Small Steps - Louis Sachar [48]
When he told her he’d already read it, Kaira screamed so loud he had to hold the phone away from his ear.
Then she complained about the unreliability of the U.S. Postal Service. “I thought they were supposed to be slow! You must think I’m a total lamebrain.”
“I liked the letter.”
“You did?”
“I liked it a lot. It made me feel good inside. Not all goosey, kind of ducklike.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I was just trying to make a joke.”
“So what do all your friends think about you having a famous rock star for a girlfriend?”
He didn’t know she was his girlfriend, but he was glad she thought she was.
“I haven’t really told anyone.”
“You are so . . . I don’t know. Other guys would be all braggy about it. You’re just so real. So down-to-earth. I feel like a big phony whenever I talk to you.”
“I don’t think you’re phony.”
Kaira forced a laugh. “That’s because you don’t know me. I’m so fake I can’t even tell when I’m being honest or not. Like you know when I told you to burn the letter? I was lying. I was hoping you’d read it. I just didn’t want you to know I wanted that.”
“I figured as much.”
“You did?”
“Well, I mean, if you really wanted me to burn the letter you wouldn’t have waited a few days to call me.”
“You are so smart. You see right through me.”
That might have been the first time anyone had ever told him he was smart.
“Okay,” Kaira said, “you’ve got to tell me something embarrassing about you now.”
“Why?”
“Because I wrote an embarrassing letter to you.”
“I didn’t ask you to write it.”
“You have to,” said Kaira. “That way we’ll be even. Otherwise I’ll never be able to look at you again.”
“All right,” Armpit agreed. He thought a moment. “All right, you know that song ‘Damsel in Distress’?”
“Uh, yeah, I think I’ve heard of it,” Kaira said sarcastically.
“Well, yeah, I know you know the song. What are the words after ‘this something, this something, this dress. You would never guess . . .’—then what comes next?”
“Why?”
“Because every time I hear the song it sounds like you’re singing something, but I know it can’t be that.”
“What does it sound like?”
“Okay, this is really embarrassing, but you asked for it. Every time I hear the song, it sounds like you’re singing, ‘Armpit. Save me, Armpit. A damsel in distress.’ ”
Kaira laughed. “‘Save me, Armpit’!” she exclaimed. “Why would I sing ‘Save me, Armpit’? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know!”
“I didn’t even know that was your name! I didn’t even know you when I recorded the song!”
“I know! I know you weren’t really singing that. I already told you that.”
“God, you’re even worse than me. I just wrote you a dumb letter. You’re delusional!”
“So are you going to tell me the real words or not?”
“I didn’t know there was anybody in the world named Armpit!”
“Will you humor me and tell me the words?”
Kaira recited the words. “‘These shoes, these jewels, this dress. A perfect picture of success. You would never guess . . .’ ” She paused and said the next two words slowly and clearly. “‘I’m but a damsel in distress. Save me. I’m but a damsel in distress.’ ”
“Well, that makes more sense,” Armpit agreed.
“You are so funny,” said Kaira. “Just hearing your voice. You don’t know how much I miss you.”
“Me too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I really do. I tried not to miss you too much, because I never thought I’d ever hear from you again, but once I got your letter, and now hearing you . . . It’s like your voice cuts right to my heart.”
“Aw, you are so sweet. You know what we should do? We’re going to be staying in San Francisco for three days this weekend. I’ll be doing a show there, a show in Marin, and one in Berkeley. You should come visit me!”
“Yeah, right, I’ll just hop on my private jet.”
“We fly people in all the time. A guitar player gets sick or something.”
“You’re serious.”
“I am serious. We’ll arrange everything. A limo will pick you up at your house and take you to the airport.”
“You’re serious?”
“Three days in San Francisco. Just you and me. What do you say?”