Kissing Kate (12 page)

“I used to go with Kate sometimes. When we were in junior high, her mom would make us go.”

“Is Kate Catholic?”

I shook my head. “Presbyterian.”

“Grape juice, huh? If you’re Catholic, you get wine.”

“So, Ariel,” Finn said, “how can you be a dowser when you get out of school? I thought you were going to be a priestess. Won’t Inanna be mad?”

“Finn, Finn, Finn. Always hiding behind that sarcastic wit of yours.” She reached across the table and clasped his face between her hands. “Inside there is a joyful little boy, just waiting to get out. Set your joy free, Finn. Set it free.”

“You’re getting syrup on my cheeks,” Finn said.

I laughed, spurting orange juice back into my glass.

“She laughed,” Ariel said to Finn.

“So she did,” Finn said.

Ariel cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, heavenly day.”

AT ENTRÉES ON TRAYS THAT EVENING,
Ariel and I had fun. Nothing phenomenal, nothing earth-shattering, but fun. This time Ariel got the privilege of delivering Mrs. Gladstone’s pasta with asparagus tips, and when she got back to her car, she went on about what a truly troubled woman Mrs. Gladstone was. It was the first time I’d heard her be the slightest bit grouchy, and I enjoyed it.

“Did she mention her soon-to-be-fragrant urine?” I asked, holding down the talk button on the walkie-talkie.

“She nibbled on the asparagus
while I was there.
She was practically orgasmic.”

I laughed, then pulled into the Fish Market’s parking lot. “Gotta run,” I said. “Over and out.”

At 9:15, we met at Darlin’s to turn in our money and equipment. Ariel brought tempura from Ichiban’s, so I hung out with Darlin and her for a while instead of heading straight home.

“So-o-o?” Ariel said from her perch on the kitchen counter. “Are we Supper Clubbing it again this week? They’re going to Portofino. Best pesto in town.”

“Ariel,” I said. I glanced at Darlin, expecting her to blush and say that maybe she’d go again, but only if I came, too. Which maybe I would, if they begged.

But Darlin smiled and dipped a chunk of fried zucchini into the soy sauce. Her red fingernails looked like pieces of candy. “Oh, girls,” she said, “I don’t think so.”

“Darlin, why not?” Ariel said. “Didn’t you have a good time? And what about Phil? It was so obvious he liked you. I thought you liked him, too.”

“I liked him just fine,” Darlin said. “As a matter of fact, I spoke with him just last night.”

“
You did
? Did he ask you out? Are you going?”

“He asked, but I declined.”

“But . . .” Ariel shook her head. “You don’t have to go out with Phil if you don’t want to, but that doesn’t mean you have to quit the whole group. Lissa and I will go with you if you don’t want to go alone. Right, Lissa?”

“She said she doesn’t want to,” I said.

Darlin patted Ariel’s leg. “Baby, I’m glad you encouraged me to go last Wednesday. It was a good thing. But I watched Phil and the others, and you know what I realized? I’m not like them.”

My face got hot. Darlin had found the others wanting, just as I did, but hearing it said out loud made me feel bad.

“With Burl, it was all about how I could please him,” Darlin went on. “All those plates of hors d’oeuvres? And heavens,
Antiques Roadshow
week after week? Those folks in the Supper Club, now, they know how to go about making themselves happy. I’ve got to learn that all over again.”

I stopped chewing. She didn’t look down on them. That wasn’t it at all.

“I still don’t understand why you have to quit the group,” Ariel said. “Why can’t you hang out with them
while
you figure out how to make yourself happy?”

Darlin laughed. “Gracious, Ariel. Give me time. Right now I need to do some good old-fashioned soul-searching, and believe me, that’s a big enough task for anyone.”

I looked at Darlin, her face pale with powder, her lips full and pink. She met my gaze, and it was as if she could tell what I was thinking. That maybe
I
needed to do some soul-searching, too. Something passed between us, and she reached over and squeezed my hand.

 

 

 

Later, as Ariel and I walked to our cars, Ariel said she didn’t want to go home yet. She was going to Java Jive’s for a latte—did I want to come?

The night air smelled like rain, and it was just chilly enough to need a jacket. I wrapped my arms around my ribs and convinced myself that despite Darlin’s good example, searching my soul wasn’t something I had to do this very second.

“Sure,” I said.

It was drizzling by the time we got there, and Ariel and I dashed from the parking lot to the shelter of the coffeehouse. Inside, Ariel shook out her hair. “Brr,” she said. “I hate getting water down my collar. Feels like icicles.”

“What I hate is water inside my shoes,” I said. “How clammy your socks get.”

“Uh-huh. I love it when it rains in the summer, but when it’s cold out, it just makes everything icky.” She weaved through the eating area, which was full despite the late hour. “Hey, today was a good day, wasn’t it? Even though Darlin’s giving up on the Supper Club.”

“She’s not giving up,” I said defensively. “She’s just . . . doing things her own way.”

Ariel glanced at me. “I guess,” she said. “All I meant was that I had fun with her tonight. I wish we could hang out more.”

I felt embarrassed, as if I’d overreacted. “Well, we still can,” I said. “It just won’t be with the Supper Club.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She perked back up. “And this morning at IHOP—that was awesome. Finn’s great, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy.”

“And isn’t he
cute
? In a James Dean kind of way, all tough edges and sensual mouth. God, he would hate it if he knew we were talking about him!”

We found an empty table by the window and shrugged off our wet jackets.

“I take it y’all are going out?” I asked.

“Who, me and Finn? Nah, we’re just friends. Anyway, he likes brunettes, remember?”

It took me a second, and then blood rushed to my cheeks. I could feel it. When I finally spoke, it was to say the only thing I could think of. “So, uh, what happened to his hand, anyway?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why? Does it bother you?”

“No, I . . .”

“Because I don’t even notice it anymore. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, I know. I was . . . I was just curious.”

Her mouth stayed tight, but by the time the server had taken our orders, she appeared to have let it go. Only now, neither one of us could think of anything to say. It was easier over the walkie-talkies.

She drummed her fingers on the table.

I fiddled with the saltshaker.

“Oh, man, I had this crazy dream last night,” she said at last. “Want to hear it?”

My heart sank. Dreams? Again?

“Never mind,” she said, scanning my face.

“No, it’s okay. Let’s hear it.”

She looked at me, gnawing on her thumbnail. She wiped her thumb on her sleeve and dropped her hand to her lap. “Well . . . I dreamed I was upside down, hanging off the bottom of the planet. There was no one else around, just me, dangling off this giant blue and green globe.” She kind of laughed. “Weird, huh?”

The server arrived with our drinks, and I watched as Ariel dumped sugar into her mocha latte, stirred it in, and licked a glob of whipped cream from the spoon.

“So what do you think it means?” I asked.

“God, don’t ask me.” Again, she laughed. “That I’m all alone in my own little world?”

My face must have registered how awkward I felt, because she gave me a funny look and said, “I was
joking.
” She grabbed a third pack of sugar. “Although my mom would beg to disagree.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She hates my hair. She hates my nose ring. She thinks I look like a tramp. Or an alien, depending on her mood. Last night it was a tramp, just because I was wearing this totally normal black camisole. I mean, it wasn’t trashy or anything. ‘Don’t you even want to fit in?’ she kept saying.”

I cupped my hands around my coffee. She was telling me too much.

“It used to really bug me when she’d yell at me,” Ariel said. “I’d think maybe there
was
something wrong with me, you know?”

“But . . . not anymore?”

“Nope. I could care less if I fit in, because—aha!
Aha!
Because I am on the earth, but not of the earth! That’s what my dream meant!” She smacked the table. “Shit. Am I well-adjusted or what?”

I gave her a weak smile. I thought of her expression when she called me over to sit with her last week in the cafeteria. The only other person at her table was Finn, and it was a big table.

“God, dreams are cool, aren’t they?” Ariel said. She spooned up a sip of her drink. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you could dream things on purpose? Whatever you wanted, just set your mind to it and make it happen?”

My stomach got all fluttery. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Then I thought about how much Ariel had shared, and how little I’d given in return. “You mean . . . like lucid dreaming?”

“What’s lucid dreaming?”

The fluttery feeling grew stronger. “It’s what my book is about. The one you saw.”

Ariel drew her eyebrows together.

“On my dashboard? That night at Darlin’s? The guy who wrote it taught himself how to control his dreams.”

Ariel put down her spoon. “Holy cats. Does he tell how? Have you done it?”

“Well, there are a lot of different methods,” I said. I fingered the edge of the table. “I’ve, um . . . I’ve tried a couple of them, just for the hell of it, but nothing’s really happened.”

She looked so fascinated that I almost wanted to tell her the truth: that something
had
happened, a huge something. But I didn’t.

“Tell me what you’re supposed to do,” Ariel said. “I read this one book where this guy would look at his palm during his dreams, and that would make him realize he was dreaming. I’ve tried, but I can never remember to look at my hand.”

“Yeah, a lot of the methods have to do with remembering to do something when you’re asleep,” I said. “Like, if you see any writing, you’re supposed to make yourself look at it more than once.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll probably be different the second time around. Instead of saying ‘mouse,’ it’ll say ‘elephant,’ or whatever. And then you’re supposed to think, ‘Wait a minute—that can’t be right.’ And hopefully you’ll realize it
isn’t
right, and you’ll figure out you’re dreaming.”

“Look for writing,” Ariel said, as if ticking off an item on a list.

“Or you can look at a watch. Or a clock. Same concept.”

“Isn’t it interesting how dreams shift around like that? How things change before you know it, and nothing’s what you think it is?”

I gazed at the window, at the glaze of rain on the glass. Then I turned back to Ariel. I made myself meet her eyes. “Another way is to jump up, or fall, or fling yourself backward—anything that gets you into the air.”

“What does that do?” Ariel asked.

I shrugged. “If you jump up, you might end up flying instead of thunking back down. Same with the others. And that would tell you it was a dream.” I watched her face, seeing too much excitement and not enough wariness. “But none of these are guaranteed, you know. You’ve got to want it to happen, and you’ve got to keep working at it. It really has to matter to you.”

Ariel leaned forward. “Let’s do it. You want to? We can both try to have a lucid dream, and then we can report back on our progress. Like exercise buddies. Or study buddies. Only we’ll be dream buddies instead.”

My body tightened. Why had I told her all this? What had I been thinking?

The moment stretched out, and I knew I had to give her an answer. Already her smile was changing. I’d hurt her feelings too many times to do it again.

“Sure,” I said heavily.

Her smile came back full force. “Fabulous,” she said. “This is going to be so cool!”

Afterward, as we paid our tab at the front of the coffeehouse, Ariel brought our conversation back to Finn. “He would love talking about this stuff,” she told me. “Lucid dreaming, I mean. Even if he sat there smirking, I know he’d get a kick out of it.”

“Maybe,” I said. I did not want her talking about it with Finn.

“I know he seems all superior and condescending, but really he’s not. Once you get to know him, I mean.”

I pocketed my change and headed for the door.

“So if he asked you out, would you go?” she asked.

My head snapped around. “What?”

“If Finn asked you out, would you go?”

“I—I—”

She looked a little pissed, as if it were her I’d rejected. “I guess that’s a ‘no,’ huh?”

“No,” I said. “I just . . .”

Ariel folded her arms over her chest. “He’s a great guy, Lissa.”

“I know.”

“So why don’t you want to go out with him? Is it his hand?”

“Relax!” Ariel said. Her expression softened. “I’m kidding. I know you’re not like that.”

I stood there.

“You’re just shy,” she said. “But think about it, okay?”

Outside, a car cruised by, spraying water from under its wheels. Ariel glanced out the window and grimaced. “Lovely,” she said. “We’re going to get soaked.” She pulled her jacket tighter around her. “Ready?”

I nodded, and she pushed open the heavy glass door.

SUNDAY NIGHT, JERRY INVITED
Sophie over for dinner. This in itself was amazing, and what was equally amazing was the fact that Jerry planned to cook the entire meal by himself. Not tacos, not hamburgers, not grilled-cheese sandwiches, but spinach lasagna, a dish Beth and I had never even had. Jerry was a big meat eater—his favorite snack was a Slim Jim and a box of saltines—which meant that Beth and I, by virtue of living with him, were pretty big meat eaters, too. Sophie was a vegetarian.