Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [43]
“Jack’s still grounded.”
“Oh yeah.” I’d tried to warn him that constructing a potato cannon was not the greatest idea, but he and his brother were determined. Luckily, no one had been injured in the explosion, though Matt had nearly become another spud-related statistic.
“I think Mom has to work Saturday night. Can I ride with you and Dawn?”
Tim, for once, wasn’t seething with self-assurance. Something was bothering him. Finally, he spit it out.
“Logan, do you think you could, you know … bring a date?”
“Huh?”
Mr. Elmer was sifting through his notes. Class was about to begin.
“Listen,” said Tim rapidly. “We can drive you to Columbia, no sweat. But … Dawn said she wanted to … I mean, after the show … wanted to go somewhere and be alone.” Tim had turned completely away from me and had nearly buried his face in his hands.
“Oh, uh, yeah. I’ll find someone. Someone with a car.” Tim shot me a thankful smile as the first bell rang. I, on the other hand, felt uncomfortable. After Brenda and Sage, my next date would probably turn out to be an ax murderer. Oh well, as long as she could drive.
I stared at our rotary dial phone, trying to will myself to pick it up. Mom was gone. For the first time in over a year, she was spending one of her nights off out drinking with some friends. She’d been apologetic when she brought it up. I almost had to push her out the door.
Arranging a date for Tim’s birthday had proved harder than I’d expected. Tanya was off the market. Brenda was dating Blake the Flake. The few dozen girls I knew well enough to ask out either were dating someone, didn’t like me, or were girls I didn’t especially want to go out with. It was starting to look like I’d have to either not go or try to bum a ride home from someone.
I tapped on the phone. Of course, there was one person who liked me. Sage would probably like to see the comedian. And she had access to a car. We could go to the club and wouldn’t really have to talk to each other.
And afterward we could put tinfoil in the microwave and clean some loaded guns. What in the world was I thinking? After the pure hell Sage had put me through, why would I want to see her again? We’d both apologized, and though we weren’t pals again, the hate was gone. That was the best we could hope for. If I asked her to join us, she might think I wanted to be friends again. I didn’t want that.
I smacked the phone so hard the bell dinged. I don’t want that! Because Sage would still be nice, still be funny, and still be—pretty. And still be a boy. I could forgive myself for my earlier attraction. But now if I looked at Sage and thought she was cute, even for a moment, then I’d have no excuse.
I thought it would be so easy not to think about Sage. Denial is powerful. With practice, I could just pretend that I’d never kissed a boy, never almost hit a girl, and never been so gaga over Sage. While I was at it, I could pretend I was rich and a football hero. Maybe that’s what my father had done. Convinced himself that his kids were better off without him. Being a dad is hard, so why try? Being friends with Sage was hard, so why bother?
I got up to pace, but there wasn’t room. Maybe Sage deserved more than this. Maybe I deserved more. If Sage and I could just go out and see a show together, then maybe there was no reason to end our friendship. We’d be going to college together, after all. Now that I’d never try to kiss her again, we could hang out every now and then. And if things were too awkward at Tim’s party, then I could honestly say I had tried.
This was all just an elaborate way of saying I missed Sage and wanted to see her again.
I felt the same knotted tension in my gut that hit me before every track meet. She probably would just hang up on me, anyway. I dialed her number, almost hung up, then involuntarily smiled when she answered.
“Hi, Sage.”
“Logan!” I could hear her gasp on the other end. Then there was a pause. I heard her walking, then heard a door slam.
“You still there?” she asked.
“Yeah. Um, how are you?” I asked in a monotone.