“Shut up, both of you. I said I hadn’t decided.” I squirted some ketchup in my basket.
“It still tastes like pickle,” Portia complained.
“Then give it to me.” Maggie grabbed the burger.
“It’s only November,” I pointed out and offered Portia some of my onion rings. “I’ll decide when they post what play it’s going to be. I’m not auditioning for a musical. I can’t sing.”
“I heard Mr. Lund’s directing it this year. There’s no way he would pick a musical.”
My stomach lurched at his name and the onion rings turned to concrete in my mouth. Luckily a group of football players barged into the restaurant and started horsing around by the registers.
“Maggie, did you ask Derek to Sadie’s yet?” I changed the subject.
She shot a coy look over her shoulder at the testosterone display. “Yep. We’re going to double with Molly and Trenton.”
Derek had someone in a headlock by the Dilly Bar case, but he paused to shoot Maggie a grin with a licking motion. Charming.
“What about you, Porsche? Did you ask Matt or Tommy?”
“Matt’s going with Stephanie.”
“Well, Tommy’s right there. Go ask him.” I waved an onion ring at him, but Tommy startled like he’d been watching me and walked over to our booth, hands shoved in his letterman jacket.
“Hey, Hattie.”
“Hey, Portia had something she wanted—” I got violently kicked under the table.
“—to go do,” she finished, smiling at Tommy. “You can have my seat.”
“Mine, too. I’m going to grab a Blizzard.” They exchanged a look and suddenly they were both gone. I got the uncomfortable feeling that I’d missed a conversation.
“Er—d’you mind?” Tommy flapped his jacket at the empty booth and I shrugged. He sat down, cleared his throat, and started playing with the napkin dispenser. Gerald always said hands were a shortcut to the character. Ignore the words, he said. Pay attention to what the hands were doing. Tommy had thick hands and dirty fingernails and he clubbed the dispenser around like a hyped-up hockey player. He was nervous as hell.
“So, what’s up?” I finally asked.
“Nothing. Just got home from hunting with my dad. Bagged a twelve-pointer at two hundred feet.”
“Killer,” I deadpanned, nodding.
It seemed like most of the restaurant was watching us, with Tommy’s football buddies in the front row, elbowing each other and shoving fries in their mouths.
“What’s up with you?” he asked.
“Just grabbing a bite before work.”
“Oh. Cool.” He scratched his hair, which wasn’t exactly curly. It looked more like he’d just gotten out of bed.
I took a drink and my straw made that slurping noise when you get to the bottom. Tommy eyed the cup hopefully.
“Do . . . do you want me to grab you a refill?”
“Sure.” I handed it to him. “Half orange, half Sprite, three ice cubes.”
I watched him go to the soda fountain and fill my ridiculous order exactly. He even dumped out a little orange to make sure it only filled half the cup. When Derek walked over and punched him in the arm, Tommy shoved him mercilessly into the condiments counter and came back to the booth without spilling a drop. Amazing. It was like a social experiment. I took a sip and tried experimenting some more.
“So what do you think of Portia?”
“Portia Nguyen?” he asked, and I tried not to roll my eyes. There were no other Portias in the entire town.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. She’s nice, I guess.”
“What would you say if she asked you to Sadie’s?”
“Oh.” He flushed bright red and started playing with the napkins again. “I, um, I didn’t think . . . she was gonna ask me.”
Then he swallowed and met my eyes. Funny, I’d never noticed his were a perfect blue, like the kind of sky that made you forget there was anything behind it.
“I thought maybe you might ask me,” he blurted out.
I offered him an onion ring while I considered. There was a lot to consider all of a sudden.
“Why do you want me to ask you instead of Portia?”
“I don’t know. She’s just kind of loud. She’s always talking about people. I know she’s your friend and all, but . . .” He let the sentence hang, looking completely uncomfortable, and shoved the onion ring in his mouth.
“She is pretty loud,” I agreed with a smile. He smiled back, a half grin that made his baby face cute and crooked. So he wanted a quiet girl.
“Are you going to ask me then?”
“I don’t know.” I leaned forward and let my hair fall in my face. “I think I need to see you dance first.”
“What? Right here?” He seemed confused.
Okay—a quiet, simple girl. I offered him another onion ring and watched his face light up. He liked being fed. The list of characteristics grew. And just like that, Tommy Kinakis’s girlfriend started to form.