Weird Girl and What's His Name (22 page)

“Who's Paul Westerberg?”

“Look it up,” she sighed. “God, I'm getting old. Look, my point is, you can be whatever you want. And whatever you want to be is just fine, as long as you're true to yourself. You can even change, if you realize that what you thought you wanted doesn't make you happy. There are no boundaries. Except that you can't be my girlfriend. Okay?”

“Okay.” After everything that had happened, I realized that I didn't want to be Mrs. Lidell's girlfriend. I wished we could sit in her office and talk about Paris, though. Like we used to. “Can we just be regular friends? I mean, can we not be all awkward if we see each other again?”

“When
we see each other again,” she corrected. “And, yes, we can definitely not be awkward.

I
COULD NOT BELIEVE MY EYES.
Rory's Homecoming date was Speed Briggs. And, instead of being a scandal, everybody loved them. They were both attempting to breakdance to Biz Markie, and everybody was gathered around them in a big circle, shouting, “Go Rory! Go Rory!” and then, “Go Speed! Go Speed!” Some of the girls from our class would take turns dancing with them, and then they would all dance, shouting the lyrics along with the chorus:
Oh baby you! you got what I need! but you say he's just a friend! yeah you say he's just a friend!
I leaned against the wall, one of the Homecoming Castaways, watching from afar. I guess if I'd had more courage, I could've gone and joined in with them. But I didn't want to ruin it for him. I'd never seen him like that before. Just being silly. Having so much fun.

“Pretty crazy, huh?” Seth walked up from out of the crowd. Wearing sneakers with his suit. And a pirate eyepatch. “There's a movement afoot to crown them Homecoming Kings.”

“They should be,” I shouted over the music. Seth took off his eye patch and we stood and watched them for a minute.

“Speed just told me he gave up drinking for him,” Seth said, nodding toward Rory.

“Wow. That sounds serious.”

“Could be. You having fun?” Seth asked, rubbing his eye.

“Fun? Yeah, it's, uh . . .” I looked around at the Castaway Corner where I'd been hiding most of the night, with its fake ocean and volleyball net decorated with plastic starfish. “It's like gym class meets
Lost.”

Seth laughed and said something I couldn't hear over everyone cheering for Speed's attempt at the moonwalk.

“What did you say?” I shouted.

“Pretty loud in here. You wanna go outside?” He leaned in.

“Outside? Sure.” He brushed his knuckles against my wrist, by accident, I thought. Then he threaded his fingers through mine. Suddenly I was holding hands with Sexy Seth Brock. It seemed like every girl in the gym was watching us leave. I didn't blame them.
Why am I holding hands with Sexy Seth?
Even Mrs. Lidell, smoking a cigarette under the dogwood, hiked an eyebrow at me. I shrugged my shoulders in response.

“My truck's parked over here,” Seth pointed to the senior lot. “I, uh. Brought something for you. Rory said you might show up.”

“He invited me,” I tried to explain. “What about your, um—your date?”

“I'm flying solo on this one.” He smiled back at me over his shoulder. My head was sort of mildly exploding as we wove through the cars until we got to the darkened corner of the lot where Seth's banged-up blue Chevy pickup was parked. He reached in his pocket for his keys and unlocked the doors. He let the tailgate down. There were thick wool blankets spread across the bed.

“Wait right there,” he said, running around to the driver's side door. My heart was going a mile a minute. What was this? I was standing there with this guy I barely knew in a dark parking lot, and his truck bed was lined with blankets. Janet always told me, if some boy tried to get me into a compromising position, I should just leave. But he dedicated those songs to me. He tried to, anyway. Was I being compromised yet?

The window in the back of the cab slid open, and I jumped. I heard music—Seth had turned the radio on. I heard the unmistakable hollow
click-chunk
of a cassette sliding into a cassette deck. There was a hiss, and then the sound of wiry guitars drifted out to meet the night.

“Can you hear it all right back there?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Perfect.” Seth got out and hopped up into the back of the truck. He stood at the end of the truck bed, offering me his hand.

“Come on up,” he said. I stopped being nervous and climbed up into the truck bed, careful to keep my skirt from flying up. I sat down on the raised hump of the wheel well. Seth sat on the one opposite me.

“You like the music?”

“Yeah. It's good.” I was pretty sure I'd heard the song before, on Midnight Pete.

“This is the mixtape I made for you. Here, this is the case for it.” Seth reached into his shirt pocket and handed me an empty cassette box. I read the tiny ink letters crammed onto the spine.
Underground Initiations to Awful Bliss: Seth's Bad & Rare GBV Greatest Hits Vol. 001.
The first song was “Hardcore UFOs.”

“It's an actual tape, too.” I was impressed. It was a lot harder to make an actual mixtape than just burn a CD. “I'm glad I kept my old Walkman.”

“I told you I was gonna bombard you with Guided by Voices,” he said. Was he blushing?

“This is—thanks. This is cool.” I didn't know what else to say. I wished we were somewhere else. Somewhere with people. I wished Rory was there. I wished I knew what to say. I wished this was easy.

“You wanna, um . . . you wanna look at the stars while we listen to it?” Seth knelt down in the truck bed, stretching out. “I parked away from all the lights and stuff so we could see better.”

“Seth—” I laughed. I couldn't help it. This whole thing felt strange and silly.

“What?” he sat up.

“Look at the stars? I mean, seriously! What are you up to?”

“I just . . . I thought it'd be cool. We could listen to the tape together and look up at the stars. It's a nice night. And I made this tape kind of . . . specifically for the purpose of looking up at the stars. With you.”

“With me?”

“Well,” Seth hesitated. “I mean—yeah. Of course. With you.”

“But—this doesn't strike you as odd? You're not weirded out by this in the least?”

“Weirded out? By what?”

“You and me! Out here like some kind of . . . I don't even know what. What is this? I don't get why you're being so nice to me. Don't you get it? I'm Weird Girl. You're Sexy Seth. You're the quarterback of the undefeated varsity football team. I'm a high school dropout. I mean, pardon my French, but what the fuck?”

“Geez, Lula.” Seth raked his hair back. “I reckon I don't get it. I thought you were different from these girls that just expect me to be Mr. Perfect Quarterback. But you make it sound like we're in some . . . teenage high school movie or something. You know, I used to be this spacey little kid, always listening to my headphones. People used to call me weird, too, before they figured out I can throw a football. You think I don't get how people act? You think you're really just some loser I'm not supposed to be friends with because I'm this big jock with my head too far up my ass to know who you really are?”

“I—” I had no snappy comeback at the ready. “But you don't know. You don't know who I really am. For crying out loud,
I
don't even know.”

“I know we were probably both lying awake in our beds at night, listening to Midnight Pete on the radio when we were kids, hearing the same songs and not even realizing it. I know you're Rory's best friend. I've read everything you wrote. I know you left school to go live with your mom. I know they thought you were missing for a while. I don't know—” He looked away. “The only thing I don't get about you is why you left town like you did. But I guess you figured you had to. You're smart, and you're brave, Lula—”

“No, I'm not. It wasn't so smart of me to leave. It was stupid and selfish.”

“Maybe it
was
selfish, but it was still brave. And you are smart. Hey, you're in college already. Even if it is
just
community college. I dunno, maybe you're right that I'm this dumb high school jock. Or whatever. Maybe compared to you, I am.”

“Seth, you're not a dumb jock.” I sat down beside him in the truck bed. Crossed my legs and tucked my skirt around me. “And I'm not that smart. I'm not that great. My own mother could care less about me. In the past six months, I've managed to piss off everybody that ever loved me, I ran away from home, and I've kissed two girls on the mouth. I also did some heavy canvassing for
The Campaign to Arrest Dick Cheney for War Crimes.
Now, are you sure you don't wanna go back up to the gym and find yourself a nice nubile cheerleader to make out with?”

At that, Seth threw his head back and cackled. “That's what I dig about you, Lula. You say the craziest stuff.”

“But it's not crazy! It's true!” And I told him the story of going up to DC with Trey, working for Tracy's dad until I had enough money for the train ticket out west. I told him about my mother and Walter. Riding horses. Learning how to drive. And he just sat there and listened to it all.

“Now, where did kissing the girls figure into all that adventure?”

I sighed. How could I begin to explain myself when I still didn't understand?

“I'm not sure I—I'm not sure I know how it figures in.”

“Are you dating anybody right now?”

“No.” Dating. That word sounded so nice and normal. Dating was such a wholesome activity, so many light years away from showing up at somebody's house in the middle of the night and laying one on them in the desperate hope that they'll save you from your own edgeless lonesome.

“The truth, Seth, is . . .” What was the truth? I wished the truth was some fixed, solid little box I could explain and describe and understand. But the truth was this wobbly, gelled thing. I had this idea of my heart as this separate being that just spilled over everywhere, consuming whatever fell in its path. Like the Blob in that old movie. “The truth is, I don't know what I'm doing. I always thought—I always just had it in the back of my mind that Rory and I would end up together. And then he realized he was gay, and it took me a long time to realize that we weren't going to be what I thought we were. Then I . . . met this girl—a girl I thought I understood. I thought she understood me. And I thought maybe that meant we should . . . be together somehow. But I misread it—she was just trying to be a friend. And then there was another girl, a friend of mine, but she was just . . . using me to get back at someone.”

“So what do you want? Deep down, do you really want to be with a girl? Or a boy?”

“Deep down, I want . . . I want somebody who sees me. I mean, really sees me. Sees everything I am, even all the horrible things I am. My dirty mouth and my stupid
X-Files
action figures and my total failure at graduating from high school and my messed-up mom and my crazy grandparents. I just want somebody who sees all that but . . . loves me anyway.”

“What if somebody looked at you and couldn't see anything horrible?” Seth asked.

“Then I'd say they weren't looking hard enough.”

“I'm looking right now.” And he was. His eyes were burning right into mine. And then he kissed me. Wow. We kissed.

“Seth—” I whispered. There were still all these things I wanted to say to him. I wanted to protest; he was a good person, a preacher's son, a sweet guy with a dead brother who made mixtapes for girls he barely knew. And I was just some jerk who couldn't even pull off being a proper teenage runaway. But what happened was that neither of us said anything. We kissed again, and then he took my face in his hands and held my forehead to his, like we were trying to mind-meld. I touched his cheekbone and felt his tears against my thumb. I don't know why, but I was crying, too.

We sat there like that for a while. My foot fell asleep. Then we stretched out in the truck bed and watched the stars while his Guided by Voices mixtape played and flipped itself over and played again and we heard the dance start to empty out, the other cars revving their engines and pulling away, and Seth told me not to worry about calling Leo because he would take me home.

seventeen

T
HE BOYS DIDN
'
T STAY UNDEFEATED
. T
HEY
were knocked out in the first round of the regional playoffs. Still, we had a lot to celebrate. I had finally passed the driver's test. And Seth and I were—cue the normal—dating. It was my idea to have everyone over on Friday night for my big Peace Dinner. I was going to right all the wrongs of the past year with jalapeño cornbread, enchiladas, and tortilla soup. Of course, there would be a few notable absences. Rory was having a dinner of his own, celebrating his one-month anniversary with Speed. Jay was spending the weekend with a girl she'd met from Appalachian State; it was getting serious pretty quickly, because Jay was already talking about transferring her credits. And my mother was still halfway across the country, conveniently ignoring my existence. Still, I had made up little Tupperware containers full of Walter's legendary jalapeño cornbread for each of the absentees—Janet was even helping me mail a care package to Tracy and her dad up in DC.

So it was just Janet, Leo, Seth, and me. Which was actually kind of perfect. Leo wanted a chance to give Seth a proper grilling. Seth started off with bonus points for showing up in a sport coat and bringing his new iPhone.

“I've been curious about these things.” Leo got out his reading glasses. “Mind if I take it for a spin?”

“Spin away, sir.” Seth handed him the phone. Leo tapped away at the touch screen while Janet helped me set the food out on the table.

“Leo's already in hog heaven,” she whispered. “You know he goes crazy for a new gadget.”

“That's why I told Seth to bring it,” I whispered. “He's actually kind of embarrassed about it. His dad got it for him to celebrate the end of the football season, and he doesn't really know how to work it yet.”

“Janet!” Leo called out from the living room. “Come look at this doodad! It does everything. I'm gonna get us a couple of 'em.”

“You boys put away your toys and come eat while it's hot,” Janet called back. Leo and Seth walked into the dining room, Leo so engrossed in the iPhone that he bumped into his chair.

“This is quite a spread, Mrs. Monroe,” Seth said.

“Thank you, honey, but the credit should go to Lula,” Janet said. “She's been cooking all afternoon.”

“Lula, you cooked all this food?” Seth looked across the table at me, surprised. “You didn't even tell me. It's amazing.”

“You might wanna reserve judgment until after you've tasted it,” I warned. “Up until now, the only thing I ever cooked was Jell-O.”

“It looks great,” Seth spread his napkin in his lap. “Mr. Monroe, would you mind if I said a few words before we eat? A blessing?”

Leo and Janet exchanged a look. We never said a blessing.

“Ah, sure, son. Go right ahead.”

“This is one my dad likes to say.” Seth dropped his head. We all followed his lead. “‘As our bodies are sustained with food, may our hearts be nourished with love and friendship, in fellowship under God. Amen.'”

“Amen,” Janet said. “Let's eat.”

“I can get the PGA scores on this thing,” I heard Leo mutter.

The food was barely on our plates before Leo started the full interrogation. He kept it mostly about football, at first.

“So, what are your plans, son?” Leo asked. “College? The Military? Military's a fine career for an athletic young man like yourself.”

“I've been offered a few football scholarships already—nothing big, but I'm still deciding,” Seth said. “I'm holding out for a school with a good nursing program. That's the field I'd ultimately like to be in.”

“Nursing, you said?” Leo furrowed his brow.

“Yes, sir. I know, it sounds like a punch line. But when my older brother was sick, I saw how much help it could be, especially for a young guy like that, to have a male nurse. Some stuff's kind of embarrassing to have to tell a woman, you know? And there was this one hospital where, whenever he had to be moved, they'd have to go get the janitor to help them, because the nurses were all so small. He's a big guy.
Was
a big guy.”

“Oh, honey,” Janet reached out and patted Seth's hand.

“And you'd rather be a nurse than a doctor?” Leo asked. I felt myself cringe.

“I'd love to be a doctor,” Seth told him. “But with my grades, trust me, you wouldn't want me to be the guy holding the scalpel.”

“You're doing a lot better,” I reminded him. “You just pulled your Chemistry grade up to a B plus.”

“Because I've got all your notes from last year,” Seth said.

“Now that you mention it, I'd rather have a male nurse, if I had to be laid up in the hospital,” Leo mused.

“If you have to be laid up in the hospital, God help us all.” Janet rolled her eyes. “Seth, honey, where are you thinking about going to school? State-wise, I mean.”

“The scholarships I've been offered so far are close to home. But my dad's from Boston, and my mom's from Texas. I have family in both places, so I've been looking at schools there, too. Wherever I end up, I'm hoping that, uh. That Lula will transfer her credits and come with me.”

I nearly choked on a tortilla. Way to put me on the spot, Seth. I didn't know what to say. We hadn't talked about any of this. We spent most of our dates in his room or mine, either watching
X-Files
DVDs or playing GBV records. Seth schooled me on the different Guided by Voices lineups and side projects, and I explained the finer points of the myth arc. I'll be honest, though: these debriefings were frequently interrupted by a lot of inappropriate giggling and kissing. Seth was turning me into a big mushy
girl.

Anyway, I knew that what Seth wasn't telling Janet and Leo was that, grades aside, he wasn't sure if he had the stomach to be a nurse. He already had a back-up plan, if he couldn't take the blood and guts and bodily fluids. Seth wanted to open up a music store, right here in Hawthorne. Sell records, CDs. Books about music. Maybe even have in-store performances. Without a record store in town, the only place for kids to hear music, let alone buy it, was on the computer, which Seth found, as he put it, “unbearably lonely.”

“What about you, Tallulah?” Leo asked. “You, ah. You given any thought to Boston or Texas?”

“I haven't really . . . decided anything yet,” I admitted.

“Have you thought about it, though?” Leo pressed.

“Actually, I've been thinking about . . . applying to the FBI,” I blurted out. I'd never told anyone that. Not even Rory.

“The FBI!” Janet exclaimed. “Oh, honey, don't do that. You'll get yourself killed by terrorists.”

“Yeah, Lula, come on,” Seth laughed. “It's not all Scully and Mulder in real life.”

“I know that. I know.” I looked down at my plate, suddenly embarrassed. “I thought I'd be a good investigator. I always thought it would be cool to be in charge of finding missing persons. I just think . . . people shouldn't be lost, you know?”

“You can have a fine career in the Bureau, if that's what you want,” Leo said. He narrowed his eyes at me. “You're a bright young woman. Every time you put your back into it, you've accomplished what you set out to do. I haven't always been pleased with the results,” he cleared his throat.

“Leo,” Janet whispered.

“I haven't always said it,” he went on. “Especially lately. But I'm proud of you, Lula. I'm proud of the woman you're growing up to be. And I think that, if you choose to join the FBI, you'll be an asset to their institution.”

“Thanks, Leo,” I said.
Thanks.
It didn't seem like enough. I still needed to say
I love you, too,
but this didn't seem like the time or place.

“Whatever you decide,” he swiped at his mouth with his napkin. “You've got this cooking down pat. This is the best damn cornbread I ever ate. Your mother taught you well.”

“Actually it was Walter. My mother doesn't—she never cooks,” I explained, suddenly feeling nervous. I couldn't believe Leo voluntarily mentioned my mom.

“Good man, Walter.” Leo nodded. “We should have him come out for a visit. You reckon he golfs?”

“Golf? I, uh . . . I'm not sure.” I swallowed. Have Walter over for the weekend? Walter, my mother's husband? The same mother we were pretending didn't exist, right? I looked up at Leo. He frowned and cleared his throat again. Something he did when he was uncomfortable and would rather be smoking.

“Son, let me have another look at that doodad of yours,” he said to Seth. “And explain these ‘apps' to me one more time.”

K
ID
K
ILOWATT: R U SERIOUS ABOUT THE
fbi?

It was like Seth was reading my mind. I was online researching FBI recruiting when he IMed me.

“Lula!” Janet knocked on my door. I jumped.

“Yeah?” I turned around. She poked her head in.

“You've got a visitor! Come downstairs.” She was grinning this big dumb grin. I figured it was probably Seth, outside on the porch, and he'd been IMing me from his iPhone this whole time. Janet was a sucker for romance.

I left the computer on and followed Janet down the stairs. Well, knock me right over with a feather.

“Rory Callahan, as I live and breathe.”

“Hi,” he said. “Sorry I missed the big dinner. Is it too late to hang out?”

“Not at all, honey,” Janet answered for me. “You two want some popcorn?”

Popcorn. Janet used to make it for us on
X-Files
nights.

“Sure,” Rory said, answering for me.

“Howdy, Rory,” Leo called from his recliner. “You ever see
What's Up, Doc
? It's just about to start on TCM.”

“I'll take a rain check,” Rory said.

“Suit yourself. It's pretty darn funny.”

“I'll bring the popcorn up. You two go watch your show.” Janet shooed us upstairs. I walked back to my room in a daze, Rory following. He looked good. His khakis were pressed, and he had a new blue button-up shirt that made his eyes look extra-intense. He'd finally shaved his chin scruff, so he looked like himself again. But I didn't feel like I used to. Like I was secretly pining away. I just felt happy. Glad to see him. Glad it was just the two of us, back in my room.

“So . . . how was dinner with Speed?”

“Great. We went to that new Korean fire-grill place. Man, that guy can eat.” Rory chuckled softly to himself. “How was dinner with Seth?”

“I think it went well. Leo didn't kill him.”

“That's good.”

“Actually, this is him on IM. Hang on just a sec, let me say goodnight.” I bent over the computer keyboard.

“Since when are you reading
House of Mirth
?” Rory held up the book from my nightstand.

“It's for one of my classes. We had to pick a book for an extended essay project. You always told me I should read it.”

“It's one of my favorites,” he said.

“I know. We watched the movie together.” I put the computer in sleep mode.

“The book's better.”

“The book's more depressing. I keep waiting for Lily Bart to get it together and kick Bertha Dorset's ass, but it's totally not going to happen, is it?”

“Sadly, no,” Rory confirmed. “Edith Wharton's novels are curiously devoid of ass-kicking. Who's Walter?” He was looking at the shelf above the bed, to the place where I used to keep my mother's things in a makeshift shrine. Her books were still there, behind a propped-up Dick Cheney pamphlet and the postcard Walter sent me.

“My mom's husband.”

“Oh. Your stepdad.”

“Something like that.” It was weird to think of him as anything other than just Walter. But I guess that's what he was. “My stepdad. Yeah.”

“He was a cool guy?”

“Very cool. He kept World War Three from breaking out between me and her.”

“That bad, huh?”

“She wasn't cut out to be a mom. Her words. Hey, you wanna see something truly weird?”

“Okay, but I'm warning you,” Rory said solemnly, “if it's monkey pee, you're on your own.” He broke into a grin, and so did I. Rory quoting Agent Scully lines at me? It was almost like old times. I slid my desk drawer open and fished out the family portrait.

“It's not monkey pee, but it is too weird to leave on public display.” I showed him the picture.

“Is this your mom?”

“And my dad. My real dad. And, technically, me. In utero.”

“Wow. Look at you. Look at him. I mean, look at how you kind of look like him.”

“I know. His name's Peter Hubbell.”

“Like the telescope?”

“Yeah, but spelled differently. Still, pretty badass, right? I've got his phone number, but I haven't called him yet. I've totally stalked him on Facebook, though.”

“Why don't you send him a message?” Rory studied the picture. “He looks like a nice guy.”