On the Loose by Jenny B Jones Page B

crossing some boundary lines.
    Nash sits in a chair, playing the drums on his knees. He does this a lot. It’s like he can’t sit still.
    Charlie grabs the remote and turns it to some music channel. “So I thought we could discuss our science fair projects. I figured it would be more fun if we hung out together . . . when we did discuss our projects.”
    Maybe Frances and Charlie should be a couple. They both are so eloquent in times like these.
    “Nash, would you dining room like to go with me?”
    I shake my head violently at Frances. No! Not yet. She’s going off-script.
    She tries again. “I mean would the dining room like to work on the science fair project. No, what I mean to say is—”
    “Cookies are served!” Charlie’s mom carries in a tray loaded down with frosty lemonade and a small mountain of chocolate chip cookies.
    With quick hands, I make the universal signal for “zip your lip” and hand Frances a glass.
    Charlie and Nash share a laugh over the day’s math class then segue into discussing fantasy football, which leads to a lengthy conversation on ESPN.
    Frances and I are left with nothing to do but eat cookies. Which isn’t such a bad predicament to be in. But it doesn’t get Frances any closer to a date with Nash.
    “So I guess we should get started on our projects.” At my declaration Frances freezes mid-bite. “We’d probably get more done if we went to separate rooms.”
    Take your cue, Frances .
    She takes another cookie instead.
    Must I do everything? “So Charlie and I will stay in here, and Nash, you and Frances can talk shop in the dining room.”
    Frances’s only response is a croaking noise.
    “Sounds good to me.” Nash stands up.
    “Water . . . need glass of water.” Frances tugs on the collar of her vintage eighties t-shirt.
    “You want a glass of water?” Charlie jumps to his feet.
    “No. She doesn’t.”
    Charlie eyeballs me with confusion. “Katie, if she wants some water, it’s not a problem.”
    Frances nods her head frantically.
    “She’s fine. Aren’t you, Frances? I don’t think you need any water . . . yet.”
    “Hey, I think she’s choking.” Nash nearly trips over his own baggy pants as he hurdles the ottoman and grabs Frances. “Can you breathe?”
    My friend makes wheezing noises and clutches her throat. Nash’s arms snake around her and he locks a fist under her chest. He clutches Frances tightly, and gives two forceful pushes on her stomach.
    A wad of cookie the size of a golf ball shoots out of her mouth and across the room. On Charlie.
    Frances collapses against Nash, sucking in air like she’s been held underwater.
    “Oh, my gosh! Frances, are you okay?” I shove Nash aside and move closer to my friend.
    Her breath is labored, but her color is going back to normal. “I said I wanted water.”
    “But choking really wasn’t covered under the code,” I mumble.
    Frances leans in close to my ear. “Maybe next time you can go over the exceptions before I’m forced to call my own ambulance?”
    The next ten minutes are spent making sure Frances is well enough to proceed with our science work. It also gives me time for my heart to slide from my throat back down to my chest. I have Frances recite the preamble from the Constitution to double check that all her systems are go.
    Charlie finally pitches in and helps by escorting Frances and Nash into the dining room down the hall.
    When Charlie returns I’m checking out his expansive DVD collection in the entertainment center. His family seems to enjoy a broad range of flicks from VeggieTales to Scarface .
    “Do you and Chelsea watch movies a lot?” Augh! Where did that come from?
    He collapses into the couch, opposite end of where I was sitting. “Sometimes. But if it doesn’t have Tatum Channing in it, she’s not too interested.”
    I turn my face to hide a smirk. In the months I’ve spent in church, I’ve learned we’re supposed to live like Christ and be good and kind.