on the landing, looking up at me with a puzzled look on her face. I can tell she’s already made up her mind about the Pocket Chippendale. Mom wants tall, sweet Ryan. Well, join the club and take a number.
I get halfway down the stairs and see my date standing next to the front door wearing a huge smile. “You look amazing,” he says.
“Thank you, kind sir,” I say, admiring his outfit; a perfectly tailored blue blazer that shows off his incredible shoulders, khaki slacks, pale blue shirt and yellow tie. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”
He moves toward the bottom of the stairs and takes my hand when I reach the landing. I stand next to him and mom’s face drops as she takes in the couple heading off on a Friday night date.
To say I’m towering over him is putting it mildly. The top of his head comes up to my shoulder. That little slit in my dress is right at eye level and he steals a glance. And smiles.
Then he looks up at me, obviously used to this situation.
***
A nice dinner, decent conversation, and a few dances later, I’m at the punchbowl getting a refill while my date takes a bathroom break. Ms. Henshaw, the old crone assistant principal, is channeling the Wicked Witch of the West with her wrinkled gaze as she makes sure some hooligan doesn’t spike the citrus punch which would result in serious cavorting. The music is not ear-splittingly loud, and thankfully not rap, a welcome change from the usual teenage gatherings that reach the decibel level of a jumbo jet with music lyrics that make little sense. So you can actually talk to people. Crepe paper streamers in the school colors, blue and orange, crisscross the ceiling while an old fashioned disco ball in the center sends a stream of reflections around the softly lit facility. It’s nice to be out with a guy; I’m having an okay time, but no fireworks.
“Hey, Sparks.”
I turn and find Ryan behind me, hands in pockets, smiling. Damn, he looks good in a suit. Math formulas, quick! “Hey, yourself.”
“I was hoping to get you alone.”
Okay, now I’m really confused. What the hell is this? Alone for what, a makeout session under the bleachers? Has seeing me with another guy made the jealousy light bulb turn on? “Well, you got me all to yourself for a few minutes. By the way, who’s your date?”
“Don’t have one. Just came with some friends.”
You gotta be kidding me. What a waste. All I can think of is he’d rather be here without a date than ask me out. “Oh. I just assumed—”
“Listen, about Will. I happened to stand next to him earlier and I picked up some stuff he was thinking about.” He lightly touches my forearm, sending Roman candles through my body and stealing my breath for an instant. “He’s got something in mind that’s more than a goodnight kiss.”
Great. I want him as a boyfriend and he wants to be big brother. “Geez, Ryan, a girl doesn’t need a mindreader to figure that out. He’s a teenage boy. Of course he wants more than a kiss. You all do.”
I catch a glimpse of Roxanne on the dance floor and suddenly I’m channeling her spunk. I move closer, near enough to smell his Polo cologne, tilt my head down so that I’m looking up at him through my lashes like the bad little girl I desperately want to be, and give him my best soulful look while doing all I can to drop my voice to something sultry. “You know, Ryan, you wouldn’t have to worry about other guys I’m dating if you’d ask me out.”
There, I said it. Did he get the message? C’mon, take the hint. Wait for it…
“I just thought you should know, that’s all.”
Annndddd…cue the palm slap to the forehead.
“Thanks, Ryan, I appreciate it.”
Ryan’s cell rings and he excuses himself just as Roxanne reaches the punch bowl. She notices he’s there and Will is not. “So…What’s the story here? You trading up?”
I shake my head. “The latest episode of the young and the clueless. If I were the type of girl trying to make Ryan jealous by showing up with another guy, and I’m not, it wouldn’t work. Long story.”
“So how are you and your eye candy getting along?”
“Eh, okay. I mean, he’s really cute and all but I don’t feel…it.”
“It?”
“It. You know, sparks, fireworks, electricity.”
She hits me with her faux Jewish mother accent, which is pretty spot-on. “You want I should fix you up with an electrical workuh? I know I nice boy in the union looking for a shiksa.”
“Bite me. Will’s fine, but—”
“Hey, we’re seventeen. We’re not looking for Mr Right yet. You don’t have to marry the guy. Have some fun. Ravish the little thing. Take the initiative. How often is a girl who weighs a buck fifteen gonna be able to play amazon?”
“True enough.” I look around the room and don’t see Roxanne’s date. “By the way, speaking of fun, where’s your escort?”
“I gave him his exit visa.”
“What happened?”
“TSTL.”
I decided to give it back to her. “Yeah, but you’re not looking for Mr Right yet. Have some fun. Ravish him.”
“Honey, I aint goin’ to confession for a crash test dummy.”
***
The conversation is a little forced as Will walks me home. Probably because I’m busy thinking of Ryan.
We reach my front door, its thousand watt porch light probably confusing pilots trying to land at JFK. This electronic middle finger at Al Gore is mom’s little reminder that even though she’s in her bedroom upstairs and the living room is free, she knows there might be some cavorting going on involving her daughter and a guy who escaped from Munchkinland. And she could, at any moment, decide she needs to bake an apple pie in the middle of the night and come bounding down the stairs.
“I had a good time tonight,” he says, turning to face me.
“Yeah, me too.” (Fingers crossed behind my back.)
“I want to thank you.”
“Hey, you’re the one who took me out for dinner and dancing. I’m the one who should be appreciative. So thank you, Will.”
“I didn’t mean that. I mean, you know, thank you for not…” His words trail off and he looks to the side.
“For not what?”
Now he stares at the ground, one shoe playing with a pebble, the super confident captain of the wrestling team having disappeared. “I mean, every time I’m on a date the subject comes up. So thanks for not mentioning it.”
Oh, the height
