"So, what kind of loser do you think Lindsey Dupree picked out for you?" Tiffany asks. It's Friday evening and I'm in my bedroom, preparing for my "date". Tiffany's perched on the edge of my desk, eating butter pecan ice cream out of the carton. She's already in her pajamas.
"Lindsey didn't pick him out," I reply, sliding into a pair of black heeled boots. I decided not to get too dressed up. I'm wearing black slacks and Anna's sweater again. I hope whoever my date is, he knows this isn't a real date. "Ross Brown arranged it. It's one of his friends."
"Oh, yeah, that's even better," Tiffany says, dribbling ice cream down the front of her pajama top. "So, you're either going out with a geek from the orchestra or a dweeb from the golf team. Good times."
I pick up my hairbrush and roll my eyes. "You have room to talk, Tiff. It looks like you're ready for a thrilling Friday night."
"Tyler's having dinner at his grandma's," she replies, licking her spoon. "And Frannie's out with her older sister. She's visiting from college." Frannie is Tiffany's only friend.
"Well, you shouldn't be eating ice cream for dinner," I point out, changing the subject. "You're setting a poor example for Maria. Didn't you see the salad stuff I put out?"
Tiffany gives me a strange look. "Maria isn't even here. She's across the street eating with David Michael."
Oh. I hadn't realized. I turn away from Tiffany, continuing to brush my hair. "You still should eat a well-balanced meal," I tell her.
"Don't worry. I have big plans for a bag of potato chips after this."
I snort, but don't say anything. I glance at the clock on my desk. Ten minutes. I touch up my lipstick, then change my earrings from silver balls to little black triangles. I admire my reflection. I look very nice, very grown-up. I wish it were for Wes, not for some goony high school boy. Tiffany walks me downstairs and out onto the front porch. She straddles the porch railing, waiting with me, still eating her ice cream. Five minutes late, Ross Brown's dark green Jeep Cherokee pulls into the driveway. Lindsey's in the front seat. She smiles and waves. Meg and two boys are in the back.
"Is the young man going to come up to the porch and introduce himself?" Tiffany asks.
"Shut up, Tiffany," I reply, beginning down the driveway. "I'll be home around ten."
"Make responsible choices!" Tiffany calls out to me, then laughs.
I look over my shoulder and glare at her. She just laughs again.
Lindsey rolls down her window. "Use this door," she tells me, pointing behind her. "There's room." She smiles again.
I open the door and there is room - barely. Meg's squished between two boys and all of them are scooted close together to make room for me. I wanted to take two cars, but no, apparently Mrs. Jardin found that unacceptable. Why? I don't know. The woman's crazy. The boy behind the driver's seat has his arm around Meg's shoulder. Price Irving. Although, it's not the arm that clues me in. It's his outfit. White wrap-around sunglasses and a gray sports coat with a white collared-shirt and skinny black tie. His fair hair is mussed like he never bothered to comb it after waking up this morning. At least Ross and my date look normal in sweaters over polo shirts.
Ross turns around. "Hey, Shannon! Thanks for agreeing to come. This is Price Irving," he says. Price cocks his finger at me like a gun, making a clicking sound with his mouth. O-kay. "and my buddy, Paul Stern. He's your date."
My "date" looks less than thrilled. He waves half-heartedly, as I climb in beside him. He's slender with blonde hair, pale skin, and a nose that slopes upward like mine. A ski-jump nose, my friends call it.
I smile, graciously. "Hello, everyone. Nice to meet you, Price," I say with a nod. Then I stick my hand out to Paul. "Hello. I'm Shannon Kilbourne."
He looks at my hand, then at me. "You should know," he says, "Ross is paying me twenty bucks to go out with you, so please don't go falling in love with me."
I retract my hand with a wary look. "I won't," I promise.
"Smooth, Stern," Price says.
Meg giggles.
"You weren't supposed to tell her," Ross whines, backing down the drive.
Lindsey turns around and smiles at me. I return the smile, faintly. I will suffer through the evening for Lindsey. I will make the best of it.
"Where do you want to go to college next year?" I ask Paul.
"I'm only a junior."
I'm on a date with a junior? He's a child. I kick the back of Lindsey's seat. I'd kick Ross' if I could reach it. Lindsey doesn't turn around again. Instead, she talks solely to Ross. Meg and Price are only speaking to each other as well, whispering very low in French. Despite their whispering, I can make out most of what they're saying. It sounds like Price is mainly talking about himself.
"You should also know," Paul tells me, "that I'm missing The X-Files to be here."
I don't even know what The X-Files is. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you," I say, sarcastically.
"Oh, don't worry about it too much. My family tapes it for our neighbors every week. I can watch it tomorrow."
"I'm so relieved," I reply and kick the back of Lindsey's seat again.
"You know, I can see you doing that."
I cross my ankles and remind myself that I am mature. I'm not Kristy or Abby. I wonder what Wes is doing right now. I shake the thought from my mind. I need to concentrate on having fun. Or at least pretending to, for the sake of Meg and Lindsey. They are my friends, two of my best friends. I can't ruin their evening just because my date is a geek. I attempt an actual conversation. I quickly learn that we have absolutely nothing in common. Paul has three interests: basketball, science fiction, and folk rock. His single ambition in life is to move to Oahu and work security detail like some person name Magnum, P.I.
I could be with Wes right now.
The parking lot of Pietro's is packed. It's the only Italian restaurant in Stoneybrook and one of the only really nice restaurants, other than Chez Maurice and the restaurant in the Strathmoore Inn. Lindsey told me Ross made reservations though. Meg and Price don't wait for the rest of us to get out of the car. They walk ahead, Price's arm draped casually over Meg's shoulder. They're still talking in French. Meg's wearing a very tight white dress, no doubt the work of Mrs. Jardin. At least she appeared able to sit comfortably this time.
When we're out of the car, Lindsey presses close to my side and whispers, "He's really not that bad. He's on the varsity basketball team and the varsity swim team."
"Price Irving?" I reply, perplexed. He doesn't look very athletic to me.
"No. Paul. Your date."
"I hope you're using that term loosely."
Lindsey rolls her eyes, then hurries around the side of the Jeep to walk beside Ross. At least Lindsey's in a good mood and behaving normally. I was concerned that tonight might not happen after Wednesday. She was so upset. I called her that night, but she wouldn't come to the phone. Kristy felt so bad about what happened. We all did. Sometimes I can't believe how Kristy and Abby behave. And sometimes I'm so ashamed for finding them amusing. I should be too old for that.
Kristy spoke to the pharmacists. They assured her that, no, they weren't going to call Lindsey's grandmother. But it didn't really matter because Lindsey went straight home and told Dr. Dupree anyway. And Dr. Dupree didn't think it was such a big deal. And on Thursday, Lindsey was fine.
There are two sets of doors leading into Pietro's. Price opens both for Meg. Ross opens both for Lindsey. Wes always opens doors for me. Paul Stern? Does not. In fact, the second door, I have to open for him. He informs me he's a feminist.
Ross and Paul hate Price. Price hates Ross and Paul. I learn this when the waiter shows us to our table and they put on a big production about who sits where. Meg, Lindsey, and I stand off to the side, while Ross, Paul, and Price attempt to figure out how to arrange the seating so they don't have to sit next to each other or anywhere where they'll have to look at each other. It's a round table, so that arrangement turns out to be impossible. We end up sitting boy-girl with myself between Ross and Paul with Price straight across from me. Our waiter already hates us.
"What are you going to order, Shannon?" Lindsey asks me, pleasantly, leaning around Ross.
I open my menu. "I don't know. There's a lot of great dishes here," I reply, scanning the menu. I love Italian food. We hardly ever have it at home. Unless I make Spaghetti-O's.
Paul leans toward me. "We're going dutch, right?" he asks.
I purse my lips and give him a withering look. "Fine," I reply, tightly.
"Good. Order whatever you like then."
"Thanks."
"The cheese ravioli looks really good," Lindsey announces, loudly. If I could see her, she'd probably be giving me a stern Be Nice! look.
Meg, who's seated between Price and Paul, studies her menu with a furrowed brow. "I don't know what to order. There are too many choices," she tells us.
Price closes her menu. "Don't worry about it, babe. I'll order for you." He's still wearing his sunglasses.
Paul laughs. "Oh, yes! I'd forgotten that it's 1958!"
As annoyed as I am with him, I can't be annoyed at that. "Order what you like, Meg," I tell her.
Meg opens her menu again. She looks confused.
When the waiter comes, Lindsey orders the cheese ravioli, Ross and I both order lasagna, then Price orders chicken parmesan for himself and Meg. Paul orders an iced tea. He already ate.
Price Irving monopolizes the conversation. He's extremely boring. He talks a lot about his car and his sailboat, and his position on the SHS golf team, on which he is allegedly the star. Due to Ross' derisive chuckle, I doubt this is true. While the rest of us sit in stony silence, rolling our eyes, Meg appears absolutely fascinated by every word that streams out of Price's mouth. I am embarrassed to admit it, but something Tiffany once said breezes through my mind, causing me to wonder if, perhaps, Meg Jardin could really possibly be dumber than a box of hair.
That's a horrid thought to think about my friend.
It's a relief when our waiter appears with our order. For Pietro's being so packed, the service is very fast. Maybe our waiter simply wants to be rid of us as quickly as possible. When the waiter leaves, Price leans over to Meg, who's just stuck her fork in her chicken parmesan. "That's a lot of food," he tells her. "You probably shouldn't eat it all."
Lindsey drops her fork. "That's a terrible thing to say! Meg, eat all your dinner."
I give Price a disgusted look. "Yes, Meg, eat as much as you want. You don't have any more than anyone else," I say.
Meg stares down at her plate. "Well...it is a lot of food," she says, then begins cutting her chicken into very small pieces.
I don't know what else to say.
No one speaks for awhile. Beside me, I hear Ross' fork and knife clinking against his plate and on my other side, Paul sipping his iced tea through his front teeth. The silence is unbearable. But not quite as unbearable as listening to Price Irving drone on about Price Irving. Finally, I tire of no one saying anything and turn to Paul. "You smell like plumerias," I inform him. I'd noticed in the car, but decided then not to say anything. It seemed rude. Now I don't care. Someone needs to say something.
Paul isn't bothered. "My sister sprayed me with her perfume," he explains and takes another sip of his iced tea.
Price laughs. Not in a friendly way. "You're so weird, Stern," he says. He's somehow managing to eat with one arm still around Meg. He may be the most loathsome boy I've ever encountered. "So, check this out," he continues, smiling obnoxiously. "Three public school boys out with some private school fillies. Sounds like the beginning of a really great porno."
"I'm not a 'filly'," I reply, testily, stabbing a piece of lasagna.
"Yeah, shut up, Irving," Ross snaps.
Price just nods his head, still smiling. "Feisty fillies," he says. "It's probably for the best, me moving on to Stoneybrook Day girls. I've already dated all the really hot chicks at SHS. Hey, Blondie," Price tosses a packet of sugar at me. "Who do you know at SHS?"
I glower at him.
"Dorianne Wallingford's in my equitation class," Meg pipes up.
Price nods. "Yeah, I banged her last year," he says, casually.
Ross snorts. "That's really not much of an accomplishment."
"Hey, Braid," Price tosses a sugar packet at Lindsey. "Who do you know?"
Lindsey tosses it back and hits him in the face. "I don't know anyone at SHS," she says, even though I know she does.
Price turns back to me.
"If you throw another sugar packet at me," I tell him, "I'm shoving my fork down your throat."
Price smiles. "Who do you know?"
I chew, thoughtfully, and decide to humor him. "My friends Kristy Thomas and Abby Stevenson went to SMS with you," I say.
"I hate them. Next."
"Mary Anne Spier - "
"She cries too much. Next."
"Stacey McGill - "
"Oh, yeah, I banged that slut at Homecoming."
"Stacey McGill isn't a slut," snaps Paul.
I set down my fork and swallow. I've hardly spoken to Stacey McGill since the eighth grade, but I seriously doubt she's a slut. And I know she has better taste than this mutant. "Excuse me, please don't speak that way about my friend," I say in a flat, serious voice.
Price grins and takes a long drink of his soda. He tightens his grip on Meg's shoulder. She continues eating, ignoring the fact that her date is a complete and absolute jerk. "She is totally a slut! She lured me upstairs on Homecoming night and unzipped my pants with her freaking teeth! That chick is crazy! I banged her for hours like you wouldn't believe!"
"I don't believe it," Ross replies.
Lindsey leans forward. "Will you shut up?" she hisses at Price.
Price shrugs. "What's a little slut talk amongst friends? So, I was banging that slut Stacey and - "
Paul lunges across the table. I gasp, thinking he's going for Price's throat, but instead he grabs Price's sunglasses and snaps them in half. He drops the pieces on Price's chicken parmesan.
I throw my napkin onto my plate and push back my chair. "Meg, Lindsey, we're going to the ladies room. Now."
Lindsey jumps out of her seat, but Meg glances over at Price, who's staring at his broken sunglasses. She nudges him and he waves his hand, dismissing her. Meg rises, slowly, and follows Lindsey and I out of the dining room. Behind us, I hear Ross, Paul, and Price begin to argue.
We walk through the lobby and into the hallway where the bathrooms are located. I push Meg into a small alcove. "Okay, my date may be an idiot, but your date," I point at Meg, "isn't even human. We're leaving."
Meg looks surprised. "Why?" she asks.
"Why?" Lindsey gasps, mouth gaping. "Your date is a jerk."
"Weren't you listening in there, Meg? He's going on and on about banging sluts! I think there's something seriously wrong with him, aside from the fact that he's a cretin and a pig. That is who your mother dreams of you marrying?"
Meg shrugs. "Well...after meeting him, she wasn't so crazy about him. You know what a cow my mother is. But she said I could date him if I wanted to. It was my choice."
Lindsey's still gaping at her. "You made the wrong choice," she tells Meg.
"I kind of like him. He's sort of funny."
I press the heel of my palm to my forehead. Is she serious? Maybe it's been for the best all these years that Mrs. Jardin not trust Meg to make her own decisions. "He's not 'sort of' anything," I snap. "He's not even sort of human!"
Meg lifts her nose in the air. "You can't tell me what to do, Shan. You're not my mother," then Meg turns and strides away, back toward the dining room.
Lindsey holds up her hands, eyebrows raised. I don't know what to say either.
Our table is silent when we return. Price has his arm around Meg again, whispering more French in her ear. Ross has our bill and is adding our shares on his hand. I could have given him a piece of paper. My "date" is busy making a sculpture out of lemons, sugar packets, and toothpicks. He doesn't even look at me when I sit down. Not that it matters. I take out my wallet and quickly count out the price of my dinner, plus my share of the tip. I can't wait to get out of here.
"Where are we going now?" Price asks when we leave the restaurant.
"I don't know," Ross replies, "doesn't Kevin Bacon need his costume back soon?"
"Yeah, you better cut loose, Footloose," Paul adds.
Price stares at them, blankly. He smoothes his skinny black tie, then turns to Meg. "I know I look awesome, babe," he tells her.
She giggles.
Lindsey pretends to retch in the bushes.
In the car, Meg and I sit in the middle between Price and Paul. We're not even out of the parking lot when Price asks, "Who wants to hear about the slut I banged on Halloween?"
Lindsey speaks without turning around. "Could someone please throw him out the window?"
"Would your insurance cover that?" Paul asks Ross, leaning forward.
"I'd like to see you try, Stern," Price sneers.
"Don't tempt me."
I rub my temples. "Will everyone please shut up?" I snap.
Price is quiet for awhile. It's a false sense of security he's lulled us into. "So, I was at this Halloween party - "
"No one cares, Irving," Paul growls.
Price turns and points at Paul, his arm stretched in front of my face. "You're just mad because you know I could bang your sister and Emily Bernstein at the same time!"
Paul throws off his seatbelt, hitting me in the face with the buckle, and lunges across the backseat. Meg screams and elbows me in the forehead. Paul's stretched across us, flailing at Price and Price is hitting back. The Jeep sways. Price shouts, "And Stacey McGill!" and then Paul knees me hard in the thigh. Lindsey turns around in her seat and starts beating at Paul and Price with her purse.
This is, probably, the worst date of my life.
Somehow, Lindsey and I pull them apart. Price's nose is bleeding. Not badly, unfortunately. Meg wipes it with a tissue, making cooing noises at him. She glares at Paul.
When his nose stops bleeding, Price peers around Meg. "Don't you have another sister?" he asks Paul.
I shove Paul back before he successfully lunges at Price again.
The Jeep screeches to a halt. Ross turns around in his seat. "Get out of my car, Irving," he orders. We're on Essex in downtown Stoneybrook.
Price doesn't argue. He opens the door and hops out, then holds a hand out to Meg. "Come on, babe," he commands.
Lindsey turns around. "Don't go with him, Meg," she says.
I clutch Meg's wrist. "Stay with us, Meg. We'll take you home."
Meg doesn't say anything. She simply yanks her wrist from my grip. Taking Price's hand, she steps out of the car and onto the curb.
Price leans back in, grinning. "No hard feelings, Stern," he says, lightly, "I wasn't completely serious. I mean, your sister's kind of hot, but I'd rather eat my dad's pistol than do that kike friend of hers." Price slams the car door.
Paul lunges over me. "You're dead, Irving!" he screams, throwing open the door. He takes off down the street, chasing after Price. Meg shrieks and runs, unsteadily in her heels, after them.
We sit in stunned silence. I have a hand covering my mouth, eyes wide in disbelief. I've heard kids use ethnic slurs before around school, always casually, slipping them into every day conversation, like they're simply saying "hello" or "goodbye". But I've never heard anyone say one so hatefully, so meaningfully. I'm speechless.
Ross looks over at Lindsey, then back at me, then opens his door and hops out. He runs off in the direction Paul and Price went. I look back, but can't see them. They've disappeared around a corner. But I can hear Meg, wherever they are, still shrieking.
Lindsey bursts into tears.
I unlatch my seatbelt and lean over her seat, putting my arms around her. I'm not exactly certain why she's crying. I'm never certain about anything when it comes to Lindsey.
"It's all right," I say, softly, soothingly.
Lindsey has her face buried in her hands. She lowers them. "It's not all right!" she cries. "Sadie's Jewish! That means I'm Jewish, too! If Meg Jardin goes out with that vile, despicable jackass ever again, I will never speak to her! Not for as long as I live!"
I rub Lindsey's back. "She won't," I promise. "I don't think she heard what he said. And if she did, she probably doesn't know what it means. It's all right, Lindsey. It's all right." I dig through my purse and come up with a tissue. I hand it to her. "He's just a horrible, hateful boy. You'll never have to see him again."
"I want to go home! I want to go home and be with my grandmother!"
The doors open and Ross and Paul climb back in. Both have blood splattered on their sweaters. "Price Irving's a bleeder," Ross explains, then looks at Lindsey. "Oh...are you okay?" he asks her.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course she's not okay. "She's upset," I reply, stating the obvious.
Paul leans forward and pats her shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll beat him up again on Monday."
"Yeah," says Ross, nodding. "We'll get the entire varsity basketball team to beat him up. So...uh...you can stop crying."
I roll my eyes this time. High school boys. They think their fists solve everything. "Just take us home," I say, sitting back and latching my belt.
No one speaks for the rest of the drive.