The Other Fish in the Sea (Grab Your Pole, #2) Page 9

  “So would you go out with him if he asked?”

  I followed his eyes without moving my head. So that’s it. His friend, Jeremy, likes me. I told you...omnipotence works every time.

  “Probably not.”

  “Why not? He’s a really nice guy and he thinks you’re pretty.”

  “I am pretty, but, I’m also twelve.” Call me conceited if you want, but I don’t think it’s a crime to acknowledge one’s own strengths. Also, I’m stalling for a minute while I consider whether I would actually go out with him.

  “So? He knows you’re a couple years younger than him and he still thinks you’re pretty.”

  Follow my thought process here and I’ll show you how I come to a decision: Jeremy’s kind of cute in an awkward, pubescent sort of way and I will admit after having found boys to be stupid and a waste of time for the last twelve-ish years, that lately I’m discovering I find some boys attractive and interesting. However, any boy, regardless of his age, who thinks a good way to get my attention is by having my cousin tell me he thinks I’m pretty, is one French fry short of a Happy Meal.

  Nope, not interested. Simple as that.

  “I’m flattered (Lie.), but no. I don’t wanna add to my dad’s boy-stress level (Lie.), he’s already got enough on his plate with Camie’s personal jungle gym (Lie.).” I pointed over to where Camie is currently trying to climb up Tristan’s body like he’s a tree to get a hold of something that looks like his phone, which he’s holding out of her reach above her head.

  And so I lied about being flattered and not wanting to add to my dad’s non-existent boy-stress level. So what? At least I was polite. I could’ve easily crushed poor fry-less Jeremy’s feelings and self-esteem, but I didn’t. I took the high road, the road less traveled… Dang, I’m pretty and I’m a saint!

  “Oh, yeah. I guess that would be sorta like puttin’ him through the wringer. Jeremy’s gonna be bummed, though. Can I at least give him your cell number and give you his?”

  What do I look like? A blonde rolodex for boys who’ve lost an archery match with cupid? First Tristan and now Jeremy… I’m already regretting not chewing up the Fry-Guy and spitting him out in the dirt.

  “Whatever, but remember I don’t text so if I get one from him, I’m blocking his number.” I won’t answer even if he does call—which he won’t. But if he does happen to surprise me—which he won’t—I’ll at least view him with a teensy bit of respect. I still won’t answer, though. And I most certainly won’t be calling him.

  “Oh. Um, okay…I’ll let him know.”

  That’s what I thought… Texts are impersonal. Texts are safe. They’re also how people my age communicate when they don’t have anything of importance to say. Jeremy has nothing to say in addition to being afraid of me.

  “What about Facebook?”

  I definitely should’ve spit him out.

  “I’m not on Facebook.” Let’s all sing, shall we? Lies lies lies yeah! I like The Thompson Twins; they had neat-o hair. I’m totally on Facebook, my alias is Invisible Nightmare.

  “Oh, okay…well I’ll tell him about the texting thing.”

  Yeah, you do that.

  Okay, now for a bite to eat… I’m kind of in the mood for Mc Donald’s now, but a Suzie Q from my secret stash in the “smallest outside compartment of the RV that no one ever uses for anything” will suffice. And yes, that’s the actual name of the cubbyhole.

  Oh and lookee here! Here’s distraction number two! And to think, I wasn’t even looking for another one…

  And since my mom and my Aunt Karen aren’t really trying to talk without being overheard in the RV while playing Gin Rummy by themselves, I’m not going to consider this as eavesdropping. We can think of it as being in the right place at the right time. I’m sure they won’t mind. I mean come on now; can I help it if I don’t make sound when I walk? No, I can’t. It’s not like I’m going to shuffle my feet or hang a quadraphonic Blaupunkt around my neck so I announce my presence with authority. Watch Bull Durham, that’s all I’m saying.

  “—her, but Brett and I both think she’s a nice girl.” Dang…caught her in the middle of a sentence. If that isn’t just irritating. I think my aunt is talking about MaryAnn, though.

  “Gin!” Way to go, Mom.

  “I don’t know why I ever play cards with you, Mandy, you beat me every time… So, tell me more about this boyfriend of Camie’s. He’s sure a good lookin’ kid and it looks as if she thinks the sun rises and sets on him.” Like that’s news.

  “You’re sure right about that. It doesn’t hurt that he dotes on her the way he does either.” The big sap. Pun intended.

  “What does my brother think about that?”

  “He approves. The two of them have really made a connection (That’s putting it mildly. My dad and The Tree have a total bro-mance going on.), and Jillian is quite fond of him too.” Yeah, yeah. He’s not bad. I’d like him better if he’d buy me that surveillance gear, though. I’ll have to work on that.

  “Are you concerned they might be moving a little fast? She is only fifteen.”

  “Well, Kevin and I have talked about that, but they’re not moving any faster than he and I did, and Camie’s a smart girl.”

  “Even smart girls make mistakes.”

  “Yes, they most definitely do, but, they’re teenagers, they’re in love (My mom’s so perceptive.), and we’re going to let her have this. (And cool.) Kevin and I both feel with circumstances being what they are, that things are going to be hard enough in the future for everyone… I think they’re going to need him.” Who’s “they” Kemosabe?

  “That’s a mighty tall order…do you really think he’s got what it’s going to take?”

  “I pray every night that he does. (Wait a minute, this isn’t good.) And you know, there’s something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on that makes me believe God has put him in our lives for a reason.”

  “I can believe that…God whispers to us all the time yet we rarely listen. (I’m always listening.) I admire your faith.”

  “He’s good for our family, Karen. He brings laughter and life to our house.”

  “Mandy, do the girls know?” NO.

  “No. They’ve already been through so much this year…we just desperately want them to have a chance at living normal lives for as long as possible (Fat chance of that happening now, isn’t it?), so we’re not telling them until we’re out of options.”

  “When will that be?” Yeah, Mom, when will that be?

  “We don’t know for sure. There’re still some tests to take and I might be eligible for a surgery that could just take care of everything.” God, I know you can hear me…please take care of everything.

  “But you’re not holding your breath.”

  “No. I’m not holding my breath. I’m…”

  Stick a fork in me, I’m done.

  I refuse to sit here and listen to my mother talk about dying like she’s doing a verbal rendition of Elton John’s lame-o Lion King ballad for my aunt. Oh marvelous. Now I’ve got him singing the deep and soulful “Circle of Life” in my head!

  It’s definitely time to go for a ride—alone.

  Riding is always good for thinking and it appears I have some decisions to make. If you were expecting me to lose it, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. And you can go ahead and think of me as heartless if you want, too, but I’m not. I’m analytical. It’s just how I roll, can you dig it?

  So, back to my thought process and decisions…

  What is Dad going to do without her? He’ll learn to cook. What are we going to do without her? We’ll help him learn to cook. I can’t believe they’re not going to tell us. Yes, I can. They want to protect us. I wonder if I should tell Camie. No. She’s too emotional, she’ll fall apart. Well, maybe not. Even though I don’t think he’s said it, it’s clearly obvious…he’s so in love with her. He’ll hold her toge— Oh good lord, I should be ashamed of myself…I’ve been so blind. It’s all starting to make
some convoluted sense.

  Tristan. He’s a lifeline.

  Jeez, God and my mom are really expecting a lot from him. I know he’s got really wide shoulders and all, but dang. I wonder if I should tell him. No. That would be too much pressure for even the most devoted of Romeos. Maybe I should tell Mom and Dad that I know. It could take some pressure off. Or it could very possibly break them. So no. If our parents want to try to protect us, then let them.

  Jillian, just keep your mouth shut and deal with whatever happens the way you deal with everything else. Maybe God’s working on taking care of everything right now, and if He is, He certainly doesn’t need help from a twelve-year-old.

  Slam on the brakes! I like this spot.

  I feel oddly cold, but at least the sun feels good and the sand is nice and toasty on my butt. Since they made it illegal to swim in the canal, it’s more or less nice and quiet here.

  Aw, cheese and crackers. I take that back. It would be nice and quiet if it weren’t for him. At least he had the good sense not to let the others follow him, though. Then he and I would be havin’ some fightin’ words.

  “You’re not supposed to ride alone.”

  “I wasn’t.” It’s a matter of semantics. You can’t really ride alone with hundreds of other people riding the same dunes, now can you?

  “Humph. No Twinkies?”

  I grabbed a couple Suzie Qs for the road.

  “You wish. What were they saying about me?” He really likes Twinkies and he was riding with Dylan and Jeremy…

  “Why ask when you don’t care?”

  Smart boy.

  “For the same reason people text, chat and email.”

  “Okay, what are you afraid of?”

  Ooh…very smart boy.

  “At the moment, Elton John.”

  “I’m not gonna pretend to understand that.”

  “Good idea.” I’m sure that’s exactly what he needs…yet another peek into my mind.

  “So, are you gonna ask, or are you gonna try to tell me you’ve figured it out?”

  He’s infuriating so neither. I’m going to ignore him.

  It’s really just another trick, though. It’s the “appear as if you couldn't care less trick.” That’s the official name.

  “I bet you’ll only need a hint and you’ll put it together.”

  “Why do you think I care?” Works every time.

  “I don’t care if you do or don’t. I wanna watch you do it.”

  Well wasn’t that a surprising statement? I’ve been sitting here staring at the water—i.e., ignoring him—but now I have to look at him. I really dislike being taken by surprise and he does it a lot.

  “Fine, what’s the hint?”

  Watching him push up his sleeve past his elbow has just revealed the hint and yet another surprise. But it’s really more than a hint and a surprise…it’s a scar.

  “You’re a pitcher.”

  “Yep.”

  “You had the Tommy John surgery.” I freely admit that I looked it up on my phone last night. I told you, I hate enigmas even though I didn’t know the two were so closely related.

  “Yep.”

  “You’re afraid.” He’s petrified, I just don’t know why.

  “Yep.”

  “What are you afraid of?” I won’t, but I should hang my head in shame. I can’t believe I asked. Enigmas, a pox on all of you!

  “At the moment, Jack Norworth.”

  “What song did he do?”

  “Take me out to the ballgame.”

  Smart and funny. If I can admit it, so can you.

  “Did that work?” There’s an eighty-five percent chance the surgery worked…I think he’s afraid of the fifteen percent chance that it didn’t.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “And if it didn’t?” He’ll be like Grey.

  “Well, that’s really not an option for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I love baseball. It’s who I am.”

  I wonder if he’s singing “Lies” in his head, too. He should be, because that’s what he’s doing. I have no doubt he loves the sport, though. Anyone who is willing to go through an operation that requires ten to twelve months of recovery time just so they can play a game would have to love it. But, it’s not who he is.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  He’s wrong. Analytical, remember?

  “Sure I do.”

  “Alright, prove it.”

  Buckle up, kids…this here’s gonna be a bumpy ride.

  “You’re afraid that if you don’t have baseball you’ll disappear and be nothing. Invisible. And you will be—if you allow yourself to be or allow others to change you. But you have to allow it to happen. Which you won’t…you’ll still be here. You’ll still be you.”

  “I’ll never be who my parents want me to be without it.”

  “What you do doesn’t define who you are, it’s how you do it. And that’s their problem, not yours.” Some parents just need to get a clue.

  My parents have a clue. I just wish I didn’t right now. So…it appears I’ve come full circle. Aw, DANGIT!

  “Your turn. Elton John wrote a lot of songs.”

  “No.” I don’t share.

  “You know me and I’m not afraid of you.”

  “So?”

  “So get it out.”

  Uh-oh. No. This can’t be happening. Oh please God, I don’t want to cry. Not now. Not here.

  “It’s none of your business!” You’re losing it, Jillian. Get up and leave.

  “I’m making it my business.”

  He’s pushing me…

  “Well don’t!”

  “You’re acting your age, Jillian.”

  He’s pushing really hard.

  “I’m TWELVE! This is who I am!”

  “No, it’s not. The accumulation of years doesn’t define who you are, how you live them does. Tell me why you’re crying.”

  “I can’t get ‘Circle of Life’ out of my head!”

  And I allowed him to do it. What is happening to me? I hate that letting him in feels good. And I hate that crying looks so weak even though I know it’s not.

  “Ah. She’s not in remission. Does Camie know?”

  “No! And if you tell her, I’ll do everything in my power to make you wish you hadn’t!”

  “You know you can trust me to keep secrets. If you ask me to keep another one, I will.”

  “And you can’t tell Tristan either…my mom thinks he’s got a red cape and she’s praying he’s more powerful than the locomotive that’ll demolish Camie and my dad.”

  “What about you?”

  “She knows she doesn’t have to worry about me.” She doesn’t. I like her idea of being normal, but I’m not going to kid myself. I’ve never been normal and she knows that. I’m too much like her.

  “Jillian, come here.”

  “Wh—What are you doing?” He’s hugging me. What has this world come to? I’m crying and liking it, and he’s holding me…and I’m liking that too. Again.

  “Defining who I am.”

  “And just who do you think you are?” I should ask who he thinks I am, because I don’t think I know anymore.

  “Right now, I’m just your friend.”

  “You don’t want to be my friend, though, do you?” I already know the answer to that. He doesn’t. So the better question would be, is that what I want?

  “It doesn’t matter what I want. What do you want me to be?”

  Very smart boy.

  “Nothing.” I wonder if he knows I’m singing The Thompson Twins to myself again.

  “Okay.”

  “Now what are you doing?” He pick-pocketed my dang phone! I’m so impressed…

  “Calling myself so you have my number again.”

  Jeez my rolodex is sure getting full—stupid cupid. Rhyme unintended. It just tells you where my brain is.

  “What for?”

  “For when
you’re not afraid and you wanna tell the truth.”

  Very, very smart boy. You’d never know he’s this quick by looking at him.

  “I’m not afraid of the truth.” I’m really not afraid of the truth, but, I am afraid.

  “That’s not what I said. You’re afraid of the unknown.”

  He’s not just smart; he’s a boy-genius!

  “So are you.” This is strange. There’s no more tension; it just…disappeared.

  “Yep. Are you afraid of death?”

  “A little. Kind of a big unknown, death. Are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” I believe him. He might be afraid of many things, but he’s not afraid of me, and he’s not afraid of death.

  “You wanna laugh at death.”

  “And how, pray tell, does one do that?”

  “You can still receive videos on your phone, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I have my own ringtone this time?”

  Individual, specially chosen ringtones…my generation’s version of being pinned.

  “Are you gonna give me a new one?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay.”

  “How long have you had mine picked out?”

  “Since last month.” The first time he got my attention, I told myself it was a one-time thing, but...I’ve known he was coming for me. He’s been ringing “Hell’s Bells” for weeks.

  “Are you gonna tell me what it is?”

  “If you tell me what you just chose for me.”

  “‘Rhinoceros’.”

  “Smashing Pumpkins. I like it.” She knows. It’s repeated over and over again in the song.

  “Your way, right?”

  It’s not a question. I know what he’s saying…that’s part of the song too.

  “Thank you.” That’s right, I said thank you. When someone agrees to give you your way when they wish things to be otherwise, you should be polite and say thanks.

  “You’re welcome…now what’s mine?”

  “Send me the video.” We’ve been lying on our backs in the sand, programming our phones with aliases and ringtones so AC/DC can just tell him.

  “You gonna let me take you to Hell, Jillian?”