Klepto (23 page)

I got home that day feeling totally depressed. As I was dumping out my book bag on my bed, I looked at my loose-leaf notebook, the one Julie and I had decorated together with stuff from cool lipstick ads and lettering from pictures we had cut out of
Seventeen
and
Glamour
magazines. My phone rang.
That’s gotta be her,
I thought,
calling to say she’s sorry
. She would probably tell me I’m still her best friend and she’d ask me if I wanted to hang out tonight.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hi!” Josh’s voice said, sounding upbeat.

“Oh, hi!” I said, feeling a weird mix of disappointment and relief.

“I can’t really talk right now ’cause I’m going to have dinner with my dad and stepmom, but I just wanted to see if we’re still on for tomorrow.”

“Yes, sure,” I said. “Six o’clock, right?”

“Right. Do you want me to pick you up, or should we meet at Lincoln Center?”

“We can meet at Lincoln Center,” I said. “That’s fine.” I wasn’t ready to introduce Josh to my parents or Ellie.

“Okay . . . um . . . let’s just meet at the fountain, then. You know the big fountain, right?”

“Yes, the fountain. Six o’clock,” I repeated.

“Um . . . ” Josh paused for a second. “Are you okay? You sound funny.”

“I do?” I said, noticing my voice getting high. He totally caught me off guard. Man, was he observant! “No, I’m fine,” I stammered. “I’m just, it’s nothing.” I couldn’t decide if I should tell him about my fight with Julie.

“All right. Well, whatever it is, will you tell me when I see you?” Josh said. “I mean, you don’t have to, but—”

“No, it’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a whole big thing. Sure, I’ll tell you later.”

“If you feel like it,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you at six.”

“Great,” Josh said, and we hung up.

 

 

Saturday night, March fifteenth at six o’clock on the dot, I was at the Lincoln Center fountain.
The Ides of March,
I was thinking, since we had just finished reading
Julius Caesar
in English. Ellie let me borrow one of her antique dresses, the yellow one with the tiny pink flowers that almost looked like apples. I was wearing it with my pink plastic belt. For some reason, I felt kind of relieved to not wear anything stolen. I wore white tights, my pink flats from Capezio, and a light pink scarf in my hair. I only had on a little bit of makeup: liquid eyeliner, Iridescent Baby Pink lipstick, and some blush. Standing there waiting for Josh, I started to doubt my outfit—I looked like an Easter egg. Thank God I had my jean jacket on, ’cause it was a little chilly out, and I hugged it around me with my hands in the pockets. I felt this weird kind of nervousness, like when I was about to perform in acting class, but I kind of liked it.

“Hi,” Josh said, appearing out of nowhere. I could see his breath. “You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“Like, two minutes,” I said. He leaned forward to kiss me but I got confused and turned my head a little, so we sort of kissed half-lip-half-cheek. I laughed stupidly, but Josh just smiled. God, sometimes I was such a dork.

“I have something for you,” he said, pulling a brown paper lunch bag out of his pocket.

“You made me a sandwich?” I said, which made Josh laugh. Without skipping a beat, he said, “Yes. Pastrami on white with mayonnaise. That’s your favorite, right?”

“Eww! No! Who do you think I am, Annie Hall?” I said.

“I can’t believe you got that,” Josh said, looking surprised and pleased. “
Annie Hall
is one of my all-time favorite movies. Sometimes you remind me a little of her.”

“Really?” I said. “Thanks. I think.” I wondered how I was like Annie Hall. Did Josh think I was ditzy?

“The way you dress, sometimes,” he clarified, like he was reading my mind. “Anyway, so now you deserve this even more.” He handed me the paper bag.

“Wow, thanks. . . .” I said. “Should I open it now?”

“Sure.”

I stuck my hand in the paper bag and could immediately feel it was a cassette tape. I pulled it out.

“Cool,
Toto IV
!” I said, reading Josh’s small block-lettered handwriting. Side A had a list of all the songs, including “Africa,” the song we said we loved on the phone that time. “Thank you,” I said, feeling like I didn’t know what else to say.
Should I kiss him?
I thought.

“You’re welcome,” he said, putting his hands back in the pockets of his red baseball jacket. “I wasn’t sure what to put on Side B, so I just put Billy Joel’s
Turnstiles
. It’s one of my favorite records.”

“Great,” I said.
I’ll listen to it till I’ve memorized every word,
I thought.

Then he took my hand and said, “C’mon, the Saloon is right across the street. Are you hungry?” Oh man, holding his warm hand was, like, the coolest thing.

As soon as we walked into the restaurant, a tall girl in long ponytails and a tight yellow T-shirt rolled up to us on her rollerskates and stopped short.

“Two?” she said, holding white plastic menus that said “Saloon” in script on them.

“Yes,” Josh said, motioning for me to go first. I felt so unbelievably short following the roller-skating hostess to our table near the window. We could watch all the people passing by. That was one of my favorite things to do—watch people. New York City was especially good for that. Mrs. Zeig said becoming a keen observer of “human beings being human” was one of the secrets of good acting. “Watch like doctors!” she would shout at us when we observed each other in a scene or a monologue or whatever.

Josh asked me if I liked white wine. I liked wine coolers, like Bartles & Jaymes, and my parents had let me try a sip of their wine now and then, but I wasn’t really sure if I could say I liked it. I didn’t want to look stupid, and beer always tasted like metal to me, so I said yes.

“Two glasses of Chardonnay,” Josh told the waitress, sounding so grown-up, and I held my breath for a second to see if she would card us, but she didn’t. Then I had this moment of total euphoria, looking out the window at Broadway. I felt like, I can’t believe this, I’m on a second date with Josh Heller.

The concert at Avery Fisher Hall—it was some orchestra from Vienna or something—was pretty boring, but Josh did funny things like pretend he was playing the flute when the flute part played or the cello or whatever, and he kept passing me tropical fruit Life Savers.

We got out at about ten thirty, so I still had a whole hour to be with Josh before I had to get home. We walked with the crowd of people, and it was still pretty nice out. Josh took my hand and said, “Let’s go sit by the fountain.”

The dark gray marble felt cold on the backs of my thighs, through my tights, and I started feeling nervous again. I wondered if I’d ever get good at being on a date.

“That concert was pretty boring, wasn’t it?” Josh said.

“Um, yeah,” I said, and we both started laughing. “But I didn’t mind.”

“Do you play any instruments?” Josh asked.

“Well, I played the piano when I was younger but I hated practicing, so I stopped.”

“I play piano a little,” Josh said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I taught myself mostly.”

“Cool. Where do you practice? Does your mom have a piano?”

“No, but there’s one at my dad’s in New Jersey. And I sometimes play the ones at school.”

“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” I said, hoping that didn’t sound stupid.

The Lincoln Center fountain was surrounded by three famous white buildings: the Metropolitan Opera House, with these huge archlike windows; the New York State Theater, with a balcony around its middle; and Avery Fisher Hall. A few other people were sitting around the fountain or strolling across the plaza, but I noticed it had gotten less noisy.

“Are you cold?” Josh said.

“A little bit. But I’m fine. Are you?” I said.

“A little bit. Let’s walk. How ’bout if I walk you home?”

“All the way to One Hundred Sixth Street?” It was like forty blocks. I was thinking we should get on the subway.

“Well, let’s see how far we get,” Josh said.

We held hands again and started going up Broadway. We got to a block in the Seventies and stopped to look in this bookstore, Shakespeare & Company. We stood there for a second with our noses almost pressed up against the window. Josh’s part of the window kept fogging up whenever he exhaled. I was wondering if his breath smelled as good as it did the last time, but I wasn’t close enough to tell. Then all of a sudden we were kissing again. Right out-side the window of Shakespeare & Company. Josh’s lips were smooth, and he tasted like Chardonnay and pineapple Life Savers. I liked it. Even his stubble felt kind of cool. I noticed the difference from our first kiss—I felt just a tiny bit more relaxed. We stopped for a minute, and Josh rested his arms on my shoulders, playing with the ends of my hair.

“I just had the urge to do that again. Did I surprise you?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, slightly catching my breath. “It’s okay, though.”

“I have to ask you a question,” he said. Oh my God. This was only our second date; could he be about to ask me to the Spring Dance?
Don’t jinx it by thinking about it, Julie
.

“What are you doing Saturday night, April twenty-fourth?” Josh smiled.
Oh. Shit, I jinxed it.
The Spring Dance was in June.

“Um, I don’t know. That’s, like, a month away. Nothing, I guess.”

“Do you want to come to a party at my dad’s house in Montclair? It’s Dad and my stepmother Marlene’s anniversary. They have a big party every year. It’s pretty cool, actually, and I can invite whoever I want.”

“In New Jersey?” I said.

“Yeah,” Josh said, still smiling, still playing with my hair. I was loving that.

“Um. How would I get there?” I said.

“The bus. It’s not a long ride. I can pick you up at the bus station.”

“It’s at night?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.” Josh smiled.

“So . . . how would I get home?” I said.

“Are you really wondering,
when
would you get home?”

“Kind of. I mean, my curfew’s at eleven thirty, and I don’t know how I’d get home by then, coming all the way from New Jersey.”

“Well, the party usually goes pretty late. But you could sleep over. If you want. In the guest room, of course.” Josh smiled his big smile at me.

“Sure,” I said, now unable to stop smiling back at him. Did Josh actually just ask me to sleep over at his house? I couldn’t believe it!

“That . . . sounds . . . cool!” I said. I had no idea how I’d get my mom to agree to that but I’d figure it out later.

I got home at eleven forty-five, but luckily I saw my mom’s light go off and she didn’t say anything. I knew she had been waiting to hear my key in the door before she could sleep. I changed into my nightshirt, brushed my teeth and washed my face, got in bed, and tried calling Julie again. “I don’t care if you’re mad at me,” I was going to say, “I just have to tell you that Josh invited me for a sleepover!” I mean, how could I go on with life without Julie knowing that?

Julie’s phone rang and rang again with no answer. I had this quick little fantasy in my mind that maybe she and Mimi and Mandy had moved. No, that was impossible. My clock radio said 12:05. It was March sixteenth, almost three weeks since I told Julie I wasn’t going to steal anymore.

21

I’m Only Going to Buy

At first I really wanted to lie to my parents about staying over at Josh’s dad’s house in New Jersey. I wanted to tell them I was having a sleepover at Julie’s instead.

But Julie and I still weren’t speaking. We pretty much ignored each other in class, in the girls’ bathroom, or after school on the subway platform. It felt so stupid, but I wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence. After all, she was mad at
me
, so it was her turn to call. I wasn’t going to call her anymore.

Josh and I had been on two more dates, one to see the movie
Casablanca
at the Regency, and the other hanging out at Rick DiBiassi’s house drinking wine coolers and watching TV with a bunch of other kids. But Josh and I sat next to each other the whole time and kind of played with each other’s hands. So I counted it as a date.

The Sunday morning a week before Josh’s parents’ party, Mom was in bed reading the paper—a time when she was usually in a good mood.

“Mom? I have to ask you something,” I said.

“Okay. . . .” she said, folding down a corner of her paper and looking at me. I was sitting on the end of her bed near her feet, which were under the covers.

“This guy Josh—um . . . remember him? Well, Josh invited me to sleep over at his dad’s house in New Jersey. Next Saturday night, April twenty-fourth. It’s his dad and stepmom’s anniversary party.” As soon as I said the word “Josh,” I started smiling. So my mother started smiling.