Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [8]
“So, Sage, where are you from?” I asked. It totally sounded like a pickup line. I might as well have been wearing an open-collared disco shirt.
“Near Joplin. Hey, I forgot my pencil. Give me yours.”
I handed her my only pencil. “Joplin’s, like, three hours away. Why did you move here?”
Sage ignored the question. “Tim was telling me about you.”
I smiled as my brain went into full panic. Tim had known me long enough that he had some real dirt on me.
“What did he say?” I asked with the nonchalance of an FBI interrogator.
Sage was picking through the various plastic bags of candy on Tim’s side of the table. “He said you run track. I believe it; you’re in great shape.”
Sage turned back to me and unashamedly scoped me from top to bottom. I felt like I should be hanging in a butcher’s window, the way she was checking me out. It was a great feeling. I tried to flex without making it too obvious.
Apparently, she wasn’t content with just looking. “Here, make a muscle.”
I obediently showed her my bicep, the result of years of shoving around a lawn mower. Sage clutched my forearm, squeezing me with her painted nails. Her hands were soft.
“Wow!” she said, not letting go. “I’m surprised you don’t play football.”
When a girl you hardly know starts touching you, it’s hard to think about anything else. It didn’t seem to be the right moment to explain that I’d tried out for the team but never made it. I didn’t have the bulk or the coordination.
Luckily, Tim showed up at that moment with the dead frog, causing Sage to release me. As Tim feng shuied the frog, the dissection tools, and his food, I tried to get my brain back on track. Brenda was the last girl who had ever touched me for that long (except my sister, but she had had me in a headlock). I’d forgotten how nice it could feel.
“So, do you play any sports?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Nope,” she said with a shrug.
I tried to be complimentary. “Maybe you should. I think you’d be good at bas …”
Sage’s smile collapsed into a scowl. Tim, who’d been flipping frog organs around like a master Japanese chef, grimaced.
Nice, Logan. Tell the really tall girl she should play basketball.
I tried to recover. “… baaass fishing?”
Sage frowned, then suddenly burst out laughing. She shoved me in the chest with her open palm but didn’t remove her hand from my chest.
“Sage, Logan, get to work, please,” came the warning voice of Mr. Elmer.
Sage sat up in her chair and began pointedly reading the lab instructions. After a few seconds, her eyes crept over the top of the paper. I’d never had anyone smile at me like that before. And I couldn’t even see her mouth.
Five minutes before the bell, I stowed the frog in the lab fridge. Tim was packing up his hourly buffet when I returned to the table. Sage was at the front of the room. Despite never touching the frog, she was intently scrubbing her hands.
Tim looked at me, then subtly gestured at Sage like she was an unruly dog I should be controlling. I allowed myself a grin.
“I thought she was obvious enough that even you might notice,” said Tim, placing a licorice stick in his shirt pocket like a pen.
I looked at our lab partner, who caught my gaze and winked at me. That new tall, crazy, and, yes, cute girl had been flirting with me.
“You going to ask her out?” prodded Tim.
“I dunno.”
The bell rang. Tim leaned over to me. “I didn’t say go buy a house with her. Take her to the movies or for pizza or something.” He was gone, leaving a trail of Fritos in his wake.
As usual, he was right. I was out of excuses. One date. It would be fun. I looked around for Sage, but she’d already left. I’d have to catch her after school.
Since his first day as a freshman, Jack had been trying to get a free soda from the lobby Coke machine. Three years, five detentions, and a broken finger later, he still hadn’t managed to get a free can.
“C’mon, you son of a bitch,” said Jack, rattling the machine. “Give it up. You know you want to.”
I sat lacing my running