A/N: Alright, this one got really long so I broke it into two pieces. It's still all one chapter though.
Somehow my browser refreshed, and I have to go to bed...
Thanks to the reviewers: TNPD, Stacey, xXxSarahxXx, RavenForever, and DarkAngelGuadianLight...you guys are so wonderful and I get all teary eyed just seeing your names on my review board...sniffles...
Onward ho...ENJOY.
Chapter 4: Festering Mulch
Millicent was pretty to say the least. She had done up her hair in layers of curls, painted make-up on her lips and eyes, done her nails, and dressed in a casual skirt and blouse that suited her bony frame. TJ's first reaction was to run, to return home, tuck himself into bed with a picture of his deceased lover, and pretend that no one else in the world even existed. But he'd promised Gretchen that he would go through with it.
Millicent seemed shocked to find that TJ had walked to her home in that chill night, and even more shocked when she discovered that he lived nearly ten blocks away. He was dressed in jeans, a long sleeve shirt, the leather jacket and red tennis shoes she'd seen him wearing before, and his cheeks were a pinkish color.
"Don't you have a car?" she laughed, but followed his frown.
"No," he explained, "I don't drive."
"That's alright, we can take my car...I guess...I mean, I'm not used to..."
"No," he interrupted, "I don't ride in cars. I don't take buses either..." he sighed, looking away, "Buses, trains, cabs, planes...anything that can crash." For a moment, Millicent sat blinking stunned at him. Then she broke into laughter.
"You're joking, right? I mean, how do you get around?"
"Well," TJ grew uncomfortable, looking sheepishly about his surroundings, "I don't usually leave my house...actually, until recently, I had spent a couple years not leaving my house. You'd be amazed what you can get brought to you over the Internet...groceries, clothes..."
"Um...I think we should drive," Millicent interjected, grabbing her purse and car keys on the in-table beside the door before making her way down the front steps of her apartment. She led TJ to her car, and he didn't seem to protest until she climbed in and noticed he hadn't. She rolled down the window and looked out at him staring blankly at the car door of the passenger side.
"I don't..." TJ furrowed his brow. He'd agreed to do this, even if that meant getting in a car. He sighed, hesitantly opened the door and sat inside of it.
"There now, that wasn't so hard. Alright, where are you taking me?"
"I thought we'd see a movie..." TJ began.
"Oh, great, what's playing?"
"But then I changed my mind. So, I thought we'd go for a walk..." TJ looked distractedly out the windshield, his voice a low mumble, "But you don't want to walk...so...I thought we'd...."
"Okay," Millicent interrupted, "But where are we going?"
"Um...to eat," TJ shrugged, "Unless you've eaten, then we could always..."
"I haven't eaten," Millicent snapped, "I'm hungry. Where do you want to eat? And, I just want the restaurant name and maybe directions."
"There's a place I know of," TJ told her, "It's just down Maple Street, on the corner of Twelfth." Millicent, with a jerking nod of her head, pulled her car out onto the road and managed to make it to the small, fancy diner. She gaped at the restaurant whose parking lot TJ directed her to pull into.
"This is Chez Vince, do you know how long the waiting list is for this place is? How could you possibly get a reservation? This place has a five month waiting period," Millicent exclaimed.
"It'll be okay," TJ told her, before exiting the car. Shaking her head, Millicent followed, and was grateful when he at least held the restaurant's front entrance door open for her. They stood before the podium, waiting until a young man dressed in a fine suit came up to them, flipping open the reservation book.
"I'm sorry for the wait," he spoke, his eyes scanning the pages in front of him distractedly, "We had to fire the hostess this morning...it's been hectic all day...um...did you have a reservation?"
"No, I was just hoping that maybe if you had an empty table available..." TJ started.
"What?" Millicent hissed, "That was your plan to get in this place...they don't have available tables, it's always full..." The young man waiting on them rolled his eyes up to glance at the couple.
"TJ?" he said, "TJ!" He straightened from out of the book quickly and ecstatically making his way around the table and patting the young man's shoulders for good measure. "It's been, what...how long? Three years since last I saw you."
"Yeah...three years," TJ confirmed, "How've you been, Spence?"
"Well, as you can tell, it's been better," the man shrugged, "But man, you look great, considering...I mean, you look great, man."
"Thanks," TJ muttered. Spencer, as the man was now identified as, turned suddenly, abruptly.
"Hey, guys, TJ's here!" he cried out and a man peeked from out a door to the far end of the diner, most likely from the kitchen, staring shocked down at the odd couple.
"Hey, TJ. Long time no see, how's it going?" he called in a deep throated blast, several other heads peeking out, waving, and even a few of the waiters and waitresses paused from what they were doing to send smile greetings TJ's way. Millicent sat, staring blankly.
"Give us five minutes, man, and we'll have your usual table ready," Spencer said, turning back to TJ, and calling over his shoulder, "HEY! NEW GUY!"
"No," TJ blurted out, then, his cheeks flushed, his eyes downcast, he murmured, "Not the usual table. Any other table will do. Just not the..." his words seemed to catch in his throat, "Not the...usual table, please." Spencer frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in concern, and nodded as a wide-eyed youth dressed in the busboy uniform came to stand next to him.
"New guy," Spencer commanded, "Get the second finest table ready for this good man here."
"But, sir...that table's occupied by..."
"Are they more important then this man here?" Spencer demanded, then with a heavy sigh, "You wouldn't know. Just get rid of them. Move them if you have to." The busboy nodded, then ran off again. Spencer turned his attention back to TJ, "So...um...how you been?"
"Erm...I'm on a date," was the garbled answer. Spencer gave Millicent, who stood in gapping awe, a once over.
"Hi, I'm Spencer," he finally greeted, "I'm in charge of this restaurant, amongst many others owned by our great proprietor, Vincent LaSalle."
"I'm Millicent," came her soft reply. She seemed incapable of forming words in her stun at her odd date's ability to influence so much commotion in the finest restaurant in town. So Spencer turned back to TJ.
"Do you want us to call Mr. LaSalle?" he asked, "We could have him down here..."
"That's alright," TJ said, shaking his head.
"I...uh...you look good," Spencer repeated, looking to his shining black formal shoes. Millicent looked between the two men, feeling as though she were left out from something, and normally she would have said something as she didn't like being left out, but this seemed deep, almost like something she didn't want to know.
It took a little more than five minutes to get the couple situated at a table, and TJ assured Spencer and "new guy" that it was all right. The table really was one of the finest, nearly isolated from the rest of the dining room. The wall the surrounded the booth table was adorned with several pictures and Millicent found herself studying them.
"Is that you?" she asked, pointing to one of the pictures in particular of a young man, unmistakably the young man before her, standing with a beautiful young woman with raven dark hair and eyes. TJ didn't have to look at the picture to know what it was of. He nodded slightly, and silently thanked the waiter that set their drinks before them. Millicent seemed fascinated by the picture, "She looks familiar...was she an actress or something..."
"She went to see Gretchen a lot, at the hospital, you probably saw her there," TJ responded, discontent in his voice. He squirmed slightly in the booth, and Millicent caught his eyes.
"Sorry," she exclaimed, "I don't mean to gush...but I've never been out with someone who could waltz into a high class place like this without a reservation, and without having to dish out serious cash for the host, and have a table in under ten minutes. Are there anymore pictures of you?"
"A few," TJ admitted, flushing terribly, "But they're no big deal."
"Oh my god, that's Michael Blumberg!" And for a brief panicky moment, TJ found himself glancing about the room, until he realized she was talking about one of the pictures, "I knew that the guy who owned this place was a big-time baseball player, but man, he knows, like, everybody!"
"You're a fan of Mike...eee...I mean, Michael Blumberg?" TJ asked, attempting to make conversation, and to take his mind off of the familiar surroundings. It had been the only restaurant he could think of to go, but he hadn't counted on the memories it would bring rushing back, nor the emotions connected to them. When Vince had first opened the place, the entire gang had spent nights there "tearing it up", with dancing, singing, all-out partying. But then, their lives started getting in the way and they could only go there every so often. Then, the accident happened.
"I am probably his biggest fan!" Millicent squealed and TJ winced. He knew Mikey hated that phrase, "Why? Aren't you? He's only the greatest, and hottest, actor to hit Hollywood. He's so sweet, and deep, and...oh god, I could marry him if I ever met him." TJ looked away, biting his inner cheek to bleeding. "The first time I saw him," she continued, "I knew I was his...I mean, well, I'm not deluded, I know that I'll probably never meet him in a million years. Jeez, I probably sound like a pimple-faced, hormone driven, blonde, teeny-bopper." TJ shrugged, finding it best not to comment on that. "But, I don't know...I believe in love at first sight, don't you?"
"No," TJ said, before he could stop himself. She perked up slightly, turning her full attention back to him.
"You don't? Why not?" A challenge. TJ turned his glass slightly, shaking the ice cubes within it.
"I just..." he cleared his throat, meekly, "It just seems to be too based on sexual attraction, more so, than anything else. I mean, I can look at a woman and decide that I'm attracted to her, but, not if I love her. I'd have to know her a little longer."
"But you have to admit that attraction has a lot to do with loving someone?"
"It helps to be attracted to them. But, I don't know, sometimes attraction grows in you," TJ shrugged, sinking back into the red booth.
"It all seems a bit too idealistic for me. Acquired love like acquired taste. Honestly, if a man told me he wasn't attracted to me at first but I kind of grew on him...I don't know what I'd do," Millicent said, raising her eyebrow skeptically, "Have you ever even been in love?"
"Have you?" TJ shot back. For a moment they stared at each other in a dead standstill until TJ finally said, "How about I tell you a story, and then you tell me if I've ever been in love?"
"Alright," Millicent agreed, nodding, "Spill it." TJ sighed, leaning forward, his elbows pressed into the hardwood of the table, his eyes closed.
"You know how you can have someone in your life, for a long time, and you get to know everything about them?" He received a nod, "Alright. Then you know how when they're suddenly not there, at first, everything about them remains in your mind, clear as day? But then time goes on, and slowly, things start to fade. In the beginning, you start to forget little things, like maybe their flaws that were never important to you anyways. But then, other things start to leave you, like the way they smelled, or the way they felt, and then you start to forget what they're voice sounded like, and then eventually, you can barely recall how they looked. I mean, you'll have the basic image in your mind, but you'll forget where a certain mole was located at or if they had freckles or not, and where on the body those freckles were located. Were they just on the cheeks, or were there some on the shoulders, or down the arms? Until finally all you have left is a few hazy memories that you can't even recall the exact details of anyways, and maybe a few pictures that you can't remember taking.
"And you forget to be sad that they're gone, because you can't really remember them anyways," TJ took a drink from his glass, before continuing, his voice starting out steady, and breaking ever so slightly, "For me, it's not like that. Three years have passed and I can still remember the exact way she would wear her hair, and how each strand would fall. I can still see that birthmark on the side of her hip, and I can remember how sweet it tasted. I remember that she smelled really good after a shower, but best in the middle of the night because that was when she really smelled like herself. I remember that she fit just right in my arms, like she was made to be there, and that even now I startle awake without the weight of her sleeping on my chest, or next to me. I sometimes think I hear her calling my name, and that voice, her voice is constantly in my mind." He faltered there, frowning at his glass, seeming uncertain of what to do, if maybe he'd gone too far, or if maybe he'd done or said something he shouldn't have, "And I remember how cranky she could be, and that we would fight about the stupidest things, things that don't seem to matter now, at least not as much as they did when we fought about them."
"You fought often?" Millicent found herself asking. At first, she thought maybe she shouldn't have, but TJ just somewhat smirked reminiscently.
"Yup," he commented, an absent hand floated subconsciously to his chin, "I remember she had a mean right hook, and she could knock me out with one sucker punch. And I remember that I would wake up with her hovering over me, biting her lip and her forehead wrinkled in concern, and that she would still deny that she'd done anything wrong. It would drive me crazy when she would use the last of the milk and stick the carton back in the fridge, and when she'd put her boots, covered in mud, on the table...and god...I miss it." TJ shook his head, took another sip of his drink, and frowned at the un-open menus in front of them, "What is love, anyways? Was I attracted to her at first? No. But then again, we were only children at first. Did I love her at first? No. But then, after you've shared the sixth milkshake with four kids you'd never known the day before, and you've talked about everything important to a kid, something starts. I loved her; in the end I love her. It wasn't because she was some ideal woman that I saw and felt some hormonal reaction towards, but because I couldn't see anyone else when she was there, because I knew everything about her, and those things made her beautiful, and attractive to me. I don't think of it as being in love, because that makes it sound like it was a moment in time, or a phase...I think of it as a...as a realization. The feeling was there all the time; I just had no one to feel it towards, at least, I thought I didn't. I slowly had to realize it. I don't know, I guess I'm not making any sense, so I should end this story here. It wasn't love at first sight, that's all I can tell you, it was just something so much more."
"What was her name?" Millicent asked, both parties shaking, as though awoken from a trance. TJ leaned back again, his eyes lowered.
"Maybe I made it all up," he said, "Maybe I lied."
"I would be very impressed if all of that was a lie," Millicent said, letting a smile warm it's way across her lips. But TJ said nothing more towards it, being the most he'd say for the rest of the night, and their waiter arrived to take their orders. Millicent talked most of the time, and TJ seemed more than willing to listen. He'd nod every now and then, make a comment here or there, but for the most part he was silent, picking at his plate. Millicent loved to talk, and she loved to be listened to, and she loved how when they left everyone who worked in the restaurant seemed to want to talk to her date and say good-bye and give him well wishes and come again anytime's, and she loved standing there feeling important as the rest of the guests in the restaurant watched.
When they reached TJ's home, Millicent couldn't help but feel slightly ridiculous walking him to the door. It was a nice house, fairly small, with an unkempt lawn. They stood on the porch facing one another, illuminated by the porch light.
"I had a really good time tonight," Millicent admitted, taking TJ's hand in her own and convinced that he had just as great a time as she did. Of course, she was hoping for a kiss goodnight. "I mean, it was a rough start...but you kind of grew on me." TJ shifted uncomfortably, staring at the door anxiously, and gently taking his hand from her own. "What's the matter? Don't tell me you have wife somewhere..." she joked, then looking to the ground, "Don't think I could handle that one again..." In an instant, TJ's eyes lit up.
"I do," he told her and her eyes shot up to meet his. "I'm sorry, I do. I have a wife somewhere. I'm really sorry. I should have told you. Good night." He slipped into the house quickly leaving behind the stunned Millicent.
-0-0-0-0-------------October 1998--------------0-0-0-0-
I leaned heavily against the side of the school, attempting to pay attention as the girl in front of me, Jena Masters, talked about our class work and how she was having trouble understanding it. Jena was a cheerleader, dressed in her short pleated skirt and regulation tank top for spirit day, her blonde hair brushing along her shoulders. She was asking about math, a class we shared mutually.
"I'm just saying...well, you're at the top of the class, and I'm kind of not doing so well...I have to keep my grades up to stay on the squad," she sighed, twisting a strand of her hair about her finger. She was flirting; I was oblivious to most things having to do with girls, but that much I could tell. I knew for a fact that the notebook she held had scribbles of hearts containing my initials, her name written with my last attached, little girly things that expressed her feelings towards me. I felt bad, she was pretty and extremely popular with her cheerleading status, and I knew I should have been interested. But I wasn't.
"Well, you see," I chuckled, "Gretchen...you know, Gretchen Grundler?" She frowned somewhat. Oh yes, she knew Gretchen, queen of the nerds, dream girl of the science club and D&D players. Everybody knew Gretchen, the smartest student at Lincoln Middle School. "Yeah, she helps me with my math, and if it weren't for her, I wouldn't understand a bit of it."
"Oh..." Jena looked crestfallen. She'd assumed she'd found her way into my life. I felt bad. I knew, I just knew, that if she hadn't gone about things the shy way and simply asked me out, I couldn't have said 'no', because that was how I was. Good ol' TJ, never wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, always wanting to be liked by everyone. And I would date her, go through the false charade of boyfriend, girlfriend; and eventually she would dump me because I didn't act interested. Because I wouldn't be interested. It had been that way with my past three "girlfriends" and Jena would have been no different.
I know it sounds weird. Any other young teenage boy like myself would be wishing and praying for a girl like Jena to pay them any attention, but I wasn't. The truth is, there was only one girl I was interested in. The problem was she just happened to be the resident tough girl with a reputation to uphold, and one of my best friends.
Speaking of which, I spied Spinelli over the top of Jena's cleanly brushed blonde head making her way down the sidewalk towards the school. I smirked, my cheeks flushing slightly as they always seemed to do those days when I saw her. She was wearing an overly large black t-shirt with some heavy metal band name printed across it, probably salvaged from her brother's closet. Her biker boots, footwear she'd donned in early childhood, clicked rhythmically every time one hit the pavement, and she was wearing headphones while bobbing her head to the music, undoubtedly a loud rock band, screaming in her ears. She'd pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail, and it looked like she hadn't even bothered to brush it, but it was so short it didn't really matter. She was a slacker to say the least, a lone binder sporting a few loose sheets of paper her only school material, and she most likely had some writing instrument shoved in her pocket, unless she'd forgotten it. People walked by her and paid her no heed; she was as good as nobody to them. She really had no other friends besides the gang, and she liked it that way. People thought of her as a loner, kept their distance, and scorned her for her locale attitude. And somehow, where others would overlook her as a part of the background, I couldn't help but notice her. Before it was because she was my friend, a familiar face, but now...now it was different.
I thought to call out to her, but somehow the words caught in my throat. It had never been a big deal before, yelling a greeting down the street, but it seemed stupid, immature, and a bit too gaudy now. I wanted to seem cool, casual, and nonchalant; no matter how ridiculous and childish I felt beneath her gaze.
"Well...anyways, TJ," Jena started again, and I felt my stomach twist in dread of what I felt coming, turning my attention back to the pert girl, "I was wondering..."
"Hey, Teej." I glanced up, which was unnecessary as I could conjure up an image of that voice's owner in my mind anytime. Spinelli stood behind Jena; hand on hip, headset around her neck, still blasting music, which sounded like only a melodic buzzing to me. Jena frowned at her, shifting her backpack, stuffed full of books. She looked like she had a biting comment ready to lash out and was fully ready to do just that, when I spoke up.
"Spin," I nodded in greeting, "Did you think about what I asked you...last night, on the phone?" She stuck her tongue out in distaste, recalling the conversation we'd had, because, of course, we always talked on the phone late at night. We were insomniacs, plain and simple, and we needed company. Now, pertaining to our conversation, for nearly three weeks I'd been asking, begging, pleading for a date, and last night was no exception. You'd think I'd be shy about it, but to be honest, I'd never been shy when it came to getting what I wanted.
"Think about it? I gave you my answer last night," she argued.
"So...'no' doesn't mean you'll think about it?" I questioned, scrunching my nose as though it really didn't make any sense.
"It means no, Teej," Spinelli sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. I could see Jena frowning, growing uncomfortable and feeling extremely left out, as people tended to when anyone in the gang was around each other. We don't mean to leave other people out, we just, seem to slip into our own world that nobody else really exists in.
"Oh...so that's a 'no' to Friday night..." I mumbled, then, my eyes lighting up, I said, "How about Saturday?"
"No."
"Sunday?"
"No."
"What about Monday...?"
"School night."
"Damn. What about the next Friday?"
"Weren't you supposed to wait for me this morning? I thought we were walking to school together?" she attempted to change the subject, though I could see the corners of her lips wanting to turn up into a smile at my persistence.
"You were late."
"I slept in."
"The school bell waits for no one."
"Yeah," she concurred, "But you ain't no school bell."
"I'm going to go..." Jena mumbled, but no one was really paying her any mind as it was, so she slipped away without another word. And if I wasn't completely engrossed in my argument with Spinelli, I would have felt bad.
"How about next Saturday?"
"What?"
"Go out with me next Saturday," I repeated.
"Teej..."
"Spinelli." She sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation, tightening her hold on her binder.
"We're really good friends...and we're really good at being friends," she started and I groaned.
"You're not giving me the 'I-don't-want-to-ruin-our-friendship-with-a-relationship' speech, are you?"
"Shut up, I've been practicing," she snapped, "Okay...where was I? Now I've lost my concentration, and I'll have to start over. Teej, we are really good friends, and we're really good..." I clamped a hand over her mouth.
"One night, Spinelli, one date. That's all I'm asking for. We'll never know unless we see. I know that I've had relationships and they didn't last longer then a week, that I was never serious about them, and now those girls won't even talk to me, but Spinelli, I'm serious about this. You are the only girl I've ever asked out, if that's any indication of how much I want this. Now, before you answer, think about it. One date, one night out, and if it's too weird, and you don't like it, I'll never ask again. And we'll forget it happened. And we'll just go back to normal, nothing harmed. But we have to see, I have to see, if there's any chance." I pulled my hand back slowly, holding her eyes with my own. She was silent a moment, the bell rang, and the other students around us made their shuffling ways into the halls of the school, heading for their first periods.
"Fine," she sighed, glancing anxiously to the door, "One date. This Friday, let's get it over with..." she shook her head, "Now, can we go to class?" I grinned, ushering her forward, opening the front door for her, which gained a scowl, and waved as we split in separate directions down the halls, nearly running into a group of people in my lightheadedness, and thankful she didn't see it.
-0-0-
I stared blankly at my shirtless reflection in my bathroom mirror. I held one shirt up, and then another. For two stressful days I had waited, two stressful, painful, avoiding Spinelli in the hallways for fear of my chest exploding from my pounding heart, days. And somehow, I managed to last until Friday night.
"How about this one?" Vince called from my room, peeking in with a Señor Fusion decaled tee. I frowned at him.
"Are you here to help or not?"
"I thought I was helping," he whined, then muttered, "Maybe we should call Mikey, he's better at this fashion stuff."
"I already did," Gus shouted from where he sat on my bed, flipping casually through one of my comics, "Mrs. Blumberg said he left somewhere with Gretchen."
"Snake," Vince hissed, "Gretch took him to make-over Spinelli...the conniving little..."
"Now, now Vince, this isn't a contest," I reminded him.
"She's probably got all four Ashleys over there, too," Vince rambled on, shaking his head in disgust.
"I was thinking a movie would be good," I interrupted, "Do you think a movie would be good? There's this action flick out that I know..."
"No way, man," Gus said, tossing the comic to the foot of my bed, "You do not go see anything with exploding and death in it on a first date." Gus had successfully been on two dates in his middle school career, with two separate girls, neither of which managed to turn into something more. He'd grown tall, the poor boy, an awkward growth spurt somewhere in the middle of sixth grade. He just woke up one morning nearly a foot and a half taller, and hasn't recovered since.
"Oh really," I humored him, being the more experienced dater, "And what do I go see on a first date?"
"Something lovey-dovey, that'll make her cry. Then she'll have to go to you for comfort. Or a horror film...you know, so that when she gets scared, she can find safety in your arms," he explained.
"You do know we're talking about Spinelli, here, right?" I asked rhetorically, glancing in at him. He frowned.
"Oh yeah, right. I forgot she's not a normal girl." Gus looked to the floor sheepishly, "But that only makes a lovey-dovey movie better, because you know she won't be watching the movie, and there's only a few things you can do in a theatre. You can watch the movie...or you can..."
"Gus!" I snapped, "This is only our first date..." I trailed off, "It may be our only date."
"I can't believe you guys are actually going on a date," Vince mumbled, shaking his head, "It seems only yesterday you were children at the playground and she was yelling at you for knocking over her pile of sand."
"Uh...Vince? That was yesterday. She hit me too, I still have the bruise."
"Oh, yeah," Vince chuckled, "I think you should go with the white shirt, you always looked better in white."
"Yup, you do," Gus shouted his agreement. I raised the nice cotton T-shirt with the intricate design across the front up to my neck, raising an eyebrow as I studied it. With a sigh, I removed it from the hanger and pulled it over my head.
"Do you think girls have this much trouble getting ready?" I asked, running my fingers through my hair to no avail, it was a permanent mess, "Where's my hat?"
"You're gonna wear your hat on a date?" Gus scoffed, joining us in the bathroom, and searching through my drawers.
"Yeah, what's wrong with that? That hat is a part of me, it defines who I am," I shrugged, searching for my comb, "Besides, I'm having a bad hair day."
"Don't you have any hair gel?" Gus asked, and I stared blankly at him, and then glanced at his keenly slicked and spiked crew cut.
"I ask again, where's my hat?"
A half hour later I was heading out the door, Vince and Gus trailing behind me.
"I'm going out, mom," I called into the house, then shut the door before she could answer, which would have undoubtedly led to a game of twenty questions. I straightened my cap on my head, and headed towards Spinelli's house, waving over my shoulder at my friends picking up their bicycles and heading, most likely, to Kelso's. They said something about meeting Gretchen and Mikey. Spinelli only lived four houses down, so it was a short walk. I knocked on the door and waited, surprised when it swung open and Spinelli's brother, Vitto stood before me, frowning down at me.
"Uh...is...is your sister ready?" I asked. Vitto, as well as the older Spinelli brother Joey, was short, and well built. Joey, like his sister, had dark eyes and hair, but Vitto had lighter hair and faded green eyes that freaked the hell out of me. He had a way of seeming like he was looking right at you, even if he wasn't. He crossed his arms over his chest, and gave me a once over, as though determining whether he should punch my lights out right then and there simply for having the tenacity to show up on his doorstep asking for his sister. And, of course, as I was when it came to all the Spinelli men, I was scared to death.
Finally, he called over his shoulder, "Sis, you're friend's here."
"I'll be a minute," she snarled in reply from upstairs, most likely in her room.
"Can I...can I maybe come in?" I asked, but immediately regretted it when Vitto scowled down at me, "Or I could always wait out here..."
"No," Vitto spat, opening the door wider and stepping back, "Come in. There are things I need to maker clear with you." I moved in slowly, and Vitto plumped down on a reclining chair that Bob Spinelli, the father, usually occupied. I shut the door behind me, standing as close to it as I could while still being able to see him. "Sit," he commanded, and for a brief second I almost sat on the floor where I stood. But I was able to fight that urge, making my way into the living room and taking a seat on the couch.
"So...um...how's it going?" I started.
"Where you taking my sister?" he demanded, leaning forward slightly, flexing his impressively well-toned muscles. I gulped.
"I was thinking we'd go see a movie..."
"No."
"What?"
"You're not taking her anywhere that's dark."
"Oh...okay," I grimaced, that ruled out a few places, "Then I guess I'll take her to get something to eat..."
"Where?"
"Kelso's maybe," I shrugged, "Or a pizza place..."
"No."
"Huh?"
"You take her somewhere nice," Vitto jabbed the air with his finger pointing at me threateningly.
"I guess there's that café..."
"Good. How you getting there?"
"I figured we'd walk."
"No. My sister isn't walking anywhere on a date."
"Then what do I do? I'm too young to drive...and my parents..."
"Carry her."
"What? I don't think I can carry her..."
"Are you implying something about my sister's weight?" he was halfway out of the chair before I could answer in a shaky stutter.
"No...no...I'm just saying...I'm kind of scrawny. And besides, I think your sister would hit me if I tried to carry her...and I don't know if you've noticed or not, sir, but your sister hits hard." I forced a smile. He frowned at me, settling back into the chair, tapping the arm steadily.
"It's good that you know that," he seethed.
"What's going on?" I stood up at that voice, turning to see her standing at the stairs. My mouth dropped. I couldn't help it. The first thing I noticed was that she was wearing a skirt. Now, when Spinelli wears a skirt, she's either going to church or all hell has frozen over. I flushed, shamefully noticing that she had nice legs. She was wearing her usual boots; I highly doubted she owned any other shoes. Her face was powdered lightly with make-up, it was subtle, but after years of seeing her without make-up, I could tell when she was wearing some. Her hair was brushed, which in itself was amazing, and curled. I knew that girls got dressed up like that everyday for school, or just for going out in public, but I didn't know any other girl who looked as beautiful all done up like that, at least, not in my opinion.
"Spin..." I started, realizing I probably should be saying something. She frowned at me.
"I knew it," she groaned, "I look stupid. This is Mikey and Gretchen's fault...oh man, I'm changing..."
"No, wait," I called after her, not wanting her to leave, especially looking the way she did, "I'm sorry...you look...well, you don't look stupid," I said sheepishly, "I'm just...you look nice." She looked better than nice. She took a moment, considering, before sighing and coming down the stairs.
"Let's go," she muttered, she shot a glower at Vitto, "You better not of threatened him."
"What? I didn't threaten," he said, putting on a guise of innocence that Spinelli could obviously see right through.
"He ain't a chump like those other guys, he's my friend," she hissed, "So don't threaten him."
"I ain't threatening no one," Vitto maintained, raising from his chair to give his sister a quick kiss on the forehead, and disappearing into the kitchen.
"Let's go, Teej," she said, leading the way out the door.
"Bye," I mumbled to Vitto, certain he didn't hear me, and not really wanting him to. Outside, I relaxed, the familiar chink of Spinelli's boots reminding me that under all the girly gunk she was still herself, the person I was most comfortable around. She stopped at the sidewalk, and looked at me.
"Where we going?"
"Um...well, to eat, I guess," I said. I took her hand in my own, bracing myself against whatever repercussions that small action would bring. For a moment, she stared blankly at our clutched hands, and I distinctly saw a little color rise to her cheeks. I grinned triumphantly. Now, this was a girl that could beat the crap out of me, that could unabashedly race a three hundred pound bully in chugging a two-liter of soda in front of the entire cafeteria and ring in her victory with a loud burp, who could take me by surprise with a quick kiss on a cold porch stealing the frost from my lips. Making her blush was truly something to be proud of.
"Okay," she whispered, suddenly finding her shoes incredibly interesting. I led her down the street, our fingers intertwined. We were silent at first, but when the two of us were together, silence rarely lasted. "Me and my dad went to a wrestling match last weekend, just the two of us. With Vitto back in the house, we hardly ever get to do anything together anymore."
"Yeah? Ever since Becky moved out, all my parents seem to want to do is spend time with me. It's driving me crazy. How long's Vitto staying?"
"Don't know," she shrugged, our shoulder's brushing against one another. That was the wonderful thing about holding hands; it forces you to be close together, which gave ample opportunity for "accidental" bumping into one another. It also gave room for a great deal of pondering. Pondering about how soft her hand felt, how warm it was, and most importantly, if, maybe, she was thinking how neatly they fit together like I was.
"You two are close, aren't you?"
"I guess so," she said, "And if Joey were here we could all really stir up trouble. And ma's been cooking a lot lately, she always does when Joey or Vitto are in town. We had three-cheese lasagna last night with a chocolate cake dessert. I mean; she acts like they don't eat when they're not here." I stopped in front of the café; it having only been a ten-minute walk. "I've never eaten here before," she noted.
"Oh good, neither have I," I said, opening the door for her which resulted in her sticking her tongue out at me, and me grinning back. The host looked us over with a frown as I counted the money I had in my pocket. My dad had given me three twenties before I left, and I'd had forty-seven fifty saved from allowance.
"I have money," Spinelli whispered in my ear, and I shook my head.
"This is a date, Spin," I reminded her, "You know, the guy pays."
"This is the nineties, Teej," she retorted, "We'll split the bill, fifty-fifty."
"No," I took her hand back in mine, shoving the money in my pocket, "I have enough money. And call me old-fashioned, but I think the guy should pay."
"And that's how it's supposed to be," the host commented, before gathering up two menus and leading us to a table, "This is a non-smoking establishment," he said, as I pulled out the chair for Spinelli and she scowled at me, "But I would assume we wouldn't have a problem with you two."
"Yeah, we don't smoke," I nodded; taking my own seat and receiving a swift kick in the shins from a very disgruntled Spinelli. I made a face.
"Are you alright," the host questioned, looking at me strangely.
"Yeah," I grimaced, trying to rub the sore spot beneath the table, "Fine." He nodded, before leaving.
"Your server will be with you shortly," he called over his shoulder. I glowered at Spinelli.
"What did you do that for?" I demanded quietly.
"Quit treating me like a lady," she hissed in return.
"Well, you look like a lady, so I figured I'd treat you like one."
"Well...don't! It makes it weird." I frowned at the table. I didn't want this to be weird for her, I wanted it to work.
"Sorry, my mistake," I muttered. We were silent a moment, but like I said, between the two of us, there's going to be noise. It's almost like a genetic thing. She's Italian, I'm Jewish, it's almost as though we have to talk; it's like an instinct, an unnatural urge. "How'd they get your hair to do that...to look the way it does?"
"They washed it," she explained, and I nodded, my mouth forming a silent 'oh', "Then they used these plastic rollers, that were painful sons of..." she shook her head and I chuckled slightly, smirking, "And a hairdryer, and it kind of stuck like this. Then Mikey sprayed it with hairspray, which isn't fun I might add, I got some in my mouth and if you think it smells horrible...and then they still had to pull out the curling iron. You know, I have had so many traumatic experiences with that object that they couldn't get me to stand still..."
"Man, and I thought it was hard getting myself ready," I whistled.
"What did you have to do?" she inquired, generally interested. I tapped the table awkwardly, grinning somewhat.
"Oh...I had to decide which shirt to wear." She frowned.
"That it?"
"I also had to decide if I should wear cologne." She strummed her fingers along the table.
"Oh really? Sounds like a hard decision. Whadja decide?"
"Can't you tell?" I was growing rather uncomfortable under her stare, and, as if by luck or on cue, the waitress arrived.
"Hello, I'm Maven, I'll be your server today," she piped, and we both turned to look at her in shock of her entrance, "Can I start you off with a few drinks?"
"Colas are good..." I spoke up, which earned me another kick, "Ow. What was that for?"
"I can order for myself, thank you very much," Spinelli growled.
"And what can I get for you?" Maven asked, a little startled, and sounding a little frightened as ," Spinelli muttered. Maven gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving.
"Why are you being difficult?" I asked. She looked to the table, tracing her finger along the pattern on the cloth. "Do you kick all your dates, or am I just special?"
"I want you to treat me like normal, Teej, the way you always do," she mumbled, her eyes completely focused on the intricate tablecloth design, "As one of the gang. I don't want you going out of your way to open a door for me, or pulling out my chair for me or ordering for me. I still got a mouth, see, it works, I'm using it right now."
"Well, we got a problem, Spin, because I want to do all those things for you. And I wasn't ordering for you. Is it my fault if I know you well enough to know what you drink?"
"I guess you are special, Teej," she said silently, "I never been on a date where the guy pulled a chair out for me. Only other guy who's ever pulled out a chair for me is my dad, and he ain't done that since I was eight."
"Are we gonna fight anymore tonight?"
"Probably."
"Well, can you stop with the kicking?"
"Yeah, I guess so. But I can't guarantee I won't punch your lights out."
"Fair enough." I leaned back in my chair and opened the menu when Maven returned with our drinks.
"You decide what you'd like for dinner?" she asked, noticeably looking to Spinelli.
"Give us a sec," I spoke up, then braced for a kick that never came. I looked to Spinelli, who nodded to Maven.
"Yeah, I think we need a sec." Maven shrugged.
"Okay, I'll check on you guys in a minute." She left and I met Spinelli's eyes.
"I think we're getting the hang of this," I told her and she nodded agreement. With the awkwardness eased by our argument, we slipped into our usual attitudes, with the familiarity of one another's company. Of course, the difference being that I took her hand under the table during our conversation, and held it in my own, gaining another victorious blush from her cheeks.
We left the café hand in hand, walking together to the park. She staked her claim on a swing, and I watched her sail through the air, leaning against the jungle gym. She stopped, digging her heels into the dirt and wrapping her arms around herself. She came to where I stood.
"Race ya' to the top of the monkey bars," she challenged, before tearing up the jungle gym.
I grinned, letting her take the lead, before pulling myself through the bars and meeting her at the top. She sat there, dangling her legs through the holes between the bars, smiling at me. I took a seat next to her. She shuddered, wrapping her arms over her bare arms. I shrugged off my jacket, moving to put it around her and she flinched.
"What are you doing?" she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
"Giving you my jacket," I explained, "You're cold, I'm not. That okay?"
"Sure..." she mumbled, as I wrapped the large jacket over her shoulders, drawing it together in front. I took the chance to brush a few strands of her hair from her face, and she met my eyes.
"If I kiss you, will you hit me?" I whispered. I knew if I were out on a date with any other girl, Jena Masters for instance, I never would have had to ask that question. She would want the kiss, expect it, and I could kiss her and she'd smile, maybe giggle, or flush. But Spinelli was different. For one thing, she was the only girl I'd ever kissed, the only girl I'd ever been kissed by, and in that moment, she became the only girl I'd ever wanted to kiss.
"Teej..." she tightened the jacket around her shoulders, staring down at the sand below them, "I don't know if we should. I don't want...we're friends, and I like being friends."
"So you didn't like tonight?" I demanded. I didn't understand it, why she couldn't see how nicely our hands fit together. I know her well enough to know when she likes something, and she liked tonight. She'd had fun, and she'd blushed for crying out loud.
"Have you even thought about things?" she cried out and I didn't know what to say. Spinelli wasn't the type to think things through; that happened to be my specialty. She was the type who rushed into things, did what felt right at the moment, with no regard to future consequences. "What happens if it doesn't work out? What happens to the gang? What happens to us...us, our friendship? A friendship that I hold higher then any other? A friendship I don't want to lose! A friendship I don't think I can handle losing..." her voice broke, tears forming in her eyes. I'd seen her cry before. I was probably the only person who'd ever seen her cry before. But I'd never made her cry before, so I could never have comprehended the pain it caused.
"Spin, sometimes I can't think everything through. Sometimes I can't see things clearly, at least, not when it comes to you. Sometimes you don't know if something is right until...until you just kiss the girl," I told her.
"These are relationships, Teej, feelings, emotions. It's not that simple!"
"But it is," I argued, slipping my hand around her neck, pulling her forward, "Just one kiss, Spin, just to see...you have to trust me..." Our first kiss was a child's kiss. The world had faded for a moment, but we couldn't comprehend or even begin to understand those emotions. The second kiss was stolen, a game, an apology of sorts. But as I brushed my lips against hers, the world did fade but I understood why, I could understand every emotion coursing through my veins, relishing in them, and I knew this wasn't a game. I felt her shake slightly beneath my touch and she pulled away, her eyes downcast.
We sat there, silent, each dreading asking the question that neither wanted the answer to. She slipped her arms through my jacket, bringing the sleeves up to her cover her mouth. I hated being so unsure of what to say to her, when our entire lives we'd told each other everything.
"It was weird, wasn't it?" she finally whispered. And I studied her in the poor lighting of our surroundings, trying to judge what she thought, trying to read her mind. She thought it was weird, I determined. And she wanted me to say that I thought the same.
"Did you think it was weird?" I replied. I wanted her to admit it was weird, I wasn't going to be the one to take that fall, and she couldn't put that on me that way. I wouldn't let her.
She nodded.
I looked away, out towards the suburban houses that made up our neighborhood. It was late, and there were hundreds of little lights on, shining through the little windows of that neighborhood. I wasn't sure what to do. I never imagined having my heart broken would hurt as much as it did. I could see her, from the corner of my eye, not wanting to look up, not wanting to look at me. I chewed my inner cheek until the metallic taste of blood spilled onto my tongue. And I knew, I just knew, that I had to bite that bullet. I couldn't tell her the truth, I couldn't tell her how I really felt about that kiss, because if I did, if I told her that it was mind blowing, that it was everything I had wanted it to be, and a great deal more, then we could never get back to the beginning. I didn't want to lose what we already had for something she didn't want. So, with my chest aching, with my body weary, my head pounding, my entire soul trembling. I spoke, praying that my voice didn't give me away.
"Yeah, me too," I was, after all, a good liar. She slipped between the bars, falling to the ground below, straightening and brushing off her knees. I tried not to watch, even though I always watched her.
"Walk me home?" She didn't have to ask. I leaped down from the monkey bars, shoving my hands in my pockets. There was nothing else I could do with them. We trailed in silence, and for the first time in our lives, neither of us broke that silence. On her porch, she handed me my jacket back, looked as though she wanted to say something, changed her mind and waved good-bye, shutting the door. I turned down the steps to the sidewalk, taking slow and steady steps towards my home. I didn't go inside. I went to the back, to my tree house, Fort Tender. I lay down in there, closed my eyes, and suddenly, I understood why she'd kept turning me down.
END A/N: QUICK! Move on to the rest!
:-:-:-: I forgot to make a note: First of all, I don't know if TJ is Jewish, as I've never seen any yule tide generic Hnunaka (?) episodes of Recess, and they wisely never talk about religion in the show. TJ just looks like he'd be Jewish to me. Can you just imagine him wearing one of those funny little hats? (I forget what they're called even though for a brief moment in time I wanted one...funny story actually...) And that statement I made was really a grosse generalization of Italians and people of the Jewish faith, and I apologize if it offended anyone. Though I doubt it would, unless it were some politically correct bozo. :-:-:-:
Once again, I AM SO SORRY!
Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.
ThANKS FOR on to the next half...