Swoon at Your Own Risk (6 page)

Suddenly I can't wait to get to work just so I can rush home
again and have Grandma talk some sense into me. "Gracie, dear," I say, "I'll give you ten bucks if you finish moving stuff from my room to yours."

"I'll do it if you buy me a new Webimal. The manatee or the killer whale."

After taxes that's equivalent to three hours of monitoring screaming, wet kids. "Fine!"

"If Amy helps, will you get her one, too?"

"Yes, but now you have to organize my drawers."

Grace sticks out her hand. "Deal!"

On the way to work the little red check-engine light blinks on my dashboard. "You totally saw me staring at Xander Cooper, didn't you?"

I will beg to patrol the Buckaroo Pond, unofficially known as the Poop Pit. Just stick me with babies and toddlers; otherwise I can't be trusted.

I try to talk to Sawyer before he hands out the assignments, but he's acting like I hurt his manhood during lifeguard training by not wanting him to faux save me. He won't look at me. "No special requests. We all work all park features."

"Just this once, you know, a favor for a friend?"

"Friends? Right." He glances at me through his hair. "Only if you tell me why."

What is it with this guy and talking, and reasons, and having to know the stuff lodged deep in my psyche? It's none of his business. It's not like I can even put it into words.

"I'm having
issues
," I say. The word
issues
is nice and vague and covers many possibilities.

Sawyer looks at me, and this time I look down to avoid his big green, stare-into-your-soul eyes. "Are you saying you want to avoid deep water today?"

I have no idea what he's getting at, but we seem to be talking in some kind of code. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Fine. You can have the Buckaroo Pond for four days. Is that enough time?"

"Yes." Four days should be plenty of time for Grandma to help me devise a plan to avoid male temptation. Only moms and dads venture into the Poop Pit. "Thank you very much, Sawyer." And then since I'm feeling grateful, I add generously, "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was just feeling a little—" I don't know how to express it.

"Moody."

I wrinkle my nose. "Yeah, I guess."

"That's okay; it's all clear to me now. Go and get 'em, Pollywog."

"Sure thing, Saw—Sawyer." I'm not going to piss him off by trying out one of my new nicknames. Not today.

It's only after I've had to evacuate the pool due to a leaky swim diaper and I'm waiting for the chlorine treatment to kick in that I realize why Sawyer relented. He thinks I'm menstruating! I'm so humiliated that I want to die. I would never tell a guy
anything
about that kind of situation, even though it
is
a natural biological process. I blow my whistle to signal that it's safe for the infectious tots to return to the water.

Sonnet saunters past. "What're you doing to score all the cushy assignments, huh?"

I shrug.

"Do you think if I let Sawyer fondle my ass, I could get out of that stinking Lazy River? I'm sick of fifth-graders grabbing my boobs all day. So are you back together with Sawyer or what?"

"No. He thinks I'm"—I vaguely tilt my head back and forth—"having my, you know."

"You told Sawyer you were on the rag? Priceless, Polly. Priceless!" Sonnet chortles. "You don't get enough credit for your intelligence."

Oh God. What have I done now? I need to keep my mouth shut!

Dear Miss Swoon:
My boyfriend doesn't like my little dog. He's always teasing my pup, making fun of him, calling him a wimpy little rat and worse. I don't know what do to do.
—Doggone It!

Dear Doggone:
Ditch the dog. The big one, not the small one!
—Miss Swoon

Grandma's shuttle arrives just as I'm trying, for the septillionth time,
not
to think about the way Xander Cooper said, "Hey, nice to see you again, neighbor," as I walked to my car after work. I managed to raise my hand slightly before colliding with a toddler, knocking the poor kid to the pavement, and getting chewed out by her mom. The ever-present Sawyer rushed over to intervene.

But that's not the embarrassing, must-churn-it-over-in-my-mind part. Xander must have
seen
me
seeing
him from my window. Wasn't I holding a bunch of my underwear? Oh, I don't even care. He simply uttered a greeting. He does live in my neighborhood. It's nice to have friendly neighbors. That's all that means. I'm not about to go lusting after the old dude who's always out mowing his lawn even though I always say hello to him, too. Besides, Xander's the one who used to tuck
his sweatpants into his tube socks in fourth grade. And come to think of it, I recall an incident in which his Incredible Hulk boxers made an unfortunate appearance at recess.

I perseverate about Xander, even as I race out to the shuttle to greet Grandma. Grace beats me to her, leaping at Grandma, wrapping her arms around her neck. "You're here! You're here!"

"Mmm. Hmmm." Grandma nuzzles into Grace's hair, but then her bright blue eyes turn to me. "Polly, you gorgeous thing, you. Come here!"

I don't even care that we're having a weird group hug in the middle of our driveway. The shuttle driver grins at us as he lines up suitcase after suitcase.
Having Grandma here will fix everything
, I think even as she whispers, "I bet you have to beat the boys off with a stick, huh, gorgeous?"

"Um, about that." But I realize it's not the right time.

"Charlie, these are my beautiful granddaughters," Grandma tells the shuttle driver.

"They take after you." He winks at Grandma. "Let me carry your bags inside, Sharlene."

"You're too kind." Grandma smoothes a hand through her freshly reddened hair. "Ooh, look at those muscles. Popeye must be jealous."

I'm only a little freaked out by the fact that Grandma is on a first-name basis with the shuttle driver after a thirty-minute
drive from the airport, but whatever. That's why she gets paid to give advice in hundreds of newspapers across the country. People love her.

"I can get them," I say, attempting to heft a bag, but Charlie takes it from me.

"It's my job, little lady." Then he turns to Grandma, "This must be the feisty one, right? Like her redheaded grandma?" More winking. Winking = creepy. I'm a brunette. Grandma was a brunette before "updating" after her last divorce.

"A gal's got to learn to stick up for herself without a big strong man around."

Exactly! I ignore Grandma's flirtatious shoulder shrug—maybe she just had an itch or something.

When the shuttle driver leaves—after a few too many minutes making small talk in our living room—Grace ransacks the bags, searching for the gifts Grandma always brings.

Grandma sits on the sofa, laughing. "Oh no. I think I forgot this time, Gracie Pie." Then she reaches behind her back and pulls out the manatee Webimal
and
the killer whale. Grace practically seizes. I might have to use my newly acquired lifesaving skills at home, but then she recovers and races to phone Amy; really I'm going to have to discuss their co-dependent attachment with Grandma.

"I brought this for you." Grandma dangles a delicate gold
chain in front of me. A small pink heart swings at the end. It's all wrong! I detest superficial symbols. Plus, it looks almost exactly like the necklace Sawyer gave me for Valentine's Day. The one Mom snuck out of my giveaway pile. Grandma frowns. "You don't like it?"

"Oh no. It's completely pretty, it's just that—"

"Your boyfriend gave you one just like it?" Grandma nods. "I should've known."

"Yeah, sort of, but—" This is
not
going how I imagined.

"Why didn't you say so? We'll exchange it. Maybe for earrings to match."

"Um, Grandma?" I listen to Grace yapping about stuffed animals on the phone with Amy. "I kind of wanted to talk to you about guy stuff."

"Miss Swoon at your service! You juggling too many beaux?" Grandma smiles.

"No!"

"Trying to figure out how to let him down gently? You little heartbreaker."

Why isn't she listening to me? "Grandma, a guy just broke up with
me
."

"Oh, honey. Just get right back in the saddle. That's the only cure for a broken heart."

"I kind of tried that, um, unsuccessfully."

Grandma knits her eyebrows, finally listening.

"Five times unsuccessfully."

"Oh my." She's nodding. "Looks like you need a Miss Swoon relationship evaluation."

I exhale a long, cleansing breath. "Yes, exactly! That's what I need."

"These boys wanting too much hanky-panky?"

"No!" My face warms. "Not after the first two, anyway."

Grandma folds her arms, nodding. "Okay, then we'll move straight to Learning the Love Lessons. Find something you can learn from each relationship. That way you turn a negative into a positive. It's all about positivity, right?"

I smile. "Exactly. I've already started thinking about that—I've been reading your columns."

Grandma rolls her eyes. "Glad someone has."

"I've been trying to, you know, focus on the good things in my life."

"Make a list, dear. Things you learned about yourself from each relationship. There's magic in putting pen to paper." Grandma lifts herself off the sofa. "I'm going to freshen up. Unpack a little. What are we doing for dinner?"

"Mom wants us to go to Hamburger Heaven, since she has to work. Things have been a little, um, different around here this summer."

"It's a good thing I've come, then."

"You're telling me. Thanks so much for the advice, Grandma. I mean, Miss Swoon."

Grandma laughs, pulling a suitcase behind her. I head into Grace's room, but I can't think clearly with all those beady, stuffed animal eyes staring at me. I go into the kitchen, grab a notepad, and pour a glass of iced tea.

The birds flitting from tree to tree make me feel upbeat and hopeful as I sit on my front porch steps. I start at the beginning with Kurt. Hmm. I'm not even going to think about the whole sex fiasco (he rented a hotel room without telling me). That was really more about him than me. I tap my pencil against the paper. What did I learn about myself? I write down:

1. Kurt. I'm surprisingly good at memorizing engine specifications.

2. Jack. I kick ass at level three in Donkey Kong.

3. Sawyer. I'd rather kiss than read or talk about fish.

4. Gareth. My feet blister easily.

5. Hayden. I'm popular enough to get elected to the student council. (Although maybe it
was Sonnet's blog campaign: Make Polly Martin Mountain View's First Lady.)

I'm blushing, wondering why I did all that stuff—memorizing paragraphs from
Road & Track,
climbing mountains, begging people to sign my campaign petition—to make guys like me (and I'm stuck planning the prom!). I look up to see forever-shirtless Xander Cooper walking in front of my house carrying his skateboard. He glances sideways at me, through all that curly hair, and raises his eyebrows.

In a rush to hide the humiliating list I knock over my iced tea, breaking the glass, splashing tea all over my bare feet. I pick up shards of glass, glancing at Xander every few seconds. He strolls uphill, not looking back, but I notice that he's taken that little notebook out of his pocket. Holding his skateboard under his arm, he scribbles something. Maybe he's designing the ultimate superhero hideout like he used to in elementary school. If only he still wore his pants hiked up too high—and not so low slung on his slim hips.

I sweep the wet, broken glass onto my soggy list, go inside, and throw the whole thing into the trash. Lists are completely ineffective! I haven't learned anything about myself from my past relationships.

Dear Miss Swoon:
My boyfriend dumped me six months ago, but I just can't recover. I keep thinking I could have saved the relationship if I'd only changed like he wanted me to.
—Too Late To Change

Dear Too Late:
It's never too late to change! Change can be a good thing—but only if you're doing it for yourself! Make a list of the things you've learned about yourself from this relationship. And put it to good use in your next one. (There will be a next one!)
—Miss Swoon

Broken glass. Sharp shards. Little weapons to prick and make you bleed ... Symbols of past pain, broken relationships ... Or is it as simple as a. nervous girl knocking over her beverage? And a fragile object hitting hard cement steps?
—
X.C.

Sunday morning I get up even earlier than usual to meet Jane at the veterinary clinic where she volunteers to walk the animals on the weekends. I like it that Jane has maintained her love of everything animal; unlike me, who got hit with hormones and moved on to a love of everything Neanderthal. Jane walks a poodle recovering from hip surgery—with the neck collar, weird puffs of hair, and bandaged bald spot, it looks more alien than canine. I've got a pug that's more interested in sniffing my sneakers than doing his business. At least I think it's a he; some dog breeds always look like boys the way some skateboarders always look—

"Jane." I tug the pug toward Jane's poodle. "I need you to talk some sense into me."

The pug growls at the poodle, so she stands a few feet away. "Who is it
now?
" Her voice sounds weary.

"No one." I'm
not
thinking about how I waited in bed listening for that skateboard, in a safe nonromantic, simply-interested-in-the-physics-of-sound-waves kind of way. "I told you I've sworn off guys."

Jane scoffs, "Yeah, right. So
that's
why you were all cozy with Hayden on the sofa the other night."

"It was the only place to sit. Besides, he sat next to
me
."

"You could have sat with me on the floor."

"Did you see that floor? It was disgusting. Who knows what those dorks do down there when there aren't regular humans around."

Jane's cheeks go pink. "That's not nice," she says quietly, letting the poodle wander back toward the kennel door.