He's onto me. He knows I took his credit card without permission. Oh, no. I swallow, hard. "Yeah?"
"Don't you think Mutt needs to go out?" I let out a breath. "Uh, I guess."
"Well..."
I stand up, put the leash on Mutt, and dash to the elevator. As soon as the elevator door opens, I'm pushed back by a huge cardboard box and almost fall backwards. My boobs are squished, I tell you. I probably just went from a saggy C+ cup to an A- cup.
"Hey!" I yell.
"Sorry," a masculine voice murmurs, then the guy puts down the box.
But he's not a man, at least not a real one. It's the boy from yesterday who caught Mutt and gave me the concerned citizen lecture.
Today he's wearing a green plaid shirt and jeans with a waist way too high. And I swear cranky Mr. Obermeyer has those same gym shoes.
"Arg!" Mutt barks, then tries to sniff his crotch as if he's hiding a treat in there.
Concerned Citizen covers his privates with his hands like a soccer player during a penalty kick. Then he pushes his glasses high up on his nose, the rims circling his green eyes. "Oh, it's you."
I pull Mutt away from his pants. "Just watch where you're going next time. As a concerned citizen," I add, "you should know not to crash into people with large boxes."
With my rant I miss the elevator. Damn. I push the down arrow again.
He steps forward and trips over the box. "Are you always this friendly?"
I don't even answer him. Where does he come off challenging me? Thankfully the elevator dings and the door opens. I hurry inside with Mutt. There's no way I'm missing my second chance at freedom.
"Arg!"
As the elevator door closes, he bends over to pick up the box again. I wonder what this boy is doing in my building, on my floor, in my life.
Avi says everything happens for a reason. I hate to disagree, but he's wrong.
4
***
I've seen Fiddler on the Roof. There was this one lady, Yente, who was the matchmaker--that was her job in the village. Right now I'm the matchmaker. Maybe I've found my calling...
***
"Hey, girl," Maria says as I walk into Perk Me Up! after school the next day. "Jessica is at the computer corner."
Maria said she put in the computers because people wanted to be connected to the Internet and their e-mail no matter where they are. And if they want free, convenient Internet while they're drinking her coffee, all the better.
I stand behind Jessica. "What are you doing?"
Her hands are busy clicking away. "Checking Mitch's e-mail."
"Sneaky, Jess. How'd you get his password?"
"I have my ways. See, that bitch Roxanne is e-mailing him," Jess says, pointing to the screen.
Oooh, gossip. I know it's bad, but gossip is seriously addictive and underrated. "What does she say?"
"Just that she needs help in biology, yadda yadda."
"You better watch out for her," I say. "Now get off the computer so I can check something."
"I'm still mad at you, you know."
Me? Innocent, little me? "You'll get over it. Besides, whatever I did was probably for your own good."
"You took me to the dog park knowing Mitch would be there. Stop meddling in my life."
I huff. "I'm Jewish, what do you expect? I was born to meddle."
Jessica shakes her head. Okay, so she has more Jewish blood because both her parents are Jewish and my dad is the one who gave me my Jewish genes. My mom gave me good fashion sense genes.
While Jessica goes to the bathroom, I quickly check the PJSN website and log into my father's profile.
Oh. My. God.
I've got thirty-seven responses from women who want to date me... I mean, my dad. And, checking the home page, my dad has gotten the most hits on the PJSN website in the past twenty-four hours.
It brings popularity to a whole new level.
I'm almost giddy (does anyone use that word anymore??) as I scan the responses of women.
Three make sexual innuendos. They're out.
Ten live in the suburbs. Definitely out.
Five don't put their pictures on the site. Questionable. What if the supposed woman is a man?
Seven are over fifty. Ten have more than two kids. Out. Out. My dad can hardly handle me. How would he be able to handle a whole tribe?
That leaves two.
One is in human resources, the other a lawyer. I e-mail both of them and ask them if they want to have coffee sometime. Okay, it's a little creepy asking women out on dates. But even more daunting is having to manipulate my dad somehow to get him to go on the date. I know meeting for coffee isn't the most original date, but at least it's not a dinner or lunch where you have to sit and talk the entire time, waiting for that uncomfortable silence when you both want to escape.
"Does your dad know about this?"
I shriek and scold Jessica. "Didn't your mother tell you it's not nice to sneak up on people?"
"No."
My best friend shakes her head and puts her hand over her eyes. "Please tell me you didn't sign your dad up for an online dating service."
"I didn't sign my dad up for an online dating service."
"You're lying, Amy."
"Of course I'm lying."
"Amy, one of these days your little plans are gonna backfire and come crashing in your face."
"Oh, ye of little faith," I say. "My dad will have a girlfriend by Passover."