“You needed a break from your sisters, for one thing,” I say. “Plus, two of the males in that room are hot. Oh, yes, and also, I begged you. And you love me.”
I grab the unopened jar of salsa and swing around to sit on the counter. Terri crosses her arms and leans her butt against the cabinet beside me. “So, did Amanda get carried away with the tooth-whitening strips again or what?” she says.
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure her teeth would glow in the dark if I hit the lights.”
“And what’s the deal with her and Mark?” Terri goes on. “I thought you liked him.”
I shrug and kick my heels lightly against the lower cabinets. “I dunno.”
Terri reaches up and grabs me by the shoulders. “You cannot let her keep doing this to you!” Terri does have a point. Amanda has a long history of becoming suddenly and glowingly interested in the boys I like. It happened so many times I tried to set her up once by acting as if I liked Ryan Bruchner. Honestly, it was a bit too much to pull off, seeing as how I’m not all that great at acting. Plus, no human being, or synthetic humanoid for that matter, could ever have a crush on the guy. He’s not horribly deformed or anything, it’s just that everything about him is
wrong
. For instance, when he walks he keeps his entire upper body stiff and tilted forward. It looks even stranger than it sounds, and kids imitate him all the time. I didn’t fool Amanda, so all that ended up happening is Ryan now thinks he and I are friends. I’ve never had the heart to set him straight. After a year and a half of the charade, I suppose we’re pretty much friends by default anyway.
Terri pulls me off the counter and spins me toward the den. “You need to get in there and do something!” she commands.
I turn to her, tuck my head into the space between us, and whisper, “I have no idea what I’m doing.” Terri’s eyes are soft, and I wonder for a moment why she’s never had a boyfriend. Probably a feminist thing. I look down at the floor tiles.
She sticks one finger under my chin and tickles it softly for a moment, before stabbing it with her nail, making my head snap up to meet her gaze. Without blinking, she calls into the den, “Hey, Mark!” At his distant “Yeah?” she sings out, “Would you mind coming in here and opening this jar for Blaze?”
With that, she snatches the jar of salsa off the counter and drops it calmly into my hands. “Guys love playing rescuer,” she whispers into my neck.
So
much
for
the
feminist
theory.
She pulls back and winks as she moves toward the den.
Oh, my god
,
he’s going to think I’m a total spaz
. I look at the jar.
A
total
spaz
with
weak
muscle
tone.
With that, I start tightening the lid as hard as I possibly can.
“Well, now.” Mark’s voice is suddenly right beside me. “The fact that you’re turning that lid the wrong way could be part of the problem.” He surprises me so much, I actually drop the jar I’ve been sabotaging. I watch it fall in some weird slow-motion-flipping action. Our floor tiles are ceramic, which means that if a glass jar of gooshey salsa taps it with the slightest force, I’m looking at a huge mess. I flinch, preparing for the sound of shattering glass, but inches above the floor, Mark’s hand closes in on the spiraling jar.
“Easy there,” he says, smoothly opening the jar and handing it back to me. With my heart pounding, I pour the salsa into the bowl and wonder what I should do next. I ask myself that ultimate flirting question:
What
Would
Amanda
Do?
“You want me to bring in the—”
“Would you like to see my dad’s—”
We’re interrupting each other.
Lovely
.
“So, what’s with the—”
“
X-Men
Spectacular number four—”
“Okay. You’ve obviously got something interesting to share.” Mark smiles beautifully. “Out with it, Blaze.”
Oh
God, this is all wrong
, is all I can think. “Oh, nothing, it’s silly,” is all I can say. And then I can only stand there, shuffling my feet as I look with scorn at the bowl of salsa in my hands.
Finally Mark says, “All righty then…”
He’s leaving already
, I think.
I
totally
missed
my
window.
“How’s about you show me that collection of comics you told me about?” he asks. “It’s here, right?” And just like that, everything shifts back on track.
“You sure?” I ask, squinting up at him.
“Sure, I’m sure.” He bops smoothly. “Where are they?”
I point to the basement door. “Down there, but I think the light’s burned out.”
He stands, looking at me and bopping gently.
“Give me a minute. I’ll fetch a flashlight.”
As soon as my back is turned, I have to let out the giant geeky grin I’ve been holding in. This is obvious, clear confirmation that Mark is interested in me. As I drop off the dish of salsa in the den I catch Amanda’s eye and put up a mental force field to avoid melting from her death-ray glare.
Sheesh
,
if
anyone
should
have
dibs
on
Mark
it’s me.
I’m the one who’s been minivanning his cute ass back and forth to games with a third of his team.
I find the flashlight in the closet, click the rubber button, and am relieved when it lights up. Mark grins, takes the light from me, and holds it under his chin, giving his face a sinister look. He laughs maniacally, “Mwa-ha-ha-ha.”
“Creepy,” I compliment. Taking back the flashlight, I lead the way down the stairs. The darkness swallows all but the reedy beam emanating from my fist.
“This place is huge.” Mark takes control of the flashlight and waves it from corner to corner. It’s also pretty ghastly. I never come down here at night. Even with Mark shining the light all around, there’s so much darkness, I have to shake off the urge to hang onto him. Then I realize that’s probably exactly what Amanda would do and boldly clutch his arm.
“Shine it over here,” I tell him, wishing I’d kept control of the flashlight. We make our way past old boxes and a few black garbage bags filled with moth-eaten traces of our childhood. “Here they are.”
Mark shines the light on the six large, white file boxes. Dad’s comic collection. I bend down and carefully pull the lid off the closest one. I’m pretty familiar with which issues are where and carefully pull out
Silver
Surfer
#2 from the 1987 series. The cover is purple and red, with the Surfer watching his former lover Shalla-Bal as her translucent dress blows in the wind. Keeping the comic book encased in its plastic, I hand it to Mark.
He gives me the light and nods appreciatively as he turns the issue over in his hands. We both laugh at the tacky ad for Hostess fruit pies on the back cover. “May, I?” he asks, fingering the plastic flap that’s taped shut. A pain shoots through my lip, making me realize I’ve been biting it. I don’t want him to think of me as a total geek, but I can’t possibly convey to him the value and importance of these comics.
“We really shouldn’t,” I say. “They need to stay in mint condition, and it’s a little musty down here.”
So
much
for
keeping
the
geek
concealed
. “They’re more valuable as a complete series, and besides…” I sigh and give him the real reason for my hesitation. “My dad’s coming for them soon, and if he finds out I wasn’t careful with them he’ll murder me.”
Mark looks amused. “Well, now,” he says, “you’d certainly leave a fine-looking corpse, wouldn’t you?”
I want to tell him he doesn’t have to use that sort of line with me, but he moves closer and my heart does a crazy loop-de-loop before I can speak. Holding the comic reverently between his palms he offers it back to me with a shrug. I need to undo his disappointment and get back on track for making him my boyfriend.
“Well…”
what
am
I
saying?
“It
is
one of my favorites.” I train the flashlight on the plastic pouch, and he uses one finger to break the tape that seals it against the damaging air of our basement. “Just be careful, it’s delicate,” I warn. Mark lifts the flap.
He respectfully leafs through the pages as I aim the flashlight on the comic, listening to the gang cheer and groan overhead.
In the 1987 series the Surfer is released from being a prisoner on Earth, and in issue #2 he returns to Zenn-la and his first love, Shalla-Bal. I blush in the darkness as Mark pauses on the spread of the lovers embracing. “Boy, Silver Dude’s got all the smooth lines, huh?” With false drama he reads the comic aloud, “So many times the thought of this day is all I had to sustain me.” He holds up the panel of Shalla-Bal and the Surfer kissing. “And apparently Silver Dude’s smooth lines work too.”
I hope Mark can’t see how red my face is in the light reflecting off the page as he leafs through the rest of the issue. I’m anxious to get the comic back into its protective plastic home. He turns to a page that has Shalla-bal walking alone in the garden after the Surfer leaves. Mark’s voice deepens as he reads, “Man is meant to strive… to yearn.” His eyes meet mine intensely for a moment before he continues, “Perhaps the taste of danger is what we need.” He moves closer and I have a fleeting moment of full-on excitement as he puts his palm gently on my cheek.
His other hand reaches down to mine and clicks off the flashlight.
We’re plunged into darkness and I have a three-second freak-out session inside my head before I feel Mark’s hand on my face drawing me toward him.
Nebula
Unfolding!
Is
Mark
really
about
to
kiss
me
here
in
my
crusty
basement?
In the pitch black I’m like Daredevil: blind, but able to detect everything around me. I can sense Mark. So near. Our bodies slide closer and his hand moves slowly to the back of my neck. I feel his warm breath on my lips. Everything goes still as I wait for my first kiss. I’m trying not to smile in the darkness. Quickly, I lick my lips. Part them slightly. Blind anticipation…
Over the sound of my heartbeat I hear footsteps thundering in a jumble over our heads and unseeing I tilt my head toward the noise. Mark gives a small groan. I wonder if the boys have taken out the Wii Fit and worry for a moment they’ll see my Mii has the fitness level of a 45-year-old.
“BLAZE!” Josh’s voice calls from the top of the steps. I have time to decide that Josh is not a very good brother for interrupting this moment. And then I make out what he’s saying. “AJAY CAN’T BREATHE! AJAY CAN’T BREATHE!”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “His asthma.”
“Are they pranking us?” Mark asks.
Shoving over him I shout, “CALL 911! CALL 911!” I bang my shin on a box, untangle from Mark, and trip up the stairs, willing myself to move faster than humanly possible. My eyes painfully adjust to the light as I find my messenger bag in the kitchen and begin clawing at it.
I fumble, dumping everything on the floor, and finally find Ajay’s inhaler. I launch myself toward the den, burst into the room and breathlessly take in the scene.
They
are
totally
pranking
us.
Ajay looks up at me in surprise and grins. Clearly his breathing is just fine. Everyone laughs and points at the panicked look on my face as I stand, breathing heavily and holding Ajay’s inhaler aimed in the air.
Josh looks at me in an accusing way, and I resist the urge to squirt him in the eyes. “What the hell, Josh?”
“What the hell, yourself.” Josh volleys back. “You and Coach looking for something in the basement?”
I widen my eyes at him and look over to see Mark is pretending to not hear what’s happening. Which is quite a trick, since the game is on pause and everybody’s gawking at Josh and I. Amanda slides closer to Stu as Terri gives me a private thumbs-up sign. But Andrew is looking at me with a furrowed brow, and Josh is outright scowling.
Stu clears his throat and Ajay laughs uncomfortably. I finally drop my arm holding the inhaler and head back into the kitchen to gather the contents of my messenger bag off the floor. Mark seems unsure whether or not to follow me, but when Josh shoulders past him to help me, he heads back into the den.
“Sorry, sis.” Josh doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I just panicked when I realized you were in the basement with Coach. You seriously need to—”
“
You
seriously need to mind your own business,” I snap. “I am a big girl, Josh. I’m sorry you’re not ready for me to have a boyfriend, but trust me. I am ready.”
“It’s not that—” Josh is cut off by the sound of the front door closing. The two of us freeze.
“Hey, guys!”
Mom’s voice
.
Holy
shit
, Josh mouths as we stay frozen to the kitchen floor.
“Surpri—
Oh
.” Mom must’ve noticed the crowd of people in our home.
Josh and I unfreeze and race to intervene, but when we get to the den we’re surprised to find Mom
not
freaking out. She’s standing, holding a pizza box in her hands with a lifeless smile on her face. When she spots us her eyes show fury, but her voice remains sugary-sweet. “Hey, guys. You didn’t mention you had friends coming by.”
“Um. Sorry, Mom,” I say. “What are you doing home?”
With her nostrils flaring she calmly explains that she traded shifts with someone who needed off next weekend. “For a birthday party, I think,” she over-explains as everyone in the den listens with polite enduring-other-people’s-parents-type attention. I notice Amanda is rubbing her hand slowly up and down Stu’s bicep. The syrupiness of Mom’s voice is really unnerving me, because she should be screaming right now. She finishes by saying, “Sorry, I would’ve brought more pizza if I’d realized.”