed him.

  My impulsiveness surprised us both. But once the initial shock had passed, he started kissing me back, his hands gliding gently over my hair. Something within me sparked alive, igniting like a pile of dehydrated brushwood. Kissing Brian h
ad never felt anything like this. If it had, I realized, we never would’ve broken up in the first place.

  “Oops,” I said, backing away. My whole body was buzzing and it wasn’t from the rum. “Friends aren’t supposed to do that.”

  “We can be friends who do that,” Michael said in a slightly uneven voice that told me he had felt the electricity too. He buried his face in my hair, and I shivered as his warm breath washed over my ear. “You smell like coconut.”

  Brian used to tell me the same thing, all the time. Only it sounded much, much sexier when Michael said it. “It’s probably the rum.”

  “No, it’s you.” He kissed me again and I surrendered, finally accepting the fact that I was too far gone to turn back. Besides, I didn’t really want to.

  Chapter 8

  “What happened to ‘I’m done with boys.’?” Erin asked, lowering her voice on the last four words in a lame attempt to imitate me. Instead she ended up sounding like a man.

  “I lied,” I said, hiding my annoyance behind my milk carton as I took a big swig.

  Ashley looked perturbed when I said this. She thought lying was one of the worst sins imaginable. According to her, it was right up there with murder. “You mean you changed your mind,” she said.

  “Sure, Ash.”

  I’d just finished telling them about what happened with Michael on Saturday night, and already I regretted ever opening my mouth. Fearing this exact reaction, I’d kept it to myself for four whole days, savoring it like a huge, gooey brownie. But now the truth was out, and it was time for my friends to pick apart my hypocrisy, piece by agonizing piece.

  “I’m psyched for you, Taylor,” Erin said, smoothing her long black hair behind her ears. “It’s about time you made Brian suffer. If you want, I can go up to him in biology and casually let it slip that you have a new boyfriend.”

  I slammed my milk down on the table and then scanned the cafeteria, checking to see if anyone nearby was listening. No one seemed to be paying any attention to us. “I’m not trying to make Brian jealous,” I hissed. “And I do not have a new boyfriend.”