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You do, don’t you?
I nudged her with my shoulder. “I can measure you on my doorjamb if you want. You can be immortalized for all time at Wate’s Landing.” She smiled into her notebook and pushed her shoulder against mine. From the corner of my eye, I could see the afternoon sunlight hitting one side of her face, a single page of her notebook, the curling edge of her black hair, the tip of one black Converse.
About the movies. Friday works.
Then she slid her granola bar into the middle of her notebook, and closed it.
The toes of our ratty black sneakers touched.
The more I thought about Friday night, the more nervous I got. It wasn’t a date, not officially—I knew that. But that was part of the problem. I wanted it to be. What do you do when you realize you
might have feelings for a girl who will barely admit to being your friend? A girl whose uncle kicked you out of their house, and who isn’t all that welcome in yours, either? A girl who almost everyone you know hates? A girl who shares your dreams, but maybe not your feelings?
I had no idea, which is why I didn’t do anything. But it didn’t stop me from thinking about Lena, and almost driving by her house on Thursday night—if her house wasn’t outside of town, if I had my own car. If her uncle wasn’t Macon Ravenwood. Those were the “ifs” that kept me from making a fool of myself.
Every day was like a day out of someone else’s life. Nothing had ever happened to me, and now everything was happening to me—and by everything, I really meant Lena. An hour was both faster and slower. I felt like I had sucked the air out of a giant balloon, like my brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Clouds were more interesting, the lunchroom less disgusting, music sounded better, the same old jokes were funnier, and Jackson went from being a clump of grayish-green industrial buildings to a map of times and places where I might run into her. I found myself smiling for no reason, keeping my earphones in and replaying our conversations in my head, just so I could listen to them again. I had seen this kind of thing before.
I had just never felt it.
By Friday night, I had been in a great mood all day, which meant I’d done worse than everyone in class, and better than everyone at practice. I had to put all that energy somewhere. Even Coach noticed, and kept me late to talk. “Keep it up, Wate, an’ you just might get yourself scouted next year.”
Link gave me a ride to Summerville after practice. The guys were planning on catching a movie, too, which I probably should have considered since the Cineplex only had one screen. But it was too late for that, and I was past the point of caring.
When we pulled up in the Beater, Lena was standing outside in the darkness, in front of the brightly lit theater. She was wearing a purple T-shirt, with a skinny black dress over it that made you remember how much of a girl she was, and trashed black boots that made you forget.
Inside the door, aside from the usual crowd of Summerville Community College students, the cheer squad was assembled in formation, hanging out in the lobby arcade with guys from the team. My mood started to evaporate.
“Hi.”
“You’re late. I got the tickets.” Lena’s eyes were unreadable in the darkness. I followed her inside. We were off to a great start.
“Wate! Get over here!” Emory’s voice boomed over the arcade and the crowd and the eighties music playing in the lobby.
“Wate, you got a date?” Now Billy was riding me. Earl didn’t say anything, but only because Earl hardly ever said anything.
Lena ignored them. She rubbed her head, walking ahead of me like she didn’t want to look at me.
“It’s called a life.” I shouted back over the crowd. I would hear about this on Monday. I caught up to Lena. “Hey, sorry about that.”
She whirled around to look at me. “This isn’t going to work if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t want to watch the previews.”
I waited for you.
I grinned. “Previews and credits, and the dancing popcorn guy.”
She looked past me, back to my friends, or at least, the people who had historically functioned that way.
Ignore them.
“Butter or no butter?” She was annoyed. I had been late, and she had faced the Jackson High social stockade alone. Now it was my turn.
“Butter,” I confessed, knowing this would be the wrong answer. Lena made a face.
“But I’ll trade you butter for extra salt,” I said. Her eyes looked past me, then back. I could hear Emily’s laughter getting closer. I didn’t care.
Say the word and we’ll go, Lena.
“No butter, salt, tossed with Milk Duds. You’ll like it,” she said, her shoulders relaxing just a little.
