Getting to Third Date (14 page)

She still didn't look too enthusiastic. “Okay. That's fair. I don't like that wimpo stuff either.”

Ummm. Yeah. That was why I used the argument. “Thanks, Sophia.”

“How about this? The competition is soon. On the flight home I'll have time to talk to him when he isn't so stressed.”

“Not until the competition?” I didn't like that suggestion.

“It isn't that far away. We leave tomorrow and we'll be back after Thanksgiving break.”

“Okay. Thanks. You won't regret it.” It was better than nothing, especially since Stephen wasn't talking to me and he had to talk to Sophia.

“Let me talk to him first, then we'll see if I regret it.” She had this semiguilty look. I couldn't figure out whether she thought things were over between us or not, but I didn't care. She was going to help me talk to Stephen. I knew that with a little communication, I could make him see that we could get past this. That I wouldn't be the kind of girlfriend who made him give up his dreams.

I hugged her. I couldn't help myself. “Really. Thanks.”

“Just concentrate on having fun at home. First time back home after college is always fun—you're trying to be adult and they're trying to get their little girl back.”

Crap. I'd forgotten that little detail. I'd not only have to wait to hear from Sophia, I'd have to deal with my parents and my brother and all the questions they'd ask me about college life. My mother was sure to ask if I was seeing anyone. So what should I tell her?

“You promise you'll talk to him on the plane?”

“I promise.”

“I'll keep my cell on, then. You've got my number, just in case he dumped it off his phone because he thought I was the worst bitch in the world.”

“I'm sure he doesn't think you're a bitch, Katelyn.” She smiled, and I could tell that her experience with guys was so much more than mine that she understood this whole thing better than I did. “I don't know if you want to do this on the phone, though. Maybe in person is better?”

“I just want this to be fixed as soon as possible.” She wrote down my home number, even though she had my cell on her cell too. She was humoring me. But I was willing to be humored if it meant I could talk to Stephen a little sooner than Sunday night when we were all back in the dorm after Thanksgiving break.

 

Time at home after being in the dorm was…interesting. It did prove that college had changed me in ways that high school hadn't. Maybe just because I was living on my own and I'd learned to trust myself a little. I'd also learned to like not being on the parental watch list.

Unfortunately, my parents hadn't changed. They still wanted to know every place I went and when I would be home. And my mother got still every time I took out my cell phone and checked it to see if I'd missed a call. I hadn't. And believe me, I checked often enough to know.

Because she was worried about me, my mom took me shopping and to dinner before dropping me off at the dorm. Which meant I got back very late on Sunday. Sophia was nowhere to be found. Probably out at a hot club since she'd been club deprived while they were working on the robot competition. Sometimes it is inconvenient to have a hottie socialite for a roommate, even if she is willing to try to get your boyfriend to talk to you again.

Before I'd had a chance to hear whether or not Sophia had been successful with Stephen, Tyler knocked and came into the room without waiting for my answer.

He was smiling. One of those big
I've got great news
smiles that I hadn't seen on his face since Mother Hubbard had become a more compassionate and less controversial figure on campus.

“Guess what? WEDU called. They want to interview Mother Hubbard on her change of heart about third dates.” WEDU was the campus radio station. I never listened to it because it either played whacked-out music from bands no one had ever heard of before, or featured whacked-out commentators rambling on about the environment, the—almost nonexistent—club scene, or the Goth subculture that I couldn't care less about.

The whole idea stank. And since I was stressed about not hearing from Sophia, I said so more bluntly than I might have otherwise. “Are you out of your mind? A radio interview? Why don't you just publish my name next to the column?”

He ignored my argument. “It's just a campus station. And the blog has been dead since Mother Hubbard turned good. We could use the boost.”

I flipped open my cell phone. No message. “Duh. I'm anonymous, remember? I know not many people listen to the radio station, but some of them will probably recognize my voice.”

My sarcasm had started to cut through his enthusiasm. “Duh. They've agreed you can have your voice disguised, so that it won't be recognizable?” He gave me a pleading puppy dog look, his head cocked in a way that had always made me say yes before. “Don't you think I'd look after you?”

“Sure you would.” Right after he looked after the bottom line. What is it about having something to prove that made us all just a little insensitive?

But then he said, “Don't worry, I'll be there to hold your hand.”

“You will?”

“I've got it all arranged. We'll use my cell phone. We can do it right here.”

“How will I disguise my voice? Or will the station do it?”

“I didn't want to take that chance. They can be flaky there.” Tell me about it. They'd once played ten minutes of someone snoring to prove to him that he snored. Not that I heard the show, just everyone talking about it afterward.

“I got this.” He held up a voice distorter. Funny, I'd watched a lot of TV crime shows and movies, but I'd never really noticed what they did to distort voices. It was a weird little box thing that I just had to hold to my throat, and voilà, I sounded like an octogenarian who'd been smoking from the time I could light a match.

Goody. I was going to be on the radio. I wondered if Stephen would hear me? But mostly I wondered why he hadn't called.

“When is this interview?”

“Tonight.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Hey. They have a hole to fill. We have to take our opportunities where we can get them.”

“Fine.” It wasn't like I had anything better to do. Until Stephen called or Sophia came home.

Tyler showed me the list of questions the radio host had e-mailed him. Not too many. Not even bad questions. Maybe a little boring, but I could handle boring.

Using a voice-distorting box to answer questions this bland made me feel like I should be confessing to a crime. I mean, really, who wanted to know if Mother Hubbard preferred boxers or briefs?

Even my boyfriend—should it happen that Stephen did call, did talk to me, did make up with me—shouldn't have to take my opinion on that subject into account. I certainly wasn't going to wear thong underwear on his say-so.

I thought about how to answer one question about whether I was still happy that I'd gone out on the third date. Tricky, since technically I hadn't spoken to Stephen since our big fight. I
wanted
to be happy again, but I was at least a day away from making it happen. Not that I was going to confess that on the radio—even using a voice distorter.

“What if some of my nosy dorm-mates overhear the weird sounds of the voice distorter?”

In typical Tyler fashion, he waved away my concerns.

Apparently, however, he wasn't as unaware of the possibilities of discovery as I'd feared. Because, when Sarah Miller from next door knocked on the door and said, “Why is this door locked? Are you dying in there?” he turned off the lights, dragged me to the door, opened it, and kissed me full on the lips.

Then he looked at a gaping Sarah and said, “Does something look wrong?”

Sarah, the gossip of the dorm, looked carefully at me.

I confess I wasn't much help. I just looked at her with a muddled expression. Tyler had kissed me. In very short order it was going to become clear to everyone Sarah met that Tyler had kissed me.

It was a good thing she couldn't hear the buzzing in my head that had started even before he kissed me. Had started as soon as I realized what he was going to do. Had started despite the fact that I still wanted Stephen to call. Was I ever going to get over my crush on Tyler?

This might even be worse than my being exposed as the voice behind Mother Hubbard. Might be worse than never giving a third date. He'd crossed the line between friend and boyfriend without warning.

And he kissed better than Stephen.

Sarah smiled, happy to have a tidbit of gossip. “I knew it.” Then she bounced off down the hall to spread the news.

Sophia said Sarah just needed to get a man. But I think Sarah would devour any man who came near enough. She was just the hungry type—hungry for gossip, guys, and good grades. A part of me could relate. The rest of me didn't.

“Why did you do that? She's going to tell everyone that she caught us making out.”

“Is she—or anyone else in the dorm—going to wonder what we're doing when the interview starts?”

“No, but…” I would have pointed out the obvious flaw in his plan—people would now think we were a couple. But just then the phone rang. Not Tyler's cell phone. Mine.

We both looked surprised, and I think he was thinking the same thing I was. Someone had found out.

But no, I checked the number. “It's Sophia.”

“Tell her to call back.”

I had no intention of telling her to call back. I flipped open my phone and quickly said, “Sophia, I can't explain, but I have to do a radio interview in a minute, so just tell me right now if you got Stephen to agree to talk to me, and then I'll call you back after the interview to talk more.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and for a minute I thought the call had been dropped. I saw Tyler looking at me in surprise, and I realized that he hadn't known that Stephen and I were not speaking. Great. One secret out. Let's hope we didn't make it two before the night was over.

“You have to do an interview? I will call back—”

“No way. I'm dying to know what Stephen said. I don't want to wait for you to come back.”

Another silence. Then, “I'm not coming back.”

“What? Where are you?”

“Seattle.”

“What are you doing in Seattle? Did you get bumped from your flight?” I knew it had to be something big. I knew it. But still, I couldn't stop myself from asking, “So you haven't talked to Stephen yet because you haven't flown home yet?”

“I talked to Stephen.”

Her voice didn't sound like Stephen had been willing to talk to me. I felt half guilty for not asking about Seattle, but I had waited five days to find out whether Stephen would talk to me. “What did he say?”

There was silence again. And then I heard someone say, “Do you want me to tell her?”

I couldn't help it—I sucked in air like I'd just been sucker punched. Stephen. And why was she letting him listen in on this conversation?

“Sophia. This is not funny. Where are you, and what are you doing?”

Sophia said, “Katelyn.”

And then I knew. I just knew as if I'd always known. But sometimes even when you know something, you just don't want to believe it. “You're with Stephen now. My Stephen.”

“We won the competition.” All of a sudden, Sophia, who couldn't say anything much, started talking a mile a minute. “Jezzy was the best robot among two hundred other competitiors. Robodyne corporation offered us jobs. Real jobs. And we can finish our education here while we're working.”

Jezzy won. Big whoop. I heard the way she said
we.
And I didn't have a good feeling in the pit of my stomach. You know how you can see the train coming. Hear it. Feel the ground shaking. But still you wait a second. That's the way I felt when I asked, “
We
can finish
our
education?”

“I hope you understand. We didn't mean it. But we—we're just right. He makes me laugh, he challenges me, he—”

The train was coming, the ground was shaking, but still. “Right? For you? Are you telling me my boyfriend was right for you? I—”

Sophia said very softly, but clearly, “Even if I wasn't in the picture, he'd still be in Seattle working and going to school. Besides, you two haven't been happy together in a while, and—well, I'm sorry.”

It doesn't matter if you see the train coming. It still hurts when it hits. “Sorry? That you stole my boyfriend? That you're going to change schools and live in Seattle?” I stared at the cell phone. Yep. It was Sophia's number. “Is this a joke?” I knew it wasn't, yet I still hoped she'd burst out laughing and tell me she was outside the door with Stephen waiting to forgive and forget.

“No. I hope you will forgive me one day.”

“Forgive?” I didn't feel like forgiving her. At least, I didn't think I did, but at the moment I was too numb to tell for sure.

“Tell Tyler—”

“I know what to tell Tyler!” I was sharper with her than I'd meant to be. Because Tyler looked as shocked as I felt. He was staring at me. Following the conversation. From the look on his face, he didn't want to follow it any further than I did. Too bad for us.

My hand holding the phone began to shake as there was once again silence. Tyler sat down beside me and put his hand over mine. We both listened as Sophia said cautiously, “So, good luck on your exams.”

“Just like that?”

“Have you ever known me to wait for something I know I want?”

It was my turn for silence. What was there to say to that? I hadn't known her very long, but I had lived with her. And no. I knew if I had lived with her for a million years, she would never have hesitated to go after something she wanted.

“You are a sweet girl, Katelyn. When are you going to give Tyler a chance? For all you know, he's the one for you.”

Tyler stiffened and pulled away a little, just as Sophia said, for the last time, “Ciao!”

I knew this silence really meant it was over. I flipped my phone closed and resisted throwing it across the room. It wasn't the phone's fault Sophia had used it to rip my heart out long-distance.

Give Tyler a chance,
she said. Right. How does she expect me to give a guy a chance who only looks at me from time to time? But I forgave her. She was in love. And love, as they say, is blind.

I couldn't help myself—I started to shake, as if I'd been out in a snowstorm in a T-shirt and shorts. I didn't want to cry. Especially in front of Tyler. But I couldn't help it. The tears just came. And they wouldn't stop. Even though he put his arms around me and held me so tight I could barely breathe.

I think we might have sat there all night that way. If Tyler's cell phone hadn't rung.

He reached for it quickly, and I knew, I just knew he was going to tell the interviewer to forget it. I took the phone from him and turned on the voice distorter. It was interview time. And Mother Hubbard's voice was so choked up, she almost didn't need help to disguise it. But she had something to say, and she was going to say it.

His name was Ralph the Mouth. And I could tell he was prepared to sneer at the whole concept of love, relationships, and advice on finding “the one.” “So, Mother Hubbard. Rumor has it you're over a century old.”

I answered the way Tyler and I had agreed I would, as if I were speaking from a long-ago era. “My tradition is, yes. But there are many who have carried on that tradition through the years.”

“But not with such controversy.”

“The current contretemps is merely a tempest in a teapot. It will blow over as soon as finals week comes along.” I hoped I sounded like somebody channeling a hundred-year-old spirit. I certainly felt that old—shock can do that to a person, I hear.

I had the list of questions Ralph was going to ask. Tyler had gone over them with me. We'd decided on a simple is better approach, and no ad-libbing allowed. I had intended to answer like Mother Hubbard—and to remember, as Tyler said, to keep plugging the paper as a must-read for anyone listening.

Not that anyone listened to the campus station, anyway. Or so I thought, when I decided to throw away the script and ad-lib right from the heart. I did spare one moment worrying whether Tyler would forgive me for it.

Of course, I stopped worrying about that when the interviewer dropped the normal line of questioning.

I quickly realized the questions the guy had e-mailed me were meant to soften me up. Leave me unprepared for the harder questions he meant to ask. Like the left turn he took after our previously fairly polite exchange.

“So, Mother Hubbard, do you think you might be a lesbian?”

“No!” The voice distorter made the word a loud and horrible croak.

Unapologetic, Ralph the Mouth plowed on. “You're not homophobic, are you?”

“No.” Poor Ralph. He had picked on the wrong person at the wrong time if he thought he was going to put words in my mouth. “I may be done with men, though. But not because I find women attractive—just because all men are rats and aren't worth all the trouble they cause.” The distorter made my words harsher than I meant them. Or maybe not.

“Whoa. Mother Hubbard. I thought you now believed in the power of granting a poor guy a third date. Don't tell me you've changed your mind? I'd be so sorry to hear that.” Right. Ralph's voice was smarmy with delight.

I didn't even bother with the antiquated language. I told it like it was. “Of course you're sorry. You're a guy, aren't you? Just like the guy who was such a coward he couldn't tell me it was over between us—just ran away to another university.” And another woman—but I didn't think I could say that last part aloud without breaking down, no matter how angry I was.

“So which date was it that went bad? Fifth? Sixth? What's the new rule for Mother Hubbard and her readers?”

“Just be friends. That's the new rule. Forget dating. Just be friends.”

Even Ralph was startled into silence by that one. But then, laughing, he said, “Do you think anyone will take you seriously? I mean, come on. Sex, love, hooking up, dating, whatever you call it, that's what makes the world go round. Or at least the songs say so.”

“Well, maybe it's time to make the world stop going round. At least then we won't get dizzy and sick, lose our balance, and fall down.”

“You heard it here first, folks. Mother Hubbard is on the vengeance wagon. I bet this campus hasn't seen anything yet like a hundred-year-old woman scorned. Let's hear that one again, folks, shall we?”

He'd cut me off mic so I couldn't say anything else. Not that I wanted to. I'd said plenty already. More than plenty, I realized.

“I'm going to regret that in the morning, aren't I?”

I looked at Tyler, and he looked at me and shrugged. “I think we both will. But what can you do? Did Sophia really transfer schools?”

My hero. Riding to my rescue. Not.