The Boyfriend League (8 page)

T
he next morning I went into the kitchen for an early breakfast and discovered Jason at the table reading the Thursday morning
Ragland Tribune
. He glanced up and smiled. “Secrets of the concession stand revealed. Call Oprah.”

I'd never before been self-conscious about someone reading what I'd written, but I was this morning. Maybe because I kept replaying those few minutes in the car and wondering if I had really missed what he was asking.

No, last night it was probably just my imagination gone wild, because everything seemed fine this morning, back to normal.

“Yeah, I considered writing about the dangers of foul balls, but it would have ended up including too much of my first-person
account, and the column isn't supposed to be about me. It's supposed to be about what happens around me.”

“It's actually entertaining.”

“You say that like you're surprised.”

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler, and I realized I'd really put him on the spot. What could he say to that?
Based on our numerous conversations, I was under the impression communication wasn't your strong suit?

“Never mind,” I said, taking the steam kettle off the stove and filling it with water. I was a British-breakfast-tea-in-the-morning girl, and I made it using a real teapot and everything. “I'm not fishing for compliments.”

Okay, I was a little.

“I just…I just didn't expect it to be so funny,” Jason said.

“You wanted a serious column about hot dogs?” I put the kettle on the stove and turned on the flame. “You want some tea?”

“No, thanks.”

He was eating a bowl of cereal, some sort of bran flakes, with sliced bananas on top.

“I have a hard time coming up with a subject for a term paper,” he said. “How can you come up with a subject to write about every week?”

“Well, for one thing, it's way shorter than a term paper, so I don't need anything with any depth.” I sat at the breakfast table. It was situated in a bay window. Bright yellow balloon valances decorated the top of the window, but other than that, it was natural sunlight streaming in. Mom liked cheery. “Then I try to give it a quirky angle.” I shrugged. “No big deal.”

I didn't know what possessed me to say, “I actually have all the columns I've written in a binder. You can borrow it if you're interested.”

“My own summer reading program?”

“Something like that,” I said, suddenly more self-conscious than ever.

I wasn't usually one to toot my own horn, which could also explain the no-boyfriend-status of my life. If bright plumage was the key, I was closer to being a brown wren. Except for last night, and I'd certainly gotten attention then.

“Yeah, I'd like to read it,” he said. “I can't
remember the last time I read for fun.”

“Was
Marley and Me
required reading for a class?”

He grinned. “No, but that was months ago.” He looked thoughtful. “That was probably the last thing, actually.”

The steam kettle went off. I poured the water into an authentic Victorian teapot and carried it to the table.

Jason got up as I sat down. I almost laughed, because in a way it was comical.

“I'm gonna go run,” he said.

“You can use Dad's treadmill if you want, so you can at least stay inside where it's air-conditioned.”

“Your dad has a treadmill?”

I got up. “Oh, yeah. And an elliptical trainer, and…well, you name it, and he probably has it. Remember when I told you Mom's New Year's resolution is to cook healthier? Dad's is always to get into shape. The first week in January, he renews his membership at the gym and he goes three nights a week. By the end of the month, he's decided he'd have more time to exercise if he bought some new
equipment for the house, so he could eliminate the drive time to the gym. By the middle of February, he's using it to hang his clothes.”

“Are you serious?” Jason asked.

“Just wait. You'll see.”

I led him through the house to my parents' bedroom, to the sitting area, or what used to be the sitting area, before Dad decided to get into shape a few years ago. I snatched a couple of shirts and a tie off the machines. “Knock yourself out.”

“You sure they won't mind me being in their…bedroom?”

“You're not technically in their bedroom. You're in the sitting area or the faux exercise place, since Dad never really exercises here. But anyway, they won't mind. Make yourself at home.”

He shook his head. “I don't know. I just don't feel right.”

“Want me to exercise with you?”

He looked at me like it was a trick question. I wasn't even certain why I'd suggested it. “I can do the elliptical trainer while you do the treadmill.”

“I guess that would work. Then I wouldn't feel so much like I was intruding on their space.”

“Okay, give me two minutes to get some sneakers on.”

By the time I got back, he was already running, working up a sweat. He had really firm legs. I figured he did a lot of running.

It didn't take me long to get going on the elliptical trainer. It always reminded me of cross-country skiing because basically I was moving my feet back and forth, holding on to the handles like ski poles, watching the miles go by.

I'd gone about two miles, after forty-five minutes, when Jason finally went into cool-down mode.

“A lot better than running outside,” he said, breathless.

“That was Dad's theory behind getting the equipment, but as you can see, he found other uses for it.”

Jason laughed. “If your dad is really serious about getting into shape, I could help get him on a program. You know, ask him to work out with me.”

“For any exercise program to work, doesn't the person have to be self-motivated? I mean, doesn't Dad need to take the first step?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He took a gulp from his water bottle, then wiped a hand towel over his face.

“So you think it's okay if I use the equipment every morning?” he asked.

“Oh, sure. Mom and Dad are usually out of the house by eight.” And I'd add exercising to my morning routine, so he wouldn't feel uncomfortable being in their bedroom. It was the good hostess thing to do.

“What about the backyard stuff?” he asked.

“What about it?”

“Is it okay if I use it, too?”

“Oh, sure. The equipment is in a metal shed in the back. Just help yourself. It's not locked or anything. And if you want company, just let me know. I'll be happy to play with you.”

Did I just say that? I did not just say that. Like we were six years old and heading for a sandbox.

He was grinning again, like he thought it was funny or stupid or I was having a Tiffany moment.

“I didn't mean play with you exactly,” I said. “I meant…you know, keep you company so you don't feel awkward…you know, like I exercised with you.”

“I'll be okay alone in the backyard.” He stepped off the treadmill. “I'm going to go shower.”

He waited a heartbeat, like he expected me to say I'd be happy to keep him company in the shower, too.

Fortunately, my brain finally kicked in, and I kept my mouth shut.

I watched him walk out of the room. I thought I'd known everything that would be involved in having a baseball player living with us for the summer.

I was discovering that I didn't have a clue.

“I
knew Mac was interested in you,” Bird said late the next morning.

We were at Stonebridge Mall. Having decided the concert Sunday night would be our first official summer dates, we wanted new outfits to mark the occasion.

“But was he interested before Wednesday night?” I asked.

“What are you asking?”

“I was a Tiffany clone.”

“I don't get what you're saying. He talked to you the night we went out for pizza.”

“I know, but he didn't ask me out then. As a matter of fact, he was more interested in learning about free and cheap stuff than learning about me.”

“He smiled at you during the first game. Remember? From the batter's box?”

“How do you know it was me? It could have been you. Or my dad, even. The stands were packed.”

He'd done the same thing at last night's game, which they'd won, whenever he first got into the batter's box. I was beginning to wonder if maybe it was his good-luck ritual.

Bird stopped walking and faced me. “What do you want? He asked you out. You have a date. A real chance at a boyfriend.”

I guess I wanted it to
feel
like it was a real chance. But it just didn't.

“You're thinking about it too much, Dani,” Bird said. “He likes you. You like him.”

An awful thought occurred to me. “You didn't tell him to ask me out, did you?”

“Of course not. Now will you stop worrying about it and start worrying about what you're going to wear Sunday? We don't have a lot of time if we're going to the game tonight.”

Actually, we had quite a bit of time. The nice thing about the Lonestar League was that even the out-of-town games were nearby,
within a short driving distance, sometimes no more than half an hour away.

“We're definitely going to the game tonight,” I said.

“Jason will probably pitch,” Bird said.

“I hope so.” He hadn't last night. I really wanted to see him in action.

“Oh, look at these shoes,” Bird said. “Aren't they to die for?”

They were fuchsia sequined sandals with a wide platform and four-inch heels.

“I've gotta have them,” she said, zipping into the store.

“What will you wear them with?” I asked, following after her.

“I'll find something.”

I loved that about Bird. When I went shopping with Tiffany, she never bought anything unless she knew exactly what she was going to wear with it. Bird bought things simply because she liked them.

“You have to find something,” she said when the clerk went to get her shoes in a size five.

Unfortunately, the only thing that really
appealed to me was a pair of sneakers with light brown leather and mesh. For my date with Mac, I wanted something girly, and they absolutely weren't.

“How about these?” Bird asked, holding up a pair of clogs with a crocheted upper.

I loved them! But would Mac? Was he expecting more of a Tiffany look? Was that what he wanted? Was that what I should deliver?

I wrinkled my nose and turned to some open-toed spiked heels. “I think these might go with my denim capris.”

“You're not serious, are you?” she asked. “We'll be walking on grass. Remember at your grandma's funeral, when you wore heels, and one shoe sank into the dirt, and you ended up going shoeless to the grave site?”

Truthfully, I didn't remember a whole lot about my grandma's funeral except how much it had hurt to lose her.

“Go with the clogs,” she said, her voice no longer near me.

I looked back; she was modeling the sequined sandals.

“Think I can find nail polish to match the sequins?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I assured her. Bird could find anything.

“I'll take them,” she said to the clerk, before turning to me. “What about you?”

Forty-five minutes later, after having tried on eight different pairs of shoes, I left with the crocheted clogs and the sneakers.

“You were trying on shoes that Tiffany would wear,” Bird said when we were strolling back through the mall.

And every one of them had been incredibly uncomfortable. How did she do it?

“After last night, I'm just thinking maybe more feminine is the way to go.”

“You're not going to start entering the Miss Teen Ragland contest, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, look at this camisole! Can you believe it?” Bird asked.

It was fuchsia with a row of sequins along the front. Laughing, I let Bird pull me into the store. With any luck, maybe she'd find me something to match my clogs.

An hour later, we were in the parking lot, walking to Bird's car, when her cell phone rang.

“Hey!” she said, smiling so brightly that I didn't have to ask who was calling her.

“You're kidding! Bummer! Oh, I know, I know, I can't believe it. Dani's with me.”

Having someone talk on her cell while you're standing next to her is a little like getting a manicure and having the lady doing your nails speak in a foreign language to the manicurist on the other side of you. You know she's saying something unflattering about your nails. Otherwise, why not talk in English?

I could just imagine what was being said…

Brandon: “Mac's changed his mind about going out with Dani.”

Bird: “You're kidding!”

Brandon: “Jason told him she was a loser.”

Bird: “Bummer!”

Brandon: “We're only here for the summer. Time is short. We've gotta make the most of it.”

Bird: “Oh, I know, I know.”

Brandon: “Mac's going to be a no-show Sunday night.”

Bird: “I can't believe it. Dani's with me.”

“Okay, meet you there,” Bird said. She snapped her cell closed. “That was Brandon.”

“I never would have guessed. So, what couldn't you believe?” I asked, my stomach clenching as I wondered if I'd accurately guessed his side of the conversation.

“It's his story to tell. Come on, we're going to have lunch with him.”

I shook my head. “He doesn't want me there. Take me home first.”

“I told him you were with me. He's cool with it. A couple of the other guys are with him, so it's not like we'd be staring into each other's eyes across the table.”

She unlocked her door and scrambled inside. I hurried around to the passenger side and slid in.

“I mean, you have to eat, right?” she said.

“If you're sure I won't be a third wheel.”

“Dani, you're my best friend. You'd never be a third wheel.”

She started the car.

“So where are we going?”

“Ruby Tuesday. Jason's working lunch and he promised them a discount.”

 

I couldn't believe it. The couple of other guys Bird had alluded to turned out to be only one other guy: Mac.

He and Brandon were in a booth, sitting opposite each other, which meant when Bird and I got there, seating was pre-determined. Bird sat by Brandon and I sat by Mac.

He really
was
hot. He kinda leaned back in the corner. I wasn't sure if it was to give me more room or so he could get a better angle to look at me. I decided to believe it was the latter. And I could only hope he wasn't wondering if I was the same girl he'd asked out. Today I was sans makeup—not having realized I'd be seeing him.

“I can't believe you quit your job after only half a day,” Bird said to Brandon. She looked at me. “He and Mac got a call last night. A temp job was available—”

“—at Tommy's Fertilizing Plant,” Brandon interrupted. “They said it was hauling stuff. I thought we'd be hauling bags of fertilizer out to trucks or something.”

“It's
making
fertilizer,” Mac said. “You
know what they use to make fertilizer?”

“Manure?” I offered.

“The plant wasn't air-conditioned. It's ninety-eight degrees in the shade,” Brandon said. “I want some spending money, but no one could pay me enough to shovel that sh—”

“Hey, guys,” Jason said, setting a plate of fried pickles on the table. “What do you girls want to drink?”

“Sweet tea,” Bird and I said at the same time.

I was glad I had something to say, because I was feeling a little self-conscious sitting so close to Mac, especially when it seemed like Jason was trying really hard not to look at me. I wondered why.

“Know what you want to order?” he asked.

Everyone else ordered burgers. I almost went with a salad because that's what Tiffany would order, but in the end, I went with an artery clogger: double-cheese quesadillas.

When he walked off, I felt a little badly that he had to work, and we were there with nothing to do except have a good time.

“Tell me you showered before you came over,” Bird said.

“Most definitely,” Brandon said, picking up a pickle and dipping it into the Ranch dressing.

“You could come work for me,” Bird said. Three years ago, Bird had started her own business: Scoopin' Poopin.' She'd gone to dog owners in her neighborhood and offered to clean out their backyards each week for a monthly fee. Once she'd turned sixteen and could drive, she'd expanded her business beyond the neighborhood.

“It's still shoveling—” Brandon began.

“It's not the same,” Bird said. “I do it really early in the morning before it gets hot, and I have a long-handled scooper.”

Brandon grinned. “Thanks, babe, but we'll find something.”

I could tell he was humoring her. The thing was, Bird's business was actually doing quite well, and she'd already put aside a hefty chunk into her savings. She'd offered to make me a partner, but as usual I'd thought about it too long and missed the opportunity, which served me right for not having faith in her idea to begin with.

A waitress brought our teas over.

“I guess we could wait tables somewhere, too,” Mac said.

“Don't sweat it. We'll find something,” Brandon said. “Something where we don't have to sweat.”

“Help yourself to a pickle,” Mac said. “They're on the house, according to Jason.”

“Won't he get into trouble giving us free food?” I asked.

“I'm sure he okay'd it with the manager,” Brandon said. “Besides, we're the heroes of Ragland, right?”

“You're my hero,” Bird said. It sounded so un Birdlike, to hear her gushing over a guy, saying a corny line like she was starring in a bad movie.

“Here you go, guys,” Jason said, handing out our food.

He'd carried it over on a huge brown tray, setting it on a stand. I was majorly impressed with his ability to make it look like the weight was nothing.

“You guys need anything else?” he asked.

“Think we've got it all. When you get a
break, why don't you come join us?” Brandon asked.

“It's gonna be a while. We're pretty busy right now.”

He still seemed to be avoiding looking at me. “We're not in any hurry,” Brandon said. “If you get a chance, come over.”

Jason nodded before walking away to take care of people at another table.

“That dude is so shy, man,” Mac said.

I looked at him, probably like he'd spoken a foreign language. “What?”

“He's really shy.” He sprinkled salt and pepper on his burger, leaving all the vegetables off to the side, before putting the top bun in place.

Bird gave me a look that seemed to say, “Did you not realize that?”

No, I hadn't really realized it. I knew he blushed easily, and he was quiet, but we'd talked.

“Want one of my fries?” Mac asked.

I looked over at him. Since he was chewing,
he was smiling more with his eyes than his mouth. And Sunday night we had a date.

“Sure,” I said, taking a fry and dipping it in his ketchup. “And you can have some of my quesadilla if you want.”

Just like a real couple: sharing food. Before another week went by, I might actually find myself with a boyfriend.