Art Geeks and Prom Queens (8 page)

Mason?

Mason is going on our date?

Ohmygod! They really are boyfriend and girlfriend, and I am a total
idiot!

But all I say is, “Okay.”

So after picking up Mason, we head back toward the coast to Mirapois, which is the name of Jas’s dad’s restaurant in Laguna Beach. And I’m now sitting in the backseat since I figured the two lovebirds should be together, right?

They have the stereo cranked up really loud and we’re all singing along to some White Stripes CD. But I’m the only one faking it. Partly because I don’t really know the words, and partly because what I really feel like doing is hurling myself out of this car, just to see if anyone notices.

When we get to the restaurant there’s this tall guy with bleached blond hair and black framed glasses standing near the door, and when he sees Mason he comes over and hugs her.

And then he kisses her.

On the lips.

And Jas just stands there.

Huh?

When they break apart Mason’s lipstick is all smeared, and there’s even some on her teeth, but she’s all smiling and happy and she goes, “Rio, this is my boyfriend, Zane.”

And he goes, “Hey, you’re the girl from New York, right?”

And I go, “Yeah.” I shake his hand and then I look at everyone and I try to get a handle on this latest turn of events.

There are four of us.

And Mason just called Zane her boyfriend.

So does that mean I’m back to being Jas’s date?

It turns out that Zane is two years older than us and he goes to Cal Arts, which is some art school in L.A. He and Mason have been dating for like a year, but she pretty much only sees him on weekends because of the distance.

When we get to our table, Mason sits next to Zane so that leaves me next to Jas, and after we order everyone is all quiet, so I go, “You know, up until now, I totally thought you guys were a couple.” I point at Jas and Mason. “I guess because you’re together a lot with film club and the zine and stuff. I mean,
not
that you’re romantic or anything.” (I want to make that clear so Zane doesn’t think something and get all jealous.)

Jas and Mason look at each other and bust out laughing, and Zane smiles, and looking back on it, it does seem pretty lame and even slightly paranoid.

So we’re all eating and Zane, Mason, and Jas are talking about that movie
Eternal Sunshine of the
blah, blah, blah. But I’m just sitting there cutting and chewing, partly because I haven’t seen the movie, and partly because all of my attention is now centered on the fact that Jas’s shoe is touching mine and I wonder if he realizes it.

And if he
does
, then what exactly does it
mean
? Is it like foreplay—like first we rub feet and then later …

Okay, I know it sounds stupid since (as far as I know) the side of the foot is not exactly an erogenous zone, but it’s not like I can explain that to my thrashing heart and sweaty palms.

“So what do you think?”

Everyone’s looking at me.

“What? Oh, I don’t know, I’ve never seen that movie,” I say, carefully placing my fork on my empty plate and trying to fake like I’ve been listening the whole time.

“I was asking if you wanted dessert.” Jas gives me a strange look.

“Oh. No. I’m good,” I say, immediately followed by nervous, retarded laughter.
Oh, god.

So while Mason and Zane decide to share a bowl of assorted sorbets, Jas goes, “Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

And as I get up from the table Jas grabs my hand, wraps his fingers around mine, and leads me through the restaurant and back into the kitchen where he introduces me to the head chef.

It’s total chaos back here, and I’m all worried about being in the way, but Jas just pulls me toward this big silver pot on a stove and goes, “You have got to try this.” He holds a spoon full of thick red sauce to my lips.

I swallow the sauce, look into his eyes, and go, “Mmm.” Which is my totally pathetic attempt at flirting, which makes me blush, and leaves me feeling like a total cheeseball.

“Good, huh?” he says, pouring us each a glass of wine.

“What’s this?” I ask, sipping cautiously since I’m really not used to drinking wine in restaurants, or anywhere else for that matter.

“Silver Oaks cabernet.” He swirls his wine and looks around the frenzied kitchen. “This is my dream,” he says, smiling.

“But I thought your dad already owned this place,” I say, taking another sip.

“He does. What I mean is I want to be a chef.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I love this life. I grew up in it. And if you think about it, food is just another art form, another medium.” He smiles. “Just think, I could wake up every morning and surf, paint, and sculpt all afternoon, then head for my restaurant in the evening where I whip up one culinary masterpiece after another. A perfect life!” He clinks his glass against mine.

He’s smiling, and his topaz eyes are shining, and his teeth are so white and straight, and his bottom lip has this tiny glistening drop of red wine resting right in the center, and I’m so tempted to lick it off that I distract myself by nervously gulping down the rest of my wine. Which was really stupid because now I’m left with nothing but a dorky smile, a headrush, and an empty glass.

“Want some more?” he asks.

I shake my head no and watch him finish his. Then he puts his hand on the small of my back and goes, “Let’s go see if they’ve ditched us yet.”

Sure enough, when we get back to the table Zane is standing and Mason is grabbing her purse.

“I knew you were gonna run out on us.” Jas laughs.

“We’re taking off. We haven’t seen each other for two weeks,” Mason says, leaning into Zane. “What are you guys gonna do?”

I look at Jas wondering if he’s planned something else, something romantic. But he just shrugs and goes, “Whatever Rio wants.”

If he only knew!

We end up wandering through some of the art galleries across from Main Beach, which is the beach they always show on postcards and stuff. During the day it’s always supercrowded with body boarders and volleyball players, but at night people like to just hang on the benches and listen to the ocean.

As we’re walking into this big gallery called Artist Hut, our hands accidentally bump together, and Jas leaves his like that, warm and lingering against mine. And right when I think he’s going to hold my hand for real, he points at this painting and goes, “Can you believe that?”

Hanging on the wall in front of us is this huge canvas depicting the most dreadful rendition of a New York City skyline I’ve ever seen. The city lights are symbolized by tiny Day-Glo-colored boxes, and the buildings and the sky have such liberal doses of black and charcoal paint that it looks like one of those Tijuana velvet paintings from the seventies. The plaque next to it says the piece is titled,
NYC 24/7.
As a native New Yorker, I’m totally offended.

“Oh, my god, it’s awful!” I whisper.

And then Jas starts cracking up. So I start cracking up. And we’re laughing so hard we’re doubled-over, hanging on to each other. And every time we try to stop, we look at each other and start up again. But then this lady who works there (who obviously doesn’t see the humor), comes charging toward us. So Jas grabs my hand and we run out the door and all the way across the street to Main Beach.

We collapse on this bench near the big white lifeguard tower, and as our laughter subsides, I can hear the sound of the waves crashing before us.

“That was the worst!” Jas says, shaking his head.

I nod and pull my jacket tighter around me.

“Cold?” he asks.

“A little,” I say.

“Here have some of this. It will warm you up.” He offers me a tiny flask he pulled from his jacket pocket.

I take a sip and immediately recognize the smooth taste of the cabernet we had earlier in the kitchen, so then I take another. And I’m so not used to drinking that it immediately goes to my head. “Thanks,” I say, smiling and leaning into him just a bit.

He puts his arm around my shoulder and rubs up and down, like he’s trying to make me warm. Then he takes his other hand and gently tucks my hair behind my ear.

His face is close to mine, and he’s looking right at me, and I can’t help thinking:
This is it! This is the exact moment when he kisses me!

And it’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but I’ve never really kissed a guy before and I’m almost seventeen.

I told you I was a geek.

I mean, a long time ago Paige and I practiced on Hud, so if the opportunity ever arose we wouldn’t look completely retarded. But I’ve never kissed someone that I really wanted to kiss—like Jas.

So I look into his eyes.

Then I close mine.

And I don’t know if it’s the wine or just extreme nervousness, but I hear myself say, “Oh, Jas, I’ve been waiting for this
all night
”

Then I open my mouth ever so slightly, and wait.

But nothing happens.

Then Jas says, “Hey.” And he sounds a little surprised.

And when I open my eyes this completely gorgeous creature, clad in an outfit very similar to the one I was lip-synching in earlier, goes, “I just got off work, and stopped by the restaurant. They said you might be here.”

Then she leans in and kisses the lips that just seconds ago I thought I was going to be kissing.

And then she looks at me and says, “Hi. You must be Rio. I’m Monique, Jas’s girlfriend.”

Can you imagine anything more humiliating than being in the backseat of a politically correct car watching your almost-boyfriend get touchy-feely with someone who’s so gorgeous and so exotic it’s like she’s from another planet?

And all of this in hot, eager anticipation of the moment when they get to drop
you
off?

Can you?

Well, I can’t.

And believe me, I should know. ‘Cause I was the sole ticket-holder to the “Monique gets to touch Jas wherever she wants” show.

And it was awful.

So when he pulls into my driveway I leap (yes, I
leap)
out of the car, and mumbling something sounding vaguely like, “Thanksgoodnight,” I run through the front door with barely a shred of dignity, only to be confronted with a Breathalyzer.

Well, kind of.

My mom is standing there in the silky robe she wears when my dad’s home and she goes, “Rio? How was your evening?”

“Okay,” I say, heading for the stairs, not really wanting to play show-and-tell right now.

But she misreads that as my wanting to hide something. After all,
according to her I was out with a notorious Newport Beach gang member. “Come here,” she says. “Into the light where I can see you.”

Into the light?
She’s watching too many “Law and Order” reruns when my dad’s away.

But I step into the light. And my eyes are all red, and my makeup is smeared, and I know this because after my leap from the car I burst into silent tears, and then I wiped my face as I came through the door. And even though I can’t actually see myself, I only have to look at her to know what she sees. But she’s reading it all wrong.

“Where did you go tonight?” she asks.

“I told you, Jas’s dad’s restaurant.” I look at the ground, which I know makes me look even more guilty, but if I look directly at her I’ll cry. And I don’t want her to see me do that and know the real truth. Because the real truth is much worse than what she’s thinking. The real truth is that I’m a big geek, and a total dork, and I’ve made a complete fool of myself.

So you can see how I’d rather just have her think I’ve been involved in some adolescent shenanigans.

“Have you been drinking?” she whispers, looking nervously upstairs where I assume my father is sleeping off his jet lag.

“Yes,” I say. I mean, why bother lying at this point?

“How much did you have?” she demands.

“I don’t know. One? Two glasses of wine?”

“Any drugs?” She eyes me suspiciously.

“No, okay? Now can I please just go upstairs?” I look at her briefly then back at the ground.

“Rio, I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t like you hanging out with those kids. I think they’ll lead you down the wrong path.”