Crush Read online

  I agreed. Purely in the interest of scientific exploration, not because it looked like so much fun it would make a person squeak from joy.

  “This,” Goober said, demonstrating, “is a shuffle step. Now you.” We tried. It was more shuffle than step, but it was awesome. A girl from behind the counter and two guys standing in line tried it as well.

  “Okay, now go like this—toe-heel, heel-toe, and again. Right, good, follow me and stamp, ball change, again, drop, brush, swing, and shuffle-hop-step!”

  “We’re dancing. We’re really dancing!” Betsy was grinning from ear to ear. I think I was too, but it was tough to know because I was concentrating so hard on keeping up with the steps Goober was demonstrating and wondering why my parents had never thought to get me tap-dancing lessons. Tap dancing rocked.

  “How’d you get so good?” Betsy asked when we finally had to sit down to rest.

  “Granny Barb taught tap and I learned when I was little.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “I know.”

  “When Kevin suggested we meet, I didn’t have high hopes.”

  “Me either. Little buddy pulled a bait and switch on me earlier today—wouldn’t set me up with his fine-looking mother.”

  “Mrs. Spencer is a lovely woman. I can see the attraction.”

  “You know it.” They nodded at each other, bonding over my mother’s good looks.

  “You should come to Gran and Papi’s anniversary party with me. They’d love it if you danced for them.”

  “Count me in.” They smiled at each other while I tried to wrap my head around the fact that this crazy pairing seemed to work.

  “Hey,” Goober said to Betsy and definitely not to me, apparently invisible as I was behind my mango banana smoothie, “would you like to get a bite to eat? I’m hungry from all the dancing, and fro-yo and pulverized fruit isn’t getting the job done.”

  Pulverized? Goober had used the word pulverized. In a sentence. Correctly. And with good manners, charm and—even I had to admit—a winning smile? This was turning out to be a highly successful experiment, and coming as it did on top of the hockey team/figure skaters achievement of the prior evening, I was feeling my inner matchmaker blossom. Some people, I know, just have a flair for bringing together soul mates. And it’s always fun to discover a new talent. I basked as Goober and Betsy deserted me at the Juiceteria.

  The Scientific Mind Compares Science and Society

  was on a roll.

  Both Daniel and Goober were happily coupled up. Well, I didn’t know so much about happily, but now it was up to them to make the relationships work.

  But they’re guys, I thought. In keeping with my desire to set myself more difficult tasks and consequently learn greater lessons, it was time to try to find Mr. Right for some lucky girl.

  Hmm … what girls did I know who would go along with my suggestion?

  Connie Shaw. We’d had a small misunderstanding a while back when I used to lie, but we’d cleared the air. Plus, she’s Tina’s best friend and she’s in my first-period class.

  As luck would have it, we had a sub on Thursday morning. As long as we’re quiet and there’s no blood, most subs are happy just to keep us in the room until the bell rings. After attendance was taken, everyone broke into small study groups and I made a beeline for Connie.

  “You’re a great girl, did you know that?” I started. I didn’t have time for subtlety.

  “Uh, thank you. I think. What’s going on?” Given my history, her skepticism was well placed. I didn’t take it personally or let it dissuade me.

  “I have the perfect guy for you to meet.” Or I would as soon as she agreed and I discovered more about what she was looking for, guy-wise. Let me be clear: This was not a lie—it was a statement of optimistic planning. There’s a difference.

  “You do? The perfect guy? For me?”

  “Absolutely. You in?”

  “In for what?”

  “A date.”

  “Oh, um, I’m kind of shy and I don’t think I’d be—”

  “I’ll come with, to sort of smooth things over until you get your sea legs. It’ll be great. Say yes.”

  Connie’s something of a pushover.

  “All right. When?”

  “After school today?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. We’ll go to the Juiceteria.” Strike while the iron, and location, are hot. “I’ll meet you at your locker after last period.” That would give me just seven hours to find her a date. Too much time and I might overthink things, blow it. This kind of pressure was destined to bring out my best skills.

  She nodded, doubtful. I got away from her fast so she couldn’t change her mind.

  I sat at my desk and started thinking. Very hard. Where was I going to come up with a guy for Connie? I considered and dismissed all my friends. They’re great buddies but lacking in the sensitivity department. And Connie, while a nice person with a fine mind and a great personality, isn’t, um, the prettiest girl I’ve ever met—if you’re judging by conventional standards, that is. I’m sure there’s a society somewhere that worships girls who look like Connie. But my boys are dogs, they’re not as refined and mature and broad-minded as I am.

  It’s a good thing I’m a curious person who files away random and seemingly inconsequential bits of information. You never know when you might need to use facts you’ve heard, and subconsciously absorbed, in passing.

  Because, after a few moments of deep reflection, I remembered that Betsy’s cousins were also coming to town for Gran and Papi’s anniversary party. I sat quietly, breathed deeply and ran through the memory card in my head. Betsy’s relatives. She had to have a cousin around my age. Well, she didn’t have to, of course, but it would sure help if she did.

  I slid my cell phone out of my backpack, hid it behind a textbook and surreptitiously texted Betsy: “dont u hav a guy cousin my age?”

  Apparently she was clinging to her phone for life support, because the reply came immediately: “yes. didnt u meet him @ my grad party?”

  I thumb-typed back: “no. is he cool like u+can I set him up on a date 2?”

  She responded before I could move my thumb off the keyboard: “yes+yes. can I come w/?”

  Me: “yes, Juiceteria @ 330.”

  Her: “we’re leaving right now—kidding. but my mother is crazy, no joke.”

  Me: “more swans, rite? c u l8er.”

  My mind is like a steel trap. No, a NASA computer. No, words to describe my mind have yet to be invented.

  The rest of the day dragged. I’ve noticed that time slows down between the origin of a good idea and the implementation of it. Downtime is no one’s friend, and I wondered how all those scientists kept themselves from dying of boredom waiting for experiments to be completed.

  And it didn’t help that when I got to the cafeteria for lunch, Tina was sitting at my regular table. She never sits at my table. Probably avoiding Cash. I hoped. I didn’t see him anywhere near her, and my spirits soared.

  Luckily, I ducked behind a pillar before Tina spotted me in the doorway. I still hadn’t learned enough to try one-on-one time with her yet. I didn’t have sufficient data. I watched her for a few minutes and then headed to the library, where I ate my PB&J in a carrel and flipped open Mom’s science book to convince myself I was doing all the right things to win Tina’s heart. Yes! On the page I opened to randomly, my mother had underlined: “In periods of acknowledged crisis scientists have turned to philosophical analysis as a device for unlocking the riddles of their field.”

  I’m not sure exactly what the guy was talking about except that (a) I was in crisis, (b) girls were a riddle and (c) I was analyzing everything around me. Nothing like a fluorescent-yellow highlighter to point the way.

  Finally the last bell rang and I grabbed Connie on the way out of school. She looked nervous and didn’t say much on the walk to the Juiceteria.

  I grinned from ear to ear when we walked in and spotted Betsy and h
er cousin. Connie frowned.

  “He’s wearing a Buket o’ Puke ’n Snot T-shirt,” she whispered.

  “I know. He’s perfect.”

  “I hate that band.”

  “How can anyone with ears hate that band? They’re geniuses.”

  “They’re disgusting.”

  “You’re wrong. But”—I raised my hand to avoid the argument—“we’re not here to discuss the world’s most awesome band. We’re here to introduce two great people to each other and see how it goes.”

  Betsy waved us over. The guy stood to greet us.

  “Hey, good to meet you. I’m JC Tucker.”

  “I’m Kevin Spencer. This is Connie Shaw, my friend from school.”

  “You haven’t met?” Connie sounded a little panicky.

  “Not officially, but we’re practically family,” I said, stretching the definition of family a bit.

  “Yeah, we’re like brothers from other mothers,” JC said, and he and I laughed. Connie frowned again. Betsy sighed. We all sat down.

  “So, JC, you like Buket o’ Puke ’n Snot?” I asked.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  Connie, wisely, remained silent.

  Betsy’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and made a face as she read the message. “I have to go. A crisis about the ice sculpture in the shape of a swan.” She stamped out of the Juiceteria. Connie looked stricken at having been deserted, and I grabbed her arm before she could flee. Apparently, she didn’t think I was capable of facilitating her date with JC. I’d show her.

  “Uh, Connie here is in student government,” I told JC.

  “Cool. I was too. Well, not really. I crashed a student government meeting once.”

  “So did I!”

  “Crazy, huh? Hey, did you go to that huge Buket o’ Puke ’n Snot concert a while back?”

  “I had a ticket, but at the last minute I wasn’t able to go.”

  “Me too! I got grounded.”

  “So did I. Wow, we have some stuff in common.”

  “Yeah,” Connie said. “Are you thirsty? Should I go get us some smoothies?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have the banana mango—”

  “With extra protein powder!” JC finished my order and we grinned at each other’s great taste. Connie snorted and went up to the counter.

  “Are you in town for long?” I asked JC.

  “Just a few days. We came early so my mom could help Betsy’s mom with the party. Betsy and I are going stir-crazy. We made over a hundred swans out of napkins this morning. The party’s got a swan theme, I guess they mate for life or something. Creepy, right?”

  “Birds make me nervous.”

  “That movie? The one where the birds fly in the chimney and attack the school and just generally go berserk, swooping around in mean, threatening flocks and trying to peck the eyes out of everyone?”

  “Only the scariest movie ever.”

  Connie came back with our smoothies then, but JC and I barely noticed. JC and I talked about other scary movies that freaked us out and our favorite military battles and our fantasy football, baseball and basketball leagues. Connie started doing her homework.

  “Do you play lacrosse?” JC asked.

  “Only every weekend of my life.”

  “Could you use another middy this weekend?”

  “Is the bird movie terrifying? Heck yeah. We’re at Noble Park at ten on Saturdays, it’s a pickup league and there’s doughnuts. I’ll swing by Betsy’s house to get you.”

  He said, “Awesome, I’ll see you Saturday. I better get back to the house, see if there are swan chocolate fountains or swan piñatas I should help with.”

  I watched him walk down the street and couldn’t wait for the weekend.

  “I kind of miss him already,” I said to Connie as I walked her home.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That may well have been the greatest first date ever.”

  “For you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He didn’t say a word to me.”

  “Oh. Well, uh, you weren’t a Chatty Cathy yourself.” I probably shouldn’t have sounded so defensive.

  “I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

  I started to feel guilty. I’d forgotten all about Connie and how this was supposed to be her date.

  We walked the rest of the way to her house in silence. The warm glow I’d gotten from meeting JC faded with each awkward step. When she went inside, Connie didn’t say goodbye.

  I didn’t blame her.

  The Scientific Mind Never Misses the Obvious

  was sitting in homeroom the next morning, wondering how I’d let almost an entire week go by while accumulating only marginal knowledge about the best way to get Tina to notice me. Before Cash made her notice him. I’d been keeping an eye on Cash all week, and I didn’t like how often he was near Tina. Plus, it was Friday—another two date nights were about to pass me by. Something had to change.

  My process was taking too long. I needed to accelerate the momentum. I needed a larger control group, more data as fast as possible.

  That was it! Of course.

  Speed dating.

  I’d read about that in the newspaper. A group of guys and women showed up at a bar or restaurant and shifted from table to table, meeting potential dates. They had a few minutes to get to know each other before a bell sounded and they moved on to the next person.

  I’d have to figure out a way to round up a bunch of girls who don’t go to my school. Because my buddies are great and all that, but there’s no way I’d get the girls who know these guys to come out and speed-date with them. They pretty much won’t give them the time of day in class.

  I was running through a list of places where I could hold such an activity when the morning announcements started.

  “Will someone—anyone—please volunteer to run the cakewalk at tonight’s fun fair? The room is all set up, the baked goods have been delivered, we just need a warm body to start and stop the music and hand out the cakes to the winners.”

  My arm shot into the air and I leapt to my feet. “I’ll do it!” I think my enthusiasm scared my homeroom class, not to mention my teacher.

  “All right, Kevin, you may be excused to go to the principal’s office to offer your services. Head straight to first period afterwards.”

  Head straight to the Genius Hall of Fame is what she should have said to me. Because when the principal said “cakewalk” what I heard was “speed date.” With a little finagling of the rules, plus girls from outside our school—our fun fair draws huge crowds from all over town every year—this was the perfect solution to my problem. In only eleven hours from now. More than enough time to work out the logistics and spread the word to my friends.

  I told the school secretary that I was volunteering for cakewalk duty. “Great,” she said, sounding like she thought it was anything but a good idea, as she handed me a laminated sheet. “Here are the instructions. Everything’s set up in the art room. Be there at six-thirty to bring the baked goods over from the cafeteria’s walk-in fridge. You’ll need some assistance, because there are about forty plates of cakes, cupcakes, brownies and bars. The cakewalk runs from seven to nine and the fair closes at ten.”

  I was walking down the hall, reading the instructions and thinking: How do I change the rules so that kids will win one-on-one time with a member of the opposite sex rather than a Boston cream pie? I heard my name and I turned my head.

  Tina. She was showing Cash where the gym is.

  How long is it going to take him to find his way around, anyway? I thought. It’s a middle school, not the Pentagon.

  I was so rattled at the sound of Tina’s voice and the sight of her and Cash together that I kept walking straight ahead and plowed into a stack of boxes. In my defense, the school hallway seldom has boxes of fun-fair prizes standing around. I don’t know what was in those boxes, bricks maybe, because they didn’t give and I caromed off the cardboard and lost my footi
ng on the laminated instructions I’d dropped, and crashed to the floor.

  All I ever do when Tina’s around is wind up flat on my back.

  “Wow.” She pushed her incredible, silky, bouncy hair off her perfect face and put out a hand to help me up.

  Before her skin could touch mine, that lunkhead Cash reached down and yanked me to my feet. “Dude. Gotta be more careful.” Clearly, he was loving my embarrassment.

  “That looked like it hurt,” Tina said. “I’m really sorry I startled you like that. Are you okay?”

  “Uh …”

  “What a silly place to put boxes, huh? Who’d expect them in a crowded hallway during passing time?”

  “Um …”

  “Are you going to the fun fair tonight?” she asked.

  “Oh, well, I don’t know, I mean, I hadn’t thought—I mean, probably, although I’m not sure.… I’ll have to see what JonPaul and the guys say.”

  “Oh, so you’re going with your friends?”

  I think I nodded. I hope I didn’t just keep staring at her.

  “I was thinking about going too.”

  “Oh, good. I’m running the cakewalk.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t sure if you were going?” Cash jumped in.

  “Well, uh, did I? I mean, yes, I did. That’s because, um, I wasn’t sure if I was going to go, but now I am, and so I’ll be there. At the fair. Walking the cake run. I mean running the walkcake. I mean, the cakewalk.” I felt this horrible smothering feeling, like the air had turned gelatinous, and I gulped a few loud breaths, trying to get my lungs functioning again.

  A long, awkward silence. Tina looked at me; Cash looked at himself in the glass of the fire extinguisher case; I felt myself sweat.

  “Class!” I didn’t think I’d shouted, but Tina and Cash jumped at my bellow. “We’re late for class. We’ve got to get to first period.”

  I ran down the hall toward class, but I heard her call after me, “See you at the fair tonight, Kev.”

  The whole rest of the day I worked on the particulars of a speed date and how to attract a crowd while flying under the adult radar. Good thing I’m always up for a challenge. I did what marketers have done since the beginning of time: I counted on word of mouth and the appeal of the forbidden to draw a suitable audience.