My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero (7 page)

I have about four feet left to go and I urge my arms to move faster. They are shaking badly but I tell them to suck it up. I have never won any competition with these guys, and I just know, deep down, I am going to win this time. I’ve already planned my victory dance.

I have three shovels left to go, and I look up and see Travis looking over his shoulder, looking genuinely worried. Ha!

Two more shovels to go. I put my shovel down and get ready to heave when I feel a huge gust of icy cold hit my body. It knocks me completely off my feet into the snow bank I just created on the lawn. I shake my head to get rid of the snow from my face. I’m just about to scream at the stupid neighbour again when I see he is not on his driveway.

“Done!” Travis yells.

“Me too!” Scott says.

“You cheater!” I yell as I get to my feet again.

Travis doesn’t even have the decency to pretend like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

“You threw snow on me because you knew I was going to win,” I accuse, brushing off my shoulders.

“I just threw the snow into the snow bank,” he says, his tone full of fake innocence. “I guess you must have been standing too close to me.”

“I was standing so close because I was winning!” I say.

Scott is fighting laughter and I shoot him a severe stare.

“It’s okay, if you’re trying to get out of the lamp post, Scott and I won’t make you do it,” Travis says.

“I’m not trying to get out of anything,” I say. “I’m saying I would have won if you didn’t cheat.”

“I can’t help it if you were standing where I was throwing the snow,” he shrugs.

“Are you claiming you didn’t purposely throw the snow on me?” I ask.

The front door to my parents’ house opens and my mother stands in the doorway with a cup in her hand.

“Etty, I’ve got the warm water for your tongue,” she says.

I clench my jaw and try not to stomp my feet at her automatic assumption that I lost. “Mom, I nearly won! Travis cheated.”

My mom raises her eyebrows and then softens her face. “Of course you nearly did, you’re getting so close now.” Her tone is so encouraging and I tell myself not to scream.

“I can’t believe it, I was finally going to win!”

“Etty, no one likes a sore loser,” my mother warns me.

My nostrils flare and I look to Travis. His shoulders are shaking from suppressed laughter.

“I’m going to get you for this,” I say to him. “Be warned.”

“I guess I better watch my step,” he says, fighting the smile on his face.

“Etty, you don’t have to stick your tongue to the pole,” Scott says, and I know he is trying to be helpful, but I’m so mad at the moment all I see is red.

“No. Fair is fair,” I say to Travis, enunciating each word.

I walk over to my mom and take the water from her hand.

“You’ll get them next time,” she says, smiling.

I let out a long sigh before taking the water and walking over to the lamppost.

I’ve done this before. Actually a few more times than I would like to admit, but the last time was when I was thirteen.

I shake my head and roll my shoulders before I stick out my tongue and slowly put it towards the pole.

“Thirty seconds should do it,” Scott yells from beside my mother on the front porch.

My tongue touches the pole and I feel the instant iciness creep over. The tip of my tongue won’t budge, though I didn’t expect it to, and I am not really willing to test it. I let out a sigh as I feel Travis come to stand beside me.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, putting his hand on the pole and leaning in towards me.

“Yeth,” I say and look in the other direction, crossing my arms.

“I didn’t know you could move that quickly,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “You had such a serious look on your face.”

I dart my eyes to his.

“I woulb hab wom,” I say.

“Maybe,” he concedes.

“Ip wasn fpar,” I say, and with my tongue outside of my mouth I can hear my childish tone. I was seconds away from my victory dance; a victory dance I have been practicing for years.

“I thought all was fair in love and war,” Travis says, his mouth twitching at my petulance as he pulls my toque down a little further to cover my ears.

“Humph,” I say, and tell myself not to give in to his coaxing tone.

“Before I forget, I have a date tomorrow night,” he says, low enough that my mom and Scott can’t hear.

“Whaaaa?” I exclaim. I put my arms out to the side for balance and grab on to his arm, trying not to move too much.

“Seven o’clock at Jacob and Co.”

“Biff who?” I ask, my words coming out in a garbled mess.

“Someone from work, you don’t know her,” he shrugs. “Though I have it on good authority that she’s not a wench.”

“Wha hib you hell her?” I ask, though I am not sure if he understands any of it.

“Well, I didn’t stick to your script exactly,” he says. “But she seemed up for it, which I’m not entirely sure is a good sign or not.”

“Whaths her name?”

“Sara,” he says. “I think you’ll like her.”

“Thirty seconds is up!” My mom yells from the porch.

“Here, let me,” Travis says, taking the cup of warm water from my hand. He carefully pours it on the end of my tongue which slowly starts to come free.

When I feel the last part detach I step back and put my hand to my mouth.

“Worse than you remember?” he asks.

I frown, reaching into my pocket.

“You can make it up to me by meeting me at this address on Thursday at one,” I say, handing him a piece of paper with an address written on it.

“What is it?” he asks warily.

“A surprise,” I say, and can’t help the smile that lights up my face even though I am desperately still trying to remain mad at him.

“That’s never good,” he says, and he genuinely looks worried.

“You’ll love it,” I promise.

“The fact that you think that makes me even more nervous,” he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, after the stunt you just pulled I think you owe me, and I’m still mad at you,” I say, though it comes out a little slurred due to my cold tongue.

“I know,” he says, wrapping his arm around my waist and turning me towards the door. “But now I get to look forward to you getting back at me.”

“You don’t think I will?” I ask, raising my eyebrow.

“Oh, I know you’ll try,” he smiles.

He better believe it.

Chapter Six

“You know this is crazy, right?” Jill asks for what I think is the seventeenth time since she arrived.

“No, it’s genius,” I say while applying my lipstick.

“And this girl actually agreed to it?”

I shrug my shoulders. As far as I know Travis told her everything. Though, it might be a good idea to have her sign a waiver or something.

“Okay, maybe she’s the crazy one,” Jill says, shaking her head.

“What’s so weird about it? Everyone loves reality TV shows,” I say, and make sure all the hairpins in my blond hair are hidden. I’ve decided to go for a professional, relaxed look tonight.

You would be surprised how hard it is to get ready just to observe someone. I have to look nice, obviously; I read in Cosmopolitan that people are more likely to open up to attractive people. But at the same time, I have no idea what this girl looks like, and I don’t want to look nicer than her. Just like you shouldn’t look nicer than the bride on her wedding day. And, maybe Travis is going for more personality than looks in a future wife. Which, after much thought, should really be something I should know. I mean, I can’t just jump into this book with a bunch of assumptions. It has to be based on fact in order to let the genuine emotions come through the pages. And I couldn’t really get into much detail when my tongue was attached to a freezing pole; I couldn’t talk much afterwards either. I forgot how much a frozen tongue actually hurts, and apparently thirteen year olds heal a lot quicker than nearly-thirty year olds, because it’s still hard not to dribble all down the front of my chin when I drink.

Kids don’t know how good they’ve got it.

I look down at my outfit and nod decisively. It’s perfect. At least, that’s what the sales woman told me in the store today. I went into a long detailed speech as to what I was looking for (at first I think she regretted asking me if she could help me with anything), but in the end she was totally into it. She said she is even going to buy the book when it’s done.

And then I promised to name a character after her.

And then she promised me a book signing in the store, with media coverage.

And then I promised her−

We got a little carried away.

Anyways, I ended up buying a gorgeous white blouse. It is a touch see through, but I put on a nude bra so all is well in the modesty department. Paired with a dark skinny jean and cute nude pumps, I think the outfit is a hit. And Jill came over to work her magic on my hair, putting it into a cute braided updo. Bohemian chic for sure.

“I thought you were going for the ultimate love story?” she asks, sitting on the closed toilet seat. “Do you think relationships that start off like that− being so public− have a shot?”

“Celebrities do it,” I point out.

“Yeah, but they get moments of privacy, you just see them coming in and out of restaurants. And like ninety-five percent of those never work out either,” she points out.

“Exactly, that’s why this is such a cool idea. People love success stories where the odds are against them− kind of like the Hunger Games but the love version,” I say. “If Travis and this girl fall in love and get married, everyone will love it. I could write a sequel when they have kids!”

Jill looks doubtful. “I don’t know. Travis is a pretty private person. I still don’t know how you got him to agree to it.”

I quickly avert my eyes. No one knows about Cheryl and the IOU. No one. It’s what makes it the ultimate IOU.

“I just told him how important this was to me,” I say, walking into the main living area.

That’s the nice way of describing my apartment, which is basically only one room and a bathroom. My bed is next to the kitchenette, and I own the world’s smallest couch: it’s more like an oversized club chair. I bought it mainly because it’s the only thing that will fit, but I like to think it is a design choice I made. As was the orange tiled backsplash. When people ask I tell them I am going for a Moroccan theme. In reality, my neighbour was throwing the tiles out and I needed a backsplash.

People lie to others all the time to make them feel better, so what’s the harm in telling myself a few to get through the day?

“Maybe I should date Travis,” Jill says, following me out of the bathroom and falling down onto my bed.

“Umm, no,” I say decisively. “That would be very weird for me.”

Jill narrows her eyes. “Why don’t
you
date Travis?”

“Because that would be even weirder for me,” I say frowning. “I don’t think of Travis like that.”

“You think of him more like a big brother?” she asks.

I frown because that’s definitely not it. Although Travis and I practically grew up together, I’ve never thought of him as my brother. He was always there for me, protecting me, but I consider him more like a best friend.

“No, that’s not it,” I say, shaking my head. “I guess I just have never had any romantic feelings for him before.”

Except when I was ten and he fixed my bike chain so I could go on a ride with him and Scott when Scott wanted to leave me behind. I considered marrying him that day.

“Why not? He’s gorgeous, funny, and dependable,” Jill says, then thinks about it for a minute. “Actually, maybe I
should
date Travis.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, pointing my finger.

“I’m looking for my prince charming too,” she argues. “I’d let you follow us around. I could even give you details about
after
dinner.”

She has a wide grin on her face, and I’m not quite sure why, but I just don’t like where this is going. I couldn’t give a reason for it, but I just don’t want Jill to date Travis.

Plus, she’s not really his type. Jill is curvy and gorgeous. Guys fall all over her with her long brown hair and ice blue eyes. She knows all the best jokes: I am actually amazed at her when we go out together. After watching her for a few minutes
I
want to date her.

I know it doesn’t sound like much of an argument, but I just know it wouldn’t work.

I mean, although Jill is great and says she is looking for “the one” her longest relationship has been with her hair straightener. If she dated Travis and something went wrong, how could I possibly choose between the two of them? All future holidays would be so awkward, and I would have to have two dinners. So basically I would have two divorced friends and put on ten pounds.

“Listen, you just can’t date Travis,” I say, grabbing my jacket off the hook by the front door and picking up my bag off the floor. “He’s off limits.”

Jill narrows her eyes but doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure whether she’s thinking of an argument or coming to a decision. Either way I don’t wait around to find out.

“Can you lock up when you leave?” I ask her. We both treat each other’s apartments like we live there.

“Yeah, I’ve got a date in an hour just around the corner,” she says and reaches for the television remote.

I don’t even comment on the fact that she was trying to marry herself off to Travis a minute ago when she has a date with someone else in an hour.

Hopefully Jill’s date will prove enough of a distraction over the next few weeks while I manage to marry Travis off.

I wave goodbye and walk down the three flights of stairs, pushing open the door against the strong wind.

I have my notebook. I have my pen. Now I just need my story.

~

As I walk into the restaurant, Jacob and Co., I can’t help the euphoric excitement that runs through my body. This could be it: this could be the start of a whole new adventure for me.

Oh− for Travis and Sara too, of course.

I can feel the pen in my bag calling to me, asking me to get started.