Genuine Sweet by Faith Harkey

ain’t bad enough that I’m homely, my clothes are so tired a thrift store wouldn’t take ’em.”
    â€œOh, honey.” Gram put a hand on my cheek. “You’re not homely. You’re just growing. You look the way your ma did at your age.” I knew for a fact Gram had always regarded my ma as quite beautiful. “As for your clothes, well, I will admit they need some freshening up. I’ll tell you what. Give me that yella top, there. You put on your jeans, and get the rest of that mess folded up and put away.”
    I gave her the top. There wasn’t much to it. It was a plain, button-down, collared shirt.
    An hour later, Gram found me staring at the TV—Chef Guy’s
Holy Crepe!
She sat down next to me and set the shirt in my lap.
    The top’s plain plastic buttons had been replaced with mother-of-pearl ones, ringed in silver. The corners of my collar were fancied with pointed silver tips. It was simple and elegant, but not too showy for the bowling alley. Gram hadn’t done much, but what she had done made all the difference.
    I jumped and jiggled and hugged Gram all at the same time, which must have been a sight.
    Gram laughed. “I guess you like it.”
    â€œI do! It’s perfect! Where’d you get these?” I touched the buttons and the collar tips.
    â€œAw, they was just lying around,” she replied. “Now, how long till you meet your young man? Do you have time for me to do your hair?”
    I did. Gram plugged in her old curling iron and gave my hair “just a little body,” as she called it. In five minutes, I had curls where there weren’t any before. I grinned at the mirror, feeling like the prize peacock.
    â€œNow, don’t kiss on the first date!” Gram shouted out the front door as I was leaving. “And if he tries anything you don’t like, you have your gram’s own permission to bite him. Hard! All right?”
    Â 
    I hear you city folk have these twenty-lane bowl-a-ramas with glow-in-the-dark paint and loud music and such. The Lanes isn’t anything like that. In fact, one lane fewer, and they’d have had to call it The Lane. There’s one pair of bowling shoes for each size, except the men’s elevens and the women’s sevens, of which there are two pair. The grill offers swivel-stool seating for four, as well as a selection of burgers (with cheese, without, with pickle, without) and the world’s best, greasiest, make-you-mildly-ill-after-you-eat-’em french fries. Let me tell you, one day at lunch, stop in. They’re worth the bellyache.
    I pulled up a stool and looked at the clock. Five minutes to two. Five minutes to get myself together. Or to worry, which is what I actually I did.
    Why did Gram have to mention that kissing thing? I mean, really, wasn’t that something that was best left unplanned and natural-like? Now I’d be thinking about it the whole time. Would Sonny try to kiss me? And if he did, what should I do? Kiss him back? Slap him? Run? I supposed I could always bite him, as Gram had suggested. I couldn’t help laughing a little at that thought.
    â€œHello, Genuine. It’s a genuine pleasure to see you today.”
    My vision of me kissing—or biting—Sonny popped like a balloon. Beside me stood Travis Tromp, dressed all in black except that—
oh, no!
—his shirt had mother-of-pearl buttons and silver collar tips.
    â€œMay I join you?” His words came out strangely, like he’d memorized and practiced them.
    â€œSuit yourself,” I said, looking out the window to see if Sonny was coming.
    â€œMy ma sends her regards,” Travis said.
    This did catch my interest a mite. “How’s she doing? Is she seeing anyone?” I figured probably not yet, as my vegetables hadn’t started arriving.
    â€œNot so far, but don’t you doubt it, Genuine, she’s a believer.” His face brightened, and he