The Girl Who Invented Romance (15 page)

“I’d like us to win the state basketball championship and have my jersey retired in the glass trophy case in the front foyer,” said Will. He smiled at his daydream. “What do you want to win?”

“Happily Ever After.” I was surprised and sorry I’d said it out loud.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t get up to leave. His smile was sympathetic. “I’ve seen a lot of divorce. I guess I don’t have much faith in happily ever after. A girl who wants that wants it all.”

“But you see, I had it all. Or, at least, I thought my parents did.”

“Maybe they do. Maybe this is a temporary lapse.”

Will drove me home, enjoying the traffic as much as he enjoyed me.

And what was this afternoon, Will? I thought. Something real?

Or a temporary lapse?

Y
ou could look at me and see.

I couldn’t see. I wore my favorite outfit but when I glanced in the mirror to check it, I didn’t spot the difference.

In the first class of the school day, Faith said, “You look sparkly, Kelly.”

“I do?” It’s Will, I thought. I’m in love. “Maybe it’s my shirt. This is my best color, you know.”

Megan looked hard at me. “I suppose. But Faith’s right, Kell. You seem bouncier than usual.”

“I had a good night’s sleep.”

What a lie. I’d hardly slept at all. I lay there thinking alternately of Will and of me, layering us like lasagna: first
the pasta, then the sauce. First Kelly, then Will, then Kelly, then Will, until we were one.

Forget the squares on my board, Will. Forget the skiing in Colorado and the cruise to the Bahamas and the hot-air balloon ride. Just telephone me. That’s all I ask.

Around three in the morning I got out my romance game.

By now I had worked out a name system so you didn’t draw a boy or a girl card but got a blank card. You had to fill in a name, and as you played, you landed on squares that built the character of your date by chance, and then you went out with him, thus collecting Traits and Dates.

I named my date Will.

Immediately chance turned him into a slob who had bad breath, drove a rusted-out station wagon and worked at a landfill for a living.

“Well, that’s no fun,” I said to myself.

This time I gave myself four dates to take around the board and named them all Will. Will One, Will Two, Will Three, Will Four.

And this time it worked the way a game should. It was dumb, it was funny, it had a nice pace, it made me laugh.

Will One never took me on a date. I’m sure he would have if he could have, but Will One never landed on a date square. My rule was that you couldn’t go to Happily Ever After with somebody you’d never dated, so good-bye, Will One.

Will Two was rich, which was nice, but bald, which was
not. Will Two, in spite of being addicted to TV reruns, bought me a ski lodge and flowers.

Now, poor Will Three never developed any character at all. He dated me five times, so I could go to Happily Ever After with him, but who wants a future with a personality-free man?

Will Four.

Now, there was a man a girl could love. He was thoughtful, had high-voltage sex appeal, was a rock star with long blond hair and never complained. His only vice was that he slept with four dogs. Oh well, I told myself, it’s probably a big bed. I can get used to the dogs.

I knew Will Four was the man for me when
Your date composes a love song just for you
appeared in his cards. I played slowly, hoping Will One would take me on at least one date and Will Two would land on a
Lose all vices—now your date is perfect!
Square.

At four in the morning, I landed on a Broken Heart.

JUST LIKE LIFE!
WITH NO EXPLANATION WHATSOEVER
YOUR DATE DUMPS YOU FOR GOOD.
CRY ALL NIGHT
.

A jagged lightning streak ripped through the red heart drawn on the board, leaving one half bleeding on the ground.

Land on that square and whatever date number you roll next is off your list forever.

If I rolled Will One, it wouldn’t matter, because he never took me out anyhow.

If I rolled Will Two, I could shrug.

Will Three had yet to develop personality, so presumably I wouldn’t notice when he was gone.

But Will Four! What if I rolled a four? That would mean I’d have to keep playing the game with the other, lesser Wills and end up at Happily Ever After with one of them—or with nobody.

For some time I jiggled the die in my palm.

I would have said I’m not the slightest fraction superstitious. Certainly not while playing a board game that I myself invented.

But I never rolled that die. At four-fifteen in the morning I set the game back under the bed, dropped the die on the floor, turned out my light and never knew which Will would have been out of my life if I’d rolled one more turn.

But I did obey the square. I cried myself to sleep.

I don’t even know why. Tears came. Not soft salty streaks on my cheeks, but terrible bitter sobs, as if something dreadful had happened and I just hadn’t been told yet.

But all things are better in the morning.

I woke up happy, even with only two and a half hours of sleep. I dressed eagerly, glad to be able to atone for my baggy sweatshirt of the day before. Carefully I chose a plum-colored shirt loosely tucked into new vivid blue jeans. My hair looks like gold against that plum color. I could hardly wait to get to school. School would not be a board game. It was the real thing with a real Will, who really enjoyed me. Who really sat by me in sociology and had a real personality and really drove me to Wendy’s and really was careful when people like Wendy were within listening distance.

I planned how to enter the room. After Will, not before. I’d be with Faith, although she wouldn’t know she was an escort. I’d be very casual. Then I’d smile. Our eyes would meet. We’d have a secret interest in each other.

He’d pass me a note when Ms. Simms was hidden behind her papers. I’d send him one. He’d say, “That shirt is a great color on you.” He’d text-message me on the phones we’re not allowed to touch in class: “I have 15 minutes after school and before practice. Meet me. Student lounge.”

I bounded down to breakfast and to a mother and father who were not speaking to each other. Whatever fight they’d had was over. They were in a state of truce, or else putting up a front for me.

My mother said, “Croissant, Kelly?”

My father said, “Orange juice, Kelly?”

My mother said, “Your father will drive you to school, Kelly.”

My father said, “I don’t believe I offered to do that, Violet.”

Had this been going on for ages and I’d just never noticed? They sounded and looked as if they’d had plenty of practice behaving like this. “I can take the school bus,” I said. Parker must have gotten an early ride with friends. There was no sign of him.

“You’re late. He’ll drive you,” said my mother. Her jaw was set so tightly it hurt my mouth to see her teeth.

“No, it’s okay. Really. The bus is fine.”

“Whose side are you on?” demanded my mother.

We weren’t even having an argument. I didn’t even care how I got to school.

“She’s not on a side, Violet,” said my father. “There are no sides. Can you please grow up?”

“I believe,” said my mother icily, “that that is what you need to do.”

Thick angry silence again.

“What are we talking about?” I said. I wanted to think about Will and love and dates and flirting.

“I have no idea,” said my father. “Get in the car. I’m taking you to school.”

“I have meetings after work and into the evening,” said my mother. “I won’t be home for dinner.”

“Neither will I,” said Dad.

They both shrugged. They’ve been married so long their shrugs are identical, but they didn’t notice.

In the car I said, “What’s happening, Daddy?”

“Let’s see. I’m going to buy a newspaper, go to work, and this evening, I’m going duckpin bowling with Charlie and Frank. Be home maybe ten o’clock.”

“I mean with Mother.”

He was furious. Not annoyed. Furious. “Kelly, stay out of it.”

“Okay, okay. I was just asking. It’s my family too.”

“Some family,” said my father as we pulled in front of the school.

It
was
some family. I had a lovely family. I adored my family. I wanted my family to last. Intact. In love.

I shivered all over. Dad saw nothing and drove away too fast.

The first three periods of school were torture.

A hundred times I silently practiced, “Hello, Will,” trying to get exactly the right tone.

I dawdled behind Faith, getting to sociology almost last, sliding into my seat just as Ms. Simms was lifting her arm and placing her hand under her elbow. This is perfect, I thought. I get to send Will a quick grin while the rest of the class is getting out paper and pencil and nobody will notice and it will still be private and special and something to cherish.

What a game I was playing.

I waited for Will to turn in his seat so I could get past the
silliness of the game and into the real thing. But Will did not turn and he did not look.

Not once.

All through class I kept turning toward Will, casually and slowly so the class would not notice, although I thought Will would. Faith was turning toward Angie in the same way at the same time.

We’re like flowers, Faith and I, I thought. Turning toward the sun. Please shine on me.

But Angie was turned inward and Will was turned away.

Will gave me not one word, not one lift of his chin, not one half smile to indicate that we had ever associated or shared any thoughts or time.

Finally I stopped trying to catch his eye.

Idiot, I told myself. You spent a few minutes with a guy who’s more interested in hamburgers and somebody else’s chili. It was not a romance. It was nothing.

H
e didn’t call either.

How could he not call?

We had shared so much and enjoyed the sharing so much. He had to call! He couldn’t get along any better with any
other
girl. Megan hadn’t ever gone out with him to start with. I didn’t know if he had done much dating. But surely after such a nice time at Wendy’s he’d have to call.