Love is a Four-Letter Word (18 page)

“Is this exciting, or what? I just can’t imagine that shy little thing up there in front of all these people, singing and dancing!” We haven’t been here five minutes and already I want to kill Denise.

Mattie isn’t helping much. “I know!” she gushes. “He can barely put up his hand in class! It’s like we’re witnessing a transformation right before our eyes!”

I scan the crowds for Michael, who said he would meet us here. My arms are full of flowers, a congratulations card I made myself, and the soundtrack of a musical called
Wicked
, wrapped up in the comics section of yesterday’s newspaper. I’d never heard of
Wicked
before, but Charity told him about it and it’s all Benji’s been talking about for weeks. I couldn’t find it anywhere, so Doug helped me order it online.

Everyone is washed and dressed up for the occasion, even Doug. He managed to find a nice shirt and tie to wear. Mom teases him about the tie, making a big show of straightening it and telling him that he cleans up nice.

“I should wear a tie more often,” Doug jokes.

I recognize the tie from the day I went rooting around in his closet but I don’t say a word.

Mom is wearing a pearl pendant on a chain. It was a gift
from Doug. I’m not really into jewellery, but even I have to admit that it’s pretty. It looks like a glossy white raindrop.

“Wow,” Mattie whispers. “How much do you think that necklace cost?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not like it’s a ring.”

Mattie’s eyes shine. “If they get married, will you invite me to the wedding?”

“Where’s Michael?” Mom asks.

I shrug, but don’t make eye contact with her. Doug gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry, he’ll turn up. Mikey is a real stand-up guy, isn’t that right, Clarissa?”

I don’t really feel like defending him right now, so I pretend not to hear.

Suddenly Mattie digs her nails into my arm. “Look!” she whispers. “It’s Andrew!”

“Ouch.” I remove my arm from her grasp, rubbing the little white marks left by her nails, which have been filed into talons.

“Andrew! Over here!” Andrew turns at the sound of his name and reddens as soon as he catches sight of Mattie, waving her arms and grinning like a maniac. I can’t tell if he’s blushing because he actually likes Mattie or if he’s embarrassed. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. He nods his head curtly, to show that he’s seen us, and starts weaving his way through the crowd toward us.

Denise gives Mattie’s shoulder a nudge. “What a cutie! Good job, Mattie.”

“He really is cute,” Mattie giggles. “Look at his pants! I think they’re pressed!”

Andrew arrives and Mattie puts on a big show about introducing him to everyone. He really is a nice boy, and a much better choice than Josh or Declan. Mattie can’t stop
smiling. I’m happy she’s finally found a crush who is worthy of her admittedly intense affection. I hope Andrew doesn’t scare easily.

The doors have opened and people are starting to file into the theatre. Doug does a quick head count.

“All right, so I’ve got seven tickets and six people, who are we missing?”

“Just Michael,” Mattie says.

“We should probably go in now. Clarissa, why don’t you wait out here for Michael and we’ll save you a couple of seats,” Doug suggests.

“Sure,” I say.

Mattie looks concerned. “Do you want me to wait with you?” she asks.

“No, I’m fine. Besides you probably shouldn’t leave Andrew alone with everyone else. He looks pretty overwhelmed.”

“Well, if you’re sure you’re okay …”

“I am.”

Mattie gives me a big hug, nearly squeezing the life out of me. For someone with such little upper body strength, she sure is a powerful hugger. “I’ll save you a seat next to me, okay?” she says.

“Great.”

And then she hurries into the theatre.

As more and more people arrive, I start to get nervous. The woman taking tickets at the door keeps smiling sympathetically at me. When there is a lull in people, she asks, “Waiting for someone?”

“Obviously,” I snap.

She doesn’t smile at me again.

Five minutes to go. Where is Michael? I can’t believe he
wouldn’t show. He promised he would come. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would say one thing and do another. Even if he is embarrassed about the whole kissing fiasco (it still hurts to think of it as a fiasco — how can something be so important to one person and mean nothing to another?) this isn’t about me, it’s about Benji. It’s like Mattie says, Michael is one of us; when he decided to help bring Terry DiCarlo down last year, he was making a silent pact with us. We were more than friends; we were partners in crime, protectors of the innocent, defenders of justice. He risked detention and possible bodily harm for Benji last year, the least he could do is show up for his play.

“You should probably go take your seat,” the woman at the door says. “Does your friend have a ticket already?”

“No, I bought it for him.”

“I’m not allowed to let latecomers in during the scenes,” she says. “But if you want to leave it here with me, I can sneak him in during the applause.”

I feel bad for snapping at her before. “That would be nice, thanks.”

“What’s his name?” she asks.

“Michael. Michael Greenblat.”

Two minutes to go and the door swings open. The woman smiles brightly. “Right under the wire, is this your friend?”

But it’s not Michael.

The Dentonator nods at me. “Clarissa,” he says.

“You’re late,” I point out.

“Yeah, I had to change at work. Wasn’t sure if I was going to make it.”

I look at his shirt, buttoned up to the neck and tucked into his jeans, and I can’t remember the last time I saw Benji’s dad in anything but a t-shirt.

The lights flick off and on.

“The show’s about to start,” the woman at the door says.

The Dentonator takes off his ball cap and runs his fingers through his hat hair. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Sure, my mom is saving us seats.”

The show is wonderful. It’s so good, I almost forget that it’s supposed to be Michael sitting beside me, not the Dentonator. Charity, of course, is amazing. Her trademark mane is hidden under a dark wig, plaited into Dorothy’s signature braids. After a while, I forget that I’m watching Charity and I start to think of her only as Dorothy. Everyone is great, but she has an extra something that makes her stand out. I guess that’s what they call star quality.

Benji doesn’t come on stage until halfway through the first act. I know the story by heart, so after the scene with the Tin Man, I start to get nervous for him. I guess Mattie does, too, because she grabs my hand and holds on tight. On my other side, the Dentonator shifts in his seat. Is it my imagination, or is he leaning forward a little?

And then there he is. I smile the whole time he’s on stage — I can’t help it, he’s that good! He speaks louder than I’ve ever heard him speak before, and his Cowardly Lion stutter is spot on. He doesn’t sound nervous at all; he sounds perfect.

As the lights go down, the audience laughs and cheers. My entire row, the whole rowdy gang of us, is the first to jump up and give a standing ovation. I want to shout, that’s my best friend, that’s my Benji! But instead, I clap along with the audience, practically bursting with pride.

After the show, we wait in the lobby for the actors to exit the dressing rooms. There are lots of people around, holding flowers and smiling and laughing about the show.

Denise is practically beside herself with glee. “Well son of a gun, can you believe it? I just can’t believe it! He was amazing, wasn’t he? He truly was amazing! I never would have guessed.”

One by one, the actors emerge, wearing regular clothes, but still in their heavy stage makeup. The girls wear false eyelashes and lots of blue eye shadow. The boys’ faces have been mostly wiped clean, but you can still see a shadow of eyeliner around their eyes and traces of red lipstick on their lips. They smile bashfully as people cheer and shower them with applause and hugs. There is a loud cheer when
Charity emerges, looking tired but happy, her magnificent hair flattened on top from her wig. She catches my eye and gives me a little wave before being swallowed by a group of adoring fans.

The Dentonator actually looks uncomfortable, for once in his life. He keeps shifting his weight from side to side, looking at the clock, at the door, and then at us. Maybe it’s because he’s wearing a collared shirt.

“Do you have to be somewhere?” I ask pointedly.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to bring flowers,” he says, gazing at the hordes of people bearing large bouquets. I wish I could take back my tone. I feel sorry for him. How was he supposed to know? It’s not like anyone gave him flowers after a big hockey game. As far as I know, this is the first time the Dentonator has ever stepped foot inside a theatre.

I hand him my bouquet. “Here,” I say, “you can take these.”

“No, I couldn’t. You bought them so you should give them to him.”

“It’s okay, I have something else for him, too.”

But the Dentonator shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I think I saw a woman selling roses by the concession stand at intermission,” Mom says gently. “I’m sure she has some left over.”

The Dentonator looks relieved. “Thanks, Annie. I’ll go check that out.”

When Benji slips out, for once I am happy to be with such a rowdy group of people. Charity may have prompted lots of cheering, but it’s nothing compared to the welcome that Benji receives. Denise puts two fingers in her mouth
and whistles, and Doug says, “Hey, look, it’s the Cowardly Lion!” Strangers step forward to clap Benji on the back and say congratulations as he makes his way over to his cheering section. Even under all that foundation, I can see that he’s turned a deep shade of pink.

“You were truly wonderful,” Mom says warmly.

Doug holds out his hand for a shake. “Bang-up job, Benjamin.”

Benji’s father steps forward, thrusting an armload of individually wrapped roses toward Benji. There must be at least a dozen of them in all colours: red, yellow, pink, and white.

“For me?” Benji says.

The Dentonator nods. “That was really something. I never could have got up there in front of all those people,” he says.

I roll my eyes, but by the way Benji grins I can tell he doesn’t think it was a lame thing to say.

“Would you look at that,” Denise whispers. “He must have bought up every last one of those roses.”

“He has a good heart,” Mom says.

Denise gets a familiar sparkle in her eye. “You know, he is still in good shape for a man his age.”

Mom laughs. I’ve heard about as much as I can handle. I break away from the group and make my way toward the star, withering under the weight of all his flowers.

“Need a hand with all those flowers?” I ask. Benji hands me a bouquet, but keeps clutching the dozen or so single roses from his dad. “I got something for you, too, but I’ll give it to you later. It looks like you’ve got your hands full anyway.”

“You didn’t have to,” Benji protests.

“Don’t be stupid, I wanted to!” I insist.

“What did you think? Honestly?”

“Honestly? It was amazing. You were amazing. Don’t tell me you didn’t hear all those people cheering for you.”

Benji grins. “I totally did. Are you coming out with us?”

“Where are you going?”

“Most of the cast is going to the Dairy Bar for ice cream. It’s tradition.”

“I wouldn’t want to be in the way. It sounds like it’s a cast thing.”

“I want you to come. Mattie and Andrew can come, too. Please, Clarissa? You haven’t come to anything yet.”

“Okay. But only because you’re a star.”

The Dairy Bar is at full capacity. Outside, people sprawl across the picnic tables and run back and forth from the pickup window carrying ice cream cones in both hands. It’s the first night that feels like summer is right around the corner. The unexpected heat is making people giddy. And flirty. I feel like I’m in the middle of some teenage mating ritual.

Inside, the Dairy Bar is full of actors and their friends. It is the perfect after-show hangout for theatre types: loud, fun, and campy. All of the employees wear pointed paper caps that look like they may have been children’s sailing boats in another life. The radio is tuned to the oldies station and at every booth there is a shrine to someone famous and long-dead: James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley. Mattie, Andrew, Benji, and I stuff ourselves into the
I Love Lucy
booth.

Mattie grabs the menu, personalized with all sorts of
I Love Lucy
facts, and reads aloud. “Did you know seven out of every ten people with televisions watched the episode where Lucy gives birth to Little Ricky?”

“Gross! Can’t you read the specials?”

“It’s not like they showed the actual process of birth,” Mattie protests.

I shudder and cover my ears.

“All right, all right! Oh, look! Onion rings are half price! I love onion rings, only I can never finish an entire basket …” Mattie trails off, smiling sweetly at Andrew.

“Do you want to share a basket?” he asks. That Andrew is much quicker on the uptake than Josh Simmons.

Mattie’s smile goes from bright to megawatt. “I would
love
to!”

It occurs to me that this is where my dad took my mom on their first date. I wonder which booth they sat in. Probably James Dean. The tortured-poetic types (or the type that pretends to be a tortured poet) would probably pick James Dean. Doug would never pick James Dean. He’d pick something goofy. In fact, he’d probably sit right here, in the
I Love Lucy
booth. I hate to admit it, but these days I am on Team Doug. Sorry, Bill. DNA isn’t everything.

“Do you want to split something?” Benji asks me.

“No way, I can eat an entire basket to myself and then some. Besides, I think I want ice cream.”

“Hey, look, it’s The Benj!” Beckett enters the Dairy Bar, followed closely by Mika and some other girls I don’t recognize. One of them can’t keep her arms off him, and the other keeps smiling with her mouth closed. As they get closer I can see the glint of braces in her mouth. They must have been in the play, because I can still see smudges of eyeliner and streaks of orange foundation on their necks. Mika has her arm flung around Beckett’s shoulder and is gazing adoringly at his face. Beckett doesn’t seem to notice.

Somehow, all four of them end up squeezing into our booth. Mattie is pressed right up against Andrew, who blushes and pretends to be studying the menu.

Soon fries and onion rings arrive in red plastic baskets,
lined in white newsprint. Beckett makes a big show of smacking his lips and licking each vinegar-stained finger. “Magnifico!” he says.

“What’s that, Spanish?” Mika asks.

Cripes.

“So what did you guys think of the show?” Braces asks. “Tell the truth.”

“It was amazing,” Mattie says. “I loved every second of it.”

“Hard to believe it was The Benj’s first show,” Beckett says, giving him a playful punch on the arm. “He’s a natural.”

Benji winces, rubbing his arm, but he can’t help but smile at the same time. “Thanks.”

“The first of many, right, little bro?” Beckett holds his hand out for a high-five, which Benji reluctantly gives him.

“I hope so,” Benji says earnestly, making the girls laugh.

“You are just the cutest thing,” says Octopus Arms, reaching out and pinching Benji’s cheek. “Isn’t he the cutest thing?”

Mattie sniffs and her shoulders stiffen. Clearly I’m not the only one who finds these showgirls annoying.

“If by cute you mean talented, then yes,” I say coldly.

“Who is this chick?” Braces asks.

“My name is Clarissa Louise Delaney,” I say evenly.

“Oooh, is this your girlfriend, Benji?” Braces teases.

“I hope not,” says Octopus Arms, removing her tentacles from Beckett and draping her arm around Benji’s shoulders. “This one is good boyfriend material.”

Benji turns almost as red as the ketchup on the table and squirms under Octopus Arms’ tentacle. “Excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom,” he says.

Beckett cups his hands around his mouth and adopts a corny radio announcer’s voice. “Ladies and Gents,
The Benj!” Mika and the other girls laugh as Benji scurries toward the bathroom, head down, cheeks burning.

Once he’s safely out of earshot, Braces leans across the table. “No, seriously. So what’s the deal? Are you guys together?”

“No, we are not together,” I say. I have to speak slowly and carefully to keep from exploding.

“Clarissa’s already taken,” Mattie chimes in. Everyone is surprised, but no one more than me.

“Really?” Andrew asks, frowning.

Mattie panics. “Well, in her heart anyway,” she says uncertainly.

Octopus Arms and Braces lean forward expectantly. “Sounds like there’s a story there,” says Braces.

Mattie busies herself by stuffing what’s left of the onion rings into her mouth and avoiding eye contact. So much for her “don’t eat like a pig in front of boys” philosophy.

“No story,” I say quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly, because Braces and Octopus Arms share a knowing glance and then turn all sympathetic.

“Boys suck,” Braces says.

“Really suck,” Octopus Arms agrees.

“Hey!” Beckett protests. “I’m sitting right here!”

“You’re not a boy, you’re a man,” Mika giggles.

Barf. If this is what high school is like, I’ll stay back a year, thank you very much.

“It’s okay, she’s just upset,” Mattie explains to the rest of the table.

“I am not upset,” I insist through gritted teeth.

“Let it all out, Clarissa. It’s healthy to let your feelings out,” Braces says.

“Let what out? What’s the matter?” A hush falls over the
table as Benji slides back into his seat, looking at me with concern. When no one offers an explanation, he asks again. “Clarissa? What are you upset about?”

I try to blow it off. “Nothing, Benji, don’t worry about it.”

But Mattie isn’t having any of it. “It’s Michael,” she confesses. “You know, in a million years I never would have thought that he of all people would treat a girl like this. He seems so respectful.”

Now Benji looks truly alarmed. “Treat a girl like what? What’s going on?”

“He still hasn’t called her.”

“So?”

“So? A whole week is a long time not to call someone after you’ve kissed them.”

Benji’s mouth drops open. “You KISSED him?”

Braces lifts her hand for a high-five. “All right! Nicely done, Clarissa!”

I send her a glare powerful enough that she drops her hand and looks sheepish. “Yes, I kissed Michael, and he hasn’t talked to me since. Can we please move on?”

Benji is crestfallen. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“Well, obviously nothing came of it, so there was nothing to tell.”

Mika shakes her head. “Boys,” she says. Octopus Arms and Braces nod with her.

“Oh, Clarissa. I’m so, so sorry,” Benji says. He looks so sad I want to punch him.

“Don’t be sorry for me! I don’t care! It didn’t mean anything. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing. I lost Suzy and then I got the news about my mom and then we found Suzy again, and it just happened. I would have kissed anybody who was there, I would have kissed
him
!” In my
panicked state, I point wildly at Beckett who, for once, is at a loss for words.

Mika gives me the stink-eye and puts a protective hand on Beckett’s arm, who finds his voice again.

“Whoa, Clarissa, you’re nice and everything, but I think you’re a little young for me —”

“Cripes, I didn’t mean I’d
actually
do it. It was just an example! As if I’d want to kiss you.”

Braces frowns and says, “Whoa, Clarissa, that was harsh.”

“Listen, Basket —”

“It’s Beckett —”

“I don’t care what your stupid name is. You don’t know anything about me, so just back off.”

“And I thought Charity was a drama queen,” Octopus Arms mutters under her breath.

To my surprise, I find myself defending Charity. “Hey! Leave Charity out of this!”

“Aren’t we touchy,” Braces says primly.

I want to rip the braces right off her teeth. “I am not touchy and I am not mad about Michael. I don’t care about Michael Greenblat. I’m sorry I ever kissed him and I’m sorry I ever told anyone about it! So please stop putting words into my mouth and believe me when I say, once and for all, that Michael Greenblat is as good as dead to me!”

I turn on my heel, ready to make a grand exit worthy of the stage — the kind people will be talking about for months to come — only to see Michael loitering near the cash register, staring at me like I’m some kind of horrible, heartless person.

Which, of course, at least in this instant, I am.