Smile for Me

Smile For Me

By: T.J. Dell

Contents

Chapter One. 2

Chapter Two. 8

Chapter Three. 15

Chapter Four 21

Chapter Five. 31

Chapter Six. 36

Chapter Seven. 41

Chapter Eight 48

Chapter Nine. 57

Chapter Ten. 62

Chapter Eleven. 69

Chapter Twelve. 75

Chapter Thirteen. 83

Chapter Fourteen. 87

Chapter One

A high of 85 degrees. It isn’t even windy. I stretch my arms high over my head, urging my muscles to wake up, as I step out onto our front porch. It is a perfect day. With October just around the corner, I am determined to enjoy the last summer-y day before Fal swoops down on us. I live 15 minutes from the high school. The first bel won’t be ringing for at least 60 minutes. You are probably asking yourself why any self-respecting 17 year old guy would drag himself out of bed so needlessly early on a Monday morning.

A
chirp-chirp
sounds across the street. Kim Penney is walking down her driveway holding the keyless entry remote out in front of her. I wil deny it to my dying day, but truthfuly—she is the reason I am standing out here before I’ve even toasted my Pop-Tarts.

Kim Penney Fantasy of the Day #1:
Maybe today Kim’s car won’t start. Maybe she left the lights on all night and the battery died, maybe she
woke up to a flat tire.

Neither of these are very plausible considering Kim Penney is more responsible than any of the adults I’ve ever known. Despite the fact that she
is actually a few months younger than I am. Probably, she has never let the gas gauge drop beneath one quarter, or driven her tires over the
recommended mileage.

But this is my fantasy so let’s say her tire is flat—hell, as long as we’re at it all of her tires are flat.

‘Can I give you a ride, Kim?’ I ask as I pull up next to her in my Dad’s vintage ’63 Corvette Sting Ray. My dad has lent the car to me for the
day—for some reason I can’t even imagine.

‘Oh, Marshall! You are a life saver. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t happened along. Is this your car? I just love it, how
fast can it go?’

I know what you’re thinking but it’s my fantasy and that is what she would say.

Also she would be wearing a skirt. I’m not a perv or anything. I’ve just got this feeling that Kim Penney would look smoking hot in a skirt.

Instead she insists on wearing any of her several variations on beige colored pleated front slacks. You know— the kind you can only buy in the granny
department.

Of course as this plays out in my mind her car purrs to life and she puls out onto our otherwise empty street after triple checking her side and review mirrors. I pick up the morning paper and head back inside hoping my brother, Jason, hasn’t taken the last strawberry Pop-Tart. I hate the blueberry ones.

Jason is sitting at the kitchen table happily spooning cereal into his mouth and tracing his finger through a maze on the back of the Cocoa Puffs box.

“Damn.” He mutters under his breath and I see him start over again.

“I hope Cuckoo isn’t depending on you to get to his breakfast.” I joke as I reach into a cupboard.

“What?” Jason twists around and looks at me like I have two heads.

“Cuckoo. Like Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs… the bird on the box, dude!” Jason can be a little thick headed sometimes.

“Oh. Whatever.” He goes back to his maze.

“Where are the Poptarts!?”

“Right in front of you
dude.
” His impression of me sucks.

“No. These are blueberry. Where are the strawberry ones?”

“Sorry, man. I ate the last one.”

“You’re having cereal!”

“The Pop-Tarts were more of a midnight snack.”

I consider strangling him, but I figure it would probably bum out my mom. So instead I pour myself a bowl of cereal.

“How’s The Professor this morning?”

Half the school cals Kim
The Professor
just because she gets good grades. It is so lame.

“Don’t cal her that. You sound like a douche. It isn’t a crime to be smart.”

“It’s not about her smarts man. You’re smart—and you don’t act like you’re 40.”

“Just don’t cal her that. And I was only getting the paper anyway.”

“Ri-ght.”

“Where’s the milk?” I shove a few half empty cartons of juice around in the fridge in hopes that the milk is hidden behind one. It isn’t.

“Oh, I forgot. This was the end of the milk too.” He picks up his bowl in both hands and gulps down the remnants with a loud slurp. Sometimes my brother is so gross.

“We’re leaving for school in like ten minutes, so hurry up.”

“Why so early?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Could it be because, thanks to my bottomless pit of a brother, there is nothing edible in the house? I want to hit a drive thru on the way.”

“Whatever, I’m taking the bus with Mandy today anyway. Too bad though—I could go for an Egg McMuffin.” I decide not to point out how much he doesn’t need three breakfasts. Sure now he looks good. Not as good as me, but good. One day al this calorie overload wil catch up to him—I’l mention it then. “What’s with you and Mandy?”

Mandy Johnson lives a couple streets over from us. She is a junior. That puts her right between me and Jason, who is a sophomore. We al used to play together when we were kids but she’s always been closer to Jason. Of course that was before girls had cooties. Her and I both work part time at a pizza joint in town,
Slices.
She’s pretty cool.

“Nothing. We’re just buds. She’s gonna help me with my geometry homework.”

Now things were starting to make sense. “You mean she is going to do your geometry homework.” Jason shrugged his shoulders. “Potato-pot-ah-to.”

“I don’t know what she sees in you.”

“Not me, man. You. Al she ever talks about is
Marshall and I did this and Marshall that. Working with him is so much fun—blah blah blah.”
Surpise. We did work a lot of the same shifts over the summer. And I did drive her home a few times. That was just because she doesn’t have her own car, and she’s not exactly out of my way… I had no idea she thought of me that way. She is pretty cute. Lots of curly red hair, and nice eyes—blue, or maybe they are green. Was that why she was helping Jason so much?

“If that’s how she feels then you’re kinda taking advantage of her. That’s pretty low, dude. Even for a bottom feeder like you.”

“Hey! She totaly offered to help. And besides, she realy doesn’t
do
the work for me. She just watches me, and tels me when I screw up.”

“Which I bet is a lot.”

“Yeah, it is.” He shrugs again. Jason has no shame.

He could get the same grades I do—he’s just so lazy. As long as he’s skating by with C’s he figures there’s no point in trying harder. Not that I’m nerd number one or anything, but it doesn’t take that long to double check a homework assignment, or read over your notes a second time. I have a very good shot at Valedictorian in the spring—Jason won’t ever be able to say that.

There are 827 cars in front of me at the McDonalds drive-thru. If I didn’t want that Egg McMuffin so bad I would just bail, but I have brit lit first period and that class is hard enough without having to deal on an empty stomach. There is nothing good on the radio so I decide to indulge.

Kim Penney Fantasy of the day #2:
The car in front of me is a big dark SUV, but I am thinking it is Kim’s blue Honda Accord.

That is, of course, forgetting that I saw her leave her house more than 40 minutes ago and that she is probably in the school library right now
working with the SAT prep group. She isn’t in the group. Kim doesn’t need the help; she’s in charge of the study group.

I can imagine Kim getting all the way to the cashier before she realizes she’s left her wallet at home. I very smoothly walk up to the window and
pay for her breakfast. I bend down to the driver’s window and give her a chance to thank me. Except—there isn’t a lot of room between the cars and
the wall and I don’t think I could pull that off without brushing against the wall.

The outside wall next to the drive-thru lane is pretty gross. At least a decade worth of old chewed up gum is pressed onto the discolored brick,
and there are several reddish stains that I think are burst ketchup packets—I think that’s what they are. I have a pretty vivid imagination, but even I
can’t romanticize this. Haven’t these people ever heard of a power washer?

Fine. Forget the drive-thru. We could be inside. And she wouldn’t need to forget her wallet anyway. I would just sidle up next to her and say

‘I’ll take care of that’ before I hand over a few bills. I just might say something really slick like ‘keep the change’ even though no one tips fast food
cashiers. It just always sounds so cool in the movies.

Since I paid for breakfast it only makes sense that she sit down and eat with me. At a table—not a booth, since imaginary Kim is wearing a skirt
and at one of the tables I would be able to check out her legs… what do you want? I’m a guy. I bring up the european history papers we turned in last
Friday. Not because I have a particular passion for european history, but because I know I am going to get an A. And nothing impresses Kim Penney
more than good grades.

‘That’s great Marshall’ she says. ‘Paul always struggled in that class you know.’

“Hey! Kid! You got the money or not?” I shake myself free of the daydream. A middle aged man wearing an ancient looking headset is leaning out of the window with an open hand extended waiting for me to pay for my breakfast. How long had I been zoned out? I silently pay for my breakfast and head towards school. That was embarrassing!

Paul Arnold is Kim’s boyfriend. He was a senior last year, now he is away at colege. I’m not positive, but I think they are stil technicaly together. Much like Kim, Paul never had trouble with a class in his life. But haven’t we already established my, my-daydream-my-rules philosophy? I don’t know what she sees in him anyway. The guy is duler than toast. Realy—we were on the school paper together for three years. For three years he was in charge of the school lunch menu, and that is al. He could have had his pick of stories last year—being a senior and al. He wasn’t interested. I am pretty sure he just needed an extracurricular for his colege applications. There is a big party in the press room (Mr. Bilings’ classroom) at the end of every year, but he never showed up to a single one. Duler than toast.

Thanks to the Egg McMuffin I am almost late for school. Dave and Steve are saving my usual seat for me, which is pretty close to the door, so our teacher doesn’t give me any trouble for slipping in a moment after the bel rings. Dave, Steve, and I have been buds for years. They are both on the newspaper with me, and Dave is in the drama club with me too. Steve quit drama after our freshman year. He figures he peaked as palace guard number three in our fal production of Aladdin.

Dave passes me a note:
You have yellow goo on your face.

Reaching up, I can feel crumbles of imitation egg stuck to one corner of my mouth. Stupid Egg McMuffin. I am trying to wipe my face clean with the palms of my hands when Ms. Parker notices. “Mr. Henries? Would you care to join the conversation when you’ve finished grooming yourself?”

“Um… mrow.” I lick the back of my hand and do a half hearted imitation of a cat giving himself a bath. This brings a few chuckles, but not enough to completely dispel my urge to crawl under a rock somewhere. For a day that started out so sunny and nice, I am having a realy sucky morning.

Chapter Two

Things didn’t realy improve from there. Egg McMuffins always sound like a good idea and then you end up with a five hour stomach ache. Not that I’m some big wuss or anything, but it was hard to enjoy chili cheese dog day at lunch time. Dave was happy though—he got my hotdog.

My last class of the school day is european history. Kim Penney sits in the seat in front of mine, so it is also one of my favorite classes. Kim has this realy long brown hair. She always wears it braided and it stil fals to her waist. Most days I spend half the class dreaming about unbraiding it. Thinking about how incredible it would look if she would wear it loose just once. Today I am mostly thinking of how many minutes left until the bel. I probably shouldn’t have let Dave finish off my lunch; now that my breakfast has finaly—albeit grudgingly— been digested I am pretty hungry.

Here’s the thing about taking a class with Kim. You never get to answer a question. She is always the first one to raise her hand, and she is always right. It is unbelievably annoying. That leads me to the other thing about Kim—despite my undeniable obsession with her, she actualy drives me nuts. She always has.

The day she moved in across the street from us mom sent Jason and me over with a basket of food (probably cookies or muffins but I don’t remember) to say helo and welcome blah blah blah. That was two years ago and right before the start of the tenth grade. Kim’s hair wasn’t quite as long back then and she was stil wearing glasses (I guess she got contacts or something because the glasses disappeared last year) but that is pretty much al that’s changed.

I can’t say for sure what she was wearing, but I imagine it was beige. She’s almost as tal as I am. At the time she was actualy a bit taler than me, but I grew a lot that year. Her eyes are this realy bright blue— like notice them from across the room blue. Even at 15 I could appreciate how perfectly shaped she is. Actualy at 15 that was practicaly al I noticed. But just so you don’t think too badly of me, it didn’t take me very long to realize that besides being pretty Kim is also realy smart.

Back when we were riding the school bus she would always be reading a book. Not something for a class or even Harry Potter but big heavy classics like
Pride and
Prejudice
.

That day, when we brought the basket of food over, Kim was unpacking a box of cds. I wanted an excuse to hang around the moment I saw her, so I offered to help. That was the beginning of the end for us.

“You’re not doing that right.” Kim came up behind me where I was stacking cd’s onto a shelf. “You have to stand them on end so you can read each title.

“Oh. I wasn’t done. I just thought it would be easier if I emptied the box first. That way I won’t have to keep bending over.” I tried to explain it to her, but she looked like she didn’t believe me. I turned each CD on end and started lining them up. I remember feeling kind of sheepish and wanting to do something to impress her. Before I could think of anything she came back.

“No. They should separated by genre. You know—rock, jazz, and my mom has a lot of show tunes. Otherwise it wil take us forever to find what we want.” She was picking out the sound tracks from the shelves I’d already arranged alphabeticaly as she spoke. Shoving the pile of show tunes at me she continued. “Here.

You’l have to start over.”

“I know what
genre
means.” I grumbled at her. She wasn’t acting particularly grateful, and I was beginning to think I liked her better when she wasn’t talking.

I’d almost finished when she came back to my side of the room.

“What happened? They were alphabetized!”

“You said
by genre
.” I reminded her through clenched teeth.

“Obviously I meant you should alphabetize within each…. never mind. It wil be quicker if I do it myself.”

“Good. I only offered to be nice anyway.”

“Wel I’l finish up.”

I didn’t even answer her. I just stomped out the front door like a spoiled kid—mostly because I was a spoiled kid and partly because I was embarrassed that she didn’t like me more. Girls almost always like me. I’m not a bad looking guy. I am pretty tal and I got lucky with missing most of the realy bad acne years.

Recently I have started clipping my hair very short and I like that better than the messy curls I had at 15, but even with the messy curls I wasn’t having too much trouble getting dates.

Anyway fast forward a couple of years, and she is stil correcting people and insisting her way is the only way. It might be less annoying if she weren’t usualy right. Today we are having a review for the tomorrow’s test on the First World War. Kim answers every question. At least six other hands (including my own) go into the air every time, but Kim’s is the only one Mr. Avery sees. Everyone already knows your smart Kim, I think loudly at the back of her head (refusing to be distracted by her glossy brown hair), can’t you give someone else a chance?

When the bel finaly rings I am al set to make a beeline for the snack machine, but Kim is blocking the aisle as she takes her sweet time packing up the insane amount of school supplies she has spread across her desk. Realy? Who needs two notebooks, three different colored pens, and a highlighter just to take notes? We are the last two people in the room. Probably I could have turned around and gone out the other side of the row, but I am so irritated by this point I want to make a show of tapping my foot obnoxiously behind her. I’m fairly sure she doesn’t even notice. When I finaly make it to the door way I can hear Kim behind me asking Mr.

Avery about a recommendation letter for her colege applications. For some ridiculous reason this irritates me even more. If anyone doesn’t need extra recommendations to go with their colege applications it is Kim Penney.

Much much later in life I might be self aware enough to admit that my irritation with her intense focus on classes is actualy jealousy. Not jealousy of her grades

—I can do just fine in the academic world on my own. No, I am jealous of the stupid notebook. If she paid me a fraction of the attention she did her notes I would be one very happy guy.

I am crumpling up the mylar wrapper from my snack and wondering if the snack machine having strawberry Pop-Tarts qualifies as irony as I walk into the school auditorium. This is the first meeting for our Fal play. We are going to do a modernized version of
Much Ado About Nothing.
I tend to be on the fence about modernizing the classics, but I doubt anyone would tryout if we attempted Shakespeare in its original format.

“Hey—are they giving out extra credit this year for drama club?” Dave asks when I slump into the seat next to him.

“No, why?”

“Wel I can’t think of any other reason The Professor would be here.” Sure enough just past where Dave is pointing I can see Kim Penney sitting by herself in the front row completely engrossed in a smal paperback book.

What is she doing here? Kim is not what you would cal a joiner. I don’t even think I have ever seen her at a school dance . This thought of course conjures up images of Kim in a fancy dress. A short fancy dress. Thoughts of her dancing in a short skirt, of course, chase away al my earlier irritation with her and her notebooks.

“Maybe she’s decided to loosen up a little bit and have some fun this year.”

Dave snorts. That is his entire answer. A snort that says both ‘
no that couldn’t possibly be it’,
and ‘
you poor fool, you have got to get over her’
at the same time. Dave is a very accomplished snorter.

“Maybe I should go find out.”

“Find out what?” Dave seems to have already forgotten what we are talking about.

“Find out what she’s doing here.”

“Dude. What is it with you and The Professor anyway? You could have any girl in school. Claire Haines is practicaly drooling over you every day in math class and you would rather waste your time on a chick you don’t even like half the time? Who also, I might add, doesn’t even acknowledge your existence.”

“Claire is practicaly a cardboard cutout.” Dave keeps staring at me looking confused. “You know—she is without depth.” This is very true. Claire is like the any popular girl in a low budget after school special: super sexy, lots of confidence, and boring as hel.

“Have you
seen
Claire Haines? Popularity is completely wasted on you.”

At this point I decide to stop listening to Dave. So I walk over to Kim.

“Is this seat taken?” That sounded so much cooler in my head. Kim is staring at me like maybe I am one of the special needs kids. “That sounded cooler in my head.” I go ahead and sit down trying to charm her into smiling. Kim never smiles. Not realy—maybe a self-satisfied smirk when a teacher hands back an assignment or a polite turn up of her mouth when she’s speaking with someone—but never a real smile. Sometimes I dream of making Kim’s whole face light up with a real honest-to-goodness smile. A smile that is just for me.

“Did you want something?” Kim is stil staring. I have got to start paying more attention to what’s going on in the real world.

“I was actualy wondering what you wanted.” She just raises an eyebrow at me. “You’ve never seemed interested in theater before.” Stil nothing. “You know these things aren’t graded right?” I’m instantly sorry for teasing her. Realy, I am not usualy a bad guy. What is it about her that gets under my skin this way?

Instead of no response now she has turned back to her book and is openly ignoring me. I probably deserve it.

“Is that why you find it so appealing?” Kim speaks up just as I am about to slink back to Dave. Her eyes are stil trained intently on her book, but she is definitely waiting for me to respond.

“Maybe.” I offer her my widest grin. “What are you reading?” I tap one finger against her book.

“I’m preparing.” She uncurls the book and holds it up for me to see the cover.
Much Ado About Nothing
.

“That won’t help much. Shakespeare needs to be seen on stage, and anyway Mr. Patterson is adapting the whole thing to high school setting. I doubt there’l be much of the original left when he’s done with his butcher job.”

Kim turns her head to meet my eyes. Before I can gauge her impression of me or my comment Mr. Patterson clears his throat and hops onto the stage.

Patterson is new this year.

Our old drama teacher, Miss Channing, left at the end of last year to get married. Miss Channing was great. We always had realy great productions and a couple of times she was able to attract scouts from performing arts schools. So far my impression of Patterson is not promising. He spends a lot of his class time just chatting with us, like he’s our buddy. Most of the kids think that’s great. But unlike them, I am not in Drama class for an easy A. I would realy like a shot at making a career in this industry and I don’t particularly think his watered down take on The Bard’s work is going to help get me there.

“Good turn out!” He is smiling broadly as he takes in the size of the crowd. There are only about two thirds as many people here as there were for last Spring’s production. “Alright, wel today we are just going to go over the scheduling and try and get al that dry technical stuff out of the way. Try-outs wil be next week.” I can’t help slumping down in my chair and roling my eyes.
Dry technical stuff?
Kim is sitting upright with a pen and memo pad. Where did she get a memo pad that quickly?

When the meeting is over Kim closes her memo pad. I swear she took three pages of notes in the last 30 minutes. Here’s what Patterson said: 1. We are remaking Much Ado About Nothing (don’t worry we are going to make it fun.)
I managed to restrain myself from pointing out
that Shakespeare did a pretty good job of making it fun in the first place.

2. Tryouts wil be held next Tuesday and Wednesday after school and you wil need a monologue and a song.

That’s al there realy was to this whole meeting. What the crap was she scribbling about? Would it be too much to hope that she was alternating between practicing signing Mrs
. Marshall Henries
and
Mrs. Kimberly Henries?
I would even settle for a
Mrs. Kimberly Penney-Henries.
I’m a modern kind of guy after al.

“Can you wake up? You are on my backpack.” Kim is tugging on a blue canvas strap. I look down and see that I my shoe is indeed pinning the other strap to the floor. I swear I am usualy smoother than this.

“I wasn’t asleep, Kim.” I try to defend myself as I pick up her backpack.

“You weren’t paying attention. Are you planning on trying out? If you want I can tel you what you missed during your nap.” I swear to you she said this with a serious face. Kim Penney is offering
me
advice on theater. I have been in every production since my freshmen year.

“I always try out. And I heard every word he said—I just don’t need to write everything down.”

“Wait! Where are you going? That’s my bag.” She practicaly shouts when I turn to walk away.

“I know. I thought I would walk you to your car. You know—be a gentleman, carry your bag; I may even lay my jacket over a mud puddle for you if the opportunity presents itself.”

“Wel. That’s nice of you.” Kim folows behind me. I didn’t get so much as a chuckle over the mud puddle bit, but at least she’s not screaming
help! thief!

“You never did tel me. Why the sudden interest in theater?”

“How do you know it is sudden? I could have gone out for several plays.”

“I would know; I am pretty involved in this stuff.”

“Oh. Wel, I am just interested that’s al.”

“In other words… it’s none of my business?” I am having fun even though she is being less than gracious in light of me carrying her insanely heavy book bag.

How many books does she need for one night anyway?

“That’s basicaly it. I’m over there.” She points to the blue car I am already headed towards.

“I know.”

“You do?” Kim looks suspicious. And now I am wondering something. A great big boulder of ugly insecurity is roling around in my gut…