Any Red-Blooded Girl (8 page)

I was still staring at Mick’s rumpled
clothes—and imagining him naked—when an idea hit me. “Hey, can I
borrow your shirt?”

“Sure,” he agreed, grinning like he was a
step ahead of me.

“You don’t mind if it gets wet, do you?”

“Not if
you’re
wearing it.”

“Okay, turn around then,” I ordered.

Of course, my sweet, sweet boyfriend
dutifully obeyed—not that it would have mattered anyway, since I
changed out of my clothes like Houdini’s granddaughter. Anyone
trying to sneak a peek would have been sorely disappointed.

“All set,” I said, approaching Mick from
behind like he’d approached me. With a belly full of butterflies, I
slipped my hands around to his bare chest and kissed him gently on
the shoulder (which turned out to be an excellent kissing spot, by
the way: soft and smooth and just a little salty).

And for a few blissful seconds, Mick let me
have my way with him. Then he turned around and—staring at me like
I was a once-in-a-lifetime cosmic event—murmured,
“Unbelievable...”

Now as much as I love compliments, especially
from hot guys, Mick’s over the top fawning was getting kind of
embarrassing. “I know. I’m amazing,” I joked. “You’re such a lucky
man.”

Dead serious, he replied, “Oh,
definitely.”

That was it. I couldn’t take the hyper-focus
anymore. Anxiously, I splashed into the lake, submerged myself, and
disappeared. And when I came up for air, Mick was right there
beside me. We were a little farther from shore than I’d
expected—about waist-high on Mick and chest-high on me. As the
balmy water danced over my bare skin, it tickled like a thousand
tiny ants in velvet slippers.

“I love you,” I said, staring right through
Mick’s eyes into his soul.

In response, my glorious, sparkling boyfriend
pulled me to him and unleashed an avalanche of hungry kisses that
consumed us so completely I could’ve sworn we were the last two
people on earth.

Now things were happening pretty fast, so I’m
not sure he actually meant to do it—
if
he even did it at
all—but in the middle of our passionate grope-fest, I swear I felt
Mick’s fingers slip inside his shirt and caress my boob. Of course,
it also could’ve been a baby fish swimming in through the oversized
arm holes, so there was still some reasonable doubt.

“I love you, Flora,” Mick whispered, pulling
back to look me in the eyes. “You’re
it,
you know. You’re
the one for me.”

At his warm, perfectly-crooked smile, a spike
of pure happiness shot through me. And for some strange reason,
just then I thought of Jessie in Europe. But this time, instead of
feeling bad, all I could do was thank God for idiots like Jimmy
Bickford. Because I didn’t know if it was fate, or luck, or sheer
coincidence that I’d met the man of my dreams on a trip I was never
supposed to take. But I didn’t really care. All I cared about was
sucking up every last scintilla of bliss with my sweet, sweet
boyfriend before our romance came to its inevitably sad, tragic
end.

“I love you, Mick Donovan,” I said, fighting
back tears. “Remember that. Forever. Remember me.”

I stayed with Mick longer than I should have,
first in the water and then on a moonlit stroll around Wild Acres.
Because once I’d started thinking about our imminent separation, it
was all I
could
think about. And I didn’t want to let him
go. The two-year-old inside me wanted to throw a gigantic temper
tantrum. Yet somehow my almost grown-up self knew things would
never work out for Mick and me—at least not right now. Our lives
were just too far apart. I was Punxsutawney, PA—like it or not—and
Mick was a mysterious nomadic adventurer. There wasn’t much
crossover in our universes.

“Goodnight,” I said, tiptoeing up to peck him
on the cheek in front of Tupelo-9. But on a night like this, a peck
just wouldn’t do. So like he was going off to war and I might never
see him again, I threw my arms around his waist and squeezed with a
vengeance.

“Night,” he said, hugging me back just as
tight. “And happy sixteenth, by the way. It’s past midnight, you
know.”

I’d figured it was pretty late, but honestly,
I’d forgotten about my birthday altogether. “Thanks,” I said with a
weak smile.

“And don’t forget, we’re going to do
something special tomorrow,” he promised. “It’ll be a surprise.” He
loosened his grip on me. “And think about Michoacán. We could do it
this year. There’s still time.”

I didn’t have the heart to ruin his hopeful,
joyous dream; I mean, it would’ve been too much like telling a
little kid there’s no Santa Claus. “Okay. I’ll think about it,” I
agreed, even though I knew it was impossible. “See you
tomorrow.”

Nine

TO my surprise (and slight dismay) everyone
at Tupelo-9 was asleep when I crept into my alien pod in the wee
hours of my birthday morning. There was no late night vigil. No
worried hand wringing. No outward sign my presence had been missed
or my absence even noticed. Was this what adulthood was like? You
got your freedom but nobody gave a damn about you anymore? What a
rip-off.

One thing that wasn’t a rip-off, however, was
the yummiest smell on earth that woke me on my sweet sixteen:
Belgian waffles. I guess my parents were pulling out all the stops
in their quest to control me. And this time they’d sunk to a new
low: bribery. Gee, if I’d known psycho meltdowns led to absolute
freedom and personal chef service, I swear I would have lost my
marbles a whole lot sooner.

“Mornin’ Flowbee,” my dad said, as I
staggered toward the picnic table. “Waffles?”

“What time is it?” I muttered.

Mr.Tightwad checked his wrist. “Precisely ten
forty-one. Brunch time,” he said with a chuckle.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Well, let’s see… Lu-Lu’s at the bingo. And
your brother’s trying his luck in the volleyball tourney,” my dad
informed me, prying two huge waffles off the griddle and dropping
them on my plate. “Oh, and Moo-Ma left you a schedule. There’s tons
of activities today. Even a dance tonight, I do believe.”

“Oh,” I said, feigning disinterest. I mean, I
hadn’t expected Wild Acres to host social events. As far as I knew,
only those richy-rich resorts like the one in
Dirty Dancing
bothered to entertain you. “Where’s the dance?” I asked. After all,
he’d
brought it up.

“Geez…?” he said, sucking his teeth and
shaking his head. “The Clubhouse? Possibly. I haven’t read the
schedule, though,” he admitted, handing me the printout my mother
had left behind. “Here ye go.”

I rolled my eyes at the Old English. “Thanks,
Dad.”

“You’re ever so welcome, m’lady. ’Tis your
special day, ’tis not?”
“Huh?”

“The anniversary of your birth, m’lady.”

“All right, Dad,” I said, exasperated.
“You’re confusing me. Yes, it’s my birthday—
if
that’s what
you said. But will you please talk normal? I just woke up for God’s
sake.”

“As ye wish.”

While I chomped down the rest of my birthday
breakfast, I concentrated on the
Wild Acres Recreation
Schedule.

8:00-10:00 Breakfast Buffet in the
Clubhouse

(Missed it, but Belgian waffles were better
anyway.)

10:00-12:00 Bingo in the Activity Center

(Check. The Mental Hygienist had it
covered.)

11:00-1:00 Volleyball Tournament

(Double check. Will’s specialty.)

12:00-2:00 Buffet Lunch in the Clubhouse

(No thanks. Buffets are usually gross.)

1:00-3:00 Arts and Crafts in the Activity
Center

(Probably for little kids.)

2:00-3:00 Pie Eating Contest in the
Clubhouse

(Fun to watch, maybe. But participate?
No.)

3:00-5:00 Family Movie in the Movie Room

(Only if it’s a classic like
The Princess
Bride
.)

5:00-7:00 Dinner Buffet in the Clubhouse

(Again, yuck.)

7:00-8:00 Karaoke Contest in the Activity
Center

(Not bloody likely. I’m a super
chicken.)

8:00-10:00 Family Dance w/ DJ in the
Clubhouse

(Only if Mick wants to go.)

“Hey, Dad, can I keep this?” I asked, waving
the baby-blue sheet of paper in the wind on my way to the garbage
can.

Out of nowhere, my father got one of those
sappy, wistful looks in his eyes. “Sure thing,” he agreed. “And,
Flowbee, happy birthday.” Before I could stop him, he caught me in
an awkward hug that only lasted a few seconds but seemed more like
an eternity. “I love you, squirt.”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks,” I said, backing away
slowly. “Thanks a lot. I’ve gotta go get ready now. And then I’m
going to…” I glanced down at the sheet of paper I was still
clutching. “I’m going to go see how Will’s doing in the Volleyball
Tournament,” I declared.

“Okie dokie, smokie,” my dad said, signifying
the end of our serious father-daughter moment, which was definitely
A-okay with me.

After a soaking shower and a fresh change of
clothes, I once again headed for Mick’s place. And against my
better judgment, I allowed myself to start getting excited for
whatever surprise he had in store for me. After all, it was the
first time I’d had a real, legitimate boyfriend on my actual
birthday, so I had to squeeze in as much fun, romance, and
indulgent pampering as I could.

But as I approached Mick’s compound, two
things immediately stood out: First, the place was
uncharacteristically quiet. And second, a few of the vehicles were
MIA. Plus, the only person in sight was Mick’s mother, who I
technically hadn’t even met yet.

I drew a deep breath and slunk toward the
twiggy chair, where she sat buried beneath a mountain of yarn. “Um,
hi,” I said from about ten feet away.

Mick’s mother just kept knitting.

I took two more steps. “Excuse me,” I
tried.

There was no response.

Okay…what now? Should I push my luck and risk
getting jabbed with a giant knitting needle? Maybe the third time
was a charm. “Hello. Is Mick here?” I asked.

“Shh!”

As ridiculous as this sounds (and as
embarrassing as it is to admit) I peed my pants a little when she
shushed me. Only like a drop or two, but still.

After about another thirty seconds of
complete silence, Mick’s mother finally spoke. “I’m sorry about
that, dear. I was in the middle of a complicated pattern, and I had
to finish the row. I hope I didn’t scare you,” she said, flashing
me a kind, welcoming smile. “You must be Flora. Mick has been
raving about you for days. And he wasn’t exaggerating either, I
see. You are absolutely as radiant as he described.” She extended
her hand. “I’m Stella. Pleased to meet you.”

“Oh, yeah. Nice to meet you too,” I said,
clamping onto her fingers like I’d just caught the game-winning
football pass.

“Mick’s out back working,” his mom said.
“He’s taken on a special project.” She paused for a moment, like
she was considering letting me in on a secret. But then she
continued without spilling the beans. “I think he should be just
about done, though. Why don’t you go ahead back? It should be
fine.”

“All right. Thanks,” I said, already heading
for the trees.

Behind the Donovan compound, I crunched
around aimlessly until—from somewhere deeper in the woods—I heard
Mick’s voice. “Flora!” he called.

Even though it was another bright, sunny day,
I couldn’t quite find him through the trees. “Where are you?” I
asked, stepping over a downed limb and meandering in the direction
of his voice.

“This way.”

I’d already passed his work benches, so I was
out of obvious landmarks to go by. “I don’t see you,” I complained.
“What are you doing?”

“Just finishing up your birthday shopping,”
he revealed. By the volume of his voice and the clear echo of his
footsteps, I could tell he was headed in my direction.

I leaned back against a fat, old tree and
whined, “Hurry up. I miss you.”

“Close your eyes,” he ordered playfully. “I
can see you. I’m almost there.”

As silly as his request was, I clamped my
eyes shut and waited. And within seconds, I heard his voice
again—this time face-to-face. “Good girl. Thank you for playing
along,” he teased. “You can open now.”

I peeled my eyelids apart to find my hunk of
a boyfriend down on one knee, clutching a fistful of fresh
wildflowers. And as cliché as the Prince Charming move was, I must
admit, it won me over; I was converted.

“You’re amazing. Did you pick all these?” I
asked, pulling the flowers to my face for a long, deep breath.
“They’re beautiful.”

Mick stood up. “They pale in comparison,” he
declared. From anyone else, the line would have been ultra corny,
but his sincere delivery made me believe him. “Happy birthday,
sweet sixteen,” he said with a wide grin.

I couldn’t wait another second. Still
gripping the burgeoning bouquet, I flung my arms around his waist
and squeezed, probably crushing a few of the delicate blossoms in
the process. It was the beginning of my
real
birthday
present: time and attention—and hopefully more kissing—from my
sweet, sweet Mick.

So I guess I should add one more talent to my
new boyfriend’s repertoire of skills: mind reading. Because the
minute I started fantasizing about him kissing me…well, he did.
Then, with a little more force than necessary, he pushed me to the
ground, rolled on top of me, and pinned me in place. And like any
sane girl would, I had a momentary flash of panic. After all, I was
trapped. If Mick wanted to do anything I didn’t want to do, I would
have been powerless to stop him.

“The flowers,” I croaked. Out of the corner
of my eye, I glimpsed a scattering of fresh petals beneath Mick’s
bent knee.

He kissed me hard and deep on the mouth.
“I’ll pick more,” he breathed. “A million more.” Eagerly, he
pressed himself into me, jamming my spine against a scraggly tree
root—which didn’t actually hurt, but made me kind of nervous.
Nervous and excited, if that makes any sense.