Raspberry Swirl

Dear Diary God- what am I, twelve?

Dear Diary, I’m a twenty-four year old woman writing in a Lisa Frank journal someone left in the gossip magazines at checkout I bought at the last minute because I just needed to get these spinning thoughts down or else… I’ll go crazy.

It was sunny all week, but today, Friday, it decided to rain. Rain Rain Rain. It’s coming down on all the windows of my car as I’m writing this on my steering wheel.

It rained during lunch. It rained when I walked into work. The rain made everyone stay inside, canceling all outdoor activities. Which, I didn’t really mind. The sky watered the garden for me, I didn’t need to leave the Art Corner and host Gardening Club.

I wasn’t distracted by watching the others in the sports field, nothing but mud on the diamond and pools on the plastic green turf.

I wasn’t distracted by watching her.

Her faded pink hair pushed back by the same plastic comb headband. Monday was blue, Wednesday, too. Today it was black. Even without going out to the fields she had her hair pushed back, showing off all the freckles the summer sun kissed upon her brow and nose.

Wait. Let me go back a bit.

Her.

Her name is Robin.

She’s here from Oregon, moving back to live with her parents, two older brothers, and one younger sister for the summer. With Billy gone (just surfing in Santa Monica, not dead) she was instantly hired by Joyce, desperate for a last minute replacement.

How do I know this? She told me today in the game room. That Rain Rain Rain finally let us talk without Steve or Eddie, Max, the Byers twins, or Lucas interrupting because they were all busy playing on the new DDR Max 2 mats while Robin and I watched from that old couch they’ve had since the eighties. I could’ve sworn there was a spring in my ass but her bandaid covered knee was touching my thigh and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was like watching Ten Things I Hate About You and seeing Heath Ledger’s pretty face for the first time- but this felt real.

This felt real…. But with a girl.

A girl with long bruised legs and pointy elbows that dug into my side. A girl who snorts when she cackles and throws her head onto my shoulder because Steve slipped on the mat after not taking off his socks, letting Dustin win at the last second.

“Good thing you landed on those airbags you carry back there instead of messing up your hair, dingus.” She said.

I’ve never seen Steve turn that shade before.

It was cute, especially since he started wearing those new glasses. He pushed them back up his ski-slope nose and demanded a rematch from the thirteen year old.

Steve is cute. Hell, Eddie is even cute… in his own adorkable way.

That’s not confusing.

What’s confusing is that Robin’s a girl with big teeth that carries jumbo strawberry kiwi lip smackers in her basketball shorts that I could smell right next to her on the couch because she puts too much on at once.

Her hair color is faded beyond the Stefani-Return of Saturn pink she originally box-dyed it in the spring. (By the way, her favorite No Doubt song is Trapped in a Box. She appreciates the classics while knowing all the lyrics to every song on the L.A.M.B album.)

Her hair though, despite needing a desperate touch up, looks so, so soft. It reminds me of the Raspberry Swirl ice cream they sell at the 31 Flavors just right across the street. She even smells like the sun-kissed raspberry shower gel from Bath and Body Works I always smell but never buy.

I was going to ask if she was doing anything this weekend… maybe she’d like to watch that new House of Wax remake with me? Eddie’s been on an AMC strike since Revenge of the Sith last month and Steve’s just going to take up the arm rest and think I’ll jump into his Jean Paul Gaultier cologne doused arms.

As if.

Last summer he tagged along when Eddie and I went to see Van Helsing and he kept asking questions the whole time. Between Le Male and Axe Body Spray, I had a headache, and couldn’t focus on Hugh Jackman, or the Anna and Aleera cat fight (the only part that shut Steve up)

I’d much rather sit next to that nice peach and jasmine perfume Robin puts on after coaching soccer club.

Robin probably has better theater etiquette.

She’s an active listener. She remembered my joke about how Jared Padalecki looked like he was wearing a wig in the trailer (She also said she’s Team Jess. Obviously.)

-but I did. I asked her. She licked that lip smackers coat she just put on and as she was about to answer, she made an ugly repulsed face. My heart nearly fell out of my ass but then I realized it wasn’t my question that made her nose scrunch up-

someone farted on a double step and we all had to retreat for the stuffy air of the gymnasium. Rubber dodgeballs were much more favorable over the smell of burnt rubber.

Eddie blamed it on Mike but we all knew who it really was. Dude needs to lay off the pork rinds.

I swear to god I’m gonna Wolverine key that new airbrush mural on his van that he constantly claims, “no, for the last fuckin’ time, I didn’t paint myself as Aragorn,” next to a big chested Arwen (last time I checked, Viggo Mortensen didn’t have baby cow eyes) because I’m pretty sure, if not almost certain, Robin was going to say…. yes.

But that’s fine, right?

Is it fine that she never got to answer? I just met her.

I just want to get to know her more. Be friends.

Here’s the thing though… every time we talk all I think about is how much I want to be best friends. Really close friends.

maybe even… more?

God, is this a crush? Note passing in the classroom getting gum stuck in my braces- schoolgirlcrush?

No, I just really want to be friends with her. She’s so cool, and it’s like, she doesn’t even need to try hard.

Earlier this week when she skinned her knee in soccer club I wanted to be the one to run with a first aid kit and wipe the blood off her knee instead of Steve.

Like, c’mon, Harrington, the poor girl just got here. Do you really need to claim her before the rest of us can?

I mean, wait…. fuck.

I don’t know what I mean.

I just know that right now I’m meaning a lot and also nothing all at once.

Because it is nothing, right?

Just the excitement of meeting new people. It’s not like I’m a new cast member to the L Word or anything. I feel like I’m Jenny and Robin’s like Dana.

… could Robin be like Dana?

Talking, laughing, loving, breathing, fighting, fucking, crying, drinking.

Oh, completely. Eddie and Steve could even be our Shane and Alice.

Shit.

I just got a text from Nancy saying Jonathan was taking her to see Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Well, more like, she’s making him go with her if we’re being honest here.

So… I guess roommate movie night is just me, these double stuffed Oreos, the 4-pack of orange & lime Bacardi Breezers I just bought from the store, and McG for a Charlie’s Angels double-feature.

I still have that Purple Palm Tree Delight from Nancy’s boyfriend’s California connection. I think I’ll save the drinks for when I have company. (Don’t tell Eddie I’m thinking about cheating on him with a new dealer.)

Maybe I’ll text Steve and ask if he could give me Robin’s number to see if she’d like to join me. That’s not weird, right?

No, even he knows she likes Drew Barrymore movies.

They quoted 50 First Dates all throughout lunch and now for some reason, chocolate peanut butter cups make me feel sick.

. . .

Don’t tell Eddie and Steve, but I think that…

maybe…

I like girls, too.

I just hope that this girl likes girls, too.