Blue Plate Special Read online

  When I turn, I stub my toe on the corner of my computer desk and fall, face-first, cracking my forehead on my nightstand. I touch my left eyebrow, which is throbbing. Already there’s a goose egg forming.

  I hear Shane trying the kitchen door, which, of course, I locked when I came in. “Ariel?” he calls. “Where are you?”

  I throw open my closet, searching for something easy to slip on.

  Shane’s knocking morphs into pounding, and I’m nervous the neighbors will hear. “Ariel, are you okay?”

  “Be there in a minute!” I grab a black hoodie, faded Levi’s, a pair of bikini panties, and a sports bra. Then, remembering what Shane says about sports bras—that they, quote, take two wonderful breasts and transform them into a uniboob, unquote—I trade it for a satiny white one.

  After I slip on my panties and bra, the pounding stops. Still in rush mode, I whirl back around, reaching for my shirt and jeans. But when I glance into the mirror over my dresser, I gasp.

  In the glass, there’s a second reflection—Shane’s. He’s leaning against the doorframe to my room. Shane and I have unbuttoned and unzipped our clothing while we’ve made out, but the garments pretty much stayed put. Now, I feel exposed. “I told you I’d be there in a minute,” I say, grabbing my bathrobe and tying it around me. “How did you get in?”

  Shane holds up the emergency key.

  Shit. I completely forgot about the spare.

  My pulse pounds in my neck. I’m usually so calm and rational. Most Likely to be Picked for Team Captain in the Event of a Natural Disaster—that could be my moniker. But now I feel something shift in my brain, the synapses firing differently.

  I’m mad, I realize. I push past him and start through the door.

  Shane grabs my arm and whirls me around. When he lets go, his eyes lock with mine. Even though he’s not touching me, I still feel pinned in place by that gaze.

  “Don’t be upset,” he says, reaching for my chin, turning it toward him. “When you didn’t answer, I was scared something had happened to you. That you were hurt.”

  I walk to my dresser and grab my hairbrush, tugging on a tangle. Mentally, I recap what just happened, looking at it from Shane’s point of view. Finally, I decide I can’t blame him. I might have done the same thing if I was that concerned.

  Shane steps behind me and takes the brush. He glides the bristles down my scalp, clear to the end. “I worship every inch of you,” he says, gathering the tips of my hair into a clump, which he brings to his lips, kissing it. “Right down to your split ends.”

  I elbow him. “I don’t have split ends.”

  “Do too,” he teases. He rests his chin on my shoulder, studying our reflections in the mirror. When he lifts my bangs away from my forehead, the lump from my fall leaps into view. He touches the bruise. “Hey, how’d this happen?”

  “I tripped and hit it on my nightstand.”

  “Ouch.” He smoothes my bangs back. “I hope no one thinks I did that to you.”

  Confused, I watch his face in the glass. “Shane, why would they?”

  He laughs and I jump, which makes him laugh even harder. “Hah! Right! Why would they?”

  He loops his arms around my waist, undoing the tie on my robe. The bow on my bra appears, a rectangle of stomach, a sliver of panties. Self-conscious, I reach to close it.

  Shane moves my hand aside. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. Then he leans in, kissing my neck. I watch him in the mirror as his dark hair falls across his face, as his lips creep slowly toward my ear, then tenderly nibble the lobe. His tongue inches inside, exploring the innermost folds. Shane’s kisses ignite something that’s never been on fire before. And if we were making out somewhere else—in a movie or at a concert—I’d be fine with what’s going on. But this is not happening somewhere else.

  Shane moves closer, pressing his full weight against me. His hand reaches through the opening in my robe. His fingers ease beneath my bra.

  I glance at my clock. “Shane,” I whisper, “I should get dressed. It’s six thirty. You have to go to work. And my mother will be home soon.”

  “I’m not afraid of the Momster,” he breathes, moving against me. The bones that stick out on either side of my hips grind against the edge of my dresser. When a sudden sharp pain rages there, I say, “Ow!”

  Shane takes my hand. Turns me around. Lowers me onto my bed.

  “I want you.” His lips graze my neck again. But now the good feeling’s gone.

  “Please, Shane. I think we should stop. I don’t think I—”

  Shane’s mouth covers mine, silencing me. He reaches to unzip his jeans.

  My pulse races. I pray for Mom to show up. I don’t care that I’ll have to confess it was my fault Shane came over. Or how it looks that I have my bathrobe on. I just want to hear the familiar sound of her car pulling into the garage.

  My heart wallops my throat so hard, I’m scared my neck might explode. “I’m not ready!” I blurt out. Except I can’t tell if the words make a sound, or if I only think them.

  But they must. Make a sound, that is. Because Shane rises up from my bed. Avoiding my eyes, he zips his pants. Adjusts his T-shirt. Takes a step back. Then he starts down the hall, past Mom’s room, the bathroom, the guest room.

  Suddenly I feel guilty. I’m not sure why, but I do. Big time. “Shane”—tying my robe closed, I follow him—“don’t go. You said we could talk. Remember?”

  I step between him and the kitchen door.

  There’s a raw, unfamiliar pain in Shane’s eyes I’ve never seen before. He looks so vulnerable. Could he really be the same confident person who took on the Veep? All traces of that person are erased now.

  I reach to touch his face, but he pushes my hand away. That’s when I realize he’s crying. “Shane,” I whisper, “what’s wrong?”

  Hard, wrenching sobs shake his body. It’s almost too private to watch. He gulps air, like someone trying to stay afloat. “I—I care—way too—much about—you.”

  Our eyes meet. Then lock. Something deep in our centers connects. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. We’re joined. Perhaps permanently.

  Shane doesn’t look away, either. “Y—you’re my whole fucking universe,” he chokes out. “You’re all I think about, Ariel, the only person I want to b—be with. Ever.”

  Oh. My. God. Ever. As in forever. He cares that much about me.

  When Shane blinks, our gaze is interrupted, and I feel like my lifeline’s been cut. I clasp his waist, holding tight, so I won’t drown without him.

  Shane doesn’t reach back, though. He removes my arms, placing them at my sides like he’s posing a mannequin. Then he reaches for the doorknob.

  “Wait!” I shout, surprising myself.

  Shane turns. “Wait for what, Ariel?” He flips up the blank screen again. Studies me with the same cool look you’d use to examine a specimen in chem lab.

  The detachment undoes me. I can’t take it. I want him back. I untie my robe, let it part. “I’ve changed my mind. I am ready.”

  Shane reaches down, touching the bruise that’s forming on my hip. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he says, and his eyes fill again. He gathers the ties on my robe, knotting them across my front. “You’re not ready, Ariel. Not for someone who loves you the way I do.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Shane presses a finger to my lips.

  Turning, wordlessly, he leaves.

  As I watch him cross our garage, then start outside, activating the motion light, I make a silent promise to myself. I will be ready next time. Maybe after Mom and I return from our trip to Elmira.

  Yes, I decide.

  That’s when.

  Madeline

  I am officially dieting, something I never dreamed I’d do. Food is the only thing that’s ever mattered to me. But now I have Tad. Tad, who thinks I’m pretty and smart and nice. I would like to add thin to that list. Looking good for him is my number one priority. And I love having a priority. I feel like I’m doing
something normal people might do. People who don’t avoid everyone they come into contact with. People who don’t shut themselves in their room at night with a two-thousand-calorie “snack” because that’s the only thing they have to look forward to. I’m glad to leave that club. As long as I have Tad, I’ll never go back. Ever.

  On Saturday morning, I wash Mom’s and my clothes at the laundromat, same as I do every weekend. Except, instead of coming straight home afterward, I park the laundry basket inside the door to Franklin’s Five and Dime. Wandering the aisles, I search for AYDS Appetite Suppressant Candy, which I saw advertised on a TV commercial. When I find it, I buy two boxes—one chocolate and one butterscotch.

  Each morning that next week, I eat a bowl of Total cereal with skim milk then pack my lunch: a single sandwich—lettuce, tomato, and Velveeta cheese with Miracle Whip—a bag of carrot sticks, an apple, and a Tab cola. And every day after school, I meet Tad at McDonald’s and drink a diet soda while I help him study for his GED.

  The second Friday after Tad and I start meeting, I’m wearing a pair of size eighteen pants and a pink cardigan I bought at the thrift store. Coming through the door, I feel like Donna Fargo when she sang “The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA.”

  But once I’m inside, all those good feelings vanish. Tad isn’t sitting in our usual booth, waiting for me. I case out the non-smoking section. The counter area. The hallway outside the bathrooms. No Tad.

  My heart pounds so hard, I’m scared I’ll go into cardiac arrest. I hurry back outside, hyperventilating.

  A voice calls my name. When I whirl around, my tote bag butts me in the rear. It’s heavy—loaded with books and binders for every subject, so I’ll be prepared for whatever Tad’s in the mood to learn about.

  “Madeline!” I hear a second time.

  I scan the parking lot. Tad’s head pokes out the window of a navy blue pickup truck. It’s rusted in spots, and there’s a dent on the passenger side.

  I hurry to him, out of breath. “W—why aren’t you working?”

  “They changed my hours,” he tells me. “I’m off at three.”

  My heart sinks. I don’t get out of school until three, and then I have a fifteen-minute walk. I’ll never get to McDonald’s in time to see Tad. Suddenly I want a Big Mac. Three Big Macs. Five. I could kill for them. I reach into my pocketbook, unwrap an AYDS candy, and pop it in my mouth, chewing furiously. I’m not following the directions on the package—I’m supposed to chew two before a meal—but I have to quell the storm churning in my middle. I have to quiet the Beast.

  “Hey,” Tad says, smiling, “don’t look so glum. It’s good news.”

  I’m suspicious. What’s good for everyone else usually stinks for me. I narrow my eyes. “Like what?”

  “They made me the new assistant manager for the seven-to-three shift.”

  I glance at my watch. It’s three thirty. “So…” I start.

  “So I’m off work,” Tad finishes.

  “So…” I repeat. Like I’m an imbecile who only knows one word.

  “Sooooooo, where do you want to go?”

  “Go?” Now I’m turning into a parrot.

  “Yeah. For a drive.” He hops out, motioning to me. “You’ve gotta get in on the driver’s side. The door on your side doesn’t work.”

  Tad said my side. I stare at the open door.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, watching me. “The dent wasn’t my fault. Honest. I was inside the 7-Eleven when it happened. Hit-and-run.”

  My mouth won’t move. Nodding is all I can manage. I step up onto the running board. My thighs just barely clear the steering wheel as I slide across the seat. But I make it to the other side.

  My side.

  Tad clears his throat. “I was wondering…” His thumbs do a nervous dance on the steering wheel. “If maybe you’d like to see a movie.”

  “A movie?” I fasten my seat belt to keep from leaping into the air. “Uh, sure.”

  “Good.” He smiles. “Airport ’77 is playing at the Royale Theater.” He glances at the clock on his dashboard. “The next show’s in forty-five minutes.”

  Tad parks near the recreation area that runs along the river. On the walk to the theater, I grow excited. I’ve never been inside a movie house before.

  At the concession stand Tad asks for popcorn and Raisinets, and I get a Tab. Inside the theater, we sit near the back. I’m amazed by the size of the screen—a hundred times bigger than a TV. When the projector starts and the previews come on, the sound is everywhere. Above me, below me, around me, filling me up when I breathe.

  In the darkness, Tad reaches for my hand, sending a million shock waves surging through me. My God, I’m actually being touched. I’m feeling what girls like Muralee Blawjen get to feel all the time. For a moment, I block out the giant screen and the amazing sound, and I focus on this one thing, attempting to memorize every detail. Tad’s damp palm, shielding my hand like a pup tent. The tickle of knuckle fuzz when he weaves his fingers through mine. And the amazing warmth. Warmth like I’ve never felt before but suddenly can’t live without.

  When the film ends, the downtown stores are closed. As we amble past them Tad slips his arm around my waist. I never want the moment to end. I want to walk up and down Main Street a billion times, Tad’s arm drawn around me as the stores open and close, as the window displays change from fall to winter to spring to summer and back to fall again. By then, I’ll be thinner than Muralee Blawjen. I’ll be finished with high school, and maybe Tad will ask me to marry him.

  Tad stops in front of a poster gallery, studying a Salvador Dali print—the one with the melting clocks. “That’s so cool,” he says.

  “It’s called The Persistence of Memory,” I tell him.

  He looks at me, surprised. “Hey, how’d you know that?”

  “Art history class.”

  Tad turns to face me. He takes my hands in his. “Mind if I kiss you?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, blushing. “I mean, no. No, I don’t mind. Yes, you can kiss me.”

  Gently, Tad’s lips meet mine. I taste the lingering saltiness of his popcorn, the sweetness of his candy. But mostly, I taste life—which I’m discovering is quite delicious.

  * * *

  All that next week, I meet Tad at McDonald’s to help him study. Then we go for a drive and park along a country road and kiss some more. When it’s time for Tad to take me home, a part of me always dies. I never want to let go.

  On Friday, he invites me to have dinner and see another movie. Other than having fried chicken at the bowling alley snack bar where one of Mom’s boyfriends used to take us, I’m not used to eating out. I have no idea how dressed up to get. So I play it safe and wear my new size sixteen bell bottoms and a frilly peasant blouse with elastic at the wrists so the sleeves won’t accidentally ride up and show off my ugly lizard arm. And because it’s late October, and the night air is getting chilly, I bring along a blazer too.

  Tad parks in front of a diner called the Second Chance, just before the exit to the highway. I’ve driven by it dozens of times, on the way to Cherry Hill Cemetery, but I’ve never been inside. I feel like I’m on the stage set for The Wild Wild West. Saddles and wagon wheels and old shotguns hang from the ceiling beams. Movie posters from Westerns like Rooster Cogburn and The Magnificent Seven and High Plains Drifter line the dark, paneled walls. Tad leads the way toward a deserted back corner. He slides into a booth, and I sit across from him.

  “You look really nice,” he tells me. “You’re wearing makeup, aren’t you?”

  I panic, worried I didn’t put it on right. “Yeah. Does it look okay?”

  “Sure. It makes your eyes stand out.” He squints. “There’s something else too.”

  “I’ve lost weight,” I volunteer.

  “That must be it.” He fishes in his pocket for a coin and drops it in the miniature jukebox mounted to the wall beside our booth. He punches a number and I recognize the song right away—“If You Leave Me Now” by Chicago.
In it, a man is begging a woman not to go away. He says he’ll die inside if she does. I know exactly how he feels. That’s how I’d be without Tad. I wouldn’t have anything to live for.

  A waitress arrives, wearing a Western shirt, blue jeans, and a cowboy hat. “Evenin’, kids,” she drawls, slapping two menus on the table. “Start ya off with a drink?”

  Tad smiles. “Two beers, please.”

  The waitress grins. “You got IDs saying you’re eighteen?”

  Tad’s toe taps mine under the table. “Okay, make that two Pepsis.”

  “Diet for me please,” I add, reaching in my purse for two AYDS candies.

  When the waitress returns with our drinks I order a chef salad and Tad asks for the Blue Plate Special, which—that day—is fried fish, a baked potato, and a side of lima beans.

  After she drops our food off, Tad’s lip curls. “I hate lima beans.”

  I laugh. “Then why’d you order them?”

  “Well, I didn’t order lima beans, per se, I ordered the Blue Plate Special.”

  Tad must read my confusion. He reaches into his wallet, pulling out a flattened stack of tickets. He passes them over to me.

  “Good for one daily Blue Plate Special,” I read aloud.

  “You used to be able to buy those tickets in advance, and you’d save fifty cents on the meal.” Tad draws a breath and scratches his ear. “My mom gave me those two weeks before I started first grade. I asked her why she was doing that when we usually paid by the day. And she looked away, playing with her clip-on earring, telling me, ‘Well, you’re a big boy now, you won’t want your mama tagging along with you all the time. You might want to come here on your own. Or bring your dad or a friend from school.’ She forced a smile, and my stomach felt queasy, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. I said back, ‘Why would I wanna come here without you?’ but she just stared off again.”

  “And then what happened?” I ask him.

  “She left two days later. Up and moved to New Mexico to shack up with some asshole lawyer. Haven’t seen her since.”

  A dark, aching silence crowds the space between us. I reach for Tad’s hand and ask him, “Did you ever use any of those tickets?” because that’s all I can think to say.