The Girl Who Invented Romance (14 page)

He was waiting for me in the front foyer. Why wasn’t I running toward him, the way Wendy had run after Park and was now running toward Jeep? I wanted this so much: a boy asking for my company. It had come and I was dragging my feet.

A thousand times I’d listened to Megan talk about her boyfriends. Never had fear come into her conversation. Desire, worry, adoration, frustration, concern, but not fear.

“Hi,” said Will, grinning.

There was no fear visible in Will. He is so tall that for him merely to stand there is to be on display. I felt as if the entire school watched me approach, saw my head tilt back to greet him. I’d always figured I’d love being on parade. But I was wishing we could be in private instead.

“Hi,” I said, and blushed over the word
hi
, which I say to a hundred people every day.

“Let’s go to Wendy’s,” he suggested.

I was shocked. Wendy’s? Surely Will knew how mean she had been to my brother. Just a little while before, Will and I had agreed that Wendy was a jerk. Was the whole basketball team going out with Wendy? Was this going to be a double date with Jeep and Wendy? Was—

“Wendy’s that serves hamburgers,” said Will. “Did you think I meant Wendy Newcombe?”

“I guess she’s on my mind.”

“She doesn’t deserve the space. Come on. My car’s in the east lot because I was late this morning. We have a hike.”

We didn’t touch. We didn’t walk close. In spite of being afraid, I was disappointed. As long as you’re doing it, you should do it right. Tons of people were looking at us, or at least facing our way, and I wanted to give them something worth looking at.

Am I sitting on both sides of this fence or what? I
thought. How do I expect Will to have any idea what I’m thinking when
I
don’t have any idea what I’m thinking?

My mind rushed down the paths of other minds, wondering what they were thinking, and constructing thoughts for them. My father’s path, my mother’s, Parker’s, Wendy’s, Faith’s, Megan’s—seeing with their eyes, deciding with their minds. I’ve always wondered if other people’s minds do this—divide, splinter, race headlong in multiples. Or do other people always know who they are?

“You know, Kelly, I’ve come to a conclusion about you,” said Will.

“What’s that?”

“I figured you for solid as a rock but now I think you’re kind of flaky. A lot of girls, I psych them out, I know who they are, and I’m bored. With you I have this feeling that you don’t land. You only look as if you land. But really you’re flying out there somewhere and you’ve never landed.”

It was strange and glorious to find myself in Will’s thoughts, to know that when his mind split, one path it took was through me. “I didn’t know you thought about me at all.”

“A person has to think about something during sociology,” Will pointed out. “I’ve been working my way through all the girls in the class. Depends which way I’m facing. Like when I was facing Wendy, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what game she’s been playing with Jeep and Parker.”

“Oh, me too. I’d give a lot to understand that.”

Will opened the car door for me. I love little attentions.

I thought of the thousand little attentions Dad gave Mom and for the umpteenth time in a month I wondered about my parents. I prayed they weren’t getting close to a—

The real word crept into my mind.

Divorce
.

Horrible, evil word. I let it sit quietly and then I picked it up, like a stone, and flung it away as far as I could.

Will was still walking around the car. He got in on his side and put the key into the ignition, and the car began buzzing very loudly. “Put your seat belt on,” he yelled.

I snapped it in place. “Our car has a sweet tinkling bell to remind you about the seat belts. Yours gets violent.”

He started the engine. “Tell me why you want to understand Wendy. I’m not sure Wendy is worth understanding.”

“Because of Parker. He’s hurt.”

“I’ll bet. We could see it coming, but Park couldn’t. You couldn’t warn him or you’d be the enemy.”

“Will you ever talk about it with him?” I asked.

“I hope not.”

How I love girl talk. Sprawled on the bedspread, indulging in long intimate heartbreaking silly giggly friendly talks. Girls love telling all. We always tell all.

Or so I’d thought until I fell for Will. I hadn’t told anybody about that. Not even Faith. For some reason, especially not Faith.

I was no longer afraid of Will. Talking released the anxiety. We arrived at Wendy’s and got in line. Will touched me for the first time, hand on my waist. Not light, not a half tickle, but a firm palm that ushered me ahead of him. I asked for chili; he ordered four hamburgers.

“Four?” I said.

“A person gets hungry.”

I gazed up at him and found him looking down at me speculatively, the way I might look at a dress I’m thinking of buying, but have not yet made the final decision on.

Nervousness came back like a blow. I was on the board game, getting and losing points.

Will’s hand moved me forward again. The tray was handed over the counter and Will took it. One hand holding the tray aloft, the other at my waist, he walked us toward a table by the window on the far side.

No wonder my mother loved all the little things Daddy did. They made you feel special. And who could not want to feel special? It’s so nice to be worth an effort.

Again my thoughts split away, abandoning my date. Opening doors, holding the tray, choosing the table. What could be wrong with it? What were Parker and I thinking of, knocking Dad for showing Mom affection like that? And whatever were Mom and Dad thinking of, letting it fade? Over Ellen! Who didn’t matter to anybody!

Did Daddy still have Ellen’s letter in his wallet? Was he still staring at her photograph? Was he sorry he was married to the mother of his children and not to this other woman?

“Now you have to tell me that,” said Will. “I refuse to be left in the dark.”

“That what?” I said, though I knew.

“That latest thought. Another intense one.” He took the food off the tray and slid the tray onto a vacant table behind us. Handing me a napkin and a straw, he got to work on burger number one. Three bites, fifteen seconds, and he was washing it down with his soda, not even pausing for breath.

I was still lifting my spoon to approach the chili. “Wow,” I said.

“I eat kind of fast.”

“I guess so.”

“But that doesn’t let you off the hook. What were you thinking of that made you look so far off?”

I put the white plastic spoon into the chili, brought up a mouthful and lowered the spoon back into the bowl. I picked up a pack of crackers, although I don’t like crackers and never spoil my chili with them. I played with the cellophane packaging.

“It’s my parents. I thought they had the most beautiful marriage on earth. I loved thinking about the way they loved each other and how someday I would live like that. But now, for the smallest dumbest reasons, it’s coming apart at the seams. Parker and I are standing there watching it split. It’s happening so fast, as though it never had any strength, when I thought it was the strongest in town. Sometimes just one word in an ordinary conversation
makes me remember what’s going on with them and I get scared.”

Will touched my hand. The cellophane rustled at the pressure. His hand dwarfed mine. The pressure of his fingers was comforting out of all proportion. “My folks are divorced and they remarried and they divorced again. You live through it. I won’t say it’s a picnic, but eventually everybody comes out on the other side without being destroyed.”

“I don’t want to think about it. I can’t bear thinking about it.”

“I don’t imagine they want to think about it either.”

“If my mother would just act like an adult, it could be solved in a weekend.”

“What’s she doing? Are you going to eat those crackers or not? The sound of the wrapper is getting to me. I really love crackers, you know, and if you’re not going to eat those crackers, I’ll eat the crackers.”

I was hurt. I had been on the brink of sharing with Will what I hadn’t even shared with my own brother: my ultimate fear. And Will interrupted to talk about crackers?

“Hey, you two,” said Jeep, “why didn’t you say you were coming over here? Hi, Kelly. Shove over, will you?”

He and Wendy, arms around each other, faces full of affection and laughter, were bouncing beside us.

I gave Will a look of heartfelt relief for babbling about crackers. What a gift. Otherwise my family problems would have been heard by the last girl on earth I wanted listening. Will nodded infinitesimally.

“Kelly, you change seats,” ordered Wendy, “and sit next to Will so I can sit with Jeep.”

Will gave me an I’m-on-your-team smile. I got up, feeling like a stick figure wearing rags, and circled the table while Will slid my chili, drink and crackers to my new place. Jeep and Wendy arranged themselves across from us. It was nice to be next to Will, but it meant I had to look at Jeep and Wendy.

How come Jeep didn’t think that maybe Park’s sister wouldn’t be totally warm and friendly toward him? How come Wendy didn’t guess that I hated her for throwing my brother over? How come Wendy didn’t guess that I really really really hated her for using my intimacy quotient?

“I’ve decided to set next week’s soap in an amusement park,” Wendy told us, as if we were interested. “Jeep has recorded some great honky-tonk music for the merry-go-round and we’ve got wonderful screams for the roller coaster. I think I’m going to have the Ferris wheel break and Octavia fall off.”

“Poor Octavia,” I said. “She just recovered from her pregnancy. Now she’s going to fall a hundred feet to a hideous splatty death next to the cotton candy? Don’t do it, Wendy.”

“I love it,” said Wendy to Jeep and Jeep only. They squeezed a kiss between sentences. “Kelly takes this stuff seriously. She’s really worried.”

She’s not a scriptwriter, I thought. She’s the script. She’s a piece of paper. She just wants to be read by the world.
She doesn’t care about her effect on living people, like Parker or like me.

“Do you realize that when you’re having these heavy thoughts,” said Will to me, “your mouth opens slightly and your eyes slip out of focus?”

“She doesn’t have heavy thoughts,” said Wendy. “She’s got a weak jaw.”

“Hey,” I said indignantly.

“Watch it, Wendy,” said Will, “or I’ll have to throw chili at you and ruin your pretty sweater.”

“It is a nice sweater, isn’t it?” said Wendy contentedly.

Will and I laughed. He ate two more hamburgers, which kept him busy for the same number of minutes.

“I just want to go on record as saying I stand in awe of your burger-eating capacity,” I said.

“And to think I was trying to show off by making baskets or As. All I had to do was snack.” He ate the fourth burger. “Now I’m all sad.”

“Because you have a stomachache from eating four hamburgers?” asked Wendy.

“Because they’re gone. I love to eat. Wish I could make every meal last for hours.” He eyed the crumbs from his rolls.

“This is not a high-tech solution,” I said, “but you could try taking smaller bites.”

Will laughed.

Wendy went back to her favorite topic (Wendy) and we listened. Jeep was not talking. He was sitting there, handsome as a soap opera star. Wendy was living out her own
drama. Jeep was her male lead. And Parker had been what? Her twist in the plot?

Into my ear, Will murmured, “You have to control your face, Kell. It’s impossible to tell what you’re thinking, but you’re definitely thinking something we’d all like to tune in on.” His breath against my cheek and ear made me shiver. When I turned to smile, our lips were nearly touching. I counted the freckles on his cheek, measured his eyelashes, admired flecks in his hazel eyes.

“Come along, George Peters,” said Wendy, which startled me because I never think of Jeep that way. “Things to do, people to see,” she told us, taking Jeep’s hand. They rushed away.

“Aren’t people mysterious?” I said.

“There’s nothing mysterious about those two. Wendy wants to run the world and Jeep’s willing to be run.”

Still and all, they were surely the most romantic-looking. A lot of kids were glad when Wendy went back to Jeep. It looked better, they said. Parker just wasn’t her type.

Will was talking basketball. “We’re in a battle between our two coaches. The head coach says it’s enough to do your best; you don’t have to win. The assistant coach says winning is the only thing that counts. Ever.” He twirled my chili bowl. “You going to eat this?”

“No. Have it.”

He ate my chili between sentences. “When we’re at practice, I agree with the head coach. You do your best and it’s enough.” He crushed the crackers into the chili. “But
when we’re in a game, all I care about is winning. I love to win.” His voice was as intense as Wendy’s in a soap. “Winning is everything.”

Winning.

The purpose behind every game, every crossword puzzle, contest, footrace or argument. “What is winning?” I said.

“Being first.”

I wondered what it would be like to be first with Will.