When It All Goes Wrong Again

~Pete~

“So,” asked Joe, “when are we going to get to meet this girl?” He leaned forward, eyes never leaving the television, and his hair lit up like a light bulb. Big rectangles of light from the Sunday afternoon sun lined the carpet in front of the couch we were playing video games on.

“What girl?” I replied distractedly. Joe was just about to kill me and I was concentrating hard so that wouldn’t happen.

Joe’s fingers flew over the buttons and a few seconds later, his ninja stood above my virtual character, waving its spine around in victory. Joe let out a triumphant cheer as he dropped his controller in his lap. “What girl?!” he cried in surprise. “The girl you spent the whole day with yesterday! The girl you threw a last minute party for just so you could see her again! The girl you haven’t shut your trap about since you met her!”

“Oh,” I sheepishly said, “you mean A.J. I imagine you’ll meet her any minute now.”

Patrick looked up from his phone as Joe sputtered, “But— What?”

“Hey, so who won?” Andy asked, walking into the room with a bag of pretzels.

“Joe did,” said Patrick casually.

“Cool,” Andy said as he grabbed the controller that I had thrown disgustedly to the ground after losing.

Joe’s attention was still on me while Andy reset the game. I stood up and stretched as I said, “Did I forget to mention that she’s coming over to go swimming today?”

Andy looked up cluelessly and asked, “Who’s coming over?”

Patrick didn’t look up from the text he was typing as he said, “The girl Pete’s in love with.”

Everyone laughed while I declared, “I’m not in love with her! We’re just friends!”

“Yeah,” said Joe with a suggestive nudge to Andy, “a friend he wants to ogle in a bathing suit.” I gave him a dirty look as I threw a chew toy at him.

“You have to admit, Pete, you do like this girl,” Patrick said in that annoying, all-knowing tone of his.

I let out a low sigh. “It doesn’t matter if I do. I don’t think she likes me like that anyway.”

“You mean there’s a female out there who doesn’t throw herself at you?” Andy asked, his face showing his amused fake shock.

“Wow,” Joe commented in awe, “I like her already.”

The doorbell rang and as I went to answer it I said, “Very funny guys. Now promise to be nice.”

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

“Marco!” Andy called.

“Polo!” the rest of us replied.

“Marco!”

“Polo!”

“Marc— hey, that one was short a voice,” a suspicious Andy said. “One female voice.”

He was right. One look across the pool showed a very anxious A.J. standing within arms reach of Andy. She held a finger to her lips, begging us to stay silent.

“That’s because she was underwater,” Joe lied quickly, earning a thankful glance from A.J.

“Fine, then – Marco!” Andy called, waving his arms in front of him. A.J. gracefully glided just out of his reach, Andy’s fingertips coming only inches from her shoulder.

“Polo!” everyone except for A.J. answered.

“All right,” said Andy exasperatedly, “don’t tell me she was underwater again!” He opened his eyes and was met by our three smiling faces and, just to his left, a pretty girl with an apologetic smile.

“Um… Polo?” A.J. said haltingly. She was trying to hide a playful smile from her lips. Andy threw up his hands in frustration while A.J. swam away from him quickly. “Okay, so I lose,” she said, climbing out of the pool. “I’m taking this as my cue to take a break.”

“You don’t have to quit,” said Patrick. “Cheating has always been a part of Marco Polo.”

“I know,” she said while picking up a towel, “this is just my excuse to get out. I’m starting to get pruney.”

I watched as she ran the towel up her legs one by one, her wet hair falling in front of her face. I was fascinated by the way the towel absorbed the drops of water falling to her leg. She stood and ran her fingers through her tangled hair, squeezing the excess moisture out as she did.

“Dude,” Andy muttered in my ear, “you’re staring.”

“But we were going to play chicken next,” Joe whined.

A.J. threw the towel over her shoulder and headed to a lounge chair. “Isn’t chicken just a pretext to get a girl to wrap her legs around your head?” she asked, settling into the chair.

“Aaahh!” Joe exaggeratedly cried. “She’s on to us!” He fell back dramatically into the water, earning an eye roll and a chuckle from A.J.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Twenty minutes later, I climbed out of the pool, much against the protests of my friends. “Come on guys, I need a drink, okay?” I shook the water from me like a dog and went over to A.J.

There she lay, sunglasses on, soaking up the sun. Her hair was drying in soft wisps around her shoulders and Hemingway had jumped up on her lounge chair. She was languidly scratching his head, which was resting on her thigh.

“Hey,” I said softly.

Her answer was a contented murmur.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the table and sat in the chair beside her. Taking advantage of her lack of interest in my arrival, I wiped the water from my eyes and studied her more closely. Her free arm was limp across her stomach, legs splayed in what any normal person would believe to be an uncomfortable position, toes tapping a beat to the song she was softly humming. She looked incredibly relaxed, maybe for the first time since I met her. I almost hated to disturb her peace, but I couldn’t help myself. “So…” I said slowly, “you’ve lived out here for a couple of years?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Do you like it?”

She turned her head and lifted her sunglasses, giving me a curious look. “Most of the time,” she said with a shrug. She dropped her glasses back on her nose and moved into her previous position. “It’s exciting. I see something new everyday and have met all kinds of crazy people. But, I don’t know, sometimes…”

“Sometimes what?” I asked, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees.

Hem whined and A.J. put her hand back on his head. “It’s not really… as idyllic as everyone makes it out to be. People live in their own world out here and don’t always see what’s going on around them. It’s much more materialistic then I’m used to.”

“What are you used to?”

“I come from a small town, Wentz. It’s like the freaking Andy Griffith show – people hold open doors for each other, they smile constantly and greet each other on a first name basis. There’s a big block party every Saturday night in the summer, hell,” she said, letting out a soft chuckle, “the local grocer can regale you with stories of the time I knocked over the soup display when I was seven.”

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing to be used to,” I said carefully.

“No, I guess it’s not.” Her hand paused mid-stroke, resting on Hem’s neck, and she chewed on her lower lip – something I already noticed she did as a nervous habit.

I followed her gaze to the three splashing fools in the pool. Some kind of argument had broken out and Joe was climbing out, yelling something about Andy being a cheating asshole. A small movement caught my eye, and when I turned my attention back to A.J., I swear she looked like she was going to cry.

“It’s good for me to be in L.A.,” she murmured so quietly that I had to strain to hear the words. “There’s something comforting in the thought that nobody knows you.”

My breath caught at the honesty of her words, at the pain so obviously embedded throughout them. Suddenly, my brain processed the movement from before – she was fiddling with a ring on her left hand. It was pretty; the alternating amethysts and diamonds sparkled in the sun as she twisted it. Curiosity filled me about this tiny object that somehow seemed to hold importance, but before I could question her about it, a shadow fell over us.

“Hey guys,” Joe said with a big, idiotic smile. His usually poofy hair was slicked back and water was forming a puddle around his feet. “I’m starving, wanna get something to eat?”

His appearance broke the tension that had been building instantly. “Wow Joe, no one told me you were a mind reader!” A.J. jumped up in a flash, a brilliant smile replacing her forlorn expression. She threw her arm around his waist while he beamed with pride and guided him towards the house. “What sounds good to you?”

Patrick and Andy quickly caught up with them, their discussion of food combinations drifting to my ears, where I still sat, frozen. Hemingway gave me those cute, puppy dog eyes and grunted as if to say What the hell just happened? Where’d my pillow go? I scratched him under his chin and muttered, “You’re guess is as good as mine, buddy.”

“Hey Wentz!” A.J. called with her head sticking out the door, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes on her face. “You coming or what?”

“Yeah,” I said, standing quickly. “Be there in a sec.” A loud thump came from inside and A.J.’s head disappeared. “Come on boy,” I whispered. Hem hopped off the chair and followed me while I thought of that sad half-smile. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen her really smile – they always seem forced or fake. Or acted, like she consciously had to think about it. What made her like this? I wondered as I stepped through the threshold into complete chaos.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

The sky was dark – or as dark as it got in the city – as I walked A.J. to her car. Time seemed to fly by tonight; then again, I always feel our time together goes too fast. It’s hard to believe that A.J. only came into our lives a week ago. Really, she fits seamlessly into our little group – taking Joe’s dares of putting weird things on her pizza, talking with Andy about whatever strange philosophical dilemma he was interested in at the moment, and of course, the endless music chatter with Patrick that went on constantly throughout the movie.

I held back a sigh and tried to push the jealous thoughts away. The whole point of today was so the guys could meet her, but I couldn’t help but hope to get some face time, now could I? It’s a good thing they all get along, I rationalized. Now no one will groan if she comes around more often.

Our arms bumped against each other as we walked, and I know it’s pathetic, but just that subtle contact made the hairs on my neck stand on end. “I had a great time today Pete,” A.J. said, breaking our surprisingly comfortable silence. Even with the lack of light I could make out her amazement of those words. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken a whole weekend off.”

“Never?” I asked in mild shock.

“Well,” she began slowly, drawing the word out, “not for a really long time.”

“Then maybe you should make a habit of it.” We reached the door of the little, blue hatchback that had seen better days. The deceiving nature of her car intrigued me – I knew she made good money. What did she spend it on? “I had a great time, too,” I ventured, taking a step closer to her. “Maybe we can do it again some other weekend?”

A slightly sardonic laugh pealed through the night. “Yeah, like I’ll ever get this chance again!” She stepped back and rested her hand on the door handle. “I’m surprised Joel even let me off with everything as crazy as it is. But if— hold on a minute.”

Turning, she climbed into the car, reached over the seat, and started digging through the glove compartment. After several moments of hushed mumbling, a victorious “Ah-ha!” reached my ears. She grabbed a pen off the dashboard and started scribbling on the small piece of paper.

What was eventually handed to me turned out to be a rumpled business card. I ran my thumb over the raised letters of the Melodious Transfers, Inc. logo – a carbon copy of the one I had gotten the week before. A.J. watched me expectantly as I flipped it over. Home and Cell were printed crookedly across the back, numbers following each word.

“Now, I don’t give those out to just anyone. I’m trusting that these won’t turn up on the wall in the men's room of some truck stop,” she joked.

“Never! I’ll guard them with my life if I need to,” I said, sarcastically pressing the card to my chest.

Without warning, she threw her arms around me and hugged me tight, singing softly, “I can tell that we are gonna be friends.” All too soon, she got into her car and called through the open window, “Call me Wentz” as she drove away.

Yet again, there I was, standing in the middle of my driveway, the word ‘friends’ repeating over and over in my head while I watched her leave. I should be ecstatic, doing the little happy dance people do when they get someone’s number, but I couldn’t help but feel discouraged. The frayed edges of the worn business card that held the softly rounded words from A.J.’s hand failed to evoke any optimism. Her brake lights in the distance seemed to be a bad omen – would she always be heading in the opposite direction?