Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,40
stomach, especially the way she announced it, like I should have figured this George person would be there. “What George?”
“Tomczak,” she said. “I was about to tell you—he drove me home from his practice the other day and Mom invited him to stay for dinner, then yesterday I saw him again at the game.” Candace practically skipped toward her dresser. She lifted the top from her Coty powder and patted the puff against her nose and cheeks and checked her angles in the mirror that hung on her wall.
“You had George Tomczak over for dinner and you didn’t say anything? Garbage Breath George?”
“He ate three plates. Mom was in heaven.” Turning away from the mirror, she said, “I know I sometimes pick guys who aren’t the greatest, so I wanted to wait to tell you anything until I knew he wasn’t a jerk.”
He might not have been a jerk, but no one would pick George Tomczak so much as get stuck with him. He had one of those “aw, shucks” personalities that drove me nuts and a haircut that you just knew his mom gave him. Plus, his breath. Had Candace forgotten she’d blown him off for Reggie Stanton at Dan O’Keefe’s party a few weeks ago? The only thing George had that Candace said she wanted in a boyfriend was a spot on the football team. But even I knew the names of the football players who were supposed to be good, and he wasn’t one of them.
“Do I have to mention again that we call him Garbage Breath?” I said. “For good reason?”
Candace frowned. “He’s really sweet,” she said. “And I can work on fixing his breath.”
“‘Work on’?” My tone was meaner than I wanted it to be, but I was kind of shocked. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”
Candace blushed. “I think so. Maybe . . .”
“Are you sure you really like him, though?” I asked. I could hear the way my words sounded, but I wasn’t sure I cared. Was I supposed to be happy for her? “I thought you were into Reggie.”
“Reggie is a jerk,” she said with finality. She wasn’t wrong. But I was still dumbfounded. George Tomczak?
“Come on, he’s waiting.” I followed Candace as she traipsed downstairs toward George, who was already being greeted by her brothers like they were old friends.
“Hi, Susan, how are you today?” George couldn’t even say hello like a normal person.
“So-so,” I said, subtly touching my nose as if to block his bad breath from entering my nostrils. He was chewing minty gum, but he’d definitely eaten onions recently, too.
While the lasagna finished baking, Candace suggested we hang out in the TV room. One Day at a Time was on. “What I wouldn’t give for Valerie Bertinelli to show up in my bedroom some night,” Frank Jr. said to George and Marty.
“Only way that’ll happen is in your dreams,” Marty said. “And even then, she’d probably have somewhere better to be.”
“She’s really funny in this show,” George said, cutting off Frank and Marty before they went any further in their Valerie fantasies. George smiled at Candace and me as if we should be grateful for this intervention, but it wasn’t like we hadn’t heard Frank and Marty talk that way before. I’d once had the unfortunate experience of hearing Frank describe to Marty what he thought feeling up Carol Burnett would be like. Instead of being thankful for George stepping in, I was more ticked off by the fact that they had zero problems talking about women with me and Candace in the room. If I’d detailed my specific Bobby thoughts out loud, none of them would think that was okay.
Frank said something about the game on Friday, which Powell Park had lost by only three points, and George started talking about their defense. Candace grinned at me, looking victorious, as if the conversation was proof that George was all the great things she claimed. I turned my attention to the TV.
“Susan, how’s soccer going?” George asked me, interrupting my favorite Hamburger Helper commercial. (I loved the talking glove.)
“Pretty good,” I said. And then I added, more to Candace than to him, “We got goals at the park, and everyone on the team really gets along.”
“That’s neat,” George said. “Some of the guys on the football team say the only reason anyone signed up is because everyone has a crush on Mr. McMann, but I—”
“No,” I said, straightening up on the couch. “Bobby’s a really good coach. We