“ARE YOU GOING TO CALL HIM?” I don’t have to look to know she’s waving Paul’s note in the air like it’s a winning lottery ticket.
I open my eyes to a view of Xander’s belly button. At first I think she has lint in it, but then I realize she’s had it pierced and there’s a garish rhinestone stud in it. “When did you have that done?”
“Last week with Margot. It doesn’t hurt if you’re drunk.”
“That’s what you said to the last guy you seduced.”
“Funny ha-ha.” She flaps Paul’s note in my face. “Is he cute?”
I try to remember what he looked like, but all I can picture is that terrible polyester suit. “Not really. I think he had shiny hair.” I rub the sleep out of my eyes. I try to move, but my whole back has completely stiffened up.
“Paul Martelli. He’s Italian.” She gently sits down on my mattress instead of just plopping down and bouncing the way she usually does. She must be able to tell that I’m in pain. “Swarthy can be good.”
“He wasn’t swarthy so much as . . . I don’t know. Goofy.”
“Goofy can be good.” She scans his note again. “Yeah, he’s funny. I like him.”
“Go out with him then.”
“He’s hitting on you, dumbass.” She gets up and goes into the bathroom. For a second I think I might be in the clear, but then she comes back with a Motrin and a cup of water. “Take.”
“He just wants my picture for the yearbook,” I say before knocking back the drugs. “It’s not like he’s hitting on me.”
“Come on. You’re not that stupid.”
I close my eyes like I’m falling back asleep.
She’s right, I’m not that stupid. I just don’t want her input on anything to do with Paul Martelli. For weeks now, ever since I went to the prom with Adam, she’s been itching for me to start dating and get laid, and she’ll stop at nothing short of actually putting the condom on the guy herself. The less she knows about Paul the better. “He’s ugly,” I finally have the presence of mind to say.
“Nice try. What are you going to wear?” She opens up my closet and starts pawing at my clothes. “Jesus, Zen, don’t you own anything that isn’t Puritan?”
“Don’t knock the Puritans. They had nice belt buckles.”
“Everything is gray and brown! You need red.”
“He’s taking a picture of me doing shotokan. I’ll be wearing my gi.”
“Ugh. Those stupid pajama pants give you grandmother-ass.”
“Too bad.”
“I have the perfect top for you. And you should let me do your hair.” She sits down next to me again and smoothes my hair out of my eyes. This is something Mom used to do. I think Xander realizes she just reminded me of Mom, because she pulls back a little, her mouth twisting in a pout. “Anyway, Zen, this is good. You should go out with him. See if you like him.” She stares out the window, a weird, determined look on her face.
I can’t see where she’s looking without wrenching my back, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s looking at Adam’s house. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”
“Who?” she asks innocently. She doesn’t look at me, but at the floor, as though this conversation isn’t worth the effort to lift her eyes.
I just stare at her and wait. This is the only way to cut through her crap.
She sighs angrily. “I’m a slut, Zen, remember? I don’t date guys I care about.”
“Why not?”
“I just want to have fun.” Her face takes on a hard expression.
“Fine,” I tell her. “Thanks for the Motrin.”
She walks out of my room and I try to drift to sleep, but I hear her march back in and drop something heavy onto my bed. I open my eyes to discover a phone in my face. “Call him, then sleep,” she says, arms folded.
“Bossy,” I growl. “Leave the room.”
She backs out and closes the door, but I know she’s standing just outside listening because I can see her shadow under the door.
I dial Paul’s number, my mind racing, as if choosing the right greeting will assure the survival of the human race. Hello? Hey? Hiya? Good morning? What’s happening? The phone clicks on the other end, and I hear a guy’s voice, much deeper than I remember from the prom. “Hello, goddess.”
Damn it. Caller ID. “Hi, stalker.”
“I was afraid my leisure suit might have frightened you off.”
“I’m a brave woman.”
“So, when can I come over and watch you bust some boards?”
“I’m not in board-busting shape at the moment. I threw out my back.”
“Ouch. You okay?”
“I just need to take it easy.”
“Need a male nurse?”
I’m not sure what to say. Is he suggesting a sponge bath? Or just being funny? Suddenly I feel awkward. “Um . . .”
“Well, I’m not one. No medical training whatsoever, actually. But I could photo-document your misery.”
“If you must.”
“How about you just put on your white outfit and stand there with your fists raised?”
“That I can do. Probably in a few days.”
“Okay, how about Wednesday then? At like eleven?”
“Sounds fine. Just come by.”
“Um, your father doesn’t own a gun, does he?”
“Just don’t make any sudden moves.”
As I hang up, I realize that my fingers are white and shaking. I liked the way his voice sounded, deep and throaty, but clear too. And he’s smart. I can tell by the rhythm of his speech.
Xander bursts through the door. “That was good! You sounded cool. You only said one really funny thing, but I think it’s better to be dull than to try too hard to be funny, because then you just come off as desperate.”
“Thanks for the critique.”
“Least I can do.” She holds up a red shirt and wiggles it at me. “This will go great with your tits.”
“I’m wearing my gi!”
“For the photo shoot. For the date, you’ll wear this shirt and those nice jeans I got you for Christmas that you never wear.”
“Because you’re always wearing them.”
“I know how to appreciate a fine garment. They’ll make your ass into a tight little cream puff for our Paulie,” she says as she backs out of my room, a wicked smile on her face.
Why did I think I could keep her out of this? She’s like radioactive gas. She leaks in through the tiny cracks in the walls and fills up the entire room.
She grants me a grand total of thirty peaceful minutes before she comes in again, papers in her hand. “He’s at Marquette!” she yells. She’s holding a jar of Vicks VapoRub.
“What’s that for?”
“Turn over. I’ll rub.” She slaps at my thigh until I turn, and bends over me. “Tell me how hard.”
I feel the horrible coldness of Vicks on my back, but as it melts into my skin, my tight muscles dissolve. Xander gently rubs her palm over my back, up and down, until I can release my tension enough so that she can really knead. It hurts, but it feels nice, too. “You can push harder,” I tell her.
“That’s what you’ll be telling Paul this weekend.”
“Gross, Xander.”
“So Phillips is at Marquette. That’s in Wisconsin. Where they have cheese.” She works a knuckle into a hollow near my spine until I wriggle. “And football.”
“Did you get his phone number?”
“I think we should go there. People are more forthcoming in person.”
“Have fun.”
“Like I’d ever let you stay home.”
“Xander, where will we get the money for a trip like that? It’s not like we can ask Dad for it.”
She’s silent as she works her fingers into a knot between my shoulder blades. For a second it hurts so much that I want to tell her to stop, but then it starts to loosen up, and I find I can take it. “We’ll let your back heal up a little before we go.”
“Gee, thanks. In the meantime I’ll build us a flying machine to get us there.”
“I’ll figure out that stuff.”
“I think we should try calling the guy, first,” I say.
“That’s why I’m the one who does all the thinking.”
Xander plunges her fingers into my lower back, and for a while I’m incapable of speech. I turn my head toward my dresser and see the red shirt Xander wants me to wear draped over my mirror. It’s a sexy little V-neck, with tiny pearl buttons down the front. It looks soft and comfortable, and not too showoffy. It’s pretty.
She’s probably right. It would look great on me.
But I’m not going to Wisconsin.