Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [59]
“My dog. She says he has a dumb name. Wants me to change it to Max or Rover or something stupid like that.”
“You have to admit, Number Forty-Four Ninety-Three is an odd name for a dog.”
“I keep telling you, that’s what they called him in the animal shelter. He’ll get confused if I change his name now.”
I tried to force the back part of my spice rack into place. There was an ominous cracking noise. Happy Mother’s Day!
“Well, looks like you’re going to have to choose between your dog and your girlfriend.”
Tim looked less serene than usual. “Yeah. Hey, Logan, can I ask you a serious question?”
“Sure.”
Tim glanced around, making sure no one was listening in. Luckily, you can’t really zone out in shop class, not if you care about your fingers, so no one was paying any attention to us.
Tim gnawed his knuckles. Maybe because he was nervous, maybe because this was the only class where he wasn’t allowed to eat. Eventually, he spit out what was on his mind.
“How do you know when a girl is ready to … you know?”
When your best friend tells you about it? Or when she explains that she was a boy until she was a teenager?
“I dunno, Tim. You’ll know.” I wiped some sawdust off the bench. Tim wouldn’t be asking unless he thought the time was right. I was happy for him and completely jealous.
Tim grabbed my arm. “C’mon,” he stage-whispered over the sound of the band saw. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve got protection, we’ve got places we could go, but what if I try and she freaks out?”
It killed me that not only was I an eighteen-year-old virgin, but that Tim and Jack assumed I’d been doing it with Brenda since I was fifteen.
“Tim, if she’s not ready, she’ll tell you. She’s a girl; she’s used to guys trying to get into her pants. Just take it slow and check your teeth first.”
Tim nodded, mulling over my deep advice. The bell rang, and we cleaned up our work area while Mr. Adams hollered at us. I had shop sixth hour. Only American literature and track practice separated me from a lazy afternoon.
“Logan.” Tim stopped short, halfway down the industrial arts hall. “Look.”
I could see the familiar, statuesque figure of Sage, milling around with the shorter students in the commons area. But what had grabbed Tim’s eye was who she was talking to.
Brenda. They were standing in front of the pathetic Boyer trophy case chatting. Brenda had a sort of intense look on her face. She kept adjusting her glasses, something I knew she did when she was uncomfortable. Sage looked calm, though not as relaxed as usual.
This was bad. Seeing the two of them shooting the breeze was like seeing your parole officer having a beer with your drug connection. Had Sage started the conversation, trying to size up the girl who’d dumped me? Or had Brenda been curious about this new girl who spent so much time with her ex? Were they just exchanging pleasantries, or were they sharing secrets? Girls seemed to break out their innermost feelings and fears shortly after being introduced. Guys only did that when they’d been in combat together or were cell mates.
“No good can come of this,” I whispered to Tim, though we were well out of hearing range.
“Why? You keep telling us Sage isn’t your girlfriend.” Tim and Jack no longer asked me if Sage and I were dating. I’d told them we were just friends so often it was starting to sound like a mantra.
“But Brenda knows she’s my friend. So why does she want to talk to Sage?”
Tim cocked his head at me. Maybe he was remembering how I’d slobbered over Sage one month, then acted like she’d never existed the next.
I was still staring at the girls. Sage laughed, patted Brenda on the arm, and walked off.
“What was that all about?” I pondered out loud. “It’s not like Brenda tries to talk to you or Jack, right?”
“Well, maybe they were …”
“Right?”
Tim sighed. “No, Logan. So do you think Brenda’s going in for a little backstabbing? Spilling those intimate little secrets that she swore she’d never tell?”
I watched as Brenda hurried to her next class.
“I don