Miss Match (13 page)

Mom, Maddie, and I are at Café Rio. Ceiling fans whir overhead, and servers in white ruffled blouses dart around, balancing trays of margaritas and tamales. Black and white photos of cactuses and old pickups—much like Derek’s—adorn the red and green wall behind us. I dunk a blue tortilla chip in the salsa and chomp it loudly, the crispiness, saltiness, and spiciness mingling on my tongue.

Mom put this little Sunday dinner together so Maddie and I could meet Holden properly. As soon as he saunters through the door, Mom’s face lights up.

Holden slides into the booth next to Mom and pecks her bright pink cheek. “Sorry I’m late, ladies. So, you must be Maddie,” he says, beaming at my sister. Then he looks at me and does a double take.

I fill in the blank for him. “Sasha.”

A huge smile appears on his handsome face, and I realize he recognizes me. “You!”

Mom sets her strawberry margarita on the table. “You know each other?”

The waitress pauses at our table to take Holden’s drink order. “I’ll have a margarita on the rocks,” he tells her. When she leaves, he turns to Mom. “Sasha’s the whole reason I called you. She approached me at Starbucks and gave me your business card. She insisted I give you a call.”

“Way to go!” This is from Maddie, of course.

Mom laughs and shakes her head. “I should have known.”

Later that night, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I look up from my American History textbook. “Come in.”

Mom walks in and sits at the foot of my bed. She’s wearing flannel pajama pants, but her makeup and jewelry are still on. “Where’d you get that sweatshirt?” she asks. “Are you wanting to go to A&M or something?”

“Naw. A friend loaned it to me.” I know I should give it back to Derek, but it’s so cozy, and wearing it really boosts my spirits. I’d never wear it to school or out in public, though. I’d be mortified if Derek spotted me parading around in his sweatshirt. I figure I’m safe as long as I just lounge around in it in the privacy of my own home.

“So, you played matchmaker for Holden and me?”

I nod. “I thought he looked like your type. And you’d seemed lonely lately. Why should Dad have all the fun?”

A big smile fills her eyes. “Just wait till that baby is born. He’ll be having so much fun he won’t know what hit him.” She laughs and fluffs one of my pillows (unlike Derek, I have lots of them). “Holden and I get along very well. You’re a natural.”

“That’s why I do it. I love to see people get together. It makes me happy.”

“Thanks for making me happy, Sasha.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now I want to do something for you.” Mom stands. “Be right back.”

A few minutes later Mom is back in my room, handing me an envelope. “I’ve wanted to do this for quite a while. A big sale came through, and I finally can.”

I peek in the envelope. There’s a fat stack of green bills inside. “Wow, Mom. Are you sure?”

She kisses me on my forehead. “I’ll take you to get your license first thing in the morning. Now call your father and tell him to take you car shopping.”

I laugh, that sweet-sixteen giddiness coming back to me. “Yes, ma’am!”

You’ve got to be kidding me. My phone’s going off! Right in the middle of my chemistry midterm.

Mr. Foley stomps down the aisle and gives me the look of death. I swear Derek’s
going to burst out laughing any second. This is so not funny, though.

“Miss Finnegan, what is the rule about cell phones in class?”

“I know, I know.”

He holds out his hand. I give the caller ID a quick glance. Dad. Hasn’t he ever heard of text-messaging? I open the phone and hold it out to Mr. Foley. “It’s my father, Mr. Foley. Will you please tell him to stop calling me at school?”

He grabs my phone and snaps it shut. “I don’t care if it’s the president of the United States, Miss Finnegan. This behavior is unacceptable. You may leave now and take your cell phone with you. Your classmates are trying to take an exam, and it’s not fair that they’ve been so rudely interrupted.”

“I agree,” I say, sinking into my chair. “I’m so sorry this happened. Look, my cell phone is powered down. And you can confiscate it for a whole week if you want to. But please don’t make me leave. I’m not finished with my test.” People are staring, but I don’t care what they think.

Mr. Foley shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Finnegan, but you’ve been warned. You’re dismissed.”

Crap! I stand up and chuck my phone into my backpack. Next, I place my half-finished exam on Mr. Foley’s desk.
Please, Mr. Foley, have a heart and grade what I was able to finish.

By the time I get out in the hall, I’m furious. Why can’t I ever remember to turn the damn thing off while I’m in class? I dial Dad’s work number, and the receptionist puts me through. “Hi, honey! How’s your day going?”

“Well, I just had to leave my chemistry class when I wasn’t finished with my midterm. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a fifty percent.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sasha. I know how much your grades mean to you.”

“No one even calls me during school except for you. And since you’ve called me twice during the same class, the teacher kicked me out.” I make a sound like a deflating balloon and slide down a random locker to the floor. I’m sure I’ll have attractive specks of dirt all over my black pants, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about. “Not that I’m blaming you. It’s my own fault. It’s just…”

“I really am sorry. Do you want me to call the school, talk to somebody about it?”

“No, that’s okay. So what do you want, anyway?” This better be important.

“I got your message. I take it you want to look at some cars?”

“Oh. Yeah. I got my driver’s license,” I say, amazed how a little piece of plastic could make me feel so grown up. “I plan on selling my Vespa—Mom said Pearl’s assistant really wants it—and Mom gave me some money last night. Plus, I have a little money saved up. So if you hold up to your promise, the way I figure it…”

“It’s time to get you a car.” After a brief pause, he says, “That sounds great. I’ll pick you up at five thirty.”

“Cool.”

I hang up and walk by the chemistry room, peeking in. Derek catches my eye and waggles his finger at me like
naughty, naughty
. Punk.

I flip him off but can’t help smiling. How is it that Derek can always lift my spirits?

“No Valerie?” I say, plopping into the shotgun seat of Dad’s white Explorer. This is the first time his SUV has been in the driveway since the divorce was finalized. Since I backed into Mrs. Woosely’s car, come to think of it.

“No, she had some things to take care of.
She did mention wanting to take you girls shopping after school tomorrow, though.”

The cheapskate who talked Dad into getting me a scooter instead of a car wants to take us shopping? “Like to buy us stuff? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Oops, did I say that out loud?

Dad chuckles and backs out of the driveway. “I’m not joking.”

“Did you already talk to Maddie?”

“She’s all over it.”

“Figures.” I sigh. “Okay, I’m in.” I so don’t want to go shopping. Helping Yas hunt down the perfect homecoming gown Sunday afternoon totally burned me out. It took four hours and six different stores to find a knee-length red strapless number she liked well enough. I almost missed dinner with Mom’s new boyfriend! And it’s not like she didn’t look amazing in every single one she tried on. Sheesh!

Dad drives to Broadway Street and turns right, where there’s a jungle of used-car lots. “Eeny meeny miny mo,” I chant under my breath.

“Let’s give this one a go.” Dad turns into a lot with enormous witch and pumpkin blow-up things beckoning from the street.

I crane my neck to take in the offerings at Bernie’s Autos. Almost immediately, I spot an adorable red Jeep with a tan top. My heart skips a beat. The writing on the windshield reads
What a deal!
but it might as well read
Sasha’s
. I unbuckle my seat belt and thrust open the door, desperate to get a closer look. I deftly dodge the burly salesman (with the unfortunate comb-over) and practically run across the lot.

My dad, who’s now within earshot, clears his throat the way he does when he’s getting down to business. “So, how does it run?” he asks.

“Like a champ,” the salesman says. “I can work out a really nice deal for you today, sir. Looks like your daughter really likes it.”

I peek in the windows. Tan seats, looks clean. Next, I walk around to the back. A few scratches on the bumper; nothing major, though.

“What kind of deal?” Dad asks.

The salesman answers, but it’s too quiet for me to hear from where I’m standing.

Dad nods, a contemplative look on his face. “Okay, can we take it for a test drive?”

“Sure! Let me just get the key and the license plate. Be back in a jiffy.” Obviously
pleased, the salesman jogs to the trailer office.

While we’re waiting, I untie the balloons on the Jeep’s windshield wipers and set them free. Only they’re helium-challenged, so they kind of bob around in the air rather pitifully and eventually land by Dad’s loafers.

“Okay, let’s take this baby for a spin!” the salesman says, kicking the balloons out of his way. He slaps the license plate on the back and jangles the keys, a goofy grin on his clean-shaven face.

“We’d rather just the two of us go. You understand.” Dad says this in a way that leaves no room for arguing. After a moment of hesitation the salesman relents and drops the keys into Dad’s open palm.

“Thanks!” I say, and jump behind the wheel.

We creep through the parking lot and onto Broadway, my stick-shift abilities obviously in need of some major help. Shoot! Killed it.

“It will come with time,” Dad says, tightening his seat belt.

Feeling encouraged, I start it up again and cruise through a yellow light. Driving around town for about fifteen minutes I start getting the hang of the whole gas-clutch-brake-
clutch rhythm. Whenever I mess up, the Jeep hiccups or stalls to rub it in my face.

“Do you like the way it drives?” Dad asks, poking around into the glove compartment.

“I guess so. Not like I have much to compare it to, though. You want to drive?”

I veer off into a neighborhood, and Dad and I perform a seat swap at the first stop sign we come to. After driving around for about five minutes he says, “It seems to be okay, but I think we should have a mechanic look at it. You know, just to see if there’s anything wrong with it.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Then I think of something. “Hey! I know a guy who’s great with cars. Maybe he could take a look. Mind if I take the wheel?”

The Jeep’s tires sputter gravel up the Urbans’ driveway. An array of emotions are dancing in me, fighting over which one gets to lead. I really love this Jeep and hope it’s in good shape and we can afford it and everything. I can totally picture myself buzzing around in this baby, the top off when it’s warm and the four-wheel drive helping me plow through the snow in the winter.

And, okay, my romantic side is really
excited to see Derek. Not that I want to admit it, even to myself.

“Lookie there! Now that’s a great old truck,” Dad says, taking in Derek’s Chevy, which is parked perfectly straight in the driveway.

I toot the horn in a friendly
honk-honk
, and the airy drapes on the front window flutter in response. A minute later the front door swings open and Derek comes jogging out in a flannel shirt and jeans. His eyes are so bright, and he’s got an enormous, goofy-looking grin on his face.

Why is he so happy? Could it be he’s glad to see me?

“Sorry, Sasha. I didn’t recognize you without your helmet.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help giggling a little. After I introduce them, Dad asks, “So, you’re the young man taking Maddie to homecoming?”

Derek’s smile grows, and I think his chest even puffs up a bit.

Oh.

So
that’s
why he’s in such a great mood. It must be sinking in that he’s successfully won a big date—second only to prom—with Maddie Finnegan.

“If you’re not too busy, I was wondering if you can take a look at this Jeep? We’re taking it for a test run and want to know if it’s a lemon or if it’s in good shape.”

Derek nods and heads over to the garage. He punches in a code and as the door lifts says, “Well, I can’t guarantee it’s not a lemon, but I can certainly let you know if I detect anything suspicious or wrong with it.” Armed with his trusty tool box, he lifts the hood.

As Derek twists and prods various gizmos under the hood, Dad chats him up like he’s his future son-in-law or something. I lose myself in the fantasy that he’s my boyfriend (
not
Maddie’s homecoming date) and how happy I am that he and my dad are getting along so swimmingly.

At one point Derek looks at me and grins, a smudge of grease on his cheek. Instinctively, I take a Kleenex out of my purse and wipe his cheek clean. When his eyes widen and his face flushes, I realize I’ve crossed back into reality. They do a few more tests and talk about car parts, but I’m totally lost and realize trying to keep up is a futile effort. So I just stand here, grinning like a fool.

Because I am a fool.

Why am I torturing myself like this?
I mean, nothing’s changed. Derek’s still going with my sis to the homecoming dance. They’re both totally excited to be going together. These stupid fantasies about kisses and relationships with Derek are just wreaking havoc with my heart.

Dad shakes Derek’s hand. “Well, Derek, thanks again for taking a look.”

“No problem. My pleasure.” Derek waves as I crawl into the driver’s seat and turn on the ignition. I glance at him in my rearview mirror before turning up the street, and I unceremoniously stall the engine.

“You’ll get the hang of it!” Derek hollers. He shakes his head, chuckling. I bite my lower lip and start up the Jeep again, determined to make it out of his sight without any more embarrassing mishaps.

When we get back to the car dealership, my dad says, “Sasha, I thought you’d be more excited. What’s the matter?”

I sigh, wondering if I should admit what’s gnawing at me. No, not about Derek. I guess I’m glad he’s so excited about going to the homecoming dance with Maddie. What I’m thinking about is how I’ve covered up the whole accident with Mrs. Woosely. If I admit that I was responsible for a fender-bender in
his SUV and that I kept it a big secret from him and Mom, there’s a chance he’ll be so mad he won’t let me get the Jeep. But I’d feel really guilty driving around in it without first coming clean. If he changes his mind, I can’t blame the guy. It’s a risk I’ve got to take.

“I have something I want to tell you,” I say softly, looking straight ahead. In my peripheral vision I can see that Dad’s stopped cleaning his glasses and is giving me his full attention. The light at Broadway and Main turns red.
Clutch in, brake in, eaaaaasy does it.
“Remember that day I was shooting hoops and you and Mom were inside and I came in a lot earlier than you expected and you asked if I’d had any problems moving your truck and—”

“Yes. I remember.”

Downshift.

“Well, I actually had a teensy-weensy fender-bender with Mrs. Woosely.” I go on to explain exactly what happened and how we made arrangements to have me pay her back for the repairs, and though Dad is listening intently, I can’t read his mood-ometer.

Slowly, I pull into the car lot, park by the office, and hand Dad the keys. He stares down at them, tosses them up and down a few times, and then gets out.

“The red one in the back row?” Yas asks me the next afternoon.

I nod and break into a smile. “Yep, that adorable Jeep is all mine.”

She twirls her combo and opens her locker. “So I take it all the purple Jeeps were taken?”

“Yeah, well, Dad and I scoured the entire state for one, but sadly, the only one we found belonged to a crazy Utah Jazz fan who wasn’t about to surrender it.”

“Aren’t
all
Jazz fans crazy?” She winks and starts stacking her books in her locker. “Well, I have to say, being a car owner suits you. Your hair looks amazing.”

Pleased that she noticed I say, “Thanks. Well, I’d offer to take you for a spin, but Valerie is taking Maddie and me shopping.”

“Are you serious?” she asks, whipping around.