Almost Perfect (4 page)

“They’re that strict?” I asked, disappointed. I realized how eager I’d been to get to know Sage. And now, it seemed, we wouldn’t even be allowed to casually hang out.

She sighed. “My dad especially. I never even got to wear makeup until a few months ago.”

No makeup at her age? Jesus, what kind of Nazi parents did she have?

“Why not? I mean, they had to know you could put it on at school when they wouldn’t be around.”

“Uh …” Sage looked to the right, like she was trying to think up an answer.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” Sage had her back to me. I almost touched her shoulder, but chickened out.

“No, what?” Why would an eighteen-year-old put up with restrictions like that? She was legally an adult.

She bit her lip. “This is the first time I’ve been to high school. After eighth grade, I was homeschooled.” She smiled an embarrassed smile, like she’d just confessed to wetting the bed or something.

Homeschooled? That
conjured up all kinds of negative images. Puritanical parents who refused to allow caffeinated drinks in the house. Long sessions of Bible reading and cold showers. Private tutors, rows of girls in identical pleated skirts, the cruel whip of the headmistress, secret girl-on-girl bodily explorations …

Sorry, lost my train of thought there. But homeschooled? No makeup? Not even allowed to go out to the movies?

We had reached the track. I wanted to say something to let Sage know I wanted to help her. Granted, I wanted to help her sneak out on a date with me, but still.

“Well, if your parents ever
do
let you out of the house …” I gestured vaguely.

“Yeah.” Sage toyed with her purse. “Logan, what theater are you going to?”

“The Forum Eight,” I answered, suddenly interested again. “It’s off of Stadium Boulevard in Columbia. We’ll probably be there around seven.”

She was already walking away.

“See you there?” I called after her, slightly desperate.

She didn’t turn around. “Maybe.”

T
HAT
F
RIDAY NIGHT
, I stood in the cavernous, neon-slathered lobby of the Forum 8 theater and watched the college kids parade by. I felt like a farm boy who’d just driven up on a tractor. Next year was I really going to buy a Mizzou jacket and hang out in bars with these guys?

That was another reason I was worried about college. I mean, Laura could show me around and everything, but I still felt kind of out of my depth. At MU, there were students from Russia, students from Iran, scientists, hippies, anarchists … and I’d never even been to Illinois.

Tim was at the snack bar buying his requisite drum of popcorn. He kept insisting on more and more butter grease. Eventually, the girl behind the counter, a colorless teenager with short hair, rammed the bucket into his chest and took the next order.

Jack pounded on a pinball machine with both fists. I
leaned on the air hockey table, knowing I couldn’t force the guys to wait any longer. It was already eight-thirty.

Jack tilted his pinball game for the fourth time. “Hey, Logan. Is she coming or not?”

I looked at my watch again. “I guess not. Go get your snacks. I’ll be there in a minute.”

I shouldn’t have bothered. Sage had only said maybe. Her maniac parents probably locked her in the basement. So what? There’d be other girls, I guessed. Probably. Tanya, or maybe some cute college girl next year. Whoopee.

Someone smacked my hand off the table, causing me to stumble.

“Props are dangerous.” It was Sage. She was wearing a fluffy white coat that seemed big enough to seat two comfortably.

“Sage! You made it!” Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how disappointed I’d felt about her not coming.

She grinned proudly. “My parents think you’re the Christian Teens Youth Group, so no funny business, ’kay? Hi, Jack.”

We took our seats. As soon as the theater began to fill up, Jack pulled out his cell phone and had a loud conversation. I don’t think there was actually anyone on the other line.

“So, how did the prostate exam go? Really? Ouch! Didn’t he lube up first? He used a what? Listen, Joe, I don’t think real doctors operate out of those U-Store-It bins. …”

Sage’s body was shaking with laughter. She was the only one in the theater not trying to kill Jack with a glare. He only settled down when the house lights went off.

When the film started, Sage began pulling boxes of
candy out of her coat and passing them down the line. Tim looked at her with such rapture I was almost jealous. I wished I could have done this without the guys, but I couldn’t really bike the twenty miles to Columbia.

It occurred to me that this was only the second first date I’d ever had since I was fifteen. Brenda and I had come to this very theater. Since neither of us drove, her dad had come with us and sat two rows back.

And now here I was with an extroverted girl who had to sneak out just to see me. I looked over at my companion, who now had her feet propped up on the seat in front of her. Was this really a date? Maybe Sage wouldn’t be able to sneak out again. Or wouldn’t think I was worth it.

The premovie commercials ended. Sage put her feet down and placed her hand on our shared armrest. She elbowed me in the ribs. Then harder. Then she flopped halfway into my seat, crushing me against Jack. When she finally settled down, the side of her hand was pressed against mine.

I ignored the movie as I enjoyed the physical contact. Should I try to put my arm around her? I decided to play it safe and wait.

It happened about halfway through the film. We’d been swapping boxes of Milk Duds, gummi things, and Dots the whole time. I went to take the Junior Mints from Sage, and her hand was empty. My hand in her hand. I didn’t pull back.

Slowly, imperceptibly, her long fingers wound around mine. We sat unmoving for half a minute. It was no first base, but at least I was out of the dugout.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sage staring at the screen, her eyes large and white in the dark. Apparently, this was the first time she’d held hands with anyone. She looked almost terrified. I took a risk and squeezed her hand.

A bright scene projected on the screen, and in the light I could clearly make out her expression. She had such an innocent, frightened smile that I wanted to grab her and hug her. And not just because she was cute. Because at that moment, even though I barely knew her, I really liked her a lot.

Sage bit her lower lip and tilted her head down, still keeping her eyes off me. We both leaned closer. And then some more.

The movie changed to a night scene, and I could no longer see her face. Impetuously, I moved forward.

It’s embarrassing to try to kiss a girl only to have her lean back. Brenda used to do that to me all the time, even when we’d been dating for years.

It’s downright humiliating when your date forcibly shoves your head away.

It wasn’t a playful shove, or a
Back off, Don Juan
rejection. Sage pushed me so hard my neck kind of hurt.

Ashamed and upset, I tried to think of a way to quietly apologize. Sage was sitting there glowering at the film, her arms crossed and her leg jiggling. Damn, I’d totally misread her. When she had let me hold her hand, I thought she was encouraging me.

I waited a miserable forty-five minutes for the movie to end, wondering whether I should say I was sorry or just not
mention the incident. With Tim and Jack hanging around, apologizing wouldn’t be easy. But I didn’t want Sage to think I was just after one thing. After three years with Brenda, I was used to a chaste existence.

The second the credits started rolling, Sage jumped up. She rushed to the exit so quickly she bopped Jack on the head with her huge purse. It took me longer to escape from the row, but my years of running paid off, and I caught up with her in the lobby.

“Sage?”

She didn’t turn around. “Thanks for the movie, Logan,” she said in a monotone.

I didn’t follow her into the parking lot.

I got home around midnight, annoyed and confused. Why did Sage have to get so upset when I tried to kiss her? I didn’t totally buy that story about her parents not letting her date. What kind of senior puts up with that? Maybe I’d gone a little overboard, but was I really that out of line? I didn’t have enough experience to be sure.

Mom was asleep on the couch, a muted infomercial casting the only light in the trailer. After I turned on the light and said good night to Mom, I vanished into my room and pulled a cardboard box out from under my bed. When I had realized it was
over over
with Brenda, I’d grabbed all her pictures, all her letters, and crammed them in here. I had planned to burn them in the backyard when Mom was at work. Instead, I kept them under my bed, looking at them more often than I wanted to admit.

The tickets to every school dance we’d gone to. The
movie stubs from one of our first dates. The purple-inked love letters she’d left in my locker. And the pictures.

I found the dog-eared photo that I used to keep in my wallet. It was bent and faded from the months under my butt, but I could still see the figures clearly. It was right after a track meet the year before. Brenda’s father had taken it.

I was sprawled, exhausted, on the bleachers, all block-headed, ham-fisted, and sweaty. Next to me sat Brenda: lithe, graceful, and beautiful. She was smiling, but not at the camera. At me. She always smiled at me. Looking at her grin, you’d think she was the luckiest girl in the world.

I turned the snapshot over and read the inscription.

I ripped the picture to shreds.
All my love
. Nothing but words. Nothing but bullshit.

It was funny. Tonight I had been prepared to let that all go. To start dating again. And I hadn’t expected to get anywhere with Sage. So why did her rejection hurt almost as badly as Brenda’s?

O
NE OF THE FEW ADVANTAGE
s of small-town schools is they’re easy to get into. No gates, no metal detectors, no ID badges. That’s why I was free to use the track on weekends when there was no football game.

After stretching, I began to run. Normally, I didn’t do cross-country, but there’s a kind of Zen to running. Round and round and round, back to exactly where I started, day after day. There’s a metaphor for ya.

The problem with running is it’s a solitary sport. After ten minutes, your internal voices start bringing up the questions you try not to think about.

Could I find happiness away at college?

Were Brenda and I just not meant to be, or did I drive her off?

Why did Dad leave?

Am I really abnormally small, or was that spam e-mail just exaggerating?

Why did Sage get so upset when I tried to kiss her?

She just ran out on me. Why did that bother me so much? One bad date. Most guys had dozens. Jack could write a book. But every time I thought about Sage, I felt like I owed her an apology. Or she owed me an apology. Somehow, one of us had gotten the wrong impression.

And suddenly, like a root beer stand in the desert, there she was. Sage sat on a bench on the other side of the track, decked out in a fake-fur coat, fake-fur hat, and fake-leather boots. Her face was expressionless, but then, she was an eighth of a mile away.

I did not speed up. I did not slow down. I just kept running in her direction, expecting her to vanish like a bag of Doritos near Tim. But she was real.

I leaned on my knees in front of her, trying not to wheeze.

“How did you know I’d be here?”

She didn’t smile. A light breeze picked up, blowing hair in her face. I wanted to reach out and brush it away.

“What makes you think I’m here to see you?”

Instantly, I felt like an ass. She must have been out for a walk.

Sage cracked a tiny smile. “Tim said you usually came here on weekends. I took a chance.”

She removed her hat, letting her hair blow wild and tangled in the rough November wind.

I placed my hands on my hips and leaned back. I was trying to act impatient, like I was doing Sage a favor by talking to her but I really wanted to get back to the track. Let her know how it felt to have someone run away from you.

Sage got up and started to walk toward the parking lot. For a horrible second, I thought my plan had actually worked and she really was leaving. But Sage turned and gave me a brief yet kind smile. I followed her.

We didn’t speak until we’d reached the crumbling cement basketball courts we shared with the middle school. As we walked, I wished I had a chance to duck into the locker room and grab my deodorant. I knew I smelled like sweat, and I didn’t want Sage to get a whiff of my lumberjack odor.

Someone had left one of the underinflated PE basketballs on the court. Sage stooped to pick it up, bounced it a couple of times, and tossed it at the basket. She missed it entirely. Either she was terribly uncoordinated, or she was just trying not to enforce stereotypes about tall people.

I retrieved the ball, steadied myself, and shot. Nothing but net. I waited for the applause, but Sage was removing her coat. She was wearing a fuzzy white sweater that was so tight I could see the outline of her bra.

Watching her attempt another basket, I suddenly felt incredibly lonely. Most nights, I lived alone. I worked alone. When I ran, I was essentially alone. That was how it had been for the past couple of months. It hadn’t bothered me before. I’d never asked Tanya out, or tried to get a regular job, or joined a club or anything.

So why did I want to be with this new girl so desperately? She was cute, but that didn’t explain everything. I hardly knew her. But it felt like if she didn’t want my company, then I was better off alone.

That was a weird attitude. It bordered on obsessed. Sage was just a girl, after all. One who obviously didn’t see me like I saw her.

When Sage missed her shot, I snatched the ball in the air and almost dunked. Sage caught the rebound, then dropped the ball. The semiflat ball scooted along the cracked concrete. Sage pinned it with her foot, then gave it a kick. She had an intense frown on her face. The kind of expression a girl wears when she really wants someone to say,
Tell me what’s wrong
.