have it,” Tess said. “I don’t think they’ve kissed since I was a baby. Their mouths are too busy screaming at us.”
“My mother was not on a date.”
“Okay,” Tess said.
“She was at a meeting.”
“I know.”
“So let’s not discuss what doesn’t even exist,” I said.
“Exactly.” Tess stood up. “Do you have a headband?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t worry,” Tess said.
If only my main worry was my lack of a headband.
Tess pulled off her underwear from under her huge nightshirt, yanked the band of it down around her ears, and tucked in her hair. She even looked pretty like that. Odd, for sure, but still pretty. She always does. I couldn’t help staring.
“What?” She turned and looked at me, all matter-of-fact. “Otherwise my hair will get wet when I wash my face. What do you do?”
What do I do? It was too big a question. What I don’t do is stand in my bathroom with underwear on my head, two tufts of hair sprouting up from the leg holes, and water dripping off my face. Just when I thought nothing could seem funny to me, though, Tess does something like this. I shrugged.
“Let’s talk about you kissing instead,” she said, lathering up her face with her special face stuff from Filene’s.
“Me?”
“When are you going to put poor George out of his misery and kiss him?”
I groaned and splashed some water on my own face.
“Why are you so scared to kiss? It’s nice. You’ll like it, I think.”
I grabbed a towel.
“Aren’t you going to at least exfoliate?” she asked.
“That’s what it always comes down to in life, isn’t it? Kiss or exfoliate.” I shook my head. “I’m going to bed.”
“You just have to get your first kiss behind you, Charlie. Then you’ll see what I mean.”
When she got to my room (underpants mercifully back where they belong, I had to assume, or at least off her head) we talked for a while about why Kevin had called her at my house and if that was romantic or creepy. I said I thought it was just medium. I think she was hoping I’d vote for romantic. She has not been in love since last Memorial Day weekend, with Luke Sorenson, and that was really short-lived, didn’t even last through that Monday. Elliot Blumenfeld was her first love, last fall. Then in January it was Widge Wainwright, which I didn’t get at all; he is so beige. She had fallen out of love with him by February second but held out until the fourteenth, then broke up with him when he didn’t even give her a card, never mind candy, for Valentine’s Day.
While she was talking, I was thinking that I really should tell her I already had gotten my first kiss behind me, and that it changed nothing, really. But then she’d be so mad at me for not telling her earlier, maybe she’d never forgive me. And the last thing I needed right then was to lose my best friend. I had crossed a line, at some point, by not telling her already. It never happened, I reminded myself; if Kevin ever says it did, I can just say “you wish” or something mature like that.
“I think he might be the one,” Tess was saying.
“Who’s the one? The one what?”
“Kevin,” she said. “The real one for me, the one I’m destined to be with forever, or at least through high school.”
“Really?”
“The one I’ll tell my kids about someday. There’s real tragedy in his eyes, you know what I mean?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, staring at the ceiling from down on the air mattress. “Sort of. You mean how he looks calm and intense at the same time?”
She lifted her head and rested it on her hand, her elbow bobbing on the mattress. “Exactly! I can’t believe you just said that. Do you think it’s because his mom ran away from home to be a fighter pilot?”
“Is that really true?” I knew the rumor, of course; everybody did. I couldn’t help suspecting it was probably both simpler and more complicated—maybe Kevin’s parents, like my own, had at some point just stopped
“My mother was not on a date.”
“Okay,” Tess said.
“She was at a meeting.”
“I know.”
“So let’s not discuss what doesn’t even exist,” I said.
“Exactly.” Tess stood up. “Do you have a headband?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t worry,” Tess said.
If only my main worry was my lack of a headband.
Tess pulled off her underwear from under her huge nightshirt, yanked the band of it down around her ears, and tucked in her hair. She even looked pretty like that. Odd, for sure, but still pretty. She always does. I couldn’t help staring.
“What?” She turned and looked at me, all matter-of-fact. “Otherwise my hair will get wet when I wash my face. What do you do?”
What do I do? It was too big a question. What I don’t do is stand in my bathroom with underwear on my head, two tufts of hair sprouting up from the leg holes, and water dripping off my face. Just when I thought nothing could seem funny to me, though, Tess does something like this. I shrugged.
“Let’s talk about you kissing instead,” she said, lathering up her face with her special face stuff from Filene’s.
“Me?”
“When are you going to put poor George out of his misery and kiss him?”
I groaned and splashed some water on my own face.
“Why are you so scared to kiss? It’s nice. You’ll like it, I think.”
I grabbed a towel.
“Aren’t you going to at least exfoliate?” she asked.
“That’s what it always comes down to in life, isn’t it? Kiss or exfoliate.” I shook my head. “I’m going to bed.”
“You just have to get your first kiss behind you, Charlie. Then you’ll see what I mean.”
When she got to my room (underpants mercifully back where they belong, I had to assume, or at least off her head) we talked for a while about why Kevin had called her at my house and if that was romantic or creepy. I said I thought it was just medium. I think she was hoping I’d vote for romantic. She has not been in love since last Memorial Day weekend, with Luke Sorenson, and that was really short-lived, didn’t even last through that Monday. Elliot Blumenfeld was her first love, last fall. Then in January it was Widge Wainwright, which I didn’t get at all; he is so beige. She had fallen out of love with him by February second but held out until the fourteenth, then broke up with him when he didn’t even give her a card, never mind candy, for Valentine’s Day.
While she was talking, I was thinking that I really should tell her I already had gotten my first kiss behind me, and that it changed nothing, really. But then she’d be so mad at me for not telling her earlier, maybe she’d never forgive me. And the last thing I needed right then was to lose my best friend. I had crossed a line, at some point, by not telling her already. It never happened, I reminded myself; if Kevin ever says it did, I can just say “you wish” or something mature like that.
“I think he might be the one,” Tess was saying.
“Who’s the one? The one what?”
“Kevin,” she said. “The real one for me, the one I’m destined to be with forever, or at least through high school.”
“Really?”
“The one I’ll tell my kids about someday. There’s real tragedy in his eyes, you know what I mean?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, staring at the ceiling from down on the air mattress. “Sort of. You mean how he looks calm and intense at the same time?”
She lifted her head and rested it on her hand, her elbow bobbing on the mattress. “Exactly! I can’t believe you just said that. Do you think it’s because his mom ran away from home to be a fighter pilot?”
“Is that really true?” I knew the rumor, of course; everybody did. I couldn’t help suspecting it was probably both simpler and more complicated—maybe Kevin’s parents, like my own, had at some point just stopped
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