Popularity Contest

3

    Weekends at my house are always really chill. The most adventurous we get is going to the next town over, shopping at the mall and getting dinner at a chain restaurant. Sometimes I spend more time with the girls but Friday nights are our usual.
    Sundays are for studying and cleaning. The first half of the day is the cleaning. Dad and I do whatever Mom instructs us to do and we hope we do it right the first time. With years of practice though, we've gotten pretty good.
    Then I sit in my room, put on music and do whatever homework I have. Usually I can breeze through it except for math. I'm not good with numbers. Tonight I read three chapters of Romeo and Juliet and conjugate verbs for Spanish before mom knocks on my door.
    "Dinners ready," she says. "Dad says hurry before he eats all the Brussels sprouts."
    I snap my textbook closed and rush past my mom to the dinner table. "Hands off the goods," I say, just as my Dad starts to scoop a spoon full of sprouts onto his plate.
    "I'm only taking a few, officer," Dad says, shaking a few off the spoon and onto his plate.
    "Yeah, you better," I say, taking my seat and grabbing a piece of homemade fried chicken.
Mom comes in and clicks her tongue. "Of all the things I thought my child would beg for, Brussels sprouts was never one of them."
    "Speaking of begging," I say, taking the opening. "Homecoming is next week."
    "Really?" Dad asks. "Seems a little early this year."
    "It's always the last week of September," I say, a little more attitude than necessary.
    "You need a dress for the dance," Mom says.
    "What's wrong with the ones you have?" Dad asks.
    "I wore them already," I say, trying to keep my cool and turning my attention back to Mom. "Yes, please."
    "We can go to the mall tomorrow after I get home. Do the girls need dresses?"
    I contain my squeal of excitement. "I'll ask them. Thank you."
    "You girls have dates?" Dad asks with chicken in his mouth.
    "Thanks for bringing it up, but no. We're going together like last year."
    "There's no one you'd want to ask? I mean, this isn't the fifties. You don't have to wait for someone to ask you, Q." I know he means well but the truth is there isn't anyone. I barely speak to anyone who isn't Kam, Eva or Frankie.
    "No, Dad, there isn't."
    "Kitten?" Mom says, getting my attention. She's called me that forever because she said when I was a baby, I wouldn't coo, I'd meow. She's also always had the ability to see right through me.
    "Ok so there is a guy," I push all the words out of my mouth. "But he's popular and a senior and I'm me and he only talked to me once so there's no way he'd ever want to go to the dance with me and I'm sure he already has a date or three." I'm out of breath when I stop talking.
    "First of all," Mom starts, putting her fork down, "there's nothing wrong with being you. You are beautiful and smart and a wonderful person. Second, have you tried talking to him again?"
    "No," I admit. "He just talked to me Friday, I saw him at the game and he kind of waved at me but I'm sure he was just being friendly."
    "Well, that's a start, Q. Your dad made me play hard to get," she says. I remember the story she told me about having to track Dad down through three different people and convince him that she wasn't going to be just another fling.
    "Wait, hold on," Dad says and I'm ready for him to defend himself like he always does. "You skipped over the most important part. This boy is a senior. You shouldn't be talking to him at all."
    "Oh, Jon," Mom says, throwing a Brussels sprout across the table at him. "You're four years older than me."
    "We were in our twenties when we met, it didn't matter then."
    Mom rolls her eyes. "Don't listen to your father. If there's something about him that draws you to him, listen to it. If I didn't, you wouldn't be here."
    "Alright, slow down. You've got the rest of your life ahead of you," Dad says.
    "Let her live, Jonny," Mom says, looking at him softly. He melts the way he always does.
    "Just keep me out of the details," he says. "And if you come home crying, I will kill him."

    I texted the girls after dinner and told them my mom would take us to the mall after school if they needed dresses. Kam said her mom made her one (jealous) but she would come with us anyway, of course.
    Eva and I are standing by our band locker, waiting for the bell to ring to dismiss us. She holds out her phone and scrolls through pictures of dresses she's saved.
    "I already know I can't do brown or anything neutral," she explains. "With my fair Asian skin I'd look sickly."
    I giggle as she swipes to another with a high neckline and no sleeves.
    "Ah, dress shopping," a voice says over my shoulder. Wyatt comes around to stand in front of us. "Exciting stuff."
    His face is distracting but also daunting in a way. His eyebrows are pulled together but he has a goofy, lopsided grin. I can't tell if he's being genuine or sarcastic.
    "Yeah," Eva breathes out. Wyatt flicks his eyes to her before looking back at me.
    "You're going, right?" He asks. "To homecoming?"
    I nod, afraid my voice would sound shaky like last time.
    "You have a date?"
    I shake my head.
    He nods once. "See you there."
    The bell rings as he walks away. Eva's squeal can be heard over the high pitch of the bell. I'm sure a dog somewhere is howling.
    "Holy shit," Eva says. "Holy shit."
    "Do you have anything else to say?" I ask as we make our way out into the hallway.
    "Oh my god," Eva says.
    "That's not much different."
    "He likes you," she says, her tone switching to serious. "I can tell. He likes you and he wants to dance with you at homecoming."
    "How did you get all of that from that small interaction?"
    "I could see it in his face and hear it in his words," she says, clapping her hands over her heart.
    "You are such a sap," I say, laughing at her ridiculous act.
    We pass the classroom I saw Wyatt go into after band last week and I can't help myself from glancing through the doorway. I see him, front row center, pushing his hand through his hair and for a millisecond, we lock eyes.
    Eva and I turn the corner and practically race into Mrs Douglas' room. We sit down next to the girls and Eva takes a deep breath. "You'll never guess who just talked to Q, again."