chaperoneKeith had obviously affected my common sense, or else I wouldn't have said something that made me sound like a psychopath.
“Right,” he said after a brief hesitation. “So I'll see you tomorrow. Around seven?”
I caught a glimmer of my reflection in the TV. I may not have looked anything like my mother, but I had her plastic smile on my face.
“See you then,” I answered.
After I hung up the phone, I turned off the TV. Only then did I notice that I was humming.
6
The first thought that entered my mind when my head hit the pillow was this: Telling Keith that I would come over to
his house
when Mora wasn't around to act as a buffer had been a colossal mistake. It was like I had agreed to walk into the lion's den of love lunacy holding a rack of lamb. Was I completely out of my mind?
On the other hand, I couldn't get rid of this series of thoughts either: Did Keith invite me to this party because he liked me-liked me (girlfriend potential) or just liked me (only wanted to be friends)? Even though I knew that chances were overwhelmingly good that he just liked me, what would I do if it turned out that he actually liked me-liked me?
After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, I finally followed Alice's advice and made a list of all the scenarios that were floating inside my head:
Possibilities:
I walk into Keith's house only to discover I
am
the party. It is just the two of us. He has planned a romantic evening to confess his love.
There are other people there, all of whom suddenly treat me with a great amount of respect. He takes me by the hand and introduces me before whisking me away to a private room where we make out.
Keith French-kisses me and then he confesses his love.
Ugh. I was hopeless.
It was two a.m. I had just finished making my list and switched off the light when I heard Barbie's key turn in the lock. Even though most of the time Barbie was a model of instability, she still showed some elements of traditional maternal instinct. And her bedtime ritual was an example of this. Every night before she went to bed, she came into my room and kissed me goodnight. Usually I pretended to be asleep (even if I wasn't). But this time, when she leaned over to give me a peck on the forehead, my eyes were wide open.
“Oh, Jesus!” She jumped back and put her hand on her heart. “You scared me. I didn't expect you to be awake.”
“I can't sleep,” I announced.
“Anything going on, or are you just not tired?”
“I was invited to a party.” I couldn't get this out of my mind so I figured I might as well share it with Barbie. Besides, she hadn't been this interested in me in days.
“Really?” she asked, excited. She hesitated as the hope faded from her eyes. “A young persons’ party?” she asked suspiciously.
“It's the whole Mora Cooper crowd,” I said. I couldn't tell her exactly who because she might recognize Keith's name. And then she might just wonder about those swimming lessons. And then I'd be screwed.
My mother's eyes lit up. “No wonder you can't sleep,” she said.
I knew what she was thinking. This was my big break, the one she'd been waiting for. Her daughter would
finally
be popular. “It's not Mora herself,” I said. “Just one of her friends from school.” I was proud that I had managed to muster up a fraction of honesty.
“We'll have to get you something to wear!” she exclaimed.
My mother thought in terms of practicality. And no one could dispute that the woman had style. She always said her fashion sense was a remnant from her college days at UCLA, when she was getting her business degree while taking fashion design classes on the side. (That's what she was doing when she met my dad.)When my mom got pregnant, my dad left his wife, but he died (heart attack) before his divorce was final (i.e., no moolah for Barbie or me). So, like a heroine in one of those sappy Lifetime Movie Network flicks she loved so much, Barbie had to drop out of UCLA and
“Right,” he said after a brief hesitation. “So I'll see you tomorrow. Around seven?”
I caught a glimmer of my reflection in the TV. I may not have looked anything like my mother, but I had her plastic smile on my face.
“See you then,” I answered.
After I hung up the phone, I turned off the TV. Only then did I notice that I was humming.
6
The first thought that entered my mind when my head hit the pillow was this: Telling Keith that I would come over to
his house
when Mora wasn't around to act as a buffer had been a colossal mistake. It was like I had agreed to walk into the lion's den of love lunacy holding a rack of lamb. Was I completely out of my mind?
On the other hand, I couldn't get rid of this series of thoughts either: Did Keith invite me to this party because he liked me-liked me (girlfriend potential) or just liked me (only wanted to be friends)? Even though I knew that chances were overwhelmingly good that he just liked me, what would I do if it turned out that he actually liked me-liked me?
After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, I finally followed Alice's advice and made a list of all the scenarios that were floating inside my head:
Possibilities:
I walk into Keith's house only to discover I
am
the party. It is just the two of us. He has planned a romantic evening to confess his love.
There are other people there, all of whom suddenly treat me with a great amount of respect. He takes me by the hand and introduces me before whisking me away to a private room where we make out.
Keith French-kisses me and then he confesses his love.
Ugh. I was hopeless.
It was two a.m. I had just finished making my list and switched off the light when I heard Barbie's key turn in the lock. Even though most of the time Barbie was a model of instability, she still showed some elements of traditional maternal instinct. And her bedtime ritual was an example of this. Every night before she went to bed, she came into my room and kissed me goodnight. Usually I pretended to be asleep (even if I wasn't). But this time, when she leaned over to give me a peck on the forehead, my eyes were wide open.
“Oh, Jesus!” She jumped back and put her hand on her heart. “You scared me. I didn't expect you to be awake.”
“I can't sleep,” I announced.
“Anything going on, or are you just not tired?”
“I was invited to a party.” I couldn't get this out of my mind so I figured I might as well share it with Barbie. Besides, she hadn't been this interested in me in days.
“Really?” she asked, excited. She hesitated as the hope faded from her eyes. “A young persons’ party?” she asked suspiciously.
“It's the whole Mora Cooper crowd,” I said. I couldn't tell her exactly who because she might recognize Keith's name. And then she might just wonder about those swimming lessons. And then I'd be screwed.
My mother's eyes lit up. “No wonder you can't sleep,” she said.
I knew what she was thinking. This was my big break, the one she'd been waiting for. Her daughter would
finally
be popular. “It's not Mora herself,” I said. “Just one of her friends from school.” I was proud that I had managed to muster up a fraction of honesty.
“We'll have to get you something to wear!” she exclaimed.
My mother thought in terms of practicality. And no one could dispute that the woman had style. She always said her fashion sense was a remnant from her college days at UCLA, when she was getting her business degree while taking fashion design classes on the side. (That's what she was doing when she met my dad.)When my mom got pregnant, my dad left his wife, but he died (heart attack) before his divorce was final (i.e., no moolah for Barbie or me). So, like a heroine in one of those sappy Lifetime Movie Network flicks she loved so much, Barbie had to drop out of UCLA and
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