The One That I Want(19)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“Um,” I said, trying to puzzle out what he was talking about. The goatee didn’t make him look foreign. Just older. “What?”

“Sometimes people take one look at me and start speaking. Very. Slowwwwwwwly. Like I can’t understand English.”

I examined his gray plaid shorts, which might have looked nerdy on another boy but were part of Max’s effortless ultracool look, along with his tight red T-shirt and his long hair. Finally I said, “You don’t stand foreign.”

“Really? How do I stand?” He assumed a weight-lifter pose, flexing his biceps for me.

I laughed it off and tried not to ogle him. “You stand like an American high school football kicker.”

He relaxed and put his fists on his hips. “But do I look foreign? It must be the hair.”

Okay, his hair was a little too stylish to blend in around here, but that wasn’t what caught my attention now that I considered him in this new way. “Your T-shirt is written in Japanese.”

He pulled his T-shirt away from his chest with two fingers and examined it. “I hadn’t thought about that. We visit my grandparents in Japan every year. I buy a lot of T-shirts because they’re so different from what you can get in America.”

“So you do want people to notice you,” I pointed out.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“I understand,” I assured him. “You want people to notice you, but on your own terms.”

He frowned at me.

To change the subject in case he was as sensitive about that as he seemed, I asked, “What does your T-shirt say, anyway?”

“Dunno. I always have to ask my mom. She tells me they all say, ‘Bullshit.’”

“Bullshit!” I sputtered laughter.

“Her English is good but not nuanced,” he explained. “Sometimes she changes it up with another word she’s learned, like ‘whackadoodle.’ She’ll do this.” He pointed at two characters in a line on his shirt and pronounced two syllables with each. “‘To-mo, da-chi.’” He underlined them with his finger. “‘Whackadoodle.’”

Carefully I wiped away the tears under my eyes so as not to smear my makeup. “She sounds funny.”

“She is funny. Just . . .” He rolled his eyes. “Foreign.”

“What does your dad say?”

Max shrugged. “He thinks my struggles are amusing and futile.” I was pretty sure that was a direct quote from his dad. Max’s dark eyes got a faraway look, and he was quiet, which was rare for him.

“Well,” I forced myself to say. “Welcome to my humble house.”

He grinned as he walked toward me. “What house?” He pretended to do a double take and see the mansion for the first time, like I’d done for his goatee. “Oh! I didn’t even notice it until you mentioned it.”

If Addison were here, she would shove him playfully. I was afraid I might shove him off balance and kill him. And he wasn’t my date. He was hers. So I just smiled, which probably made him think I didn’t appreciate his sense of humor. I couldn’t win. Finally I managed, “I’m sorry, but my mom says she has to talk to you before she will let Addison and me in your car.”

“I figured she would.”

“You already impressed her when you opened the car door for me at the MARTA station, so the interrogation shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Good to know.” He gestured to the house, ladies first, and followed me inside.

My mom met us in the foyer, shook Max’s hand, and led him into the library. Surrounded by dark paneled wood and thousands of books shelved floor to ceiling with a rolling ladder to get them down, and facing my mom, Max probably considered this the most awkward moment of his life.

But he sat in one of the leather chairs like it was a metal folding chair at school and talked animatedly to my mom like she was Addison or Carter or me. Either he was the only person I’d ever met who was comfortable with anyone in any situation, or it didn’t occur to him to be embarrassed because the stakes for impressing my mom weren’t very high. After all, he wasn’t dating me.

He was only my ride to my first date ever.

“Nice wheels,” I said a few minutes later, slipping into Max’s car.

He closed my door, jogged around the hood, and sat on the driver’s side. As he turned the key in the ignition, he said, “Very funny.”

“I’m serious! What do you call a car like this?”

“I call it a 1983 Oldsmobile, on a good day. On a bad day I have a different name for it entirely.”

“Did you buy it yourself?”

“Do you think I would pay my own money for this? My dad was going to buy me a new car. Then we got into an argument about Japanese versus classic American automotive technology, and he bought me this instead.”

“Oooh. So you should never get in an argument with your father.”

“I should never get in an argument with him about cars when he’s planning to buy me a car. But this arrangement will only last until I break down on I-85.” He winked at me. “Maybe then he’ll buy me an Aston Martin.”

“Oh, snap.”

He raised his eyebrows at me, checking my expression. “I was kidding.”

“I laughed.”

He smiled. I could tell he felt bad about the joke and was trying to rein himself in, because his next question was sweet. “How’s your nose?”

I touched it gingerly. “Still there.” I’d hardly thought about it when Max and Carter weren’t staring at me anymore.

“Good. First week of school treat you okay?”

“Band practice was great. We just work on our majorette routine for the whole hour every day. I can’t believe I get a credit for that.”

I didn’t tell Max about the drama. Mrs. Baxter had dumbed down the routine because Addison and one of the seniors couldn’t keep up with all the tricks she’d planned. Then Addison had gotten so embarrassed that she’d asked me to work with her after school. I’d told her I couldn’t because I had to teach a class of fourth graders at the baton studio. She’d gotten mad.

“That sounds fun,” Max said diplomatically.

“Yeah. And I switched my schedule around at the last minute. Our school has a great dance program that I never took advantage of before. I guess making majorette finally gave me the confidence to enroll in dance.” I left out that I’d always wanted to take my school’s dance classes, but there was no way. Every one of them required at least two public performances. In a leotard. I’d taken music classes instead.