The Downside of Being Charlie (9 page)

“Focus,” I tell him. “We're talking about Charlotte and me, not Tweety and Sylvester.”

“Right, right. Anyway my man, you're a freakin' Casanova. I mean, you got a girl who didn't wait for you to ask her out.
She
asked
you
out!”

“What if she's just being nice?”

“Then you take that nicey-nice and run with it. Make your move, my man!” I shrug, trying not to give the universe the slightest hint that I think this might be the tiniest bit true, because if I do, it'll all blow up
in my face.

“Look at you,” he says. “You cool, brother. You cooooooool . . .” He makes this slow and smooth gesture with his hand. He gives me a high five, and I suddenly feel like the baddest mothereffer on the planet. I can do this.

H
alloween night doesn't come quick enough. But it does finally come, which also means Mom has been gone for almost two months. She's never been gone for more than six weeks, and that time we knew she was at a cousin's house in Maine for most of it. But this time, something is more off than usual. But then I think it's probably not. This is normal. Any day now she'll just pop right back into our lives, and I'll be pissed that I spent all this time worrying for nothing. I can't do anything about it; I can't make her come back, I can't talk to Dad, and I can't change it, so I put Mom out of my mind and think about Charlotte instead.

Even though I've seen Charlotte a few more times in class since she mentioned the whole hayride thing, I couldn't quite bring myself to ask her,
hey, so, that thing on Thursday, is it a date?
What if it is, and then she realizes what a moron I am?

As I get ready, I have no idea if I'm getting ready for my first date ever, and if so, whether it's with the girl I go to bed dreaming about (and maybe do more than dream about) every night. Or am I just another person in a group simply hanging out together on Halloween? But Ahmed assures me I'm reading way too much into it.

“The chickie digs you!” Ahmed says when I call to ask him if I should really go. “You have to go, man!” So I leave it at that and decide I'm definitely going.

Usually, for Halloween, our house is pretty pimped out. Mom always goes crazy with decorations, though Dad is always the one stuck taking them down. If not, ours would be one of those houses with the ghosts still dangling from our trees in the middle of December. Okay, so that was our house a few years ago, but Dad finally gave in. Mostly because I think he got pissed every time he saw them. Although, I imagine it must have pissed him off even more that he took everything down only to come home from work the next day to Mom's over-the-top Christmas decorations.

Anyway, tonight our house is silent and without the usual blare of Mom's Halloween sound track of wolves howling, witches cackling, and doors squeaking. There are no dangling ghosts, no cardboard headstones, and when the bell rings, I realize too late that neither Dad nor I bought any candy. This is an explanation that doesn't go over too well with the Easter bunny and vampire holding their bags out to me, yelling
trick or treat!
The bunny gives me the finger, and they trample across the dried leaves on our front lawn. I'm surprised Dad hasn't raked them yet. He's usually so anal about that stuff. I close the door and ignore the doorbell the rest of the evening and get ready.

Dad comes home, and a minute later, walks into my room as I spray on some cologne.

“Whoa. Sport, you look great. You and Ahmed hanging out with some ‘chickies' this evening?”

“Please never say that again,” I say, a little weirded out as he sits down on my bed like he means to hang out here for a while. The last time he came in my room was when he broke the news about sending me to fat camp. I'm hoping he doesn't have any similar news to hit me with tonight.

“You have a date or something?” he asks not being able to keep the genuine surprise out of his voice. I quickly consider my options: tell Dad the truth or just make something up. I resist the impulse to tell him the truth because even though I know Dad would appreciate a father-son moment, I don't think I can explain what tonight is when I don't even know myself, so I think of something quick.

“Nah, just hanging out with some friends.”

“Other than Ahmed?” Dad asks with surprise. Can I really blame him? The only person I'd hung out with for the past seven years was Ahmed.

“Yeah,” I say casually, “a bunch of guys from my photography class are going. We're just gonna take some pictures at Ol' Gilly's. Then maybe submit them to the yearbook or something.” The lies come out so easily. I didn't set out to lie to Dad, but I do, because the truth is too hard to figure out or explain. How can I begin to explain to Dad what Charlotte and I are or aren't, or why the other guy she likes is going, too? And there's no need to verbalize how little game I actually have. Knowing Dad, he'll probably just think I'm in need of another “intervention.” And exactly what kind of camp do you send your son to if he has little to no game?

“Wow, that's great!” he says. I can tell he's happy
with the illusion of me actually having friends other than Ahmed.

The doorbell rings again.

“Guess I forgot to buy candy. I have a feeling our house is going to get egged tonight.” He sighs.

“Probably.” I smooth my hair, take one last look in the mirror, and say, “Gotta go. I'm gonna be late.”

“Need a ride?”

“No, I'll walk. It's good exercise.” He looks at me even more proudly, and I give him a stupid thumbs-up because I don't know what else to do, and I know I'm not worthy of how he's looking at me right now.

He nods. “Hey, Sport? We're okay, right? You know, just the two of us?” My stomach drops. I know he's referring to more than the weirdness that had been hanging between us since summer. I know he's referring to Mom. This is the closest Dad and I have ever come to really talking about it. But I can't get into this conversation right now. Not before I go on my first maybe-date with the first girl who has ever shown any interest in me.

“Yeah, sure, Dad.” I gulp down the little lump of emotion that has risen in my throat. “We're fine. But, uh, I really gotta go. I'll see you later.” I say this and go downstairs before Dad can say anything else.

I grab my jacket and camera, which I've started carrying with me in case I see something cool for Killinger's project, and head toward school. The night is cool and I crunch through the dried leaves. I'm glad summer is over because it makes me think of fat camp and how I never want to go back there again. I take lots
of deep breaths; the air is cold and helps me wipe out the thought of Dad sitting on my bed by himself. It helps me not to think of the conversation Dad and I would've had if I stayed home tonight. I look up at the sky. There's actually a full moon, so I take out my camera and take a few pictures of it. But Dad's words still linger in my mind. Just the two of us. What did he mean? I think he was asking me if I was okay with things being this way forever. Was I?

I arrive at school, but no one's there yet, so I sit on the bench and wait, forcing myself to think of anything but Mom and Dad.

I've never been to school at night. I've never been to a football game or a basketball game . . . ever. I look around and kick at the floor, thinking I must be the only kid in high school to never have gone to one extracurricular event in his whole high school career. Ahmed goes all the time to these school functions because he says he has to make an appearance for the ladies. But me? No way. I can't get into a sports game because who am I rooting for? Kids who don't give two shits about me? Kids who have whispered behind my back for the last three years every time I had to squeeze out of a desk and slosh up the aisle to get a paper from some stupid teacher who obviously doesn't understand what it is like to have thirty pairs of eyes stare at your fat ripples? I couldn't be part of it. I look toward the hall where my locker is, and Tanya's gross face pops into my head. I wonder if that's how she feels, too. Does that mean I'm like her?

No, we're nothing alike because Tanya Bate is at
home reciting lines to the latest
Lord of the Rings
movie and I'm here. This is what life is like when you're normal, when you're one of them.

I look at my watch. It's fifteen minutes past the time we were supposed to meet. Where are they? Another five minutes tick by. There's no way I could have possibly gotten the wrong night. Kids with costumes had rung my doorbell. It was definitely Halloween. Did I get the wrong time? A sinking feeling suddenly comes over me; this is a joke. My God, they've pulled the ultimate loser prank. Ask the prettiest girl in school to ask out the fat kid—or formerly fat kid—and see if he shows up. I look around to see if anyone is spying on me. My chest tightens.

Suddenly, a whooping sound and girls' laughter comes from somewhere deep in the maze that is our school.
Oh no
. It gets louder and I easily make out Charlotte's voice, having memorized every pitch and timber of it. Soon five figures emerge—Charlotte, Mark, Danny with his on-again/off-again girlfriend, Trisha, who is loud and obnoxious and a little scary, and another girl wearing a lot of makeup and really tight clothes who I assume must be Diana, but . . . they're not pointing at me or saying
he fell for it, oh my God, he actually fell for it!
I'm flooded with relief, kind of.

“Hey, Chunks!” Mark's loud voice calls out. Instantly, my back gets hot and prickly and my face flushes.

“What's up?” I say, still preparing myself in case this is a joke. I feel like punching Mark every time he calls me that in front of Charlotte.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks. “We've been
waiting in the parking lot for the last fifteen minutes for your sorry ass.”

Immediately I realize my mistake. Of course they would be waiting for me in the parking lot—the
student
parking lot. Because they (or at least Mark) have cars, but I, the formerly fat but ever constant loser, did not have a car.

“Just thought I'd check the place out,” I tell them, feigning a coolness I definitely did not feel. I look at Charlotte. She looks great. She smiles at me, whispers a soft hey, and waves as the light from the moon catches her eyes at just the right angle, making them look extra sparkly. She stands next to me. Mark watches her and slips his arm around Diana.

“So, listen, I know you share a locker with Tanya Bate,” he says, “so sorry about the stink bombs.” He gives me a hard look. I know he's really not because then he looks at Charlotte for approval. “Anyway, we're going to lay off the locker,” he says and looks over at her again. Diana watches the exchange, and her eyes narrow.

“But,” Mark continues, “you know, we have to do something else and coming up with just the right thing has really tested my creativity. I mean most things just seem, so . . . so . . .” He thinks a moment. “Typical,” he says finally. “But fear not, Mark Delancey does not back down from a challenge.” Diana looks up at him a little too adoringly. Danny's face is bright with anticipation. And I feel like telling him to just lay off Tanya altogether. It really pisses me off that Mark feels it's his duty to torment people. Why can't he just leave her alone?

“It took some time, but I think I've come up with a golden plan. However, it's up to you to execute.” Damn. Whatever is coming is not good. Whatever is coming is bigger than the time they sprinkled itching powder on her head, and five minutes into class she was scratching like crazy and the teacher had to send her to the clinic. It's bigger than the time they grabbed the sports bottle she used to carry to every class and spit in it so that when she took a drink and it was clogged, she tried harder. This apparently forced the slimy loogie through the nozzle and into her mouth, at which point she spit the water out all over herself and everyone laughed.

They look at me expectantly. I don't want any part of what he's about to tell me. Observing Tanya's fucked-up life is one thing, but actually fucking it up is completely different. Something in my gut tells me,
don't do it
. But I also know I can't tell him no.

“How?” I ask as regret and concession hit me as soon as the word leaves my mouth.

Mark narrows his eyes and sizes me up, “I don't know . . . think you can handle it?”

I shrug and look over at Charlotte. She looks over at Mark. Diana looks over at Mark. Mark looks back at me and takes something out of his pocket. “With a little of this,” he says, holding out a small baggie with what looks like dried-up sticks and leaves.

“What?” I ask.

“Whaddya mean what? Grisner . . . where have you been living, in a freakin' hobbit hole with Tanya Bate? It's weed, dumbass.”

I can feel my face get hot.

“Oh . . .” Stupid, stupid. “I couldn't see it,” I say. I wasn't fooling Mark.

“Right.” He snickers. “Whatever. Anyway, the plan is to get that dweeb freakin' stoned off her ass during school, so we can all see her high as hell. It's freakin' perfect!” He laughs that miserably loud laugh I can't stand.

“High as hell?” I mutter. “That doesn't make sense.” I have no idea why I said that and instantly regret it.

“Oh my God, Chunks,” he says, forcing another laugh that gets louder and louder. “What are you, a damn English teacher? High as hell,” he mocks, using this ridiculously exaggerated geek voice. “That doesn't make sense. That's not technically correct. Geez, man, lighten up!”

Danny laughs too, and Trisha shakes her head and rolls her eyes, not because she has any compassion for me but because she doesn't like Mark that much, which is why, apparently, Danny's and her relationship is always on again/off again.