“Yeah, I guess it was pretty stupid.”
“Just wait. Someone’s going to come along, someone you never expected, someone who needs you because you’re you.”
“You think?”
“Sure. And besides, you need someone you can beat at Ping-Pong every once in a while.”
“Carmine, you’re breakin’ my balls.”
“No, you’re breakin’ my balls.”
“Fuggettaboudit.”
“No, you fuggettaboudit.”
I’m sure some people might get a little worn out with the Italian mobster routine, but not us.
“So,” I say. “Carmine, should we head back to da party and astound dem stiffs wit our new drenched-to-da-bone eveningwear?”
She squeezes my knee underwater. “You got it, Carmine.”
“Bada bing, bada boom.”
Chapter 38
Talk about bad luck. My last class of the day is over, I’m in the middle of the parking lot, only two rows from the safety of my car, and all of a sudden here comes Krystal Krittenbrink, heading straight toward me. What am I going to do, run? That’s too weird, even for me.
“Sutter Keely, I want to talk to you.” Her little black eyes narrow, and her dime-size mouth twists down to about the size of a screw head. She has this strange fur collar on her blouse, apparently from a moose. “I just want to know who you think you are.”
“Um, the king of Mexico?”
She stops about an inch away from me. “Aimee told me about your little party out by the lake.”
“Yeah, that was fun.”
“And now you’re avoiding her.”
“I’m not avoiding anybody. I’ve been laid up in bed with a case of the seventy-two-hour elephantiasis.”
“Don’t think you’re going to joke your way out of this.”
“Hey, I’m not trying to joke my way out of anything. I’m not avoiding her. Besides, it’s none of your business, so get off my back.”
“Ha, I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“I was telling Aimee what she ought to do about you, and she said that same thing—told me to get off her back. I knew she had to get that from you.”
“She said that? Good for her.” I have to admit it makes me a little proud to hear Aimee took my advice about standing up to people.
But Krystal’s like, “No, that’s not good. Aimee’s not mean like that. She’s a sweet girl, and she doesn’t need you sniffing around her like a hyena and then skulking off when you don’t get what you want.”
“A hyena? Sounds like you’ve been watching too much Animal Planet.”
“I don’t know what else you’d call it. It’s been almost two weeks since that stupid party, but have you called her or taken her to lunch? No. You haven’t even talked to her one time.”
“So? What do I look like, the Lord of Time or something? I’m not responsible for how much time goes by. The only problem Aimee has is you bossing her around like she’s your own personal robot. It sure isn’t me.”
On that, I wheel around and make a beeline for my car. I’m sure she’s still back there comparing me to African wildlife, but I can’t hear her now.
Funny thing, though, that evening at work while I’m running the dust mop across the tiles, Krystal’s voice comes back loud and clear. Sure, she’s probably jealous that Aimee’s been getting some male attention, but as much as I hate to admit it, she also has a point. I have let the Aimee project slide. I mean, the whole idea was to bolster her confidence, give her a good shot of independence, but now she probably has to sit around for hours listening to Krystal tell her how stupid she was for going to that party with me in the first place.
And the truth is I miss Aimee. She has a way about her that latches on to you. It’s nothing big or audacious. It’s small and cool, like the first sip of beer on a hot afternoon. If I was going to follow Shawnie’s advice and find someone completely different from Cassidy, I wouldn’t have to look any farther than Aimee Finecky. She’s definitely different, all right. But I have to chuckle at the very idea of dating her. If Shawnie thought it was ridiculous that I asked out Whitney Stowe, what would she think of me dating Aimee Finecky?
But, I tell myself, it wouldn’t hurt to run by her place after work and pay her a friendly visit, catch her by surprise before she has a chance to slap on any lipstick. We’ll just hang out a little bit. It’s not like I’ll be leading her on or anything. She’ll just be another one of my girl buddies. Actually dating her is beyond the call of duty.
That’s what I tell myself.
When I get to her house, the Finecky family truck is parked in the driveway and just about every light in the house is on. Still, it takes a while for someone to open the door. It’s her little brother, and as soon as he sees me, he cranes his head around and yells for Aimee, then disappears, leaving me standing on the porch.
From somewhere, Aimee hollers back, asking him what he wants, and he goes, “Your boyfriend’s at the door!”
So then, she’s like, “Who?”
“I don’t know his name. That guy who came over a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh God, um, tell him to hold on a second, I’ll be right there.”
“You tell him,” says Shane, and someone else—I assume it’s their mother—goes, “Well, don’t make him wait on the porch. Ask him to come in.”
“Come on in,” Shane yells.