Nick felt embarrassed as he knocked on the door of the Misas' house. He had no idea where Busboys and Poets was, so he was going to try and get the directions from Macy before she left.
"It's open!" Mrs. Misa's voice called from inside. Nick pushed open the door and suddenly gasped. The place was like Martha Stewart's TV show came to life. The kitchen was perfect and all white with stainless steel appliances, the house had cute little decorations like Macy's baby pictures in pop art colors hung mosaic style everywhere, and a giant plasma screen TV in the living room playing home movies on repeat.
"Mrs. Misa?" Nick said. "It's me, Nick Lucas."
"Right…" Mrs. Misa said, peeking out of the kitchen, not really knowing who it was. "Oh! I get it now, you're Macy's little friend from school. In the band, right? Well, sit down, don't act like a stranger. Not like I'm calling you a stranger or anything. Macy knows you, and any friend of Macy's is a friend of mine, right?"
Nick stifled a laugh. The origin of Macy's nervousness was a little clearer to him now. "Um, right…"
"Well, Macy will be down in a couple of minutes, I'm guessing," Mrs. Misa went back to cleaning up the kitchen. "You can just sit down in the living room,"
Nick took a seat gingerly on the all white couch, knowing that if he soiled anything, Mrs. Misa could very well come after him with kitchen appliances. He turned his direction to the TV. Various home movies, mostly of Mrs. Misa sitting in front of Macy's crib or bed while Macy was sleeping, talking about "What Macy did today" and "What Macy said today" played over and over until it came to a new video.
"Macy, say hi to the camera," Mrs. Misa said in the video. A little girl with chestnut brown hair, giant brown eyes, and a sparkling smile bounded up to the camera on a red bouncy ball. It was obviously Macy.
"Boing! Boing!" Macy cried. "Boing! Hi, Mommy! Boing! Boing!"
"Macy, how old are you today?" Mrs. Misa asked Macy. Macy opened her mouth wide like a giant O.
"5!" Macy yelled. "5 years old! Oops!"
In her excitement, the 5 year old had thrown her bouncy ball into the air. The cover for the air vent dropped to the ground.
"Sorry, Mommy," Macy said, looking down at the vent cover. "BOING! BOING!"
She hopped away. Mrs. Misa turned the camera on herself.
"That was Macy on her 5th birthday," she sighed, exasperated. The video cut to a tape of Macy in the bathtub. She was only 3. Nick's smile turned into a grin. Wasn't she just the cutest little thing?
"Hey, Macy," Mrs. Misa cooed to the little baby. Macy started to laugh.
"Mommy, what this?" Macy held up a little rubber ducky in her tiny hand and examined it.
"That's a duck," Mrs. Misa took the duck from Macy and started making quacking noises. Macy was in hysterics. She started hitting the water with her hands.
"Again," Macy said when Mrs. Misa was finished. Then she noticed the camera. "Mommy, what that?"
"A camera," Mrs. Misa brought the camera closer. Macy tapped the lens with her tiny fingers.
"What it do?" Macy asked the camera. She was breathing into the lens, fogging it up, and when it became clear again, she'd breath on it over and over. Mrs. Misa finally pulled her away.
"It remembers things," Mrs. Misa said. Macy tilted her head and went back to shaking the duck.
"Ducky?" Macy asked the rubber duck. "Ducky, talk. Talk, ducky! TALK!"
She dropped the duck into the water and started to bawl.
"Why ducky no talk to me, Mommy?" Macy wailed. "WHY?"
"Okay, I think that's it for today," Mrs. Misa shut down the camera.
Nick started to laugh. Macy Misa talking to a duck? Even better, demanding it to talk? With other girls, it would have weirded him out a little, but it just made Macy seem even more attractive. Suddenly, Macy jogged downstairs.
"Oh. Nick," Macy tilted her head, making the same confused face the baby Macy made in the video. It only made Nick laugh harder.
"Nick?" Macy ran over to him. "Are you okay? Nick?"
Nick stopped laughing and looked at Macy.
"Why were you—oh, the home movies," Macy blushed. "How much did you see?"
"I saw your fifth birthday and you in the bathtub," Nick was threatening to crack up again. "I never knew someone could get so worked up about a duck,"
Macy playfully punched him in the arm. "Shut up, you. Stella showed me your 2nd birthday cake video. At least I didn't miss my mouth like 5 times."
Nick, surprised that she saw, quickly bounced back. "At least I didn't knock down the air vent cover,"
"That ball disobeyed the law of gravity," Macy defended herself. Nick pointed towards the TV .
"You were cute,"
"Really?" Macy turned bright red. "I was?"
"Yeah," Nick said softly. "And…um…I don't know where Busboys and Poets is,"
"Oh," Macy laughed. "Why don't we just go together? We can take my car,"
"Cool," Nick shrugged. "Or we could take mine. I drove here,"
"You drove two blocks?" Macy's mouth dropped. "Lazy,"
"Maybe," Nick said cheekily.
"Well, let's take mine," Macy smiled. Nick remembered something.
"I have something for you," Nick handed her a note out of his pocket. "Don't read it until I'm gone,"
Macy nodded and pushed it into the pocket of her jeans. Nick leaned close to her ear.
"And you look beautiful," he whispered.
"Thanks," Macy said. Nick shook his head.
"My pleasure," he was proud of himself for that one. Maybe he was smoother than Frankie.
JONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONAS
The low lighting in Busboys and Poets was driving Nick up the wall. He couldn't see Macy's face. And even though he hated to admit it, it was driving him nuts. They were sitting in one of the several small booths housed in the jazzy poetry club, and it this was NOT a private night. Everyone was walking past them, saying, "Hey, it's the man from JONAS. Go up there, man." and it was starting to irritate Nick.
"Um, Macy—" Nick started. But he couldn't finish. A hippie guy with blond locks with a goatee sat on a stool in the center of the stage. Instantly, the bongo drum player beat each drum back and forth, back and forth. Nick bit his lip. UGH.
"My name is—"— the goatee man paused to wave his arms dramatically—"What's in a name?"
"Oh, God," Nick muttered. He was one of those. They were going to be here ALL NIGHT.
"A name is just a simple word," the nameless poet cried. "One's own personal adjective,"
Nick was about to ask Macy if they could go somewhere more private, but the smile on her face stuck him to his chair. She seemed so fascinated with this screaming poet with facial hair.
"THERE ARE NO SPELLING MISTAKES," The goatee guy jumped up from his stool and started pacing the stage. "All words are names. So as I listen to each poem and the calling of the names of Mother Earth's children, I wonder…if we are all just words…searching for a purpose."
Snapplause immediately followed, and yet another chorus of bongo drum music.
"Macy," Nick whispered. "Can we go somewhere—"
"Hey, what about JONAS dude?" A random voice cried. More snapplause.
"Yeah," Goatee Guy agreed from the stage. "Come on, music guy!"
Nick shook his head. And then he turned to look at Macy. She was nodding at him and he just couldn't take it. How could he say no to her? Well, in many ways, but—Nick shook his head. He was done trying to convince himself that he was not going to do this. Because he was.
JONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONASJONAS
"Um, I wrote this poem," Nick said into the microphone. "For a girl named Macy,"