Fat Chance, Charlie Vega Page 5

  “Wow. That makes me seem deep. Honestly? I just really like shoes,” Brian says, playing.

  “Brian,” Mr. Reed says, giving him a warning look. He turns back to Layla. “Excellent work. Very astute. So what about the fact that it’s blurred at the edges? Is that time moving slowly, or something else? What do we think?”

  When no one offers their perspective, I raise my hand and wait to be called on. “Yes. Charlie. What do you see?”

  “I see something a little different,” I say tentatively, hoping not to offend Layla. “When we were talking about color theory last week, we talked about how red could be anger, but that it could also be a symbol of power. So I’m sort of seeing this as being less about anger and more about the importance of the clock.” I glance at Brian to see if I’m on the right track, and he smiles at me, so I continue. “The clock is blurred because it’s moving so quickly we can’t even tell what time it is. And the shoes, well, that’s sort of like running and movement, too, right? So maybe his piece is more about running out of time—there’s that little graduation cap in the corner, which I’m sure we can all relate to—and the enormous pressure that causes?”

  Mr. Reed is nodding, hand on his chin. “Yes, yes, I think you’re onto something, Charlie. Brian?”

  “Yeah, it’s sort of supposed to be about how anxious junior year can be. There are so many things to worry about as we’re getting ready for college—so, like, you’re trying your best but you also want to live your life and that’s hard to balance. There aren’t enough hours and everything matters. I included some texture in the piece also—those sheets of paper that are decoupaged on are different exams I’ve taken this year that, for better or worse, are shaping my grades and future.”

  He adds the last part a bit shyly, but I think it’s brilliant he thought to do that.

  “Excellent, Brian! That’s excellent!” Mr. Reed says, getting excited. He gets up close to the painting and touches one of the exams. “We can even see the grade at the top if we get closer. This is wonderful—great, great work.”

  “Thank you.” Brian smiles wide, removes the painting from the easel, and looks directly at me. “I appreciate everyone’s thoughts.”

  And I feel a little warm inside. I can tell he really does.

  I see Brian again later when I stop by the warehouse at work. My shift is basically over, but I have to deliver some paperwork to Dave, and as I’m leaving, I give Brian a wave.

  He starts to walk toward me. He’s wearing something different now, having shed the flannel he was wearing in favor of a black T-shirt that was probably underneath all day. I note that he looks extra good.

  “Hey, Charlie,” he says, breaking into a smile.

  “Hi, Brian,” I say, smiling back. “Great work earlier in art!”

  His cheeks flush a little. “Thank you. It’s always a trip to get critiqued like that.”

  “It’s my least-favorite part of the class. But your piece was so good.”

  “I appreciate that, thank you. And hey, yours, too! I really liked what you did today.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I should’ve spoken up to say so.”

  I wave a hand. “Oh, no worries. I don’t like to contribute to those critiques unless I’m certain what I’m going to say is right—and I felt like Layla was a little bit off this time, so…”

  “She was! I mean, I see where she was coming from, and she’s so great, but yeah. I owe you.” Brian bows down as if worshipping me. “I am not worthy.” I laugh, and he grins at me. “So, what brings you back here?”

  “Nothing. Just had to drop something off for Dave.” I shudder as I say his name, and Brian chuckles. “For some reason, Nancy wanted Dave to look over the thank-you letters I wrote for some board members—as if he’ll contribute much.”

  “Whoa now, you’re writing thank-you letters to board members?” Brian lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit. Look at you.”

  I give him a sheepish grin. “It’s nothing. I love to write, and Nancy knows it. It’s really cool that she lets me put that skill to use. Definitely beats counting brochures.”

  Brian laughs. “Yeah, I imagine pretty much anything would. Even watching the grass grow, because at least then you’re out of the office. Bet Dave has nothing to offer your letters, though.”

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that he kinda annoys the crap out of me. He purposely refuses to call me by my name!” I say. “It’s always ‘little lady’ instead. I hate it.”

  “Yikes. Well, if it makes you feel any better, Dave keeps asking me where I’m from. Like, he won’t accept that I was literally born and raised here. He once got straight to the point and asked where my family’s from in China. I’m Korean.”

  I laugh, even though that’s terrible. “Oh my God. Yeah, you win.” Brian looks at his watch, and I take it as a cue to go. “I should head home.”

  “Wait,” he says. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Okay,” I say, surprised. “Great.”

  I smile to myself as Brian pops his head into Dave’s office and says good night, grabbing his coat. He nods toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  We walk into the office, where I grab my bag and coat and say good night to everyone before heading outside with Brian.

  “So,” Brian says, holding the door for me as we go—a gesture I make note of. “In between all the working and the school stuff, you do anything for fun?”

  “Me?” I ask, and wish I hadn’t.

  Brian laughs. “Yeah, you.”

  “I don’t know. I hang out with Amelia.”

  “I do see you guys at school together all the time.”

  “Yeah, but we’re not, like, joined at the hip or anything,” I lie.

  “Right, sure, sure. But besides that. Do you ever, I don’t know, go places? Out? Downtown? To Jake’s?”

  “Yeah, I love Jake’s! They have the best coffee.” We’re at my car now, and I stop walking. “This is me.” I point at the car. “But you were saying?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just that…maybe I’ll see you at Jake’s sometime.”

  “That’d be really great, actually,” I say. “And until then, see you at school?”

  He grins at me. “Yeah. See you at school.”

  I climb inside and drive away wondering: Did I just make my first boy friend?

  Like, male friend. Not boyfriend. Ha.

  Chapter Six

  I might daydream about handholding almost as much as kissing. There’s something so intimate and sweet about it. (That’s probably why it makes my characters all sweaty.)

  But honestly, it’s hard not to think about it when I’m surrounded by couples in love. They’re laughing together, and walking through the halls, and kissing, and shooting each other meaningful glances, and—yes—holding hands.

  I blame it on the time of year. We’re nearing Valentine’s Day, and that surely plays a role, but at my school, the thing that’s really pushing couples together is the George Washington High School Annual Football Awards Ceremony and Dance.

  We just call it the dance. As you do.

  The event honors football players for their accomplishments throughout the prior season, mostly because if my town can think of a way to prolong football season, they’re absolutely going to.

  The players are supposed to bring a date who will accompany them to the dance that takes place afterward, and they often ask in big and public ways, kind of like promposals. The boys can ask their date to the ceremony as early as they’d like, but most start asking when February starts, and it really ramps up a week before the event.

  Two years ago, people lost their minds because Grey, our best quarterback, invited his longtime (but kind of secret) boyfriend, Logan, to the ceremony in front of the entire school. He presented Logan with a dozen red roses, which were each tied with a strip of paper that listed a reason why Grey loved him. Grey read each of the reasons aloud before giving the roses to Logan one by one.

  It was beautiful. I cried.
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br />   I hate to admit how romantic I think this entire thing is, and I’m embarrassed by how lonely it makes me feel.

  Cal is a football player, so I know it’s only a matter of time before he asks someone who isn’t me to the event. Last year, he waited until the day before the dance to ask Elizabeth Myers, painting the words Football Ceremony? on his bare, beautiful, muscular chest.

  This year, Cal is into Amelia, and I’m convinced he’ll ask her. I know when it happens, it’ll crush me, probably for days, and I’ll need to reevaluate my life.

  But at least maybe I’ll get to see his chest again.

  I usually spend the few weeks before the ceremony feeling dreadfully lonely, and this year is no different. I try to throw myself into my online writing communities, which works temporarily, but here’s the thing: I mostly write about love, dreaming about boys and their soft lips and all the ways they can kiss whichever main character I’ve created (who is always some version of the person I wish I could be). Then, once I stop writing, I remember that I’m alone and haven’t been kissed and it stings all over again.

  Between that and watching all my peers couple off, I find myself transformed into a full-blown grouch by the time we’re a week away from the dance.

  My grouchiness comes out in physical form in bio lab when I’m partnered with Benjamin and I put down the slide under our microscope a little too hard and crack it.

  “Careful, Charlie!” Benjamin says.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say. “It’s still usable, isn’t it?”

  He slips the slide out from under the microscope and lifts his glasses to the top of his head to closely inspect the damage. “I think we’re good. We should still be able to see the heart tissue all right.” He looks at me as he moves his glasses back in place. “But maybe I should be the one that sets our microscope up.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Sorry. I’m just tense today.”

  Benjamin grunts a little, and I’m not sure if it’s a sympathetic or annoyed grunt. He can be a tough one to read, his brown eyes rarely giving an indication of what he’s thinking, his mouth often pursed into a thin line. I’m embarrassed to admit that sometimes I look at him and think that if he just fixed his hair a little (like, curl cream is calling his name) and wore better clothes, he’d be cute—he’s got nice scruff and a good face. But that’s Judgmental Charlie coming out. I’d hate to know what people think about me. If she’d just blank, she’d be so much prettier.…

  Wordlessly, Benjamin takes his time to carefully set the slide in place and focus the lens. Then he looks up at me, rubbing the stubble on his face, and surprises me when he simply asks, “Why?”

  “Oh, you know. All this dance and love stuff has me on edge, I guess,” I say dejectedly.

  He snorts. “Everyone gets pretty daft this time of year.”

  At that, I smile a little. Benjamin sometimes comes out with things I don’t expect.

  “They do, don’t they? It’s so annoying. They just go totally gaga and it’s like nothing else even matters except for the dance.” Benjamin nods but goes back to squinting into the microscope, so I continue. “They even make a mess of the hallways with their over-the-top proposals. Did you see that Jamie Gale used confetti cannons to ask out Lainey Christensen? It made a huge mess. Janitor Sal’s going to have to clean all that up, which is super rude.”

  “Yep,” Benjamin says.

  “And Nick Williams literally painted on Ericka Hall’s locker. Basically vandalism! I just feel like maybe these proposals are getting a little out of hand.” Why am I so worked up about messes in the hallway? “Plus, Perry Bell hijacked the morning announcements to profess his love to Alyssa Choi. Like, what next, right?”

  Benjamin backs away from the microscope and clears his throat. “Charlie, I can appreciate your irritation, but we really need to get on with it. Mrs. Robinson won’t be happy if we spend the whole class just dunking on our classmates.” Then he adds, with a chuckle, “Not that I don’t enjoy that.”

  I smile. “That’s fair. I was getting a little carried away.”

  “I mean, yeah, the way the school treats the dance is pretty absurd,” he says. “But you know, the best way to show them is to forget about the stupid high school romances and just focus.”

  Forget about the stupid high school romances? I live for the stupid high school romances! I want to be in my own stupid high school romance, and that’s the problem!

  But all I keep imagining over and over again is Cal asking Amelia to the dance and me standing next to her while this amazing thing I’ve been wishing for happens to her. I’m there, but not there at all, a background character. I can see the scenario so perfectly in my head that I’ve even sometimes found myself acting a little cold toward Amelia.

  It’s irrational bullshit and it’s totally my own problem, I know, but I even recently turned down an invitation to go to her house and watch a movie because I knew I’d get mad at her if we were both in sweats and she looked beautiful while I looked like a lump.

  I’ve got to get out of my own head somehow, but I can’t.

  When I see Cal that afternoon, my heart sinks as if he’s already gone and picked Amelia over me, which, no surprise there. But why not me, Cal? I swear I can be what you need!

  I think this bitterly as I’m shoving books into my locker, and I barely notice when someone sidles up next to me.

  “Hey, Charlie,” a voice says, and when I look up, I’m surprised to see Cal. Cal! As if I was thinking about him so feverishly I made him appear! He leans against the locker next to mine.

  “Hey, Cal,” I say, nervously adjusting my glasses.

  He smiles at me and runs his hands through his beautiful hair. Again with the me-wishing-I-was-his-hand thing. “You got a sec?” he asks.

  I giggle a little. “Sure.” I close my locker.

  “So,” Cal starts, then reaches into his book bag for something. He retrieves a single red rose and holds it out to me. On the stem, there is a ribbon that unmistakably reads CHARLIE in messy block letters. My heart is in my throat.

  “Let me start by saying that you’re one of my best girls,” he says. “You know that. And I just wanted to show a little appreciation.” He pushes the flower closer and I realize I haven’t done anything but stare at him, so I reach for the rose and hold it as delicately as if it’s made of glass.

  “Cal, I—thank you,” I say.

  “You’ve been real good to me, Charlie. Always happy to see me, always laughing at my jokes, always making sure I pass my classes—it’s nice, you know? That I can always rely on you. So, I was wondering if you were free next Friday?”

  My heart is thumping so hard I feel I could pass out. In fact, it is very possible I did pass out and everything currently happening is some kind of dream—because there’s no way that Cal Carter has just asked me if I’m free next Friday, right?

  “Um,” I say, feeling my heartbeat speed up. “I am free next Friday, yes?”

  It comes out like a question.

  “Beautiful. It’s the dance, you know?”

  “I do know, yes,” I say, feeling flushed. Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here. “That it is. The dance.”

  “Well, I was just hoping you would join me…” He hasn’t finished his thought, but I can feel my giant smile and I find myself staring right at his beautiful face. This is happening. It’s happening! I can already see us at the dance together, his arms around me, my arms around him. We’re swaying together to a slow song and our heads are close and suddenly Cal leans in for a kiss—my first kiss—and my breath catches in my throat. But in real life.

  “Charlie?” Cal asks, and I realize he’s been talking this whole time and I definitely haven’t been listening. And now I’ve just made a weird throaty breathing noise.

  I cough and try to pretend there’s just something in my throat, which is super smooth, self. “Yes,” I say. “What were you saying?”

  “So, you think Amelia will be cool with this, then?”

 
“Oh,” I say. Would Amelia be cool with Cal and me going to the dance? That’s a great question. I think about how much Amelia has hated Cal and his incessant flirting (borderline harassment, maybe), but I also think about how obsessed with him I’ve been and I know, in my heart, that she’ll be happy for me, even if she thinks I can do better and even if she thinks he’s a jerk. I smile at him. “I think she’ll be more than cool with it.”

  Cal’s whole face brightens and he breathes a sigh of relief.

  “Great,” he says, smiling back. Those. Dimples. “So, it starts at seven in the gym. I won’t be able to pick you up, unfortunately, but we’ll meet there, yeah?”

  “Yeah!” I say. “Definitely!”

  “You’re the best, Charlie.” Cal reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “I mean it.”

  “You, too, Cal. Just the best,” I gush.

  “I gotta get going, but you just made my day!” He starts down the hall backward, still looking at me. “It’s going to be great!”

  “Yes,” I whisper to no one, still buzzing.

  Because Cal Carter just asked me to the George Washington High School Annual Football Awards Ceremony and Dance.

  Me.

  Chapter Seven

  CAL ASKED ME TO THE DANCE!!!!!!!!!! That’s the exact text I send to Amelia. I use ten exclamation points, but even that doesn’t properly convey my excitement.

  She writes back immediately, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!

  The whole way to Amelia’s house, I sing along to the radio at the top of my lungs. I dance at the stoplights. I laugh out loud to myself like I’m losing my mind—because I am! I’m not even annoyed when I arrive and see Sid outside on the curb smoking. I actually wave at him, then practically float inside.

  Amelia grabs me by the arms and starts squealing, and it’s contagious.