That Boy

Yeah, I think, but don't say it.

Instead, I say sweetly, “You know I care about you and your career, but I have 32 people coming to the party tomorrow, and they're expecting something to eat! And the game is early, 11:30. There's no way I could get everything made in the morning, and I haven't been to the grocery store yet!”

Jimmy pushes me away. He looks angry. I have never seen him look this way before.

“I am so sick of Phillip this and Phillip that. I'm sick of being compared to Mr. Perfect. As a matter of fact,” he grabs me by the wrist hard, looks straight into my eyes and says, “you're done hanging out with Mr. Perfect. You're coming with me tonight.”

I wrench my arm away from him.

I don't like to be told what to do, and I'll be damned if he's going to do the telling. I look straight at him and speak very slowly, so Mr. Dense can understand.

“I'm going to keep my plans for tonight. I'm sorry, I ca

“That's it. It's time for you to choose.”

He is furious with me.

“Choose what?”

What is he talking about now?

“Between Mr. Perfect and Me. You know everyone thinks the two of you have something going on. I always say it's not true, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe the real reason you want to go has more to do with cooking with Mr. Perfect than cooking food.” He adds, “In fact, if you don't go with me tonight, we're through. So choose.”

Okay, that's it. He's pushed me too far.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to choose you, someone I have known for like two seconds, over someone I have been friends with for like my entire life? Well, let me tell you, Jimmy, the choice is easy.” I wave bye-bye with my hand and say, “Goodbye.”

“I knew the two of you had something going on the whole time. I'm outta here.”

He storms out the front door, turning back toward me and yelling, “You'll miss me when I'm famous!”

Driving to Phillip's house, my insides are churning over my fight with Jimmy, the guitar-playing jerk. I mean I would have stopped dating him soon anyway. I was just sort of pla

Shit.

Now it appears I'm flying solo.

Of course I can't be too upset, and well, he was kind of right about Phillip.

I do have feelings for him.

Very strong ones.

Of course, they are a whole mixed up mess of feelings: confusion, frustration, denial, happiness, sadness and the strongest one of the bunch, chicken shittedness.

And that is not like me.

I am so not a chicken shit about anything else in my life.

I have rock climbed, surfed, parasailed and bungee jumped. I even drive too fast on a daily basis.

You'd think this would be easy. But instead, I feel like I'm jumping out of an airplane without a parachute.

I mean wouldn't everyone be a chicken shit about that?

Jimmy's comment about cooking with Mr. Perfect cracked me up, but it also gave me a great visual. Maybe I can get Phillip to cook with nothing on but an apron. Or better yet, maybe I should do that. Do you think he'd notice?

Well, sure he would, he's a guy.

The more important question is, would he like it, and would he do anything about it?

I am so hoping that he will give us a chance. I'm also hoping that moaning Monica will not be involved in this whole affair. You know, when Da

And that is not a very nice feeling.

Last week, I went to the bookstore and bought a hardcover copy of the book, Our Town. That's the book we were reading in AP English when my parents died. I have been thinking about the book lately. I knew that the book's main theme is for people to remember to stop and smell the roses. I remember promising myself that I would always try to live life to the fullest, and I think I've done a pretty good job of it so far. But there was something else from that book I know I wanted to remember, and I couldn't seem to remember it.

I had hoped if I thought about it hard enough, I would remember it in a dream because I do that sometimes, but it didn't work, so I had to go buy the book and reread it. I'm glad that I did because I like the story, and I found what I was looking for. It was the part that says, We waste opportunities at every moment.

That was the part I was trying to remember.

And now I see why it's been bugging me.

It fits.

I know that I can't waste any more opportunities with Phillip.

I can't, and I won't.

God help me.

I pull up to Phillip's house, get out of the car and knock on the front door. It used to be that I would have just barged right in, but I'd like to think I have grown up some. I take a minute to look around at the houses and the empty lot. In one way it really doesn't seem that long ago that I was camping in the back yard, playing dragon fighter with Phillip, catch with my dad, punching Da

But in another way, it feels so very long ago.

I have so many wonderful memories of growing up here, but I also feel a longing to create a whole bunch of new ones with Phillip. I feel like I'm standing in the doorway of my life, trying to decide if I should go in or not.

God, when did I become so philosophical?

I sound like an old sap. Next thing you know, I will be crying and getting out the old videos.

What in the world has Phillip done to me?

Phillip's mom comes to the door. She's holding a dishtowel and wiping her hands on it. “Hi, JJ! Come on in. I was just finishing up.”

I follow her into the house and sit on a barstool in the kitchen. The kitchen island is filled with all sorts of tailgating equipment and massive amounts of food.

“I was just trying to get everything packed before Doug gets home. We decided to drive down to Lincoln and spend the night. The game is early tomorrow, and we won't have to worry about traffic that way. The Diamonds should have the RV here any minute.”

Our parents always went to a lot of Nebraska games together. When Da

“JJ,” Phillip's mom says, “I hope it's alright with you, I made double batches of everything I cooked for tailgating. I thought you could use it for the party tomorrow. Save you two a lot of work.”

“Really?” I'm surprised and thrilled about this. She makes great stuff. Plus, I think naughtily, less time working, leaves more time for play!

“That's so awesome because you know I think everything you make is wonderful. Thank you so much for doing that.” I hop up, give her a sincere hug and sit back down. “Oh,” I say, practically drooling on the counter, “did you make any of those yummy little sausage puffs?” I love those tasty little things. “And what about that fiesta dip?”

“I made both of them, dear. I know they're your favorites.” She smiles at me, like she is about to tell me a big secret, and I realize for the first time that Phillip has her exact smile. “I even went a little crazy and bought some of those red tortilla chips. I hope they taste the same as the regular kind.”