Love is a Four-Letter Word (10 page)

“Parmesan cheese?” she asks.

Michael and I answer at once. “Yes, please.”

Melanie whistles. “I can see why you two made such a good team. I wouldn’t want to meet you guys on the badminton court.”

“It was all Clarissa, really,” Michael says graciously. “She’s the one with the plan.”

Melanie smiles at me and gives me a little wink. Thankfully Michael doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy shovelling forkfuls of lettuce dripping in Caesar salad dressing into his mouth.

Now, I’m not Mattie and I think it’s silly to eat teeny tiny amounts of food in front of boys, but all that cheesy garlic
bread and salad is starting to fill me up. We haven’t even reached the main course yet. I put my utensils down and inch my chair away from the table.

“This is pretty great,” I say. “It’s like a free four-course meal.”

“Don’t forget dessert,” Michael adds.

“I completely forgot about dessert!” I say. “I’m never going to have enough room.”

“I bet I can guess what you put on your sundae,” Michael boasts.

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, guess.”

“Well, I know you really like chocolate, so chocolate sauce, chocolate chips, and Smarties for sure. Right?”

“Yes,” I admit reluctantly. “But everyone likes chocolate. What else?”

“Well, even though I think it’s totally gross to mix them with chocolate sauce, Nerds.”

I have to keep my jaw from dropping open.

“Well? Am I right?” Michael asks.

“How did you know that?” I ask.

Michael shrugs. “Easy, you always get Nerds every time you go to the 7-Eleven. They’re your favourite candy.”

“But how do you know that?” I press.

Michael looks right at me. “Because I like you.”

At first I’m not sure if I’ve heard him correctly, but he looks down at his food and keeps pushing a crouton around on his plate like it’s a matter of life or death. I open my mouth to speak a few times, but what comes out is all garbled and sounds something like this: “Because you — Oh, okay. Good.”

Michael looks up hopefully. “Good?” he repeats.

I feel like I’ve been backed into a corner. It is good, right? I like that Michael likes me, and even though I’d never admit it, I kind of sort of like him, too. But now that it’s out there, what happens next? Do we start hanging out together, just the two of us? Do I have to start calling him my boyfriend? I don’t think I could do that. It’s probably best to be as vague as possible.

“Yeah, good,” I confirm.

Michael looks confused, and then relieved, and then Melanie arrives with the pizza. Thank goodness.

“Here you are, guys,” she says. “I’ll be right back with your pasta. You saved room, right?”

“Barely,” I say weakly, still stunned from Michael’s confession. I grab a slice and busy myself with eating once again.

“You’re lucky you got a table when you did,” Melanie says. “It’s hopping in here tonight. Just look at that line.”

Michael and I look over at the group of people waiting around on the plastic couches near the door — an elderly couple; a family with a bunch of kids; and right in front, waiting to be seated, is my mother and Doug.

“Hey, isn’t that —”

“Yes, yes it is.” I put my half-eaten slice of pizza on my plate and slink down in my chair. My face is hot and I feel physically sick.

“Who is she with?” Michael asks.

“Doug,” I say, without offering any other explanation.

“Is that her boyfriend or something?”

I put my head into my hands and moan.

Michael looks at me and frowns. “You don’t look so good,” he says.

“I think I ate too much,” I lie, or maybe it’s the truth. My stomach is definitely upset.

“Are you going to puke?” Michael asks, looking a little concerned but mostly grossed out. “Maybe you should go to the bathroom.”

Sneaking away to the bathroom is exactly what I want to do. Unfortunately I’d have to walk right by the lineup to get there. No thanks. Instead, I slink down a little lower in my seat and hope that they don’t see me. Maybe they’ll be too lovey-dovey to notice anyone else. Then the couple next to us waves down Melanie and asks for the cheque.

“Sure thing,” she says, clearing their dishes. “Hey, Krista,” she calls over her shoulder. The surly hostess looks over at her. “Table for two, coming right up.”

And that’s how I end up on a double date with my mother.

The tables at Pizza Hut are crammed in to accommodate as many customers as possible, so even though Mom and Doug are technically at a separate table, we might as well be sitting together. The ten seconds it takes for Melanie to lead my mom and Doug to the table beside us feels like the longest ten seconds in my life. Doug does the world’s biggest double take before raising his big paw of a hand to wave while my mother just smiles.

“Well, look who we’ve got here,” Doug says.

“Mattie, how you’ve changed,” Mom says coolly, looking from Michael to me.

Michael laughs nervously. “Hi, Miss Delaney, do you remember me? I’m —”

“Michael Greenblat, yes I remember. We met at my surprise welcome home party. It’s very good to see you again.”

Doug offers Michael a meaty hand. “Doug Armstrong, nice to meet you, son.”

Michael shakes Doug’s hand. “Michael Greenblat, um, sir.”

Doug slaps him on the shoulder and practically howls with laughter. People crane their necks to see what all the fuss is about. I don’t know what it is about my mother and loud people. Between Doug and Denise, there can’t be a louder person in the whole town.

“You don’t mind if we take this table, do you Clarissa?” Mom asks me pointedly.

“No,” I manage to say. “Of course not.”

Melanie has been watching the whole disaster with a curious smile on her face. “Wait,” she says, “how do you all know each other?”

Mom drapes an arm around my shoulders. The squeeze she gives them feels a little tighter than usual. “Clarissa here is my daughter,” she explains.

“Ohh …” Melanie looks both relieved and a little guilty. As my mom turns to take her seat, Melanie steals a glance at me and mouths “sorry.” Yeah, you and me both, Melanie.

“What brings you kids to the Hut?” Doug asks, reaching around Michael and helping himself to a slice of our pizza. Somehow he manages to eat the whole thing in less than three bites.

Michael looks at me funny. “Didn’t Clarissa tell you?” he says, looking from me to my mom to Doug and back at me again. I ignore the pain in my stomach and the burning in my cheeks by busying myself with a generous helping of pasta.

“Tell us what?” Doug asks, eyeing the pizza but managing to restrain himself from grabbing another slice.

“We won gift certificates in a badminton tournament,” Michael says.

“Oh, yes, I remember now,” Mom says. Under the table, her foot presses lightly into the back of my leg. I flash her a grateful smile, but she pretends not to notice.

“No kidding?” Doug is truly impressed. “I had no idea you were such an athlete, Clarissa.”

“It’s just badminton,” I mumble through a mouthful of spaghetti. “Besides, Michael got all the hard shots.”

“You had all those sneak attacks,” Michael protests. “And you were the one with the strategies.”

“This calls for a toast,” says Doug. He reaches for his water glass and holds it in the air. Mom and Michael follow suit. Reluctantly, I hold up my own glass of pop. “To Michael and Clarissa, badminton champs.”

We clink our plastic glasses and all take a sip of our respective beverages. Everyone at the table behind us has turned around to watch. Doug nudges the mom with a toddler in her lap. The kid’s face is smeared with tomato sauce. “Did you know you’re sitting near two badminton champs?”

She smiles, charmed, and shakes her head. “No, I did not. Congratulations,” she says. The baby thrusts his fist at Doug, who makes a shocked face and then pretends to eat the baby’s fingers. Everyone laughs, but no one is more delighted than the baby. Except for my own mother, who is openly staring at Doug with a goofy look on her face. Barf.

“So is this badminton talent hereditary?” Doug asks me, looking at my mother. “Just one more thing that Annie Delaney is good at?”

“Oh, cut it out,” Mom says, but she smiles like she doesn’t mean it.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I’ve never seen her play.”

Doug leans forward, both elbows on the table, and looks my mom straight in the eye. “Well then I, Douglas Armstrong, challenge you, Annette Delaney, to a badminton match. My gym, you name the date. Loser has to make the winner a candlelight dinner.”

Mom laughs, offers her hand, and the two of them shake. “Deal,” she says.

And so for the rest of the evening, Michael and I have dinner with Mom and Doug. I guess it’s not all bad. The
one thing that’s nice about sharing a table is that now there are more people to talk with; it’s not just me and Michael struggling to carry on a conversation. Michael seems to really like Doug. They talk about basketball and Doug’s gym and some video game I’ve never heard of.

Somehow we make it through the pizza and the dessert course and it’s finally time to leave.

“Are you walking home?” Mom asks, glancing out the window at the dusk that has fallen while we ate.

“Yes,” I say, thinking that no, I was actually walking to Mattie’s house. But I can’t admit that without letting Michael know and reminding my mother that I was supposed to be at Mattie’s all along.

“I’ll walk her home, Miss Delaney,” Michael pipes up.

“Good man,” says Doug.

“Have a good night you two,” Mom says, her eyes twinkling.

“Thanks, Miss Delaney.”

Mom reaches out and squeezes Michael’s hand. “Call me Annie, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Annie. It was nice to see you again.”

“You, too. And, Michael, you stop by after school sometime and I’ll give you a trim. I like what you’ve got going on there,” she says, pointing at the shock of hair that keeps falling over one eye. “Very hip, very now.”

“Okay, cool,” says Michael.

Doug raises his fist and bumps knuckles with Michael. “See you around.”

Michael hands over the gift certificates and we are out of there.

“Doug seems nice,” Michael says.

We’re walking back to my place. I’m careful to keep my hands in my pockets, just in case Michael gets any crazy ideas about holding hands. I will myself not to shiver; it’s much colder out now than when I left and I forgot my jacket at home. I’m worried that if I look too cold Michael will offer me his, or worse, try to put his arm around my shoulders.

“I guess,” I say.

“How long have they been dating?” Michael asks.

“They’re not dating,” I say sharply.

“Oh. It seemed like they were.”

“If you were on a date, would you sit with your kid and her badminton partner?” Michael looks hurt. I’m not sure if it’s because I insinuated that he wasn’t cool enough to warrant Doug’s attention or because I called him my badminton partner and not my date. I back-pedal a little. “It’s too early to really say if they’re dating or not,” I mutter.

Michael nods, like he understands. “That must be weird, your mom dating,” he says. “I can barely stand it when my parents get all lovey-dovey, and they’ve been kissing in front of me my whole life.”

I almost stop walking. “You think they kiss?”

“Who?”

“My mom and Doug!”

Michael looks at me like I’ve been living under a rock. “Well, probably. They’re adults. Everybody kisses.”

Now we’ve stopped walking. Is it my imagination, or is Michael standing a little closer? He clears his throat and his eyes get all shifty. One second they’re looking at me, the next they’re landing on my mouth, then over my shoulder. I feel cold and hot all at once. I rub my arms to make the feeling go away and start to walk — a little faster now. “Well, not in front of me they don’t.”

Michael hurries to catch up. We walk the rest of the way home in silence. Finally we’re at the house. “Here we are!” I say brightly. I sound fake, even to myself. I just want to get in the door and away from any possible kissing. My heart is banging around in my chest so loudly it’s a miracle that Michael hasn’t heard it. It makes my hands shake as I fumble for my key.

“Thanks for walking me,” I say.

Michael shrugs. “No problem.” He smiles and takes a step toward me. “I had a nice time.”

“Me, too.” After a second I add, “I should probably head in.”

Michael nods, but makes no move to leave. “Okay.”

“I’d invite you in, but my mom probably wouldn’t like it.”

“That’s okay. … You’re a really good badminton player, Clarissa.” Before I can say anything he goes on, “And you’re really smart, too.”

“I’m not, really. I can think of ten people in our class alone who are smarter.”

“I can’t,” Michael says. He takes another step toward me. He is now standing in the circle of yellow light cast by the porch lamp.

“You’re really good, too,” I say lamely, fumbling for the doorknob. “At school and badminton.” I glance wildly at Benji’s house, to see if maybe he’s sitting in the window, but it’s completely dark. Probably out with his theatre friends at karaoke or something. I feel abandoned. Michael closes the gap between us, one shuffley step at a time.

“See you Monday!” I manage to turn the key and shove the door open with my shoulder in one smooth motion. I don’t even turn around to wave. Inside, I lean against the door until I’m sure that Michael has left. I close my eyes and take deep calming breaths through my nose until my heart stops hammering against my chest. For some reason, tears form at the corners of my eyes. I sniff them back, furiously. I don’t know why I’m so upset. The thought of kissing makes my head spin and my palms clammy. But the thought of Michael walking home all dejected makes me feel even worse.

What’s wrong with me? If I had been Mattie or any other girl in the class I would probably be skipping off to call my best friend to tell her all about my magical first kiss with Michael. Instead, here I am, snivelling away in the dark, because I’m too chicken. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss him
ever
, I just don’t want to kiss him right now or in the immediate future. Somehow I doubt that will make Michael feel better. Mattie’s right, I am abnormal. Michael deserves someone else. Someone who, at the very least, would be happy to kiss him.

Later, at Mattie’s, drinking hot chocolate made with real milk and mini-marshmallows, I tell her the whole story — except for the part about me crying in the dark.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” I ask, fully expecting her to yell at me about how I totally blew the perfect moment.

“No,” she says. “You’re a romantic. You might not think you are, but I can tell. You want your first kiss to be the right person at the right time.”

I consider this for a moment before asking, “What if it was the right person at the right time and I totally ruined it?”

“No,” Mattie says thoughtfully. “Right person, wrong time. I totally believe that you and Michael are destined to be together. You’re just not ready. And that doesn’t make you a baby,” she adds quickly. “It makes you smart.”

I feel warm and fuzzy, and not just from the hot chocolate. “Michael said I was smart,” I remember.

Mattie rolls her eyes. “That’s because you are.”

“So are you. You’re incredibly wise and you make the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had.”

Mattie giggles. “You know, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t kiss tonight.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because you must have had terrible pizza breath.” I throw a marshmallow at her head but at the last second she bobs up and catches it in her mouth. We both burst out laughing.

“Nice reflexes,” I say. “Too bad you couldn’t use them in badminton.”

Mattie gasps and for a split second I worry that maybe it was too soon for that kind of comment, but she grins, grabs a handful of marshmallows, and starts launching a counterattack. “Take it back!” she laughs.

“Never!” I cry, and we continue throwing marshmallows at each other until Cheryl comes into the kitchen and tells us to keep it down.