Just Another Girl (8 page)

As I lie there, I think about Owen. I imagine him as my prince driving up in his big white pickup and taking me away from here—forever! Okay, I'm fully aware that that's dumb. But, hey, it's my daydream!

On Thursday, after I get Lily to the rec center, I call Crystal. I can hear the surprise in her voice since I hardly ever call her like this—just out of the blue.

“What's up?” I ask.

“Not much. Can you believe how hot it is?”

“Yeah, especially for June.” So I take this as my opportunity to tell her about my bike ride with Owen yesterday.

“No way,” she says loudly.

“Way,” I insist.

“You went on a bike ride with Owen Swanson? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Are you making this up?”

“No, honest, Crystal.” So then I tell her the rest of the story, how he got Lily to the pool, then how Lily ruined our lunch . . . and everything.

“Oh, that's too bad.”

“Yeah, I was pretty bummed.”

“But maybe it was for the best.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, you know, Owen's kind of got a reputation.”

“For doing what?” Okay, I'm not dumb, I've heard rumors. But what if they were just that—rumors?

“You know, with the girls. He's gone with every popular girl in school.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that you shouldn't be too disappointed if he's not interested in you.”

“How do you know he's
not
interested?”

“Well, I just assumed . . . and I don't want to see you get hurt.”

“Maybe I
won't
get hurt.” It's taking all of my self-control not to just blast her with my news. But I have a feeling I need to play my cards carefully. Especially if I'm going to get her help. And I need her help.

“It's just that you don't really expect someone like Owen Swanson to be . . . well, you know . . . serious about you.”

Part of me is seriously indignant now, but I know I need to keep my cool if I'm going to ask this huge favor. “Yeah, that's kind of what I thought too. I mean, hey, we had a nice bike ride. No big deal, right?”

“Exactly.”

“But then he called me last night, Crystal. We talked for an hour!”

“No way!” she shrieks so loudly that I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

“Way!” I say back at her.

“You talked
for an hour
?”

Okay, I'm thinking this almost feels like a best friend conversation now. Maybe I've underestimated Crystal. “Yeah, it was so awesome. I mean, we all think Owen is Mr. I'm-So-Cool, and it turns out he's really just a regular guy. He even remembered me from grade school. He said he thought I was cute and good at sports.”

“Yeah?”

I'm tempted to tell her the line about “Where have you been all my life?” but I want to keep that one special, something that's just between Owen and me. “Anyway, I don't really know where it's going, but here's the coolest part. He asked me out on Friday.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“I know . . .” I lean back into the couch and sigh. “
Wow
.”

“So are you going out?”

“Sure.”

“Oh.” Something about the way she says “oh” sounds unsure. Like maybe she thinks it's not such a good idea. Or she's going to lecture me about his reputation again.

“Why?” I ask. “Do you think I should've turned him down?”

“Oh . . . I don't know.”

“What?”

“Well, I just wondered . . . I mean, Owen isn't like us, and
he hangs with a pretty wild crowd. And you're a Christian, Aster.”

“So?”

“So how are you going to fit in with his friends—you know, the partying types?”

“I'm not dating his friends.”

“Not exactly, but it'll be a factor . . . and sooner or later there could be other problems too. You know what they say about being unequally yoked.”

“It's not like we're getting married, Crystal. And, really, Owen doesn't seem like that to me. Not when you really get to know him.” Of course, I feel both offended and defensive now. What right does she have to dis my boyfriend? Okay, he's not really my boyfriend. Not yet anyway. But why is she being so judgmental?

“How well do you really know Owen?” she demands.

“Huh?”

“Wasn't yesterday the first time you actually talked to him?”

“Sort of . . .”

“So how well do you know him?”

“Well enough to know that I can trust him.”

Now she doesn't say anything, but I suspect she has a skeptical look on her face. Whatever.

“Anyway, Crystal, how can I get to know him if I don't spend time with him?”

“Good point.”

I decide to play the Christian card on her now. “Besides, as Christians, we're not supposed to judge people, right?”

“Well . . . we're supposed to have discernment.”

“And, as Christians,” I continue, disregarding her discernment comment and whatever that's supposed to mean, “aren't we supposed to be reaching out to others?”

“You mean like dating for Jesus?”

“Funny.”

“Well, I've heard it's not a good way to witness.”

Suddenly I wonder why I even called her. Oh yeah, I wanted to get her to help me with Lily. “Anyway, Crystal, I'm sure you're busy, so let me cut to the chase.”

“What chase?”

“Well, as you know, I kinda take care of Lily. And my mom works on Friday nights, and Rose is going out, so I was wondering if—”

“Please don't ask me to babysit Lily for you.”

“It would be such a huge, enormous favor, Crystal. I would owe you—”

“Don't you remember the last time I babysat Lily?”

“Yes, but she didn't know you very well, and she was having a bad day—”

“She locked me out of the house and called 9-1-1, Aster. Do you know how embarrassing it was when the cops showed up, and I had to explain in detail that I hadn't beaten or molested her, or whatever it was she told them I'd done? I've never been so humiliated.”

“But that was a couple of years ago, Crystal. Can't you give her one more chance? Lily likes you now.”

“Humph.”

Only someone like Crystal or me would say “humph.” I guess we really are nerds.

“What would Jesus do?” I finally ask. This is my trump card, my trumpiest trump card, and I'm praying it will work.

“I'll tell you what, I'll pray about it. I'll ask Jesus to tell me what to do. How's that?”

I sigh. “Well, I guess if that's the best you—”

“That's all you're getting from me today, Aster. Besides, what if Jesus doesn't want you to go out with Owen Swanson? Have you thought about that?”

It's all I can do not to just hang up. But then I know she'd refuse to Lily-sit for me. So I bite my tongue.

“Sorry,” she says. “I don't want to sound mean. But I do hope you're being smart about this.”

What is it with Crystal? It's like some nosy sixty-year-old body-snatching woman has taken over this girl's mind. “Don't be such a worrywart, Crystal. I'm not marrying the boy, we're just going to a movie, okay?”

“Well, don't blame me if it goes wrong.”

“I won't.” Now I realize I need to sweeten this up. “And, really, I do appreciate your concern. In fact, it would be cool if you were here at my house when Owen picks me up. That way you could see for yourself that he's totally tame.”

“And then I get stuck with Lily for the evening?”

“You make Lily sound like a monster, Crystal. She's actually a very sweet girl. She just needs a lot of love, but if you can't handle it . . .”

“I'll get back to you on it, okay?”

“Thanks, Crystal. I really appreciate it.”

I hang up, cross my fingers, and even say a brief prayer. “Please, God, have mercy on me. I need a break. Amen.”

8

Amazingly, Friday morning goes way smoother than usual. Lily is actually very cooperative and cheerful as we go through the paces of getting her ready. By ten o'clock she is safely at the rec center, and I now have six blissful hours to myself.

“Morning,” the mailman says as our paths cross in front of my house. Then he hands me a small pile of envelopes, which look like bills and will put my mom in her regular monthly mood. And I'm not talking PMS. But I thank him and take them into the house. I toss the junk and then notice that one of the long and thin white envelopes is addressed to me. But then I see the high school's return address and Ms. Grieves's name, and I'm tempted to throw it away.

Ms. Grieves is a guidance counselor, and I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm her big charity case. During the last month of school, she invited me to meet all the visiting college reps and fill out all kinds of applications for financial aid and scholarships and who knows what else. I complied simply to placate the woman and hopefully get her off my case. But it's summer
break, for Pete's sake. You'd think she'd quit riding me for a month or two.

I reluctantly open the envelope and remove the neatly printed letter. Fortunately, it looks like a form letter. Maybe she's taken on more charity cases besides me. One can only hope. The letter is another invitation to yet another college recruitment event. What's the deal? Are colleges that desperate for students these days? Enrollment falling? Whatever the case, I am not going to Ms. Grieves's little soiree. I toss the letter in the trash and head to the kitchen to clean up the breakfast things. College for me will probably end up being LCC too. Or, if I'm lucky, maybe the university.

But I don't need to think about that today. All I can think about today is whether or not Crystal will recognize that her Christian duty is to come to the aid of a needy friend. I'd call her, but I know it's too early. Crystal, like most other normal teens, doesn't get up until about noon during the summer. I can't even imagine what it would be like to sleep that late. Lily has always been an early riser.

Then I remember that Owen was up bright and early the other day. Okay, it was around ten, but still he seemed wide awake. Maybe he's an early riser too. Maybe he'll be rolling through my neighborhood again this morning, on his way to . . . where? Who cares?

I do a quick personal cleanup and brush my teeth. I put on a fresh shirt, some lip gloss, and mascara, then grab my sketch pad and a pencil and dash out the door. I sit on the
front steps and attempt to appear absorbed in a drawing, but I'm actually peering up and down the street, trying to spy a shiny white pickup that just happens to drive by. Except that it's not driving by. And this troubles me, although I realize that's ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as me sitting out here pretending to sketch.

So I go back inside, wander around, and wish that my phone would ring. It doesn't. So then I decide to figure out what I'll wear on my Big Date (you know, the power of positive thinking). But after I stand in front of my pathetic section of closet for about ten minutes, I realize that my wardrobe really is sad, and I'm actually tempted to ride the bus to the mall and beg a loan from Rose so that I can do some shopping. But then I realize how stupid that is. Not to mention shallow. And, really, it's not who I am. So why should I go there?

Finally, in an effort to distract myself, I pick up the latest Jane Austen book that I've been reading. I'm fully aware that it's somewhat nerdish for a teen to be reading Austen, but she was on the recommended reading list in my AP English lit class. So I picked up
Emma
, and after I got over the old-fashioned and sometimes bulky language, I was totally hooked. Even though Jane Austen lived like three centuries ago, I can relate to her. After that, I read
Sense and Sensibility
and
Mansfield Park
, and now I'm about a fourth of the way through
Pride and Prejudice
.

Fortunately, these books are available at the public library, and since Lily loves to go there for Saturday story hour, it's a
cheap and easy form of entertainment for both of us. And I suppose, if I am perfectly honest, reading has always been a handy escape for me. I get to run away from my dreary little life for a few hours. Of course, Rose thinks I'm nuts. She can't believe that I read because I want to. She says it's a waste of time. But then, that's Rose.

Up until now I thought that
Emma
was my favorite Austen book, perhaps because it was my first. But now I'm thinking
Pride and Prejudice
may top it. Primarily because the story involves five sisters, three of whom remind me a tiny bit of me and my siblings—or maybe I'm just reading a whole lot more into it. But it's interesting that I relate to the second-oldest sister, Elizabeth. And the sister most like Rose is the youngest sister, Lydia. She's a real piece of work. I'm not sure where Lily fits—in spirit she's sweet like Jane, the oldest sister, but Jane is pretty and smart, albeit a bit naive.