Almost: a love story Part 9

Bzz. Bzz. Boing-donka-donk.

"Whoever's texting you, sure has a lot to say." Kika smiles.

I want to crawl across the table to get the phone out of her hands, but I wait patiently for her to bring it over. When she does, Kika and I stare at the screen together: Yo QT. r u there?

I dart Kika a glance. "What does that mean? He called me a Q-tip?"

Kika laughs and sits next to me. "Read it out loud. It will make more sense."

"Yo-Q-T ru there. Q...T...?"

"Q T means cutie. CU-TIE. Jess, you're so out of touch." Kika's smile turns beaming. "This has to be a guy! A guy that thinks you're cute! OMG Who is he? Talk. Now. Talk!"

I want to kiss my sister for ramping in on my behalf. And for making me blush.

"You've never had text messages before," Mom says, her voice guarded and worried. Her eyes are already sparkling as the information gets her Mom-Wheels turning.

"I text Jess all the time," Kika protests.

"I mean-texts from a guy," Mom says. "Is it? A guy?" she probes.

"Am I paying extra for text messaging on all of our cell phones? Am I?" Dad pipes in, not at all getting it that this text message signifies a major turning point in my life. "Text messaging is just another excuse for teenage boys to score without actually having to ever speak to a girl."

"Dad! You're so old. What does *score' even mean?" Kika rolls her eyes.

"It's true, Honey. No one says that anymore." Mom's smiling at me now.

We all laugh. Mom turns to Dad. "Text messaging is normal teen activity. We have unlimited text. If we didn't, we'd be broke just from Kika's texting habit alone. Jess sweetie, you don't need to limit yourself. Text all you want."

I choke back another laugh and hide it in a, "Cool. Thanks. Good to know."

I'm so happy right now all I can do is grin. With a few letters of simple text chatter, Gray Porter just launched me into the realm of what my mom calls normal teen activity! And I haven't paid him one cent-yet! Oh, but I will.

This pretend boyfriend thing is going to be more awesome than I'd thought!

Mom leans in so she can see the message. I hold still so she can soak in the letters Q and T.

"So, who is this boy?" She asks with eyebrows still raised.

"It's the guy who got the paid interns.h.i.+p," I remind them. "We exchanged numbers after the interview. No biggie." I bite my lip, and avoid their gazes for a second so they can' miss that this IS, indeed, A BIGGIE.

"He's calling you a cutie and you only just met?"

"Am I not cute, Dad?" I divert.

Dad's frowning as he scoops the strawberries he's just sugared onto the pre-formed shortcake pies. "You know what I mean. Do you have anything to tell us? Does Q plus T mean it's serious?"

"Please!" I feign my best gasp. "I don't even know him. He's sort of...nice. We had some conversations between interviews. I suppose he could be considered almost a...yeah...a friend." At least I don't have to keep trying to bring up a blush to scorching cheeks.

"A friend!" Kika's bubbling up into one of her middle-school giggle fits. "Who thinks she's cute!"

Mom's gaze has turned speculative. This is just the expression I've been expecting. "What's his name?"

"Mom. You don't need to know everyone's name," I stall. My stomach clenches as I try to remember the order of what I'm supposed to say next.

Bzz. Bzz. Boing-donka-donk.

Thank you fake boyfriend. It's time to stop now.

I pull the phone away from everyone's view. "Sorry. I'll fix that ringtone." I tap into my settings. "Maybe I shouldn't have given him my number," I mutter, genuinely frustrated that Gray Porter rattles me even from a distance. I'm grateful for the excuse to concentrate on my phone and not meet anyone's eyes while I regroup.

As much as I've practiced all possible scenarios of this moment in my mirror-and as much as I'm elated my plan appears to be working-I'm suddenly scared to death.

I hate how far I'm about to go on lying to my parents. And what about Kika? She's on my team. She's the one person I've never lied to about anything. Ever.

My heart hurts just thinking about deceiving that kid.

"Text him back, Jess. Who cares about your ring tone? He's probably waiting for you to say something back!" Kika says.

I shoot her a glance. She's still beaming at me so brightly it strengthens my resolve.

For the first time in three years, Kika doesn't appear to be worried about me. She actually looks proud-admiring-excited. I like how beautiful, how normal, that looks on her face.

"What should I type?" I ask, working to smile back and keep my voice as breathless as hers. "I'm not good at texting."

"Lost cause." Kika giggles again. "Read what he said." Kika pulls on my arm.

I've already established it's safe so I read it: "Why U so quiet? C U at school 2morrow. Got2 wrk. On a double. I'm as tired as U looked 2day. Go 2-zzzzzzzz, Jess Jordan."

"He goes to your school?" Dad asks.

Kika sighs and claps her hands. "OhmyG.o.d. Text him back. Text him back." She's bouncing out of her seat.

"I will later. I can't do it with all of you staring."

"But texting is supposed to be immediately responded to," Kika protests. "I'll make you a list of easy text replies okay? You can study it."

"I like that he noticed you need to sleep." Mom smiles knowingly. "Maybe you should text him back something quick. You don't want him to think you don't like him, do you?"

I shudder. This family bonding thing has just gone way too far.

"I'm so not having this conversation with any of you. Mom, don't even try. I don't know if I like him. And-and-you guys are making me nervous. It's just a couple of texts, not a marriage proposal."

Dad's hovering over all of us, blinking at me with four strawberry shortcakes precariously balanced in his hands. "I don't know if I like this at all. Are you going to be constantly staring at your phone now like your sister does?"Dad asks.

Kika dives into her shortcake and chomps half of it in one bite. "I'm not staring at my phone now, am I? Gee, Dad." She's talking with her mouth full, but still manages to look cute.

I can't possibly eat, so I scroll up to view the first message that we all missed: As promised. Hi GF. Sorry I'm late but ur boy is on duty. U There?

I gasp and pull the phone into my chest. No need to read that out loud! My cheeks start burning a new round of fire.

"See? You're already hugging your phone and acting weird," Dad says, also speaking with his mouth full. Not at all his best look. He shakes his head, and gives me a sad look. "I'm going to miss you, honey."

Before looking up, I make certain the entire conversation is cleared. Deleted. Gone.

I think Mom's been watching me closely the whole time because she, like me, has not touched one bite of her dessert. "Come on, we're waiting for some details."

I wonder if this is what Gray sees in my expression when he calls me relentless.

Who knew Mom and I had that in common?

Thankful I can still feel my cheeks flaming, I go for my fl.u.s.tered and embarra.s.sed version of this scenario. It seems the easiest because, I happen to be both right now.

I push at my plate and fold my arms over my chest, using what I call the *therapy voice'. A voice I learned to use from my years with Dr. Brodie. "I need you all to do me a favor," I start and let out a long, patient-time to communicate-sigh.

Mom smiles. I know for a fact she loves conversations like this.

Kika and Dad do not.

They stop eating and regard me cautiously as though I might be about to have one of my flip-outs. I almost crack a smile because they are so darn funny. Both have forks in the air and whipped cream stuck on their lips.

"We're listening. Go on," Mom urges gently.

I turn all of my attention back to her. She's the one that I need to convince the most. If I do it right, the others will take her lead. "I need you to hear me on this. Don't interrupt, okay?"

They all nod.

I flash the iPhone in my hand and begin my performance: "This is just a guy. A friend. Well, maybe a friend, like I said, I don't know. And, okay fine...I think I like him, as a friend, of course." I hold up my hand in case anyone tries to burst in. "And, he thinks I'm...cool or a possible friend back. Or...something good enough to want to text me, anyhow. Okay?"

"Sure," Kika says.

"Okay," Dad says.

Kika and Dad resume eating their shortcake. I turn to Mom and blink, waiting for her response because I know she she's going to pry. She just can't stop herself.

"Oh, honey, we think that's just great. Of course he's just a guy and it's no big deal. We only want to know-"

"Mom. Stop. Just stop." I've raised my voice, and now I hold out my hands like an orchestra conductor.

Kika and Dad pause again, this time with shortcake-filled forks halfway to their very open mouths.

This is going so on cue I could swear they'd studied their scripts beforehand.

I take in a long, tortured sounding breath and then head into my monologue: "Maybe I'm not being clear. I'm asking you guys to back off and let me enter into this friends.h.i.+p-whatever it is with this guy on my own. And to also let me handle this new interns.h.i.+p on my own. Meaning-all of you need to please stay off my back. Don't attack me with a ton of questions. I know you love me, but if the purpose of this summer is for me to prove that I'm going to be able to make it in college, you must let me give things a shot without a.n.a.lyzing my every move. Or text. I'm asking for some simple respect. Please, don't ask me any questions, spy on me or invade my privacy in any way."

"Well, you aren't going to have a teenage, summer rebellion spree, young lady." Mom's turned all red. Getting fired up as ususal-but I'm ready for this reb.u.t.tal.

Wait for it...wait for it.

Mom crosses her arms and goes into full attorney-style argument-mode. "We're going to have to know some things about what you're doing! Asking for names is to be expected."

I flip the switch on her and gentle my voice into absolute agreement. "I know that, Mom. And you're right. I'm sorry if I'm being sensitive. I will tell you his name. But...let me tell you his name. Don't just force it out of me. I want this to be...natural. Okay? Give me some time. I'll tell you when it's right. You guys are so used to hovering over me. I feel suffocated, you know?"

My heart's racing and I think my dinner's about to come up, but I manage to keep a pleading-sincere look intact.

Mom crumples. "Sure, honey, of course but we worry-"

I stop her again. This time I pick the practical-reasoning voice. "Mom. I'm going to go to work and come home. If all goes well, and with your permission, I might start hanging out with some new friends. But I haven't even made those friends yet. This isn't about me going to parties or anything like that. I swear. This is just about me being able to-"

"But-" Mom starts up again.

"Let her finish," Dad says gently. I can tell from the soft-sad look in his brown eyes he's totally on my side. That makes me feel like the world's worst daughter.

Because there are no sides to take. There's only me, lying to everyone I love.

Lying.

Lying.

My eyes sting, but I have to finish my speech: "If this guy turns into something important, I'll tell you. Until then, I need to have something that is mine. All mine. And this summer, this interns.h.i.+p, and even this guy's name seem so special right now."

I twirl my fork in my fingers. Unable to look at them anymore, I squash the whipped cream flat into the strawberries as I continue, "Maybe because I got the job and made this friend on my own-you know? Minus the weekly advice from Dr. Brodie? It all feels..."

I pause for effect. Then, I paste on the very very happy smile before I look up and say the last lines: "I don't know...it all feels so normal."

Add in a small shrug, and: "Am I making any sense?"

Look up, tilt head to the side, wrinkle the forehead, play the music and roll the credits. Oh. And remember to breathe.

"Honey, that's wonderful!" Mom is practically gus.h.i.+ng. All feathers have been smoothed.

Kika smiles and wanders to the counter for seconds on whipped cream without a blink to signal that she's not onto the fact that I'm acting really weird.

Dad's smile widens as he and Mom share a glance.

"Yes. Yes, it makes sense, Jess. We'll give you all the s.p.a.ce you need. And we're really happy for you," Dad says.

I can't reply. I've reached the point where if I get too much air on the back of my throat the crying thing is going to happen. I scoop up a pile of strawberries and whipped cream and stuff it into my mouth. It tastes like rocks and sawdust, but I chew with gusto.

Because it's pus.h.i.+ng away the urge to cry.

And because they're all still staring at me. "Mffmf. Good. Thanks." I chew more.

"You let me know if you need me...or anything. We're here for you," Dad adds.

I nod. Mom's expression is flooded with motherly delight, approval, and absolute hope for me. My heart clenches with remorse. I toss a look to the ceiling, waiting for G.o.d, or lightning, or something huge to strike me down.

Unable to take more of this, it's all I can do not to leap out of my chair. Instead I put down my fork and slowly stand. "Okay. Well...cool. And yeah. Last finals are tomorrow. I'm going to study, then I'm going to text my...friend...and go to sleep. I'm wiped."