Crash Test Love (2 page)

ME

Do I know you?

HER

I don’t know, do you? (She picks up a mini quiche and takes a bite. She swallows but crushes the rest in a napkin, tossing it into the garbage.) Gross.

ME

I’ve never seen you before.

HER

That makes sense. I just moved here.

I cannot take my eyes o her. The way she walks is not walking. It’s gliding. I can see every line and curve of her body. I want her immediately.

But it’s more than sexual. It’s something I can’t describe.

Across from us is a tiny alcove with a window overlooking the hotel grounds. She sits on the ledge.

HER

Care to join me?

I am suddenly so glad that nothing happened with whatshername in my car, because then I would not be experiencing this right now. Whatever this is.

this is.

We sit for what feels like a long time. Normal y I have a routine:

1. Compliment

2. Flat er (which is similar to #1 but more over-the-top, and typical y involves physical contact) 3. Get It On

It’s like this: girls like when you take charge and tel them what you want. And what they want. I am great at the art of seduction (whatshername being an exception). What I am not great at is the fol ow-through. I don’t hook up with the same girl more than once. It’s too complicated. Too much work. Too much responsibility.

I stare at this gorgeous creature beside me and wonder what she looks like minus her dress and plus me on top of her. I begin to plan my at ack.

HER

I guess you’re the silent type.

ME

Not usually. But you’ve got me speechless.

HER

(laughing)

Oh. I see. Speechless, huh?

ME

Well. Kind of speechless.

HER

I bet you say that to all the girls.

ME

No. I don’t.

HER

Sure. So what’s your name, stranger?

Something about her makes me want to say Henry Arlington. But that is completely against the Crasher Code (which Duke, Nigel, and I fol ow strictly). Rule #1: Never tel a girl your real name. And even though I have this sudden urge to be, wel , honest, I know myself. Honesty is something I wil probably regret.

HER

I didn’t realize that was such a hard question. (She reaches for her purse, as if she’s about to leave.) ME

Henry.

I don’t know why I say it, but I do.

HER

Good name. Classic. Nice to meet you, Henry.

I’m Garrett.

Unusual, but it suits her. Garret . She looks right at me when she says it, too, which both unnerves and exhilarates me. I feel … naked. (I’m not, but I could be wearing absolutely nothing and I wouldn’t feel any more vulnerable than I do right now.) Garret crosses her legs and her dress rides up just enough to show o how amazing those legs truly are. This is about the time I’d normal y say that my car is parked close by and casual y mention how comfortable the backseat is. Now, though, I can’t bring myself to do anything that wil imply I’m less than a total gentleman.

GARRETT

So, how do you know Erica? Our dads went to grad school together.

Erica. Erica. Who is Erica?

GARRETT

The birthday girl? (Dramatic pause.) Erica Warner? (She looks at me skeptically.) Are you supposed to be here?

ME

Hmm?

GARRETT

Were you invited?

ME

Depends on what you mean by invited.

GARRETT

I guess by invited I mean that, you know, one day you opened your mailbox and there was a really fancy invitation inside, addressed to you, inviting you to come and celebrate Erica’s Sweet Sixteen.

ME

Interesting.

GARRETT

So were you?

ME

Invited?

GARRETT

Yes.

ME

Absolutely not. You have great eyes. They’re so …

GARRETT

Blue?

ME

Yeah.

GARRETT

I get that a lot.

ME

I can see why.

GARRETT

Because they’re blue.

ME

Right.

I wait to see if she’l leave, but she doesn’t. She smiles.

GARRETT

I feel like I know you from somewhere. (She laughs, and the sound makes me happy. I am thankful she does not have an annoying, Taser-worthy laugh.) Gosh, that makes me sound crazy, doesn’t it?

ME

No. I don’t think so.

I’ve never believed in energy or vibes or any of that bul shit, but just being near this girl puts me at ease. Al of a sudden I cannot seem to stop myself from talking.

ME

Did you have a nice summer? What did you do? I work at this little movie theater in Huntington. Do you like movies? Where are you gonna go to school?

GARRETT

Whoa, there! Calm down. (She puts a hand on my knee. I know immediately this is not a sexual move, but one of concern. Still, when she touches me, something sparks between us.) Are you okay?

ME

Yeah, sure. I guess.

I wipe my forehead. It’s dripping with sweat.

GARRETT

You don’t look so great, Henry. Let me get you some water.

At the same time she gets up, Duke and Nigel practical y crash into me. They’re both breathing hard and their eyes are everywhere.

NIGEL

We gotta go, dude.

ME

What?

DUKE

That bartender. Man. We gotta peace.

ME

What happened?

DUKE

(looking behind him)

Can we talk about it later? Like, when we’re far, far away from here?

NIGEL

It’s a sixty-nine, Henry. A sixty-nine. With booze.

I stand up immediately. A sixty-nine with booze is Crasher Code for get ing caught stealing alcohol. (We cal every emergency a sixty-nine with

[ l in the blank] because, you know, it’s funny.) Normal y, I’d have no problem get ing the hel out of here with D & N, but I think of Garret and realize I don’t want to leave. I consider tossing the keys to Duke and let ing him drive my car home.

DUKE

Dude, what is your problem? Let’s go!

If I tel them I want to stay, I’l have to explain that it’s because of Garret . And if I want to stay because of Garret , they’l assume it’s because I want to Get Freaky with her, and one of the cardinal rules of the Crasher Code is No hos before bros. I could at empt to explain that I have never felt such an immediate connection with anyone in my entire life, but that would make me sound like a total loser and it would be against both the Crasher Code (punishable by death or, at least, social genocide) and my own personal code: No Girlfriends. Ever.

Suddenly, Garret is back, holding out a glass of water for me. She acknowledges Duke and Nigel with curiosity.

GARRETT

Is everything all right?

I debate whether to ask for her phone number. How can I pul that o with Duke and Nigel standing right here? I suddenly wish they would just go away. Vanish. Garret looks genuinely concerned; I am not sure how that makes me feel.

DUKE

Well, hello there, my dear. My name is Charlie von Huseldorf and I come from money. Oil money. What’s your name?

GARRETT

What?

Then we hear a voice. “That’s them, over there!” We turn and see the bartender coming toward us with two security guards. Big security guards.

They do not look happy.

NIGEL

(grabbing my arm)

Now!

ME

(to Garrett)

I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go.

GARRETT

But—

DUKE

Later, sexy!

We run out of the hotel lobby and into the parking lot. I don’t hear anyone fol owing us, but I also don’t turn around to look. I spot my car and click it open. We pile inside.

NIGEL

Man! That was close.

DUKE

Nice going, douche monster. It was all your fault anyway.

NIGEL

It de nitely was not my fault. It was yours!

DUKE

Maybe it was your mom’s fault.

NIGEL

Shut up.

I start the engine. Duke selects a synthy electropop album we al love, Owl City’s Maybe I’m Dreaming, and rol s down the windows until the air-conditioning kicks in.

We drive for a few minutes until our breathing is steady. Then the inevitable questioning begins.

NIGEL

So … who was the chick? She was hot.

DUKE

Really hot. I’d bang her.

NIGEL

You’re not exactly picky.

DUKE

Well, I wouldn’t bang your mom.

NIGEL

Ouch.

DUKE

That’s what she said. Last night. When I banged her.

NIGEL

Lame, dude. Lame.

DUKE

(to me)

What did you tell her your name was?

ME

I forget.

DUKE

Shut up. You’re not gonna tell us?

ME

It’s not important.

NIGEL

It’s totally important! What’s with you?

ME

I dunno. I just feel weird.

DUKE

At least answer us this: did you guys fool around?

I should just say no. I mean, nothing happened. But I feel so strange about the whole thing that I remain silent.

DUKE

I knew it! Dude. We want details, my man. Details.

NIGEL

All in good time, Duke. (He leans forward to pat my shoulder. Nigel knows when not to press an issue—a skill Duke most de nitely lacks.) Henry will tell us when he’s ready.

Right, Enrico?

I ignore the question. I cannot stop thinking about Garret . There has only been one person in my entire life who, even though she’s gone, I think about constantly: my mother. I haven’t seen her in ve years. As I get lost in the music and the speed of my car on the highway, I wonder if Garret wil be the second woman who wil leave me and never look back.

GARRETT

If I weren’t so self-conscious, I could probably get ready very quickly in the morning.

But the truth is that I’m an emotional mess. It takes me practical y an entire hour just to gure out what I’m going to wear, let alone do my makeup, x my hair, and stare at myself in the mirror (and suck in my stomach and my cheeks and make sure my but looks good). Get ing ready in the morning is never easy, but it’s especial y tough when you’re starting a brand-new high school senior year on Long Island, where the girls are notorious bitches and the guys al look like Abercrombie models.

Neurotic is not the image I project, of course. If you were to meet me on the street, I would go out of my way to be casual and cool, to make you think I’m one of those girls who doesn’t care about how she looks and wants people to judge her on her personality. Whatever that means.

So now you know one of my (many) secrets: I am insecure. Welcome to my life.

“No time for pictures!” I yel , tramping down the stairs, grabbing my bag, and heading straight for my car.

“Now, listen to me, young lady,” my father says, standing at the breakfast island (yes, our new kitchen has a breakfast island) and frowning. “I’ve taken a picture of you on your rst day of school for the past … however many years, and I’m certainly not going to miss this one.” Dad holds up his digital camera. “It’l only take ve minutes.”

I know from experience it wil be less painful to let him take the picture than to argue. “Fine,” I say. “But just one.” Dad leads me outside. At our old town house in Chicago, the house I’d lived in for my entire life in the city that I love, there was a spot right by the front door where we took First Day of School photos. Here, though, in this completely new place, this entirely foreign world, the possibilities are endless.

“Where would you like to stand, darling?”

I look around, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of grass and trees. Suburbia. “I don’t care. Just take it, please. I’m gonna be late.”

“Here, in front of the hydrangea? No, no. Maybe there, by the car? We don’t want the neighbors’ house in the picture, though. That orange color is just wacky.”

When my father was hired to head up the lm department at Columbia, I was happy for him. Real y. But I never thought he’d have the bal s to leave his job at U Chicago. It was the biggest surprise of my life to learn that we were actual y moving, that I was going to a new school—a public school—for senior year. That was less than two months ago. I’m stil in shock.

“Yoo-hoo!” comes a voice from the side of the house. “I didn’t miss the photo shoot, did I?” My mother prances into view, a watering can in one hand and a sprinkled donut in the other. She’s wearing a pair of overal s with patches everywhere that say things like Peace and Harmony. “Garret , you look beautiful! What a great way to begin the best year of your life!” My mother is a natural optimist, a trait I nd both annoying and (recently) admirable. She knows I’m pissed I have to spend senior year with no friends, and she’s gone a lit le overboard trying to reassure me that everything wil work out “Just Fine” (Mary J. Blige, 2007). I already know it won’t, though, so the whole charade is pointless.

I rol my eyes. “Are we done yet?”

“Garret , put your right hand on your right hip,” Mom instructs, “and the other on your left leg.”