couldn’t quite read her expression—sad? mad?
Daniel moved up the line to pay for his lunch. Which is to say, he backed off without the obligatory adolescent male’s repartee.
“He asked you for a date?” Brown Bunny asked Patsy.
I guessed “he” was not Daniel.
“Not the way you’d think,” Patsy said, sounding reluctant. “Sunday dinner at his uncle’s house.”
“He didn’t ask anybody out since he moved here, and now he’s wild for you.” Brown Bunny didn’t sound happy about it.
“Please,” Patsy said, as if this was a crazy exaggeration. But she was eating it up. She turned away to pay for her cottage cheese.
“I wonder why he didn’t ask you to go to a movie.”
Melanie said, “This is better, like—” This pause camewith a thoughtful frown. “Like, she’s getting introduced to his family.”
Brown Bunny looked skeptical. “This weekend, meet the uncle, next weekend, plan the wedding? I’m not getting the right vibes here.”
“It’s just a family meal,” Patsy said, very cool. The truth, I think she wasn’t too happy to hear that Brown Bunny wasn’t going to drape a luckiest-girl-in-the-world banner over her shoulder.
“I just wonder who needs the uncle’s permission, you or him.” Brown Bunny had surprisingly good instincts. I liked that.
“You’re making too much of this,” Patsy said as Melanie paid for milk and a sandwich.
“I’ll see you in class later,” Brown Bunny said, which was as close as I’d ever heard her come to sounding like a friend.
I wandered through the maze of tables until Patsy and Melanie sat down. Then I chose a place right behind them. I heard Melanie say, “She’s just mad he didn’t ask her,” and I let my chair scrape across the floor.
I was sharing the table with Daniel, who didn’t even try to sit with them, although he knew Patsy well enough. He laid two textbooks on the table and set his lunch out on top of them like they were a place mat.
I could see he’d resigned himself to a certain position in life. As in, satellite spinning around the popular and beautiful, but never getting swept into the inner circle. I was pretty much a satellite myself. Just not resigned to it.
I had a book report to make up, so I started to reread
The Catcher in the Rye
. We never said a word to each other the whole period.
Mr. B came back to the house for a sandwich at four. Actually, I think he expected a cold dinner to be waiting for him, since this was one of Mom’s at-home days. But she had gone out and hadn’t gotten home yet.
He went right back out to run practice sessions for the powder-puff game. Mom came in about ten minutes later, carrying some Macy’s shopping bags. Mr. B had cleaned up after himself, so she didn’t know she’d missed an important pass.
She and I ate rotisserie chicken and potato salad from the deli. She studied her
Wall Street Journal
. I made notes for my book report. To my mind, Holden Caulfield wanted to get it together, wanted to be heroic in some way, but it was harder than it looked.
I wondered, was he Patsy’s kind of guy?
I saw her going out as I was taking out the garbage. She was dressed in jeans, a fisherman’s sweater, and a peacoat that she hadn’t buttoned up. Maybe she wanted to look rugged, heading for the powder-puff practice session. She was getting into a beat-up Dodge with the Wall.
There you have it, I said to myself. Patsy’s kind of guy.
TWENTY
I didn’t think I would call her again.
Seriously, I didn’t. I like a girl with a sense of humor, and she hadn’t shown me much of that. It looked like I wasn’t her type either.
But I couldn’t help myself. It was the song of the siren.
I dialed.
She picked up, asking, “If you feel so bad, why do you keep calling back?”
Talking to her was like talking to a debate team. I answered, “I don’t regret these calls. I’m sorry about what I said. The first time.”
“Still?”
“Still what?”
“Still sorry? I mean,
Daniel moved up the line to pay for his lunch. Which is to say, he backed off without the obligatory adolescent male’s repartee.
“He asked you for a date?” Brown Bunny asked Patsy.
I guessed “he” was not Daniel.
“Not the way you’d think,” Patsy said, sounding reluctant. “Sunday dinner at his uncle’s house.”
“He didn’t ask anybody out since he moved here, and now he’s wild for you.” Brown Bunny didn’t sound happy about it.
“Please,” Patsy said, as if this was a crazy exaggeration. But she was eating it up. She turned away to pay for her cottage cheese.
“I wonder why he didn’t ask you to go to a movie.”
Melanie said, “This is better, like—” This pause camewith a thoughtful frown. “Like, she’s getting introduced to his family.”
Brown Bunny looked skeptical. “This weekend, meet the uncle, next weekend, plan the wedding? I’m not getting the right vibes here.”
“It’s just a family meal,” Patsy said, very cool. The truth, I think she wasn’t too happy to hear that Brown Bunny wasn’t going to drape a luckiest-girl-in-the-world banner over her shoulder.
“I just wonder who needs the uncle’s permission, you or him.” Brown Bunny had surprisingly good instincts. I liked that.
“You’re making too much of this,” Patsy said as Melanie paid for milk and a sandwich.
“I’ll see you in class later,” Brown Bunny said, which was as close as I’d ever heard her come to sounding like a friend.
I wandered through the maze of tables until Patsy and Melanie sat down. Then I chose a place right behind them. I heard Melanie say, “She’s just mad he didn’t ask her,” and I let my chair scrape across the floor.
I was sharing the table with Daniel, who didn’t even try to sit with them, although he knew Patsy well enough. He laid two textbooks on the table and set his lunch out on top of them like they were a place mat.
I could see he’d resigned himself to a certain position in life. As in, satellite spinning around the popular and beautiful, but never getting swept into the inner circle. I was pretty much a satellite myself. Just not resigned to it.
I had a book report to make up, so I started to reread
The Catcher in the Rye
. We never said a word to each other the whole period.
Mr. B came back to the house for a sandwich at four. Actually, I think he expected a cold dinner to be waiting for him, since this was one of Mom’s at-home days. But she had gone out and hadn’t gotten home yet.
He went right back out to run practice sessions for the powder-puff game. Mom came in about ten minutes later, carrying some Macy’s shopping bags. Mr. B had cleaned up after himself, so she didn’t know she’d missed an important pass.
She and I ate rotisserie chicken and potato salad from the deli. She studied her
Wall Street Journal
. I made notes for my book report. To my mind, Holden Caulfield wanted to get it together, wanted to be heroic in some way, but it was harder than it looked.
I wondered, was he Patsy’s kind of guy?
I saw her going out as I was taking out the garbage. She was dressed in jeans, a fisherman’s sweater, and a peacoat that she hadn’t buttoned up. Maybe she wanted to look rugged, heading for the powder-puff practice session. She was getting into a beat-up Dodge with the Wall.
There you have it, I said to myself. Patsy’s kind of guy.
TWENTY
I didn’t think I would call her again.
Seriously, I didn’t. I like a girl with a sense of humor, and she hadn’t shown me much of that. It looked like I wasn’t her type either.
But I couldn’t help myself. It was the song of the siren.
I dialed.
She picked up, asking, “If you feel so bad, why do you keep calling back?”
Talking to her was like talking to a debate team. I answered, “I don’t regret these calls. I’m sorry about what I said. The first time.”
“Still?”
“Still what?”
“Still sorry? I mean,
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