Pairing off seems to be the pursuit du jour, but you are not inclined in that direction.
Be your own person and enjoy!
I’m at home with my foot propped up on a pillow. The phone is ringing and I have to stretch across my bed and roll on my side to answer it. Man, that hurt. I have seven stitches right above my ankle. I watched the ER doc sew it up. Working in the tuxedo shop has made me an expert on sewing stitches. Looking at the ones on my ankle, I would have made the sutures a bit tighter and finished differently, but all in all, I’d give the doc a high grade.
He sent me home with crutches. The doctor said that by tomorrow the swelling will start to go down, so I’ll only need them for a few days.
I grab the phone off the handset and resettle myself on the bed before answering. I figure it’s Cherise calling to tell me how her “prediction” is coming true. I’ll say, “Lucky guess.” She’ll say, “Astrology isn’t about luck. It’s about knowing.” We’ll go back and forth like that for a while until we agree to disagree and move on to a more important topic, like the way our English teacher spits when he speaks.
I don’t even bother to look at the caller ID. I push “talk” and say, “Hey Cherise.”
It’s not Cherise.
“Hello.” “Hello.” Two voices at once. I can immediately tell that Tanisha and Jennifer are sharing a cell phone. They must have their heads together and are both trying to listen and talk at the same time. “Sylvie?” That one is Jennifer. “How are you?” asks Tanisha.
Do I really have to answer that? I’m injured. It’s painful.
“Fine,” I lie. “Just fine.”
“Does it hurt?” Jennifer asks.
“A little,” I mumble through clenched teeth, wondering where my father put the prescription painkillers.
“Well, you’re missing all the fun here,” Tanisha says.
“Hmmm,” I reply, not committing to the conversation. I find the bottle and pop one in my mouth. I chase it with a sip of water.
“Everyone’s talking about how gallant Adam is. The way he carried you through the school.” Jennifer sighs heavily. “They’re calling him Prince Charming.” She finishes with another romantic sigh.
“We dubbed him PC,” Tanisha adds. “And your PC’s the most popular boy at school right now. Gavin Masterson says he’s a shoo-in for the swim team.”
There’s a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach, and not because of the painkiller I just swallowed. Gavin Masterson is captain of the swim team and I dislike him intensely. I’m still bitter about all those times that Gavin swiped Cherise’s lunch money when we were in fourth grade.
For all her peace-loving, save-the-world stuff, I know for a fact that the one person Cherise can’t stand is Gavin Masterson. She dodges him in the hallway, averting her gaze, but I see the fire underneath. It’s been eight years, and we both still think Gavin is pond scum. I should warn Adam to keep his distance.
“Does Adam even swim competitively?” I wonder aloud. That would explain his chest and arm muscles, not that I’m still thinking about them or anything like that.
“He’s on his way to try out for the team this afternoon,” Tanisha explains. “Word is that he swam at his last high school. He’s even trained with some college guys and their Olympic coach! Now he wants to swim for us.”
An image of Adam in a Speedo flashes through my brain. I bite my lip to dispel the vision and better concentrate on what Jennifer is saying. I swear I taste blood. “Just think about it,” she rambles on, “you could wear the Cinderella design and Adam could dress like PC. I’m going to e-mail you the name of a costume shop that rents prince costumes. You can forward the name to him. It’ll be terrific.”
“What?” I missed something.
“You’re going to go to the Spring Fling Prom with Adam, aren’t you?” Tanisha asks in all seriousness.
My head is spinning, and I can’t be sure if it’s the painkillers or the conversation. “I just met him. I don’t know him. He hasn’t asked. I don’t want to go to the Spring Fling—”
“We gotta run,” Jennifer says, totally ignoring me. I can hear the school bell in the background. “Can’t be late to class. Bye.”
“Feel better, Sylvie!” Tanisha shouts right before I hear the click of the cell phone being snapped shut.
The next thing I know, the doorbell’s ringing. I’m groggy from napping and don’t bother moving. My ankle’s throbbing, and I know my father’ll answer the door: He closed the shop early to stay home with me. A few minutes ago, he poked his head in to see how my ankle was doing and asked if I needed anything. I didn’t. He sat on the edge of my bed for a minute. He glanced at my ankle and after a brief bit of silence said, “Well, if you need anything I’ll be in the living room.” Then he left.
I wish I understood my father better. This isn’t the first time he’s sat on my bed as if he had something to say and then left without saying it. He did it the day my mother died and the day I graduated junior high. He did it the afternoon my SAT scores came and the morning his tuxedo shop won a citywide award for best service.
I figure it’s just his way. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing he’d actually talk to me instead of sitting there in silence. When I was little, I’d pepper him with questions, but after a time, when he didn’t answer with more than one or two words, I stopped trying. On those rare occasions when he came to me, like he did today, I’d always wait to see if he was going to say anything, and when he didn’t, I’d simply let him go. After all these years of not speaking, we’ve come to a place where we live together but have completely separate lives.
“Sylvie,” my father calls down the hall as if he knows I’m thinking about him. “You have a visitor.”
I peek over at the clock on my night-stand. School’s been out for a while. I’m bummed I didn’t make it to the café today, especially since I told Tyler I was definitely going to be there. Assuming Cherise still went with her brother, they’d be done by now. I figure my visitor must be Cherise. Who else would it possibly be?
“Send her in,” I holler back, propping myself up in the bed.
“I’m not a her.” Adam walks into my room. “I’m a him.”
I’ve got to stop assuming it’s always Cherise. Suddenly, I have other visitors. I should be more prepared.
I quickly run a hand over my hair. I’m sure I look atrocious from lying in bed all afternoon. All these years, I’ve never put too much stock in what my hair or makeup look like. But right this second, I care. At the very least, I wish I had a little lip gloss. Or even some Chapstick. Damn.
“Don’t worry, Sylvie.” Adam walks over to the bed. “You look great to me.”
I wish he wouldn’t be so nice. Really. He’s making it hard for me to remember that I’m not interested in boys or dating.
“I saw Cherise.” Adam puts a stack of papers on the nightstand. “She went to all your teachers and got your homework assignments. I offered to play delivery boy.” He crosses over to my desk and pulls out the chair. Obviously, he’s decided not to sit on the bed. A good decision. I’ve been napping and have no idea what my breath smells like.
“Where is Cherise?” I ask. As long as he is keeping his distance, I feel free to talk. My breath will stay in my space. “I thought she might come by.”
“She’ll be by later,” Adam tells me. “She said she had a few things to do this afternoon.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Like what?” I wonder aloud.
“She said she had to check something. Phase two or part two. Something like that,” Adam says with a shrug and I shudder to think what she’s up to. “Cherise is cool. After I took you to the nurse,” Adam goes on, “I met her in the hall. She introduced herself to me and asked if I wanted to have lunch. While we were eating, she told me all about—”
“Lunch?” I cut in. I might have spoken a little suddenly, but the outside world is spinning at light speed and I’m trapped in my room with my ankle on a pillow. Cherise doesn’t eat with anyone but me. And her shadow, Tyler, of course.
“I like Cherise,” Adam admits freely. “We hung out a lot today.” I’m stunned. “In fact, we ate together with the whole swim team.” Suddenly, he punches the air, full of excitement. “Did you hear I tried out today? It went so well, they offered me a spot on the team right there in the locker room!”
“Congrats,” I say, but my heart isn’t in it. I should be oozing happiness and excitement for him, but I just can’t get over the fact that Cherise ate lunch with Adam and the swim team today. The swim team, for goodness’ sakes.
I have more than a million questions about their lunch conversation, starting with, “I didn’t know you swam?” continuing with, “Did Cherise really have lunch at the same table as Gavin Masterson?” and ending with, “Tyler always eats with Cherise and me. Was Tyler there, too?” (Answers: No, Gavin wasn’t at lunch today. And no, Tyler didn’t want to join them. He sat alone instead.)
My next question is on the tip of my tongue (“Did Cherise mention astrology?”), but the question never has a chance to be verbalized. I’m effectively silenced when Adam grabs his backpack and opens it up. “Let’s do our chemistry homework together,” he suggests.
Adam gets out his papers and heads toward the bed. I scoot up a little more on my pillows, not quite comfortable with the fact that Adam’s in my room. I mean I’ve never had a boy in my bedroom before, unless you count the one and only time Tyler came down with Cherise. We were about eleven years old and played a marathon game of Monopoly.
It’s really awkward to be confined to bed with some guy your classmates are calling Prince Charming hovering over you. I almost expect him to lean over and try to kiss me. That’s what happened in “Cinderella.” Or was it “Sleeping Beauty”? “Snow White”? Ugh. Adam has me all confused.
In fact, I so expect a “Prince Charming kiss,” that I swear my eyelids droop on their own, my lips begin to separate slightly, just like a movie starlet of black-and-white films. I can’t control my own physical impulses.
I wait expectantly as, holding his homework in his hand, Adam moves in closer. And closer.…