Somewhere in the Middle (2 page)

Oh that. "Yeah, but it's not what you think." I poured myself a small
glass of the ice-cold drink.

"Then what is it?"

"He was just protecting me from JR and Kyle."

"Aww."

"I know, right? I was totally shocked."

"Why? Teddy bears are always more sensitive than jocks." She referred
to Roone's size, of course.

"Could you be more shallow?" I plopped down in one of the chairs and
took a sip of lemonade.

She groaned. "Can I help it if I long to date a Tatum Channing?"

I nearly spewed my drink. "You'd better stick with Gavin." Gavin
Berry, who was definitely on the lanky side, had been her guy for a
couple of years. "Think of the pressure that comes with dating a guy who
has muscles. You'd have to work out eight hours a day just to find the
nerve to get naked with him. Even worse, you could never eat another
order of chili cheese fries for as long as you lived." She did love her
junk food. I dug a carrot from the bag and bit into it.

Dayna sighed. "There is that. Roone's looking better by the second
even if he is big."

"He is not big! Actually, he is. But he's not fat-big. At least I
don't think so, but I wouldn't care if he was. You know stuff like that
doesn't matter to me."
Crunch. Crunch.

"The very reason I'm proud to call you friend. What the heck are you
eating? Ice?"

I told her.

"Ew. You are so weird. Yikes! I've got to go. Julio is one chokehold
away from murdering Chico, and mom will never forgive me if one of them
kicks it on my watch." She referred to her rambunctious little brothers,
ages four and six, who were always up to no good. "Are we doing the
library thing tomorrow?"

We took our siblings there every other Saturday. "Yep."

"Great. See ya then."

Ending the call, I set my snacks aside and headed to my bedroom, one
of three in the house. Being the only girl child in the Sayers family had
its perks. My brothers Eli, and Cory shared a room while I had one of my
own. But then Cory, a twenty-year-old junior at the University of Alabama
Huntsville, only came home on occasional weekends, so neither of them
really had it all that bad.

After changing into yoga pants and one of my big brother's
hand-me-down T-shirts that hit me mid-thigh, I went back to the kitchen to cook
dinner. My mom, a neonatal nurse, was trying to get her advanced practice
certification. Since that had resulted in the schedule from hell I helped
her every way I could.

Tonight, I dug a free-range chicken from the fridge and potatoes from
a wooden bin before pouring oil into a skillet to heat it. Though baking
the poultry would've been much healthier, I chose the traditional
southern way and breaded the pieces before dropping them into the oil
once it was hot. While they fried, I peeled the potatoes and cut them
into chunks for boiling and mashing, which was the way Eli liked them
best.

I also made some brownies from scratch, adding chocolate chips to the
batter before I poured it into a pan. These I baked, of course, along
with some whole wheat rolls Mom and I had made weeks ago and frozen.
Everything had just about come together when my Dad got home with Eli,
whom he'd picked up at the daycare that provided
before-and-after-kindergarten supervision.

Starved as usual, Eli got his little red stepstool and washed his
hands at the sink without me reminding him to. He was at the table before
I even set it. My little brother always got home starved and loved my
cooking. That made my kitchen duty worthwhile. Grinning, I gave him a
carrot and the rest of my lemonade to tide him over.

Ethan Sayers, my father, was a county deputy with hours as crazy as
Mom's. Visibly exhausted tonight, he went straight through the kitchen en
route, I suspected, to the shower. When he returned twenty minutes later,
he'd changed into faded jeans and his Alabama--the singers not the
state--tee, his favorite at-home attire. Just setting the last dish on the
table, I noticed that he smelled of Old Spice body wash, a favorite scent
of mine.

"Thanks for having it ready. I skipped lunch today." He affectionately
tugged on a lock of my dark brown hair, worn long and loose, before he
pulled out a chair.

"Me, too." I took Eli's plate so I could spoon some mashed potatoes
and gravy onto it. I added a drumstick and a roll, wishing I'd thought to
heat up something green, as in a token vegetable, to go with the meal.
But baby bro wouldn't have eaten it even if I'd bothered. "Your salad's
in the fridge, Dad."

He got it and the Thousand Island dressing before we both sat. "Are
you as happy as I am to start the weekend?"

"And then some." I began filling my own plate. "Holidays making you
crazy?"

"Yeah. Since Thanksgiving, every petty crook in the county has been
breaking and entering instead of working like the rest of us to buy
Christmas presents. Thank God it's Friday." He had the next two days off,
a rarity this time of year.

"Ditto!" said Eli, repeating something our mom Selena said a lot.

Dad and I laughed. I took a mental snapshot of my brother's priceless
expression:
Click!

"Don't you have a Christmas dance next Saturday?" Dad asked me.

"Uh-huh."

"So who's taking you?"

"I'm sitting this one out."

He arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"You know I hate formals." Not to mention girly-girl things like
corsages, glam dresses, and God forbid, heels.

"But it's your senior year. Aren't you worried that you'll look back
one day and regret not taking advantage of everything McAlister High had
to offer?"

"Not so much," I said.

"What if I buy the dress? Would you then?"

"The most expensive gown in town would not hide the fact that I'm a
klutz. Surely you haven't forgotten my dance recital." Forced by Mom to
take tap lessons for a year when I was four, I'd been totally out of sync
with the music and my fellow dancers. Yeah, so much for magically curing
my awkwardness.

Dad wasn't buying it. "I've seen you dance with Eli. There's nothing
wrong with your moves. Now who's asked you to go? And don't tell me 'no
one.' I dang well know better."

In truth, three guys had. I'd refused each for the same reason. At
McAlister High, a single date was automatically construed as "going out"
which equated to "going steady." That meant I'd actually have to break up
with my dance partner if I wasn't interested in a second date. "I've
explained all this before."

"And I still don't get it. You need to find a boyfriend, get out of
this house, and enjoy what's left of your high school years."

"I will get out," I told him. "Tomorrow's library day."

"That's not what I meant."

"Can I get that book on cars?" Eli asked, an interruption I
welcomed.

"If it's back on the shelf." One of his friends had shown him a kid's
encyclopedia of automobiles through the ages. We'd been trying to check
it out ever since, but couldn't seem to catch it in the library.

"Just wait 'til you see it, Dad." Eli gnawed on his drumstick.
Diverted from my nonexistent love life, our father grinned at him.

I watched for a minute, my heart swelling with affection for my little
bro. The only unplanned child in the family, he'd been a late-marriage
shock to my parents. But he'd had us all wrapped around his little finger
since that first newborn smile, and I adored him just as everyone did.
That's why I played Candy Land with Eli after dinner and then reread all
seven of the books we'd be returning the next day. After that, I tucked
him in, making sure he had his special blanket and his stuffed animal,
Justin Beaver.

I took more than one mental snapshot before I left him. He was growing
up before my eyes. I wanted to preserve the memories.

Click!

* * * *

Eli and I got to the library around ten on Saturday. Dayna, Julio, and
Chico were already there. All three boys immediately ran over to the
storyteller's corner and sat cross-legged on the floor. Dayna and I went
to sit at a table nearby. The moment the woman with the book began to
read the tale of Hercules, my friend and I relaxed. The boys loved
superhero stories. And though Hercules wasn't one in the comic book
sense, he'd definitely do.

"Cute top," I said, eyeing her glittered tee.

"I'll loan it to you anytime." Fashionable Dayna with her big brown
eyes, long brunette hair, and perfect sense of style was dying to dress
me.

But just like my Dad, I was a jeans and tees kind of person. Today my
shirt said BAMA on it, a reference to the University of Alabama. Cory had
bought it for me on sale at the college bookstore. "Was it made in the
USA? I don't wear clothes made by children in sweat shops."

"Oh God. Here we go."

"I'll spare you the lecture. You and Gav going to the dance?"

"Of course. Want to come with us? I'm sure I could find you a date."
She sided with my dad when it came to my extracurricular activities,
specifically the lack thereof.

Not that I didn't have any. I did. Just not the ones most teenage
girls had. I favored rallies for things that mattered: breast cancer
awareness, neighborhood recycling, gay and lesbian rights. The list went
on and on. "No thanks."

Dayna tossed her ponytail before leaning closer to look into my eyes.
"It would be so much fun to double."

"Someday, I promise."

"You keep saying that, but our final year together is half gone
already!"

"Is it my fault the guys at McAlister High don't appreciate me?"

Dayna's jaw dropped.

I held up a hand to stop the tirade she was about to unleash. "Let me
rephrase that--"

"You'd damn well better."

"Can I help it if none of the guys at school are my type?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "You have a type and I'm just now finding
out?"

"Yes. My kind of guy is smart, polite, kind--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Those characteristics are way too intangible. Give
me something I can work with."

Work with? A sudden vision of Dana surfing the internet for dates made
me cringe. "What do you mean?"

"What kind of hair?"

Ah, she was referring to physical characteristics. For a second, I
indulged her. "Don't want a guy with hair longer than mine, but I'm not
into buzzes, either."

Dayna laughed and pretended to jot something on an imaginary notepad.
"Blond, brunette, or redhead?"

"Sun streaked works for me. I'm all about the great outdoors."

"Ah. What color eyes?"

"The kind that change hue with every shirt."

"Tall, medium, or short?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Slender, well-proportioned, or stocky?"

"That doesn't matter, either."

"So a guy of any size with highlighted hair and chameleon eyes would
work?"

"If he was environmentally green and socially conscious...maybe." A safe
answer. While lots of guys we knew met the physical criteria, none
measured up otherwise.

"You just described Roone Thorsen."

"I know you didn't say that! Besides, you were doing all the
talking."

No doubt sensing my frustration, Dayna wisely changed the topic to her
job in the cosmetics department of JC Penney, doing customer makeovers.
Since she frequently practiced on me, I'd come to love make-up and even
wore it, which was admittedly at odds with my tomboy ways and the low
value I placed on physical attributes. But I definitely wasn't obsessed
and often left home without wearing any, something a lot of girls I knew
never did.

Dayna had once said that's why guys found me so "irresistible"--her
word, not mine. I was "an enigma," also her wording. I, on the other
hand, believed any male attention I unwittingly attracted resulted from
my blatant disinterest in dating high school boys. After a painful
hit-and-miss romance my junior year, I'd decided to hold off on love until I
got to college. I figured the guys there would be mature enough to know
that one date didn't mean lifetime commitment. As a result, my male
classmates had apparently labeled me as hard-to-get, and what high school
boy could resist that?

The sound of clapping made us glance toward the reader's circle. They
were finished already? With mutual grimaces, Dayna and I stood and
waited. Now came the hard part--selecting books to take home.

Eli always took forever. Today was no exception. While he checked out
every book on every shelf in the kiddie-lit area I pretty much stood in
one spot and zoned, my mind on Roone, thanks to Dayna. Lost in my
thoughts, I didn't immediately register the sound of crying. When I did,
I came to life and shot around the closest stack only to find Eli there
and in tears. Some guy wearing baggy jeans and a faded hoodie was
squatting next to him.

I instantly slipped into protector mode. "Eli?"

They both turned. The guy stood.

"Roone!" Flustered on a couple of levels, I rushed forward. "What's
wrong, buddy?"

"T-t-they d-don't h-have it." Huge tears rolled down Eli's cheeks.

I was clueless. "Have what?"

"The car book."

"Oh." Duh. Some big sister I made. "I'm so sorry. Are you sure? I'll
help you look."

By then Roone looked a little flustered, himself. "He belongs to
you?"

"Yeah." I kissed the top of Eli's precious head before I turned to the
shelf where the librarian had once told us it would be. No book. "You
know what? I think we should go to Barnes and Noble and buy it. That way
you can keep it forever."

Eli's smile lit up the room. I melted into a puddle of goo and took my
usual mental snapshot. Roone's arm just might've gotten in the shot.

Click!

"What book is he looking for?" asked Roone.

I explained.

He nodded at Eli. "I'm really liking cars, too. Your sister's got a
cool ride."

I'm really liking cars?
His wording threw me off, so I
remembered my manners a little late. "Thanks. Eli, this is my friend from
school, Roone Thorsen. Roone, this is Eli, my brother."