Generations 2.7 kindle (7 page)

He kept his focus on the road as they pulled on to Wilshire Boulevard, but she could see the look of contemplation in his eyes. She smiled uneasily, and he finally gave way to a laugh. “You’re joking, right?” he asked.

Crap. He might be getting seriously illed out. Plenty-o-guys would think that it totally rad that a chick would eat off the floor. But Ben, probably not. She should have thought of that. “Yeah, totally joking,” she said with a fake giggle. Of course, she had been known to eat a thing or two (or maybe more, but who’s counting?) from the floor of her car. And she hadn’t even been stranded in the desert. More like starving after study hall. And she knew that the partially eaten Slim Jim had only been there for about a day. Yeah, it was gross. But she was seriously starving. Moving on …

“Nice car. Is it fast?” She couldn’t quite place the name of the car. One of the “C” word ones. But she was too embarrassed to ask.

“Yeah. 425 horsepower. But she’s heavy. She does zero to sixty in five point two seconds. Not the fastest; but adequate.”

Kat nodded. He was heading in the direction of Car-land, and losing her quickly. She needed to bring him back to actuality. If he thinks that she speaks Car-nese, she’ll spend the rest of the date being lost. She changed the subject. “So, you must have finished filming early today.”

“Ah, yeah. We reached a good stopping point.” He gave a triumphant smile.

Meaning what? Kat hoped she didn’t read too much into it, but it kinda sounded like they stopped early just so he could come see her dance. Kat looked out her window in efforts to hide her smitten grin.

His car made this deep grumbling sound as he accelerated onto the freeway. She noticed Ben’s foot was flat on the floor. All the other cars were blurring past. She grabbed on to the handle. “Um, are we in a hurry?” she asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice.

He gave her this sideways glance—and a very toothy smile—then he shifted and passed (in the right lane) a slower vehicle. “No,” he answered once he was back in the fast lane. “Top notch radar detector,” he said touching a dial on the dash. “I never get tickets.”

“And that makes it okay to set a world-speed record on the 405?”

He chuckled. Then he let off the gas. “I’m making you nervous.”

“No.” She tried to act nonchalant. “My grandma would have been nervous. But not me. I was just … you know … thinking of her, and how she would feel in this situation.”

He smiled and she could hear him make some sort of inner laugh. “I’m sure your … grandma appreciates your thoughtfulness.”

Then—quiet in the car. Seriously, neither of them said anything for like three miles. Or it could have been six miles: he was still going really fast. Anyway, it was beginning to get awkward. And she started to worry. Had he thought that she was type of girl who liked to go fast? Did she put him off by acting like a pansy? Great. She should have yelled: “Yee-haw! Can’t this baby go any faster?”

Kat racked her brain, trying to redeem herself. She had to work her way out of pansy-dom. “So, did you watch
Brains
last night?” As cool as the show was, she couldn’t bring herself to call it by its full title:
Brains vs. Ba--s
. Yeah, you know, those thingies. But she just realized her mistake: only the pansies (and parents, but you know … big diff) called the show just
Brains
.

“Ah, no. I missed it. You?”

“I had … homework, and a ten o’clock bedtime. So no. I was hoping to get the low-down.” Kat screamed inside her head. She was talking about homework and parent enforced bedtimes with a rockstar. Yep, she couldn’t be more of a pansy. A pansy nourished with Miracle-Gro for that matter. What was even more suck-tacular was that she didn’t even need the low-down. She’d been briefed in the hallways before school even started. That show was all anyone talked about all day long.

So what did that leave her to talk about? Luckily, Ben broke the silence. He asked her about school. And the questions kept coming. Favorite subject? What electives? Involved in extra-curricular? This was good. He seemed genuinely interested.

And then they were at Frostdots. While in line, looking at the menu, an embarrassing thing happened. Kat’s stomach rumbled. And not the stupid Frogger getting squished by an overly excited stomach, but a real rumble. A hunger rumble. She looked at Ben with trepidation. He laughed. Dang, he heard it.

“Hungry?” he asked.

She patted her stomach. “Apparently.”

Ben glanced at his watch. “Didn’t you have dinner? It’s almost eight.”

“No time. We practiced right up until the performance.”

Ben encouraged her to order food, even though he wasn’t going to. But no way was she going to eat something substantial in front of him while he was nibbling on custard. He must have sensed that. He told her he would order a wrap if she ordered a wrap. Agreed.

They sat in the back, where it was darker and less crowded, gobbling up wraps before the custard began to melt. A thought occurred to Kat. She was not just out for ice cream with Ben Wilder; she was having dinner with him. Wahoo! And that’s in Nebraska. This was a definite journal moment.

They finished their custard and conversed lightly. Speaking of light, Ben kept squinting at this obnoxious neon sign. It was uber-florescent yellow. He shifted in his seat. He ducked. He held his hand up, like he was blocking the sun. Then finally he stood up. “Dang, that light is annoying. It makes me feel like I have jaundice.” He slid his chair over about two feet, and sat down, pretty much smack-dab next to Kat.

Did he just make a move? Kat swallowed her custard too quickly. It probably looked like this huge bump going down her throat, just like a snake swallowing an egg. And then the inevitable happened. Brain freeze. She smacked her head and closed her eyes, grimacing from the pain.

When she opened them, Ben’s face was just a foot from hers. “I could blow in your ear; warm your head up a bit.” His voice was playful when he said this, but still. The implication made her shiver.

“Yeah, that’d help,” she muttered.

The pain passed and she focused on him, up close. Real close. Oh, those crystal clear blue eyes. She felt her lungs freeze, not allowing vital breath to enter or exit. But she didn’t need air. She just needed to stare into those eyes. Those eyes that she had spent countless hours staring at: in magazines, on album covers, on TV, and now she was seeing them in the flesh. Or in the cornea or something. She didn’t know what part to gaze into: the dark blue ring on the rim of the iris or the ice blue centers that seemed to make her entire body freeze when held in his trance.

He swirled his custard around in his bowl, breaking eye contact with her. Thank goodness. She knew her legs—at the very least—had turned into ice. If he’d stared at her any longer, she’d be a giant ice-block. Not a fancy sculpture. Just a big block. With a headband on top. She’d have to make sure not to get caught in that trance again.

“So, how long have you been dancing?” he asked.

“Um, forever. I think I probably danced before I walked.”

“Yeah, I can see that. You’re a natural.”

“Thanks.” Though she should have loved the compliment and attention from Ben, it made her uncomfortable. Subject shift. “How ‘bout you? I mean, I know you’ve been singing your whole life, but how ‘bout the songwriting? Jackson said you wrote all the songs on this album.”

“Yeah, or co-wrote. I had to have a little help on some. I can hear the melody, but not always all the variances. It’s still an emerging talent. I’ve only been doing it since I was fifteen.”

“Emerging huh? I’d say you have it down pat. That album has some of the most amazing songs I have ever heard. The lyrics alone …” she let it trail off. She didn’t want to sound like the typical groupie.

“You like it? The entire album?”

“It rocks,” she said somewhat facetiously.

“Yeah?” he smiled with her. He shifted in his seat, leaning away from her slightly. “It’s kinda nerve-racking … waiting for the reviews to come in. It’s so different, such a leap away from teen pop. I guess I can’t wait for it to hit the charts, just to see how it does.”

 
Ben, talking about nerves? Really? She just saw the tiniest of cracks in that shell of perfect confidence. She reassured him of the greatness of his album while trying not to sound like a loony fan. She mentioned her favorite song: “Outside In.” “It’s so …” oops, she had to stop herself before she said the word
romantic
,
 
“… tender. It will be a legendary love ballad, I’m sure of it.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m glad Jackson let you listen to the album. It’s nice to hear support from someone in your age bracket. I’ve worried that the new sound will turn away the younger fans.”

 
She held her breath for about two seconds. Crud! She’d forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to have heard the album. But he wasn’t mad. And what else would they have to talk about if they couldn’t talk about his music? All’s good.

 
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Kat said. She hurried and took a drink of her water so her mouth couldn’t say anything else without permission. Something like, “Teen girls will still love you even if you sing ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy.’”
 

The subject shifted again, back to Kat and her dancing. Ben wanted to know if she had a desire to dance professionally.

“Um, yeah. Maybe. I’m going to apply to Juilliard next fall, and we’ll see what happens. My instructor thinks I’ll get accepted, but you never know.”

 
“Your instructor is right: you’re not going to have a hard time getting in. How ‘bout after that? Join a touring group or something?”

“I don’t know. It’s kind a hard to think that far. I haven’t even made it to five foot five yet, so that might change everything. There’s not a real big demand for short dancers.”

“So if you don’t grow—if you’re stuck at what? Five foot four and three quarters? What will you do?”

Wow. This wasn’t really light conversation. Maybe that’s what Kat was doing wrong earlier. She was trying to chit-chat. Ben must like conversations with substance. She’d been trying to feed a carnivore asparagus. “My backup plan? You have to promise not to laugh.”

“Okay. No laughing. Unless you say you want to be a circus clown.”

“No, but close. I’d like to be the entertainment liaison at a children’s hospital.”

 
“A what?”

“You know, the person who organizes all the activities for sick children at a place like St. Judes.”

“Serious? Where’d that come from?”

“There was this girl from my church who had a brain tumor and we went to visit her every week when she was in the hospital here in L.A. They were always doing something fun … some sort of craft or sing-along. And celebrities were always stopping in to visit. I just thought that it would be a really cool job to be the one bringing smiles to all those sick kids.” Kat tried to give a content smile, but she couldn’t quite muster it. This wasn’t an aspiration that she vocalized often, especially to her peers. Most of her friends only aspired to jobs that yielded big paychecks.

“Huh.” Ben sat up and took a drink of his water. Was he trying to stop himself from saying something like, “You’ll never drive a Beamer on that salary?” Then he sat back, leaned on his right elbow and said, “That’s really awesome. I’ve never heard anyone plan to do something like that. It’s really … noble.”

Maybe she would rather have had him make fun of her, because the look he gave her was a trifle intimidating. Like he was digging her or something. But maybe not.
Maybe that’s just how Ben Wilder looks at girls—like how he’d look at a new guitar that he can’t wait to cradle in his arms. Let his fingers explore. Caress.
 

She almost shook her head, wanting to erase the image of Ben replacing one of his guitars with
her
. She took a short breath and started to shift the focus, yet again. “How ‘bout you? Any back-up plans?” Kat regretted the words right as they left her mouth. Duh. He already had a career. A very successful career. And money. No need to ever work with the kind of trust fund Ben had.