Pulled Under

Without missing a beat, Nicole and Sophie both point at me. I’m not really in charge, but they love putting me on the spot, and since it would be pointless to explain that they’re insane, I just go with it.

“How can I help you?”

As he walks to the register I do a quick glance-over. The fact that he’s our age and I’ve never seen him before makes me think he’s from out of town. So does the way he’s dressed. His tucked-in shirt, coach’s shorts, and white socks pulled all the way up complete a look that is totally lacking in beach vibe. (It will also generate a truly brutal farmer’s tan once the rain stops.) But he’s wearing a polo with a Pearl Beach Parks and Recreation logo on it, which suggests he’s local.

I’m trying to reconcile this, and maybe I’m also trying to figure out exactly how tall he is, when I notice that he’s looking at me with an expectant expression. It takes me a moment to realize that my glance-over might have slightly crossed the border into a stare-at, during which I was so distracted that I apparently missed the part when he asked me a question. This would be an appropriate time to add that despite the dorkiness factor in the above description, there’s more than a little bit of dreamy about him.

“Well . . . ?” he asks expectantly.

I smile at him. He smiles at me. The air is ripe with awkwardness. This is when a girl hopes her BFFs might jump to her rescue and keep her from completely embarrassing herself. Unfortunately, one of mine just came back from college looking to tease her little high school friends, and the other thinks I was too tough on her during the sentencing phase of our just completed mock trial. I quickly realize that I am on my own.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“Which part?” he asks, with a crooked smile that is also alarmingly distracting.

When it becomes apparent that I don’t have an answer, Sophie finally chimes in. “I think you should just call it a do-over and repeat the whole thing.”

She stifles a laugh at my expense, but I ignore her so that I can focus on actually hearing him this go-round. I’m counting on the second time being the charm.

“Sure,” he says. “I’m Ben with Parks and Recreation, and I’m going to businesses all over town to see if they’ll put up this poster highlighting some of the events we have pla

He unzips his backpack and pulls out a poster that has a picture of the boardwalk above a calendar of events. “We’ve got a parade, fireworks for the Fourth of July, all kinds of cool stuff, and we want to get the word out.”

This is the part when a noncrazy person would just take the poster, smile, and be done with it. But, apparently, I’m not a noncrazy person. So I look at him (again), wonder exactly how tall he is (again), and try to figure out who he is (again).

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Ben,” he says slowly, and more than a little confused. “I’ve said that like three times now.”

“No, I don’t mean ‘What’s your name?’ I mean ‘Who are you?’ Pearl Beach is not that big and I’ve lived here my whole life. How is it possible that you work at Parks and Rec and we’ve never met before?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he says. “Today’s my first day on the job. I’m visiting for the summer and staying with my uncle. I live in Madison, Wisconsin.”

“Well,” I hear Sophie whisper to Nicole, “that explains the socks.”

Finally, I snap back to normalcy and smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Ben from Wisconsin. My name’s Izzy. Welcome to Pearl Beach.”

Over the next few minutes, Ben and I make small talk while we hang the poster in the front window. I know hanging a poster might not seem like a two-person job, but this way one of us (Ben) can tape the poster up while the other (me) makes sure it’s straight.

Unfortunately when I go outside to look in the window to check the poster, I see my own reflection and I’m mortified. The rain has caused my hair to frizz in directions I did not think were possible, and I have what appears to be a heart-shaped guacamole stain on my shirt. (Beware the dangers of eating takeout from Mama Tacos in a cramped storeroom.) I try to nonchalantly cover the stain, but when I do it just seems like I’m saying the Pledge of Allegiance.

“How’s that look?” he asks when I go back in.

I’m still thinking about my shirt, so I start to say “awful,” but then realize he’s talking about the poster he just hung, so I try to turn it into “awesome.” It comes out somewhere in the middle, as “Awfslome.”

“What?”

“Awesome,” I say. “The poster looks awesome.”

“Perfect. By the way, I’m about to get some lunch and I was wondering . . .”

Some psychotic part of me actually thinks he’s just going to ask me out to lunch. Like that’s something that happens. To me. It isn’t.

“. . . where’d you get the Mexican food?”

“The what?”

That’s when he points at the stain on my shirt. “The guacamole got me thinking that Mexican would be muy bueno for lunch.”

For a moment I consider balling up in the fetal position, but I manage to respond. “Mama Tacos, two blocks down the beach.”

“Gracias!” he says with a wink. He slings the backpack over his shoulder, waves good-bye to the girls, and disappears back into the rain. Meanwhile, I take the long, sad walk back toward the register wondering how much Nicole and Sophie overheard.

“I noticed that stain earlier and meant to point it out,” Nicole says.

“Thanks,” I respond. “That might have been helpful.”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” Sophie says. “But I think Ben is ‘awfslome’!”

So apparently they heard every word.

“And I think it’s awfslome that our little Izzy is head over heels for him,” she continues.

“I’m sorry,” I respond. “What are you talking about?”

“What we’re talking about,” says Nicole, “is you full-on crushing for Ben from Wisconsin.”

“Is Wisconsin the dairy one?” Sophie asks.

“Yes,” says Nicole.

“Then I think we should call him Milky Ben,” Sophie suggests.

“We are not calling him Milky Ben!” I exclaim.

“Cheesy Ben?” she asks.

“We’re not calling him anything Ben.”

“See what I mean?” Nicole says. “She’s already so protective.”

“You’re certifiable. All I did was hang a poster with him. That qualifies as head over heels crushing?”

“Well, that’s not all you did,” she corrects. “In addition to the guacamole and the ‘awfslome,’ there was the part when you were so dazzled by his appearance that you couldn’t hear him talking to you. That was kind of horrifying, actually.”

“I know, right?” says Sophie. “Like a slasher movie. Except instead of a chain saw, the slasher has really bright socks that blind you into submission.”

“You guys are hilarious,” I say, hoping to switch the topic of conversation.

“Are you denying it?” Nicole asks, incredulous.

“It’s not even worthy of denial,” I reply. “It’s make-believe.”

“Um . . . I’m going to have to challenge that,” she says. “I think I’m going to have to go to the register.”

“You can’t go to the register,” I say. “Besides, I’m on register.”

“Really?” says Sophie. “’Cause it looks like I am.”

It’s only then that I notice that Sophie slipped behind the counter while I was helping Ben.

“Wait a minute,” I protest. “This is a total conspiracy. I’m being set up.”

Sophie doesn’t even give me a chance to defend myself. She just goes straight to the verdict. “Izzy Lucas, you have been found guilty of crush at first sight.”

“You should make her talk to him like she’s making me talk to Cody,” Nicole suggests, looking for some instant payback. “Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“No,” I reply. “But I know two girls who might qualify.”

“Really?” says Sophie. “You’re going to call me names right before sentencing?”

“Oh,” I say, realizing my mistake. “I didn’t mean you two girls.”