She bit her lip. “Because of the card?”
“The card, and a lot of things,” I said. “Too much water has gone under that bridge.”
“He should have known better than to treat you that way. Maybe he learned his lesson.” She wrapped her arm around my waist. We gazed at ourselves in our decades-old clothes that fit us so well. “You look gorgeous, Gemma. You’re going to have so much fun on your date tonight. Go ahead and tell me this guy isn’t right for you. Maybe you even believe that yourself. But your heart is showing on your sleeve.” She rubbed my bare arm. “I don’t believe it for a second.”
11
“Cool shirt,” Max said.
“Thanks!” I exclaimed.
I had started getting ready for the date in plenty of time, I’d thought. But the top was so figure-flattering that I’d felt self-conscious about how the rest of me looked. I’d put my hair up, then down, and up, then down again. By the time I’d finally settled on a look, it was seven thirty. I wasn’t waiting outside when Max arrived, so he’d rung the gong doorbell.
I wasn’t sure whether he’d complimented my shirt to put me at ease while the stupid gong echoed in the marble entryway, or because he actually thought the shirt was cool. I was grateful to him regardless.
“It’s like the space race meets Studio 54,” he said.
“I thought you’d like it.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I felt my face turn red.
I must have embarrassed him, too, because he asked quickly, “Do I look foreign in this?”
“Hmm.” I considered him. The goatee was gone. His chin and cheeks were smooth again. It was so weird to think about him as much as I did all week, but to have no idea what he looked like from day to day. He was out living his life, and I was missing the whole thing.
I forced my eyes away from his face and examined him from head to toe, concluding, “Yes, you look foreign.”
“But it’s not the shirt, right? My shirt is in English.”
“It’s the necklace,” I said.
He fingered the round gold charm on a red cord. The cord was too tight for him to see the charm well. He tried to peer down at it with one eye closed. He looked adorable when he did this, and I wanted to kick myself for thinking so.
“And the shoes,” I said.
He held out a foot and looked at his sneaker. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“I’ve never seen that brand before. They don’t necessarily look Japanese. They might be German. Definitely foreign.”
“I bought them in New York.”
“In Atlanta, that’s foreign.”
“Touché.” He grinned at me.
I wondered whether he was making a joke about Addison’s comment from our dinner at the Varsity: Tissue? Tush? I didn’t ask because I had promised myself I wouldn’t dis Addison in front of him. He had promised not to present me with any more of his theories about my subconscious. With our usual subject matter off-limits, we laughed and talked about local bands all the way to the Fox without really saying a thing.
He was able to find a parking space pretty close to the theater. Bruce Lee was not a big draw at the Fox, apparently. Carter and Addison were waiting for us out front. Addison was wearing a minidress that was so tight I doubted she could breathe. My space-race-meets-Studio-54 top could not compete with her minidress. I had lost again. But this hardly registered, because I was so nervous about greeting Carter.
“Hey, Gemma,” he said, putting one hand on my waist and the other behind my bare shoulder, pulling me close. Before I could back away or yell, Fire! he kissed me on the mouth. He deepened the kiss, and I froze. I didn’t like being stared at on the busy sidewalk.
He finally broke away. The blinking neon lights of the theater facade flickered green across his face. He didn’t look apologetic or embarrassed. He looked triumphant, like he’d just won a game. Then he glanced over at Max.
Max stood at the ticket window, with Addison beside him. Their backs were toward us.
Nope, I wasn’t going to worry about it. I was through puzzling these boys out. Carter wanted to date me or he wouldn’t have asked. When he didn’t want to date me anymore, he would stop asking. I was just glad to be on a date with a handsome boy, at this beautiful theater, seeing an offbeat movie. And I was glad the show would start soon. Carter and I would have almost no dead space to fill with awkward conversation.
My luck got even better. Carter and I would have no dead space to fill. As soon as we all pushed through the outer door into the plush theater lobby, Addison grabbed me and said, “Gemma, come with me to the bathroom.”
At least, I’d thought this was great luck. I’d forgotten that Addison always had something choice to say when she dragged me to the bathroom and pushed me against the wall. This time it was the following:
“Stop paying your own way! It makes me look bad!” She turned to the mirror and ran her fingers underneath her eyes, smoothing her eyeliner, as if what she’d said should make perfect sense to me.
“I beg your pardon?”
She whirled to face me. “Don’t play dumb. You paid for your movie ticket. You paid for your concert ticket last week. You even paid for your salad or whatever the hell you ate at the pizza place. If you pay your own way, you make it look like I should pay my own way.”
“Why shouldn’t you?” I asked. “Max is paying his way and your way out of his referee money, I’m sure. That’s why I pay my way. I have my own money from teaching at the baton studio. Carter shouldn’t have to spend his referee money on me.”
“I don’t have a job!” she flung at me before stomping into a stall.
I stood facing the stall door. I had never been to summer camp because there were all these urban legends about mean girls putting hair remover in each other’s shampoo. I could not imagine someone being that evil, but I was absolutely certain that if this evil girl existed, she would be placed in my cabin, I would be her target, and I would go bald.
Suddenly I understood that evil girl. I wanted very badly to put hair remover in Addison’s shampoo.
Again, I remembered what Max had told me the week before. I avoided conflict so my relationships would not get complicated. But now was not the time to tell Addison how I felt. I wanted to damage her, and that might get me arrested.
I gritted my teeth and turned on my majorette grin, but it didn’t make me feel any happier. I walked back out to the boys, who were waiting for us in the lobby. I was glad that they were engrossed in conversation about kung fu movies. I could just listen to them and watch Max laugh without participating myself.
Carter draped his heavy arm around my shoulders. After a few minutes, when Addison emerged from the restroom, we went to take our seats. Carter kept his arm around me and steered me into the theater. As we sat down, he held my hand and didn’t let it go.
When Bruce Lee started making out with his on-screen lady, Carter leaned over and kissed me. I couldn’t will myself to enjoy it this time. As his tongue moved inside my mouth, Max’s voice was in the back of my head: Every time I looked over at you, he had his hands all over you, and you were letting him. And Max was right. I was tired of pretending to like Carter.
Carter broke the kiss and sat up straight. Beyond Carter’s broad body, Max stared at me with a scowl on his face. He turned back to the movie screen and didn’t look at me again. I was so preoccupied by what Max’s scowl had meant that I couldn’t focus on the rest of the movie.
Carter held my hand again as we walked out of the theater and down the street to a coffee shop. Ignoring the look Addison gave me, I ordered and paid for my own iced coffee. We all sat at a booth in the front of the shop overlooking the sidewalk. Carter put his arm around my shoulders again.
“How’s football practice going?” Addison asked. She sipped at the smoothie Max had bought her. Either she hadn’t figured out that football was a touchy subject for these boys, or she thought the drama would be entertaining.
“Max wouldn’t know,” Car
ter said.
Max rolled his eyes.
Addison turned to Max. “Have you been out sick?”
“No, he’s been at practice,” Carter said. “But he’s not really part of the team.”
“How can you say that?” I leaned away from Carter so that I could look at him—and slide out from under his arm. “The kicker is responsible for half the points in a lot of games.”
“Not in ours, he won’t be,” Carter said proudly.
I expected Max to have a witty comeback. But his shoulders sagged, and he looked out the window. He’d heard this verbal abuse so often that it didn’t even touch him anymore—or he was just waiting for it to be over.
Like with Addison and me.
I had had enough. “You’re saying most of your points are going to be touchdowns?” I asked Carter. “That’s a pretty big boast. If your running game falls apart, Max will be right there, waiting to save the game for you. That’s what the kicker is for. I still don’t see why you talk like he’s not part of the team.”
“He isn’t,” Carter insisted. “You think you know everything about football, Gemma, but you haven’t been to practice. We’re doing tackle drills the whole time. Hell, I’m the quarterback and I’m doing tackle drills. And where’s Max? Off on the sidelines, kicking, like he’s too good to practice with the rest of us.”
“But isn’t that what he’s supposed to be doing?” I asked. “Isn’t that what the coach is telling him to do?”
Max turned to Carter and raised his eyebrows in question.
“Maybe so,” Carter said, “but the coach doesn’t tell him to have this pretty boy, holier-than-thou attitude.”
Carter scowled, which made his whole face look twisted. His words were illogical, but the emotion behind them was very real. I knew he and Max had been friends forever. A little part of him hated Max for something. I doubted that something was Max being a kicker. Judging from my own relationship with Addison, I guessed the source of this argument was really jealousy over a prize Hot Wheels set when they were nine, or some mortifying slight one had committed against the other in front of a group of girls when they were twelve.
The longer I stared at him, the uglier Carter looked. He still was model-handsome in that giant I-could-crush-you-with-my-pinkie way, but the look on his face revolted me.
Because I recognized that scowl. I had seen it in my reflection whenever I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass doors while practicing my baton routines in my backyard, driven by anger at Addison.
Max leaned across the table toward Carter. His expression was earnest. “I don’t feel like I have that attitude at all. I feel like I’m the only Japanese guy on the team. The other guys think I’m an outsider. And when you tell people I’m a pretty boy, you’re not helping.”
“You’re the only Japanese guy on your team?” Addison asked. “There are lots of Japanese kids at our school.”
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to draw her into a conversation so she wouldn’t interrupt Max again. This was a talk Max and Carter needed to have.
But Max had already turned on her. “By ‘lots,’ do you mean three? They’re probably Chinese or Korean. There are more of them in Atlanta than Japanese.”
Addison shrugged. “What’s the difference?”
Carter and I gaped at Addison, both of us horrified at what she’d said and afraid of what Max would do.
Before Max could say anything, I put my hand on his and said soothingly, “She didn’t mean it that way, Max—”
He balled his hand into a fist and leaned toward Addison. “What’s the difference between Japan and China?” he asked sarcastically and too loudly for this coffee shop full of college-age kids and adults. “A language. An entire culture.”
“Max,” Carter said sharply to snap him out of it.
“Two thousand seven hundred years of history!” Max sneered down at Addison, who backed against the window and cringed.
“Come on.” I jumped up from the booth and grabbed Max’s elbow. I hauled him toward the door, motioning to Carter to keep Addison there. Carter nodded. Shaken, Addison put her head down on the table, and Carter stroked her hair. I thought that was strange. I’d never seen Addison and Carter touch before.
But I was more concerned about Max. My heart pounded in my chest as I dragged him out to the sidewalk, away from the windows where Addison and Carter could watch us. I led him around the corner of the brick building and stopped him. The sidewalks were filled with yuppies having date night, so I kept my voice low as I said, “Maybe you shouldn’t have caffeine this late. Addison didn’t deserve to get yelled at.”
“She did!” he snapped. He was still wound up. I saw in his eyes that I was getting the full force of his anger.
I made my voice soothing, but I didn’t pull any punches. “You brought it up, Max,” I reminded him. “You talked about being Japanese on your team. You didn’t have to say that in front of her. You baited her in the first place. You confused her by taking her to a Chinese movie with Japanese bad guys. If you’re sensitive about a topic, don’t bring up the topic.” Not around Addison, anyway. “I don’t go around talking about losing weight, do I?”
“I’m not sensitive about being Asian,” he insisted. “It’s an entire race. Half the population of the planet is Asian. I can’t be sensitive about that. I’m not sensitive about being a man, either, or having two ears. I should be able to talk about the basic facts of who I am without being insulted.”
I put my hand on his chest, over his racing heart. “As you have pointed out, Asians aren’t the majority in Atlanta, or even a large minority. She hasn’t been exposed much to those cultures. All she meant was that she doesn’t know the difference. She wasn’t trying to make fun of you or belittle you.”
Exasperated, he ran one hand through his hair.
“Enough people do, though, right? Make fun of you and belittle you? I know the feeling. But not every conversation is an attack. You don’t need to accuse somebody of lashing out at you when they’re not. Don’t take your anger at Carter out on Addison.”
Max frowned—something he did not do often. He started, “What do you—”
“You know what I mean,” I interrupted. “Why is Carter on your case about kicking? He’s the quarterback, and he acts like he’s never heard of your position. There’s something else going on between you, isn’t there?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“Try. It’s getting weird, and I’m getting tired of teaching Carter football.”
Max chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. “Well, Carter didn’t speak English all that well when he came to America, so he got behind in school. He’s always had trouble making friends, for the same reason. The first sport we played together was soccer, but being a big guy isn’t an advantage there. It’s an advantage in football, and when we started playing, he was a lot better than me.”
I nodded. “And then you became a kicker.”
“Yeah.” Max sighed—because he was worried about the situation with Carter. Or because he was relieved I understood what he was explaining to me. I couldn’t tell.
“Carter’s a great quarterback, but you’re a great kicker,” I said, piecing it together. “He finally found one thing he was better at than you, and now he’s lost that.”
Max shrugged. “I mean . . . I’m not even sure that’s what he’s mad about. That’s what I think, but I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Max laughed, and this time his heart was in it. “Have a conversation with my friend about how we really feel? You’re one to make that suggestion.”
“I don’t communicate very well with my friends,” I acknowledged, “but you do.”
“With you,” he said. “Not with guys. Guys would think I couldn’t take the pressure.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand, then held his head, eyes squinted shut. “How could Addison make a mistake like that? You go to the same high school, with its
three Chinese or whoever they are, and you’ve never made a mistake like that.”
“Jesus, Max, would you let it go? I make plenty of mistakes. I ruined your mojo, remember?”
He put down his hand and stared at me with wide, serious eyes. “Don’t say that.”
“And you make mistakes. I don’t know what they are, but I’m sure you’ve made one before.”
My hand was still on his chest. His heartbeat had slowed as we talked. Now I felt it speed up beneath my fingertips.
He swallowed and said softly, “I sure have.”
Oh God. Max was trying to tell me that he wished he’d asked me out instead of Addison!
Or, was he? As he watched me with his long lashes blinking slowly over his dark eyes, I began to wonder. Maybe he wished he’d never met either of us. If he broke up with Addison, that would be the end of my friendship with Max too.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked. It came out a whisper.
“Nothing,” he grumbled, walking away. My hand slipped off his chest.
I wanted to pull him back, to tell him to wait. But I was beginning to feel like a puppy following him around and barking at his heels. So I hung back a few paces as he strode around the corner and up the sidewalk toward Addison. I wanted to plead with him not to break up with her forever, but all I could do was hold my breath.
By the time I reached the booth, he’d slid next to Addison and was talking earnestly to her, holding her hand. She looked upset, but her eyes were dry.
As I approached, Max stood up, pulling Addison with him. He frowned at Carter and said, “We’re going to my car. Give me five minutes.” His scowl sent the message, Or else. As they left the shop, he didn’t glance at me.
I slid into the seat they’d vacated and reached across the table for my iced coffee. The ice had melted.
Carter looked at his watch, marking the beginning of the five-minute period. Go.
I sipped my coffee. “You shouldn’t have called Max a pretty boy.”
“You don’t know. You’re not there.” Carter stared down at the table. “It’s my team.”