Hold Still Part 19

"Yes, ma'am."

I turn the ignition and the car sputters to life. The tape player blasts at full volume, but Dylan doesn't even flinch. I put my foot on the clutch, the other on the gas, and we careen out of the driveway and onto the street. Dylan squeezes her fist shut.

"Okay, good, we're moving, now slow the f.u.c.k down a little, okay?" she yells over the music.

I laugh, just happy that I'm taking us somewhere. I slow for a red light and turn the volume down.

When the light changes to green, I take my foot off the clutch too fast and stall.

"s.h.i.+t!" I turn the key in the ignition and someone in the long line of cars behind me honks.

Dylan says, "It's okay, it's no problem. They can go around you if they want."

"s.h.i.+t s.h.i.+t s.h.i.+t." I turn the ignition again and mess up again and my car lurches then dies.

"f.u.c.k!"

"You just did it a minute ago. You can do it again." She puts her hand on my shoulder. "Breathe," she commands.

I do. I try one more time to start the car. I take my foot off the break and put it onto the gas. Slowly, I ease off the clutch while pus.h.i.+ng down on the gas pedal and the car coughs, lurches, then accelerates smoothly. I squeal, and Dylan leans back in her seat, finally relaxed.

8.

We're broken up into groups in Mr. Robertson's cla.s.s, brainstorming about hypocrisy in The Scarlet Letter, The Scarlet Letter, when my pencil lead breaks and I have to get up to sharpen it. when my pencil lead breaks and I have to get up to sharpen it.

"Who uses pencils like that anymore, anyway?" Dylan teases, and looks back at the book.

I slide past her chair and make my way down the cramped aisle of desks, nearing Henry Lucas and Alicia's friends on my way to the sharpener. The girls are flirting with him as always. SPOILED traces his ear with her finger, ANGEL tugs at his fingertips. I trip over someone's backpack and hear Dylan crack up behind me. "Sorry!" I chirp, and keep moving. ANGEL'S fingers are climbing up Henry's arm now. He looks annoyed.

"I'm gonna bring my new boyfriend to your party Friday, okay?" asks SPOILED. "He's older. He could supply the beverages."

For a few seconds, the sharpener drowns them out. As I pa.s.s their desks again, Henry's asking, "Who even said I'm having a party Friday?"

I slide into my seat next to Dylan.

"Do you like going to parties?" I ask her.

"Shh!" she says. "I'm counting how many times Hawthorne uses the word ignominy ignominy in this chapter." in this chapter."

"Nerd."

"I'm thinking of charting it out chapter by chapter to measure the levels of humiliation and disgrace."

"You can't turn this book into a mathematical equation," I say.

"I can try," she says from behind the open pages.

"So, anyway," I say. "Parties. What do you think about them?"

"They're fine."

"Want to know a secret?"

She sets the book down. "Sure."

"I've never been to one."

She blinks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've never been to a high school party."

"You've never had beer from a keg?"

"No."

"You've never sat around with a group of tanked kids and talked about who was hot?"

"No."

"You've never locked yourself in someone's parents' bedroom and made out?"

I tilt my head, like I'm trying to remember. "Never."

"Hmm," she says. She opens her notebook and scribbles some words and numbers. Then she settles back in her chair and scrutinizes me. Then she settles back in her chair and scrutinizes me.

"Caitlin," she announces, "that is a disgrace."

9.

Taylor calls me later that night. "Can you come out?" he asks, his voice so ridiculously sweet and hopeful.

"I'll try," I say. "Call you back."

I find my parents out in the garden.

"Look!" My dad beckons me. He holds a green artichoke in each hand like trophies. "They're the first artichokes of the season."

"What do you think?" my mom asks. "Should we grill it? Maybe just with a little olive oil and salt so we can really taste the flavor . . ."

I s.h.i.+ft from one foot to the other. I don't want to hurt their feelings, but I don't want to call Taylor back with bad news, either.

"You're cooking them tonight?" I ask.

"Why wait?" says my dad.

"Well, I was kinda wondering if I could have dinner with Taylor tonight . . ." I let this thought trail off, and check my parents' reactions. Disappointment flashes across my dad's face. My mom smiles wider, which I know is her way of masking what she really feels.

"But," I say. "I would hate to miss out on the I say. "I would hate to miss out on the first artichokes of the season first artichokes of the season."

My dad nods. "It would be a shame."

"And besides, I'm pretty sure that Taylor likes artichokes."

My parents turn gleeful-both Dylan and and Taylor on the same day? They are in troubled-teen-parent heaven. Taylor on the same day? They are in troubled-teen-parent heaven.

"Dinner will be on the table at eight-fifteen," my mom says, all princ.i.p.al now. "Richard, trim some basil, will you? I just need to get out of these clothes."

Back upstairs, I call Taylor.

"So," I say when he answers. "How do you feel about artichokes?"

"Artichokes?"

"The food."

"My parents are kind of conventional vegetable people," he says. "You know, carrots, peas, corn . . . that sort of thing. I don't think I've ever had artichokes."

"Well," I say, scrunching my face up in nervousness. "Tonight's your lucky night. Artichokes at my house."

I hold my breath, wait to hear how he'll answer. Somehow, I know that if there's reluctance in his voice, I'll be crushed.

"They invited me?" he asks, and to my amazement, his voice sounds almost eager.

"Yeah."

"Wait, but was it like, you asked them and they said, 'Okay, we didn't really plan for it so the servings might be small but if you really want him to come then go set another place at the table'? Or was it like, 'We'd really like to get to know Taylor better and it would make us really happy to have him for dinner'?"

He says this all hurried and I'm laughing even before he's finished.

"The second one." I giggle. "Definitely."

"What time?"

"Eight."

"Okay." I hear movement, things rustling. "s.h.i.+t, it's already past seven! I'll be right there." And he hangs up.

He arrives a few minutes early, freshly showered like the last time he came over, and smelling like a bottle of cologne. My dad shakes his hand. My mom gives him a light hug. I think I see her trying not to choke, but I could be imagining it.

"Hey," he says to me from four feet away. He lifts his hand in this stiff little wave.

"Hey," I say back.

I want to kiss him.

When we're ready to eat, my mom, my dad, and I all sit in different places at the table. We're so used to being three-having a fourth person throws us off. So I sit on the side where my dad usually sits, and my mom sits across from me, instead of at the end, and my dad sits next to her, and Taylor sits next to me.

For a while there's a lot of small talk, but not the really awkward kind.

"Do you play any sports?" my dad asks.

"Not really," Taylor says. "I skate a little, though."

"He means skateboarding," I add real quick, so my parents won't make fools of themselves by asking about hockey or Rollerblading or something equally embarra.s.sing.

"We know," my mom says teasingly.

Taylor loves the artichokes, and asks about their garden, and says that he would really like to learn how to grow vegetables.

"You're welcome to join us anytime," my dad says. "We're out there most evenings and on the weekends. Just come by." He seems to have forgotten all about Taylor's less-than-perfect first impression.

Taylor says, "Really? Awesome," and it's all I can do not to reach over and touch him. He's so close. Did I mention I want to kiss him?

After we're through eating, I go to the kitchen and open the freezer.

"Serious problem," I say. "There's no dessert."

Mom and Dad exchange looks.

"Do you two want to run to the store for some ice cream?"

"Sure," I say, trying to sound casual. "What kind do you want?"

"You choose," my dad says.

As Taylor and I are leaving, my mom brushes past me. "Straight to Safeway and back home, okay?" she whispers.

My face gets hot. "Of course," I hiss.

As soon as we get in the car, my hand is on Taylor's leg. I lean toward him.

"Wait!" he says. "They might be watching!"