October 10th, 2008
Toby
I’ve peed three times since lunch, thanks to pre-game nerves. I’m sitting in a beanbag chair in Rose’s room attempting to relax and read but failing at both. Rose hangs bright pink triangular thingies on the bulletin board behind her desk, and I contemplate how her room has transformed. In less than a month, she’s created stations for students to work on interior design, sewing, baking, and even house cleaning, and they’re all tied together by three dominant colors: black, white, and pink.
“Your room looks great.”
She turns from the bulletin board and smiles. “Yes, it does.” She studies her handiwork then saunters past me and over to a tray of cookies. “You know, you could have your own room if you wanted it.” She’s mentioned this before. “Better pay, stability.”
“I like subbing. More freedom. I get to work with all kinds of kids and teach every subject.”
She walks back to me with a warm cookie in hand, but I’ve had two, and my stomach’s too nervous to eat another. She sets the warm, buttery cookie against my lips, and I take a bite then she takes a bite and I take another bite. She finishes the cookie and leans down to kiss me but stops. Her eyes catch something behind me, then her eyebrows scrunch into an expression of disappointment and disgust, and instead of kissing me, she marches off to the cooking area with a dramatic sigh. “They never put things back where they belong. Everything is color-coded. How hard can it be?”
Rose likes to fuss. I flip my book open. It’s an autobiography by a hiker who got lost in the mountains of Idaho. He just found a water source after thirty-six hours of dehydration. Instead of taking slow, deliberate sips, he guzzles water and ends up sick.
“I’m so excited for tonight,” Rose says behind me. We’re going out for dinner after the game to Chez Riviera—Rose’s idea.
I smile. “JerryAnn says the food is great, but the mushrooms taste like feet.” I’m more interested in reading about the guy vomiting in my book than I am in going out to Chez Riviera, where people fake refinement while eating expensive food. I’d prefer a movie at home and chili cheese fries. I flip to the next page as Rose stands in front of me and her little high-heeled feet tap the beanbag chair.
She kneels beside me. “JerryAnn’s taste is not as refined as mine.”
While she was fussing over misplaced kitchen items, she must have slathered on a tube of lipstick because her lips glisten in the same color as the triangles on her bulletin board. She leans in to kiss me, but I put my hands up to stop her. “Whoa, I am not showing up to the game wearing pink lipstick.” I had no qualms wearing Mom’s old dickey with Milo, but it wasn’t pink.
Rose smiles. “It’s smudge-proof.”
I raise an eyebrow. She kisses the back of her hand and shows me the lack of pink. “You’ve got chocolate on the corner of your mouth.” This time when she leans in, I don’t stop her. She kisses the corner of my mouth, and it takes all my self-control not to pull her on my lap and beg for more. My eyes close, but instead of Rose, I’m thinking of the game and Cate and JerryAnn. My thoughts hit the brakes at JerryAnn. Am I the jerk JerryAnn thinks I am? I love Rose’s attention, but am I using Rose for baked goods like I’m using JerryAnn for basketball coaching?
“Where are you?” Rose asks, leaning back a little as she pulls away.
“I’m nervous about the game.”
She threads her fingers through my hair and fusses with it. “It’s like you’re playing in the game yourself.”
“I want them to win. The girls have worked so hard. JerryAnn has worked so hard. We need a win.” Rose pulls in close, and I think she’ll kiss me again, comfort me, and tell me everything will be great, but instead, she smells my neck.
“I can’t smell your cologne. Are you wearing cologne?” She pulls back, and I’m self-conscious about my smell. Do I reek? I’m wearing cologne and deodorant.
“Your cologne should be stronger than my perfume.” She says it so matter-of-factly that I wonder if I missed the memo. Rose’s rose perfume is strong.
I nod, pull Rose onto my lap, and whisper, “See you tonight.” Self-control is overrated.
I squirt myself seven times with cologne and hop on the activity bus with the team, destined for Grant Middle School.