The Girl Who Kissed a Lie

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

If I’m focusing on being normal, the normal thing to do definitely isn’t to go out to the Common and talk to my quasi-boyfriend who I know almost nothing about. But, whatever, it’s what I do.

Ben sees me immediately, finishes up with a few customers, and comes over with lemonade. “What are you reading?” he asks me, looking at the book I’ve brought out with me.

“How to Be a Lady,” I tell him, showing it to him. I found it on the bookshelf this morning, browsing for something “normal.” It’s from 1912 and I thought it would be amusing.

“I didn’t know there was an instruction manual,” Ben says, amused. “Aren’t you already some definition of a lady? Do you feel like you need pointers to be yourself?”

I’ll take any and all pointers I can get, I think.

“This isn’t about that whole being ‘normal’ thing, is it?” asks Ben. “There really is no such thing.”

“I have decided,” I announce, “that I need…” I falter on saying “a friend.” I don’t know what he would say in response to that and I don’t want to test it. I say, instead, “I need a job.”

“A job?” Ben echoes. “Well, that sounds very normal. And dull. Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Making lemonade?” I suggest, teasing. “Could you use an assistant?”

He looks blank. “What?”

“At your job,” I prompt.

“An assistant at my job,” he echoes, still sounding like he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“Yes. Making lemonade,” I remind him.

“Oh,” he says. “That job. Do you think I can’t handle that job?”

“Do you have another job?” I ask curiously. I really know so little about Ben.

“This job takes up all my time and attention,” says Ben lightly, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Well, you’ve got a customer at your time- and attention-demanding job that you don’t need me to assist with,” I point out to him.

Ben groans, but gets to his feet lightly, with all of his usual grace. Ben moves like a classically trained ballet dancer or something. It’s really very annoying, considering that I move very…heavily. It’s the best way I can think of to describe it. I always move like I’m a bull in a china shop; Ben moves like the personification of the china in the china shop.

I watch Ben deal with his customer. He’s probably flirting. She blushes and grins at him, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. Does Ben flirt with me? I worry that I wouldn’t know he was flirting with me, even if he carried a flashing neon sign that lit up with I’M FLIRTING WITH YOU NOW. He probably doesn’t flirt with me. Ben probably sees me as a kid sister. Maybe Ben even has a little sister, for all I know, and I remind him of her or something.

Ben comes back after his customer, with more lemonade, and says, “What’s your plan for today? Are you going to read aloud to me, so that I can learn how to be a lady properly and not stick out abnormally?”

“No,” I say firmly. “Today I’m going to get a job.”

***

Seven little shops and zero applications later, I feel not at all productive or grown-up or better about anything. I’ve darted into every place of business I’ve come across: the fancy ice cream shop (Beacon Hill is the kind of place where even the ice cream is gourmet); the deli; the cozy, romantic restaurant; the raucous, sports bar; the coffee shop; the tea shop (yes, those are two different things on Beacon Hill); and the dry cleaner that still has a Christmas display up in its windows. They’ve all told me they’re not hiring. I don’t know if that’s true or if they’re just not hiring me.