The One That I Want

Suddenly depressed, I collapsed on the velvet settee in the corner, inhaling the slightly mildewed scent of the shop. In a much smaller retro top printed with satellites, I still cared what people thought of me. And it was still important to me to tell them I didn’t. Robert had asked me out, my dream come true, and I had moved on to fantasizing about a new guy I couldn’t have. I might have lost weight and made majorette, but nothing else had changed. I was back where I started.

“Are you ready for the big reveal?” Delilah called.

“Sure.” I hopped up from the velvet seat and raked open the lacy curtain. “Wow!” I exclaimed. “You look so classic!” I turned her around so we both looked down the hall at the three-way mirror. “And for something different, you could belt this.” I put my hands on either side of her waist in the flowered dress. “You could wear a scarf around your neck. I hope you’re buying it! Was I right or was I right?”

“You were right,” she acknowledged. “But wow yourself! That top is so you, and you look hot. Is this for your date tonight?”

“Definitely,” I said, grinning into the mirror.

“I can tell you really like him,” she said.

I watched my grin fade and my bare shoulder sag. “Sometimes two people are meant to be together,” I said. “We’re not.”

“Really?” she asked, peering at me with her brow knitted. “I could have sworn, the way you were acting—”

I interrupted her before she could draw out my feelings for Max. She thought we were talking about Carter. I didn’t mind talking about him at all. “Every date doesn’t have to be with The One, right? I can still go out with him and have fun.” Fun with Max, that is.

“Sure you can,” she said, but the perplexed expression stayed in her eyes. She knew I was leaving something out.

I changed the subject. “What about you? Are you dating? You never talk about it.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “You know how I get so worked up about baton performances? I act the same way around guys.”

“Guys make you faint?” I joked. Then I wished I hadn’t made the joke. It seemed that was exactly what she was saying.

“No!” She waved one hand as if this idea was ridiculous. “I never get that far. I just stay away from them.”

“I talked to Robert during band practice. He said you really laid into him about sending me that sympathy card before tryouts last April.”

She put her hand over her mouth. “Are you mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad! Just surprised. And it doesn’t sound like guys make you nervous.”

“When he sent you that card, it pissed me off!” she squeaked. “I’d watched the two of you laughing together. You lit up when you were around him, and he was so cute, doing that thing with his hair.” She jerked her head in her perfect imitation of Robert tossing the hair out of his eyes. “I was a little jealous, honestly, that you could talk to each other for hours like that. But he was always going out with some other girl he didn’t talk to! I thought it was a matter of time until you got together as a couple. I couldn’t believe he sent you that card, like he was trying to ruin your friendship.”

As I nodded, I glanced at myself in the mirror again. I was surprised at how grim I looked, lips pressed into a straight line. “He asked me out today.”

Delilah lit up. “He did?” she exclaimed. “Finally, Gemma! That is so great! Did you say yes?”

I shook my head.

She bit her lip. “Because of the card?”

“The card, and a lot of things,” I said. “Too much water has gone under that bridge.”

“He should have known better than to treat you that way. Maybe he learned his lesson.” She wrapped her arm around my waist. We gazed at ourselves in our decades-old clothes that fit us so well. “You look gorgeous, Gemma. You’re going to have so much fun on your date tonight. Go ahead and tell me this guy isn’t right for you. Maybe you even believe that yourself. But your heart is showing on your sleeve.” She rubbed my bare arm. “I don’t believe it for a second.”

11

“Cool shirt,” Max said.

“Thanks!” I exclaimed.

I had started getting ready for the date in plenty of time, I’d thought. But the top was so figure-flattering that I’d felt self-conscious about how the rest of me looked. I’d put my hair up, then down, and up, then down again. By the time I’d finally settled on a look, it was seven thirty. I wasn’t waiting outside when Max arrived, so he’d rung the gong doorbell.

I wasn’t sure whether he’d complimented my shirt to put me at ease while the stupid gong echoed in the marble entryway, or because he actually thought the shirt was cool. I was grateful to him regardless.

“It’s like the space race meets Studio 54,” he said.

“I thought you’d like it.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I felt my face turn red.

I must have embarrassed him, too, because he asked quickly, “Do I look foreign in this?”

“Hmm.” I considered him. The goatee was gone. His chin and cheeks were smooth again. It was so weird to think about him as much as I did all week, but to have no idea what he looked like from day to day. He was out living his life, and I was missing the whole thing.

I forced my eyes away from his face and examined him from head to toe, concluding, “Yes, you look foreign.”

“But it’s not the shirt, right? My shirt is in English.”

“It’s the necklace,” I said.

He fingered the round gold charm on a red cord. The cord was too tight for him to see the charm well. He tried to peer down at it with one eye closed. He looked adorable when he did this, and I wanted to kick myself for thinking so.

“And the shoes,” I said.

He held out a foot and looked at his sneaker. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”

“I’ve never seen that brand before. They don’t necessarily look Japanese. They might be German. Definitely foreign.”

“I bought them in New York.”

“In Atlanta, that’s foreign.”

“Touché.” He grinned at me.

I wondered whether he was making a joke about Addison’s comment from our dinner at the Varsity: Tissue? Tush? I didn’t ask because I had promised myself I wouldn’t dis Addison in front of him. He had promised not to present me with any more of his theories about my subconscious. With our usual subject matter off-limits, we laughed and talked about local bands all the way to the Fox without really saying a thing.

He was able to find a parking space pretty close to the theater. Bruce Lee was not a big draw at the Fox, apparently. Carter and Addison were waiting for us out front. Addison was wearing a minidress that was so tight I doubted she could breathe. My space-race-meets-Studio-54 top could not compete with her minidress. I had lost again. But this hardly registered, because I was so nervous about greeting Carter.

“Hey, Gemma,” he said, putting one hand on my waist and the other behind my bare shoulder, pulling me close. Before I could back away or yell, Fire! he kissed me on the mouth. He deepened the kiss, and I froze. I didn’t like being stared at on the busy sidewalk.

He finally broke away. The blinking neon lights of the theater facade flickered green across his face. He didn’t look apologetic or embarrassed. He looked triumphant, like he’d just won a game. Then he glanced over at Max.

Max stood at the ticket window, with Addison beside him. Their backs were toward us.

Nope, I wasn’t going to worry about it. I was through puzzling these boys out. Carter wanted to date me or he wouldn’t have asked. When he didn’t want to date me anymore, he would stop asking. I was just glad to be on a date with a handsome boy, at this beautiful theater, seeing an offbeat movie. And I was glad the show would start soon. Carter and I would have almost no dead space to fill with awkward conversation.

My luck got even better. Carter and I would have no dead space to fill. As soon as we all pushed through the outer door into the plush theater lobby, Addison grabbed me and said, “Gemma, come with me to the bathroom.”

At least, I’d thought this was great luck. I’d forgotten that Addison always had something choice to say when she dragged me to the bathroom and pushed me against the wall. This time it was the following:

“Stop paying your own way! It makes me look bad!” She turned to the mirror and ran her fingers underneath her eyes, smoothing her eyeliner, as if what she’d said should make perfect sense to me.

“I beg your pardon?”

She whirled to face me. “Don’t play dumb. You paid for your movie ticket. You paid for your concert ticket last week. You even paid for your salad or whatever the hell you ate at the pizza place. If you pay your own way, you make it look like I should pay my own way.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” I asked. “Max is paying his way and your way out of his referee money, I’m sure. That’s why I pay my way. I have my own money from teaching at the baton studio. Carter shouldn’t have to spend his referee money on me.”

“I don’t have a job!” she flung at me before stomping into a stall.

I stood facing the stall door. I had never been to summer camp because there were all these urban legends about mean girls putting hair remover in each other’s shampoo. I could not imagine someone being that evil, but I was absolutely certain that if this evil girl existed, she would be placed in my cabin, I would be her target, and I would go bald.

Suddenly I understood that evil girl. I wanted very badly to put hair remover in Addison’s shampoo.

Again, I remembered what Max had told me the week before. I avoided conflict so my relationships would not get complicated. But now was not the time to tell Addison how I felt. I wanted to damage her, and that might get me arrested.

I gritted my teeth and turned on my majorette grin, but it didn’t make me feel any happier. I walked back out to the boys, who were waiting for us in the lobby. I was glad that they were engrossed in conversation about kung fu movies. I could just listen to them and watch Max laugh without participating myself.

Carter draped his heavy arm around my shoulders. After a few minutes, when Addison emerged from the restroom, we went to take our seats. Carter kept his arm around me and steered me into the theater. As we sat down, he held my hand and didn’t let it go.

When Bruce Lee started making out with his on-screen lady, Carter leaned over and kissed me. I couldn’t will myself to enjoy it this time. As his tongue moved inside my mouth, Max’s voice was in the back of my head: Every time I looked over at you, he had his hands all over you, and you were letting him. And Max was right. I was tired of pretending to like Carter.

Carter broke the kiss and sat up straight. Beyond Carter’s broad body, Max stared at me with a scowl on his face. He turned back to the movie screen and didn’t look at me again. I was so preoccupied by what Max’s scowl had meant that I couldn’t focus on the rest of the movie.

Carter held my hand again as we walked out of the theater and down the street to a coffee shop. Ignoring the look Addison gave me, I ordered and paid for my own iced coffee. We all sat at a booth in the front of the shop overlooking the sidewalk. Carter put his arm around my shoulders again.

“How’s football practice going?” Addison asked. She sipped at the smoothie Max had bought her. Either she hadn’t figured out that football was a touchy subject for these boys, or she thought the drama would be entertaining.

“Max wouldn’t know,” Carter said.

Max rolled his eyes.

Addison turned to Max. “Have you been out sick?”

“No, he’s been at practice,” Carter said. “But he’s not really part of the team.”

“How can you say that?” I leaned away from Carter so that I could look at him—and slide out from under his arm. “The kicker is responsible for half the points in a lot of games.”

“Not in ours, he won’t be,” Carter said proudly.

I expected Max to have a witty comeback. But his shoulders sagged, and he looked out the window. He’d heard this verbal abuse so often that it didn’t even touch him anymore—or he was just waiting for it to be over.

Like with Addison and me.

I had had enough. “You’re saying most of your points are going to be touchdowns?” I asked Carter. “That’s a pretty big boast. If your running game falls apart, Max will be right there, waiting to save the game for you. That’s what the kicker is for. I still don’t see why you talk like he’s not part of the team.”

“He isn’t,” Carter insisted. “You think you know everything about football, Gemma, but you haven’t been to practice. We’re doing tackle drills the whole time. Hell, I’m the quarterback and I’m doing tackle drills. And where’s Max? Off on the sidelines, kicking, like he’s too good to practice with the rest of us.”

“But isn’t that what he’s supposed to be doing?” I asked. “Isn’t that what the coach is telling him to do?”

Max turned to Carter and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Maybe so,” Carter said, “but the coach doesn’t tell him to have this pretty boy, holier-than-thou attitude.”

Carter scowled, which made his whole face look twisted. His words were illogical, but the emotion behind them was very real. I knew he and Max had been friends forever. A little part of him hated Max for something. I doubted that something was Max being a kicker. Judging from my own relationship with Addison, I guessed the source of this argument was really jealousy over a prize Hot Wheels set when they were nine, or some mortifying slight one had committed against the other in front of a group of girls when they were twelve.