Just Friends (8 page)

“So what’s with you and bird girl?” Ramona, of course, would know all about the swallows returning to Capistrano – her musical knowledge is also eclectic. Nor is she a girl to chase you around the bush if she can simply trample the bush into the ground and confront you directly. “You know she came over and asked me for your number.”

“Yeah, she said.” Of the scores of things it never occurs to Josh to wonder about right now is why Ramona gave Jena the number for the landline and not the one for his cell. “Nothing’s with us. We’re just friends. She’s in Burleigh’s class with me. She wanted to know something about the homework.”

“Really?” He has the feeling Ramona may be smirking, too. “I saw you guys in HJ yesterday.”

Of course she did. This is what he means about life being ironic. It just never lets up.

“Did you?”

“Uh-huh. You were right in the window. Like you were dummies advertising back-to-school clothes. Well, not you. But she could’ve been.”

One of the problems with living in a small town is, of course, that it’s small. And, in this case, laid out in such a way that anyone looking out the window of the Moon and Sixpence would have a good view of anyone sitting in the window of the coffee bar across the street.

“Were we robbing the place or were we just drinking coffee?” asks Josh.

“I don’t know about her,” says Ramona, “but you don’t drink coffee. So probably you were having tea. But I guess you were too busy talking for her to ask you about the homework then.” Definitely. Mo is definitely smirking. “Or your phone number.”

“Yeah,” says Josh. “I guess we were.”

Ramona sits at the counter of the Moon and Sixpence, working on a display of macramé jewellery. Her mother has gone to choose some handmade wooden bowls and the sales assistant called in sick, so Ramona has been left in charge. It’s a quiet afternoon, which suits Ramona’s mood. Museful. She can’t stop thinking about Jenevieve Capistrano and Josh. Ramona is used to thinking about Josh, but until yesterday the only thoughts she had about the new girl were that she should do all her hair pink (it makes her look way more interesting); and that it’s too bad she’s already tight with Tilda Kopel, because, like being born a princess, it ruins your chances for a normal life. Which isn’t what Ramona’s thinking now.
Why were Josh and Jena in Hava Java together yesterday? Why did Jena want his phone number? What’s going on?
Ramona tells herself that nothing’s going on. They’re in the same language arts class. They happened to be in town at the same time yesterday. They ran into each other. They decided to go for a drink. For God’s sake, what’s the big deal? This is the twenty-first century. A girl and boy can go to a café together without a chaperone. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s normal. Everybody does stuff like that all the time. She starts fastening bracelets on a papier-mâché arm, lining them up one on top of the other like a rainbow.

But Josh doesn’t do stuff like that. Maybe with girls from the chess club, but not with someone in Tilda Kopel’s set. Especially someone who, if you ask Ramona, is getting to resemble Tilda more and more with every passing day. She holds up two bracelets, deciding which to put on next – the all-white strings with quartz and silver beads or the blues and greens with turquoise and gold? And anyway what does she care? If Josh wants to hang out with someone who probably can’t tell a guitar from a mandolin, that’s his business. Not Ramona’s. She chooses the bracelet of blues and greens and fastens it around the arm. Besides, he could never be
interested
interested in a Kopel clone.
Seriously?
Just the thought makes her laugh. She is so not his type. And there’s sure as hell no way Jenevieve Capistrano would be interested in him. Tilda doesn’t speak to Josh. She’s made fun of and laughed at him quite a few times over the years, but she’s never exchanged words. And even if Jena did like him, she couldn’t have the social life she has with Josh around. If they went to games he’d fall asleep. And what about parties and dances? Josh’s idea of dressed up is clean jeans and his father’s red suspenders; he doesn’t even own a suit. She’s smiling to herself at the idea of Josh at the prom when the bamboo wind chimes knock together gently as the door opens. Ramona looks over, still smiling.

Sal smiles back. He saw her through the window and thought he’d stop by and say hi. “Hi,” says Sal. And then, having temporarily run out of words, waves.

Just dropping by like this isn’t something Sal has ever done before, not unless he was with Josh, but things have changed, of course – now that Ramona and Sal are both involved in the musical they have another connection. Ramona waves back. “Hi.” She likes Sal and is glad to see him; though the truth is that she’d be glad to see a moose walk through the door right now – anything to distract her from thinking about Jenevieve and Josh.

Sal comes up beside her, jamming his hands in his pockets. He asks where her mother is. He admires the jewellery. He admires the display. He talks about the changes Mr Boxhill’s making in the play. All the while he shifts from foot to foot; as if he’s balancing on a raft. And then he says, sounding surprised at himself, “Hey, I just had an idea. If you’re not busy tonight I have a couple of sixties movies I got for research. You could come over and see them with me. They might give you some ideas. You know, for costumes.”

“That’s a great idea. I’d love to.” Before those words make him too happy, she adds, “But I can’t. Zara’s coming over tonight.”

“Zara.” He thinks this over for a second, then smiles. “Zara. Right. I guess I should’ve known.”

“Maybe another time,” says Ramona.

“Yeah, okay. That’d be chill. Another time.” He rocks on his heels and doesn’t ask her when.

Now arranging earrings on a velvet-covered board, Ramona wants to know what happened to boys’ night in. “I thought you guys always get together on Saturday nights.”

“We do,” says Sal. “But Josh had to bail. And Carver got landed with babysitting his sisters. I mean, I could go over there but we won’t be able to watch anything with them around. And we can’t lock ourselves in his room – they need supervision.”

“What’s wrong with Josh?” Very carefully and precisely, she pins a pair of dangling silver and turquoise earrings on the board. “How come he bailed?”

“Not sure.” She isn’t looking at him, but Sal shrugs anyway. “All he said was something came up. I don’t know if it’s the band or the chess gang.”

“It must be pretty important,” says Ramona. “It’s not like Josh to be so last-minute.” His lists of things to do are always in order of importance or urgency. His middle name isn’t Spontaneity: it’s David.

“Who knows?” says Sal. “Shit happens.”

Later, waiting for Zara, Ramona thinks she hears a car pull up outside and looks out her bedroom window. This would be another example of what Josh means when he talks about the ironies of life. Ramona is just in time to see Josh himself turn into the Capistranos’ driveway and walk up the path to the front door. No chessboard or guitar in sight.

Shit sure does happen.

As she turns away Ramona wonders what Tilda Kopel will say about this. Which is a thought that makes her smile.

Josh
is late. He’s almost never late – not unless someone else is involved – and he absolutely didn’t want to be late tonight. He wanted to arrive at seven o’clock exactly, to show her he’s dependable, the boy you can count on not to let you down. But it took him so long to get ready (choosing his clothes; checking teeth and hair and ears; wishing he looked like someone else) that it’s seven thirty before he reaches the Capistranos’ front door. Once there, he gazes zombie-like at the house number for several seconds, suddenly unaccountably nervous. What if he farts? What if he smells?
For Pete’s sake it’s not a date
, he tells himself.
You’re just watching a movie. Think of her as one of the guys. Pretend she’s Mo
.

As soon as he rings the bell he hears Jena shout, “I’ll get it, Dad! It’s for me!” Which is when he remembers the General, Parsons Falls’ answer to Darth Vader – and a very good reason for feeling nervous. What if the General shoots him? He automatically takes a step backward, and loses his footing. He’s picking himself up from the flower bed when Jena opens the door with a glad-to-see-you smile on her face that immediately turns to a look of concern. “What happened? Are you okay?”

She’s not Mo. Mo would have laughed and thanked him for dropping by.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just missed my step.”

The smile returns. “Well, come on in. You’re right on time.”

She steps back to let him pass her. She lowers her voice and leans towards him so he can feel her breath on his cheek. “Don’t worry, my dad’ll be leaving in a few minutes.” Saturday is the General’s poker night. Normally she’d do something with Tilda, but Tilda has a hot date. He should have known. “So I’m really glad you could come so last-minute.” Jena makes a face. “I really hate being by myself all night.”

She really must
, he thinks.
To ask me over
. But immediately banishes that thought as unworthy of her.

“Then it’s lucky that you don’t have to be,” says Josh.

“But besides that, I’ve really been looking forward to seeing these movies. My dad only likes guy films and Tilda thinks old is anything made more than three years ago. I know I could watch them by myself, but that’s not so much fun.”

“You need a cat.” Josh follows her down the hallway. “Charley Patton’ll watch anything. Especially if there are chips and salsa involved.”

“Charley Patton?” Her smile is uncertain. “That’s your cat’s name?” When she was little she had had a cat called Fluffy because it was. He explains that Charley Patton’s named after one of his musical heroes. “Because he really plays a mean guitar.”

She’s laughing as they enter the kitchen, where the General is putting a six-pack of beer into a cooler bag.

“You remember Josh,” says Jena. So brightly you’d think that might be a good thing.

Her father nods at Josh, making it clear that he remembers him vividly and that he’s being polite because he loves his daughter, his smile slight enough to be considered no more than a suggestion.

If Josh were any more nervous, he’d probably pass out. He doesn’t want to do anything to give the General a reason to ban him from the house, so tries some politeness of his own. “It’s nice to see you again, General Capistrano,” he lies. And has to stop himself from adding a line he must have heard in some hokey old movie,
Don’t worry, sir, I’ll take good care of your daughter
.

The way Jena’s father is eyeing him, Josh expects him to ask if he’s climbed any more trees lately, or why he doesn’t cut his hair or take up kickboxing. Instead he asks him what he thinks about the Packers’ chances in this season’s Super Bowl. Josh doesn’t really hear the question, just
Super Bowl
. Football – he’s asking him something about football. He might as well ask him who won the Miss America title in 1974. Which isn’t to say that Josh isn’t aware of the Super Bowl – there isn’t a blade of grass in the country that hasn’t heard of the Super Bowl – but he has never watched it or any other football game – and is so thrown by the question that he can’t think of any reply. He just stands there, looking like an ad for teeth whitening.

Jena rushes into the silence. “Josh is captain of the chess team,” she says. “He’s not really into sports.”

The General puts on his baseball cap. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

He has to say something – something to correct the impression that he knows nothing about the sweaty, bloody world of real men. “You know,” says Josh, “Napoleon played chess.”

Both Capistranos look at him blankly, as if the words came out in the wrong language.

“Bonaparte,” clarifies Josh. “Napoleon Bonaparte played chess. The French general?”

“Did he?” General Capistrano picks up his cooler bag and gives Jena a kiss on the cheek. “I better get going.” Does he raise his voice slightly? He glances at Josh, the grinning fool with the ponytail. “Don’t want to be late,” he says. Is there a warning in his tone?
Make sure you behave yourself – or else
.

Neither of them speaks as the General marches from the house, the back door slamming behind him, their eyes fixed on the spot where he was only seconds ago, as if he might suddenly return. Not until they hear the engine start up do they look at each other.

And now they’re alone. Really alone for the first time. Alone without a room full of people around them or her father lurking outside. No Tilda Kopel giving him stink eye when he speaks to Jena or acting as if his voice is the same as silence. The emptiness of the house surrounds them. Jena is definitely not one of the guys – for one thing, none of them wears slippers that look like turquoise Tribbles – and there’s no way Josh can pretend that she is. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. If he had his guitar with him he’d probably start playing.

She’s the first to break the silence. “Hey,” says Jena. “Let’s get the snacks and start the show.”

He watches her open a cabinet and take two bags from a shelf he couldn’t reach unless he was standing on something. Then he starts looking around, noticing things he didn’t see the first time he was here; he was too busy looking at her. Jena opens another cabinet, takes out two bowls and turns to find him staring at a photo held to the door of the fridge in a magnetic frame. It’s a picture of her and her parents, standing in front of palm trees. The sun is shining and they are all smiling like nothing bad could ever happen to them.

“That was taken a couple of weeks before the accident,” says Jena, in a faraway voice he hasn’t heard before.

He looks at her, but doesn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound as if he was reading it off a greeting card. There is a similar photograph on the mantelpiece in the Shines’ living room. Josh, his mother, his father and Charley Patton sitting on the sofa the day they brought Charley Patton home from the animal shelter. Josh’s father isn’t in the photograph of Charley Patton’s birthday celebration a year later.