Blaze (13 page)

Blazefire22
: SECOND date – sorta. And I totally blame that sext you sent! It made him think I was asking for it!

AmandaSweetie68
: u were the 1 acting all obsessed I didnt tell u 2 sleep with the guy.

TerriAngel445
: Mandy’s right, B, I mean, what were you thinking?

Blazefire22
: I was thinking that I want to be Mark’s girlfriend!

AmandaSweetie68
: gd luck with that now

Blazefire22
: Ack! This is your damn fault, Amanda!!

AmandaSweetie68
: srously? i tried 2 help u and this is how u act? f u blaze!

Blazefire22
: OMG You guys!

Blazefire22
: Help! He can’t just blow me off!

Blazefire22
: I need to fix this!

Blazefire22
: Hello??

Blazefire22
: WTF!

TerriAngel445
: I’m still here. You know Mandy still blames you for the whole Stu debauchale.

Blazefire22
: It’s ‘debacle’ and it was totally not my fault.

TerriAngel445
: You begged her to go to the soccer match.

Blazefire22
: I never promised her Stu!

TerriAngel455
: She says you talked her into throwing herself at bald Tony.

Blazefire22
: I wanted to enjoy my date with Mark. She was pouting. Do you think she sent Mark that photo just to get even with me?

TerriAngel445
: You guys will work things out.

Blazefire22
: I can’t believe she’s really this pissed at me.

TerriAngel445
: U know how she is. She’ll ignore you for a few days and then get over it.

Blazefire22
: Right, but I need her to help me sort this thing out!

TerriAngel445
: Maybe she hoped youd get embarrassed the way she did.

Blazefire22
: I don’t care about embarrassed! I think I’m in love with him Terri.

TerriAngel445
: I wouldn’t share that with anyone until you know where things stand. Maybe you should worry a little about embarrassed.

Blazefire22
: OK. Got it. I’ll keep feelings to myself. I’ve gotta go give Josh a ride.

TerriAngel445
: Try not to stress over this whole thing, ok.

Blazefire22
: K

Yeah, right. Everything’s K.

Josh lucks out because I feel an urgent need to get the hell out of the house and driving him to Ajay’s is as good an excuse as any. When we get there he gives me a “Thanks,” leaps out, and runs for the front door. I look behind me as I back up Superturd and nearly have a heart-attack when a woman’s voice screams out “Wait!”

I slam on the brake, terrified I’ve run over a pet of some sort.
I’m never giving in to Josh’s begging again
, I think, but when I turn, Ajay’s Mom is trotting toward me, smiling.

“Blaze!” she says when she gets to my open window. “I keep missing you when you drop Ajay off, and I’ve been meaning to give you some gas money.” She produces a yellow envelope.

“It’s fine, really,” I tell her. “My mom gave me a gas card so—”

“Well, just think of it as payment for your time, then. It cannot be fun getting stuck driving your little brother and his friends around all the time.”

I swallow and whisper, “Thank you,” as I take the money. I back slowly down the driveway, trying not to think of the way Mark was supposed to save me from my miserable soccer mom existence.

I can’t help but drive past his house. I ache for him. His truck isn’t in front, which is probably for the best. It’s not like I can just walk right up and knock on the door. I don’t seem to have girlfriend rights, after all.

In comics, it’s easy to figure out who the good guys are and who’re the bad guys. It would be really helpful if real life could be a little more like that.

• • •

I wander blindly through the mall, just killing time before I pick up Josh. I feel so lost and beaten down. If Mark is blowing me off, I’ve just wasted my virginity on… nothing.

I pass Sector Comics! and think of the ruined
Silver
Surfer
again. I feel a rush of rage wash over me. Who the hell does that Comic Book Guy think he is? He thinks he can intimidate me? I’ll bet I know comics better than he does.

Turning back toward the store, I stride courageously through the archway. Comic Book Guy is standing behind the counter, and his automatic default annoyance at anyone invading his dominion shifts to a more neutral sourness when he sees it’s me.

“Do you have
Silver
Surfer
#2 from the 1987 series?” I ask, feeling my boldness falter as his light brown eyes pierce me.

Comic Book Guy’s hair is messy, but not the sort of messy some guys obviously construct on purpose. It’s just genuinely, adorably messy. Looking me up and down, he raises one eyebrow at my messenger bag with its superhero buttons. Wordlessly, he walks away, pulls a binder off the shelf, and walks back to me, flipping through plastic sheathes.

“Number two, got her right here.” He pulls out a plastic-wrapped mint copy of the comic and places it on the counter between us. “What do you want with it?”

“Um, I’d like to
buy
it,” I say sarcastically.

“For your
boyfriend
?” he taunts.

Which is like a trigger word for me right now. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I’m almost happy to have a target for all my misery. “You think girls can’t enjoy comics?”

“Fine, then. Who’s your favorite superhero?”

“Jean Grey,” I counter quickly.

“Okay. So, what’s your favorite issue?”

I meet his gaze. “
The
Uncanny
X-Men
number one-three-eight, from October of 1980.”

His forehead jumps, so I go ahead and seal his admiration by quoting, “Hear me X-Men! No longer am I the woman you knew! I am FIRE! And LIFE INCARNATE! Now and forever… I am PHOENIX!”

A smile tugs at his mouth, and I see his hands move toward each other as if they want to applaud. Instead, he folds them calmly over the stack of comics he was organizing. “I’m sort of into classic Marvel,” I confess, and he launches into a series of rapid-fire questions, designed to trip me up:

“What was the first comic ever published by Marvel?”

“
Golden
Age
Human
Torch
.”

“What was Wolverine’s first appearance?”

“
The
Incredible
Hulk
#180 includes a cameo of Wolverine on the final page, but issue #181 is generally accepted as his first official appearance.”

“Who is the Scarlet Witch’s twin brother?”

I feign a yawn and answer, “Quicksilver. Aka Pietro Maximoff.”

I’m seriously enjoying myself as I nail answer after answer. I notice that when he talks, Comic Book Guy has a small, disappearing dimple just under the left side of his mouth. Our eye contact is unwavering. Neither of us is getting tired of this game. “Who confronted the Avengers when they were sent back to nineteenth century by Kang?”

“Five Wild West heroes.” I smile and add. “Including Ghost Rider who is,
bonus
point,
called Night Rider in that series.”

“Wow.” He grins and actually does give a few claps. I blush and confess, “I feel like I cheated on that bonus point. I’m named after Johnny Blaze.”

“Your name is Johnny?”

I shove at him from across the counter, surprised by how naturally playful it feels. He asks what I thought of the
Ghost
Rider
s, and I’m shocked he remembers what I bought. He squints. “You look sort of familiar, to be honest.”

I’m afraid he might remember the big fight my dad had with the old manager and quickly claim, “I just have that sort of face.”

He studies it a moment. “No. You don’t.”

I dip my head, but my smile sets my cheeks on fire.

By the time I’m ready to leave I’ve discovered Comic Book Guy is less than a year older than me and taking classes at Butler Community. His actual name is Quentin, although he’ll always sort of be Comic Book Guy to me. I’ve also procured the replacement
Silver
Surfer
issue, for a fair price after a bit of haggling, and have received an open invitation to come back and talk comics anytime.

When I tell him I’m interested in some part-time work, he says, “We could really use someone with your knowledge to organize our overstock. I’ll talk to the boss.” Quentin smiles and I’m drawn in by that mischievous dimple. For a moment. I turn to go, reminding myself that my heart belongs to Mark. And if Mark ends up breaking it, I’m never offering it to anyone else.

But I still get a little thrill when I glance back and see Quentin is watching me walk away.

Our annual pilgrimage to Ohio, aka Mema Sissy–land, is coming up next weekend, but I’m still holding out hope that Mark will ask me out. In fact, I’m getting nearly cross-eyed from watching for him to write or call or text me. I’ve decided I’ll feign illness and ditch the trip to Mema’s. But I’ll need to play it just right, since Mom’s a pro, and I must seem to be getting sick but still well enough to go to school, so Mark can actually ask me out.

He’s probably just keeping things on the down-low on account of Josh being so against the two of us dating.
Or maybe he’s just blowing me off now that I let him swipe my V-card.

By Thursday, I’m beginning to suspect the worst.

“Am I visible?” I ask Terri, holding my hand up in front of my face and waggling my fingers just to be sure.

“Of course you are,” Terri says. “Otherwise, everyone would be staring at me talking to myself right now.” We stand just outside the flow of students switching to their final class for the day.

“Has Amanda given any indication of how long she plans to ignore me?”

“She did ask how you’re doing with the whole Mark thing.” Terri shifts her backpack to her other arm. “I’m thinking that’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, great sign.” I sigh. “All that means is that Mark ignoring me is so obvious that even though Amanda is also completely ignoring me, she can still tell Mark’s ignoring me.”

“Maybe he’s just been really busy and distracted?” Terri is trying to be helpful, which makes me feel even worse.

“I just lost my virginity to the guy!” I whine. “I can’t believe he hasn’t spoken to me, let alone asked me out this weekend. I mean, I’ll take an email forward at this point.”

“It’s only Thursday. Maybe he’s just waiting until the last minute to make plans with you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I say. “But how sad is it to hope that he’s a thoughtless procrastinator who assumes I’m such a loser I won’t have other plans this weekend?”

“He’s a guy.” Terri shrugs. “What can you do? Let’s just hope it’s the procrastination thing.”

“Right,” I sigh. It’s probably my best shot.

• • •

Mark may be a thoughtless procrastinator, but that isn’t the reason he didn’t ask me out. That is, unless he’s put it off for so long that he runs out of time and just assumes it’s too late when he gives a wave good-bye from his pickup Friday afternoon.
Right
. That’s what happened.

I drop my whole getting sick routine after school on Friday, since going with Josh and Mom to Mema’s sounds infinitely less pitiful than sitting around all weekend being ignored by Mark. A part of me still hopes he’ll call or text or IM or email, but hoping so hard is wearing me out.

Maybe
if
I’m not so available he’ll assume I’m mysterious and want me that much more
. As if he’ll even be able to tell the difference between my sitting at home stalking my inboxes or being off in Ohio. Too bad there’s no good way of pointing out to a person how aloof you’re being.

As usual, we leave for Mema’s so early I stay in my pajamas. I let Josh have shotgun as Mom drives so I can stretch out across the back bench seat and sleep. I usually do really well with sleeping in the minivan on long trips. I can nod off almost anywhere and in any position. But this time I’m haunted by what Mark and I did in this very spot. My mind traces over every second of our date, searching for what ruined everything. Things had seemed so perfect. I picture him lying under me, making small circles on my breasts with his tongue.

I spring up and move to the middle row.

Pushing my knapsack against the window as a pillow, I manage to drift into a trance. I’m not sure if I sleep or not, but by the time we get to Mema Sissy’s my mouth seems coated with latex. At least I’ve managed to string together a few moments when my gut didn’t ache with emptiness and Mark wasn’t fully and completely the only thing on my mind.

• • •

“… and did you see what he did to my poor Blessed Virgin?”

We’re sitting around the table at Mema’s, and she’s giving us a blow-by-blow account of all the transgressions committed by her gardener. “I asked him to please give her a good cleaning, and the next thing I knew, he’d sent her out to be touched up.” She lowers her voice. “And they tarted her makeup up like a little whore.”

Josh is about to squirt mashed potatoes out his nose as he tries not to laugh. We’re gorging on Mema’s home cooking, which doesn’t include any of my three specialties: burnt, soggy, and tasteless. Josh hisses under his breath, “Mary in the half-shell, that little slut.”

Which makes me need to focus on not completely losing it.

Mema’s pair of mini dachshunds happily catch the bits of garlicky grilled chicken she drops to them. “Please pass the mashed,” she says, and I hand her the ceramic bowl loaded with more potatoes than twelve people could eat in one sitting. She asks, “Now, Blaze, honey, what’s new with you?”

Josh coughs to cover up his laughter, but I keep my sniggers under control, “Nothing, really, Mema, I—”

“Oh, Blaze has a new boyfriend,” Mom cuts in enthusiastically, which makes me turn my wide-open mouth toward her. “What?” Mom gives me an innocent look. “You’re dating Josh’s coach, I thought. That night you had your little joke with me on the phone. It sounded like you were having a good time.”

You
have
no
idea
, I think, but only say, “It was fine, but I don’t think that necessarily means he’s my boyfriend.”

“You can say that again,” Josh growls, nearly to himself. I bore holes in him with my electromagnetic mindwaves, but I can’t grill him about what he means. The dinner table at Mema’s is a confrontation-free-zone. I’m talking, not even my
parents
ever fought at Mema’s table, and we had visits during times when all they
did
was fight.

“Well, what’s this boy’s name, dear?” Mema asks, and instead of disrupting things, I bow my head and answer her. “Mark.” Just uttering his name makes the idea of he and I together seem real and impossible at the same time.

Josh gives a deep sigh.

“Oh, well! Mark is a wonderful saint!” Mema starts in about Saint Mark, who is apparently, like, one of Jesus’s top guys or something, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that there is no way the Mark I went out with is any kind of saint.

And
I
should
know.

I’m more annoyed at Mom than she probably deserves as I watch her kissing up to my Dad’s mother. She loves to do this—feeding Mema little tidbits of gossip as if Mema is a wiggling little wiener dog and our lives are minced up garlicky chicken.

It makes me wish I’d just stayed home and stalked my empty inbox.

• • •

“What the heck do you have against Mark?” I ask Josh as soon as I get him alone in the living room. Mema’s dachshunds wiggle around our feet, hoping we’ll create laps for them to snuggle into.

“Don’t you mean Saint Mark?” Josh holds his palms together and raises his chin in mock reverence.

“Josh, seriously, I—”

“Hey, do we know them?” His eye catches the row of frames standing along a shelf above Mema’s boxy television. A few hold photos of me and Josh when we were younger, but the majority show the happy, handsome people who came included with the frames.

“Don’t change the subject,” I warn. “I want to know what the deal is with your coach. What did you say to him about me?”

Josh says, “Do you think Mema forgets and thinks these people are related to her?” He waves a frame toward me that holds a black-and-white photo showing a mob of children surrounding a woman in a bridal gown. “Clearly they’re mini-cannibals, just look how happy they are.”

Scooping up an elated dachshund, I tell Josh, “I want to know what’s up with Mark.”

“I’m not sure that you do, sis.” Josh puts the frame back and crosses his arms at me.

I sigh, slump back on the couch, and look up at Mema’s yellowed ceiling. “Fine,” I say as the dachshund on my lap promptly falls asleep. “How about if in exchange for full disclosure I’ll give you a ride to wherever you want on a day when I really don’t want to.”

Josh looks at me skeptically. “Based on the boulder-holder incident in the van, anything I have to say will just be hurtful at this point.”

“I can take it,” I say with certainty, but as Josh drops his head and takes a deep breath I realize I’m not so sure. My heart does flips and I absentmindedly stroke the warm wiener dog sleeping on my lap as Josh lays out Mark’s character details.

Apparently, Mark already has a super power after all. But it’s not healing.

Mark has the power to pick up girls, and he is extra-especially super at picking up blondes. Accepting the stream of human Barbie dolls my brother describes is beyond my mental and emotional capacity. Apparently Mark has a girl at nearly every school the varsity soccer team plays, which is why he didn’t invite me to an away game for our date. He’s like some mutant strain of hook-up guy. I think of the girls at school who are “known past affiliates.” With a shudder I realize that they are, without exception, blondes.

But surely I don’t fit into their category of
blonde
blondes.
I’m an accidental blonde, and my hair’s usually up in a messy ponytail anyway. The girls Mark has hung out with are bottle blondes who wear their hair in actual styles. Still, as things stand, unless Mark has a major character makeover, becoming his main sidekick is starting to seem outside the realm of possibility. According to Josh, Mark’s profile looks something like this:

His profile doesn’t exactly draw a promising picture.

I’m having a hard time breathing and my vision is going all wonky and that’s when Josh squints at me and makes his final confession. His fight with Mark during the soccer game the other day was about dating me.

“I just couldn’t help myself after seeing your bra in the van,” he says. “I warned Coach to stay the hell away from you.”

“Oh my God! Josh!” I stand up and the surprised wiener dog summersaults awkwardly onto the couch.

“I’m really so sorry, Blaze.” Josh clearly means it, but of course I’m still obligated to reach over and give him a knuckle punch in the thigh as hard as I can.

POW!

Josh drops to the carpet with a
Thump!
“Unnnngh.”

As he writhes back and forth, holding his dead leg, he concedes, “I did have that one coming.”

“Damn straight you had that coming,” I hiss, low enough so Mema won’t come charging in with a bucket of Holy Water.

Through my blind fury at my brother I recognize a lightning bolt of shining hope. This must be the reason Mark hasn’t been in touch. He still really likes me. He’s just minding my brainless little brother.

Once Josh is able to sit up he says, “I’m sorry, sis. Mark is just such a dirtbag. I was trying to protect you.”

Before I can give him a second dead leg, Mema and Mom come into the room complaining to each other that they ate too much. Josh and I quickly move to sit side by side on the couch and the dachshunds happily accept the gift of our laps.

At Josh’s look of misery I take pity and whisper for him to stop worrying. “I’ll get over Mark.”

But all I can focus on is the fact that I need to break through that anti-girlfriend force field. When Mark sees how fully committed I am he’ll forget all about Josh’s outburst and see that we can still be together.

After all, even Tony Stark made a great boyfriend when he was with the right girl.

• • •

After everyone has gone to sleep, I find myself peering into the crazy-intense magnifying mirror my grandmother keeps on her bathroom counter. Apparently Mema is half-blind, because I’m looking at my skin at a level of detail nobody should see. I find the beginnings of a small pimple under my chin and alternate a hot water compress with squeezing until a pearl of yellowish cream finally finds its way through my pore. “I knew you had it in you,” I say. Which, I know, is not normal, but I don’t get all that many zits, so it’s totally okay that I talk to them.

I splash my face with cold water to close my pores and am invigorated by the icy slap. Now that I know about Josh’s interference I’m feeling pretty hopeful about becoming Mark’s girlfriend. I mean, Tony Stark had his Meredith McCall, right? Well, and then he had Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanova, and Madame Masque. But there’s also Bethany Cabe, right? Bethany helped Tony overcome his alcoholism. Just like I’m going to help Mark overcome his addiction to blondes. I just need to do a bit of strategizing.