Speed Dating Page 5

  “I think I’ll try some of Quintana’s moves on Stephen,” Mads said. “When it comes to kissing, I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.” She wished Stephen would walk by that minute so she could practice Quintana’s techniques on him while they were fresh in her mind. But Stephen was a junior, and their schedules were completely at odds. They hardly ever saw each other at school. Kissing practice would have to wait until later.

  “Maybe having some road-tested moves will give me confidence,” Mads said. “And isn’t that all you need? Confidence?”

  She looked at Holly and Lina for confirmation. They looked doubtful.

  “Confidence is good,” Lina said.

  “Skill can be helpful,” Holly said.

  “But confidence can’t hurt,” Lina said.

  “Good luck with that,” Holly said.

  “Thanks,” Mads said. Her brief spurt of confidence had completely evaporated. “Thanks a lot.”

  “What’s that?” Mads pointed at a gigantic gray blob suspended from the ceiling. It was a long piece of stretchy gray fabric stuffed with something soft and tied at various points to make it puff in and out like a worm.

  “That’s one of Mom’s new pieces,” Stephen said. “It’s supposed to be a small intestine. She’s doing this series of sculptures called Internalize, where they’re all body organs.” He pointed to a curvy, brown-red cushion on the floor that Mads was about to sit on. “See, that’s a kidney. And there’s a halfway-finished heart in the corner. I think that’s as far as she’s gotten.”

  Mads quickly stepped away from the kidney. She knew better than to sit on people’s sculpture, as long as they identified it for her.

  She and Stephen had gone to a movie, but when it was over they still had a lot of night to kill, so he brought her to his mother’s house. His mother was a sculptor. She was upstairs in her bedroom, reading. Stephen thought she’d pretty much leave them alone, but for extra privacy he’d led Mads out back to the art studio. It was attached to the kitchen by a short, enclosed walkway.

  “Is that a couch, or a spleen?” Mads asked, pointing at a ratty blue velvet love seat.

  “Couch,” Stephen said. “Perfectly safe to sit on. Are you sure you don’t want anything from the kitchen?”

  “I’m sure,” Mads said.

  He sat beside her on the blue velvet love seat. He put his arm around her. She leaned against him.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go out to the movies anymore,” he said.

  She sprang forward, shocked. “What do you mean?” Was this the introduction to a breakup speech? Why else would he suggest not going to the movies?

  “I mean, at the theater,” he said. “Most of the movies they show at the Twin are such a waste of time. Even the foreign flicks. What happened to German cinema? That movie we saw tonight was total dreck.”

  “Well, that was the title,” Mads said.

  “Okay, the title may have been Dreck, but it’s not supposed to be literal garbage,” Stephen said. “Or maybe it is. What do I know? Is Western culture declining that quickly? I’m only sixteen and I’m already nostalgic for an earlier time. Where are the Fassbinders, the Wim Wenderses? The Werner Herzogs? The Weitz brothers?”

  The who? Mads sat back and relaxed. He wasn’t breaking up with her. He was just ranting. He did that sometimes.

  “From now on we should just stay home and rent old movies,” he said. “Nothing made after 1999. No, 2001. Okay, 2004. But nothing trashy, unless it’s the good kind of trashy, like John Waters.”

  “That’s all right with me,” Mads said. She didn’t care if they never saw another movie like Dreck again. Lots of German people running around Berlin wearing gorilla costumes. Except for this one guy who wore a Santa suit. At least, she thought it was a Santa suit. He had a red nose, and he was fat. The movie seemed like it was supposed to be funny, but Mads hadn’t seen a funny German movie yet. Okay, she’d only seen three German movies in her whole life. But none of them were the least bit funny.

  Mads wished he hadn’t started talking about German cinema—it made her feel insecure. She didn’t know anything about it. Stephen was kind of intellectual, but he wasn’t snotty about it at all and never wanted to make her feel stupid. She knew that. Still, to try the Quintana makeout moves she needed confidence, and talking about German cinema wasn’t giving it to her.

  “From now on, we’ll only watch good movies at home, and if we don’t like them, we’ll turn them off and start reading,” she said, trying to use a sexy voice. “Or else…” She nuzzled her nose against his cheek to let him know it was time to change the subject. He got the message.

  “Or else we can find other ways to entertain ourselves,” he said. She playfully licked his nose. He laughed and wiped off her spit.

  Mads licked her lips three times, the way she’d seen Quintana do it, in preparation. Stephen moved toward her. She ducked her head. His chin knocked into her eye.

  “Ow,” she said.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She rubbed her eye and nodded. “Fine, really.”

  They tried again. Mads tilted her chin up. She was afraid to duck her head now, so she just kept it where it was. Stephen came to meet her, and their lips locked.

  Now we’re talking, she thought. They were happily kissing. Her eyes were closed. She was tempted to peek to see if he looked as if he were in heaven, the way Holter had looked when kissing Quintana. But she didn’t want to lose her concentration, so she kept her eyes closed.

  They sank into the love seat. He lay under her, holding her tight. His lips parted open, just a little. Mads flicked her tongue inside, licking his tongue the way she’d licked his nose. He flicked his tongue back. She drove hers in deeper. Then she felt his body get tense. He sat up, knocking her off him. His eyes were wide open. “Did you hear something?” he asked.

  Mads listened. Some insects chirruped outside. Other than that, all was still. “No,” she said.

  “I thought I heard something,” he said. “Like my mother. Not that I’m not allowed to fool around with a girl or anything, but I don’t exactly want her witnessing it.”

  “I know what you mean,” Mads said. She listened again. “But I don’t think she’s coming.”

  “Sometimes she comes downstairs for a cup of tea at night,” he said. “Okay, sorry. False alarm.”

  “That’s all right,” Mads said. “I’m not wild about the idea of her witnessing us, either.”

  They got back down to it, but they had to start over again. Not from the very beginning, but from earlier, so they could work back up to the place they’d left off. But just when they got there, he sat up again.

  “There! See! A noise!” he said.

  Mads did hear a clicking sound this time. Like someone with very long toenails tapping toward them through the walkway from the kitchen.

  “Does your mother need a pedicure?” Mads asked. She turned around to see. It was only the Costellos’ shaggy sheepdog.

  “Hey, boy,” Stephen said. “It’s Nietzsche.”

  “Gesundheit,” Mads said.

  “Ha-ha. I never get tired of that one.”

  She put her hand behind Stephen’s head and kissed him. “See, it’s not your mother. Now, where were we?”

  Nietzsche padded closer and whined. “He’s hungry,” Stephen said.

  “Just ignore him,” Mads said. “We can feed him later.”

  The dog whined again. He licked Mads’ toes.

  “Ick,” she said.

  Stephen stood up. “I’ve got to feed him. He won’t leave us alone until I do.”

  Mads sighed and followed Stephen into the kitchen. Was there a problem here? She huffed into her palm and sniffed it, checking her breath. Smelled okay to her. You can’t always tell if your own breath smells bad, because you’re used to it, but Mads had gotten pretty good at detecting foulness.

  After feeding the dog, Stephen noticed it was almost Mads’ curfew time and said he’d better get her home. S
o that was it.

  Is something wrong with me? Mads wondered. Weren’t boys supposed to be dying to get into your pants? So why did Stephen keep stopping just when things got hot?

  Was it him? No, she thought. It’s got to be me. These things are always my fault.

  Then she remembered Quintana, her confidence, her breeziness, and scolded herself. Would Quintana let a lousy kiss get her down? (Would this happen to her in the first place? No, but never mind.) Confidence! Stop blaming yourself!

  But if it wasn’t her fault, it was his. And that meant she had a lousy boyfriend. Or, the third alternative: they had no chemistry. Also unacceptable. She couldn’t win.

  At least if its my fault, she thought, lean do something about it. And I will.

  7

  A Message from Speed Racer

  * * *

  To: hollygolitely

  From: your daily horoscope

  HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: CAPRICORN: Your heart is like a soccer ball—getting kicked around. Unfortunately, these days that’s the only way you’ll score.

  * * *

  Why hasn’t he called?” Holly moaned. “Why hasn’t he e-mailed?”

  Sebastiano had found her alone at Vineland after school and sat down to cheer her up. It had been almost a week since the Speed Dating party, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Eli. She was obsessed with him. She’d only lasted two days before breaking her promise to herself and sending him an e-mail. She’d tried to keep it light, coy. Mysterious, like him. But how mysterious can you be when you’re contacting someone who hasn’t contacted you? The writing is on the wall, so to speak. Or the screen. Obviously, if you’re communicating, you’re interested.

  Sebastiano broke out his BlackBerry and handed it to Holly. “Show me what you wrote him,” he said.

  Holly logged on to her e-mail and opened her SENT MAIL file. “Here.”

  Her e-mail said:

  To: eli_eli_o

  From: hollygolitely

  Re: Speed Dating

  Eli— How did you like the Speed Dating party? Lina, Mads, and I are writing to everyone who participated to see if they have any suggestions for making it better next time. So, any suggestions?

  This whole first paragraph was a total lie. Lina, Mads, and Holly didn’t write to any of the other Speed Daters. Eli was the only one whose suggestions were solicited.

  I’m Holly, by the way—the blonde in the middle of the table? #8? I don’t know if you remember me. We met at 3:17? P.M.? Anyway, write back if you have any suggestions. Your input is greatly appreciated! —Holly Anderson, RSAGE

  “That’s your idea of coy?” Sebastiano frowned.

  “God, I know, it’s so lame,” Holly said. “How could I have written something so stupid? No wonder he hasn’t written back.”

  “You can always hold another Speed Dating thingy,” Sebastiano said. “You will do it again, won’t you? The last one was as good as Desperate Housewives, only more like Desperate High Schoolers. Which isn’t saying much, but in this town, you get your jollies where you can.”

  “For you, maybe. You didn’t have to suffer through it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Next time, I’m staying out of it,” Holly said. “I’ll just sit with you and watch.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not. You’re going to go through the whole thing again and meet a nice shot of testosterone to take your mind off this little dweeb you’re stuck on. Who looks exactly like Speed Racer, by the way. Which is funny, since you met him Speed Dating. I think I’ll call him Speed from now on. Too bad you don’t look much like Trixie. Maybe that’s why you haven’t heard from him.”

  “Shut up. He doesn’t look like Speed Racer.”

  “Sure, he does. Those big, round, doe-like eyes. Anime eyes. And his thatch of black hair and trim little figure—”

  “Stop it. He’s not a cartoon character.”

  “Maybe not to you. But if you learned to see him that way, you wouldn’t be so miserable.”

  Holly went limp in her chair, her head falling back, her hands pressed against her eyes. “I don’t want a nice shot of testosterone. I want him! What is his story? Why does he have to be so friggin’ mysterious?”

  “That’s it, get up,” Sebastiano said. He rose.

  “What?”

  “Come on. I’ve heard enough. We’re going for a ride, sister.”

  Holly got up, glad to be bossed around for the moment. “Where?”

  “Let’s take a little spin around old Griffith, shall we? Give me your keys.”

  “I’m not letting you drive my car.”

  “You’re in no condition to drive. You’re drunk on misery. Let’s go.”

  “He’s cute.” Sebastiano pointed to a quarterback type walking down the path with a girl clinging to his midsection. “Why don’t you go after him?”

  “He’s not my type,” Holly said. “And he’s taken.”

  “Hmm. Too bad.” Sebastiano spun Holly’s yellow VW Beetle through the green, manicured, winding paths of Griffith Academy, Eli’s school. That was all she knew about him: his name, his e-mail address, and his school.

  “Do they have a fencing team here?” Sebastiano asked. “Because Speed definitely looks like the fencing type to me. Muscular, yet slight. Possibly wrestling, but for your sake, I hope not.”

  “Why not wrestling?”

  “You have no idea what those guys do to their bodies,” Sebastiano said. “They’re more weight-obsessed than a bulimic girl. Truly. They’re sickos.”

  “Hmm. Sebastiano, what is the point of this little road trip?”

  “Information-gathering,” Sebastiano said. “To see if we can find out something useful about Mr. Racer. A clue. Does he have a girlfriend? Does he have any friends at all? Is he some kind of weirdo? You know, spying?”

  They followed the small, tasteful signs to the gym. School was out for the day, so if Eli was around, he was probably doing a sport or after-school activity.

  “What if he sees us?” Holly asked.

  “Duck. And if he still sees you, lie.”

  Sebastiano pulled into a parking spot. Holly made a move to get out of the car, just as the gym door opened and a group of kids poured out. She quickly shut the car door and slouched low in her seat.

  “There he is,” Sebastiano said. Holly watched Eli. The sight of him made her heart race. She hadn’t seen him in almost a week, and her memory of his looks had begun to fade. Except for his labyrinth eyes. Those, she’d never forget.

  His hair was wet, as if he’d just taken a shower. So he did play some kind of sport. And he was surrounded by a mixed group of guys and girls, also wet-haired.

  “Uh-oh. Girlfriend at six o’clock,” Sebastiano said.

  A girl approached the group, which fell away, leaving Eli alone with her. She jingled her keys at him. He grinned and snatched them away. Holly was seized with an urge to be that girl. Either to be her, or blow her away.

  “That’s it,” Holly said. “He’s got a girlfriend. I’ll start erasing him from my mind right now. Can we stop off for some Chocolate Brainwash?”

  “Not so fast,” Sebastiano said. “I don’t think she’s a girlfriend. They haven’t kissed, not even a peck. And look.” Eli and the girl walked through the parking lot and got into a car. Eli drove. He pulled out, and Holly saw, printed on the back of the car, the words STUDENT DRIVER.

  “I wish my driving instructor had been that cute,” Sebastiano said.

  “Me, too,” Holly said. “So what if she’s his driving teacher? He could still fall for her!”

  “Trixie, calm down. Look, you’ve done what you can. If he’s really your soul mate, he’ll call. Or e-mail. And if he doesn’t, he’s not. And you’ll be lucky you didn’t waste months and months trying to mold him into soul mate material when he never was in the first place. So relax and let fate take its course. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Holly said, but she wasn’t a “let fate take its course” type. And, for that matter, neithe
r was Sebastiano.

  “If you ever fall in love, you are going to be so screwed,” Holly said. “I’m going to throw all your truisms and bad advice right back at you.”

  “There, there,” Sebastiano said as he drove through the plush Griffith campus. “I’ll ask around and see if anybody knows anything about the guy. Happy?”

  “No,” Holly said. “Not until I’ve solved Eli like a puzzle. He’s going to be mine or I’m going to know why not.”

  “Ugh, you girls are so hopeless,” Sebastiano said. “When are you going to realize guys aren’t mysterious at all? They’re just big lumps. You only think they’re mysterious because you can’t believe a human being can be nothing but a big lump, but trust me, they can, and half of them are. The boy half. And they’re proud of it.”

  “What about you? Are you nothing but a big lump?”

  “You’d better believe it, sister. The biggest.”

  That shut Holly up. She had to admit he sounded proud of it.

  She checked her in-box one last time before going to bed that night. And there it was. Blinking like a ruby, an unopened treasure.

  To: hollygolitely

  From: eli_eli_o

  Re: 3:17

  Forgive me, Holly. I’ve thought of nothing but you since we met last Saturday. But I was afraid to make a move. I knew that once I did, once I made a move in your direction, that would be that. My fate would be sealed. I could never go back. My search for love would be over. I didn’t think I was ready. But my heart didn’t care. Every day at 3:17 it beat for you. And tomorrow is Saturday. My heart overruled my head. It moved my fingers and made me write to you. I knew if I lost you, I’d never forgive myself.

  And so, sweet Holly, if you could see me now, you would see a piece of clay, waiting for your hands to reach out and mold it into a work of art. Say you’ll be my divine potter.