Before the Boys Say No Page 4

  I looked over at the recliner where the twins were still sitting. They had their eyes fixed on me. I gave them another small smile, but they still didn’t say anything. It was kind of creepy. I turned and walked into the kitchen to escape them.

  Jared’s mom had the table set and filled with food. I groaned inside. It was worse than Italian food. Everything had been made from lard or butter. I took the chair she pointed to when she saw me. I had to eat, and I knew it would taste good. That was the problem.

  Jared’s dad said a quick blessing over the food and then they all just started helping themselves to the feast set out. I took a biscuit and some eggs and waited for them to start eating.

  “Don’t wait for us, sister,” Jared’s dad said as he poured gravy all over the biscuits, eggs and hash browns he had piled on his plate.

  I took a small bite and chewed slowly. All of a sudden, a big scoop of hash browns were flung onto my plate, followed by a spoonful of fresh cow’s butter. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Jared’s mom poured a ladle of gravy all over the food on my plate.

  “You can’t be shy in our house,” Jared’s dad bellowed. “Nancy, get her a glass of that fresh cow’s milk.”

  I tentatively sipped at the glass in front of me. It was still warm and frothy. I really had my doubts about the bacteria that might be in the milk, but they were gulping it down like ravenous wolves.

  Jared’s dad looked at me and frowned. “You’re among family here, Beatrice. Don’t feel like you have to be shy. You just dig in. A big girl like you--I can tell you like to eat food.”

  I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and took a deep breath. All I had to do was get through the meal. It was time to take matters into my own hands. I grabbed my fork and started shoveling food into my mouth, gulping a big mouthful of milk at the same time. Within two minutes, I was using the last bite of my biscuit to wipe up the gravy. I looked up at the shocked eyes in front of me and gave them a grand finale. I opened my mouth and let out a loud, slow burp. Served them right with that big girl comment.

  “Okay, Jared, let’s get going on this. I have to be back in time for work this afternoon. You want to be a lawyer, you can’t be lazy.”

  His family didn’t know what to say. They looked at each other, speechless. Jared dutifully rose from his chair with his plate of food and followed me into the living room. I think I scared him.

  I pulled out files while he sat on the recliner to eat. He watched me without a word, chewing each bite of food and picking at his teeth. I couldn’t look at him. Something about people digging at their teeth grossed me out.

  “I have several new strategies that I’ve written out for arguments. I’ve put them in the folder here,” I motioned to one of the filing cabinets. “It has your name on it.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “I thought we could go over these to make sure you understand it all. I’ll ask you questions like I’m the other team.”

  “I thought you were on my team,” he said, confused.

  “I am on your team, Jared. We’re going to pretend like I’m on the other team so you’ll get used to questions being asked you.”

  He nodded and took the stack of papers I placed in his hands. I had typed out the arguments on crisp white paper, so when his greasy fingers grabbed them, I couldn’t hide the gasp that escaped my lips.

  “Sorry,” he muttered and stuck his fingers in his mouth, making loud sucking noises to clean them.

  This was going to be a long day. I could tell already. And it was. Jared stumbled over the arguments I had prepared for him. He didn’t understand what some of the definitions of many of the words were. Beatrice to the rescue. I kind of figured he’d have that problem, so I was prepared. I pulled out a list of words with their definitions and handed them to him. He studied it for a long time then handed it back to me.

  “Doesn’t make sense for me to say these big words when I can just use those from the definitions. They make more sense.”

  “We’ve gone over this before, Jared. The big words will help us look more intelligent--more like lawyers.”

  “It just sounds like I’m trying too hard,” he mumbled.

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes. We want to appear like we’re trying hard.”

  He shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  He was right in the middle of delivering--or should I say, reading--one of the prepared arguments when his parents and brothers came into the living room. They went to the sofa and took a seat to watch us. Jared looked at them and grinned self-consciously.

  “So what are you arguing about Jared?” his mom asked.

  “Gun control,” he said with a big smile.

  “That’s right up your alley,” his dad replied. “You’re gonna do great, son.”

  Jared resumed reading my argument and received a standing ovation from his family when he finished. He laughed and gave a clumsy bow.

  “You sound real smart,” his dad said proudly. “You write that all by yourself?”

  The little weasel nodded his head. He was trying to take credit for all my hard work! I was about to open my mouth and set the record straight when I caught Jared’s eyes. He was silently begging me not to tell them the truth. I felt sorry for the skinny guy. He was trying to make his family proud. I closed my mouth and stepped back to allow him to receive the accolades.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, his family stayed the whole time. They even had the audacity to offer me suggestions on my delivery when I read over my strategy with Jared. I bit my tongue to stay quiet. Hard enough to taste blood on my tongue.

  Whenever I started trying to coach Jared, his father would shush me and tell me to let Jared do it on his own. That only made Jared panic. He grabbed my filing cabinet nearest him and started pulling out the evidence I had so neatly filed. I tried to grab them out of his hand, but he just went for more, pulling out articles and showing them to his parents, making up some kind of nonsense about the information to try to seem impressive.

  I’m all for impressing. Believe me, I work hard to impress the debate judges. But I draw the line at anyone touching my beloved files. They were now a disaster. I yelled at Jared to get his greasy fingers off them.

  “You need to learn some manners, young lady, if you’re going to be part of this family,” Jared’s father said quietly from the sofa.

  I couldn’t even look at them as I let his words sink in. Then it hit me. For some reason, they all thought Jared and I were dating. I looked over at Jared. His face was beet red, turning his pimples into a shade of purple. He had led them to believe I was going out with him.

  My hands were shaking as I gathered the files and pieces of paper and note cards in my hands. I rammed them into the filing cabinet without a word. With a firm snap, I closed the lid and turned to face Jared.

  “I will meet you in the debate room on Tuesday at two o’clock,” I said angrily.

  I couldn’t even say goodbye to his family. I grabbed the two filing cabinets and stormed to the door, awkwardly tugging them behind me. No one came out to see me off. My time had been wasted at Jared’s house. I was done earlier than I had anticipated.

  Angrily, I started my car, hitting the steering wheel as it sputtered. I pressed on the gas and backed out, the Beetle shaking in response. Back down the road I drove, growing angrier with each pothole. I was about twenty minutes from the restaurant when my car sputtered to a stop. The engine had died. It wasn’t responding to anything.

  I pulled myself out of the car and looked around. No one was in sight. I’d have to walk to work. No way was I leaving my debate files in the car for someone to steal. I pulled them out and started walking. A few cars passed, but I kept my eyes focused on the road in front of me. I got a few honks, and I think I heard a truck full of guys yell “moo” to me, but I ignored everyone.

  By the time I got to work, I was dripping with sweat and my arms were burning from lugging the filing cabinets all the
way. I was sure I had a sunburn because my skin felt flushed. My brother looked at me and laughed when I came through the door.

  Dean’s plan to go to college were stopped a couple of weeks ago. My father had started having chest pains and the doctor ordered him to rest and take it easy in the restaurant. The restaurant is my father’s life, so it felt like a death sentence to be told he had to restrict his time there. Dad is so dramatic.

  Dean didn’t really want to go to college, anyway. He was happy to drop out and continue working at the restaurant. I have to admit, he really impressed me. He jumped right in and took control of the kitchen. Even Dad was impressed.

  “Don’t say a word,” I threatened and parked my debate files behind the register. I could hear Dean laughing as I made my way past the few customers to the bathroom.

  I could only stare at the mess I saw in the mirror. My mascara had run a black streak down my face. I even had a few drops of it smeared on my shirt. Any other time I would have been mortified to see my bra showing through my T-shirt. Right now, that was the least of my worries. The bright pink splotches covering every exposed inch of white skin was blaring out at me. I had a sunburn all right, and it didn’t look one bit attractive.

  I turned on the cold water in the sink and dunked my head under the faucet. The coldness shocked me at first, then felt soothing on my skin. I heard a customer open the door, but they quickly shut it without coming in. I’m sure the sight of my big butt sticking out had something to do with it.

  I scrubbed at my face with a wad of paper towels. The mascara finally came off, but the scrubbing only made my skin look redder. So much for making fun of Jared’s red face. That only seemed to bite me back in the butt.

  I didn't have a change of clothes, so I’d have to try to hide my sweat behind an apron. The paper towels soaked up most of the water dripping from my hair. I ran my fingers through the frizzy mess and turned on the hand dryer to stick my head under.

  “Honey, you okay?” came Aunt Roma’s voice from the door. She had poked her head in to check on me.

  I gave her a weak thumbs up and turned my head to the other side in a desperate attempt to dry it.

  “Here’s an apron,” she yelled over the dryer. “Try to finish quickly so you don’t scare any more customers.”

  I didn’t respond. The dryer was starting to get hot, so I raised up. Aunt Roma had closed the door so I was alone again. I resisted the urge to cry. Even a ponytail I tried tying in my hair wasn’t hiding the frizz. My skin looked like a freshly peeled tomato. How was I going to face the public? I couldn’t ask Aunt Roma to cover for me. She had plans to go out with my mom. It was supposed to be a slow evening, so all I could do was pray that no kids from school came in.

  Then I remembered Brody worked tonight. He was working less hours because football practice demanded a lot of his time. The other players seemed to cram themselves into the restaurant right before closing, forcing us to stay open later.

  I really enjoyed the times I got to speak with Brody when it was quiet. He was, surprisingly, really intelligent. He had spent last summer in Italy and fallen in love with the culture there. I was shocked to learn that he really wanted to be a chef. He listened attentively to my father and Dean as they showed him how to cook.

  We were both supposed to close on our own tonight. I dreaded him seeing me more than anyone else. I had been working for a couple hours when he came in. I could tell he was tired by his eyes. He didn’t even have a reaction to my appearance. He kept stretching and yawning all night to try to stay alert. I avoided Brody all night. At the end of the evening, Dean left us to close so he could go on a late date.

  It was almost midnight by the time I got the tables wiped down and the floor mopped. My sunburn was killing me and all I could think about was slathering myself with aloe vera gel. I heard Brody in the kitchen and figured he was cleaning it. Out of the blue, he came out of the kitchen carrying a pizza tray.

  “Before you say no,” he said, setting the tray down on a table, “I want you to try my masterpiece. At least one piece before you leave.”

  I couldn’t believe it. He had made a pizza for us, even as tired as was. I pushed the mop bucket to the side and wiped my hands on my apron. The smell drew me to the pizza. It was loaded with veggies. I raised my brows at Brody.

  “What makes it a masterpiece?”

  “Try it,” he grinned. He placed two plates on the table and extended his arm for me to join him.

  I slid into a chair and carefully lifted one of the hot pieces. Brody’s eyes were on me the whole time, waiting to see my reaction. I raised the pizza to my mouth and sank my teeth into the yummy, cheesy, veggie goodness. It was scrumptious.

  “What did you put on this?” I asked after I swallowed the large bite.

  He could tell I loved it. He smiled. “I made some pesto and mixed it with the pizza sauce.”

  “Wow. This is really good.”

  He grabbed a slice and started digging in too. It was nice to share the pizza with him. I polished off the first piece and didn’t hesitate to grab another one.

  “That’s what I like about you, Bea. You like to eat.”

  Uh, wrong thing to say to a big girl. My appetite left me. I plopped the pizza onto the plate. Brody paused with a bite in his mouth, looking quizzically at me. He swallowed quickly.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “I know I’m big, Brody. I just don’t like to draw attention to it.”

  His eyes widened. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said, Bea. And you’re not big.”

  “Yes, I am. I know it.”

  He carefully placed his pizza on his plate and grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth. “You know, Bea. When I was in Italy, I went into the museums and they were full of these old Italian paintings. You know what I noticed? All the women in the paintings were real, you know. They had--” he paused, trying to pick his words carefully. “They had full figures and looked like girls should look.”

  I snorted and crossed my arms. “What are you trying to say, Brody?”

  He leaned in to me earnestly. “I’m saying that you’re the real deal. You’re like the women in those paintings. You’re a piece of art.”

  That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me. Seriously. Especially the way I looked right then. I felt my eyes tearing up. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t. The tears ran down my cheeks. I grabbed a napkin and swiped at them, wincing at the roughness on my burned skin.

  “You are so nice, Brody.”

  “I mean it, Bea. Don’t let people make you feel less than you are. Between the two of us, they’re the ones with the problem. I mean, they’ve gotta be real insecure if they have to try to make other people feel bad.”

  I couldn’t believe I was hearing those words from Brody. That’s what Lanie and her friends did all the time. But they had nothing to be insecure about. I wondered if he was including them when he said that.

  “Thanks, Brody,” I whispered. I really needed to blow my nose, but that would not be pretty.

  He grinned and picked up his pizza. “Come on. Eat with me.”

  I laughed and grabbed my slice. “How come you want to be a chef?” I asked in between bites.

  He pushed the rest of his pizza in his mouth and reached for a third slice. “I’ve always loved cooking. Of course, my dad couldn’t stand it. I would rather bake a cake than go play football. Don’t go telling anyone that.”

  I shook my head and reached for my third slice. I was starting to feel full, but the pizza was so good and it was nice to have a chance to talk with Brody without interruptions.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I got the chance to spend the summer in Italy. I spent most of my time begging the chefs to let me watch them. You know when you just have this feeling inside about something--it’s just so right for you?”

  I nodded. “That’s how I feel about debate.”

  “Yeah. Well, that’s when I decided I was going to be a chef, too. Of c
ourse, I can’t tell my parents. My dad wants me to play football and my mom--she just wants me to be successful. Status means a lot to them. They’re part of the country club and all that.”

  “Just tell them how you feel,” I said softly.

  He shook his head. “It’s not like it is in your family, Bea. You don’t know how lucky you are to be able to share your feelings with your parents.”

  “Yeah? Well, a lot of good it’s done. They’re still determined to find me a husband. After all, that’s what good Italian girls do--get married and have babies.”

  Brody laughed. I loved the way the light hit his blue eyes and made them sparkle. I was going to cherish this time with him. I knew I wouldn’t have another chance to be alone with him once school started.

  He wiped his mouth and sighed. “I’m full.”

  I put the rest of my pizza back on the plate. Our time together was done. I slowly stood with him and grabbed the pizza pan from the table. He still had the kitchen to clean. It was so late, but I followed him back and started wiping the counters and putting away food and spices while he scrubbed the grill.

  It was past one in the morning before I locked the restaurant doors. Brody gave me a small hug and walked me to my car. Just like that, we said goodnight and went our separate ways. I felt like I was floating on a cloud for the rest of the week. Too bad that feeling couldn’t last forever.

  CHAPTER 4

  If there’s anything I truly detest, it’s being late. That’s how I started the first day of my senior year. My alarm did not go off. Don’t ask me why. I checked it three times before I went to bed. I had exactly twenty-four minutes to make it to my first class.

  I jumped up with a cry and made a mad dash to the bathroom. It was locked. I heard my mom’s voice humming in the shower. I couldn’t believe it. She knew I had to get ready. Dad was singing down the hall so I knew he was using his bathroom.

  I rushed back to my room and started pulling on my clothes. Mom and Marge had taken me out shopping for school clothes. They tried to push me into some tight fitting shirts, insisting I show off my figure, but I refused. I wanted to hide my boobs, not accentuate them. I settled on some loose fitting tops and jeans. What I really enjoyed was shopping for debate clothes. I found the most intimidating suits I could and matched blouses with them. This was my final year in debate and I was going out with a bang. Of course, Mom and Marge didn’t enjoy suit shopping at all. Especially when I threw out all their advice to show a little cleavage and wear something softer.