"Listen, just point your little camera tech boy—"

--Sam Puckett

i'M Sick of Not Having a Plan

I stared at the computer screen. I narrowed my eyes a little, moved my head around—"Seriously! How is anyone supposed to read that? Is that an I? A one? An L?"

Amelia didn't look up from where she was laying on my bed with her homework, absently kicking her feet above her. "Are you still on that Internet verification thing?"

"Yes," I ground out sarcastically, "These things have to be the dumbest things ever—I mean, some of them are okay, but others—like this one—are just so ridiculously—" I tapped my finger on the keyboard. Because that was better than pounding on it.

"Why don't you just guess?" Amelia suggested, "And if it's wrong, redo the page?"

I sighed as I leaned my head on a fist and tried to look away, because I was half afraid that vague symbol of aggravation was going to be burned into my eyes. "No, I can't. When the page is refreshed they change the phrase to another one."

"Hmm. Maybe it will be an easier one then."

I turned around, not all that surprised she still wasn't looking up from her homework, and really not altogether surprised that she could be so … optimistic about something like this.

I went back to staring at it some more, the relentlessly vague mixture of pixels and shading, and my mind began to drift. To others things that weren't exactly good for my blood pressure either. Like the enormous spat this morning with my mother over laundry etiquette. Which in turn had led to some of my other recent mother-son difficulties, which had generously picked up ever since I had turned up at home looking like I'd been beat by a hoodlum or something.

Oh, yeah ...

And my mind continued right onto other stuff—

I didn't realize that I was touching at my lower lip until it started hurting. For a moment I put those particular fingers at my temple as I stared down at the keyboard, and then slammed them down on my desk.

"Fine. I'll try it. We'll just see which one it is," I said loudly, "If I can't make up my mind I'll just pick one and see. L or I?" I asked Amelia.

She was looking at me with an overtly worried expression. She softly said L.

"All right," I said and typed it in, "And … Great. Just great. Just bloody wonderful."

It wasn't like it was the end of the world, but the pounding in my temple made it feel close enough. I put my eyes down into my hand, and wasn't altogether surprised when I felt Amelia's careful arms come over my shoulders.

"It's okay," she whispered.

"I know," I said as I rubbed at my forehead. "I know. It's just … things are better now. You wouldn't believe how much better … but it still feels the same."

"Like what?" she asked as she gently rubbed at my shoulders.

That was a good question. Why was it so hard to recall all the vivid points of frustration when Amelia and calm, rational thought asked for them? And why were they able to become so juvenile so quickly when any kind of rational thought was applied after them?

Things were definitely better with Sam now. It was almost like before our blowup, only not with quite so much free time to be together, and not quite as much … carelessness as before. It seemed like everything in my life had lost that carelessness I hadn't even known it'd had.

I missed it.

"Well …" I tried, but thinking back to my mom readily popped up an answer, "You know how I told you before that my mom really likes you …" I glanced up and really did hate that scared look she got, "How I guess I always tell you that? But that she has these … kind of … reservations about us? Like I don't know. I can't explain it."

Amelia nodded in an encouraging way.

"I just …" My hand moved in the air with an unclear but animated manner. "It just makes me so angry. It's just completely wrong, and not fair. I know I—and I know she can't even necessarily help how she feels, but … it's not supposed to be like this. You know?"

The way that her hands were sitting on my shoulders confirmed that I didn't want to look up at her.

"It makes everything seem so messed up, and it's so easy to be ... angry. I know I shouldn't …"

She was abruptly moving around me, which kinda caught me off guard. She lowered herself into my lap and quietly looked down at me as her hand moved through my hair. It brushed lower to my cheek, but was wary to stay away from my split lip. One definite negative in getting pulped by Anthony had been that it'd guaranteed a cessation in any and all kissing activities from Amelia. Probably for quite a while.

She mustered an almost sad sort of smile. "Do you know why I said yes when you asked me out, Freddie?"

I found it kind of hard to breathe as I couldn't help all the unfavorable thoughts that my imagination could suddenly come up with for the direction of this conversation.

I shook my head.

"Well," she tilted her head a little and smiled at something as she brushed her fingertips over my eyes, "It wasn't just because you were really cute. Or … because I was afraid and didn't know anybody at school yet. It was because ... I thought you seemed like a really nice guy."

I nodded and looked down.

"And you are, you are, Freddie," she gently lifted my chin up, "But you've got all this … stuff that makes you crazy over things that … don't matter." She bit her lip and looked down.

I wanted to tell her that it wasn't always like this. That this wasn't the way I really was. But I didn't, for whatever reason. I just took in that soft feeling of her stroking my hair, of being so much more content than I had been in a long time.

Still, that didn't change the very real problem of my mom thinking that this wasn't the perfect girl for me. And how could that be with this sort of feeling, of the way her jeans and legs felt on mine, the way her little hands felt like they could make any problem go away?

There was another, restless feeling here though. That nagging that was becoming increasingly more distinct that this was nice, but how nice was nice?

But sheesh, how nice did it have to be?

And that brought my determination back around in this circle it had been relentlessly lapping for the past couple days, that there had to be a way to show my mom how things were. Make her understand.

Amelia, with a pretty smile and playful rubbing of my hair, stood up, perhaps thinking that everything was all better again.

But it wasn't. It was just a temporary solution, Amelia was just—

I swallowed as she walked back over to my bed and looked down at her schoolbook. Looking down at the floor, I wished it was possible to knock aside all these nagging little thoughts of inadequacy, thoughts that she somehow wasn't good enough in whatever little way that didn't matter. Or shouldn't matter, anyway.

Inadequacy ... the kind that brought an image of a smile to mind, one that wasn't Amelia's. And the excitement that went along with it, the kind that Amelia cast, but it was duller with her. I was thinking of the excitement that was crazy, uncontrollable, unpredictable. Of all those whimsical and completely far fetched scenarios that I had been indulging in so much lately, of dates I had never been on, of things I'd never seen or heard ...

I turned back to my computer monitor, where the new verification phrase was waiting alongside the bold red text asking if I was human.

What if I did just … try it?

The resolute no and forceful change of thought didn't come like it usually did. Like it usually did when this crazy idea cropped up … the one that was cropping up a lot more lately. The idea that wasn't just crazy because it involved a crazy person, or even the unsettling wrongness the thought usually brought.

And then suddenly that crazy thought connected with a plan that made it seem practically sane in comparison.

But that wouldn't work, couldn't work. Though it didn't—shouldn't matter if it could, because it would be wrong. Just plain, thoroughly wrong and manipulative and … it couldn't work, could it?

I was glad that Amelia wasn't looking at me, because I'm fairly positive that this excitement was showing, despite how hard my rational and arguably virtuous conscience was trying to hold it back.

"Are you …" I began. Geez, I even sounded excited. "Still going to be gone all next week?"

"Yeah," Amelia answered as she looked up, "Why?"

I opened my mouth to tell her, or at least begin to. But then I thought better of it—or at least tried to.

No, this was crazy. Not to mention very debatably dishonest.

"Why?" she repeated, perhaps a little more hesitant at my expression, or maybe my pause.

And then I found myself telling her, and making it sound almost plausible. Something that wasn't completely out of the realm of what a nice, upstanding boyfriend might suggest.

And I found her actually listening, despite the blatant uncertainty in her eyes, the uneasiness. Because she was Amelia, and I was her boyfriend.

--

It was crazy, it wouldn't work. I should just forget it right now. It was unethical ...

"Please, tell me it's unethical." My look was probably earnest.

Carly pursed her lips and just looked back at me.

Uh oh.

Then again, she was always the one with the plans.

"Do you want me to?" she said with sort of a wince.

"No," I blurted. At least I was honest. "But I won't if it is ..."

"Why does it matter so much?" Carly crossed her arms. "I'm sure that your mom will change her mind. I'm mean we're talking about Amelia here, not Hitler."

"Carly," I rolled my head in annoyance, even though her line of thought had every right to be logical in a logical plane of reality, "It's not like we just starting dating yesterday. We've been going out for nearly two months."

Carly looked sort of helpless. "Listen, I'm really glad ... so happy that you and Sam are back to normal but ... this idea of yours doesn't even necessarily involve me. What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," I threw up my hands as I stood up.

"You said that Amelia was ... all right with this?" Carly asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, I guess," I said as I thumbed at my studio laptop, "As long as I'm okay with it. I just ... am afraid to be, but I want to."

Carly nodded like she understood. She carefully lowered her head back down to the math book she had in her lap. "So ... what about the other one?"

I sighed. "Haven't asked her yet."

"Well," Carly said as she primly turned a page in her notebook, "Then my official verdict is that you need to talk to her. I haven't ... got much time for anything else."

I put my hands in my pockets and nodded. I made to leave.

"I—" Carly's voice came from behind me, "I am glad you asked me, though."

"Yeah," I said and gave her a tight smile.

--

Amelia ... Carly ... Who's next, who's next?

Oh, I knew who was next. But at the moment I was feeling more up to asking ... someone else really unaskable.

But I was a man, and we were friends again. What did I have to be scared—petrified—or anything like that of? So I told her—in a relentlessly roundabout way that was annoying even to me, but I did.

"So ..." Sam started slowly after I'd spilled the plan. We both sat there for a long, awkward year or so, with just the subdued sound of the Groovy Smoothie's other customers and the drizzle outside on the window. It was dark, and even darker outside.

Sam took a sip of the smoothie I'd bought her.

I figured that she was usually more docile around free food.

Not that she had been anything but "relatively" subdued around me since all the ... notable things that had happened last week. Relative being relative to Sam.

"Let me get this straight," she said as she clasped her hands together on the table and ticked off the facts, "Your mom, for some freak, unknown reason, doesn't think Amelia is the Disney princess of your dreams."

I nodded.

"You don't like this," Sam said as she continued to count off, "And Amelia's going to be gone for a week."

"Right."

"So you ... being the perfect little momma's boy that you are—"

I winced.

"Are going to tell her that things haven't been going so hot between you two lately and that you're both taking a break," Sam said, and then paused for a moment, "And you're going to tell her that you're dating me now."

It really did sound awful coming from her lips.

"And because you think I'm such a charming person," she narrowed her eyes, "You assume that I'll go and show her what an awful girlfriend you could actually have instead of Amelia, and your mother will completely change her mind and you'll have to rush to marry Amelia before your mom adopts her. Is that it?"

My mouth was moving around. "Not ... exactly. I don't assume that you would make an awful girlfriend ..." I made sure to be looking away from her at this point, "I would just hope that you would make it look that way to her ... for me."

When I looked back at her I found that she was resolutely staring down at a spot on the table. Somehow that image, and the way this conversation was making the oxygen stick in my lungs, was exceptionally striking. It was impossible to not remember the way she'd acted back when we'd been sick together at my place. Impossible not to indulge in that suspicion at least a little ... that she could ever possibly like me like that. Ever want to.

She was still sitting there like that. I had to say something.

"But I won't. I won't do this if you have any problem with it ... it's just an idea," I said.

"Who said I had a problem with it?" she asked as she looked up a little angrily.

"You don't?" I asked quietly.

She pounded her fists on the table. "Yes, I have a problem with it! Why not some other girl—why not Carly?"

"Because my mom already thinks she's too perfect and—" I began.

"Oh, and I'm not?" Sam demanded.

Awkward, awkward ...

I sighed and tried to summon a way to make this sound reasonable. "Listen ... if I were to try this, I would need a friend that I know I could depend on, and two, someone who would be willing to act like someone that my mom wouldn't approve of."

Sam looked like she was having a hard time choosing just which argument to use as she glared back at me. But then she looked like she just ... stopped.

I looked back at her as her eyes went back to the table.

Something like relief came about then, and I realized that I had kinda been hoping that she'd say no more than I'd thought.

I stared out the window as the rain temporarily picked up. We were sort of trapped in here, but I didn't mind so much. Aside from something with Amelia, I couldn't think of anything else I'd rather be doing. And even then—

But it was still quite a can of awkward sitting here, even with a smoothie in front of me.

It was about five minutes.

"What do I get out of it?"

"What?" I jerked my head back to her, half thinking I'd imagined it. "I—uh, hadn't thought about it."

Her lips twisted a bit.

"But—anything. Really," I said, "A big favor? Jerky sticks for a year? Anything. But ..." I stared back at her looking at me like that and ... the plan abruptly was really stupid. "Say no. I mean ... just forget I asked, okay? It was just a stupid idea."

"No it's not," she said quietly, "It's not like we've never done something like this before."

"No we haven't," I involuntarily protested more than what was probably appropriate.

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. And we both know your mom; it'll work."

"Listen, I've changed my mind," I tried.

"Oh, no you haven't," she cut me off. "We're doing this. It's no bid deal, right? Just gotta get your mom to adore Amelia. Piece of cake." She kinda smirked. Kinda.

"All right," I said, sealing it, despite utterly wishing for the first time that I had never thought of this. For a lot of reasons. Because I was just now beginning to see how this could be like for Sam ... given some of the crazy and completely hypothetical conditions that were floating through my mind.

Stop it. Sam doesn't like me like that. It's impossible.

But she's doing this for me.

But really ... the biggest contributor to the feeling in the pit of my stomach was the notion, horribly reinforced by Sam's confidence, that this might actually work. And I might actually get what the plan was supposed to do. And ... I don't know.

When I blinked I found that the rain had tapered back off to a drizzle, and Sam was saying my name.

"Hey, earth to dork." She waved a hand in front of my face.

I turned my eyes back to her.

I had all these silly notions running through my head that I had to constantly put down, but ... But there were chances. Things that could happen with this and ... it would turn out, one way or another.

--

The weekend came and I said good bye to Amelia. She looked scared, but I reassured her until we could both laugh about it and then I made more than a few honest promises to myself.

Monday came. I was talking with Sam over at her locker about everything but tonight. Though I did drop an evasive sentence that let her know that everything was ready, and that I had already let my mom know that Amelia and I had decided to take a break—which was technically true since she was presently about half a dozen states away.

Sam didn't especially comment on that.

"So is this why you left?" A voice demanded from behind me. Anthony. "I thought you weren't interested in nerds."

I didn't have to turn to know that there were a couple of others with him, and that he wasn't altogether able to handle this situation as indifferently as he would like.

"Beat it, Clayton," Sam said, "And take a hint."

"Oh, I can take a hint," he said as he leaned forward, "You were the one giving me all sorts of hints. And not just that you wanted to be kissed."

"Yeah?" Sam intoned, unphased. "Well why don't you go and kiss someone that you can impress, Anthony, like one of your Barbies."

I was getting sort of antsy with my lack of participation in a conversation that I felt strongly involved me.

"Yeah," I started, "Why don't you just go kiss someone else that you can impress—"

One of the guys with Anthony smiled, and I looked around at the passing group that had gathered to find them holding equally amused, if not surprised looks.

"Not that I know what he kisses like—" I added quickly.

At that the proceeding lost most of its seriousness, and most of the attention broke up. Anthony looked more than a tad mad, but he merely shook his head in disgust and stalked away.

I carefully leaned against the lockers, and then looked at Sam, who had an equally emotionless expression. We were like that for a few seconds before both of our smiles cracked, and then we were laughing. Though beyond botched insults and more successful ones, it really wasn't a funny situation at all.

Suddenly I was looking forward to tonight. Who knew, maybe we could even have fun with this.

But then I remembered where we were going.

--