room calm and order reign. The only sounds are the classical Spanish guitar music playing softly in the background and the
click-clack
of the counters as Carver lays out his pieces on the backgammon board.
“I have something I need to talk to you about,” says Josh to the top of Carver’s head.
Carver looks up, curious. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing really. It’s…” Josh gazes at the board. “It’s just…” He straightens one of his rows.
Carver gives the table a shake. “For Christ’s sake, Joshua, what is it?”
Josh meets his eyes. “There’s this girl—”
“I knew it!” crows Carver. “I told Sal something was going on. You’ve become very unreliable lately.”
“I have?” This is news to him.
“Yes, you have. Something’s always coming up at the last minute.”
“Always?” It isn’t always; Jena has a busy social life. It’s barely sometimes. “I think that’s an exaggeration.”
“Okay, maybe not always,” Carver concedes, “but a hell of a lot more than it used to. The only time I remember you ditching movie night at the last minute was when you got that bug and started projectile vomiting. But this fall you’ve bailed a couple of times.” He winks. “Not that anybody’s counting.”
“And what’d Sal say?” Sal’s been talking to Ramona; has Ramona been talking to Sal?
Carver grins. “Oh, he agreed. But Sal never bought your ‘this is just in general’ crap. He always thought it was about a girl.” It’s a Cheshire-cat grin. “So who are we talking about here? Is it anyone I know?”
“No, it isn’t anyone you know.” So far he hasn’t told anyone about his friendship with Jena. Ramona knows, but she obviously hasn’t said anything either. “It’s just this girl I kind of, you know, like.”
“Right.” Carver taps a checker against the edge of the board. “This girl you kind of, you know, like.” He looks at Josh as if he’s checking a water sample for pollution. “But you won’t tell me who it is. Can I guess?”
“You don’t have to guess. It’s not important. I’m just not sure what to do, that’s all.” He turns back to laying pieces on a point. “What if it was you? What would you do?”
“I’d ask her out.”
“But that’s the thing. I can’t just ask her out.”
“Can’t? Why not?” Carver looks as if he can’t decide if he’s bewildered or simply amused. “You mean because you don’t speak the same language, you don’t actually know her, she’s just some girl you saw in a movie, or because she has a boyfriend who could make you wish you’d been born in a Middle Eastern war zone?”
“She’s not seeing anybody – obviously, I wouldn’t even think of asking her out if she was seeing somebody. I’m just really afraid I don’t stand the chance of a baby turtle in a major oil spill with her.”
“Why not?”
“What do you mean ‘why not?’?”
“Why do you think you don’t stand a chance? Do you know she doesn’t like you? Did she tell everyone in sixth grade that your grandfather was a Black Panther and had done time?” That would be Tilda Kopel because she was jealous that Carver had his picture in the paper for winning first prize in the statewide science fair. God knows how she knew his grandfather was a Black Panther and had been inside, but everyone thought she meant the animal so the ridicule was aimed at her – which made her like Carver even less. “Did she try to drown you?” That was at the class picnic in seventh grade. Carver was going on about the toxic chemicals in make-up and Olivia Fenster dumped a glass of juice over his head. Carver’s track record with girls is poor; maybe he was the wrong person to confide in.
“No, nothing like that,” Josh assures him. “I am friends with this girl. I know she likes me. And so far she hasn’t tried to humiliate or physically hurt me. But I can’t get up the nerve to say anything.”
“Irrational terror,” says Carver.
click-clack
of the counters as Carver lays out his pieces on the backgammon board.
“I have something I need to talk to you about,” says Josh to the top of Carver’s head.
Carver looks up, curious. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing really. It’s…” Josh gazes at the board. “It’s just…” He straightens one of his rows.
Carver gives the table a shake. “For Christ’s sake, Joshua, what is it?”
Josh meets his eyes. “There’s this girl—”
“I knew it!” crows Carver. “I told Sal something was going on. You’ve become very unreliable lately.”
“I have?” This is news to him.
“Yes, you have. Something’s always coming up at the last minute.”
“Always?” It isn’t always; Jena has a busy social life. It’s barely sometimes. “I think that’s an exaggeration.”
“Okay, maybe not always,” Carver concedes, “but a hell of a lot more than it used to. The only time I remember you ditching movie night at the last minute was when you got that bug and started projectile vomiting. But this fall you’ve bailed a couple of times.” He winks. “Not that anybody’s counting.”
“And what’d Sal say?” Sal’s been talking to Ramona; has Ramona been talking to Sal?
Carver grins. “Oh, he agreed. But Sal never bought your ‘this is just in general’ crap. He always thought it was about a girl.” It’s a Cheshire-cat grin. “So who are we talking about here? Is it anyone I know?”
“No, it isn’t anyone you know.” So far he hasn’t told anyone about his friendship with Jena. Ramona knows, but she obviously hasn’t said anything either. “It’s just this girl I kind of, you know, like.”
“Right.” Carver taps a checker against the edge of the board. “This girl you kind of, you know, like.” He looks at Josh as if he’s checking a water sample for pollution. “But you won’t tell me who it is. Can I guess?”
“You don’t have to guess. It’s not important. I’m just not sure what to do, that’s all.” He turns back to laying pieces on a point. “What if it was you? What would you do?”
“I’d ask her out.”
“But that’s the thing. I can’t just ask her out.”
“Can’t? Why not?” Carver looks as if he can’t decide if he’s bewildered or simply amused. “You mean because you don’t speak the same language, you don’t actually know her, she’s just some girl you saw in a movie, or because she has a boyfriend who could make you wish you’d been born in a Middle Eastern war zone?”
“She’s not seeing anybody – obviously, I wouldn’t even think of asking her out if she was seeing somebody. I’m just really afraid I don’t stand the chance of a baby turtle in a major oil spill with her.”
“Why not?”
“What do you mean ‘why not?’?”
“Why do you think you don’t stand a chance? Do you know she doesn’t like you? Did she tell everyone in sixth grade that your grandfather was a Black Panther and had done time?” That would be Tilda Kopel because she was jealous that Carver had his picture in the paper for winning first prize in the statewide science fair. God knows how she knew his grandfather was a Black Panther and had been inside, but everyone thought she meant the animal so the ridicule was aimed at her – which made her like Carver even less. “Did she try to drown you?” That was at the class picnic in seventh grade. Carver was going on about the toxic chemicals in make-up and Olivia Fenster dumped a glass of juice over his head. Carver’s track record with girls is poor; maybe he was the wrong person to confide in.
“No, nothing like that,” Josh assures him. “I am friends with this girl. I know she likes me. And so far she hasn’t tried to humiliate or physically hurt me. But I can’t get up the nerve to say anything.”
“Irrational terror,” says Carver.
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