Karl replied, “And if you do, make sure you don’t kill a spider.”
Troy growled, “I wouldn’t do that to her.”
Adam plucked a blade of grass and stuck it into his mouth as he frowned at Brett. “Dude, you should have told Destiny that her long beautiful flowing hair cascades down her back and her breasts are the perfect size and shape for her delicate body.” As he spoke, his hands showed the curvature of her body, emphasizing the location of her breasts.
Derek grinned. “Dude, we know what you’ve been thinking about.”
“Yeah, but that’s as far as that will go,” Adam replied.
Brett narrowed his eyes. Adam’s graceful words annoyed him. He wished he could recite poetic words as easily as Scott and Adam did. He snarled, “Maybe if you brushed your hair some time, you might get somewhere with a girl.”
Adam smoothed down his reddish-blond hair. It was clean but it was always a mess. He rarely took the time to brush his hair, even when he attended school. His excuse was that he was in a hurry, although he moved slower than a sloth.
“I don’t think my hair is the problem.”
No one made a comment. The guys knew how sensitive Adam was about his acne.
Later that evening at The Parlor, Karl’s eyes followed Scott as he made his way to the table and took the seat beside Brett. “Dude, why do you always talk to Charlie?”
Scott creased his brows, disliking when Karl’s questions were directed at him. “Why don’t you ever talk to him?”
Karl shook his head impatiently. “Why do you always answer a question with another question? Can’t you just answer a simple question?”
Tapping his thumb on the table, Scott looked at Charlie who had witnessed his buddy’s face blown off in Nam while they both raised their head over a trench. To this day, Charlie still woke up yelling, drenched with sweat from his experiences in Vietnam.
Scott studied Karl’s impatient expression. “If it was a simple question, I’d answer it.”
Karl’s left nostril flared as he turned his attention to Matt who didn’t have a problem answering questions and didn’t speak in riddles. Karl retorted, “To get an answer from you takes too much of an effort.”
Derek grinned with superiority. “Not for me, but then I’m not pushy.”
Karl replied, “You’re pretty damn pushy in football.”
Derek narrowed his eyes. “You want a scholarship, don’t you?”
The girls arrived at the right moment, easing the tension between the boys. Destiny surprised Scott by sitting beside him again but on his opposite side, away from Brett. To his disappointment, Margie also sat beside him.
Destiny bent forward and whispered, “Last night, while I was lying in bed, it hit me. It was you who told Brett what to say. Don’t bother denying it because I remember him hesitating and glancing behind me before he made a comment.”
Scott looked at his hands instead of down her low-cut lavender shirt that clearly displayed her cleavage. The conversations in the restaurant sounded muffled while Mariah Carey’s song “Vision of Love” was playing on the jukebox. Feeling eyes on him, Scott looked up. Adam was giving him an envious glare. Scott didn’t look at Brett. He could already feel the fiery darts hurtling into the side of his head.
Scott inhaled slowly, wondering how he could free himself from Destiny’s attention again. “You’re very observant.”
She smiled charmingly with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I didn’t know you noticed me so…thoroughly.”
Scott understood her meaning and his mind accelerated into fast motion as she moved closer.
She whispered, “What would you have said?”
Intentional or not, her breasts brushed against his arm while her breath warmed his earlobe. He moved back and turned to face her, studying the application of her makeup. The dark eye shadow, pink blush, black mascara, and heavy eyeliner was as extreme as usual.
He whispered the first thought that popped into his brain. “Your makeup is very colorful.”
Destiny gasped, almost afraid to ask. “Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?”
Scott rubbed his chin as if thinking. “You have a fair complexion with a shade of pink. Your makeup should be subtle, not dramatic.”
Destiny’s face changed from confusion to quizzical to disbelief, and finally, to horror, comprehending the implication of his statement. She jumped up quickly, about to die from embarrassment.
“Pamela, we need to leave…now!”
Her best friend glowered. “I don’t want to leave.”
“We have to,” Destiny demanded as she hurried over to her friend and grabbed her arm.
They headed for the door as Destiny whispered something to Pamela who replied loudly with contempt, “Who cares what Scott says?”
Everyone at the table looked over at Scott who raised his eyebrows, pleased that at least Adam was looking happier.
As soon as Destiny was gone, Margie touched his left arm. She looked perplexed as if she’d been thinking about something for quite some time. “Are you really a hunter? I just can’t picture you being a hunter.”
Scott looked into Margie’s hopeful eyes. “I have no problem with hunting as long as it’s done legally.”
Her expectant expression vanished. She frowned, turning her back on him. Scott leaned back in his chair confidently. He had once again thwarted Destiny and Margie’s advances.
Unfortunately for Scott, some girls aren’t easily pushed aside.
On Wednesday morning, at 8:30, Scott was making his way to Klein’s Drug Store to meet Destiny. She had called ten minutes earlier when he was about to leave for the hardware store to buy a new float for the toilet in the hallway bathroom. According to Destiny, it was of the utmost importance that he met her.
Scott crossed First Street while Destiny fidgeted in front of the store. He approached warily. The morning breeze effortlessly lifted her dark hair. A faint trace of makeup had been applied onto her face. When she moved toward him, he nearly stopped dead in his tracks. He suddenly understood the urgency of her request. She wanted his input on the application of her makeup.
Destiny smiled. If she noticed his pensive expression, she didn’t mention it. “Thanks for coming.” She paused, giving him a strange look. “I never really noticed how handsome you are. Navy blue is your color.”
Ignoring her comment, Scott cleared his throat, hoping his instincts were wrong. He asked, “What’s going on?”
She pulled her hair into a ponytail, twisting it around nervously. He hid his grimace when she said, “I need your help choosing the correct makeup for me.”
When he remained quiet, she added,
