Just Like the Movies (13 page)

“But—but your mom said . . .”

He cocks his head. “When did you talk to my mom?”

“I—I was—last night I—”

I stutter and stumble over everything I'm thinking. Tommy's mom could have easily gotten her information wrong . . .

“Marijke, look at me.”

Tommy curls a finger under my chin and tilts my face up until our eyes meet. I can feel the awkward embarrassment from mine meet the concern in his.

“Babe, you've
got
to find a way to trust me. Seriously, I feel like a broken record here. I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea or whatever. I spent the night at Jimmy's because we practiced until after midnight. I lost track of time, so I crashed. But I was at your house this morning, just like I always am.”

I blink a few times, then swallow hard.

“I'm sorry. Your mom—did you talk to your parents today?”

He shakes his head, but his gaze turns suspicious as I exhale hard.

“Why?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

“It's not important. Forget it.”

“Okay . . .” He sounds less than pleased, but the bell rings and we've got no choice but to book it. Before we enter our classrooms, Tommy pulls me in against him and kisses me hard. He moves his hands to either side of my face and looks me in the eye.

“You are my girlfriend. You're the
only
girl for me. Stop worrying so much.”

If only it were that easy.

“So did you see him?” I ask Marijke as I sit down next to her at the lunch table.

“Yeah, I saw him. He said it was Jimmy's sister that picked him up. Jimmy's very married-with-two-kids sister, who is in town this week.”

“Oh yeah?” My eyebrows raise. “And . . . do you believe him?”

She bites her bottom lip, looking a little sheepish. “I do . . . but only because I called Jimmy's house a couple minutes ago and his sister answered.”

“Oh crap! Did you actually
talk
to her?”

“Yeah, I made up some lie about Tommy thinking he left his math book there. She couldn't find it, obviously, but said that she didn't think he brought a book with him when she picked him up last night. So that's when I knew for sure.”

“Wow.” I shake my head. “Well, that's great, right? I mean, we wasted a kick-ass movie moment, but he clearly isn't cheating on you.”

She sighs. “Yeah. I'm pissed that the iPod thing didn't work out, though. I mean, all that effort . . .”

“We'll figure something else out.”

“Speaking of something else,” she says, “I have to tell you about my new idea for your Joe-tervention.”

“Shh!” I hiss, glancing around us. She rolls her eyes.

“Come on.” She stands up and tosses her apple core in the trash. “We'll talk while we walk. I want to go check out the track anyway.”

“Why can't we just sit and eat lunch like normal people?” I grumble, snatching my lunch sack off the table.

She shrugs. “Getting your blood moving makes your brain work harder.”

Once we're outside, Marijke digs into her bag and hands me a flyer. I squint at it.

“Bikes for Tykes?” I read. “What is this?”

“Joe and his uncle are setting up this big charity event and all the money goes to buying bikes for underprivileged kids. One of the track girls gave me this a few hours ago—Joe's looking for volunteers to help organize everything. I think they're going to try to bring in a couple professional riders too.”

I blink at the flier. “I'm surprised that I didn't hear
about this already. It seems like something the SGA would have jumped on.”

“Well, I think that's part of the reason he's looking for volunteers—the school wouldn't approve the event. They're holding it at the track over on Route 75.”

I stare at the paper, confused. “So what does this have to do with me?”

“Remember
Footloose
?”

“Yeah.”

She spreads her hands wide for emphasis. “One of the best parts about that movie, besides the dancing, is that Ariel and Ren fall in love by working together to plan a senior prom.”

“Right . . . so what?”

“So you'll get to Joe by helping him do something he
believes
in. If you volunteer and put yourself out there, provide all your crazy organizational skills and put them to good use? He'll see how amazing you are, and you'll be irresistible.”

I look at her doubtfully. “I don't know anything about motocross.”

She groans. “I'm not asking you to ride a motorcycle. I'm asking you to do what you already do best. I mean, don't you put together half the SGA events as it is?”

“I guess.”

“So then you just have to find Joe and tell him you want to volunteer. That's it.”

When we finally reach the track, the gate is already unlocked for the gym classes. Marijke pulls the lever up, and I follow her through.

“What are we doing out here anyway?” I ask, glancing around. “What does ‘checking out the track' entail, exactly?”

She doesn't answer as she leans down to touch the tips of her fingers to the brick-colored surface.

“Um. Are you becoming the Track Whisperer or something?”

She shakes her head. “It's hard to explain. The track—it sort of . . .” She trails off, then shakes her head. “Never mind.”

But now I'm interested. I rock back on my heels and cross my arms over my chest. “No, tell me. The track sort of what?”

She sighs. “It's sort of alive. It expands and contracts. It holds water one day and gets dry and brittle the next. The air and the weather decide the best running conditions. Coach is letting me come out here and train this week, even though I'm not supposed to—I'm supposed to be resting. But I promised not to get hurt, and running on a slippery track is an easy way to break that promise.”

When she looks back up at me, I grin at her.

“You really know this stuff,” I say admiringly. “I mean, I get that you're a good runner and it's your sport and
all—but man, you've got it down to a science. You should study it—I mean,
really
study it. In college.”

“Study what? Track surfaces?”

I shake my head. “No—sports management. Or something like that. You know what makes athletes better and you know how to help them. That's a pretty awesome trait.”

Her cheeks begin to color. “I guess so. I should probably decide what college I'm going to before I decide on a major.”

I feel my eyes grow wide. “Marijke. Seriously? It's almost May!”

“I know, I know. I have to go back through the pros and cons before I settle on one.”

“Well, what are the cons?”

She shrugs. “I like North Carolina State a lot—and they've got a great athletic training program.”

“Sounds right up your alley.”

“I know—it's just really far. And since Tommy's going to stick around to keep the band together, I'm thinking maybe I should just hang out. Go to community college for a few years or something.”

I narrow my eyes. “NC State is a really good school. You'd give that up for a guy?”

She swallows hard. “Of course not. I mean, I just think that my relationship should play a factor in my decision . . .”

She trails off, knowing she's just proved herself wrong. I can feel my lip curl in something like disgust.

“Marijke, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but that's crap. And it's totally weak.”

She just blinks at me and I shake my head.

“I
hate
when women throw away opportunities for the men in their lives. Why would you do that? Why would you want to be less successful just to be with someone? Shouldn't he support you with what you want to do?”

I know my tone is sharp. Marijke wheels around and stares at me.

“What's up with you?” she asks, bewildered.

I close my eyes and exhale hard. Then I speak slowly, choosing each word carefully before I say it.

“Let's just say I have close personal experience with the end results—my mom isn't exactly selective about choosing the men in her life, and a lot of those men are jerks who are just looking to get laid.”

She opens her mouth to defend herself, then closes it. I've never talked to her about my mom before. When she starts walking up the hill again, I follow her, unsure of what to say next.

“Look, I'll talk to Joe, okay?” she says over her shoulder.

“Huh?”

“I said, I'll talk to Joe. I'll tell him we're coming to the interest meeting tomorrow afternoon and that we want to volunteer.”

I blink, then I give her a small smile.

“Thanks. Honestly, it's still kind of hard for me to just go up and talk to him.”

“Yeah, I know.” She elbows me. “But you'd better get used to it. And fast.”

I think I'm going to have to literally remind Lily to breathe. It's about ten minutes until Joe's motocross interest meeting; even though the school isn't involved, we're meeting in one of the computer labs at the far end of the science wing. Right now, though, Lily and I are sitting in the library as she takes deep breaths and tries to focus.

“Lily?” I can't help but cross my arms and tap one foot impatiently. “Are you chickening out?”

She shakes her head. “No, I'm fine. I'm just . . . nervous.”

I grab her hand, heaving her up to standing.

“Don't be nervous. We're gonna walk in, listen to Joe, brainstorm some ideas, sign up for a committee or whatever, and leave. Easy-peasy.”

I try to make it sound effortless. I know that my confidence isn't enough to pull her through, but I hope it'll boost her up a bit. We head out the library door and into the
hallway. Still, she walks slowly, hesitating to turn the corner toward the computer lab.

“Think
Footloose
,” I whisper in her ear. “Falling in love while fighting for a cause.”

“Somehow, I don't think this is the same thing,” she mutters. “It's not like we're in a town that outlaws motocross the way the town in the movie outlawed dancing.”

“Um, yeah, but the school isn't a huge fan of motocross. I've even heard rumors that the administration is trying to get the whole program disbanded. Trust me, this is
totally
the same thing.”

I guess she takes my word for it. At this point, we're steps away from the lab and I can hear a bunch of voices speaking at once. Before Lily can take another deep breath, I yank her into the room. She almost trips over her own feet in the process.

There are about twenty people or so sitting at the rows of computers. On the far left side, Joe is chatting with a couple of kids from Drama Club. I hear the words “performance” and “dancing,” to which they all nod enthusiastically. I notice the website posted up on the whiteboard and, like everyone else, I take a seat at a computer and open the Internet browser.

Once I've typed in the website, a flashy screen pops up showing a motorcycle zooming around a track that looks like a galaxy—stars swirl up and scatter like smoke around the tires. As the bike disappears, the stars weave together
to form the words “Bikes for Tykes: Give Kids a Chance to Ride” in a jagged script. Then the whole image fades into a more traditional site, an “About” page followed by details and ways to donate.

Lily's at the computer next to me, looking at the exact same screen.

“I'm really impressed by the layout,” she says quietly. “If Joe is this tech-savvy already, he may not need nearly as much help as he thinks he does.”

“Thanks for coming, everyone.”

Joe has moved to the front of the room and I give Lily a nudge. Not that she needs a reminder to pay attention. She shoots me a dirty look, then faces forward again.

“I appreciate all of you showing up today,” Joe is saying. “I've really waited until the last minute to ask for help, which is super-stupid of me, but we weren't really sure we had the Route 75 track until the end of last week. The event is two weekends from now and we've barely scratched the surface of public interest. We need to find a way to get people psyched about Bikes for Tykes.”