Not Today, But Someday(42)

Resigned, I head to aisle two without Emi, picking up random plastic props that look like body armor and shields. There’s no way in hell I’m wearing this shit in class. I have a shirt at home that will serve the purpose. Picking up the most ornate sword I can find– which still looks cheap – I take it to the counter with a belt to put it in.

At the register, I check for small bills in the wallet, and finally count out thirteen dollars for the two items. When I unzip the change pocket, my last condom falls out. I pick it up before the sales person notices it, keeping it in my palm as I return my billfold to my pocket.

Get rid of the temptation, Nate.

I look around for Emi, but she still must be shopping. Finding a bench at the front of the shop, I sit down and try to plot my speech for Friday. Maybe I can pay one of my classmates to cut me off right after I start. It’ll make a point that my story was never finished. The end. I have a feeling my English teacher won’t find much humor in that.

“Go to the car,” I hear her tell me. She’s standing in front of her cart, blocking the items from my view.

“What, did you find a black steed to ride home on?” I ask her sarcastically.

“Please go wait in the car?” she begs.

“You won’t let me see your armor?”

“No,” she laughs. “I want it to be a surprise.”

“Well, you better not have copied my sword,” I mumble to her. “Or we shall duel.”

“I am an honorable knight, who hath put down his sword,” she explains, sticking her small nose up with an air of superiority. “Run along, little squire. I’ll be right there.”

“Yes, milady,” I say to her as I bow. “Your chariot awaits... or something.” I leave the store, and as I pass a nearby trashcan, I flick the condom into the receptacle.

I can be honorable, too. I will, for her.

When I get to my car, I take the opportunity to call Lauren on my car phone. I consider disconnecting before she picks up, but she answers immediately.

“I was wondering when you’d call,” she says, her voice hushed, but silky.

“Listen,” I start, a little impatient. I don’t want to talk to her, but I know I have to. I also don’t want Emi to catch me on the phone with her. I don’t want to explain this to her. “I don’t know what you and Misty were talking about in gym today, but I don’t appreciate–”

“What’d Misty tell you? It was all good, Nate. Trust me. I had no complaints–”

“There were other people around,” I tell her. “Last night was a mistake, Lauren. I really didn’t want everyone to know about it.”

“How do you go from ‘I love you’ to ‘it was a mistake’ in twelve hours?”

“Lauren, you know what last night was about.”

“I didn’t say it, you did.”

“I didn’t mean it... you know that, Lauren. It just came out.”

“Who was eavesdropping, anyway?” she asks.

“It doesn’t matter. It got back to me, and I’d appreciate it if you were more discreet the next time you decide to talk about us.”

“And you think there will be a next time?” Being with her didn’t help like I’d hoped it would.

“No,” I tell her. “I don’t.”

“I’m not some whore, Nate. You can’t just do this to girls, you know?

“Lauren, I’m sorry. I just needed someone last night, and I thank y–.”

“Save it.” She hangs up on me. Just as I return the phone to its cradle, Emi comes out of the store with two large bags. I hop out, opening the small trunk for her.

“So, dress rehearsal at my place tomorrow after school?” I ask her as she settles in, buckling her seatbelt.

“Rehearsal, yes. Dress, no,” she answers. Her response conjures up an image that is less-than-honorable.

“I suppose that could be arranged,” I tease her, earning me a slap on the arm.

“I just hope my mom can alter the outfit,” she says. “It’s a little too big... but I think I can make do.”

“I’m not sure body armor was meant to show a woman’s figure,” I say, smiling and looking at her out of the corner of my eyes as we get back on the road, heading home.

She grins back at me. “So,” she starts, “are you, like, looking for a girlfriend?” she asks. “Would you consider going out with this Lauren girl? Or someone else?”

“You’re not offering,” I state, but wait for her answer.

“Don’t mess this up, Nate,” she warns me, her eyes pleading with me.

“No, I think girls are more trouble than they’re worth right now. And the distraction seems to take all of my creative energy,” I admit. “I don’t like that feeling of being completely complacent and uninspired. It makes me anxious.”

“Well, I haven’t taken away that creative energy,” she says to me. “Have I?”

“No, that’s why you’re different.” She is different. She inspires me. For the first time in my life, I understand what people mean when they talk about artists having their muses. Maybe she’s mine. “You’re different, Emi, and I don’t want anything to change between us.”