it on the table. “So? We’ll go together?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yeah, maybe. Like, what happens if you have to go to the bathroom?”
“Same thing as when you have to go to the bathroom.”
“Which is?”
“I have to hold it.”
“Forget that!”
“Okay then.” He smiles. “We temporarily find someone else to link with.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“It’s either that or we go to the bathroom together and one person covers their eyes. We could pretend like we’re Siamese twins.”
“I think not.”
“That would be weird, wouldn’t it,” Joel muses. “Doing everything together. Not being able to get away from your twin for even one minute. What if you had a fight?”
We regard each other for a moment, considering the situation. “Anyway, forget it,” I say, moving on. “I’ll take my chances and link with someone else if you go to the bathroom.”
“Good plan,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.”
“You have a car?”
“I’ll borrow my mom’s.” He gets up to leave but then pauses and leans over my ankle. He squeezes the big toe on my injured foot. “And you take it easy.”
“I will.”
As he heads out of the room I find myself not wanting him to leave. “Joel!” I call.
He turns back. “Yeah?”
I scramble to think of something to say. “Thanks.”
“Thanks?”
“Yeah, thanks.” But what for? For inviting me to the party? No. “Thanks for not stealing my bead.”
He throws his head back and lets out a belly laugh. “Not yet, anyway,” he says and winks.
That stumps me. He’s gone before I can respond, and I’m left wondering why I hardly ever noticed him between grade one and grade twelve.
I spend the entire afternoon with my trigonometry book open, attempting to tackle this week’s assignment, but my mind keeps returning to thoughts of the party. I’ll be spending the entire evening linked with Joel. Ahh! What should I wear? I wish I could call Paige. She would know what was appropriate, or, better yet, she would lend me something nice. Yesterday my wardrobe seemed perfectly okay. Today it looks dismal. Eventually I give up on trig and go back to my English Lit novel,
The Handmaid’s Tale
.
After dinner I finally decide on my snuggest jeans and the fluttery turquoise blouse that my dad gave me for my last birthday. I look in the mirror and tug at the neckline. Is it too low? Too high? Do I look like some kind of weird butterfly? I use the straightener on my hair and put gold hoops in my ears. I tell myself that I’m just going off to party with the same old gang that I see every day at school, but for the first time in a long time the gang doesn’t seem quite as “same old.”
The doorbell rings at exactly eight o’clock. Mom hollers up the stairs to tell me Joel is waiting. I squirt my neck with a blast of perfume. Oh no. That was way too much. I scrub my skin with a washcloth. Then I add another coat of lip-gloss. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I see that I’m wearing way too much eye shadow! I take a Q-tip and rub at my eyelids. Then I take the tweezers, and pluck away some more at my eyebrows.
“Katie?” Mom calls again.
“Coming!”
I pull a sock over my good foot but decide to leave the sprained one bare. Any twisting or pressure on it sends lightning bolts of pain up my leg. Did I remember deodorant? I don’t think so! Holding my crutches in front of me for balance, I struggle out of my blouse and dab at my armpits with the deodorant stick. Ouch! My armpits are sore from having the crutches grind into them all day. I pull my blouse back on and take a last look in the mirror.
Mom and Joel are both standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. Joel is wearing a white shirt, black leather jacket and faded blue jeans. He smiles up at me. Once again I get that surreal feeling that I’m just an actress in a corny movie. Right now I’m supposed to swoon, and I really think I’m going to.
Okay, Katie,
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yeah, maybe. Like, what happens if you have to go to the bathroom?”
“Same thing as when you have to go to the bathroom.”
“Which is?”
“I have to hold it.”
“Forget that!”
“Okay then.” He smiles. “We temporarily find someone else to link with.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“It’s either that or we go to the bathroom together and one person covers their eyes. We could pretend like we’re Siamese twins.”
“I think not.”
“That would be weird, wouldn’t it,” Joel muses. “Doing everything together. Not being able to get away from your twin for even one minute. What if you had a fight?”
We regard each other for a moment, considering the situation. “Anyway, forget it,” I say, moving on. “I’ll take my chances and link with someone else if you go to the bathroom.”
“Good plan,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.”
“You have a car?”
“I’ll borrow my mom’s.” He gets up to leave but then pauses and leans over my ankle. He squeezes the big toe on my injured foot. “And you take it easy.”
“I will.”
As he heads out of the room I find myself not wanting him to leave. “Joel!” I call.
He turns back. “Yeah?”
I scramble to think of something to say. “Thanks.”
“Thanks?”
“Yeah, thanks.” But what for? For inviting me to the party? No. “Thanks for not stealing my bead.”
He throws his head back and lets out a belly laugh. “Not yet, anyway,” he says and winks.
That stumps me. He’s gone before I can respond, and I’m left wondering why I hardly ever noticed him between grade one and grade twelve.
I spend the entire afternoon with my trigonometry book open, attempting to tackle this week’s assignment, but my mind keeps returning to thoughts of the party. I’ll be spending the entire evening linked with Joel. Ahh! What should I wear? I wish I could call Paige. She would know what was appropriate, or, better yet, she would lend me something nice. Yesterday my wardrobe seemed perfectly okay. Today it looks dismal. Eventually I give up on trig and go back to my English Lit novel,
The Handmaid’s Tale
.
After dinner I finally decide on my snuggest jeans and the fluttery turquoise blouse that my dad gave me for my last birthday. I look in the mirror and tug at the neckline. Is it too low? Too high? Do I look like some kind of weird butterfly? I use the straightener on my hair and put gold hoops in my ears. I tell myself that I’m just going off to party with the same old gang that I see every day at school, but for the first time in a long time the gang doesn’t seem quite as “same old.”
The doorbell rings at exactly eight o’clock. Mom hollers up the stairs to tell me Joel is waiting. I squirt my neck with a blast of perfume. Oh no. That was way too much. I scrub my skin with a washcloth. Then I add another coat of lip-gloss. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I see that I’m wearing way too much eye shadow! I take a Q-tip and rub at my eyelids. Then I take the tweezers, and pluck away some more at my eyebrows.
“Katie?” Mom calls again.
“Coming!”
I pull a sock over my good foot but decide to leave the sprained one bare. Any twisting or pressure on it sends lightning bolts of pain up my leg. Did I remember deodorant? I don’t think so! Holding my crutches in front of me for balance, I struggle out of my blouse and dab at my armpits with the deodorant stick. Ouch! My armpits are sore from having the crutches grind into them all day. I pull my blouse back on and take a last look in the mirror.
Mom and Joel are both standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. Joel is wearing a white shirt, black leather jacket and faded blue jeans. He smiles up at me. Once again I get that surreal feeling that I’m just an actress in a corny movie. Right now I’m supposed to swoon, and I really think I’m going to.
Okay, Katie,
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