Twerp Page 14

  But after dinner I ran into trouble with Amelia. She’s always been able to read me, and when I took extra time in the bathroom—I mean, it was no more than a couple of extra minutes to comb my hair—she parked herself outside the door and waited for me to come out. She cracked up as soon as I opened the bathroom door. She took one look at me, and she just knew I wasn’t going to Lonnie’s house.

  “You’ve got a girlfriend, don’t you?”

  I pushed past her. “Leave me alone.”

  “I’ll bet it’s that Jillian girl,” she said.

  “Get lost!”

  I hustled back to my room with her footsteps right behind me. But then, at once, her footsteps stopped. I shut the door to my room and listened for her, but there was no sound. It was weird. If she’d followed me the entire distance, I would’ve slammed the door in her face—which would’ve caught the attention of my mom and dad. But she kept them out of it. She kept the thing between the two of us. She had me dead to rights and let me off the hook.

  I cracked open the door and peeked out. She wasn’t there.

  Now I was curious. I should’ve let it pass, probably. But I couldn’t figure out what had stopped her in her tracks—I mean, since she’d started to give me a hard time, but then just quit. If I didn’t find out, the question was going to gnaw at me the entire night.

  I walked the length of the apartment and knocked on her door.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  “It’s Julian.”

  “Julian who?”

  “You know who it is!”

  “All right. Come in.”

  I opened the door, which let in a breeze and rattled the beads on the wall. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed with a copy of Newsweek in her lap. There was no chance she was reading it. She hadn’t been back in the room more than ten seconds before I knocked on the door.

  I shut the door behind me.

  “Maybe I do,” I said.

  “Maybe you do what?”

  “Maybe I have a date.”

  “With Jillian?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I’m not ashamed of it,” I said.

  The right corner of her mouth turned up. “What I mean is, you don’t have to feel awkward about it. It’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s not the kind of thing you have to hide.”

  “I’m not hiding it. It’s just not a big deal.”

  “Are you nervous?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “You’re sure you’re not nervous?”

  “Why should I be nervous?”

  “You’re not even slightly nervous?”

  “Whether I’m nervous or not, what does it matter? I’m not going to chicken out.”

  “You make it sound like an ordeal, like a math test. But it’s not like a math test.”

  “I know that,” I said.

  “I don’t think you do,” she said. “You can screw up a date just like you can screw up a math test. But it’s also different because there’s not one right formula. You see? You don’t have to study for it because there are lots of right formulas. You just have to be yourself and pick the one you can make work.”

  I nodded. I had no idea what she meant.

  “Let’s start with the basics. What are you going to wear?”

  “Just a shirt and pants. What I wear to school.”

  “If you wear jeans, wear a nice pair. All right?”

  “All right,” I said.

  “And a nice shirt, with buttons. Oh, and no sneakers.”

  “All right!”

  “Did you take a shower?”

  “This morning.”

  “Did you put on deodorant?”

  “Just now, yes.”

  “What kind?”

  “The kind Dad uses,” I said.

  “You used Dad’s Mennen?”

  “I didn’t think he’d mind.”

  “Well, first of all, ick.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m only joking, Julian.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now, let me smell you—”

  “C’mon, Amelia!”

  She lunged forward before I could react, grabbed me by the waist, and sniffed my underarms. I felt stupid standing there, letting her do it, but I wanted to know if there was a problem. She let go of me a moment later and fell back onto the bed. Then she squinted her eyes like she was deciding whether I stank.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Not bad.”

  “What else?”

  “Did you brush your teeth?”

  “I will before I leave.”

  “What about your tongue?”

  “What about it?”

  “You have to brush your tongue too,” she said. “You have to go all the way back with the toothbrush until you gag.”

  “Then why is it called a toothbrush?”

  “What?”

  “Shouldn’t it be called a tooth-and-tongue brush?”

  “Don’t be such a wiseass,” she said, smiling. “Are you going to a movie?”

  “Yes.”

  “What movie?”

  “Mackenna’s Gold.”

  “Not a superb choice, but at least it’s not a horror movie. You’re planning to pay for her, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much money do you have?”

  “Twelve dollars,” I said.

  “How did you manage to save that much?”

  “I stole it from your purse.”

  “What did I say about being a wiseass?”

  She jumped up again and walked over to her dresser. She pulled open the top left drawer and rummaged around. After a couple of seconds, she came out with a twenty-dollar bill and shoved it into my palm.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because when you’re grown up, you’re going to think back to your first date, and you’re going to remember it was on Memorial Day in 1969. You’re never going to forget the time or the place, Julian. I guarantee it. But here’s the thing. You’re also going to say to yourself, whenever you think back, ‘Amelia came through for me.’ I know that doesn’t make sense right now, but when you’re grown up, trust me, it will. Now, let me give you a few more pointers.”

  “I’m not stupid—”

  “No, but you’re passive.”

  “I’m not passive!”

  “You don’t take charge. You let things happen.”

  “That’s not true,” I said.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “You let Lonnie make too many of your decisions—”

  “He doesn’t make my decisions.”

  “He got you suspended,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what happened with that boy down the block, but I know it must have been Lonnie’s doing. Everyone who knows you knows that, Julian. Even if you won’t admit it.”

  I tried to say calm. “Lonnie does not make my decisions. The two of us just think alike. There’s a big difference, Amelia.”

  “Look, I think it’s fine that you and Lonnie are friends. You’ve known the kid for your entire life, and now he’s the leader of the pack—I get that. But you have to be your own person. Even if the two of you think alike, you have to separate yourself. You have to go your own way, figure out who you are without Lonnie around.”

  “You’re just like Dad! You hate the guy!”

  “I don’t hate Lonnie, Julian. I’m sure he has good qualities. But he’s also the kind of guy who’d pick on someone who can’t defend himself. You have to face that fact.”

  “Danley Dimmel can defend himself! Have you ever seen him?”

  “He’s slow, Julian. He goes to a special school. You and Lonnie both know that—”

  “Why are you always talking Lonnie down?”

  “I’m not talking him down. I’m talking you up. You’re not a little kid anymore. You’re going out on your first date tonight—”

&nbs
p; “Which Lonnie has nothing to do with.”

  “Good!” she said. “Then take charge!”

  She shrugged at me in a sarcastic way, as if she’d just made her point. I wanted to answer her, but the conversation was going downhill. That’s par for the course with Amelia. You start talking about one thing, and then, without warning, you take a sudden turn into the Amelia zone, and you’re done. She means well. The proof was the twenty-dollar bill I was clutching in my palm. But you couldn’t reason with her, not once she got an idea in her head. She had a low opinion of Lonnie, and nothing I said was going to change her mind.

  I turned and walked out of her room without another word. But then, like a minute later, I was back in my room, going over the conversation, and I started to feel guilty. I glanced at the twenty-dollar bill, which was now folded in with the rest of the money on my desk. I thought about the fact that she hadn’t razzed me, that she hadn’t said a word to Mom or Dad. Then I thought about how she’d come through for me with the dying pigeon, and how she always came through for me, and how I’d walked out of her room just now without even a thank-you.

  I walked back to her room and knocked on the door.

  “You’re welcome,” she called out to me.

  “Thank you,” I said anyway.

  “Just be yourself, Julian. Except not a twerp.”

  * * *

  By seven-thirty, I was standing out in front of the RKO Keith’s, waiting for Jillian to show up. The sun was almost gone, but there was still a sliver of light casting shadows along Northern Boulevard. Loud honking was coming from a big traffic jam at the intersection of Northern and Main Street. Half the cars were trying to turn left onto Main Street, the other half left onto Northern, but no one was giving an inch either way.

  I had a bad feeling in my gut, looking at the long line of people outside the theater waiting to buy tickets. What if Mackenna’s Gold was sold out? I didn’t have a backup plan. I started to count the people waiting out front and stopped when I got to thirty-five, not even half the line, because I suddenly realized that I had no way of knowing how many of them were there for Mackenna’s Gold and how many for Nightmare in Wax.

  Most of the people looked high school age at least, maybe even college age. There were families too—a dad and mom and their three daughters were right at the front of the line. The oldest of the three daughters looked about my age, which made the feeling in my gut worse. Who did I think I was fooling? Twelve-year-old kids don’t go out on dates on Friday nights. The only way they wind up at the movies on Friday nights is with their parents.

  That was what I was thinking when I heard Jillian call my name. I turned around in time to see her father drive off in a sleek red car. I saw him in the car before I saw her. He gave me a quick wave, just a back-and-forth swivel of his hand. I started to wave back but stopped myself. It wasn’t the kind of wave you’re supposed to wave back at. I just nodded instead.

  Jillian rushed up to me and grabbed me by the hand. She had on a light-blue dress with pink and white flowers, which made me feel wrong because I had on jeans. Nice jeans, like Amelia said, but still jeans. Not creased pants. If a girl puts on a flowery dress for a date, she deserves creased pants. Jillian didn’t seem to mind. She squeezed my hand real hard. Except then she said, “Let’s not do this.”

  That stunned me. “Not do what? Do you want to go home?”

  She smiled in a real sly way. “Let’s not go to the movies.”

  “Why not?”

  “The line’s too long. Plus, I’ve got a better idea. Unless you already bought the tickets. If you already bought the tickets, I don’t mind going.”

  “I didn’t buy the tickets yet.”

  “Then let’s go to Adventurers Inn,” she said.

  That stunned me a second time. “Adventurers Inn?”

  “I want to ride the roller coaster.”

  “But it’s like a mile away.”

  “C’mon, we can walk it—”

  “I know we can walk it, but why should we?”

  “C’mon, please!”

  I gave the idea a couple of seconds of thought. From the sound of her voice, I knew she was going to be thinking about Adventurers Inn the entire time we were watching Mackenna’s Gold. Plus, I liked a roller coaster as much as the next guy. So why not go with the flow? If going with the flow made me a twerp in Amelia’s eyes, then I guess I was a twerp.

  “All right, let’s go to Adventurers Inn.”

  Jillian lunged at me and gave me a big hug. It was embarrassing, her doing that in front of the long line of people. I didn’t hug her back. I just stood there, stiff as a parking meter, and likely with the same stupid glass-eyed expression. I stared straight ahead and waited for her to calm down. She did maybe a second later, and then I started to walk back along Northern Boulevard in the direction of Linden Place. She followed a couple of steps behind, but then she sped up until we were walking side by side. That’s how we went for the first block. But I knew what was next: she made a grab for my hand. I felt her hand in mine, and I took it. No one was paying attention at that point, so I didn’t mind.

  “You’re sweet,” she said. “Nothing ever bothers you.”

  I just shrugged at that. What else could I have said?

  Adventurers Inn was a straight shot down Linden Place. It’s a long walk and not a nice one. It starts out nice enough at Flushing Town Hall, on the corner of Northern and Linden, which is like a huge reddish-brown castle with arched windows and balconies and flagpoles. It looks real official, except nothing ever happens there. I’ve never seen the front doors open, not even once. But I think the building goes back at least to the Civil War, so it’s not like it’s going to get knocked down.

  Town Hall is the first thing you see on Linden Place. The street starts at that corner. So you look at Town Hall, and you think you’re going to take a grand historical walk with landmarks and stuff, but it goes downhill pretty fast. After that first block, it’s vacant lots and deserted gas stations and auto parts stores with loose tires out front and walls covered with dirty graffiti. There are rows of private houses too, but none you’d want to live in. Their front lawns look like junkyards. Except in junkyards, there’s stuff you might want to buy. Here you’ve got rusted-out refrigerator doors, smashed toilet seats, and kitchen sinks. That sounds like a joke, but it’s true. You’ve got actual kitchen sinks sitting out in front of people’s houses. Plus, it’s not a safe neighborhood. You have to watch out for muggers. But they tend to stay away on weekends because there’s more traffic, and cops cruise by every so often.

  Jillian got more and more nervous as we went along. Not that she would admit it. But the last of the daylight was gone. The streetlights were on, which cast shadows and made the sidewalk glow yellow. She was glancing from side to side, squeezing my hand tighter and tighter. It got to a point where I turned to her and said, “Don’t worry. I know where we’re going.”

  “I’m just maybe cold,” she said. “I’m not worried.”

  “We could take Union Street, but it’s much longer.”

  “No, I want to get there the quickest way.”

  That was the last we spoke for quite a while. I didn’t feel too awkward about it, which might sound strange, but the fact that she was nervous made the silence more bearable. I felt like I had a job to do—get her to Adventurers Inn. I couldn’t be bothered with keeping up a conversation at the same time. It was another ten blocks before we came to Whitestone Lanes, which is where Linden Place livens up again. There were cars pulling in and out of the parking lot, plus at least a dozen people standing around on the sidewalk outside the bowling alley. That relaxed Jillian. She let go of my hand, which I appreciated because both our palms were sweating.

  I pointed to the Whitestone Expressway overpass. “Adventurers Inn is just on the other side of the highway.”

  “Really?”

  “Look, you can see the top of the Batman Slide—”

  “Where?”

  “
That line of green lights.” I pointed them out.

  “I see them!”

  She grabbed my hand again, but just for a second. Just to let me know she was grateful, or at least, that’s how it felt to me. I was feeling pretty good right then. I’d gotten us to Adventurers Inn by the shortest route. So even if I’d been a twerp in one way, I’d taken charge in another.

  We hurried through the underpass, which had a foul smell, and then out to the main gate, right in front of the glowing yellow sign that read ADVENTURERS INN. The place was jammed. There was a long line at the entrance, though it was more like a mob that was moving in the same direction than an actual line. It narrowed as you got closer, and there was a lot of glaring back and forth as people sorted out who was in front of who.

  It was a ten-minute wait to buy a ticket. The entire time, we could hear screams from inside the park. Lots of them sounded fake. In my experience, the loudest screamers are high school girls. Not because they’re scared, but because it’s what’s expected. You rarely hear little kids scream. They may cry if they get scared, or beg to come down from a ride, but they don’t scream.

  The park tickets cost three dollars each, which wasn’t bad, but I had to fork over another twelve dollars for two night passes so that we could hop on whatever rides we liked without standing on line to buy tickets every time. That meant I was out eighteen dollars before we walked through the gate. I was thankful for the twenty-dollar bill Amelia had slipped me.

  People always talk about the sights and sounds of an amusement park, about the rainbow-colored lights and buzzing neon signs, or the rows of purple and pink and red stuffed animals, or the barkers in black top hats yelling their lungs out, or the swirling organ music, or the pop songs piped in once the rides get going. Or else they talk about the crowds, about the fat old guys leading their families around, or the teenage guys in sleeveless undershirts, or their dates in tank tops and short shorts, or the little kids who get so caught up in the sights and sounds that they bonk into one another and start to bawl. But the smells are what get to me. You’ve got your hot dog smell, your popcorn smell, your cotton candy smell, your cigarette and cigar smell, your ladies’ perfume smell—plus, there’s that gear-grinding, metal-on-metal smell from the rides. You’ve got all the smells mixed up together, and it’s like walking in a cloud. If I live a hundred years and I never go back to Adventurers Inn, I’ll still remember those smells.