Blaze (14 page)

I do have the advantage of spending all that time driving him around in Superturd playing Cows, which means we’re already sort of friends. I smile at the image of us laughing together as we competitively searched for farm animals. Cabe and Tony Stark were friends first when she was acting as his bodyguard. I mean, sure, she hated Iron Man, which is technically the same thing as hating Tony, but that’s before she realized—I have to stop myself.

Focusing on the fictional romantic lives of comic book characters will in no way help me win Mark. I just have to convince him what I already know in my heart; we’re destined to be together. Now I just need a plan of evil genius proportions.

I spend the whole next day floating around Mema’s house, smiling at my family members and facilitating dachshund naps while silently constructing my Ultimate Scheme for Total Mark Domination.

The first step of my plan includes a rigorous study regimen that will make me an expert on all things soccer. If Mark loves soccer,
and
does
he
ever
, I will learn to love soccer. Seeing how my brother is a great player, not to mention a gigantic soccer fan, it shouldn’t be all that tough. Once Mark realizes all the interests the two of us have in common, it will be smooth sailing in the seduction department.

I also figure that one of the greatest advantages I have in my arsenal is sitting right on top of my head. That being: the Power of Blonde. This is not a power I have ever tapped into, despite having been a blonde all my life. But if there was ever a time to call upon my hair’s unique hue supremacy, that time is now.

A new schedule of waking up early to blow-dry, style, and fluff my hair to release its inner Mark-drawing energy will be replacing my current daily routine of sleeping in until the last minute and pulling everything up in an elastic band on my way to school.

Beyond that, there will be no point in
literally
losing sleep over my hairstyle if Mark isn’t going to see it. Mark’s school schedule doesn’t naturally overlap mine, but if I can figure out his daily routine I can make it a point to see him more often. Our senior class is small, but our school building is made up of sprawling, interconnected hallways. Six basic corridors are joined together by Habitrail-like glass enclosures that we all scurry through at the bell’s command. Seeing Mark between classes is just a matter of figuring out which Habitrail to run through and when. This is the portion of my plan that might require a bit of assistance. I think of Amanda and Terri.

Based on former pissy-fits, I’m fairly certain Amanda will be finished ignoring me by Monday. It’ll be mortifying if the two of them help me with my plan and Mark blows me off anyway, but if I can get him to be my boyfriend it will be worth the risk of utter humiliation. Besides, becoming Mark’s girlfriend will officially de-slut-ify me in my friends’ eyes once and for all.

I finally make my way to bed, where one of Mema’s dachshunds pleads to join me until I lean over and scoop her up. She burrows happily underneath the covers, and I envy her ability to drop immediately off to sleep.

My mind continues racing. It’s focused on the way my boring soccer mom life completely changed the moment Mark stepped into Superturd that first time. He needs to know how much he means to me. We belong together. It’s the strongest I’ve ever felt about anything.

It’s over an hour later before I finally join the dachshund in dreamland.

• • •

Blazefire22
: Hello?

Blazefire22
:…

Blazefire22
: You in or what?

I’ve laid out my plan for Terri in an IM, and I chew on my lip while waiting for her to write back. It’s perhaps not my smartest move, what with the way people can just ruin lives by cutting and pasting things into FriendsPlace, not to mention forwarding to the entire school’s email address book. That happened to Wiggles once. But, hey, it’s not like I’m soliciting sexual favors the way she does. I’m just asking for a little help, and I need to start trusting somebody sometime. Also, Terri is currently my only friend not blocking my email.

TerriAngel445
: You sure you want do this? Maybe Mark’s not the monogomous type.

Blazefire22
: It’s ‘monogamous,’ and you don’t understand. We have a true connection.

There is a long pause. Finally, I type:

Blazefire22
: Pleasepleaseplease?

Pause.

Blazefire22
: If we hack into his school account, we can get his schedule and coordinate this the right way.

TerriAngel445
: well… since you’re so truly connected do you have a guess what his password is?

And that’s when I know I have her. With Terri’s competitive drive engaged, we are doing this. Operation Total Mark Domination begins right away. It takes a while, but by trying all the soccer terms I find via Google, we guess Mark’s password: nutmeg. It’s what they call it when a player puts the ball right between an opponent’s legs.

I ignore Terri’s “nutmeg = ew,” response to his password and tell her to, “call me!!” because Mark’s class schedule pops right open.

By cross-referencing both of our schedules with a map of the school, Terri and I figure out a way I can flip my blonde hair in Mark’s face at least once between each and every class except second period study hall on Thursdays. Terri will have to meet me with my science book before fourth period since I won’t make it to my locker and back in time to see Mark enter room 206. Plus, I’ll either be late to gym class or
very
late to gym class, depending on whether or not I can draw Mark into a conversation. Or maybe even a mini-make-out session in the hallway. Which would be the ultimate victory and make all this totally worth it.

Before we hang up the phone Terri says, “You know this is crazy, right?”

“But crazy-romantic, isn’t it?”

Terri pauses, “I’m pretty sure it’s just plain crazy-crazy, but you never know, Mark may like psychotic stalker girls.”

“That’s right!” I jump on her tiny bit of positivity. “You never know.”

Monday morning I get up at dawn so I can blow-dry my hair to within an inch of its life. I tell Josh I’m heading to school extra-super-early, and he opts to sleep in and take the bus.

“Impressive hair,” Terri says when I pick her up. “You’re sure about this?”

I nod, and my hair moves independently, making me feel like a bobble-head. “Super-sure,” I say.

“Well, I admire your determination. And seriously, if running into Mark every forty minutes doesn’t get his attention, that hair certainly will.”

“Thanks!” I grin, but I’m getting the sense that as my sidekick, Terri doesn’t fully believe in our mission. Mapping out a detailed obstacle course in order to
literally
chase a boy down probably goes against her feminist roots. I mean, her mother made everyone at her tenth birthday party wear buttons that said, “Barbie is a tool of the man.” But she doesn’t comment, and I’m grateful for her help.

Terri’s not half the flirt Amanda is, but she does have all those sisters, so we have a ceremony wherein she bestows all the wisdom passed on to her in a quick flirting tutorial in the bathroom before school. Her main points are (1) I shouldn’t go with my instincts to give Mark my huge, geeky smile and wave each time we pass each other and (2) Honestly, she really means it,
no
on the huge, geeky smile.

With Terri’s coaching, I practice looking flirty in the mirror until the first bell rings.

“Let’s go, lioness,” says Terri patting at my huge blonde mane. “You’ll be fine.”

For my first Mark encounter, I pretend to be completely unaware of his presence, even though I know exactly when and from what direction he’s approaching. At the last possible moment before he passes I dip my chin toward him and look up through my eyelashes the way Terri coached me. I give my head the slightest shake and feel my puffy mane sway back and forth. Mark’s eyebrows shoot up, and I’m rewarded with his classic smile-bop combination. He even turns back for a second look.

I geeky-grin to myself as I walk/run back down the hallway toward class, thinking,
this
is
going
to
be
easy.

Of course, I’m totally wrong.

I’m late to three classes, since Terri and I severely overestimated how fast I could walk/run through the school’s crowded glass Habitrails. A few times, I need to break into all-out sprints, my shoes clacking as my giant puff of blondeness hangs onto my head for dear life. By the end of the day I’ve gotten two official teacher warnings and numerous dirty looks, plus I’ve nearly lost an eye colliding with Catherine Wiggan’s airbag chest. Mark’s casual greetings and one actual warm “Hey, Blaze,” (
between
periods
three
and
four
) slowly morph into slight puzzlement at my suddenly appearing everywhere. Make that, suddenly appearing everywhere
and
disheveled
and
out-of-breath.

When the final bell sounds, I’m thrown entirely off course when Ryan breaks the unspoken protocol between us and approaches me at my locker instead of waiting to see me in the student lot. My Mark-stalking-mission has no time for Ryan and his annoying random trivia.

“Hey, Blaze, you sure seemed busy today.” He is mesmerized by my hair.

“Um, yeah.” I need to get out to the lot in zero-point-eight minutes if I want to give Mark a final casual nod before leaving for the day.

“So, have you gotten a chance to look at that
Daredevil
yet?” Ryan is unbelievably present.

“Oh, that!”
Point
four
minutes.
“I’ll get that back to you just as soon as I finish.”

“Oh, no need to rush. It’s not like I need to read it again right away.” Ryan is trying so hard to lure me into a conversation it’s painful. “Oh yeah, Blaze? I’ve been meaning to ask… did you know most dust particles are made up of dead skin?”

He’s hopeless
. “Sorry, Ryan, I’ve really got to bolt.” I place a hand on his arm, which seems to distract him. “I’ll be sure to catch you later, though.”

I fling my body into my jacket as I run out the doors of the school, toward the student lot. My feet cycle at top speed until I spot Mark and Stu walking together toward Mark’s pickup. I brake hard. They’ve already passed my minivan. My window for a Mark encounter is closed for the day.

I feel deflated. Although, thanks to all the hair products I used this morning, my hair is still nice and fluffy. I watch Mark and Stu say good-bye, but just before he climbs into his pickup Mark’s eyes dart over toward Superturd. My heart starts
ba-bumping
faster.
Is
he
looking
for
me?
That glance sparks unthinkable boldness in me. I stand up straight and fast-walk directly to the driver’s side door of Mark’s pickup. He’s putting on his glasses when I tap on the window, startling him.

“Hi, Mark,” I shout through the glass, at which point I realize I have no idea what the heck I’m going to say to him. Terri and I should’ve made plans beyond ‘flirty eyes.’ He smiles and rolls down his window, too fast for me to get any interesting ideas.
No
wonder
Ryan
always
approaches
me
prepared
, I think as I smile dumbly.

“Hey there, how’s it going?” I shake my big hair, hoping to distract him.

“’Kay,” Mark shrugs and looks at me through his glasses pleasantly, but expectantly.

T
hink, Blaze, think.
I’m about to repeat Ryan’s disgusting trivia about skin-dust when I finally think of something. “Oh yeah!” I nearly shout, resting my hand on the door of Mark’s truck. “I just wanted to see what you thought of the World Cup this year?” I Googled enough about soccer to know that the big finals were called the World Cup, but then I’d gotten distracted by pictures of well-muscled players in action, so I don’t know a single World Cup detail.

Mark raises one brow. “Um, it’s not happening for another two years, so…”

I just laugh and pretend I don’t feel like a complete dumbass. “Oh, I just remembered,” I say, my mind whirring. “I need to give you back your soccer movie!”
At
least
it’s better than skin-dust.
The big geeky grin Terri warned me against breaks through for a second.

“No worries.” Mark smiles. “You can get it back to me whenever. Like I said, I trust you, Blaze.” And there it was. That spark of a connection we’d shared in my minivan. For a moment I can almost see little comic love arrows shooting back and forth between us.

“So I talked to my brother,” I say, leaning my arm in his open window. “He’s sorry for what he said at the soccer game. He was being a jackass, but everything’s cool now.” Mark’s eyelids blink rapidly behind his glasses, and I add seductively, “So, what’re you doing now?”

I pull at him with my eyes. Willing him to lean out and start kissing me.

“Hey, Blaze, listen, I’m really sorry.” Mark touches my arm, and his window starts climbing slowly, making me leap back. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll be sure to catch you later.”

POP!
I stand, absolutely stunned by the same words I just tossed at Ryan. To get rid of him. My face twitches. The flirty look I’ve been channeling freezes into a sneer.

Mark backs his truck away as I stay paralyzed like I’ve been hit with a bitter freeze-ray.

For some reason, my mind flashes back to a long-ago summer when I got a job picking strawberries in a field down the road from our house. Instead of enjoying a beautiful summer day playing like every other eleven-year-old, I spent five long hours bent over rows of plants as the sun scorched the back of my neck. When I finally brought my large bucketful of strawberries to the barn, the big boss-man weighed my labor and announced that I’d earned a grand total of $3.45.

The quick, friendly wave Mark turns to give me as he pulls away does nothing to release that haunting sense of regret.

• • •

I lie on my back, my body molded to the bottom of the tub, as the shower pummels my chest. I focus on my toes, propped up on the tub wall over the spigot as the hot, pulsing water from the shower numbs my stomach and breasts.

I feel warm on the outside, yet my core remains frozen.

And then all at once my outside is frozen as well.

I scream and jump up from the tub shouting “JOSH!!” I hear him laughing from outside, where he’s squirted the icy hose water right through the window-vent. It’s an old trick we used to play on each other. “I’m going to murder you!!” I shout, and mean it, although that declaration is actually a regular part of the game. Throwing a towel around my numb midriff, I hear Josh outside, still laughing, and vow revenge.

I move my damaged self-pity-party to my bedroom and sit on my bed, surrounded by my dripping hair. I’m so much worse off than I was before that boy climbed into my minivan. Then I’d just been an invisible nothing. Now Mark’s alias makes painful clear sense. I feel like my insides have been attacked by a shark.

I pull my towel closer around my body and try to stop thinking.

Josh knocks on my doorjamb calling, “Hey, sis. Sorry, the hose slipped.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s time to drive me and Ajay to see a movie over by the mall.”

“And what makes you think I’m driving you after you just froze me with the hose?”

There’s a pause as he gives me time to remember our deal.

Damn!

“Are you forgetting our little…”

“Shut up!” I shoot. “I’ll drive you in a little while, okay?”

“T-minus ten minutes and counting,” Josh sings. “We have a movie to catch, and a deal’s a deal.”

And don’t I have a brilliant gift for entering deals I didn’t bargain for.

One thing’s sure—I don’t want Josh to know how upset I am over the whole Mark incident. His being right is bad enough, no need for him to know he was right. I’ll just erase the whole thing, like the old
Superman
movie when Superman flies against the earth’s rotation so he can save Lois. My dad hated that ending, thought it was an insult to comic fans everywhere. But in my imagination,
The
Blazing
Goddess
is already firing up her flaming Mustang so she can speed through the air against the rotation of the earth.

Twisting my defeated hair into a damp bun, I slap my cheeks a few times and start applying concealer under my dark-rimmed eyes. My memory spins backward, erasing every trace of my episode with Mark. Winding back to before he set a single soccer-cleated foot in my van.

• • •

“Are you okay, Blaze?” Josh eyes me as I focus on the twilit road covered with dead leaves.

“Great,” I snap. “I’m doing just… great.”

“Is this about my coach?” Josh asks.

“This has nothing to do with him being an asshat; this is about you being annoying.”

“Gosh, first you flip out on Mom, and now you’re snapping at me.” Josh pushes his feet onto the dashboard. “Next you’ll be cursing out poor Mema and knocking her tarted-up Virgin Mary in the head with a shovel.”

I uncork my wrath. “You
froze
me with the hose, and then forced me to drive you to the mall. And Mom and I are getting along
fine
.” I turn on the radio to end the debate. But I do it angrily enough to prove Josh is right. I’m a bit on edge.

“Don’t mind Blaze, she’s just seething,” Josh tells Ajay as he climbs into the van. “Actually, I think I’ll just join you back there.” He ducks between the seats to escape my burning death look.

“You okay?” Ajay leans forward, cupping my shoulder in his palm.

I think of the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder comment and remember the moldy sandwich. I turn to launch into him about it, but the look of concern he gives me shuts me up. Without answering I turn up the music and redirect my attention to getting the both of them to the movies. And out of my head.

After dropping them off, I wander aimlessly through the mall. My heart really isn’t in it. Everything just feels so pointless. Listlessly, I hit the drugstore to pick up tampons. I won’t need them for a few weeks still, but I ran out during my last cycle and had to resort to wadding up toilet paper in my underwear. Not my favorite scenario. As I stand in the checkout line holding a giant box of tampons, I get a one-word text from Terri saying: ‘Well???’

My brain is so fogged in, I actually have to think a full minute before figuring out what she’s even talking about. I send a text back: “Mission Aborted. I repeat: Mission Aborted.”

It had been a stupid plan. I can’t believe I honestly thought Mark was only blowing me off to honor Josh’s wishes. Like he was suppressing his love for me in order to make my little brother happy. I’m an idiot. After paying for the embarrassing economy-sized blue box of tampons that the poor kid behind the counter seems afraid to touch, I zombie-walk through the mall.

A group of kids wearing blue and gold band jackets from the only other high school in our area are gathered around the pretzel counter. I feel a sad sense of being excluded, even though I don’t play a band instrument or even go to their stupid school. I duck past them, careful to avoid eye contact and consumed by the awareness that I’m holding a bag containing tampons.