Edmund Justaciturn walked up the front porch steps of the Valiants' house, feeling a little nervous. He had asked out their daughter, Lucy, and she'd said yes, she would like to go on a date with him. It was a bit of a surprise; he'd been worried she was going to say no. After all, they'd known each other most of their lives and he had built up something of a record for not being the nicest person to her in the past.
The thing was, however, he really, really liked her. And now, reaching up to ring the doorbell, he was a great deal uneasy. Her parents weren't going to be so thrilled, he thought. Well, he would just have to prove to them he wasn't a total jerk and then everything might turn out all right.
There was no answer for a moment, and the air was a little nippy. Edmund shivered and waited another second, wondering if he should leave or else try knocking. Maybe the bell was broken.
The door opened and Lucy stood there. She was wearing a neat green sweater-set over a T-shirt and a pair of jeans; and her hair was parted under a silver-coloured headband.
"Hi, Edmund." She smiled at him.
"Bye, Edmund!" Mr. Valiant hopped in front of his daughter and slammed the door shut in the Justaciturn boy's face.
Stunned, Edmund stood on the porch, wondering if that was his cue to get lost. Probably it was, but he wasn't ready to give up just yet. He could hear Lucy's cry of protest on the other side of the door, followed by a sigh on Mr. Valiant's part.
The door opened again; Lucy looking apologetic, her father just looking ticked-off.
"Come on, let's get this over with." Mr. Valiant wore a fine frown in-between his lowered brows.
Edmund glanced over at Lucy; her face a little flushed. She looked really pretty, he thought. A smile found its way onto his face. She noticed it and smiled shyly back at him. His smile widened when he saw that.
Mr. Valiant's glare hardened. "Why are you smiling?" he demanded of Edmund.
"I'm just happy to be here, Sir," said Edmund, a little awkwardly.
"Well, you shouldn't be."
"Sorry, Sir."
"Don't try to get on my good side."
"Yes, Sir."
"Ed, I'm really sorry about this," Lucy told him.
He mouthed, "It's all right."
"So where are you taking us?" asked Mr. Valiant.
"Us?" Edmund repeated, confused.
"You didn't think I was going to let you go off with my daughter unsupervised, did you?"
Well, yes, that was exactly what he had thought, considering that when Lucy was four her father used to let her run up and down the streets near their house, following various different kids around all summer, relying sorely on the cuteness-factor to keep the little tag-along out of trouble. But, then, of course, Lucy wasn't four anymore. She was just barely thirteen; and a fifteen year old wanted to go out with her. Hmm...he could see her father's problem. Still, it was going to be more than a little uncomfortable having him sitting through dinner and a movie with them. Oh well, what could he do?
"Do you like, erm, sea-food, Mr. Valiant?" Edmund tried.
"No, not particularly."
Lucy twisted her neck and gave her father a pleading look.
"But, it sounds sort of nice," he amended.
Edmund breathed a sigh of relief.
"You didn't bring your motorcycle, did you?"
"I don't have a motorcycle," he pointed out.
"I told you he didn't!" Lucy said to her father. (He was sort of old-school, believing that all so-called 'bad boys' drove motorcycles.)
"No stolen car?"
"I can't drive, Sir."
"Where's this restaurant we're eating at?"
"Two blocks away, Sir, we were going to walk."
"Let me get my car-keys, I'll take us all there."
"Edmund, I didn't know he wanted to come," Lucy said as soon as her father was out of sight. "He almost didn't let me go with you at all."
"No, it's fine, really," he assured her. He wanted to put a hand on the side of her arm as he said this, but was too worried her father would come back, see them, drag Lucy inside, and slam the door on his face again.
They spent the ride to the sea-food restaurant in utter silence. Edmund would have very much liked to talk to Lucy, but it was kind of difficult to think of anything to say when he could see Mr. Valiant giving him the evil eye in the rear-view mirror, clear as day.
I'm just going to sit here, stare at the back of my hands, and hope he doesn't kill me, Edmund thought to himself, twiddling his thumbs.
When they arrived at the restaurant, Edmund and Lucy had a few minutes alone together while Mr. Valiant parted the car. They exchanged semi-amused glances, caught between blushing and cracking up with repressed hysterical laughter.
"Table for two?" the head-waiter asked, noticing them as he grabbed two menus from behind his podium.
"Well, actually-" stammered Edmund, remembering Mr. Valiant.
"Cute couple." The head-waiter voiced his approval uncaringly.
"We'll see," growled Mr. Valiant in a testy voice, having heard that as he walked in.
"Three then," noted the waiter, grabbing an extra menu.
There weren't any tables set up for exactly three people, so they were all led into a booth with pale blue cushions-the kind that have plastic covering over them-near a shinny, very clear, lobster tank.
Lucy picked up one of the menus the head-waiter had placed down in the centre of the table.
"Not a bad place you picked out," Mr. Valiant commented dryly.
"Was that," Edmund paused faux-dramatically, "almost a compliment?"
"Almost," he grunted. "Don't let it go to your head."
Lucy smiled over at Edmund, who winked when her father's eyes shifted to his own menu, and lightly nudged the side of her foot under the table.
"Hallo, I'm Ivy," said a voice above them, belonging to a slim girl in her mid-twenties. "I'll be your waitress this evening. You ready to order?"
"I'll have the fish and chips, and a beer." Mr. Valiant closed his menu.
"The shrimp platter and an iced tea," Lucy decided.
"Make that two," said Edmund.
"Sure thing, be right back." Ivy took their menus and walked back into the kitchen to give the chef their orders.
"So," said Mr. Valiant, breaking the silence that followed the waitress's departure, "Lucy says you play rugger."
"Yes, Sir."
"Do you party with the team afterwards?"
"Father, please!" protested Lucy, her face turning scarlet.
"Yes, sometimes I do," Edmund admitted, suddenly feeling a little ashamed.
"Wild parties?"
"No, Sir."
He raised a brow.
"A little, Sir, sorry."
"You drink?"
"Not, you know, often..." Edmund half-wanted someone from the kitchen staff to come over to their table and say, "Pardon me, customers, but the building is on fire." Not really, because he didn't want to cut-short his first-and hopefully not last-date with Lucy, but nearly anything that would have put a stop to the ensuing conversation would have been fine by him.
"You smoke?"
"No, never."
"Your mother mentioned you failed History one year," Mr. Valiant was merciless. "Do you keep up your marks fairly well these days?"
"Well, I have to, they don't let you play on the rugger team if you fail classes."
"I see."
Their food arrived and they ate without further discussion. It was rather like the car-ride there, mostly. Lucy tried to get a friendly conversation going once or twice, this time, but after a while she had to give up.
Then there was the movie. Right off the bat, Mr. Valiant ruled out a scary movie or a sad one, claiming he 'knew that trick'.
"Why don't you pick the movie, Sir?" Edmund managed to say, struggling to keep sarcasm out of his voice.
"Fine," agreed Mr. Valiant, his eyes shifting from Edmund to the movie posters on the wall of the theatre. "I think I will."
Lucy mouthed, "Nice save." to Edmund while her father's back was turned, and he mouthed, "Thank you." back.
Finally they found themselves all sitting in the 'Mr. Valiant approved' section, surprisingly with seats right next to each other, him directly behind them.
It took a little while, but eventually Edmund figured out why he had chosen to sit there instead of by their side. When, about half-way through the movie, he attempted to do the whole, 'yawn and stretch and end up with your arm around your date' bit, he felt a sharp kick to the back of his chair.
"Ow!"
"Watch it, you," hissed Mr. Valiant.
"Yes, Sir," he managed.
Glancing down, Edmund could tell, even in the dark, that the jolt had caused him to spill some of his drink into his lap.
Lucy noticed this, too, and loaned him her handkercheif since they didn't have any napkins.
Nearly an hour and a half later, they stood on Lucy's front porch, and her father said, "I'm going inside, you have exactly three minutes, and I can see you both from the window." Then he more or less slammed the door behind himself.
"So, that wasn't too awful, was it?" Lucy asked when her father was technically out of ear-shot.
"No, it wasn't, I had a good time."
Lucy squinted at him, trying to figure out if he was teasing her. "Really?"
"I enjoyed spending time with you." He noticed Mr. Valiant peeking from the nearest window, and added, "And your father."
Lucy giggled lightly.
"Well, um, I'd kiss you goodnight, but I don't have health insurance right now," said Edmund, after another pause, seeing the curtains move again from the inside of the house.
Glancing both ways very quickly, Lucy gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I have to go in now. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow at school?"
"We can sit together at lunch if you want," Edmund offered sort of shyly.
Lucy's brow crinkled. "We don't have the same lunchtime."
"So?" he shrugged his shoulders. "I'll manage it somehow."
"All right," she said.
"Oh, and this is yours." Edmund offered her back the handkerchief.
"Keep it," Lucy grinned at him. "You need it more than I do."
"Good night, Lu."
"It's been three minutes!" Mr. Valiant's voice bellowed from behind the door.
"Good night, Sir!" shouted Edmund, a little cheekily, winking at Lucy.
I hadn't meant to think of that first date. I try not to. It just sort of came into my mind as I passed the movie theatre as I walked home because I missed the subway.
Now I stand in front of my house. My feet are killing me, I want a nap. I find myself hoping my parents are in another argument. But, of course, when I need it the most, luck turns on me. They aren't fighting, they are glaring right at me, demanding to know where I've been.
"I missed the subway," I murmur.
"How could you possibly miss the subway?" my father demands. Apparently he walked to school up-hill both ways, and took the subway at the same time-and he never missed it. Not ever. In his whole life. Yeah, I'm so sure.
Here are three lies parents tell their children when they are mad at them:
1) When I was your age I worked like a dog, you should be thankful for what you have.
2) Going to school is a privilege.
3) We're not getting on your back, we just want you to learn to do things the right way in life so you don't end up living under a bridge or in prison for smuggling diamonds.
I roll my eyes.
My mother glares at me. She repeats my father's first question. How could I have missed the subway?
Sure, I guess I could explain. I could ignore my aching feet and my blood-shot eyes and the urge to crawl into a hole and never come out again. I could tell them everything. But my jaw hurts. My throat is still too dry. I don't want to talk.
So I just shrug my shoulders.
"Edmund, we aren't angry, we were just worried. Why didn't you call us on your mobile? That's what it's for." My mother holds out her hands to me.
My father clears his throat in an aggravated manner, not liking now his wife has chosen to deal with the situation. Clearly he's angry and wants her to back him up.
She glares at him as if to say, "You think you can do better?"
The old 'be careful what you wish for' rings in my mind. They are going to start fighting again. I could stay and listen, wincing, while they dispute, but I won't. I'm going upstairs and pulling the covers over my head. It's only two days into school and I'm already at the breaking point. I don't bother blasting the music this time since they already know where I am.
The fight must have been pretty nasty, because no one hollers up for me when it's time for supper. When I was around eight or so, I figured out I could tell the intensity of fights by mealtimes. If Mum called me down, things were going to blow over quickly. If not, there were going to be a few bubbles left simmering for the night. By the next day, they'd be fine, but for right then and there, it was enter at your own risk. Big fight tonight, all because I was late getting home.
Not that it matters, since I don't feel hunger much these days, but after a while I get the strangest urge to do something. I take out the drawing of a faun I started today when I was having lunch in the Art room. With a black coloured-pencil, I start to colour in the hooves. Then, I sharpen a small brown one that is nearly down to a nub. I am concentrating on making his furry legs brown, when my mother (in the kitchen) shouts something unexpectedly and bangs on a piece of cooking apparel. It startles me. I jump and the little brown pencil snaps. Rats! Now what? There's always the gray coloured-pencil. I start to colour in gray where the brown leaves off. After a few lines, I take in my work. Stupid, I think. It looks like he's turning into stone or something. Stupid.
I put the drawing aside; I can't look at that ghastly thing anymore. It's horrible. I wish I could drop the class. Since when am I an artist? How stupid was I to think...
My thoughts stop. Then they start again. I've fallen asleep and woken up hours later. It's pitch black in my room. My fingers flick on a light. I rub my eyes and stare down at the drawing. Somehow it doesn't look so awful now. Almost like it is supposed to be that way...supposed to be stone. Didn't Mr. Pevensie say the lesson was about learning what my word meant to me? Yeah, he's probably just saying stuff like that because he is hanging around with too many new-age weirdos or whatever, but why not use that to my advantage? Why toss the drawing? Maybe I can make something of it after all. I'll take it with me to school tomorrow, perhaps keep on working at it. If I get stuck again, Peter might loan me another book.
AN: Please review.