None of the Above(59)

On Tuesday, I got to the east lot early, well before the after-school activities started to let out. Despite everything, I couldn’t help staring out at the football field once the blue and orange dots began to emerge. Usually, I could spot Sam from a mile away, but that day I couldn’t pinpoint anyone with his height and running stride. Was he injured, or in detention? Could he have quit the team? I thought about logging onto Facebook to see if he’d posted any updates, and then I remembered that he’d blocked me, and I felt that old sickening feeling, like someone had stomped on my heart.

My phone alarm went off at four, and I looked for Darren among the clusters of kids scattered across the sidewalk. With his height, I spotted him in no time, leaning over a slim girl almost a foot shorter than him that I recognized as Becky Riley. He faced me, so I could see his animated motions, and his surprising smile.

I found it surprising because I’d always thought of Darren as a serious guy. He had a sense of humor, yes, but most of the time he’d deadpan, or if he was really pleased with a joke, he’d smirk. The smile he gave Becky was a genuine, 24-karat grin, unironic, unfettered by insecurity, and true. It was the kind of smile that transformed a perfectly ordinary, likable boy into a boy a girl could like.

I felt an unexpected twinge in my chest. I rolled down the window of my car, which was suddenly way too stuffy.

Eventually, Darren peeked at his watch and scanned the row of cars until he found mine. He said something to Becky, who glanced in my direction. I caught a glimpse of her heart-shaped face, and her long black hair. A smile lingered on her lips, a reflection of Darren’s own.

Darren leaned over for a kiss, and I looked away for a second. But I couldn’t keep myself from looking back; they were cute together. A Science Olympiad power couple. Good for him. Good for her.

I pulled out my copy of Beloved and pretended to be surprised when Darren finally opened the door to my car.

“Sorry, I lost track of time,” he said.

“Oh, I was a little late too,” I said, not knowing why I lied.

At the clinic, Darren did a double take when I popped the trunk to unload my suitcase.

“You going somewhere afterward?” he asked.

“It’s my donation to the clinic.” I went to lift the suitcase.

“What? Cool. Let me help you get that thing out,” he insisted, reaching in at the same time.

My hand brushed his wrist.

He yanked his hand away as if I’d scorched him.

I was unprepared for the flush in my face, for the stab of pain right over my solar plexus. Darren didn’t look at me. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I know you can take care of yourself.”

“Sure can,” I joked, trying to mask how rattled I felt. “I can bench-press ninety-eight pounds.”

We didn’t say much else as I rolled my suitcase into the clinic. Darren walked an arm’s length away from me, and checked his phone the entire way. Probably texting Becky.

When Darren peeled off to go to the Dungeon, I took a deep breath. I reminded myself that volunteering at the health clinic wasn’t about me and Darren. It was about the patients and their families. I went back to the doctor’s office to show Dr. Johnson what I had brought.

“Is it okay for me to set up a little kids’ play area in the waiting room?” I asked.

Her face lit up as I showed her my setup. “That’d be brilliant, Kristin. I’ll bet the parents would love that.”


So I went back to the waiting room and climbed up to one of the light fixtures. I used an old sheet and some string to make a play tent. Underneath, I laid out a second sheet with the Legos and a DVD player from the Stone Age. I set up the craft supplies on one of the folding chairs, and scattered the Highlights and Seventeens throughout the waiting room.

By then, I had an audience. Four little kids couldn’t take their eyes off of me, though they dutifully stayed sitting under the watchful stare of their mother. One of the girls, bolder than the rest, picked up a magazine, but looked longingly at the pompoms and googly eyes on the folding chair every few minutes.

They reminded me of myself. So polite. Conditioned not to put anyone out.

I looked at the mom. “Is it okay if they come to play?” She’d barely nodded before they ran over. The younger boys cranked up the DVD player right away.

“What’s your name?” I asked the bold girl, who hovered over the craft area.

A pair of bright brown eyes peered up at me from under a mop of dark curls. “My name’s Lucinda. It’s spelled L-U-C-I-N-D-A,” she recited.

“Wow, Lucinda. You are a terrific speller. Do you want to do coloring, painting, or puppets?”

“Puppets, please.”

We were hard at work on a Popsicle-stick family when I felt eyes on me. I looked up, and saw Darren jerk his head back toward the charts in his hand. I could see the tips of his ears coloring pink as he grimaced.

I knew that look.

My face burned. Was he thinking of my wrongness? Breaking down the width of my shoulders and the narrowness of my hips, comparing them to Becky’s willowy perfection? Or was he imagining that my boobs weren’t real? Tears sprang up unbidden.

I drew deeper into the play tent as Darren carried the charts back to the Dungeon. I wiped my hand across my eyes and dried it on the sheet, and turned back to Lucinda.

“Tell me again what you wanted to make? A girl puppet or a boy puppet?”