Smile for Me (4 page)

“Don’t exaggerate, Kim—are you ready to go?” I smile my best not-at-al-nervous smile and gesture in the direction of my truck. It felt dumb driving it the 40

or so feet from my driveway to hers, but it would have felt even less like a date if I hadn’t picked her up.

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings?” I ask in as teasing a tone as I can muster. We have been driving for twenty minutes and the most she’s said was to ask me if she could turn the heat up a little.

“Why would you ask that?”

“You aren’t talking.”

“Neither are you.”

“Touché. So can we agree that you aren’t trying to make me feel guilty for blackmailing you into spending time with me?”

“I have no idea how to respond to that.” Kim huffs out her answer and turns even further away from me. Now she is staring out of the passenger window.”

“Okay. Let’s try this again. Tel me something about yourself Kim, please?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything!” I try and laugh it off like I’m exaggerating. “How about—what do you want to be when you grow up? A balerina? A princess?” She is stil unimpressed with my teasing, but at least she is looking at me now.

“A lawyer.”

“Huh, I should have guessed.” She arches her eyebrows at me. Oops. “Alright, why a lawyer?” She shrugs. “They are the second highest paid group of federal workers, and privately they sometimes make even more. Plus with the way our economy fluxuates it is one of the few fields left with plenty of job security.”

“Wait. Job security?”

“That’s what I said. Why? What do you want to do?”

“Wel, the drama club isn’t just a hobby of mine.” She smirks a little at me. As though my answer now nulifies any of my future statements. “You’re 17 years old. You shouldn’t be thinking about job security.”

“Agree to disagree.” She waves the conversation off and turns back to her window. It would seem she has decided to disregard my opinion, but I am saved from her cold shoulder as I pul into the parking lot.

“
The
Fun Factory?
” Kim looks confused and maybe a little disappointed.

“Trust me!” I try and charm her with a smile, but her expression is unreadable.

I used to come here al the time when I was younger. The Fun Factory is mostly an arcade, but the best part is the laser tag room. I thought if Kim was stil holding a torch for Walt Disney this might not be too much of a reach for her. And it couldn’t hurt to show her my mad laser tag skils… I am a legend around here.

Also there was the bonus feature of the gear. You see, I have this idea that Kim won’t look quite so distracting once she’s strapped into al those beat up plastic targets they make you wear. If she looks less distracting maybe I can stay focused and stop making a fool of myself in front of her.

Inside, I march Kim straight back to the laser tag area. Once we go through the curtained partition it takes a moment for our eyes to adjust. The big room is lit with black lights and decorated with brightly colored geometric designs. They haven’t changed a thing since I was 14, and I am fairly certain it could have used an update even then. I don’t care though. This is gonna be fun.

It is four dolars a game or ten to play al day. I happily hand over a twenty and scoop up the pile of ‘armor’ the cashier shoves across the counter.

“You have to be joking!” Kim speaks for the first time since I put the car in park. She looks horrified, but in this lighting everything looks funny and I burst into laughter. “Forget it; I’l just go to community colege.” Kim spins around heads back through the curtain.

“Come on, Kim. Give it a try. I promise we can leave if you don’t start having fun in the next ten minutes.

“I have no idea what to do.” She hisses at me looking wildly embarrassed.

“It’s easy. I’l show you. This is your gun.” I pass her the plastic blaster. “Everyone divides up into two teams, and you try to hit the opposing team where their targets are. These are the targets.” I point to the different plates marked with x’s on various parts of the armor I am now wearing. “If any of your targets vibrate and blink you are ‘dead’. The last team standing or whoever has the most active players at the end of 12 minutes wins. Easy.”

“Whatever you say, Rambo.” Kim isn’t looking at me as she tries to untangle her armor.

“I wil take that as a compliment.” I’m chuckling as I take the mess of velcro, canvas, and plastic from her and start attaching the straps to her arms.

I want to tease her and keep her joking with me, but even in a room ful of 13 year old kids this feels intimate. Tightening the buckles on her chest plate is so close to an embrace that I forget to breathe for a moment. And the end result? Even plastic toy armor over her senior citizen wardrobe can’t obscure Kim’s sexiness.

“You can let go now.” The breathiness of Kim’s voice registers before her words.

It takes me an extra few heartbeats to step back and drop my hands to my sides. I am glad it is dark, because it is way not cool for guys to blush.

The first few minutes of our first game I am worried. Kim doesn’t look like she is having fun, and I am afraid she is going to ask me to take her home. The two of us crawl between the half-wal shelters aiming our blasters at anyone on the blue team. She is being a good sport, but staying completely silent.

“Marshal.” She crouches down and whispers in my ear. Here it comes, I think, stupid laser tag. “Marshal! There are at least four of them just behind that wal. I’l go right, you go left?”

Whoa. She’s strategizing? I turn around to face her. The white shirt is blindingly bright under the black lights and it is impossible to make out the expression on her face. She might be having fun after al, or she is just alergic to giving less than 100 percent. I nod my agreement and hold up three fingers to count down on.

Kim takes out two of the kids before her chest plate lights up and I get the other two. The red team (our team) is ahead 6 players to one when the timer goes off. I’m feeling pretty good about myself as I meet Kim at the door to the ‘out’ box.

“This isn’t going to work.” She deflates me with her first sentence.

“I thought you would have a good time, Kim. Sorry.”

“What? No. I want to play again. I just need to do something about my clothes. I am liability in this shirt.” She reaches over and tugs my colar open a little further. She can see that I am wearing a dark green tee shirt under my blue button-up. “You are going to have to loan me your shirt.” I swalow my tongue. Realy, that is my reaction to her sentence. I am completely aware of the context in which she means it, but come on! Loan her my shirt? Awesome. “Anything you say Kim Penney.”

It takes us awhile to take off our armor so she can button my shirt over her polo and then put al the armor back on, so we end up sitting out one round. I could care way less. My shirt is too big for her, and she has to rol the sleeves to just below her elbows. She looks so damn cute that I wouldn’t mind if she kept the shirt.

And it is my favorite.

We play three more times. Kim single handedly takes out half the blue team in the last round. “Okay, I have to admit that was very fun.” She is laughing lightly as we turn in our gear.

“That is great news. And I won’t even say ‘I told you so.’ Even though I did.” I let myself put an arm around her shoulders as we walk out into the concession section of the arcade. “Pizza?” I ask once we are in line.

“No.” Kim steps a little further away forcing me to drop my arm. She studies the smal menu board for a moment and then orders. “I’l have the turkey wrap, and a smal side salad please.”

Defiantly, I order pizza and fries. Once we’ve found a table I take a huge greasy bit of my pizza. This is my way of saying ‘teenagers eat junk food, Kim Penney.’ She is completely unaffected. We eat quietly, but comfortably. She is stil wearing my shirt, and there is a booth across the aisle from us filed with younger teenage boys that are checking her out. Man pride wels up inside me manifesting as a wide pizza filed grin.

“Can I have one of your fries?” I have to quickly refocus my attention as Kim starts talking to me.

“Help yourself.” I push the basket to the center of the table. Kim makes an incredible soft contented sighing noise when she bites into the french fry. “Have as many as you want.” I offer, pushing them even closer to her side of the table.

“Thanks. I can’t.” She turns back to her salad. “I have to be careful about that stuff. I’m diabetic.” She pops a tomato slice in her mouth and I drop my pizza.

“What?”

She barely looks up from her food. “I’m diabetic.” She says it very matter-of-factly. “Al those carbs aren’t good for me.” I need a minute or two to process this new piece of information. “Oh my god!” I drop my head into my hands as images of yogurt, brown rice, and berry teas flash across the insides of my eyelids. “I
have
been trying to poison you!”

“What are you talking about?” She puts down her fork to give me her ful attention. Although, after a statement like that who can blame her?

“For weeks I’ve been bringing you sugary coffees and Pop-Tarts and chocolate chip muffins. I couldn’t figure out why you were acting like I was trying to poison you—then it turns out that I was. Wow. I am super sorry.” Another thought pops into my head and I yank the offensive basket of fries back away from her.

“It isn’t a big deal, Marshal. No, I didn’t drink the mocha thing, but the tea was good—and thoughtful. French fries aren’t good for me, but one isn’t going to kil me either.”

“Al the same.” Turning around and stretching out my arm, I dump the last of the fries into the garbage can behind our booth.

“Wel that was dumb.” Kim shakes her head at me and goes back to her salad.

Chapter Eight

Al in al I would say our first non-school related activity went very wel. Kim even beat me at pinbal after we ate. I have completely stopped bringing her anything edible in the mornings due to my new plan of not kiling her. Today is Wednesday and Kim is walking towards me a little quicker than usual this morning.

Although it is entirely possible that I am imagining this—it is every easy to imagine that I am becoming an important part of Kim’s day.

“Morning! Kim.”

“Hey, Marshal.” Okay no smile or hug, but I’m a patient guy and eventualy she is going to notice how awesome I am.

“I have to leave right after rehearsal today. In case you were planning on practicing. I have to work.” Her face fals. I hate that I’ve disappointed her, but I can only ask Mandy to cover so many of my shifts. “Oh. Wel maybe we could run lines over lunch?”

“Kim, we don’t eat lunch together.”

“Of course. I’m sorry I should have known—you probably sit with Dan and Steve at lunch.”

“Dave and Steve.” I correct her. Gotta love that tunnel vision. “And I do, but I meant that you and I don’t have the same lunch period. I would have noticed.”

“Oh. Wel we do. You eat fourth period, right? I usualy just take my sandwich into the library so I can study.”

“You eat in the library?” Some parts of Kim’s life are sad to me.

“What’s wrong with that? I get a lot of work done.”

“What about taking some time to relax with your friends?”

“Oh. Wel, I don’t realy have those kinds of friends.”

I guess I must have my own tunnel vision when it comes to Kim Penney. It is only just now occurring to me that she is always alone. “Sure Kim, you come and sit with us today at lunch.”

“With your friends too? That doesn’t sound conducive to getting any work done.”

“A little distraction is good for the soul, Kim. Please, eat lunch with us.”

***

“You did what?” Steve is not exactly enthusiastic about my inviting Kim to eat with us.

“What’s the big deal, dude? Lynn ate lunch with us every day last year while you two were going out.”

“Wel there it is right there. Lynn was my
girlfriend
Kim is …. What are you guys anyway?’

“We’re just friends.” My answer is true, but the words taste kind of bitter in my mouth. “Anyway why do you care if she sits with us?”

“Dave and I have a game of paper footbal to finish.”

Dave and Steve are playing an ongoing epic game of paper footbal. I believe today wil be day nine. “What does that have to do with Kim?”

“Are you kidding? The Professor is only going to think paper footbal is childish.”

“It is childish, Steve.” I said. “But I can’t imagine Kim wil care.”

“I’m al for it.” Dave piped up. “I’m dying to know what you see in The Professor.”

“How about you two practice using her name like civilized people between now and fourth period?”

“Civilized, he says!” Dave straightens up unnaturaly in his desk and takes on a realy bad british accent. “Wel I never!”

“Nor, have I!” Steve’s even worse british accent joins the conversation.

“Steven, old chap. I dare say Marshal here has insulted us!” For some reason Dave is miming sipping a cup of tea while sticking out his pinky.

“Not us! Marshal old boy—you’ve injured me.”

“yuk it up, clowns. Just be nice to her.” I turn by back on my friends, but they are undeterred. For the rest of the morning I am plagued by their ridiculous British gentleman routines. I am considering finding an empty lunch table for just Kim and myself.

***

Lucky for me or maybe lucky for them—they are behaving themselves at the lunch table. When I first waved Kim over to us Steve did jump up to pul out her chair with a dramatic flourish and Dave shook her hand with mock formality. “Miss Kimberly Penney—lovely to see you again my dear.” He used that dumb accent again.

“Stuff it Dave.” I muttered under my breath. And that was basicaly the end of it. We ate our lunch and Dave and Steve continued their paper footbal game.

To my surprise Kim loosened up enough to put away her notebook and ask to be taught to play. Paper footbal isn’t an exact science so we created a new four-person-game version of the game.

“Six hundred pointer! Woohoo!” Dave exclaims when his folded triangle teeters but doesn’t fal at the edge of the table in front of Kim.

“No. That is only 300 points. For six hundred you would have to have done it with your eyes crossed.” Kim calmly informs him after consulting the list of rules she took down in her memo pad.

“She’s got you there!” Steve is beaming as he notes Dave’s 300 points on the score sheet he’s been keeping.

This is hands down my best lunch period in al twelve years of going to school. And that includes a lot of pizza days.

Fifth period Kim and I both have chemistry. I wave to Dave and Steve as they turn down a different halway and when I turn around I almost smack into Chris Alen. Chris is usualy an okay guy, but he can have a mean sense of humor. I bet you know the type.

“Hey, Professor! What’s got you out of the library? Is there a pencil sharpening emergency I should know about?” He is sneering at Kim while he says this and a couple of his buddies behind him start to snicker.

I reach out and slip Kim’s hand into mine, threading our fingers together. Hand holding is definitely not just a chick thing. When I give him a stare, Chris’s eyes flicker downwards and he smoothes his face into a friendlier smile. “Just jokin’ with you Professor.” He punches her arm a little awkwardly. “I guess I’l see you two around.” Most of the time I could care less, but sometimes popularity comes in handy.

When they are out of sight Kim takes her hand back. Mine feels cold and empty now. “Why did you do that?” She asks.

“Do what, Kim?”

“You—you purposely gave Chris the wrong impression by holding my hand.”

I swear! It isn’t like I expect undying gratitude for putting an end to a little teasing, but a simple ‘thanks’ might have been nice. “How do you know Chris didn’t just give me a reasonable excuse to hold your hand?”

“Don’t be absurd.” I have to wonder if Kim is purposely trying to hurt my feelings, but I don’t think that is it.

“Fine, Kim. I just don’t like that nickname. Don’t you think you deserve a little more respect?” Kim just shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me. It isn’t realy an insult.”

“Umm… it kind of is.” Does she realy not get it?

“Wel, I like getting good grades. So I guess I don’t mind if people know it.”

We have to go to separate and join our different lab partners, so the conversation comes to an end. Somehow I feel dissatisfied though.

I don’t get a chance to speak to her again until after our last class as we are headed towards the auditorium for rehearsal.

At al of our daily personal rehearsals I have been avoiding the two different love scenes. Truthfuly I had made up my mind to kiss her after our laser tag date, but like a chicken I ended up winking and squeezing her hand in what I hoped was a mildly romantic fashion. Today we would most certainly reach the first Benny/Trish kiss.

“Wait, we need to talk about something.” I pul Kim into an empty class room before we reach the activities halway. This could be awkward and I would rather it not be awkward
and
public. “We are going to be working on act four today.”

“I know.” Kim looks confused. I don’t for one second believe she hasn’t read the play inside and out. Would it be too much to hope that she is looking forward to today’s rehearsal?

“Wel. I thought you might be worried about the kissing scene.” I can’t keep from cringing—so much for al my smooth charm.

“Oh. No, I’m not worried.”

“You’re not?” I take a few steps closer to her.. If she is looking forward to a kiss she is damn sure going to get a good one. And in private too.

“No. I asked Mr. Patterson about it last week. He explained al about
stage kisses
.” Sometimes during an onstage kiss the actors wil
fake it
by turning away from the audience and not actualy making any sort of lip-like contact. It is always a little lame and while sometimes an exaggerated stage kiss can add to the humor of a scene it never works out wel for a more dramatic moment. I’m not suggesting Kim and I should try out for the tonsil hockey olympics onstage, but the play would be better served by a real kiss.

“Oh, of course. Sometimes that is how these scenes are handled.” My answer probably betrays my disappointment. I am trying to decide how or if I should suggest a more realistic approach when she starts talking again.

“So, it’s no problem. That was nice of you though—to try and warn me. I am sure you didn’t want to kiss me any more than I wanted to kiss you.” She turns and heads back into the halway leaving me to catch up. Stage kiss it is.

***

For our second fun evening I am taking Kim bowling. I’m not realy nervous tonight. If I was nervous last week, and I stil haven’t admitted to that. If you take away the parts where I am imagining Kim has even the slightest of romantic feelings for me and where she is only agreeing to go out with me so I wil help her get into Brown (with Paul—blech!)… wel if you leave those parts out spending time with Kim has become comfortable, and exciting, and basicaly the highlights of my days.

She makes me laugh. I don’t think it is always intentional, but that’s okay. And I like that she talks about things besides clothes and school gossip—even if I did wish she talked a little less about getting into Brown (with Paul—blech!).

I have to admit that practicing al that dramatic dipping and not-kissing with Kim last week was stil fun. I felt a little guilty about how much fun I was having as I got to spin her around, and dip her backwards supporting her body with my arms. I am sure that I was having more fun (and for different reasons) than Kim. But I am a seventeen year old guy, so I am not going to apologize for fuly appreciating the opportunity to legitimately hold her in my arms.

Anyway. Now that I have faced the facts that Kim does not want to kiss me (yet). I don’t have any reason to be nervous. Tonight is just going to be me and Kim hanging out. Just like any other night—only funner. I ring the bel as soon as I get to the door. I don’t have time to fantasize about what she’s going to be wearing. Although if I did I can tel you my blue button up shirt, that she stil hasn’t returned, would beat out an imaginary little black dress any day. Kim opens the door almost immediately and I have to say that I am surprised by her clothes.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“Mostly, because you look great tonight Kim.” I lift my eyes back to her face and give her a smile.

“Mostly?” She looks suspicious.

I can’t help myself. I let my eyes do a slow pan from her head to her toes and back up again. Kim’s normal wardrobe must have spontaneously combusted (wel that’s unlikely since they aren’t the hottest of clothes), because tonight Kim is wearing a plain close fitting green tee shirt with…. blue jeans! I have never seen Kim Penney wear jeans. The denim looks stiff and awkwardly creased which makes me suspect they are new.

“This is a new look for you, that’s al.” I say when I realize she is clearly stil waiting for an answer. “I like it Kim, you look nice.” Every inch of me is screaming to reach out and touch her. My fingers want to brush those extra hairs out of her face. My arms want to fold her into a hug. And my lips want to practice that stage kiss again—and then accidentaly slip. Instead I grab her hand and start towards my truck.

Now I swear that I was not planning on looking at her butt—much. But when she got a few steps in front of me I couldn’t help bursting out laughing when I saw the white tag stil hanging from her waist band. Reaching out and with a quick tug I snap the tag free.

“Youch!” Kim jumps a little in front of me.

“Oh. Sorry, Kim.” I try not to laugh as I hand her the tag.

Her face blushes brightly and she is even prettier than usual. I’m realy am sorry I embarrassed her over her new jeans, because she is silent al the way to the bowling aley.

I’m not the world’s greatest bowler, but I’m not terrible either and on Saturday nights our bowling aley turns the lights down and gets a DJ so it is a very date-ish choice. The bowling aley is ful with other kids from our school, and Kim and I get the last open lane.

“Is this okay?” I finaly break the silence when we are sitting down changing our shoes for rented ones.

“Does it matter? You get to choose the
fun
activity, right?” She snips at me. I don’t understand. We’ve been getting along so wel lately.

“Don’t be like that, Kim. Of course it matters. We can do something else. What do you want to do?”

“Bowling is fine.”

“Clearly it isn’t. If you want I wil take you home.”

“No!”

“Ok—ay. So bowling?”

“Bowling.” She agrees and gets up to enter our names into the scoring console, but things are stil off.

I’d been joking before when I said our fun nights were black mail, but now I am feeling about one inch tal. “Maybe next week, you can choose what we do.

What do you do for fun, Kim Penney?”

She just levels a look at me and stays silent.

“You know—what do you do when you aren’t studying?”

“I like to learn. I like doing wel in school.”

“Liking something isn’t the same as it being fun.” I am trying to make a point here, but I think it may be going over her head.

“This is fine, Marshal. I was just embarrassed about the tag thing.” She sighs and doesn’t look at me. This seems sort of extreme reaction to such a sily thing, but I am feeling a little better.

“Oh. Wel, do you want to go throw-up?”

Surprisingly she chuckles at my joke. “Nah. I threw up before you picked me up”

“Seriously?”

“Why would I make that up?”

I am grinning now. From rejection to elation in three seconds. It would seem that I make Kim Penney nervous. Progress. “Normaly that isn’t the reaction I like to inspire in a girl, but in this case I’m glad.”

“You are a strange guy, Marshal. You can go first.”