* * *
"Go?Grizzlies?Go, Fight, Win!" Hailey yells, cheering along with Holly and mimicking her every move.
I clap with approval from my fold-out chair I dragged into the backyard. "Good job, Hailey," I smile.
"Very good job," Holly agrees, patting Hailey's head. "You're gonna be one heck of a cheerleader."
Believe me, that's not just lip-service from Holly trying to make a seven-year-old feel good about herself. Hailey is fantastic, and she'll probably be as good as Holly in a few short years.
Despite the fact that I've joined the squad this year--against my will, of course--Hailey is going to be my mom's true pride and joy when it comes to cheerleading. Ever since she was three years old, she would watch Mom's cheerleading videos from high school--yep, the same ones I was borderline forced to watch--cheering along and shouting the words for hours. But the interesting part was when it came time to pull her away. You'd better be wearing shoulder pads and a helmet, because there was a ridiculous amount of intense flailing, kicking, screaming, closed-fist punching, and even occasional biting. And it didn't stop until she either fell asleep or was offered a Double-Stuf Oreo cookie. So, unlike most three-year-olds, she got a yummy double-stuffed snack every day before dinner.
But despite Hailey's imminent rise to cheerleading greatness, I guess my mom couldn't wait that long, which is why she's always wanted me to give it a try, despite my lack of interest and ability. And even though I've pretty much gotten the hang of it now--thanks to Holly--Hailey is without a doubt the real cheerleader in the family, and I can't wait to watch her in the coming years.
"Good job, girlie!" Becca yells, setting her grilled cheese sandwich down to clap along with me.
"Thanks," Hailey responds with a shrug, then skips toward the house to head inside.
Just as she reaches the door, she's met by Carson who is walking out--Then Brian walks out right behind him.
I look over at Becca, who now has a honey BBQ chip dangling from her mouth. She shoves the chip in and quickly chews it up and swallows it down, probably embarrassed to be sitting there with a plateful of food in her lap. I quickly hop up and reach over to snatch the plate from her, and as I'm sitting back down I notice the expression on her face rapidly change from super-excited to total disappointment. And I see why when I look back to the door and see a girl walk out behind Brian.
If it wasn't for the text Carson sent to Becca earlier, I would fully assume the mystery girl to be Emma. But I can only partly assume that now.
And just when it seems like things can't get any more confusing, Holly begins to jump up and down with excitement when she sees Brian.
"Brian! What are you doing here?" she yells, running over and hopping in his arms as if he's her husband returning home from war. Becca and I glance at each other, completely puzzled as if we've just stepped into the Twilight Zone.
The other girl, who we'll go ahead and call Emma until further notice, briefly looks up from her phone when Holly jumps on Brian. She has a look on her face as if she's not all that thrilled, yet she fully expected Holly's reaction.
"How have you been?" Holly asks, stepping back from the hug, her hands remaining on his shoulders.
"I've been good, how about you?" Brian asks.
"Great!" she replies, then looks at Emma. "Hey, Emma, how are you?"
"I'm good."
As Holly proceeds to talk to the now-confirmed "Emma" for a minute, Brian glances at Becca with a sort of sad grin, as if he's expressing disappointment and perhaps even apologizing for the whole scene.
Becca smiles back at him bravely, but I know her emotions are a mess right now.
Then she suddenly stands and says, "Well, I'm gonna go see what your mom is cooking so I'll know whether I need to go home or not." She laughs, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear her reason for leaving. As she walks by Brian, Holly, Emma, and Carson to get to the door, she politely smiles and says hi to all of them. I'm proud of her and hurt for her at the same time, and I'm extremely anxious to find out what's going on.
10
Uniform Fiasco
The next night, I finally decide it's time to go ahead and try on my cheerleading uniform for the very first time. Now with game time officially being only seventy-two hours away, if it doesn't fit for some reason, I'm pretty much screwed. But that would be no one's fault but mine. I should have done this a long time ago, and I did try several times. But every time, I got so nervous about the whole situation and ended up just throwing it back into my closet like it was infested with ants or something. I don't think I had fully come to terms with the idea of actually becoming a cheerleader at those times. It's kind of like I was just going through the motions and doing what I had to do at the moment so I could keep my genius hidden, with no real intention of actually becoming a cheerleader. Putting on that uniform just made it all too real.
But now, it's as real as it gets. I'm all trained up by Holly, and in three days I'll be out on that gym floor. Or at home faking a stomach cramp, I've yet to decide which.
Becca sits on the comfy recliner with her feet up, looking kind of bummed as I toss my uniform on the bed.
"Please, let me text Carson and find out what's going on with Brian," I plead for the third time.
But once again, she shakes her head. "No. Carson is at his house right now. Anything you text Carson, Brian's gonna see it. It's too embarrassing."
Even though I understand where she's coming from, I still want to text Carson to find out what the deal is. But before I can say another word, she changes the subject.
"So, you ready to throw on that uniform and go downstairs and show everyone?" she giggles, obviously amused by the fact that my mom--who is surely armed with her camera by now--dad, and Hailey are waiting patiently in the living room for my grand entrance.
I give her a dirty look in the mirror as I slip on the skirt. She knew that would get a rise out of me.
"Give me the top," I demand, turning and pointing to the bed.
She hops up, biting her lip to hide a smile. "Yes ma'am," she mutters.
As I'm putting on the top, I can't help but think to myself how strange it is that Becca is so into the whole thing. Considering the fact that she hates cheerleaders and all. I knew she would be supportive over all, but I kind of pictured her just sitting back and staring, trying with all her might to refrain from making snide comments under her breath, and possibly from even tackling me and slapping me around a little to bring me to my senses. But nope, she just smiled and helped me out the entire time like a proud mom. Pretty cool.
Once everything is squeezed in, lined up, and straightened out, Becca steps back and plops down on the edge of the recliner with a huge smile on her face.
"Holy crap, you look so smokin' hot!" she exclaims, making me laugh. "Bryson is gonna go nuts. None of those cheerleaders are nearly as hot as you are."
"I don't know about that, but thanks," I say. Then I take one last look in the mirror before heading for the door. No reason to delay this first-floor circus any longer than necessary.
As we get halfway down the stairs and emerge from behind the wall, my mom quickly jumps to her feet like the couch is on fire. She immediately begins snapping pictures of me as if I'm her favorite rock star walking on stage. I must have seen a hundred flashes before I made it to the bottom step. Meanwhile, Hailey puts together a string of quick little claps while smiling broadly and bouncing up and down on the couch. And my dad--whose reaction is my favorite--just throws his hands up and his head back and says, "Aw, man, boys will be able to see right up that skirt."
Typically, my dad is way off when it comes to this. It doesn't matter what I wear; it's always too short and somehow boys manage to "see right up it." Knee-length pencil skirts, board shorts, jeans, sweat pants?you name it, it's too short. But he might actually be on to something this time. This skirt is ridiculously short, even though he still may be exaggerating just a hair. Before he can open his mouth again, though, my mom
totally shuts him down.
"No, that skirt is not too short. Now just sit there and keep your mouth shut," she snaps. She never talks to Dad that way, but he's on dangerous grounds at the moment. Criticizing anything having to do with my cheerleading gig--probably not the best idea.
I can tell he wants to say something else, but he chooses to obey as he sits back with his arms crossed, shaking his head and looking at me.
"These are going to be some good pictures for your scrapbook!" Mom exclaims, excited and giddy.
I briefly glance back at my dad. As much as I too wanted him to keep his mouth shut several weeks ago in the kitchen, I find myself now wanting him to speak up and bail me out of this mess. I want him to jump off that couch, throw his hands up and wave them around like he's calling timeout on the field. I want him to demand I march upstairs, change out of that scandalous uniform and never even think about putting trash like that on again, therefore ending my new-found cheerleading career. That way, it's not my fault at all because Daddy made me quit, and hopefully I'd still be able to keep my genius a secret.
But unfortunately, that's wishful thinking. In reality, he's not going to do anything but sit here and roll with the punches. And I can't say I blame him; I wouldn't go against my mom on this matter either, if I were him.
Hailey hops up and walks over to me, still smiling, and starts rubbing the skirt, like it's a lamp with a genie in it. "I like it, Dor. You look so good in it," she says, fascinated.
I look down and stroke her ponytail. "Thanks, girlie."
"You really do look amazing, sweetie," Mom agrees, peeking over the top of her camera at me.
I really do wish I could somehow enjoy this moment with my mom, but I can't seem to make it happen. I'm starting to feel sick, in fact. Suddenly, an overwhelming need to leave the room hits me like a ton of bricks.
"Well, I'm gonna go take this off. I figure I'll be wearing it enough over the next few months," I say, then turn and speed-walk to the stairs.
"I need a Kardashian break," I whisper to Becca as I zip by. She quickly turns around and follows close behind me up the stairs.
That's right, we don't only watch the Kardashians for pleasure; it's also a stress reliever for us, weird as that may be. And it's exactly what I need at the moment.
11
Clarification
Becca's been in a weird mood all morning, and it definitely goes beyond her typical Monday blues. We haven't really talked about it much, other than me jokingly asking her what's wrong a few times, and her shrugging, saying "Nothing," then changing the subject. But if I had to guess, I'm thinking she's probably feeling awkward about running into Holly after what happened at my house the other day, which is probably also causing her to think about the situation with Brian.
When Bryson and I were having our little daily chat session before lunch by my locker--he was waiting for me this time, by the way--I abruptly cut our conversation short as soon as I noticed Becca leaving her fourth period classroom. I hated to do it, and I'm hoping Bryson didn't take it the wrong way, but Becca is more important and she's clearly upset this morning.
As we approach each other, she cocks her head and frowns at me, puzzled. "Y'all finished already?"
And even though Bryson and I are never finished talking by the time Becca walks out of class and she always has to kill time, for some reason I didn't expect that question.
"Yep, I'm starving," I say dismissively. "I hope there's still some brownies left."
Luckily, she doesn't explore the topic any further. We just start heading to the caf.
"Me, too," she agrees.
When we get there, we both notice Holly sitting at our table as we make our way to the lunch line. This is strange only because Holly is never there before we are. Once we get our salads, large water bottles, and a delicious peanut butter brownie--which typically only comes with the hot lunch tray, but the lunch lady has been sneaking us one with our salads ever since we expressed interest in them last week--we head over to our table.
"Hey!" Holly greets us with her normal enthusiasm as she watches us take our seats.
I glance over at Becca as she sits, curious to see her reaction, but she simply smiles and says hey as I do. Then, after a few seconds of awkward silence, Holly leans forward and narrows her eyes at Becca from across the table.
"Do you like Brian?" she suddenly asks.
Becca looks up at Holly, off-gaurd and mouth full of salad, like she's wondering if the question was for her. She glances at me and then back at Holly, at a loss for words. It's definitely a tricky question, not knowing Holly's reason for asking. Is she interested in Brian herself? Does she think it's inappropriate because he's with Emma? Is she simply curious?
I just don't know. And with there being no real way for me to help, I just sit here and watch Becca struggle to come up with a response.
Then out of nowhere, Becca becomes totally relaxed, reaches for her water bottle, shrugs and says, "Yeah, a little."
I glance at Holly, but before she can respond, Bryson's hand suddenly comes down between us, putting two peanut butter brownies on my plate next to my salad. I turn and look up at him as he stands there holding his hot lunch tray.
"I'm not gonna eat 'em," he smiles, then continues on to his table.
I sling my head around to watch him walk off. "Thanks!" I call after him, my insides a jumbled mess.
"Ooh, Dori and Bryson?sounds cute!" Holly teases.
I feel myself start to blush, and I see Becca grinning across from me. I have to say, it's great to see her finally smile today. But then Holly turns her focus back to Becca, once again all business, as if someone flipped a switch.
"No, I was just wondering. I mean, I wasn't too sure, but I could tell the other day that, you know, you might kind of like him."
Becca puts her fork down and scrunches her face in thought. "Yeah, kinda," she says, then pauses. "I mean, have you two ever?"
"No!" Holly shrieks, as if it would be like dating her brother. "No, no, no, Brian and I have been best friends since like first grade at Blackwater Private."
"Oh, okay," Becca nods in relief.
"Yeah, then I left and came here last year, and he started at Central Private this year. We just haven't seen each other in a long time, that's all."
Becca nods again. "And Emma?"
"Ugh. Emma's not good for him." Holly rolls her eyes. "Even though Brian has that sort of bad boy look, he's a sweetheart, and she pushes him around a lot. But I think he's actually trying to break up with her right now?it just might take him a while. He's too nice."
Becca leans forward and places her forearms on the table. "Well, thanks for telling me all of this. I was definitely confused."
"I can imagine!" Holly laughs. "But, yeah, I just wanted to clear everything up in case you liked him."
"So, that's cool. Now you just have to wait," I grin, looking at Becca.
"Yeah, because it definitely looks like he's interested in you," Holly confirms.
Becca looks down at her salad and cracks another smile.
12
Bus Ride
"You ready?" Becca asks as she walks up to me.
I tilt my head and shrug with uncertainty. "Guess I have to be."
I turn and gaze back out the caf window at the fancy, massive Hotard bus sitting in the parking lot.
It's finally Tuesday, or as better known around Stargate, Game Day. And I'm about to board that luxurious machine and head for Slidell, which is about an hour and a half away.
The good news is that my mom won't be riding on the bus with us. But the bad news is Becca won't be, either; they'll be following behind in my mom's car. Other than the players and cheerleaders, you have to have a ticket to ride the bus, and they're difficult to come by because they pretty much go to the parents who help out with the sports programs every year. Like Alison's mom, who helps out financially with the cheerleading squad.
So I'm nervous about the bus ride, to say the least.
With no Becca, who will I sit with? And will Summer bother me? It wouldn't be quite as bad if we were just going down the road, but once again we're talking about an hour and a half ride. Maybe I'll luck out at the last minute and the bus will break down or something, forcing everyone to take their own vehicles. Unlikely, I know, but a girl can dream.
As if the bus ride and the game itself wasn't enough to rattle my nerves, I also had to wear my cheerleading uniform to school today. It's customary on game days. I have to admit, at first I was extremely embarrassed at the idea of even wearing that thing to the game, much less prancing up and down the halls at school all day long with it on. I don't even wear shorts to school, for crying out loud; that's the extent of my modesty. Yet, here I am in this booty-showing attire, trying to sit just right in every class so nothing falls out. I'm constantly pulling down this teeny-tiny skirt which seems to ride up a few inches every time I sit down, stand up, stand still, walk, talk, eat, breathe, and think?I kid you not. So I can imagine cheering and kicking my legs around and all that later on at the game is going to be really interesting.
Now, here's my somewhat naughty confession: as the day went on, the uniform bothered me less and less. Particularly when I caught Bryson practically staring at my legs three different times--once in the hall when I was taking a drink from the water fountain, and twice in the classroom during one of the classes we share.
The first time I noticed him looking, a strong mixture of emotions ran through me. The main one, without a doubt, was embarrassment. I was kind of wishing I had a blanket in my backpack to throw over my legs and cover myself. But then a slight feeling of excitement slowly began to rise up, and by the time I caught him for the third time in the hall, it was all excitement. I almost wanted to show him even more, but that would have pretty much required taking the uniform off completely. So, obviously, I went against that idea.
Becca reaches over and pats me on the shoulder, obviously noticing my worried expression.
"You're gonna do great, Dor. You're ready for this," she assures me. "And just try to sit with Holly on the bus if you can."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," I say as we walk out and begin making our way to the parking lot.
"And don't worry about Summer, she's not gonna bother you. She knows I'm coming."
I nervously tug my skirt down. "Yeah, I think you've pretty much scared her off for now."
"Hey, don't pull that thing down!" Becca fusses. "How is Bryson gonna see your goodies?"
Becca would say something like that. I laugh, then become embarrassed.
"Any more staring I need to know about?" she asks, leaning toward me and raising an eyebrow.
"Not yet," I say with a wide smile.
As we walk around the bus, I notice my mom getting out of her car sans Hailey, who desperately wanted to attend this game. Honestly, I thought Hailey would win that battle.
"So," I begin sarcastically as we walk up, looking all around the car. "Where's Hailey?"
My mom's expression goes from happy to annoyed in a split second, her head falling forward as she glares at me. As I expected, it's a sore subject.
"At home, not happy. I couldn't let her stay out till ten or whenever we get back."
Becca and I both laugh.
"You better sleep with one eye open, Mrs. Christie," Becca jokes.
"Believe me, I've already thought about that," Mom replies, her eyes widening.
After tossing our backpacks in the backseat, Becca pulls me around the back of the SUV and points across the parking lot. When I look, the picture is so incredible that it gives me chills all over.
I see Bryson standing there, one foot crossed over the other, all dressed up for game day like the rest of the team. He's wearing a fitted black, button-down Express shirt--the sleeves rolled up to his elbows--with a gray tie, and amazing gray dress pants. He's talking to a couple of his friends as he leans against his restored, dark green '69 Camaro Z28.
Up until about fifth period, I was so worried about my cheerleading uniform and what Bryson was thinking of me that I didn't really notice how ridiculously hot he was looking. But as I stand here watching him lean against his sexy muscle car, it's almost too much for me to handle.
"That's pretty nice, huh?" Becca says quietly over my shoulder.
I can only nod at first. I'm in a daze so intense my sobriety and drug-free lifestyle could definitely be called into question by a total stranger.
"Yeah," I finally mutter. Then, complete silence again.
"Well," Becca begins, "y'all's kids are gonna look great, that's for sure."
"Shut up," I laugh, breaking out of my trance, playfully shoving her on the arm.
When we get back around the vehicle, Becca and Summer happen to lock eyes as Summer boards the bus with her friends. Summer quickly looks away, terrified. I don't think she's interested in a third confrontation with Becca considering she might get her ass torn up next time.
"You're gonna give that girl nightmares," I say, looking at Becca. But she continues to stare at Summer as she climbs the steps, probably wishing her hands were around Summer's neck.
"Hopefully," she says.
After I somewhat calm Becca down and get her strapped in the front seat of the SUV, I say my goodbyes to her and my mom and nervously begin making my way to the bus, armed with my small blue and white "Stargate Grizzlies" duffle bag, mainly because it contains my cell phone, but also because all the other cheerleaders are taking theirs. The last thing I need is another reason to be the odd one out.
I look over at Bryson's car as I'm walking, but he's not there anymore. In fact, I discover he's nowhere to be found as I scan the entire parking lot, which is weird because I know I didn't see him get on the bus.
As I'm climbing the steps, the first person I see is Holly in the front seat to my right, talking and laughing with one of the other lower-classman cheerleaders. If these benches were big enough for three, I would happily plop down right there beside her, but I'm not that lucky today.
So I reluctantly start walking down the aisle, and the next person I happen to notice is Summer, sitting a few seats back on the right side as well. She's sitting by herself, obviously saving the seat next to her for someone. The two reasons I know this is because she's sitting on the aisle side of the bench, rather than the window side, so no one else can sit; and she surely would have been sitting with another cheerleader, not by herself.
But regardless, I'm quite sure she's not saving that seat for me, so I continue walking. As I pass by, she doesn't glance up at me or acknowledge my existence in any way, which I'm totally fine with.
I finally notice an empty seat a little further down on the opposite side, so I head straight for it. Once I get seated and situated, I wonder again where Bryson is. And when I catch a random glimpse of the back of Summer's head, I also begin wondering who she might be saving that seat for?and if there's any connection.
After turning and peeking around my seat toward the back of the bus--which is where the basketball players are sitting--and still seeing no Bryson, I start digging through my bag for my phone so I can text Becca and ask her if she sees him anywhere in the parking lot. My curiosity is definitely getting the best of me at this point.
"Hey, have you seen Bryson out there?"
As soon as I hit send, I look up and see him walking down the aisle with his black Nike bag slung over his shoulder. My heart immediately drops into my stomach when I see him, and I quickly throw my phone back into my bag.
Right away, I notice him casually glance at Summer, so I look that way, as well. I'm just in time to see her smile at him and slide across the two-seater bench toward the window, inviting him to sit next to her. But instead of accepting her offer, he politely smiles and continues walking right past her, looking as if he feels bad for doing it.
I, on the other hand, feel enormous relief. Even though I've seen them talk many times--mostly because Summer runs up to him and starts talking--and it's no big deal, it
would have been really tough to watch them sit together the entire trip, having no idea what they're talking about or how well they're getting along or if they're exchanging numbers or what. And even though I really didn't think he would actually sit with her instead of his buddies at the back of the bus, it still felt great to see him pass her up. It was almost even greater to see her sad, shocked reaction.
As he continues walking, he suddenly looks right at me with those breathtaking, light brown eyes--which match his bangs that fall just short of his eyebrows--and gives me a huge smile. I smile right back at him, happy that he chose not to sit with Summer, and also super-excited to turn and watch him walk to the back of the bus in those incredibly hot, fitted dress pants.
But then I notice him slowing down the closer he gets, the whole time his eyes never leaving mine. Out of nowhere, it hits me like a wrecking ball that I was so caught up in what Summer was trying to accomplish that I totally forgot I was sitting alone also. Even though Bryson and I have talked a million times, it never crossed my mind for a second we would sit together on this trip. Or that he would rather sit with me than with his friends, or that he would do that in front of his friends even if he wanted to.
But regardless of all my sporadic, analytical thoughts, here he is, slowing down and gazing at me with a smile. As it turns out, I only thought I was nervous before. I'm now a complete wreck as he takes his last step and stops right next to my seat.
After hesitating for a second, he looks down at the edge of the bench, gestures toward it, then looks back up at me and asks, "Is this an open spot?"
Believe it or not, despite my nerves I was once again able to somehow pull it together and keep up our playful humor. I stick out my bottom lip a little and shrug. "I mean, I guess so," I joke as I slide to the window.
"'K, cool. I just needed somewhere to put my bag," he says as he tosses his bag on the seat next to me, then turns to the back of the bus as if he's going to continue walking. But before he takes a step, he quickly turns back around and laughs. "Just kidding! I totally don't trust you with my bag. I'm gonna have to stay here with it." He sits down next to me and puts the bag on his lap.
The butterflies in my stomach are completely out of control at this point, and I feel like I'm floating a few inches off the seat. I can't help but briefly turn my head and look down as I grin shyly, which I'm hoping he doesn't notice. So I quickly look back at him and say, "Yeah, that's probably smart. Because I definitely would have propped my feet up on it or something."
"Ah, you see. I knew it," he says, pointing at me and laughing. "Actually?" he continues as he stands back up, "I'm gonna put my bag up here so you can't get to it." He smiles, putting his bag in the fancy little storage cubby above my head.
"Oh, I can climb up there no problem," I assure him.
He laughs again and then looks back down, reaching his hand out to me. "Want me to put yours up there, too?"
"Sure." I smile and hand him my bag.
After storing mine, he plops back down on the seat and sighs. "So," he begins, looking over at me. "You excited about tonight, or more nervous?"
"Umm?" I hesitate, looking straight ahead. "50/50?" I respond uncertainly, looking back at him. I honestly have no idea how I feel.
He definitely picks up on the insecure vibes I'm giving off. Not to mention the fact that he already knows just how nervous I am because it was a pretty frequent topic in a lot of our hallway conversations. I guess maybe he was just hoping things had changed. But after seeing my expression, he sits there silently, looking at me and smiling as if he knows better. I look back at him and hold his gaze for a minute, returning the sweet smile.
"Okay, 80/20," I confess.
He chuckles and nods. "That's what I was thinking," he says. "I don't think you have any reason to worry, though. I think you're gonna do really well."
And just like that, a wave of confidence runs through me.
"You think so?"
"Yep. If it's anything like basketball, once you get out there and get started, you kind of forget about everybody in the stands, you know."
"Well, that's good. I hope that's the case for me," I smile. "But I am gonna try not to be so nervous."
"Definitely. 'Cuz that's only gonna mess you all up. Just try to pretend you're at home practicing."
I don't think there's anything in the world that could wipe the smile off my face at this moment. Not only is Bryson sitting next to me, he's trying to help me and make me feel as comfortable as possible. And yes, I've heard the "guys only want one thing" speech before, and I know how things work, but he truly does seem genuine. He could have any girl he wants; I surely don't think he would waste time on me.
"I'll definitely try that," I say, after grinning and silently staring at him for a few seconds like a freak.
Just as he smiles back at me, his phone rings overhead and he quickly jumps up to retrieve it from his bag. He then goes on to have a conversation with his mom?something about her maybe needing to borrow his car for the weekend. I couldn't gather much from the one-sided conversation. When he hangs up, I ask him if his mom is coming to the game.
"Yep," he nods. "She's following behind in her car. Is yours?"
I nod as well. "Yeah, her and Becca."
"That's cool. Yeah, my mom was just saying she might need my car for a while Saturday because hers is going in the shop for maintenance."
"Oh, okay. I love '69 Camaros, by the way. That's an awesome car," I tell him.
He whips his head around in surprise. "How do you know what year it is?"
Without even thinking, I put my hands up and shrug. "Umm, the longer and lower body, the round headlights, the cowl-induction hood, the sculpted lines on the wheel wells?" I look at him as if to say, "Duh, obviously."
He leans away from me, shocked. And when he does that, it hits me that I totally should not know any of that stuff.
In case I didn't mention it before, my genius extends to many topics, not just academics. Growing up, I had a desire for knowledge about all things, and there probably isn't a book or magazine in the world I haven't read, so I'm an expert on many things that typically only guys would know about. I could rebuild that 302 V8 engine in his car for him by myself, knowledge-wise anyway. I'm quite sure I would need help with the heavy lifting due to the fact I have the physical strength of a six-month old.
As I sit here, now on the spot and nervous, I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Umm, my uncle had one years ago," I explain. Which is true, but not where my knowledge comes from. Even though I didn't technically lie, it was close enough and I felt bad about it.
"Oh, okay. I was about to say," he laughs.
Once that little "almost-disaster" was settled, we continue talking about his car for a while. Which pretty much consists of me asking him multiple questions about it as I just stare at him, gushing over every word coming from his mouth as he tells me all about how he, his uncle, and a friend of theirs completely restored the car from bumper to bumper. He includes all the interesting details such as problems they ran across while building the motor--while I struggle not to correct him on a few things he was wrong about--and taking out the back seat to lighten the car for speed, and painting the car, and so on.
That conversation eventually leads to me asking him about his uncle, and then about the rest of his family. This is a topic I know absolutely nothing about since all our hallway discussions typically went no further than basketball, cheerleading, and things we hate or don't hate about certain classes, teachers, and subjects. So I was definitely going to take this opportunity to really get to know him. I sadly come to learn he's an only child, and his dad left him and his mom when he was only five years old. He talks about it like it's no big deal at all, as if he's completely at ease with the situation at this point, but I'm definitely upset to hear it, and I struggle not to show my emotions. When he asks me about my family, I briefly hesitate because I feel bad about the fact that unlike him, I have a house full. S
o to lighten the conversation a little, even if only for myself, I joke a couple of times about how I wish I was an only child sometimes, because of how much Hailey and Carson get on my nerves.
To my delight, he finds that to be really funny as he throws his head back and laughs. I'm surprised overall by how excited he is to hear about everyone and how we all get along and how we don't get along and all that boring stuff.
Then once the whole "family" conversation finally started to fizzle, we began talking about movies and music for quite a while because, come to find out, we strangely have a lot in common in this area. We both love horror movies and have actually seen pretty much all the same ones. And, like me, his first choice of music is rock/alternative, with a few of our all-time favorite bands being Metallica, Nirvana, Green Day, Sabbath, and Zeppelin. We even listened to a few songs on Bryson's phone, which was awesome.
But the most interesting part is definitely toward the end of the trip, when our conversation somehow veers toward ex-boyfriends and girlfriends. I don't even remember how, to be honest, and obviously, I don't have much of anything to tell in that department. So I embarrass myself by being completely honest with him about the fact that I've never had a boyfriend, or dated, or even held hands with a guy, or talked on the phone with a guy or anything of the sort--and believe me, I desperately wanted to tell him why I was so pre-occupied growing up, so maybe I wouldn't look like such a loser--Surprisingly he just grins and nods with a caring look on his face, as if he finds the whole thing endearing. I couldn't explain that one if I tried. Once again, I may know a lot of things, but I know absolutely nothing about what goes on in a guy's mind.
After I ask him about his situation, he starts telling me about a serious relationship he was in his sophomore year with a girl he went to Central High with.
"So, you said y'all dated for about a year?"
"Yep, right at a year, actually," he nods.
"What happened?" I ask, suddenly hoping he didn't mind my question.
"She actually moved to another state. Her dad was an engineer, and he got transferred."
"Sorry," I say.
But he just shrugs. "It was for the best," he says, then pauses for a second.
I briefly hesitate as well.
"Why?" I finally ask carefully.
"We kind of just?grew apart," he says. "This might sound weird coming from a guy, but I couldn't ever really have a good conversation with her. I mean, aside from looks, intelligence is the most attractive thing to me."
I cringe at his words. I've officially never wanted to blurt out my secret to anyone as much as I do right now. But even though he said that, it doesn't mean my intelligence would qualify as attractive to him.
So I just peer at him and squint my eyes. "Well, what if by chance she was way more intelligent than you are? Theoretically," I add. I watch him like a hawk, trying to gauge his immediate expression. I feel a little guilty about putting him on the spot with this random question--well, probably random to him, anyway--while at the same time hoping I didn't give anything away about myself. But I kind of need to know where he stands on the matter before this goes any further.
As much as I thought he would probably pause for a minute to try to come up with an answer he thought I wanted to hear, instead he casually shrugs almost before I complete the question and says, "That would be awesome. I would love for her to be smarter than me, she could help me with school." He grins at me, almost as if he knows, even though I know that's not possible.
Trying not to show my elation, I look away from him momentarily. Even though I know he said that without a true understanding of the situation, it was still great to hear. It was a step in the right direction.
Not wanting to give him any considerable amount of time to question my reasons for asking him that, or create any suspicion whatsoever, I quickly look back at him and reply, "Well, that might be kind of hard for you to find. Don't you get straight A's?" That was a little piece of information I heard through the grapevine.
He smiles modestly. "I try. Calculus is giving me a little trouble so far this year, though."
After looking straight ahead for like a second, he looks back at me as if an idea popped into his head. He leans toward me and raises an eyebrow. "You don't know anything about calculus, do you?"
Once again I cringe, because one, I can't help him, and two, I have no choice but to lie. I cover up my guilt with a half-grin and shake my head. "Sorry."
Ugh. I feel sick. This is already turning out to be a lot harder than I expected.
Out of nowhere, the bus comes to a stop. When we look out the window for the first time since we left, we're both surprised to see that we're there. I swear that hour and a half felt like twenty minutes, and I'm definitely not ready for it to end.
A really strange feeling washes over me when I see everyone stand from their seats, because it's as if they rose from underground, just appearing out of nowhere like in an old black and white zombie movie. For this entire trip, I don't recall hearing any voices, anyone laughing, giggling, joking around, or even noticing anyone at all, for that matter--just Bryson. Very weird.
After he stands, grabs our bags from overhead, and backs into the aisle for me to get out, I sadly realize it's time to come back down to Earth and make my way to the gym. I slide across the seat and stand up, as well, once again tugging my skirt down for more coverage. As we're walking to the front of the bus, I see Summer getting off. And I realize I completely forgot to take frequent peeks at her throughout the trip like I had originally planned, just to see how she hopefully wasn't holding up.
As Bryson and I reach the door, I can now only think about how excited I am to tell Becca all about this amazing trip.
13
Game Time
As I hop off the bottom step of the bus, I see my mom and Becca getting out of the car on the other side of the parking lot.
"'K, well, I gotta go to the locker room with the team," Bryson says, nudging my arm with his elbow.
I turn to face him. "Okay," I smile.
Then we both pause for a second, looking at each other, not quite sure how to part ways after that amazing bus ride--amazing for me, anyway. Suddenly he leans in toward me for a hug?our first. As I wrap my arms around him, smelling the incredible scent of his cologne, body wash, or deodorant--I'm not sure which one, not like it matters--I start to feel weak all over, just like I've always heard, read about, and seen in all those mushy, romantic comedies but never fully believed or understood.
Yet here I am, experiencing it first-hand. When he pulls away and jogs off to join his teammates, I suddenly find myself right back up on that cloud I was forced to come down from when I got off the bus a second ago.
I turn back around just in time to see Becca scurrying up to me with a ridiculous smile on her face, as my mom stops to talk to one of the other moms.
"Please tell me y'all sat together," she begs, wasting no time as she gets within a few feet of me.
And because I'm too flustered to speak at all at the moment, I simply press my lips together and nod quickly.
"I knew it!" she exclaims, exploding with excitement as if she's just won a million dollar sweepstakes. I laugh at her reaction.
"I knew it when I saw y'all hug just now," she continues. "Plus, I figured that's why you didn't answer my text earlier."
"Oh, I'm sorry!" I say, then dig my phone out of my bag and peek at her text, which reads, "Yeah, he just got on the bus" with a smiley face.
"No big deal! I figured y'all might be sitting together. But don't worry, I didn't mention anything to your mom."
I roll my eyes. "Good. Thanks."
As far as I know, my mom and dad know absolutely nothing about Bryson, and I definitely want to avoid that conversation for as long as I can.
"Okay, tell me everything y'all talked about," Becca demands, just as Holly comes skipping up to us from the gym.
She immediately corrects Becca as she comes to a screeching halt. "Umm, no,
tell us everything y'all talked about. Are you, like, floating right now?" Holly's eyes are wide and curious like Becca's.
I feel myself starting to blush as the two of them stare me down, waiting for my response.
"Yeah, definitely head in the clouds right now," I say, then look up at Holly. "I didn't even know you saw us sitting together."
"Oh, yeah, I was watching to see if he was gonna sit with Summer, because it was obvious what she was doing?"
"Wait," Becca interrupts, her eyes zipping between me and Holly. "Summer tried to get Bryson to sit with her?"
"Yep," Holly grins. "And he passed her right up and went straight to Dori."
Becca's head rolls back as she claps and laughs with pleasure. "I would have paid money to see that!"
"It was pretty great," Holly says.
Then strangely, out of nowhere, I start to feel slightly guilty about all the laughing and joking around at Summer's expense. That's insane, right? The girl wants to squash me like a bug for no better reason than the fact that Bryson likes me, as far as I'm aware. It can't be because I like him for the simple reason that every girl likes him, including her three cheerleader besties who seem to be permanently attached to her hip these days. And I've surely never crossed her, or been mean or rude to her in any way. Yet she wants my head on a stick, and I'm standing here feeling bad about a little harmless, well-deserved ribbing behind her back.
I slowly bring my laughter down to a grin, and knowing my statement won't be popular, particularly with Becca, I shake my head and carefully say, "I feel kind of bad for her."
Their laughter stops immediately, followed by Becca glaring at me and then looking at Holly.
"Don't feel bad for her, Dor," Becca says, walking over and putting her arm around my shoulders. "Save that for when I bash her face in."
We giggle at Becca's brutal statement and then begin making our way to the gym. And because I know they're still dying to know what Bryson and I talked about, I begin filling them in on as much of our conversation as I can during the short walk.