OCDaniel, page 4
I opened my mouth, but she beat me to it.
“Do you know what Max’s deal is?”
It was like being kicked in the stomach by a mule. It felt like a Zap almost, but this wasn’t the kind I could fix. This was the kind that just happened because life is full of mule kicks to the stomach.
“In what sense?” I asked meekly.
“In the sense of, does he like anyone?” Raya asked. Her eyes followed him as he played basketball. “Is he going to the dance?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think so. He hasn’t asked anyone, though, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
She smiled. My stomach felt bruised. Would Max ask her out now?
“Clara has been freaking out,” Raya said. “She really likes him, as I’m sure you know. I can finally tell her he’s not taking some girl from another school or something. Can you tell him to just ask her and get it over with so she stops bothering me? I feel like a loser asking you in the first place, but she made me.”
My bruised stomach suddenly felt cured. She didn’t like Max.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I’ll tell him. Otherwise he’s stuck with me as a date, and I don’t look nearly as good in a dress.”
She laughed. “I don’t know . . . you’ve got the girly figure. See you in class.”
She turned to go. This was my only chance. Just ask.
But the words failed me, just for a moment. It was too long.
“Raya!” someone called out.
I turned to see the sweating, lumbering Taj close in on her.
“You wanna go to the dance?” he asked.
Was it my imagination, or did her eyes dart to me for just a split second?
“Yeah,” she said, sounding less than enthused, “sure.”
“Great,” Taj said. “See you later.”
Then he was playing basketball again. Raya was walking away.
And I was standing on the sidelines, wondering if anyone would notice if I went home.
CHAPTER 5
All I will tell you about my Routine that night is that I was at 437 light switch flicks when I finally went to bed. From the street, it probably looked like a dance party.
When I finally completed the Routine, I lay there thinking about Raya.
Let me describe the feeling of heartache, in case you don’t know:
1. Your mind says you messed up and nobody likes you and the other person is too good for you.
2. Then your mind says you will never be happy because happiness is related to that other person liking you and they don’t, so of course you are never going to be happy again.
3. Then your mind says you don’t control your own happiness and that is scary.
4. Then your stomach starts to hurt, you don’t breathe right, your arms tingle, your head hurts, and you can’t go to sleep.
5. Then you curl into a ball because there’s nothing else you can do.
Now let me describe the feeling of being Zapped:
1. Your mind says you messed up and did something wrong.
2. Then your mind says you will never be happy because happiness is related to that thing you did wrong, and if you don’t fix it, you will never be happy again.
3. Then your mind says you don’t control your own happiness and that is scary.
4. Then your stomach starts to hurt, you don’t breathe right, your arms tingle, your head hurts, and you can’t go to sleep.
5. Then you realize you can fix the thing you messed up, and you cry a little because it doesn’t make any sense, but then you fix it because there’s nothing else you can do. But then you feel worse because it didn’t make any sense, so you curl up because nothing makes any sense anymore.
Being Zapped is kind of like heartache. Except heartache doesn’t also mean that I think I might die or my little sister might die or I might destroy the entire world if I don’t fix the problem.
I guess being Zapped is worse. But I still wish I had asked Raya to the dance.
• • •
School was a little awkward for the next week. Raya and I were still working on the project, and the next week we went to the counselor’s office with Lisa. Tom said he was busy. We got a quote that said:
“Municipal government may not be the most romantic branch of government, but it’s the one that affects your daily life the most. We make the decisions on local taxes, garbage pickup, and the stoplights that keep this great town moving. We also have an election coming up, so tell your parents to vote for Steve Bradley.”
It felt like an authentic politician quote. Raya did most of the talking during our actual presentation, which was two days later. Lisa said “Any questions?” really quietly, and I talked a little bit about the election process, which nobody listened to except Mr. Keats. Tom just stood there and smirked a lot and made faces with the other football players, but he still got an A. Group work.
After that presentation Raya and I congratulated each other.
“It was nice working with somebody who actually knows what ‘municipal’ means,” she said.
I smiled. “Same to you.”
The bell had rung, and we were packing our things.
“So, you going to the dance on Tuesday?” she asked. “It feels so weird to say that. I don’t know why we have to have our dances on weekdays. Well, yes I do, actually. Mr. Frost is evil.”
It was Friday, and the dance was all anyone was talking about.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Max never asked Clara, so I guess we might go.”
“You should. It’s going to be lame, and I need someone to share witty observations with.”
I looked at her hopefully.
“I can do that,” I said.
She laughed. “I know you can. Have a good weekend, Dan.”
“You too,” I said, grinning.
My week was actually pretty good, now that I thought about it.
• • •
We went to Sushi King for dinner that night. Even Steve came. I was eating unagi, which is eel. I find them interesting because eels are not at all aesthetically pleasing and everyone says that, but is a cow?
“Emma got a ninety-five on her math test yesterday,” my mom said.
My dad glanced at Emma. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Emma said. “Missed an easy one.”
My dad adjusted his glasses.
He smiled at Emma. “Well, ninety-five is pretty good,” he said. “But I’m sure you’ll get a hundred next time.”
Steve snorted. “I got a sixty-two on my last math test.”
My mother sighed. “I was going to save that news for later.”
“Better than a fail,” my dad said. He always said things like that to Steve.
“If I didn’t have two brains for siblings—” Steve said.
“That’s enough,” my mother said curtly. “How is your tuna, Emma?”
“Good, thank you,” she replied. She always picked her sushi apart before she ate it.
“And how is everything with you, Daniel?” my mom asked.
I shrugged. “Good.”
“How’s the team looking?” my dad asked. Football was really the only thing he talked about other than grades and chores. I think he liked football more than he liked me.
“Not bad,” I said. “We make the play-offs if we win this weekend.”
He grinned. “I know. I think you could go for a run. Max is really playing well.”
“Don’t forget about Daniel’s water organizing,” Steve said.
My dad forced a smile. “He is a part of the team. It’s a team sport.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I muttered, turning back to my sushi. I bit into a piece of salmon. “I try.”
“Not with your mouth full,” my mom said sharply. “Steve, eat your dinner.”
“This salmon is gross,” Steve said, pushing it away. “I told you we should just go to McDonald’s.”
“Don’t waste food,” my dad said quietly.
Steve paused, and then he finished his salmon.
• • •
“Hut!”
Tom Dernt dropped back, cocking his arm and scanning the field. The offensive line held strong, pushing back the scrambling Halton Hawks and grunting and straining as their helmets smashed together.
Tom paused for a moment, waiting for an opening. Just then one of the Hawks broke through the line, sidestepping the block and closing in. A gasp went through the crowd. But Tom was faster.
He released the ball just as he was hit, and the pigskin floated through the air, spinning gently.
It was almost silent as it passed under the morning sky.
And then it dropped right into Max’s outstretched hands, and he sprinted into the end zone—with a couple of minutes left, that was the clincher.
The entire stadium went mad. It was a fifteen-point lead.
I watched as the crowd celebrated—even Raya was there. Clara was going nuts beside her.
My parents were watching, clapping and cheering, and I saw my dad glance at me and then quickly look away again. I hadn’t even been on the field once, of course. Max was enveloped with hugs. Raya watched as he and Taj high-fived on the field. Of course she was smiling.
She was going to the dance with a real football player.
I just sighed and poured some more Gatorade. Our water boy was away again this weekend—apparently he had quite the social life. I arranged the cups in small triangles, with two-inch gaps to avoid spillage, and then gave Max a clap on the shoulder as he came for a drink.
“Nice catch,” I said.
“Thanks, man,” he said, grinning. “Left me wide open. Play-offs, baby.”
I was going to say something else, but he crumpled his cup and threw it toward the garbage, where it joined the missed shots on the grass. Without another word he was gone, talking to Coach.
I went to pick up the cups. I hate littering. As I dropped them into the garbage, I caught a glimpse of my dad watching me again. He forced a smile and turned away.
I realized if I was ever going to get Raya Singh to go out with me, I needed to step my game up. Regardless of what she said, I was still the backup kicker, seemingly starting water boy, and the janitor.
I needed advice on how to win her over. And there was only one person to turn to.
• • •
Steve looked at me like I had finally lost it.
“You want me to do what?” he asked, slowly taking off his headphones.
I shifted uncomfortably. “I just need advice. On how to impress girls.”
“Do I look like a dating coach?” he snarled.
“Maybe?” I said. “Not sure what they would look like.”
“Get out.”
I slumped. “But—”
“Go.”
Dejected, I turned and started for the door, wondering what I was going to do now. I heard a protracted sigh behind me. “Wait.”
He took his headphones off again and leaned back in his chair, eyeing me critically.
“Do you want me to start with the physical changes or the personality?”
“Uh . . .”
He nodded. “We’ll do both. First of all, as I have repeatedly noted throughout your life, you look like a used Q-tip. It’s not just the toothpick arms. It’s the blond hair that hangs over your ears like wax.”
I self-consciously put my hands over my ears. Maybe I could use a trim. Steve stroked his chin like an evil dictator. His ball cap was perched low, almost to his nose.
“So start with some biceps curls and push-ups. A haircut. And try to suck less at football, will you?” He waved a hand dismissively. “This is all long term, though. When is the dance?”
“Tuesday,” I murmured.
He snorted. “Great. All right. I’m going to give you some quick advice here. Women dig confidence. Stop shuffling around in Max’s shadow. Stand out a little, you know? Play to your strengths.”
“What are those?”
Steve scowled and turned back to his computer. “Get lost.” He paused. “You’re smart. Stop trying to be a football player, because you stink at it. Or just give up, because if she’s popular, she probably won’t date you anyway. Your choice.”
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. He had called me smart. That was definite progress.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Close my door, Lame Wad.”
I left him alone and went back to my room, thinking about what he had said. I sat down at my computer and prepared to start writing. That was when I noticed I had an email from the address stillwaiting@email.com. It read:
We are running out of time.
—Fellow Star Child
I stared at the email for a while and then responded: Who are you? and waited. It only took a minute.
If you don’t know, you can’t help me.
CHAPTER 6
Everyone was talking about two things: the game and the dance. Taj was strutting around like a rooster, and Max was having a full day of back pats and “great game,” even from the teachers. I was even more invisible than usual, which I knew from Steve was a problem.
I needed more visibility.
At lunch everyone was huddled together talking about the dance. It was my chance to talk to Raya. I squeezed in next to her at the big lunch table. Taj was busy reliving the game with Max.
“Hey,” I said.
She smiled. “Hey.”
The cafeteria was an ugly old room with stained tiles and rows of crowded benches. It always smelled like tuna sandwiches, probably because Kevin ate one every day. It was also the noisiest place I have ever been, and I had to raise my voice just to talk to Raya right next to me.
“All ready for the big dance?”
She rolled her eyes. “If I have to talk about it one more time, I’m changing schools.”
I laughed. “Agreed. I saw you at the game on Saturday. You don’t usually come.”
“I know,” she said. “I went against my better judgment. Taj asked.”
I stiffened just a little, my eyes flicking over to him. “Makes sense.”
We were silent for a moment.
“You did a nice job with the Gatorade.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s an art form, you know. Most important job by far.”
Raya giggled, shaking her head. “Naturally. You’ll be critical in the play-offs.”
Why was I talking about football again? I thought back to Steve’s advice—be smart.
“So,” I said, “what do you think about the new policy on Iran? A bit pragmatic, right?”
She frowned. “Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just thought you would be interested. Not really anyone I can talk to about that stuff, you know? You seemed like you would know about it.”
“I’m not Iranian,” she said, sounding a bit terse. “I’m Indian.”
“I know . . . I just meant . . .”
She forced a smile. “No big deal. Not too into politics. Clara, what are you doing?”
She turned away, launching into conversation with Clara about her jeans.
That had gone well.
• • •
“So your mom is going to grab me at seven?” Max asked during history. It was the Tuesday of the dance.
“Yeah,” I replied. “But you know it starts at seven, right?”
He snorted. “Do you really want to be there on time?”
“No?” I guessed.
“Of course not. I’d go even later, but it’s only two hours long anyway.”
Mr. Keats was talking in the background about the Constitution. No one was listening. I saw Clara looking over at Max hopefully. She had turned down, like, five invitations already in the hopes that Max would still ask her. She looked like a Barbie doll today. Her hair was in elaborate curls, and her skin looked oddly smooth and shiny.
Max noticed her and looked away.
“Are you going to dance with her tonight?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see how it goes.”
I had to ask. “Do you really not like her? I mean, she’s vapid, crass, and sardonic—”
Max raised his eyebrows.
“She’s mean,” I said. “But she’s also pretty.”
Max looked uncomfortable. He did that sometimes when I talked about Clara.
“Yeah, she’s cute,” he agreed. “But she’s just not my type. Like you said . . . she’s mean.”
“Not to you.”
He looked at me. “And has she ever said two words to you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “ ‘Where’s Max?’ ”
He snorted and turned back to the board. “We’ll see. Are you wearing anything nice?”
“Dress pants and a collared shirt,” I said, suddenly alarmed that we hadn’t discussed this yet. “Are you wearing jeans or something?”
“Mom wouldn’t let me. Try not to wear a blue shirt. We don’t need to be dates and twins.”
“Right.” On to my second shirt choice.
As we were leaving school that afternoon, Clara delayed extra long, and Max just walked right by her. Raya gave me a little smile, and then I saw Taj give her a little smile, and I quickly turned away.
“See you tonight, Space Cadet,” Max said.
“See ya,” I said, heading off to find Emma.
It was a Tuesday. It had to be a good day, right?
• • •
It takes me a long time to get ready for events. Today I actually had to think about my outfit, so it was not helping.
I had cosmopolitan.com opened on my computer, along with, at least five men’s style sites.
I stared in the mirror, turning right and left and eyeing my reflection carefully. Blue was definitely my color. It matched my eyes, and cosmopolitan.com said the eyes were the most important thing to girls. But Max had already called it. I grimaced and took off the blue shirt, flipping through my closet.
I only had five dress shirts, and three were blue. There was also one black and one taupe.
Checking the men’s fashion sites, I saw that black wasn’t really in style. There was nothing about taupe. I tried both shirts on ten times and then finally settled on taupe. It was fabulously neutral.
• • •
My mom inspected me before I left. She fixed my hair with nervous hands.
