an interpreter.”
“Okay, but what the hell do I say to her? I mean, I was kind of all screwed up from therapy and feeling kind of, like, fuck it, which is the only reason I was able to ask her out in the first place. And how do I get from talking to kissing?”
“Just be yourself. Your real self, not the self you try to pretend to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re not scary, you’re never really going to be scary, and girls don’t like scary anyway, so you may as well give up on scary and go for sweet.”
“Sweet? Isn’t that, like, the kiss of death?”
“No. ‘Nice’ is the kiss of death. Sweet is okay.”
“This stuff is absurdly complicated. Okay, so let’s assume I find something to talk about. I was thinking I could milk the dead mom thing for sympathy.”
“Hmmm…tragic, sad…that might work, as long as you don’t actually cry. You could cry in front of her in, like, a month or something, but not on your first date. But I’ll tell you the best thing you can do. This is a closely guarded girl secret, so don’t go sharing it everywhere.”
“I got it.”
“Just listen to her. Worry less about what you’re going to say to her, and just think about what you want to hear from her.”
“Okay. Let me see if I’ve got all this—you know what, I’m writing this shit down so I don’t forget. Okay, don’t be scary, be myself—but not the true, pervy version of myself—be tragic, listen, and bring mints. Anything else? How do I get to the kiss?”
“You’ll feel it when the time is right. If there’s this lull that makes you think you should kiss her, then kiss her. That’s all I can say. There’s no magical signature move that will get the kissing started. It’s just got to happen.”
“So, like, when you were with Jocky McMoron, it just kind of flowed naturally?”
Things got kind of quiet. “No. There was a cheesy signature move. But I didn’t know it was a cheesy signature move until he tried it on my ex–best friend, Hoey.”
“So I shouldn’t use a cheesy move to get a kiss, even though they obviously work since you and your best friend both fell for the same one.”
“That’s about it.”
Just when I thought I was understanding things, it all went to hell.
“All right. Thanks. I’m going online to order my powder-blue tux now.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll look normal, I promise.”
“Great. See you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” We hung up, and I felt bad because there was something else I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how to say it. And I would have felt like a dork calling back, so I just sent this text: Thx. i think im gonna like having a sister.
I felt like a complete idiot the second I sent it, so I was relieved a few seconds later when I got this in return: Nu siblings r the only part of this that doesnt suck.
Hello? I sent back. Mansion o metal?
Like i said, Neilly sent back, and that ended it for the night.
I barely slept because I was nervous about coffee with Chantelle. I was so buzzed on adrenaline that I didn’t even feel the lack of sleep all day. The next day I actually, for the first time I can remember, kind of agonized over what to wear. I have a T-shirt that is navy blue instead of black, so I wore that, along with some jeans and my Doc Martens steel-toed shoes, which are kind of old school but which I think are damn cool and not as scary as the boots I usually wear. It wasn’t a complete transformation, but it was noticeable.
Noticeable enough that Dad busted my balls about it at breakfast.
“Who is she?” he asked.
“Dad, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you’re not wearing all black for the first time since I can remember, and boys don’t just change up their look like that unless there’s a girl involved. So who is she?”
“Dad, you know, I just felt like a change,” I lied.
“Yeah. Okay. Whatever,” Dad said, grabbing
“Okay, but what the hell do I say to her? I mean, I was kind of all screwed up from therapy and feeling kind of, like, fuck it, which is the only reason I was able to ask her out in the first place. And how do I get from talking to kissing?”
“Just be yourself. Your real self, not the self you try to pretend to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re not scary, you’re never really going to be scary, and girls don’t like scary anyway, so you may as well give up on scary and go for sweet.”
“Sweet? Isn’t that, like, the kiss of death?”
“No. ‘Nice’ is the kiss of death. Sweet is okay.”
“This stuff is absurdly complicated. Okay, so let’s assume I find something to talk about. I was thinking I could milk the dead mom thing for sympathy.”
“Hmmm…tragic, sad…that might work, as long as you don’t actually cry. You could cry in front of her in, like, a month or something, but not on your first date. But I’ll tell you the best thing you can do. This is a closely guarded girl secret, so don’t go sharing it everywhere.”
“I got it.”
“Just listen to her. Worry less about what you’re going to say to her, and just think about what you want to hear from her.”
“Okay. Let me see if I’ve got all this—you know what, I’m writing this shit down so I don’t forget. Okay, don’t be scary, be myself—but not the true, pervy version of myself—be tragic, listen, and bring mints. Anything else? How do I get to the kiss?”
“You’ll feel it when the time is right. If there’s this lull that makes you think you should kiss her, then kiss her. That’s all I can say. There’s no magical signature move that will get the kissing started. It’s just got to happen.”
“So, like, when you were with Jocky McMoron, it just kind of flowed naturally?”
Things got kind of quiet. “No. There was a cheesy signature move. But I didn’t know it was a cheesy signature move until he tried it on my ex–best friend, Hoey.”
“So I shouldn’t use a cheesy move to get a kiss, even though they obviously work since you and your best friend both fell for the same one.”
“That’s about it.”
Just when I thought I was understanding things, it all went to hell.
“All right. Thanks. I’m going online to order my powder-blue tux now.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll look normal, I promise.”
“Great. See you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” We hung up, and I felt bad because there was something else I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how to say it. And I would have felt like a dork calling back, so I just sent this text: Thx. i think im gonna like having a sister.
I felt like a complete idiot the second I sent it, so I was relieved a few seconds later when I got this in return: Nu siblings r the only part of this that doesnt suck.
Hello? I sent back. Mansion o metal?
Like i said, Neilly sent back, and that ended it for the night.
I barely slept because I was nervous about coffee with Chantelle. I was so buzzed on adrenaline that I didn’t even feel the lack of sleep all day. The next day I actually, for the first time I can remember, kind of agonized over what to wear. I have a T-shirt that is navy blue instead of black, so I wore that, along with some jeans and my Doc Martens steel-toed shoes, which are kind of old school but which I think are damn cool and not as scary as the boots I usually wear. It wasn’t a complete transformation, but it was noticeable.
Noticeable enough that Dad busted my balls about it at breakfast.
“Who is she?” he asked.
“Dad, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you’re not wearing all black for the first time since I can remember, and boys don’t just change up their look like that unless there’s a girl involved. So who is she?”
“Dad, you know, I just felt like a change,” I lied.
“Yeah. Okay. Whatever,” Dad said, grabbing
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