Authors: Jenny B. Jones
I should probably take notes.
Chapter five
MY BOWLING BALL LANDS WITH a thud and careens down the lane. Right into the gutter.
Again.
I turn around and my team cheers for me anyway. Nothing like pity claps to make you feel even more like a loser.
Next to us, Charlie, in perfect form (and I do mean that in every sense of the word), throws a strike. Again. Chelsea jumps up and throws her arms around him. I have to turn my head.
Nash stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Charlie, maybe you could give Katie some tips. She could really use the help.” His hand squeezes twice. I glance at Frances and she nods. Total conspiracy.
“No, really, I’m fine. Just bad luck today. Maybe my shoes are too tight.” Like the hand squeezing my heart as I watch Chelsea throw herself on the guy who was about to be my boyfriend.
“It’s
not
fine.” Frances picks up her bowling ball. “Katie’s only bowled a few times in her entire life, so she’s kind of at a disadvantage.”
Charlie, now completely disentangled from Chelsea, looks my way, a question in his gray eyes. Like he’s afraid I’m gonna try to throw him
down the lane instead of the ball.
Hmph
. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get him any farther than the gutter, so it would be a completely wasted effort.
“I’d be glad to help you out. Give you a few tips.”
“Sure.” I lift an indifferent shoulder. “Whatever.”
I pick up a ball and follow Charlie to a lane a short way away from my team, left vacant mid-game by fellow churchies who decided to try their luck at pool.
“First of all, this ball is eleven pounds.” Charlie takes it from my hand.
“So?”
“So, Miss Attitude, it’s probably too heavy for you.”
“Yeah? Well, I like it.” My chin lifts. “It’s pink.”
“Katie, you can’t pick a bowling ball because it’s cute. You pick one you can adequately lift and guide down the lane.”
I inspect my fingernails and notice I’ve totally broken my thumb-nail. This game is stupid. Knock down some pins and lose all your fingernails. Great fun. Buy me a T-shirt and sign me up for a league.
“Are you even listening to me?”
I turn my head, only to discover our noses are now inches apart. I take a step back. “Yes, I’m listening.”
His eyes darken. “Katie, I — ”
“Yes?”
Charlie’s gaze drops to our crazy bowling shoes. “Why didn’t you return any of my calls this weekend? I texted you a hundred times.”
“I guess I was busy.” You know, worrying about how my life was falling apart. “Besides, you had Chelsea to keep you company.”
His expression clouds, and he walks away, returning with a new bowling ball. He shoves it into my hands. “Here.”
I slip my fingers in the three holes.
“You’re holding it all wrong.” He picks up another ball and demonstrates. “See? No, no . . . here, let me show you.”
I hand the black ball (such an uninspiring color) over and before
I can say PDA violation, Charlie stands behind me, his arm extended. “Like this, see?” His arm brushes my side as he demonstrates his technique. “Got it?” He looks down into my face.
Our eyes linger for a moment as I glance up.
“Katie — ”
“Charlie — ”
“What’s going on with us?” he asks, his voice deep and low in my ear.
“I don’t know. You’re the one who backed off.” Do I need to replay Friday night for him? Because I have it memorized
word for word
.
“I asked for your understanding.” He lowers the ball, but turns me around with his other hand.
“I . . . I can’t be that girl who trusts you blindly. I’m not going to let you walk all over me.”
“What does that mean?”
I jerk my head toward Chelsea, two lanes down. “Your renewed
friendship
with your ex-girlfriend.”
“What if that’s all it is? A friendship.”
“You expect me to stick around until you figure it out? I don’t think so. How is it that suddenly this girl who . . . who
cheated
on you is now your BFF, and the three of us are all supposed to hang out?”
“She needs my help. Chelsea needs friends right now.”
I shake my head. “What she wants from you goes way beyond friendship, and you know it.” I remove his hand from my arm. “You can’t have us both. I’m not gonna date you while your
friend
throws herself at you at every opportunity.”
Charlie runs his hand through his toffee hair. “Oh, yeah, and what about you, huh? Joey Farmer? Who is this guy? Friday night you’re on a date with me, and by Sunday this dude’s asked you out? Have you been talking to him this whole time?”
“This whole time? This whole time we’ve been
not
dating? Because I’ve never really been sure what exactly you and I were. Were we a couple? Were we good friends?”
Charlie checks the area to make sure no one is within earshot. “Is this because I never kissed you?”
I inhale sharply. “No!” Well, maybe. I don’t know! After so long a girl does have to wonder: Am I someone he really likes or just someone to share his popcorn combo at the movies?
“I wanted things to be different with us,” Charlie says. “I wanted us to have this solid friendship and take it from there. Like Pastor Mike talks about. Chelsea and I just jumped into our relationship.”
“And it’s a great idea. What’s
not
a fabulous idea is bringing Chelsea back into the equation and expecting me to believe it’s all about friendship. Are you going to tell me what’s going on with her?”
He opens his mouth. Then shuts it again. “I can’t.”
“Fine.” I slowly nod. “Then I hope you guys will be very happy.”
You, Chelsea, and your big fat secrets.
“It’s not like that.” He reaches for my hand, but I jerk it away.
“Charlie!” Chelsea’s petite hand waves him over. “It’s getting lonely over here, and it’s Katie’s turn to bowl!”
“It’s not like that?” I laugh. “Tell that to her.”
“WHAT’S THE MATTER, GLOOMY PANTS?” Maxine belly flops onto my bed, where I sit Indian style, staring at my phone. I read Frances’s latest text.
CHARLIE ASKD NASH ABT J FARMER AGN. C SAID IF HES GOING 2 D8 U, HE WANTS 2 CHEK HIM OUT. YIKES.
I snap my phone shut.
“Nothing.”
She crawls closer to me. “
Aww
, you can tell ol’ Maxine.” Her smile dims. “Besides, nothing could be worse than my life.”
“My mom is out of prison and wants to take me back home. Forever. I might never see you guys, my friends, or In Between again. I’ll be leaving while Millie still needs me. Charlie no longer wants to date me. Instead he wants to focus on his friendship with Chelsea Blake. And by Friday night, I have to produce a fake boyfriend who’s hot
and
excels
in trigonometry and is a musical virtuoso.” I glare at my foster grandmother. “And your problem is . . . ?”
She grabs one of my pillows, fluffs it, and sticks it under her chin. “Sam still wants to marry me.”
“Of course he does.”
“Well,
duh
, I mean I know he
should
want to. Who wouldn’t?” She rolls her eyes. “But I’ve dropped hints lately we should wait and not rush into anything. That maybe a nice, long, well-thought-out engagement would be wise.”
“Maxine, he’s been in love with you for two years. Why would he want to wait? You aren’t getting any younger.”
“Ha!” She pats her face. “Tell that to my plastic surgeon.” She sobers. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I thought marriage was what I wanted. But now . . . am I ready to marry some old geezer and settle into a boring domestic life as a wife?”
“He’s younger than you.”
“Not according to my fake birth certificate I got off eBay.”
“Maybe you should have a fake boyfriend too. I’ll have Frances come up with one. She’s good at that.”
“Shame on you girls.” Maxine clucks her tongue. “That is deceitful.” She rubs her hands together. “And I like it.”
“James and Millie wouldn’t.”
Maxine nods. “No, they wouldn’t. But you can get out of it, can’t you? Does this . . . what’s his name?”
“Joey Farmer.”
“Does this Joey Farmer really have to make an appearance?”
“Yes. Charlie insists that I bring him to his birthday party Friday night so he can meet him. And he was so smug about it that I want to prove there could be another guy.”
“Joey Farmer . . . Why didn’t you girls come up with a better name? Like Enrique or Sebastian? Something hot and foreign.”
“Yeah, because it would be
so
much easier to find a guy who’s good looking, brilliant, a master guitar player,
and
has an accent.”
“So find a guy to pose as Joey for one night, and be done with it. How hard can that be?”
“Uh, next to impossible? Is that really all the advice you have for me?”
“I’m in a crisis myself here! I’m sorry, kiddo, but I shouldn’t help you with this. It reeks of deceit, and I like to stay away from things of a fraudulent nature.”
I sniff and pat her cheek. “Yeah, tell
that
to your plastic surgeon.”
Maxine taps her French manicured nails together. “I might have an idea . . .”
“Am I gonna like it?”
She smiles. “Most definitely not.”
Chapter six
“ARE YOU
INSANE
?”
I shut my locker door and face Frances. “Maxine says she’s going to take care of finding me a Joey Farmer.”
“Katie, Mad Maxine is
not
to be trusted.”
Frances and my foster grandmother don’t exactly have the closest relationship. Maxine loves to torment Frances, and my best friend falls for the bait every time.
“What other option do I have?” I grab my English book and a binder. “You came up with this ridiculous idea and totally left me hanging. Maxine talked to Mr. Diamatti, her old neighbor at Shady Acres, and he’s going to introduce me to one of his gorgeous Italian grandsons who lives nearby.” But not too nearby. Close enough to make an appearance Friday but far enough away so that Charlie has probably never laid eyes on the boy.
“This is unacceptable.” Frances stuffs books into her backpack. “You don’t know this guy from Adam. He could be a murderer. A serial killer. Or even worse” — she zips her bag — “a total dork.”
“Mr. Diamatti showed Maxine a picture of his three grandsons. They all belong on Abercrombie bags.” Well, actually, she
said it was a picture of them at a ski resort. The oldest two grandsons were “delish,” but my soon-to-be Joey Farmer was too wrapped up in snow gear to tell. But come on, if two of them are amazing, I think it’s a safe bet brother number three will be super fine too.
“Relax, Frances. I’m the one who should be stressed, not you. I’m going over to Shady Acres with Maxine Thursday to meet him. If he’s a Greek Adonis, then great. And if he’s a total freak job, then he will not get the role of Joey Farmer, potential love of my life.”
Frances squints behind her trendy black glasses. “This just seems very wrong.”
“It was wrong the moment you gave me an imaginary boyfriend. It’s too late now.”
“Hi, Katie.”
Charlie.
Almost six feet of ooey-gooey off-limits guy.
Why
is everything going wrong? I feel like the world is plotting against me. It’s like I’m Britney Spears or something.
I set a cool gaze on Charlie. Be smooth. “Hey.” My voice cracks like a twelve-year-old boy’s.
He greets Frances then his eyes settle back on me. “I’ve got two tickets to see
The Sound of Music
at the Valiant tomorrow night. Know anybody who might want to go?”
I feel my resistance melting at his reluctant smile. He knows I can get tickets to any show at the Valiant since my foster parents own it, but I also know he hates musical theatre. He would suffer through singing nuns and tunes about lonely goatherds just for me? I am powerless against this new tactic. Charlie is hard to resist. But Charlie and yodeling Von Trapps? Impossible.
“I don’t know . . .” Translation: Pick me up at six.
“It will be fun. We can go eat at the Burger Barn then catch the show.” He leans forward. “Besides, we need to talk. About you and me.”
I consider this. “Do you promise not to make fun of the children’s matching outfits?”
He flashes his megawatt grin. “If you promise not to sing along with every number.”
And then we’re laughing, Charlie and I. The Monday morning crowd disappears around us, and it’s just me and this boy who is confusing, maddening, and yet everything I could want in a boyfriend.
“Katie — ” Charlie speaks and breaks the magical bubble. “I’m sorry about everything. I don’t want to fight, and I don’t want to stop hanging out with you.”
Hanging out with me?
In the friend sense? Or as in you Brad, me Angelina?
“I need you to believe me that there’s nothing going on between Chelsea and me.”
“Yet.” I shake my head and become more aware of the crowded hall. “I don’t know. I want to believe you.” In the sixth grade I wanted to believe Tommy Parks when he said that lighting a box of matches in the Jackson Middle School ladies’ room wouldn’t turn the sprinklers on, but one flooded bathroom and a week’s suspension later, I realized Tommy had lied. I don’t want to miss the obvious again.
“Let’s just go have a good time Tuesday night. No pressure. No worries. No — ”
“Chelsea?”
The guarded mask returns to Charlie’s face. “Give it a rest, Katie. Can’t you just try to avoid the topic of Chelsea?”
It’s kind of hard when she’s been attached to you like a perfectly highlighted Siamese twin.
“Okay, sorry.” I hold up a hand in surrender. “We’ll just avoid that topic.” I give my strawberry-blonde hair a slight toss and fix Charlie with my glossy smile. “I would love to go to the theatre with you. It sounds fun.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but the first hour bell cuts him off. “See ya at lunch.”
I wave as he walks away.
In English class, Ms. Dillon assigns us our end-of-the-year project. When she announces it will take the place of a final exam, everyone
cheers. When she adds we have to write a ten-page autobiography, the groans nearly rattle the windows.