DEZ
Jonah shoots me a warning glare when the girls leave to go to the bathroom, which, by the way, is really annoying. I’ll never understand the whole pissing-in-a-pair thing. I ignore him and pick at the heaping pile of wilted nachos—a waste of my favorite food court meal, but I’ve lost my appetite.
Spending a Saturday night on a double date at the Heights Mall is about as pitiful as it gets. The once-happening place has become a no man’s land. Over the past few years, almost half of the stores have gone out of business. Even the food court options have been whittled down to Big Burgers, Taco Bell, and a small snack shop. You can almost see the tumbleweeds blowing by.
If this were a movie, we’d be at a homecoming dance or a football game or a romantic autumn hayride. But this year’s homecoming was canceled, our football team sucks, and after a teacher was killed in our high school last month, the town is pretty much keeping to a nine p.m. curfew.
“Desmond,” Jonah says, pulling away my plate of processed cheese sauce. “If you don’t stop being a complete douche, I’m going to kill you.”
“Please do.” I bang my head on the table and ignore his empty threats. “Put me out of my misery.”
“That’s great, Dez,” he says on the verge of what I’d call a whine. “Real nice. I just needed you to be my wingman for one night, that’s all I asked. Just one night. When have I ever asked you for anything?”
And here comes the guilt trip. I deserve it. Jonah has never really asked me for anything. No, he’s more of a giver. Always been that way, even when we were kids.
FLASHBACK SEQUENCE
INT. ELECTRONICS STORE—DAY
A 10-year-old JONAH and DESMOND browse the racks of video games.
JONAH
You need to get this game, Dez.
I got it for my birthday and it’s sweet.
DEZ
(rubs fingers together)
Can’t. No dinero.
JONAH reaches in his pocket and pulls out a wad of crumpled bills.
JONAH
Well, I do. I have lots of dinero.
DEZ
No. No way. That’s your birthday money.
JONAH
So? It’s no fun to play Mario Brothers by yourself. You need it too. Then we can play against each other.
JONAH makes a goofy face at his friend, grabs the game, and heads to the check-out counter. DEZ chases after him …
END FLASHBACK
PRESENT DAY
INT. THE HEIGHTS MALL—EVENING
DEZ smiles at the memory.
Yeah, Jonah’s always been that way.
Big surprise, I kept that game—and beat Jonah at it every time we played. The least I can do for the guy is help him look good in front of his date. But I just can’t get into it.
“If you don’t put that phone away, I swear to God,” Jonah says.
“Yours is out.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t been glued to it all night like you have.”
He’s right, yet I can’t exactly tell him what I’ve been doing on my phone and why I need it tonight. Instead, I keep my transgressions to myself. Trouble is, they’re piling up like the unwanted bills Mom used to keep in the kitchen drawer—notices that meant our lights or telephone would soon be shut off. I worry what will happen to me when I can no longer close the drawer on my sins. I have no choice but to keep them hidden.
Jonah would never understand anyway. He’s one of the good guys.
Sorry sap. He’s totally flipped over his date. She’s from the other side of the river, a town about twenty minutes from here. She had to lie to her parents about coming out to the Heights. After all the shit that went down last month, our little town is not exactly the place you’d want to send your daughters.
It goes both ways. People from the Heights generally don’t care for people on the east side of the river—where the suburbs tend to be bigger, wealthier, and closer to the Twin Cities. And though her town isn’t what you’d call sophisticated by any means, it’s definitely (as Mom would say) highfalutin’ compared to the Heights.
Jonah met Ms. High Society at a youth group thing last weekend. Her name is Sage or Cinnamon or some spice. I can’t remember. I’m supposed to keep the Spice Girl’s friend, what’s-her-face, company while Jonah makes his move. But I’ve totally neglected my duties. I’m such a dick.
My phone buzzes and I practically fall out of my seat. The call I’ve been waiting for. I motion for Jonah to give me a minute. He bites his nails, cursing the day I was born.
The screen on my phone reads: All ready to go. Are you sure?
Do it! I type back.
Then I hold my breath.
If I knew then what I know now, I never would’ve sent that text. I wouldn’t have done a lot of things. Yeah, if my life were a movie, I’d go back and edit out all the bad stuff. Leave it all on the cutting room floor.
But I can’t. And now I will have to pay.
Big time.
After several uncomfortable moments, Jonah clears his throat.
“Okay, my bad,” I say before checking my phone one last time. “Gimme another shot.” I’m a sucker for a guy in lust. Jonah’s date is pretty cute, and just because I’m not getting any doesn’t mean I should deny my friend the opportunity.
“Yeah?” Jonah says, looking hopeful.
“Yeah.” I pat his shoulder.
“Thanks, man.”
“Okay. First order of business: stop with the nails.” I swat his hand “Chicks hate that shit. It’s disgusting.”
Jonah nods and pulls his fingers from his mouth. “Check. Anything else?”
“Yeah, take this.” I hand him my tin of Altoids. “Probably not a good idea to load your burger with onions when you’re trying to impress a girl.”
“See, this is what I need.” Jonah flashes his gummy grin and pops a few mints. “My wingman is back.”
When the girls—Ginger and Nicole, thank you very much—return, I do a complete 180.
“So,” I say to Jonah, gearing up to make it a big production. “Are you getting the band together this weekend?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“You’re in a band?” Ginger squeaks.
“Guitar and lead singer,” I say.
While it’s true that Jonah can sing, he’s terrible at guitar and there hasn’t been a band since eighth grade. But I have to do something. He’s sinking over there.
“I’d love to hear you play sometime.” Ginger laughs and whispers something to Nicole.
Jonah mouths thank you when she’s not looking.
My work here is done.
Jonah and Ginger are deep in conversation the rest of the night and I work my hardest to keep Nicole entertained.
“So, Desmond Brandt, do you have a girlfriend?” she asks while twirling a clump of hair. I’m not sure if she’s trying to be cute or sexy or what. But it’s none of the above.
“Ah … not exactly,” I say.
“Well … ” She untangles her hand from the hair clump and rests it on the table, dangerously close to mine. “What is your status then? Exactly?”
“Long story. Let’s just say it’s complicated. You?” I ask, not caring to know the answer.
The next several minutes are a blur of Nicole telling me about all the guys who want her and why. I nod, smile, and do everything in my power to get through the night.
In the end, it’s not too bad. I buy everyone churros, Jonah gets another date with Ginger, and there under the fluorescent lights of the food court, I become one of the best wingmen who has ever lived.
All is right with the world.
Until Monday.