As he shoves the last book into his backpack, he looks up at me. "No you're not." Then he leaves me standing here while he storms out of the café, leaving me to pick up his used cup which is still three-quarters of the way full with tea. Now I'm feeling even worse than before.
I glance over at my dad, who's shaking hands with Kelly. She exits the café, leaving my dad alone at the table until I saunter up to him and say, "So?"
He looks up at me from his chair. "So what?"
"How was the date?"
"Fine."
Fine is probably the most non-committal and non-descriptive word in the English language. I hate the word fine. It doesn't even mean anything. I try a different approach, one that can't be answered with a "fine."
"Are you gonna see her again?"
"Maybe."
Great, another non-descriptive word. "Did you get her number?"
My dad stands now, which is not a good thing because he's way taller than me. "Listen to me, Amy, and listen good. Don't set me up on another date without my knowledge or you'll find yourself without a cell phone. Got it?"
"Fine."
10
***
Rosh Hashanah: Two nights of huge festive meals. Hanukkah: Eat foods cooked in oil. Passover: The Haggadah (Passover prayer book) specifically says, Eat The Festive Meal. Sukkot: Build a sukkah and invite friends to eat in it. Yom Kippur: Eat three meals at once to make up for the day just fasted. I see a pattern here. Why are so many Jewish holidays centered around food?
***
Since my dad went out of town this morning, Jessica invited me over for Shabbat dinner. So after school I go home, walk Mutt, then take a cab to Jessica's. I might also add that Nathan ignored me the entire day. Even when I tried to apologize again, he turned around and blatantly dissed me.
"Come in, Amy," Jessica's mom says when she opens the door to their six-flat. "Jessica is in her room."
I climb the familiar whitewashed staircase and catch Jessica sitting at her desk, punching the keyboard of her computer. "You're not checking Mitch's e-mail again, are your
Without looking at me she responds, "You bet I am.
He has no clue. I check them all and mark them as 'unread' e-mail."
"Jess, break up with him if you don't trust him."
Jess swivels her chair around to face me. "He told me he loved me on New Year's Eve, Amy. I haven't had a guy tell me he loved me since That Guy."
That Guy is Michael Greenberg, who Jessica lost her virginity to last year. He blew her off right after their big night together and she's been insecure about guys ever since. She won't even give me, her bestest friend in the entire world, details about what happened with Michael. I can't even say his name without her walking out of the room.
"Did he tell you he loved you in the heat of passion?"
"His hands were under my shirt."
Okay, so I'm not going to state the obvious. He gave her the of "I love you, let's get it on" crap. I look back at her and know she doesn't want to talk about it anymore.
I look inside Jessica's closet to see what new clothes she's gotten that I can borrow. I pick out a vintage gray shirt with pink writing. "Where did you get this?"
"I have no clue. My mom got it for me."
"It's cool." As always, I make myself at home. Best friends share clothes, secrets, and beauty tips. I guess we also share guys because I dated Mitch for about a millisecond before he started dating Jessica. Taking my own shirt off, I try on her gray one. It fits, except when I look in her long mirror on the back of her door my ni**les stick out because the fabric of the shirt is too thin.
Depressed, I pull the shirt off and study my bra-covered boobs in the mirror.
"What are you doing?" Jess asks.
I hold my arms at my sides and look down at my pink lacy bra. "Do my boobs sag in this bra?" Testing what it would look like if they were perkier, I cup the bottom of my boobs and lift them up.
"Now they're too close to your chin." Jess lets out a frustrated sigh. "I wish I had your boobs. Guys love your boobs."
"They droop," I say, my hands letting go of them. "How can they not, they weigh what...five pounds each?"
I'll have you know I've never weighed my boobs. And I'm sure they don't weigh more than two pounds each. I turn to my best friend. "Jess, you have perfect, perky boobs."
"Otherwise known as virtually non-existent," Jess says. "They only look perfect because I bought this Fantasy Bra last week." She pulls up her shirt to show me a padded pushup bra that's more padded than my mom's down winter coat. "I need this in order to look like I have something."
The door to Jessica's room flies open. It's her twelve-year-old annoying and testosterone-charged brother Ben. His eyes go wide at the sight of us in our bras. I screech and hold my hands out to cover my chest.
"Get out, you little creep!" Jess yells, pulling her shirt back down.
"Are you guys comparing boobies?" Ben says while laughing. "Amy, are those real?"
Jessica and I both grab pillows off her bed and fling them at the door while Ben slams it shut. "By the way, dinner's ready," he says, still laughing.
When we enter the dining room a few minutes later, Jess flicks her brother hard on the back of the head before sitting down.
"Ow!"