Sure enough my dad brings up my unusual outfit over dinner.
“What was with the getup today? Was it clash day at school or something?”
I explain that I forgot the umbrella, and my key, and my phone this morning and that Zenn gave me a lift after I got soaked in the pouring rain.
My dad looks skeptical. “Your sweatpants said Juicy on the butt.”
“He loaned me some clothes.”
“He had these extra clothes ... in his car?”
I understand why he’s concerned — I mean, what kind of guy has extra women’s clothing in his car? — but I am impatient nonetheless.
“I didn’t have my key, so we went to his house and he gave me some of his ... sister’s stuff.”
They are white lies. Zenn’s “house” is not a house, and his mom is not his sister, but I sense that if I admitted we went to an apartment above a garage where Zenn pretty much lives alone and that those clothes were his mother’s, it would give my parents a bad impression of him.
My dad still looks doubtful about the whole thing, as a good dad should. But he knows me. Knows my issues with touch, knows that I have not had a boyfriend. Like, ever. He knows he doesn’t have much to worry about.
Chapter 20
The air is almost balmy for Halloween, warm and moist and more like June than nearly November. All the cozy, insulated costumes that would be great on a cold day are making trick-or-treaters sweat bullets, but the girls my age who are dressed up as sexy nurses/pirates/police officers are happy: no need to cover up their carefully displayed boobs.
The quads are going as the Teletubbies, which I don’t think my mom realizes are outrageously outdated costumes. In fact, I was a Teletubby back in 1999 or so: Po, the red one. My mom found the three other coordinating costumes online for a steal and so the kids are all lined up in their rainbow dorkiness: Laa-Laa, Po, Dipsy and Tinky Winky. Even though Teletubbies has been off the air for ages, the kids still watch old VHS videos and are too clueless to know that their costumes are a decade or two too late. Thank God they are only three.
We take the kids trick-or-treating down our street, my mom, dad and I following them with various cameras like paparazzi. When we turn onto Oak Street, my heart rate quickens. We approach the Arts and Crafts house, and I wonder if Zenn is around. We won’t go trick-or-treating at the apartment above the garage, but I wonder if he might be somewhere nearby. Raking or … whatever.
As we get closer I see a woman sitting on the front steps of the house with a big bowl of candy. I assume she’s the owner of the Arts and Crafts house until I get closer and see she’s wearing a sexy devil costume. She has an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes sitting next to her on the step.
Oh, wow. I have a sinking feeling we’re about to meet Zenn’s mom.
“Oh. My. God,” she says, as we walk up the sidewalk. My dad visibly flinches at her saying God as if she had said fuck and by now he’s noticed her horns and her cleavage and her cigarettes. But being an open-minded and forgiving type, he doesn’t shuffle the kids away like I’m sure he wants to. I wonder what he’d say if I told him this is the woman I borrowed the Juicy sweatpants from.
“These four are a-dor-able!” she nearly yells. She has clearly partaken of some Halloween treats of the Jack Daniel’s variety.
The kids walk up the steps hesitantly. With a little encouragement from my mom, they say, “Trick-or-treat.”
Zenn’s mom plops a handful of candy into each bag. “They’re the TVtubbies, right?”
“Teletubbies,” I correct her gently.
“Right! Teletubbies! My kid used to watch that when he was little!”
I smile at her. Her kid! She’s talking about Zenn! She looks like him. Not so much her coloring, but she has the same smile and the same eyelashes, though hers are enhanced by a couple coats of mascara.
I’d like to talk to her for longer but I’m terrified that her “kid” will come around the corner any minute and it will be this whole awkward meet-the-parents scenario. The slutty devil meets the man of God. Perfect.
So instead of engaging her, we wish her a happy Halloween and steer the kids on to the next house.
After about an hour the kids are sweaty and exhausted and we are only too glad to return home to hand out candy instead of gathering it up. My mom dumps most of the candy the kids got back into our bowl to give away.
They are barely in bed when my phone buzzes and at first I think it’s some kind of Halloween prank when Zenn’s name shows up. We exchanged cell numbers a while back in case he had any trig emergencies which, unfortunately, he hasn’t. Until now, maybe.
Zenn: Hey
I smile and slide my fingers over the screen. Our first text. It’s really him, right? I force myself to wait one full minute before responding, lest I look way overeager.
Me: Hey! What’s up?
Zenn: See any good costumes today?
I had expected a question about trig, or maybe a follow-up about the van. But he’s just making conversation.
Me: I saw a slutty Nemo.
Zenn: Nemo? Like, the clown fish?
Me: Yeah.
Zenn: That’s so wrong.
Me: Nothing is sacred anymore. How ‘bout you?
Zenn: I saw a slutty ketchup bottle. But that’s not as good as Nemo.
Me: How is ketchup remotely sexy? I don’t get it. Am I missing something?
Zenn: It goes on wieners? I have no idea …
Me: Right! It’s a condoment.
There is a slight pause and I wonder if I’ve gone too far in our first texting conversation. But then he replies.
Zenn: Sorry. You made me spit out my drink all over my phone.
Me: Sorry.
Zenn: Don’t be. That was good.
Another text comes through, this one from Charlotte.
Charlotte: Hey!
Oh, look at that. It’s my super popular friend, the one I have spent every Halloween with in recent memory. The one who ditched me this year to go to a party dressed in some kind of couples costume with her new boyfriend. But look! She has deigned to communicate with me! Hooray!
I ignore her text and send a goofy face to Zenn.
Chapter 21
The art room is locked when I try the door. I wait for a couple of minutes but when Zenn doesn’t show up I figure I have a choice: the library or the cafeteria. Alone by myself or alone in a crowd. I decide I’m tired of hiding out, so I head toward the cafeteria, determined to exude confidence.
I sit down in my old spot and say hi to all the people I used to eat lunch with, minus Charlotte. They are friendly, though not that excited to see me. Makes me realize I should focus on trying to make more than two friends.
I sneak a couple of glances in Charlotte’s direction and on my third covert look, she looks back. Then someone calls her name and she turns and I’ve lost her attention. Again.