A week passed after the "van incident," and I'd thought everything would be fine. All that time I told myself how much I loved Velma, and how it really was good that Shaggy had found out. The hard part was over—the truth was out. If I loved her, wouldn't I want to tell everyone? Of course I would! And so that's exactly what I planned to do. I even told this to Velma on the phone, and I almost called up some other friends to tell them all about us. But I didn't. Somehow I "never got around" to telling my parents, either.
A mystery came up, and my mind was soon occupied with getting everything ready for the short trip out to the site. That, and seeing Velma again. Yeah, I knew it was going to be uncomfortable what with seeing Shag for the first time since the "incident", not to mention filling in Daphne about the situation. (The dumb thing is that, looking back, I think she would have been happy for us.) I didn't really know if I should do some big "group leader" announcement, or what, so I decided to just play it by ear. Probably if I just started acting with Velma in front of the gang like I did when it was just us, everyone would catch on.
This would have been great had Velma's house not been me and Shag's first stop en route to pick up the gang. (Daph lives on the ritzier side of town, which is kinda out-of-the-way from the rest of us.) I helped Velma into the van, gave her a kiss, and then suggested that she slide over and sit next to me—Daphne's sacred spot. Well, Velma was my girlfriend—it wouldn't hurt to change things a little. Since Shaggy already knew about us, it wasn't that big of a deal—and it made it a little too easy for me.
Daphne did look sorta surprised when she noticed the new seating arrangements but she didn't say anything—and I didn't either. It would have been so easy to just tell her then, but I kept putting it off and putting it off. Finally, after we had arrived at the "haunted" theme park, I decided to do it when we split up... Shag and Scoob; me, Vel, and Daph. Shaggy gave me a kind of knowing, raised-eyebrow look when I moved off with both girls at my side, but that was about it. He was great about the whole thing and never teased us or said anything that would "blow my cover." Looking back on it, I wish he had, because it would have forced me to do what I should have done long before. But of course he didn't, because he's just that kind of considerate guy. Velma didn't say anything either ('cause I knew she wanted to see if I would do it,) though she did come up really close to me when I was giving out instructions. I knew she wanted me to hold her hand or put my arm around her or something, but I didn't do it. She didn't just do it herself 'cause even though she's so bold when it comes to ghosts and stuff, she gets shy about showing her feelings—especially in public. Weird, huh?
My plan might have worked had Daph not fallen into a trapdoor right off the bat. (I think she has some sort of trapdoor radar—but hey, whatever works! We've found lots of clues that way.) The next thing I knew we were all running around the place being chased by the "ghost"—pretty much our typical mystery. After we found enough clues to figure out who was behind the scheme, Vel came up with a plan to catch him. (Sometimes I do it, and sometimes she does. Of course no matter who does Shag and Scoob manage to get tripped up in it, but somehow it always works anyway.) The ghost turned out to be some tweaked off old guy who used to own the park (surprise, surprise) and we de-masked him right about the same time that the press got there. Like I said before, Mystery, Inc. was pretty darn popular—especially me and Daph. I did interviews all the time for different magazines, especially the ones for teenage girls, who loved me. A lot of young guys even started dressing like me—ha! I knew the ascot would make a comeback, and no one believed me!
Anyway, I was just thinking that I could make a huge press announcement about me and Vel right then and there when a whole swarm of media people hit us. It was the biggest group of cameras and reporters we'd ever had! All of a sudden, there I was with about a dozen cameras in my face and twice as many microphones all around. I'm pretty used to this, and I love getting to talk to the media—and getting filmed. Hey, I'm a photogenic guy. Maybe it was starting to get to my head, and that didn't help things. Didn't help, but it wasn't the reason.
It wasn't the reason that I stood right there on national television and stole Velma's credit.
I didn't even know that I was doing it. I really didn't; I just kept on talking. I didn't know until I glanced over and saw her staring at me—and it wasn't a nice, checking-me-out stare, either. She was looking at me like she couldn't believe what I was doing. The rest of the gang looked the same way. I mean, I might be the spokesperson for the gang, but I had always let everyone have their turn talking. That, and I had NEVER taken credit for something I didn't do. Not before that night, anyway. When I caught Velma's eye she shook her head a little, not frowning, but questioning. I turned my head away and back to the camera, and I didn't look at her again until all the cameras were gone.
It wasn't until they left that I figured out I'd done something wrong—and you gotta believe me on this—I was sorry. When I saw Velma afterward I had a feeling I was about to get sorrier. Her face was like stone, and she was biting her lip—hard. I'd known Velma long enough to know what that meant—either she was trying not to cry, or she was incredibly ticked off. Neither one looked like a good option for me. You bet that the other three picked up on it, too—they shot right out of there, though Daphne did give me a funny look. I don't know if she figured out what was really going on—that me and Vel's upcoming fight was about more than just credit-stealing. Not that that wasn't a good enough reason. Velma had every right to let me have it.
But she didn't. To this day I don't know why.
I'd been expecting it, that's for sure. Patience isn't exactly one of Velma's virtues, and she gets annoyed real easily, but she hardly ever downright loses her temper. But what she does do when she gets mad is way worse than someone yelling at you or slamming a few doors. She closes up and gets all defensive, and when you try to explain or talk to her she bites out with those sharp words of hers. I knew I was in for a real tongue-lashing.
You can guess how surprised I was when the totally opposite thing happened. Velma spun around to face me after watching the rest of the gang drive away... and she was crying. Velma hardly ever cries (at least not to where anyone can see it,) and it was awful. I can't stand to see any girl cry—I guess it's just he protective kind of guy I am. Seeing her do it was about 100 times worse. Worse than even seeing your own mother cry, and that's terrible. Man, I felt so guilty you wouldn't believe it.
"Fred, what was that?" she asked me. Her tone was still pretty sharp even though she was crying—sharp enough to hurt. I could barely get out some kind of stuttering reply. Me— the guy who always knows what to say. Oh, it was bad. But what could I really say? I didn't know why I'd done what I did.
But she did.
"It's what happened the other night, isn't it?" she said, trying to wipe the tears off. "Now someone knows and so you're trying to push me away."
I couldn't believe she'd said that! She had it all wrong! Didn't she know how much I loved her--- why would I want to push her away? "NO!" I protested right away. "Ve—Velma!"
"I don't mean on purpose, Fred," she continued, sounding like I was two years old or something. I love Velma, but I hate when she does that! "Even though you don't want to admit it to yourself, you don't want people to find out that you're attracted to me. To a dorky chick."
"No!" I exclaimed again. Her words were getting harsh, and I was starting to get mad, too. How could she be so wrong about me?
"So during the interview tonight, your subconscious mind used the opportunity to put distance between us by doing something that would both make me upset and get me out of the way."
Subconscious mind? What in the heck was she doing? By that time she'd definitely stopped crying, and she was even holding up one finger—she was in total lecture-mode! "Velma, this isn't some psychology report!" I shot back at her.
She had to give me that one, and she was quiet for a little bit. "Yeah. But I'm still right Fred," she said finally, and she said it real softly—not smugly or anything, like she sometimes is when she knows she's right.
Of course I know now that she was right. I might not know as much about psychology and all those scientific terms as she does, but I know enough to realize that she really hit the nail on the head with that one. I WAS trying to push her away with my actions—even though I had no idea then that that was what I was doing. I don't know if that takes a little of the blame off me or not—probably not. I still was the one who said those words to the interviewers, even if I didn't know exactly why.
Even though I didn't agree or even really understand what she was trying to tell me back then, I did know that I just didn't want Velma to be mad at me anymore. I would never, ever steal her credit again, I told myself—and her.
"Velms," I said to her, not feeling so mad anymore, "I don't know why I did what I did in front of those cameras. Maybe you are right, but whatever it was it was really stupid and I'm sorry." I felt miserable, and I guess I looked pretty pathetic, 'cause it got Velma's attention. At least she was willing to hear me out now. "And I'll never, EVER do that again."
That really softened her up, which was pretty strange, considering how peeved she'd been at me only a couple of minutes before. She must have really wanted to forgive me. I leaned in and gave her an "I'm sorry" kiss—the nice, soft kind that she likes best. (Normally, our kissing was a little...errrr... enthusiastic... it always felt like it might be the last time we ever got to do it. I guess that happens when you have a relationship like ours was.) She even kissed me back a little, so I figured she was through being mad at me. Maybe she even thought she'd been wrong about what she'd said—maybe I had only gotten caught up in the press excitement and made a dumb mistake, like I'd tried to convince her.
When we got out of the kiss, she had one last thing to say. "Promise?" she asked.
"Huh?" was my oh-so-intelligent reply. I was a little distracted and hoping I could get in another kiss.
"That you'll never, ever do that again?"
Oh, right. Then I'd remembered what I'd said before I kissed her. "I promise," I said right away, and scored the second kiss.
I broke my promise.
More to come...