One Tough Chick Read online

  “So everything is fake,” I said.

  “Not exactly fake,” said Oliver. “More like enhanced.”

  “The best light from the artist’s point of view because the artist has complete control, right? I guess photographs are more accurate. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, ever since my stepdad gave me his old camera. It’s really cool. I’ve got three different lenses. A wide angle, a zoom, and a regular lens, which also zooms in and out a little.”

  “You’ll have to show me next time I’m at your house,” said Oliver. “Except there’s plenty you can do with lighting and Photoshop to make people look more attractive in photos, too.”

  I thought about this. “Then is it possible to portray someone accurately, like how they actually are in the world?”

  “Good question,” said Oliver, turning back to his drawing.

  It made me wonder, am I the girl who got dressed up for tonight? Or am I really the kid in jeans from this afternoon’s picnic? Maybe that’s my best self because I was hanging out with my friends, relaxed and comfortable and not worried I had grease on my chin or a chocolate chip stuck between my teeth.

  Since artists look at things carefully, do they see the real truth? Or a different reality? What does Oliver see in me at this moment? And does he like it?

  “You seem nervous,” he said, breaking me out of my thoughts.

  “Huh?” I brushed my hair away from my eyes, tucked and retucked my hair behind my ears, smiled and then stopped smiling. Squirmed in my seat because I couldn’t help it.

  Oliver frowned ever so slightly. “Could you stop moving so much?” he asked.

  “Sorry. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

  I cringed, realizing that what I’d just said was way revealing. I didn’t know how to pose, and I didn’t know how to act on our date.

  “Just stay still,” Oliver said.

  I tried posing as if for a photo, with my shoulders back, my chin up, and a smile frozen on my face. “Like this?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  My nose started itching so I scratched it. Then I crossed my legs. Suddenly my throat felt really dry, so I took a sip of water.

  Oliver laughed at me and put his pencil down.

  “It’s really hard to stay still. Especially when I know I’m supposed to. Plus, no one’s ever drawn me before.”

  “It’s okay. I’m done. Except I think I took way more than sixty seconds. Guess I need more practice.”

  “Can I see?” I asked, reaching across the table for the picture.

  Except I knocked over the ice water and it spilled all over his notebook.

  “Yikes!” I said as Oliver kind of yelped and quickly picked up his notebook. He mopped it off with his napkin and I handed mine over, too.

  Then I noticed the waiter walking by and I tapped his arm because I wanted to tell him we needed more napkins. Except he happened to be holding a tray of drinks and I must’ve surprised him, because as soon as I touched him he jerked back and his tray went flying.

  Except this time the water didn’t land on Oliver’s drawing.

  The water landed ALL OVER OLIVER!

  Chapter Four

  the Ice (Water) Breaker

  It would’ve been awesome if the sound of shattering glass jolted me out of my nightmare. If really it was still Saturday morning and I had a picnic and the date still ahead of me. But guess what? That didn’t happen. I was already awake—just like the rest of the IHOP customers now staring at me, including the waiter. Actually looked down on me, both literally and figuratively, which made me feel even shrimpier and more out of place than I actually was. Something I didn’t think possible.

  “Did you want something?” he asked me through gritted teeth.

  “Never mind,” I whispered.

  “Well, you’ve certainly got my attention now, so you may as well ask.” When his nostrils flared his nose ring shifted. This made me want to scratch my nose, but I resisted because I didn’t want to be so obvious.

  “Um, I think we need more napkins,” I said quietly.

  “Right—and now you’re not the only one.” Just then he turned to the other tables, cupped his hands around his mouth, and announced, “It’s okay, everybody; we have some glasses down but no one has been injured. Please go back to your regularly scheduled meals.”

  I slinked down in my seat and blinked back my tears, worried I’d get us kicked out of IHOP. Maybe I’d be banned from all of the IHOPs in America. Then I’d have to change my identity if I ever wanted to eat another Swedish-style pancake. It’s either that or move to Sweden. Or maybe the powers that be at IHOP would have me banned from Sweden, too. Would a mere identity change even work? How would I get a new passport? It seemed impossible. Clearly I’d never get to eat a Swedish pancake again in my entire life.

  Except wait a second—why am I so focused on Swedish pancakes? I don’t even like them and hadn’t ordered them.

  I should be worried about Oliver. And Oliver’s drawing, too. The one I so clumsily ruined. He must be so insulted. Except when I finally managed to look at him I realized Oliver was laughing. In fact, his eyes were shiny in the corners. Oliver was laughing so hard he was crying. “I know what your talent can be,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Frustrating waiters.”

  “I’d say he’s more than frustrated,” I said, glancing back to the waiter, now huffy and talking to the hostess. “I’d call him downright mad.”

  Oliver spun around and looked. “Okay, you’re right.” He held up his soggy portrait. “You also have a talent for ruining great works of art. Maybe we can enter the talent show together. I can draw pictures in a minute, and you can wreck them in a second.”

  “We’ll be the dynamic duo,” I said. “We already have a great track record. So can I see my portrait now?”

  Oliver handed it over. The entire page was sopping wet and torn in one corner, but I could still make out the soggy drawing. A few lines placed carefully on the page had magically become a girl with pin-straight light hair and big eyes. He’d captured something true and essential, something amazingly and undeniably me. “You’re incredible,” I said, then immediately blushed. “I mean, this picture is incredible. I can’t believe you drew it so fast.”

  “Problem is, it took me five minutes,” said Oliver.

  “Maybe you should focus on one portrait,” I said.

  “One portrait isn’t going to win me any prizes,” Oliver replied.

  “Who cares? It’s not all about the prize, is it?” I asked.

  Oliver smiled at me. “What’s it about, then?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It’s about showing your talent … and having fun. How great can first prize be, anyway?”

  “You’re right,” said Oliver. “It’ll probably be a gift certificate to IHOP.”

  “And after showing up here with me you’ll probably be banned for life,” I said. “Better enjoy those Swedish pancakes while you can because they may be your last.”

  Oliver and I cracked up.

  “So what are you doing for the talent show?” he asked.

  “Dog training,” I said. I started giggling, thinking about how I came up with the idea.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Oliver.

  “Nothing.” I forced myself to stop. “I’m training Pepper. I plan to, anyway.”

  “That sounds great,” said Oliver. “What’s he going to do?”

  “He can already sit and shake, but I’m hoping to teach him to roll over and jump through a hoop, like in the circus.”

  “You think he can do all that?” asked Oliver.

  “Well, he certainly likes chewing on my Hula-Hoop.”

  When our pancakes finally arrived we had a new waiter. This was not the most surprising thing to happen all night.

  “Maybe you can set your Hula-Hoop on fire and Pepper can jump through it like dogs in the circus do,” Oliver suggested.

  I thought about th
is for a moment. “I don’t think they’d let me set anything on fire in the gym.”

  “I know. I was kidding,” said Oliver.

  “Right.” I grinned at him. When he smiled back my stomach flipped over.

  We ate quickly.

  When the check came we handed over our gift certificates. And that was it. Date over. Or was it?

  “Want to go for a walk?” asked Oliver.

  “Sure.” I was thrilled that he’d asked, because even though our evening had started out slow (and kind of boring), I felt like we were only getting warmed up.

  “Let’s go,” I said, sliding out of the booth.

  We walked around the shopping center, standing so close to each other we brushed arms. And guess what? It didn’t seem like an accident.

  I saw my favorite frozen yogurt place in the distance: the Chilly Penguin. They give you a cup with dancing penguins all over it, and you get to serve yourself. They have tons of cool flavors—salty caramel, chocolate cake batter, strawberry basil, and minty mocha. Also a whole sundae bar filled with toppings.

  I was going to suggest that we go, but Oliver brought it up before I had the chance. “I love that place,” he said.

  “Me, too. Let’s go.”

  Suddenly he grabbed my hand, and not merely for a second, like to get me to go in a certain direction. I mean, suddenly we were holding hands.

  That’s when I knew for sure that we were on a date. We were holding hands and going out for frozen yogurt. This couldn’t be anything but a real date.

  I’ve never held hands with a boy before and I hoped I was doing it right. Our fingers were interwoven, and my grip was firm but not tight. The hand holding seemed determined as opposed to accidental, and I could hardly believe it was really happening. I almost wished I had my camera so I could document it, as dorky as that sounds.

  Oliver dropped my hand when we got there. It happened so fast that my first time holding hands with a boy was already over. (Maybe Chilly’s has a security camera and I can ask to buy the tape later. I saw that in a spy movie once.) I went to open the door, but he got there first and held it open for me.

  “What are you going to get?” he asked once we were both in line.

  “I love salty caramel with hot fudge but I always get that, which seems boring.”

  “I don’t think it’s boring. I think it’s good to know what you want and to stick with it,” Oliver said.

  “I like M&M’s on it, too.”

  “I love M&M’s,” said Oliver. “Know what I heard? That M&M’s were invented during the war so soldiers could eat them without getting chocolate on their hands.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said. “Which war?”

  “Um, the first?” said Oliver. “Actually I made that up. I don’t know which war.”

  When we got to the front of the line I ordered my regular old standby. Oliver chose pomegranate and blueberry swirled with gummy bears.

  “Want a bite?” asked Oliver. He held a spoon of yogurt up. It had both pomegranate and blueberry and a red gummy bear on it. He’d been careful to include everything and he even gave me a red gummy bear, which everyone knows is the most delicious flavor of bear.

  There’s just one problem: I can’t stand gummy bears. They remind me of cough syrup, and I don’t like the way they get stuck in my molars. I took a bite anyway, and it wasn’t only to be polite. It’s because Oliver went to so much trouble to construct the perfect bite. And also, I wanted a taste off Oliver’s spoon. Although I’d never admit that to anyone out loud. Not even to my best friends, who I knew would all be grilling me tomorrow morning. Maybe tonight. But is that weird? Not the part about keeping it private—the part about wanting it because it’s Oliver’s? Weird or not, it’s how I felt.

  The yogurt tasted delicious. The gummy bear—not so much.

  I offered him a bite of mine.

  He took a bite and then made a face. “I like mine better,” he admitted.

  “I like mine better, too,” I said. “In fact, I don’t really like gummy bears.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Oliver. “You should’ve said something.”

  “Oh, I would’ve,” I told him. “But I, um, forgot.”

  “Then you have to have another bite,” said Oliver. “Without the bears.”

  “If you insist,” I said, taking the spoon from him, swallowing the yogurt. “Much better! Although still not as good as the salty caramel.”

  “Says you.” Oliver smiled.

  “Hey, how come artists are always doing still-life pictures of fruit?” I asked.

  Oliver paused for a few moments before answering, really thinking about my question. “I guess because fruit is easy to come by. And no two pieces are exactly alike. They’re more complicated than they first appear. Like a lot of people I know.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Like who?”

  “You,” said Oliver.

  “You think I’m complicated?” I asked.

  “You’re totally quiet a lot of the time, and I never know what you’re thinking. You let me feed you a gummy bear when you don’t even like them.”

  I smiled at him, not wanting to tell him that while I generally do not like gummy bears, I’d still wanted to try his gummy bear.

  “See what I mean?” said Oliver. “Here you are staring at me with that cute smile, and I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m thinking this is fun,” I said with a small shrug.

  “Cool,” said Oliver. “Me, too.”

  If eating frozen yogurt with Oliver could be this amazing, I could not even imagine how momentous kissing him would feel. But it’s not like I could expect him to kiss me in a crowded frozen yogurt shop. Plus, my lips were cold. What if they turned numb? Then I wouldn’t even be able to feel my first kiss.

  By the time we finished our yogurt I realized we were dangerously close to my curfew. “I kind of have to be home at nine,” I said.

  As disappointed as I was to be ending the evening, it felt so grown-up to be complaining about my curfew. Oliver didn’t need to know that this was the first and only time it had ever been instituted.

  Oliver pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and called his mom. “We’re at Chilly’s,” he said. “No, I mean Chilly Penguin, not Chili’s the restaurant. You know we went to IHOP, right?” He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Yeah. Mom!”

  He hung up and smiled at me bashfully. “She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “Great.”

  A parents-age couple smiled at us but we ignored them. I realized they’d probably been listening to our entire conversation. Grown-ups can be so rude sometimes—it’s unbelievable!

  “Let’s wait outside,” I said.

  “Good idea,” Oliver replied, already heading for the door.

  Oliver’s mom showed up too fast, as if she’d been waiting right around the corner. As soon as we got into her car, we stopped talking. She didn’t ask us if we’d had a good time, either. She knew not to, I guess. It seemed suspicious how quiet she was. Almost as if Oliver had coached her just like I’d coached my mom and Ted.

  This was good.

  Oliver and I had our first date. But here I was, thinking about the date when it wasn’t even over yet.

  I sneaked a peak at him and, sensing the movement, I guess, he turned to me. We smiled at each other. His eyes seemed extra green against his purple shirt, his smile extra bright. Suddenly he slid his hand over and grabbed mine. His hand was on top of mine. He gave it a squeeze but stared straight ahead, a small, closemouthed, beautiful grin on his face.

  And honestly? That squeeze felt just as good as a kiss—maybe better.

  We were holding hands in the back of his mom’s car and it felt amazing.

  When Oliver’s mom pulled up to my house, she said, “Lovely seeing you, Annabelle. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “I won’t,” I said, wondering if I’d answered too fast.

  “Yeah, I’ll call you,” sa
id Oliver.

  “Sounds good. Thanks for the yogurt.”

  “Anytime,” he said.

  As I got out of the car, Mrs. Banks said, “Oliver, my sweet, why don’t you walk your friend to the door.”

  “Mom!” said Oliver, and I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at her for calling him sweet, or for suggesting that he walk me to the door, or for simply opening her mouth. I could see getting mad at my mom for any of those offenses. Although secretly I’m glad she suggested it, because Oliver followed me out of the car and walked me to my front door.

  He might have been doing it only because his mom told him to, but I didn’t think so.

  “So that was fun,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “I mean, I had a good time, too.”

  “Cool. Let’s hang out again.”

  “Okay, when?” I asked quickly. “I mean, sure, if you want to. That sounds fun. Wait—you did say we should hang out again, right?”

  Oliver laughed. “I did, and thanks for answering me three times.”

  His whole face glowed happily and expectantly in the lamplight.

  I heard crickets chirp, and they seemed to be saying, “Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him” in their secret bug language.

  This was truly the most romantic moment of my life. If only Oliver would kiss me! Of course, his mom was right out front. I glanced over to her. She was bent over the radio, not looking at us, so we could probably safely kiss without her even knowing it. And here we were, holding hands again. Oliver leaned closer and closed his eyes. I was about to do the same when I saw bright, blinding lights. Next we heard a rumble, and my first thought was, Earthquake! I should stop, drop, and roll. No, wait a second—that’s for fires. What was I supposed to do in an earthquake? Stand in a door frame or run to the middle of the street, where nothing could fall on me? I couldn’t remember.

  But luckily there was no earthquake, just a loud rumble of the garage door because Ted was home and pulling up the driveway.

  Oliver dropped my hand fast.

  Ted braked and rolled down the window. “Hi, kids!” he said, before continuing on in.

  “Hi, sir,” Oliver called after him.

  “You can call him Ted. You don’t have to be so formal about it.”