kiss her ass or treat her like garbage, which was the most common Powell Park High reaction to someone whose nicer clothes set them apart as having more money than the rest of us. She also told me that she thought I’d be a weirdo because of my red corduroy pants, because Tina can be a snob. (The pants were fine, by the way.) Clothing aside, it turned out that we had a lot in common. We bonded over the ways we’d found to navigate parental divorce, our shared disdain for Happy Days, and the fact that she—unlike Candace—agreed with me that most of the boys at our school had a good three years to go before one could even consider them dating material. (Of course, Tina had a long-distance boyfriend in Milwaukee to unfavorably compare them all to, and I had Han Solo.)
“What are the four hundred better ideas?” I asked her, because I loved when Tina got into list-making mode. She’d tick things off on her fingers, all businesslike, and shut you down with a look if you didn’t agree with her.
“Drop my books on the ground and wait for him to pick them up. Make him pose like Michelangelo’s David. Watch him mow the lawn. What do you got, Susan?” Tina raised an eyebrow and flicked my empty Yoo-hoo bottle closer to me with one of her shiny fuchsia nails. (Her nails are always done, because her mom owns a salon, and she says Tina’s impeccably neat appearance is like free advertising.)
I probably had four thousand ideas, but I was saving them for my poor Holly Hobbie sheets, which had witnessed some very un-Holly-like activity over the years. “Well, after Candace cooks him a nice lasagna—”
“Shut up, men love food!” Candace said.
“—I’d put on a record. Maybe Earth, Wind and Fire, or Peaches and Herb.”
“Peter Frampton,” Candace said.
Tina shushed her. “He ate your lasagna. This is Susan’s turn! She gets to pick the music.”
“And then I’d say, ‘Do you want to take off your shoes . . . ?’” In my head, I came up with some good stuff, but out loud, my fantasies emerged gangly and awkward. Sort of like how I’d made out extensively with fantasy Eddie Van Halen, but in real life, I’d kissed exactly two boys and both times had been disasters. One of them had moved away the next day, and I’d been relieved.
“What are soccer shoes called, anyway?” Candace asked.
“Who cares? Susan was about to get to the sensual foot rub,” Tina said.
“They’re cleats.”
Without turning around, I knew it was Mr. McMann.
He was standing right behind me. And had probably heard about the foot rub.
“Whuu . . . why? Hi! Hello.”
I’m sad to report those were my first words to Bobby. Every girl at the lunch table looked up at him like he was Jesus at the Last Supper, complete with the fact that we were going to be eating him.
“Cleats. You’ll need them if you make the team.” He looked right at me. “And I’ll work you so hard, you’ll need all the foot rubs you can get.” He sort of saluted us and grinned, with teeth. They were perfect, even this close up. Not stained or crooked or too little for his face. His dark eyes were deep set and ever so slightly hooded beneath his eyelids, which did have the long lashes Candace imagined. His chiseled jaw was balanced by full, almost pretty lips, and his nose was just a bit crooked with the slightest bump in its bridge—it suggested Han Solo danger and adventure, even if I knew he might have broken it just walking into a wall. United, his features told me he was thoughtful and that he knew how to do important things, like read a thick book, change a tire, or kiss prolongedly. He was the first real-life guy who had no visible flaws to disqualify his positive attributes, which didn’t stop when he turned around. As he walked off, his shorts hugged his butt like it was a package wrapped by an overachieving Christmas elf.
“Susan’s wriggling in her shorts,” Tina said, making me even redder in the face. I picked up one of my greasy cafeteria fries and ate it, trying to look thoughtful about something else besides Mr. McMann’s sex walk through the cafeteria. “You should have asked him if you could try out right now. You’re dressed for it.”
“Oh my God, she is!” Candace said. “It’s like you’re soul mates!”
“What are