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Thursday after school Tyler, Blake and I go over to the new karate place to try to sell an ad. The guy who runs it, Mr. Raley, asks us to wait until class is over and he’ll talk with us. There are about twenty kids, maybe seven or eight years old, in white pajama things with different colored belts. They’re constantly yelling “Yes sir,” like it’s training for the Marines. We watch for about ten minutes while they kick and block and get into unnatural positions. Finally, they say a loud, unison “Yes, Sir!” and run off the mat.
Mr. Raley listens while we give our sales pitch.
“I’ll buy a full page ad if you get three new people to sign up for a month of lessons.”
“Anyone?” Blake asks.
“Anyone from Hamilton High School,” Mr. Raley says, then hurries over to start the next class which is already gathered on the mat.
Back in Tyler’s car, Blake says, “I bet we can find three people easy.”
“I’m not betting,” Tyler says.
“I know, I know. You only bet on sure things, like seed identification.”
“Maybe Shawna’d like to sign up for karate,” Blake says.
“No way. Shawna gives all her money to her mom, just so they have enough for food and rent.”
Blake asks the question that’s on my mind.
“How do you know?”
“We’ve been working in the same section of the nursery, repotting plants. It’s strange, but Shawna’s really different at work than she is at school. At work she likes to talk.”
“Does she come out from under her hair at work?” Blake asks.
“Yeah. She talks to Mrs. Shaefer a lot, but sometimes she talks to me, too. Mrs. Shaefer told me Shawna’d had a hard life, but I’m not sure what she meant.”
“She helps support her family?” I ask.
“Yeah. Well, her father’s in prison. I know that much. Plus she has three younger sisters and her mom has some kind of disease—diabetes I think.”
“I’ll try to be nicer,” I say.
“Me, too,” Blake says.
We go through a whole list of possibilities for karate sign-ups. It may not be so easy after all.
“How about your friend Amber?” Blake asks.
Lately it seems that almost every time I see Blake he eventually gets around to asking something about Amber.
“Amber’s mother would never let her take karate,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
“It’s not ladylike. Mrs. Brody’s got this thing about how Amber’s supposed to be ladylike.”
“What about volleyball?” Tyler says. “That’s not exactly something you’d see the Queen of England doing.”
“You don’t even know what Amber had to go through for her mom to let her play volleyball. For every hour on the court, Amber has to read the Bible for an hour. Not just read it either, but outline the major points of what she’s read.”
“Sounds like child abuse to me,” Blake says.
“Amber’s used to it. In a way, I think she sort of likes it. She’s learned a lot, anyway.”
“I’d rather read a seed catalogue,” Tyler says.
“Do you think she likes me?” Blake says.
I look at him, puzzled. What kind of “like” does he mean, anyway? Then I see how red his face is getting. I’m trying to picture Amber interested in Blake. It doesn’t fit.
“She laughed at something I said once. I think that means she likes me.”
“I laugh at what you say.”
“’Cause you like me, too,” Blake says.
“No way,” I tell him, leaning as far as my seat belt will allow and planting a kiss on Tyler’s cheek. “Just one man for me.”
“I’m way envious. The two of you have found love, and I’m still lonely and blue, left to love Amber from afar.”
It’s hard to tell when Blake is being serious and when he’s just fooling around, but he may be serious about liking Amber.
“Find out if she thinks I could be the man of her dreams,” he says.
“Give it up,” I tell him. “Amber’s through with men for a while.”
“Maybe the while’s up,” Blake says.
“Just mention Blake’s name to her,” Tyler says. “See what happens.”
“Okay,” I say. “But don’t expect anything.”
“Don’t expect anything. Don’t expect anything,’’ Blake mocks. “That’s what my mom always told me at Christmas time, and then I’d get everything I ever asked for.”
“I’m not your mom.”
“What about this? What about if the four of us go to Saturday’s football game together. You know, just casual,” Tyler says.
“Yeah! yeah!” Blake says, panting from the back seat.
“I think you’d have a better chance with Fiona Walters,” I say. Fiona Walters is the most beautiful, conceited girl at Hamilton High. Even Leonardo DiCaprio wouldn’t stand a chance with Fiona.
When we get to Blake’s house, just as he’s getting out of the car, Tyler says, “I could probably set you up with Shawna.”
“Who?” Blake says, as if he can’t believe his ears.
I expect to hear Tyler’s funny, snorting laugh any second, but he’s not kidding.
“Shawna Latham?” Blake says, incredulously.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe, but . . . I was hoping for someone I wouldn’t have to ask to wear a bag over her head . . .”
So much for being nicer, I think.
Tyler tells Blake, “That’s cold. She’s a nice person. Maybe if you looked beyond the surface, you wouldn’t be lonely and loveless.”
“Now look who’s being cold,” Blake says and gets out, slamming the door.
“I hate when people slam my car door,” Tyler says as we drive away.
“I can’t exactly see Blake and Shawna together,” I say.
“Because she’s not beautiful, like you?”
“Because she always seems to be in a bad mood.”
“Yeah, but you should see her at the nursery, babying plants along and singing to them.”
“Singing? Shawna?”
“Yeah. I think Blake might like her if he’d give her a chance.”
“I think Amber might like Blake, if she’d give him a chance. But I don’t think she will.”
We pull into the driveway at Grams’ house. Her car’s not there, so I guess she’s still substituting at the library.
“You want a soda?”
“Sure.”
We go into the house and I get two sodas from the refrigerator. We sit at the kitchen table, talking.
“It’s a big deal, being together a year,” Tyler says.
“Just a beginning,” I say.
He reaches for me. I get out of my chair and stand in front of him. He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me down on his lap. We kiss, a real kiss, not a passing kiss.
“I love you,” he says. “Love you, love you, love you.”
He runs his fingers lightly across my cheek and along my neck.
“You are so beautiful,” he says.
“I love you, Ty,” I say, wishing I could say more, find better words, newer words, but that’s all I know to say.
He glances at the clock on the wall.
“Can’t be late,” he says, gently pushing me away and standing up. One more quick kiss and he’s out the door.
I flop down in front of the tube and veg out with a blast of MTV. When the phone rings I rush to get it, but when I answer, no one answers back. I call Amber.
“Did you just try to call me?”
“No, but I was thinking about it.”
“I don’t know why people do that, call and then don’t talk.”
“Maybe it was the wrong number.”
“Probably, but couldn’t they just say so?”
“People have no manners these days. That’s what my mom
says.”
Even though Amber complains about her mom a lot, she’s always quoting her.
“Listen Amber, if I said Blake McCormack, what would you say?”
“I’d say, ‘Who’s Blake McCormack?”’
“You know, Tyler’s friend, the guy who’s always hanging out at Carole’s.”
“That’s half the senior class,” Amber says. “What’s he look like?”
“Well, he always wears a black baseball cap, backwards. Nice blue eyes, sort of a flat nose.”
“Kind of fat?”
“Well, a little chubby, maybe.”
“Ratty brown corduroy pants?”
“Well . . . he’s going to be a writer. He’s supposed to look ratty.”
“You’re going to be a writer and you don’t look ratty.”
“I’m going to be a journalist. That’s different. Blake’s going to be a poet. He’s actually named after a famous poet.”
Amber groans. “He’s strange, that’s what I think. Besides, I’m not in the market.”
“He’s a nice guy, though. And he’s funny. You like funny. And he seriously wants a girlfriend.”
“What diseases does he have?”
“Come on, Amber. Get over it. You’re not going to go the whole rest of your young years without a social life, are you?”
“Without a social life and with a social disease,” Amber whispers in the phone.
That gets us laughing. I love that about Amber and me. We can laugh over the worst stuff.
“Tyler suggested he ask Shawna out.”
“Shawna, from our class?”
“The same one.”
“Let me get this straight. This Blake guy is trying to decide between me and Shawna?”
“Tyler says she sings to the plants.”
“Shawna? I’d have to see it,” Amber says. “Maybe Mark, from peer communications, and Shawna should get together. That’d be a couple.”
“Leaving Blake for you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, think about it anyway. We could go to Saturday’s game together. Tyler and me and you and Blake.”
We talk for a while about peer communications and Snyder’s class, and about the rumor that Arielle Lunden is pregnant.
“That is so weak!” I say.
“I heard she wanted to get pregnant.”
“That is so stupid! How’s Arielle going to take care of a baby?”
“Don’t know,” Amber says. “I’m only telling you what I heard.”
“Change subjects,” I say.
“Okay.”
“I’m trying to figure out what to give Tyler for our anniversary. I want it to be something really special, that he’ll always remember.”
“Have you got enough money to buy him a leather jacket?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think he’d like that. I’d like to give him a little diamond earring, but he refuses to get his ear pierced.”
“Give him what he really wants,” Amber says.
“Amber! What a thing to say. You’re always talking anti-sex, but then you say something like that. I’ve told you, I’m staying a virgin until marriage.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll bet by the time you’re eighteen and a day, Tyler will have persuaded you to break your vow of virginity.”
“It’s a bet! Tyler’s decided that if I want to wait until marriage, that’s how it should be.”
“Oh, right. I wonder how long that will last.”
“That’s how much he loves me,” I tell her. “He doesn’t want to do anything that’s not right for me.”
“Give me a break.”
“You wouldn’t be so cynical if you let love into your heart,” I tell Amber.
“And that would be Blake?”
“Could be.”
“Show him to me tomorrow, so I’m sure we’re talking about the same person.”
“We’ll have so much fun! The four of us!”
“I’m not saying I’ll go out with him! I can’t this Saturday night, anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because, my mom won’t let me go out with anyone unless they ask at least a week in advance.”
“But the door isn’t locked, is it?”
“Speaking of doors,” Amber says, sidestepping the question. “I’ve got this information on Habitat houses . . .”
We talk for another hour or so, then I start my homework. Later, Grams comes in with Chinese food and we pig out in front of the news.
I’m back to my homework when the phone rings. I answer, and again it is no one. It gives me a shaky feeling, like something is wrong in my life, and I don’t know what it is.
When all of my homework is done, I stretch out on the bed to read from Angela’s Ashes. Frank McCourt has had a terrible life, with so many people he loves dying, and teachers being mean to him, and his own father deserting him. But he doesn’t seem to be bitter or resentful at all. I’d like to ask him how he keeps bitterness and anger out of his heart, but I’m sure he’s too famous to talk to me.
I’d like to talk to Charlotte Bronte about Jane Eyre, too. Why wasn’t Jane Eyre angry and bitter? That’s something I’m wondering about more and more these days. Why do I get so angry, when others, who have just as much right to be angry, are mellow and kind?
The phone rings. In a moment Grams is knocking on my door.
“Were you expecting a call?”
“Not especially,” I say.
“Surely Tyler’s not afraid to ask for you if I answer, even if it is after calling hours.”
“It’s not Tyler.”
“We should have an unlisted number,” Grams says. “Next year I won’t have them list it.”
Grams leaves and I try to go back to my reading, but I can’t concentrate. There is probably nothing to be nervous about, but I feel it, anyway.