Free Cut Both Ways by Carrie Mesrobian Page B

it’s almost eight o’clock. Brandy’s wearing an army-green tank top and I can see the top part of her bra, which is red. Her face is kind of sunburned from being at the water parks in Wisconsin. I get hard sneaking glances at her.
    When the waitress gives us the bill, Brandy pulls out her wallet thing. Which is like a little pocketbook with a strap around her wrist. She takes out a bunch of cash and puts it on the table.
    â€œHey,” I say. I’m horrified. She’s assumed she’s paying for everything. I’m still sitting on my ass. On my wallet.
    â€œWe can split it,” she shrugs. “Unless you don’t have cash.”
    â€œI have cash,” I say.
    She looks over the bill once more, like she’s doing math in her head. “We always tip twenty percent here,” she says. “My aunt says you have to do that, because it’s out of respect for waiting tables and knowing how hard it is.”
    â€œYou wait tables?”
    â€œNo, but she did,” she says, adding another five to the pile, while I scramble to pull out my wallet. It’s not like the bill is huge or anything, but I feel a step behind. This is the first time I’ve gone out to eat with a girl, but you’d think I’d be on it, working at Time to Eat.
    I do the fastest math of my life, making sure the money pile is equitable, that the tip will be good for our waitress, even if she’s nowhere as good as Sierra. Brandy goes to the bathroom whileI’m in the middle of this, which takes a lot of pressure off, I admit.
    â€œNow what do you want to do?” I ask her, when she comes back from the bathroom. I hold open the door for her and we’re walking out. She’s chewing a toothpick and hands me one; it tastes like mint.
    â€œI don’t know,” she says. “I guess it is Friday night. I never do anything, really. I mean, what can I do? I’m only going to be a sophomore, Will. I can’t even drive. You know that, right?”
    I tell her, who cares.
    â€œSchool starts in a month, though,” she says. “Maybe then you’ll care?”
    But I just go to open her car door for her and pretend she didn’t say it. Because DeKalb will say something to me. Jack will tell me I’m a pedo or something. Though Jack would probably go out with a girl in junior high if he could manage even that.
    We get in the car. I start it. She puts on her seatbelt and opens her little thing of lip stuff and puts it all over her mouth. Then she twists toward me.
    â€œDoes that bother you? Hanging out with a sophomore?”
    â€œDon’t even talk about school right now,” I say. I kiss her and get a mouth full of the lip stuff, which tastes like watermelon. We’ve never done anything in the backseat of the Audi yet, but just now I wish there wasn’t laundry back there.
    But she stops kissing, like she knows what’s in my mind. I have to quick get my face to look not disappointed.
    â€œI have to get some things from Target. Want to come with?”
    White wine, Dr Pepper, veggie burgers, barbecue sauce, Target: these are all things Brandy likes. So I try to like them, too, because I want the Brandy Magic back.
    I don’t go to Target much. One, because it’s kind of the place my mom goes to get everyone stuff. And two, because my dad doesn’t go anywhere except Walmart, because it’s cheaper. Walmart always makes me feel like I’m one step from standing on the corner of the exit ramp and begging for change, though. It feels sad and pathetic. I don’t want to be reminded of the low low prices. I don’t want to see the sad fat people in their scooters or mean parents in the long checkout lines yelling at their kids. I’m not much of a shopper, and I tell Brandy this as we walk inside.
    â€œTarget just makes me feel good,” she says. “Whether I buy something or not. You’ll see.”
    I doubt this, but