"Who are you going out with?" I demand, leaning against the doorframe into Tiffany's room.
Tiffany's seated at her dressing table, carefully applying eyeliner. "None of your business," she replies, not looking away from the mirror. She begins poking around her cosmetics case and pulls out a dark purple eyeshadow crayon.
"Purple liner and eyeshadow?"
"I think it looks good."
I think it looks sort of trampy, but don't say so. Tiffany won't tell me anything with remarks like that. I watch her awhile longer as she brushes her hair and dabs perfume on her wrists. "Are you going out with Sam Thomas?" I ask.
Tiffany finally looks at me. "Are you serious?" she replies, incredulously.
"Well, are you?"
"No! Absolutely not!" Tiffany exclaims. She picks up her hairbrush and begins running it angrily through her hair. "Why do you always assume the worst of me?"
I assume the worst because I've learned to expect the worst. I fold my arms and tilt my head against the doorframe, but remain silent.
Tiffany tosses down the hairbrush and spins around to face me in her chair. "I'm not stupid, Shannon. I may not be a super genius like you, God knows none of us mere mortals can reach the bar you've set from your pristine pedestal in the sky. But I'm not an idiot. Have you seen Janet? She has like thirty pounds on me. I'd prefer to not get my ass kicked, thanks."
My pristine pedestal? Where does Tiffany get this stuff? I unfold my arms and step into the room and come to stand beside the dressing table. "So, who are you going out with then?" I ask, casually.
Tiffany sighs and rolls her eyes at her reflection in the mirror. "Tyler Austen. From the baseball team? He's a junior and in my French class."
It's an effort not to appear shocked. I don't know Tyler Austen personally, but he occasionally shows up at French Club meetings. He seems intelligent and normal. He seems a little too clean-cut and All-American for Tiffany. Why would he want to go out with her? Does she have some sort of reputation I am not aware of?
"Tyler asked you out?"
Tiffany stands and smoothes the front of her black slacks. "No. I asked him. Girls can do that, you know. So, who are you going out with?"
"I can't tell you."
"Well, I hope he makes you feel better about yourself," Tiffany says. She crosses to the closet and removes her black pea coat from its hanger. "Tyler will be here soon. I'm going to wait for him out front." Tiffany walks passed me, coat draped over her arm, purse swinging from her shoulder on its silver chain.
I follow her, out of the room and down the stairs. Just as we step onto the porch, a silver Firebird pulls to a stop at the curb. Tyler Austen hops out, tall and thin in khaki pants and a green-striped polo. He waves as he jogs around the car toward the front walk.
"Tiffany, he is really your date, right? He's not just picking you up, pretending, then is going to drive you to meet someone else?" I know it's mean to ask, but Lindsey does that all the time to her grandparents.
Surprisingly, Tiffany isn't offended. She laughs. "No, but thanks for the idea," she answers, then hurries down the front steps, meeting Tyler halfway down the walk. "Bye, Shanny!" she calls back.
"Be home by eleven!" I shout. "Make responsible choices!"
Tiffany looks over her shoulder and rolls her eyes at me. Tyler laughs.
Back inside the house, I rush upstairs to my bedroom. Twenty minutes until I meet Wes. I regard myself critically in the floor-length mirror on the back of the closet door. After careful consideration, I chose a cranberry-colored dress, lightweight with three-quarter sleeves and a low v-neck. Mom would approve, I'm even wearing my push-up bra. I check my watch, then make a quick last minute switch from flats to heels. I fuss a bit with my hair. When I was younger, it was curly, but has relaxed in the past couple years into an attractive wave. I prefer it like this.
"I'm going out!" I call to Maria from outside the living room. Inside, I hear an old Hayley Mills movie playing. "You'll be all right alone?" Mom's having drinks with clients. Dad's who knows where getting drunk with Mr. Jardin. What else is new?
"Please, Shannon, I'm twelve years old!" Maria answers.
I smile to myself, as I slip on my coat. "Okay. Keep the doors locked and don't eat all the brownies Mrs. Bryar left. Any problems, call the Brewers. Bye!"
It's a fifteen minute drive to Stoneybrook University, which sits on the edge of town. I told Wes to meet me outside the library. I couldn't have him driving to my house with nosy Kristy Thomas across the street. So, I told him I'd be working late at the library. The Stoneybrook University campus is dark when I pull through the front entrance. Most of the street lamps are broken, which I've come to expect. The library is at the center of the campus. I navigate slowly along the twisting road, passed the dormitories. The library parking lot is mostly empty since it's a Friday night. I park near the entrance, then sit down on the front steps to wait. I check my watch. I'm right on time.
Wes is not. It's ten after six when his dark red Volvo pulls into the parking lot and comes to a stop near where I sit. I rise slowly, brushing off the seat of my dress, and Wes jumps out of the car.
"Sorry, I'm late," he apologizes, walking toward me, sounding flustered. He's wearing tan slacks with a forest green crewneck sweater. Preppy, yet casual. My favorite look. "I was...it's not important. But I apologize." He smiles, almost bashfully.
"It's all right. Just don't be late again," I reply. I am surprised at my boldness, but Wes only smiles wider.
"Agreed," he says and walks around to the passenger side door, which he opens for me.
"I like your car," I tell him. A Volvo, very practical.
Wes pats the hood as I slide into the passenger seat. "Sheila," he says, affectionately.
I giggle as he shuts my door, carefully, and goes around to the driver's side. When he's in the car, I turn to him and say, "Sheila? You named your car?" Another giggle escapes. I must stop this, or else he'll think I'm silly and foolish. And not twenty.
"Sure! I've named all my cars. Poor Winston died on me last winter. He was a good guy. Didn't you name your car?"
"No!"
"Which is yours?" he asks.
I point to my Explorer three spaces down.
Wes lets out a low whistle as he turns the key in the ignition. "Swell car," he says. "From your parents?"
I nod. "They like to buy expensive things."
"Lucky you."
"Lucky me."
Wes turns onto the freeway on-ramp, headed toward Stamford. We agreed when he telephoned to dinner at a mexican restaurant there. On a Friday night in Stoneybrook, I'd run into half the people I know no matter where we went. I've thought everything through. No one will catch me in Stamford and expose my deception. Especially not at a dark, out of the way place like El Sombrero.
"So, you went to Stoneybrook Day?" Wes asks.
"Yes. Kindergarten through twelfth grade. A lot of people think it's such a snobby school, but most everyone's very nice. It might sound dorky, but I think I received the highest quality education possible. That's very important to me." I pause, wondering if I'm rambling. Am I boring him? "Did you attend Greenvale High?" I ask.
"No, the Paulson School. I went there fourth through twelfth grade," Wes answers. The Paulson School is an all-boys school halfway between Stoneybrook and Greenvale. I drove by it once with my parents when Dad was tipsy and lost. The school is in the middle of nowhere, a monstrous concrete building covered in climbing vines.
"Did you live in the dorms?"
"No, my parents only live ten minutes from the school. I lived in the dorms at Stoneybrook U. though. All four years. One in McKleever, three in Dorset."
I nod like I know what he's talking about. I've driven passed the dormitories plenty of times, but have never been inside or know anything about them.
Wes and I spend the rest of the drive to Stamford discussing our families. I remain vague on mine. On the first date Wes doesn't need to hear that my father drinks too much and that he and my mother rarely come home, or that my sister makes some weird game of flirting with married men. So, I say only what I must. Wes, however, enjoys telling me all about his family. I learn he is an only child and his father sells boats and other water sports equipment in Sheridan and Haddonfield. Wes gave up a scholarship to the University of Hartford to attend Stoneybrook U. because his dad was sick and needed Wes' help running the business.
"He's okay now," Wes assures me. "Healthy as a horse and stubborn as a mule, my mom says. Most of the time, I agree with that assessment." Wes laughs.
Strange, someone who likes his family.
We pull into the parking lot of the restaurant. Even though it's nearly seven, the place is packed. "Everyone's probably in the bar," Wes says and he's right because we're seated immediately. I do a quick survey as we cross the restaurant. No familiar faces.
"I know it's a corny question and you're probably sick of it," Wes says, opening his menu. "But what's your major?"
"Oh...I haven't decided," I reply, which is the truth. "I'm interested in so many subjects. I love the sciences, but I'm leaning more toward International Business and Foreign Language Studies. I'm already fluent in Spanish and French. I'm also in second year Italian."
Wes looks very impressed. "Wow. Second, third, and fourth languages. I took Spanish for three years at Paulson and I doubt I could count to twenty if my life depended on it."
"I find foreign languages fascinating! I took Spanish for four years at Stoneybrook Day and French for five. I'd like to study Italian for another year, then move on to German or even Japanese. You know Dr. Dupree, right? From the Religious Studies department?"
Wes nods. "I took some gen ed. class from him freshman year. Strange class."
"Well, I'm friends with his granddaughter, Lindsey. Dr. Dupree knows Greek and Latin. He said he'd give me private lessons in one this summer." I actually wanted lessons in both, but Dr. Dupree thought that would be overwhelming. He doesn't realize how much I can handle.
Wes grins at me. "You know, Shannon, your whole face lights up when you talk about languages. I think you've found your calling."
"Really?" I realize I am grinning like an absolute fool.
"It's cute," Wes says. "And nice to see. I know so many people who hate their jobs. They've never had any passion for what they do. I find that all the time in the school system. Me, I love teaching. I've wanted to be a math teacher since I was eleven years old. My parents are a little disappointed. They wanted me to be a lawyer!"
"You wouldn't want to be a lawyer. My dad's a lawyer and he's awful."
Wes looks surprised. I cover my mouth, shocked at what I've said. I've thought a million horrid thoughts about my father, but I never speak them aloud. They are for me to turn in my mind and brood on. They're not something for everyone.
"Gee, Shannon, I'm sorry," Wes says and he does sound sorry. I've said so little in that slip, but maybe I reveal more in my expression.
"Never mind," I say, quickly, suddenly very interested in the menu. "I think I'm going to have the cheese enchiladas. Where is the waiter? He hasn't even taken our drink orders." I search the restaurant with my eyes, land on a waiter, and flag him down.
If Wes thinks I'm crazy, he doesn't let on. After placing our orders, he picks up our earlier conversation about teaching. He tells me about his students - the good, the bad, and the disastrous. We're laughing very hard by the time the food arrives and we keep talking all through dinner. We talk so much our food is cold by the time we're only half-finished. Surprisingly, Wes and I share a lot of common interests. We listen to the same music (yes to Great Blue Whales, absolutely no to U4Me and Skeeball), enjoy the same books (anything by F. Scott Fitzgerald), even like the same movies. I'm not nervous with Wes. I realize it's trite, but it feels like we're old friends becoming reacquainted.
"You haven't said much about your sisters," Wes comments when we're walking back out to the Volvo.
"There isn't much to tell," I reply, as Wes opens my door for me. If Kristy and Abby were here, they'd gag and scold me. But I like that sort of thing. Chivalry has long been forgotten.
"I always wanted a little sister or brother," Wes says, starting the car.
"Would you like mine?" I offer. "You can have Tiffany. She's - " I almost say trouble, but it seems disloyal.
"She's what?"
"A handful," I finish, weakly.
"You don't give away much do you?"
I look over at him. "What do you mean?" I ask.
Wes doesn't reply right away, considering his next words. His expression is unreadable. "You talk about a lot of things," he finally says, "but you don't say anything about yourself. Not really."
I furrow my brow, confused. Is he breaking it gently to me that I'm dull? That my words are empty and meaningless? "Is that bad?" I ask.
Wes smiles. "No. Intriguing."
I return his smile. Intriguing. That's good. I settle back in the seat and relax a little more. I gaze out the window at the darkness, smiling at my reflection in the glass. Wes thinks I'm intriguing and that's better than pretty or even simply smart. Sometimes when I was with Mick, the feeling came over me that he found me tedious. The way I would talk and talk about a subject and this look would flicker in his eyes. I never knew what it meant and so I feared the worst. Tiffany would be stunned if she knew some of the thoughts I have about myself. Doubts and suspicious concerns.
Wes clears his throat. "I know this is last minute - and you can say no if you want - but tomorrow, I have to drive up to Levittown to check out a boat show. Would you like to go?"
"A boat show?"
"I know it sounds boring and trust me, it is boring. But my parents are in Miami for the week and I promised Dad I'd report back to him about the show. That means, oh, a quick five minute sweep around the building, then we leave. But not far from the show, there's this great little restaurant. It's in an old cottage and the owners make everything fresh, even the bread. The boat show's from two to five. I thought I'd leave Stoneybrook around two," Wes tells me. "It's okay if you're not interested," he adds, quickly.
I mentally check my weekend schedule. If I wake early tomorrow, I can finish most of my weekend homework. Around noon, I can stop by the Stevenson's for lunch with Anna. Something fast and simple. Grilled cheese sandwiches, maybe. Then, the boat show with Wes in Levittown. That's a forty-five minute drive there and back. Theoretically, I could be back in time for a late movie and dessert with Anna. A packed day, but one with a certain amount of flexibility.
"Sure. That sounds like fun," I tell Wes. "Can we meet at the library again? I'll be there all morning."
"Sounds great!"
The parking lot is empty when Wes pulls up beside my Explorer. He gets out of the car with me and holds my coat and purse while I unlock the door. "I had a wonderful time," I say, taking my coat from his arms.
"So did I!" he agrees with another smile. When he smiles, he looks younger than twenty-six. Sort of shy and boyish.
Wes doesn't kiss me good night, but I'm not disappointed. I don't believe in kissing on first dates. Greer calls me a prude. I feel I have standards. As I drive home, there is a wave of guilt over my deception. I've never been a liar. If I admitted misleading him, would Wes still take me out? But I remember his smile and push the thought from my mind.
It's after eleven when I creep into the house. I don't know why I'm creeping. There's no one to catch me. Mom and Dad's cars are still gone. Tiffany's not home either. I peek into Maria's room and she's already asleep with Astrid, our Bernese Mountain dog, beside her. I'm in my bedroom, undressing when my private extension rings, sharp and startling. My heart skips a beat as I reach for the phone.
"Hello?" I say, cautiously.
"Shannon?" Kristy replies.
"Kristy?"
"Hey! I saw you drive up."
I sit down at my desk. I'm only wearing a bra, panties, and heels. I feel like a cheap call girl. "Were you watching my house?" I ask.
"Uh, no. I'm at my desk working on homework. I can see your house from here."
So, she was only kind of watching my house. "What's going on?" I ask. "How was dinner?"
"Weird! Thanks a lot for flaking out! We went to Pietro's - I had the lasagna, by the way - and Anna didn't say one word. I swear! Mrs. Stevenson kept talking to her, but it was like Anna didn't hear a word she said. Abby acted really odd, too, until about halfway through dinner. Then she loosened up and was the same old, slightly annoying, Abby," Kristy stops and takes a breath. "Anna's friend talked the entire time. She's really nice, Shannon, except for that voice. She's interested in the Smart and Sober club, so I invited her and Anna along tomorrow. Abby's coming, too, under protest. I was thinking - "
"What?" I cut her off, a sinking in my stomach. "What's tomorrow?"
"The presentation in New Hope, of course."
The sinking continues. The presentation. I completely forgot. How did I forget? I never forget anything! "The New Hope presentation," I repeat, slowly, turning my options over in my mind. I hesitate. "Could you possibly handle that without me?" I ask.
"Without you?"
I bite my lower lip, thinking. "I have something to do tomorrow," I tell Kristy. "An interview...in Levittown. I'm going with my study group. It's for a project." I can't believe I'm lying to Kristy. I'm horrible. "Amanda will be there to help you. Amanda's a strong presenter."
Kristy's silent. I hear her breathing on the other end. "I guess," she finally says.
"I'm really sorry," I say. And I am. "I can't reschedule."
Another short silence. "I understand," Kristy says, flatly.
"Thanks, Kristy. I won't cancel on you again," I promise. "I should get off the phone. I need a good night's rest. I'll talk to you tomorrow though. Good luck on the presentation."
"Thanks," Kristy replies, then hangs up.
I am awful.