A Girl Like You by vinnie Kinsella (good books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

32

Michael and I met for gyros Saturday afternoon, four days after our first date. Like everything else in town, it was within walking distance.

It was September. The days felt like summer, but the crisp nights had made the leaves begin to change, bursting forth with breathtaking crimson, gold, and orange.

The Mediterranean waiter was a cutie with green eyes and thick, slicked back hair. We each had the lunch special, a $7.50 platter with hummus, cucumber sauce, pita, and little piles of spring mix. When the bill came, Michael left it on the table untouched, until I got out my wallet.

“Let’s see, your half was $9,” Michael said, studying the bill.

“All I have is a twenty.”

“Forget it. I’ll pay this time; you can pick up the next tab. Where’s that waiter?”

As we walked back to my house, I slipped my hand into his. “Do you want to sit on the porch awhile?” I asked casually, as if I hadn’t made a pitcher of iced tea (with actual lemon slices floating on the top), scrubbed the bathroom, yelled at Ian for leaving the living room a mess, and fluffed all the pillows on my bed, in case I gave him a tour.

“Can’t today—rain check,” Michael said.

“Really?” I couldn’t hide my disappointment.

“Yeah, I gotta go buy some hardy mums to plant before a frost,” he said, starting to lean down to me. “Guess I can’t surprise you this time.”

It was a nice kiss on the sidewalk under the bright sun where all my neighbors could see, some of whom probably didn’t yet know that Bryan was gone. A very public kiss. Ian was sitting on the front porch with Penny, but I believed the kiss was out of his sight.

“How was the date?” Ian smiled widely.

“Actually, really good,” I said, patting Pen. “Did you bring her water out? It’s really hot today.”

“Right there, mother to all dogs,” Ian said, pointing to a little bowl of water.

“I’m just going to take her inside,” I said, holding out my arms to her.

“Looked like some great chemistry there,” Ian called before I went inside.

Would the teasing of the mom never cease?

“How’d it go with the plants?” I texted Michael later. After a few minutes, I tried again. “Did you get the mums or something else?” I kicked myself for the stupid question, but I needed to hear back from him. It was suddenly really, really important for me to know what Michael was up to.

No reply.

He might be getting stoned and listening to music, or sitting on his own porch, but not knowing made me feel left out, as if he was having a good time and I was waiting around.

Which, unfortunately, I was.

Penny and I both had trouble sleeping, fighting for space on my side of the bed.

Sunday, I logged onto Fish to look at Michael’s photos again. The little green clock next to his profile showed he’d been online for five hours. Five hours?!

I took Penny for a long walk around town. Too long, in fact. After half an hour she gave up and plopped down on the sidewalk. I scooped her up, my little lump of love, and carried her home.

“You’re acting like an old lady,” I told her, burying my face into her fur.

I had peanut butter on English muffins for dinner. And also three cheese sticks. And the rest of the Chex Mix Ian hadn’t finished. And some braided pretzels.

Then I brushed my teeth and flossed and vowed not to eat again that night.

“I hope next time we can have iced tea on my porch, like an old couple,” I texted him after dinner.

“We’ll play it by ear.”

What the hell did that mean?

I opened the pretzel bag again. I kept busy the rest of the night, trying to concentrate on a freelance job writing web copy for Benson’s Builders and not having much luck. Then I made a critical error. I had two glasses of Moscato. I swore I wouldn’t text him again, but after I turned out my light and climbed into bed, the wine really kicked in.

“Are you awake?” I texted Michael.

“Yeah,” he replied. “What’s up?”

“Tell me a secret.”

My cell screen stayed blank for several minutes. The equivalent of dead air time.

“I don’t think this is how it works,” he texted at last.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you ask people to tell you personal things.”

“I was really just kidding,” I texted, trying to backpedal.

What about his pot-smoking revelation? And being dominant in bed? Hadn’t he said he wanted to share secrets?

“Look, I’m beginning to think you’re not a good match for me.”

I was dumbstruck. My stomach lurched—not in a good way this time. I had no idea what to do, so I did nothing.

A few minutes later, he texted again: “I can see you’re much more interested in me than I am in you, and I don’t like that.”

“What?”

“I’m an adventurer, I’m a pleasure-seeker, a mover and shaker.”

I thought of myself the same way now. I was seeking pleasure, although I hadn’t actually found any yet.

“I’m used to people wanting to be around me,” he texted. “It’s not surprising that you want to, but you’re coming on a little strong.”

I remembered the man at the bar who barely touched Michael’s arm but pissed him off anyway. How the half-full bar seemed crowded to him.

“OK. You attract people. That’s cool.”

“It’s freaking great. I could be out with a different woman every night if I wanted to be.”

Hmm. Was he stoned? Was this what pot did these days—turn people into assholes?

“Why tell me this? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know how to be clearer,” Michael replied. “Listen, I have to go—good luck to you in your search, Jessica. Don’t text me anymore, and I’ll do the same.”

I dialed Maddy’s cell immediately, reaching for Kleenex.

“You were looking at the gyro waiter when you went to lunch!” Madison yelled at me. “You weren’t even into Michael!”

“He was special,” I cried, snuffling into the tissue.