“So now you want to go out with . . .” My father looked at Mel, who helpfully supplied his name again. “Who has brought along . . .” He looked at Patrick, who mumbled his name and leaned against the door like it was the only thing holding him up.
“Oh, right,” Mel said cheerfully. “You’re wondering about the whole bring-another-guy-along thing, aren’t you?”
My father looked like he was having a stroke— not that Mel seemed to notice because he just kept talking.
“Patrick needs a ride. No car, you know, and so I fi gured, 96
hey, I can pick up some gas money.” He laughed. No one else did, and now Patrick looked like he was trying to push himself inside the door and hide.
My parents really didn’t seem impressed by any of this, and for one (very hopeful) second I thought they’d tell me, “No way,” but then they shared a look, and although I think a little bit of it was probably related to some advice they’d gotten from reading Pinewood hand-outs or talking to Laurie, most of it was about them realizing if I went out they’d have the house to themselves for a while.
So they told me I could go. Dad did pull me aside before I left, though. He said, “Be home by eleven,”
which I didn’t care about because, trust me, not a problem, and then, “Call us if you need anything. Anything at all,” which I did care about because he looked like he really meant it, and he’d never said anything like that to me before.
My mind was racing as I walked out of the house. Why had Mel shown up? Wasn’t he supposed to be walking with me or something instead of standing by his car tossing his keys from one hand to another and looking oddly proud of himself? What was Patrick doing here? Why hadn’t I at least brushed my hair, or better yet, changed my shirt?
97
I was so busy trying to figure out what was going on that I—of course—walked right into Patrick.
What is it about him that makes me do stuff like that?
This time, though, walking into him wasn’t my fault at all. He was standing in the middle of the driveway like he was stuck there but still, it was embarrassing.
“Sorry,” we both muttered at the same time, and then I forgot all those questions I was asking myself. Why?
Because Patrick’s hand brushed against mine and something inside me twitched, shook itself awake. I stared at him and he stared at me, and suddenly my heart was pounding and my skin felt hot and flushed. I didn’t like it at all.
“The front seat’s kinda crowded,” Mel said, and I swear, his voice actually startled me. For a second I’d forgotten he was there. I’d sort of—well, I’d sort of forgotten everything. Patrick looked pretty startled too, and we both looked away from each other. He stared at the ground. I looked at Mel’s car. The front seat had a huge box sitting on the passenger side.
“Yeah, the box,” Mel said. “My mom told me to drop it off for some charity thing she’s doing, but I sort of forgot to. Would you mind sitting in the back with Pat—”
He broke off and cleared his throat. I looked at him. He 98
was looking at Patrick. They seemed to be having some sort of discussion without talking. It made me think of Julia, and that reminder of how they talked like she and I did, so easily in their own silent language, made my eyes prickle.
“I’ll just sit in the back, and you can put the box next to me,” I said because I knew what Mel was going to say and there was no way I was going to sit next to Patrick all the way to wherever we were dropping him off.
So we all got in the car, and there I was, in the backseat with a box. Granted, I have very little dating experience (as in none) but this just didn’t seem like normal date stuff. At all.
And then, as soon as we left my house, Mel started talking. First he asked how I was doing.
“Fine,” I said.
“Good,” Mel said, and cleared his throat again. Patrick looked out the window.
“What about you, Patrick?” Mel said, and Patrick muttered something too softly for me to hear.
“Well, man, then maybe I will make you pay me gas money,” Mel said, and then sighed.
I knew then there was no way I was going to make it through whatever this was supposed to be, and started 99
thinking about faking a stomachache as soon as we dropped Patrick off.
Except we didn’t drop Patrick off.
Instead, we all went to the movies. As in me and Mel.
And Patrick. So it definitely wasn’t a date.
And then things got worse because when we got there, everyone in my freaking honors classes was there too. Someone called Mel’s name and waved us over after we all got out of the car.
It was torture. Mel went and got tickets with most of the people, Patrick wandered off to stare at upcoming movie posters like they were the most interesting things he’d ever seen, and I got to stand there with Beth and her followers, including Corn Syrup.
Beth looked at me, said something about “social retards” just loud enough for me to hear, and then added,
“Mel’s just too nice, really.”
