asks.
“Uh . . .”
Debbie M. keeps pressing forward. She has a spot of ice cream on her nose. It’s either wild cherry or chocolate. “Like what you see, Ty Ty?”
“Tyler, are you there?” Mom asks.
I step to the side. “Uh, I’ll be home around five o’clock, okay?”
Debbie M. steps to the side too and moves in even closer to me.
“I suppose that’s all right,” Mom says.
“Great. Thanks.” I hang up the phone.
“Shay said you two aren’t on a date,” Debbie M. says.
“You asked?”
“She told us. Twice.” She holds two fingers up, then puts them on my chest.
Is Debbie M. actually coming on to me? She’s standing so close now, I can tell it’s wild cherry ice cream on her nose.
She leans her head into my chest, right above her fingers. “Did you hear me and Mike broke up last night at John’s party?”
Holy smoke, I definitely think Debbie M. is coming on to me.
“We need to go if we want to see the movie.” Shay walks toward us. Her arms are crossed and she’s frowning. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was jealous.
I make sure to sit next to Shay in the mall theater. I ignore the smell of popcorn around me so I can take in her warm cinnamon aroma. We share a box of Raisinets and our hands accidentally touch. It feels perfect. If I believed in that stuff, I’d call it karma.
As soon as the first preview airs, for Rocky II, Shay says, “They don’t show ads?”
“Advertisements in movie theaters?” I ask. “That makes no sense. No one would pay two dollars for a ticket if they had to watch commercials first.”
“You’re right,” Shay says. “A lot of people would stop going to theaters if they pulled crap like that.”
“It also makes no sense that they’re doing a sequel to Rocky,” I tell her. “The first one was good, but no one will watch another Rocky movie.”
“You’d be surprised.” She laughs. It’s sexy.
I’m so close to taking her hand. I just need half an ounce more nerve.
When the preview for Superman the Movie comes on, showing Superman carrying Lois Lane through the night sky, I get up a quarter ounce of nerve and whisper, “Maybe we can see that together.”
She sniffs, not a haughty sniff, but one sounding like she’s holding back tears.
I wonder if this is the time to take her hand. But I don’t want it to seem like a mercy hold. “What’s the matter?” I ask her.
“Superman. Christopher Reeve.”
On the other side of me, Debbie P. says, “What a hunk,” and Debbie M. says, “Love those tights,” and both of them giggle again.
“You don’t understand. The poor guy was in such good shape. I can’t watch him.” Shay gets up, passes me and the Double Ds, and walks up the aisle. The girls follow her.
I call Shay’s name, but she’s almost at the door, with the Double Ds right behind her. So I sit by myself through the previews, unsure what to do and what to make of everything going on. I lied to my mom again, Debbie M. seems to like me, and Shay is panicked about Superman.
Carpe diem , I tell myself. Or, as Shay says, caveat emptor. Seize the day, buyer beware, you’re going to hold Shay’s hand.
Grease has already started by the time the girls return. I don’t hear Shay sniffling anymore, so maybe she’s okay. She smells different now, lemony. Maybe it’s from the bathroom soap.
Carpe diem, I tell myself. Carpe her hand.
I take a deep breath, then grab it.
Her hand seems colder and smaller and rougher than I imagined. But because I know it’s Shay’s, it feels great.
She squeezes my hand in return.
Shazam! This date, October 1, 1978, will go down in history as the best day of my life.
“Pass the Raisinets,” Shay says.
She sounds far away.
Uh-oh. I look down at the hand I’m squeezing, follow it up to a skinny arm, a short neck, and then to the horsey face of Debbie M.
Yikes! The girls switched seats!
Debbie M. passes the Raisinets box to Shay. Then she puts her hand on my knee. Her
“Uh . . .”
Debbie M. keeps pressing forward. She has a spot of ice cream on her nose. It’s either wild cherry or chocolate. “Like what you see, Ty Ty?”
“Tyler, are you there?” Mom asks.
I step to the side. “Uh, I’ll be home around five o’clock, okay?”
Debbie M. steps to the side too and moves in even closer to me.
“I suppose that’s all right,” Mom says.
“Great. Thanks.” I hang up the phone.
“Shay said you two aren’t on a date,” Debbie M. says.
“You asked?”
“She told us. Twice.” She holds two fingers up, then puts them on my chest.
Is Debbie M. actually coming on to me? She’s standing so close now, I can tell it’s wild cherry ice cream on her nose.
She leans her head into my chest, right above her fingers. “Did you hear me and Mike broke up last night at John’s party?”
Holy smoke, I definitely think Debbie M. is coming on to me.
“We need to go if we want to see the movie.” Shay walks toward us. Her arms are crossed and she’s frowning. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was jealous.
I make sure to sit next to Shay in the mall theater. I ignore the smell of popcorn around me so I can take in her warm cinnamon aroma. We share a box of Raisinets and our hands accidentally touch. It feels perfect. If I believed in that stuff, I’d call it karma.
As soon as the first preview airs, for Rocky II, Shay says, “They don’t show ads?”
“Advertisements in movie theaters?” I ask. “That makes no sense. No one would pay two dollars for a ticket if they had to watch commercials first.”
“You’re right,” Shay says. “A lot of people would stop going to theaters if they pulled crap like that.”
“It also makes no sense that they’re doing a sequel to Rocky,” I tell her. “The first one was good, but no one will watch another Rocky movie.”
“You’d be surprised.” She laughs. It’s sexy.
I’m so close to taking her hand. I just need half an ounce more nerve.
When the preview for Superman the Movie comes on, showing Superman carrying Lois Lane through the night sky, I get up a quarter ounce of nerve and whisper, “Maybe we can see that together.”
She sniffs, not a haughty sniff, but one sounding like she’s holding back tears.
I wonder if this is the time to take her hand. But I don’t want it to seem like a mercy hold. “What’s the matter?” I ask her.
“Superman. Christopher Reeve.”
On the other side of me, Debbie P. says, “What a hunk,” and Debbie M. says, “Love those tights,” and both of them giggle again.
“You don’t understand. The poor guy was in such good shape. I can’t watch him.” Shay gets up, passes me and the Double Ds, and walks up the aisle. The girls follow her.
I call Shay’s name, but she’s almost at the door, with the Double Ds right behind her. So I sit by myself through the previews, unsure what to do and what to make of everything going on. I lied to my mom again, Debbie M. seems to like me, and Shay is panicked about Superman.
Carpe diem , I tell myself. Or, as Shay says, caveat emptor. Seize the day, buyer beware, you’re going to hold Shay’s hand.
Grease has already started by the time the girls return. I don’t hear Shay sniffling anymore, so maybe she’s okay. She smells different now, lemony. Maybe it’s from the bathroom soap.
Carpe diem, I tell myself. Carpe her hand.
I take a deep breath, then grab it.
Her hand seems colder and smaller and rougher than I imagined. But because I know it’s Shay’s, it feels great.
She squeezes my hand in return.
Shazam! This date, October 1, 1978, will go down in history as the best day of my life.
“Pass the Raisinets,” Shay says.
She sounds far away.
Uh-oh. I look down at the hand I’m squeezing, follow it up to a skinny arm, a short neck, and then to the horsey face of Debbie M.
Yikes! The girls switched seats!
Debbie M. passes the Raisinets box to Shay. Then she puts her hand on my knee. Her
Similar Books
