Blaze (4 page)

Blazefire22
: It’s monologues, and I think I hear my Mom calling—gotta go!

AmandaSweetie68
: geek!

TerriAngel445
: Nerd!

Blazefire22
: Peace out—love yas

AmandaSweetie68
: xo, gnight.

TerriAngel445
: Night Blaze, have sweet dreams about
getting
a
life
!

I chuckle as I close my browser, throw on PJs, and head back downstairs to finish cleaning up. Josh and Mom have made an attempt, scraping their dishes and putting them into the sink, but there are goops of sauce everywhere and it takes me half an hour to put the kitchen back together.

“Tomorrow’s pizza day at school,” I call into the den, where Josh is watching TV.

“I’ll buy!” Josh calls back, so I stick three singles from the jar on the fridge into his backpack. I love pizza day. Josh always buys on pizza day, and making lunches sucks. Especially since all he ever wants are Fluffernutters and we’re completely out of Fluff.

I try to piece my own lunch together from the meager pickings in the fridge. I need to bug Mom to go food shopping. Or even better, I’ll just find some time to go, and give her the receipt. Laying out the cash is never really a problem. The Soccer Cretins’ parents all insist on paying me gas money even though I have a gas card. Mom says I deserve to keep the extra money for all the help I do, and the cash adds up over the course of the soccer season. Especially since I don’t have oodles of free time to run out to the mall. In fact, with birthday money thrown in, I’m up over two hundred bucks right now. Too bad I can’t just buy myself a life.

We’re out of brown paper bags, so I toss a few crackers, a softening apple, and a hunk of pound cake wrapped in tinfoil into a geeky white plastic shopping bag for myself. As I spin it closed and tuck it into my messenger bag, I think of Mark riding in the passenger seat of Superturd.

He must think I’m so immature, what with all the comics talk and the counting of farm animals. On the other hand, I do have the middle-age-momster wheels and pack of soccer wards to balance out my juvenile behavior.
The
girls
are
right
;
I’m a freak and Mark will never be my boyfriend
. I’m curious why Terri thinks he fits into the “shark” category. From what I know he doesn’t seem to date all that often.

I take out my sketchbook and sit down at the kitchen table to draw a rough picture of Mark cruising the halls as some sort of mutant shark-man. I put gills on either side of his ribcage and sketch a huge mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth. “Instead of the scent of blood,” I letter carefully, “
Mark
the
Shark
frenzies at the sight of an attractive female.” In real life, I’m lucky if Mark even sees me as female—forget about “attractive.”

Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m not a total Mole Man or anything. I’m just stuck in secret identity mode. That is, I’m a terminal Clark Kent/Peter Parker character, lying low as I hang out with my little brother and his horny friends. Pretty much invisible. But not a sexy Susan Storm in blue lycra sort of invisibility. More of a don’t-make-eye-contact-with-the-sad-blonde-fangirl-who-is-always-drawing-comics-and-pretending-to-be-a-soccer-mom sort of invisibility.

I do find it interesting there aren’t any classic male superheroes whose power is becoming invisible, but it’s pretty common with the girls. Heck, Wonder Woman even flies around in an invisible jet. Which would be quite a sight, really. A totally stacked babe, dressed up in a flag, shooting through the air as she moons the whole world with her fabulous blue-and-white starry butt. Boy, wouldn’t my brother’s perverted little friends love a glimpse of that.

I smile to myself as I pack away my sketchbook. Now that Mark has noticed me, I have a feeling my days of invisibility are finally about to end.

In a panic, I rub my honey-glow lip gloss off with the back of my hand just before Josh jumps into the passenger seat. I glance in the minivan’s rearview mirror, but I don’t have time to throw my loose hair into a ponytail before Josh starts ribbing me.

“Oooh, Blaze,” he says in a dreamy voice. “Are you getting all prettied up for Dylan?” Hunching over the steering wheel, I turn the key and accentuate Superturd’s starting engine with a low growl. Josh’s grin fades as he watches my face carefully. I try not to look nervous, but I’m a bit of a wreck. Knowing I’m picking Mark up is much more stressful than having him thrust into my passenger seat without warning. I’ve made a mental checklist of topics to avoid, with comics and cows at the top of the list.

Josh says, “Kidding aside, Blaze. Mark is not your type.”

I shake my head, trying to stop blushing. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Seriously, sis. He’s not worth your time.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t have a crush on your coach.”

“It seems like you do.” Josh pulls up a section of my hair and holds it to my face as if anything other than a ponytail is evidence of my crush.

I push his hand from my hair. “You’re wrong.”

“Why don’t we just take a little poll. See what the guys think?”

“You wouldn’t…” I envision the mob of cretins mocking me from the back of the minivan. If they say anything in front of Mark I’ll be vaporized with embarrassment. My face must betray my fear.

Josh’s look of concern is slowly replaced by one of excitement. “I have an idea,” he says. “How about we have that coed party I’ve been talking about? Mom’s working her all-nighter this weekend. It’ll be perfect.”

“No way,” I insist as I pull into Dylan’s driveway. “Nice try.” I’m pretty sure he’s bluffing and won’t really launch all the boys into teasing me about my crush on Mark.

“Hey, Dylan!” Josh turns in his seat to greet his hormone-laden friend, “Guess what’s going on in Blaze’s comic book mind?”

The look I shoot him says
You
wouldn’t!
but his look back says
Oh
yes, I would.
I don’t know for sure whether or not he’d really tell Dylan about my crush, but I do know I can’t risk it.

“We’re having a party at the house this weekend!” I announce.
Where
the
hell
did
that
come
from?

“We?” Dylan leans forward, adjusts his glasses, and turns to Josh to see if it’s true. “Will Terri and Amanda be there?” He can’t hide the naked hope in his voice.

“Of course,” Josh answers before I can undo what I’ve started.

Flaring my nostrils, I start damage-control. “
But
absolutely no booze! And I don’t even know if my friends will agree to come.
And
this is only happening if you boys promise to behave, plus take care of all the details. Dylan, you can bring corn chips.”

As we pick up each team member they’re greeted with the party announcement and assigned snack items, so by the time I stop for Mark it’s all they can talk about.

Josh begrudgingly surrenders shotgun when I get to his house.

Dylan leans forward as Mark climbs in beside me. “Josh and Blaze are throwing a par-tay this weekend.”

“No we’re not!” I say, “I mean, we are, but it’s no big thing. No alcohol, just the boys and a few of my friends.”

Mark gives me a smirk that melts my insides to radioactive sludge. “Hmm,” he says in a deep voice. “House party? When is it?”

Oh, God. He cannot be thinking of coming
.

“Our mom has the overnight shift on Saturday,” I say, then shoot over my shoulder to the boys, “which means she’ll be home by 6:30 Sunday morning, and the house must be spotless.”

Dylan and Josh are so excited I can almost see radiation waves emanating from their bodies. Even Ajay is paying attention instead of focusing on his DS. Only Andrew seems to take the whole thing in stride. He says, “I can’t stay too late. I’ve got church Sunday morning with my mom.”

As the others are distracted with calling Andrew “Choir Boy” and butting him with fake finger-horns held to their heads, I steal a glance at Mark. He’s watching me with that sly smile of his, and I get so flustered I nearly crash the minivan. “I’d love to come hang out Saturday, if that’s cool with you.”

I cannot believe the cretins’ tawdry adolescent fantasy has just morphed into an opportunity to spend time with Mark beyond the smelly bowels of Superturd. Plus, I see a way to entice Terri and Amanda to actually show up.

“Sounds good.” I shrug, hoping Mark can’t hear my wild heartbeat. “It’s casual. You can bring a friend or two if you like.”

Mark nods happily, and I realize I should clarify that I don’t need him to bring a date to my house. I glance from the road back to him, trying to gauge whether he’d really use our party to hook up with some slut. Like for instance ‘Wiggles’ of catherinewigglesisaslut.com fame—the diseased girl at our school with a whole website devoted to her slutty exploits.

I add, “You can bring some extra pop if you do decide to come.”

His grin doesn’t falter, and I feel reasonably reassured he’s not using our soirée for a cheap date.
No
matter
what
happens
, I tell myself,
nobody
had
better
even
consider
having
sex
on
my
mother’s bed.
I try to picture Dylan, with his shaved head and glasses, managing to seduce Amanda or Terri and nearly laugh out loud at that possibility. I have a pretty good imagination but still can’t work up an image that bizarro.

“DUCKS!” Mark yells at the top of his lungs.

I curse myself for daydreaming. “Ducks don’t count,” I say.

Ajay chimes in, “They do when they’re big white ones hanging out on a farm.”

“Those ducks are clearly farm ducks,” says Dylan.

“Here we go again,” says Andrew as Mark speed-counts the cluster of ducks and I push my Subatomic Sweatmobile of Fate to fly as fast as she can.

• • •

“I cannot believe you talked us into this,” Terri says as she and Amanda walk through my front door that Saturday night. Terri is wearing tight jeans and a fitted black shirt that betrays her hope that Mark will bring along someone interesting. Preferably male. The possibility of making time with some of Mark’s friends finally convinced the two of them to gamble on the more likely scenario of a gang of adolescents drooling on their cleavage in-between rounds of Wii sports.

Terri has this whole pretty, petite, pixy-thing happening with her short dark hair and freckles and a laugh that makes guys want to take care of her. And Amanda is just gorgeous in the truest sense of the word. Her figure is more female superhero than anorexic supermodel, but let me tell you, human boys go gaga for her juicier physique. Looking down at my green striped Adidas T-shirt, I realize that if I wanted to impress Mark, I really should have uglier friends.

“Is Mark here yet? Did he bring any hot guys?” Amanda asks breathlessly as she hands me a pillow-sized bag of generic potato chips. “This is the biggest bag I could find.”

“Um. Hello to you too.” I usher the two of them into the house, where the boys are already huddled around the television in the den. Our main floor has two bedrooms in the back. One of those is my mom’s, which I’ve had the foresight to lock before any of the guys arrived, effectively dashing Dylan’s unimaginable fantasies. The other has been converted into a den and has the huge flat screen Dad won for being the top salesman at Electronics Empire just before he left. Mirrors on the walls give the illusion the room is a nice big den, rather than the lame converted bedroom it is. Josh and I each have rooms upstairs, but they’re barely bigger than the twin-sized beds they hold. Plus, they have low sloping ceilings angled with the roof of the house. Those ceilings are constantly doling out blinding-white head whacks, and I walk a little hunched, even when I’m not in my bedroom.

Amanda gives an exaggerated sigh at the obvious lack of post-pubescent manpower in the den. I head into the kitchen to heat up some pigs-in-blankets and mini pizza bagels. I hid the party snacks from Mom in the back of the freezer, but it was a pretty safe bet she wouldn’t poke her head into the world of quickie food preparation anyway. I feel a twinge of guilt as I think of her working so hard. There’s actually a small chance she would’ve let us have this little get-together if I’d asked, but then she’d be worrying about it, and she really doesn’t need the extra stress while she’s at work. Plus, there’s the chance she would’ve said no, and then I may have been caught with a stupid bag of mini pizza bagels because I couldn’t go back on my word with the boys. I guess Josh is right about forgiveness being easier than permission, but I seriously hope I never have to ask for Mom’s forgiveness. She is not the forgiving type.

When I enter the den, the boys have Terri and Amanda surrounded as they explain the nuances of Lego Star Wars. I can tell we’re all in trouble by the way Amanda flips her smooth dark hair at them. She naturally flirts with everyone—I’m talking all ages as well as both sexes. She flirts without even meaning to. But flirting with these boys is playing with nuclear fission. They don’t need encouragement to fall completely in life-long love with her.

About ten minutes later I open my front door to see Mark standing there in a white button-down surf shirt. I’m relieved he doesn’t have a slutty date on his arm. Instead he has two bottles of pop and Stuart, a buddy from the varsity soccer team. Stuart is one of only three black students in our school, which makes him a semi-celebrity. I feel somewhat hip and urban having him here at my house. I mentally kick myself for not inviting more people our own age but don’t even know who else I could’ve asked.

When the guys step into the den, there’s a palpable shift in the room’s energy. The four younger boys wilt at seeing better matches for all females present. Fantasy time is over. As always, Andrew is a sport and right away takes the opportunity to pump Stu and Mark for soccer tips. Then, just leave it to Dylan to turn a nice casual gathering into something awkward.

Stu is explaining how he manages to consistently pull off some difficult soccer play as he stands in front of the television, twisting his body to demonstrate.

“Forget how you move on the field,” Dylan interrupts. “What’s your best-scoring move with the
lay-dees
?”

I give Dylan an involuntary parental-type stare-down, and he blocks it with his hands. “What? I’m just looking for a little advice for a loooove connection.”

“Dude!” Ajay laughs. “You can go ahead and drop the macho routine. Everybody here knows you’re gay.”

“Hey, Ajay,” Dylan shoots back. “I’ve got a little something I’ve been holding for you.” He stuffs his hand into his front jean pocket and when he pulls it out he’s flipping Ajay the bird.

“Oh, yeah?” Ajay holds up both his middle fingers. “And here’s your change.” Flipping each other off is sort of an ongoing thing, but I can tell by the look on Terri and Amanda’s faces that the boys aren’t exactly racking up bonus points.

I grab a guitar. “Who’s ready for Rock Band?” I thank the video game gods for creating a game that makes me seem cool for spending all my free time playing Wii with my little brother. We take turns rocking out for the next half-hour.

It seems like everyone is actually having a halfway decent time. That is, everyone except Amanda, who is tightly tucked into the corner of the couch. I don’t blame her for seeming put out. She’s been trying to engage the entire mass of testosterone into a seven-way flirting extravaganza, and now she’s being upstaged by a video game. Not to mention crude hand motions and politically incorrect gender-preference taunts. I’m pretty sure the younger boys consider their moves flirting with her, but Amanda isn’t aiming for the drooling thirteen-year-olds. She has her sights on Mark’s friend, Stu.
And
Mark, apparently
, I think as I watch her lean over and whisper in his ear.

He gives her a small half-smile, and she bursts into hysterics. I can’t imagine what she could’ve said to him, but it’s probably not something promoting me as his future girlfriend. I try to wave at Amanda, to indicate in some way that I need her to cease and desist all flirting behavior immediately. She lightly touches the small of Mark’s back. My target is quickly moving out of range.

Standing up, I dump the rest of the Tostitos into a bowl and ask if anyone wants more salsa. There’s a smattering response of “yes” and “sure,” as most everyone stays focused on the television screen. From across the room, Mark smiles at me with one side of his mouth. My heart starts freaking out as I crumple the empty Tostitos bag, grab the salsa bowl off the coffee table, and flee from the den. Terri catches up to me in the kitchen.

“Remind me again why I agreed to come here?” she says. I climb on the counter, rummaging through the top cupboard for the salsa I hid way in the back.