Andrew Smith - Winger

JOEY COSENTINO: Goddamnit, Ryan Dean. I am going to stop sticking up for you if you don’t grow the fuck up. You are finally getting to go somewhere with the girl of your dreams, and you can’t stop thinking about every other female on the planet.

RYAN DEAN WEST 1: I’m sorry, Joey. Hey, how could you be on this plane?

JOEY COSENTINO: I’m not. I’m the part of your subconscious that actually (a) knows the right thing to do and (b) is not perverted.

RYAN DEAN WEST 2: You mean there is a part of my brain that doesn’t think about sex? You’re making that up!

RYAN DEAN WEST 1: Go away, Joe. The stewardess is about to come around to check if my seat belt is snug enough.

I actually managed to get dressed, shirt tucked, necktie knotted, one sock still inside out but at least in my shoes, before the plane was on the runway, and all this despite the fact that I was wedged into a middle seat between Annie and a drunk-bald-fat guy who fell asleep, sitting on my seat belt buckle, with his head on my shoulder.

We were still holding hands when the plane began its descent into Seattle. Me and Annie . . . not me and the drunk guy.

“This is going to be so great,” Annie said.

“What’s the best thing you’ve ever done in your life?” I asked.

“I don’t know. What about you?”

“Top three,” I said—my shoulder leaned against hers, and it felt so good—“were those last two times you and I were alone at Stonehenge, and being here right now, holding your hand.”

I looked right at her.

“You’re trying to see if you can make me do it, aren’t you, West?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

“Sure.” Then she said, “It is not going to happen.”

“Stay strong, Annie.”

“You too, Ryan Dean.”

Crap.

She was playing the same game.

ANNIE’S MOTHER AND FATHER WERE waiting for us when we came through the arrival gate. I had never even seen a photograph of them, but they both looked so Annie-like that I would have known them anyway. They were doctors, and they looked so young and healthy. When they saw us, their eyes smiled the same way that Annie’s did.

Annie’s father kissed her, then he held his hand out to me.

“You must be Ryan Dean,” he said. “Annie thinks the world of you.”

I looked at her; and she actually blushed. I couldn’t believe it—Annie Altman turning red; and I wondered if she had that same inner-voice thing where she was currently calling herself a loser, even if I did think it looked totally hot when it happened to her. Blushing, I mean.

“Thank you,” I said, and then I thought, What a stupid thing to say, so I added, “Doctor Altman.” Which sounded even stupider.

Then Annie’s mom hugged me, which kind of flustered me for two reasons: first, because she was a doctor, it made me immediately think she was going to ask me to take my pants off; and, second, I have to admit it, being Annie’s mom, she was really hot.

And she said, “ ‘Doctor Altman’ won’t work in our house. We won’t know who you’re talking to. But you are so polite, Ryan Dean.”

Now I was blushing. Loser.

“You should just call me Rachel, and the other Doctor Altman is Keith.”

I hated calling grown-ups by their first names. It seemed so flower-child-nineteen-seventies to me. So I decided I’d try to not use their names at all, or if I had to, I’d call them “Doc Dad” and “Doc Mom.”

Annie’s father had to drive us to the docks in Seattle to catch the ferry; it was a thirty-five-minute ride to their home on Bainbridge Island. I had never been to Seattle before, and I thought it was one of the most intense-looking cities I’d ever seen, built right up against the tree-lined coast, in the shadow of a giant volcano.

On the way to the docks, we talked about school and sports. Doc Dad was one of the only adults in America I’d ever met who had actually played rugby when he was in college, so we hit it off right away, even though he had been a loose forward. Loose forwards are usually not the most evolved primates on the planet. Still, I knew I was going to fit in just fine with Annie’s family.

Hand-holding in the backseat with Annie was definitely off, though. It took only one look from her to quietly get that message to me. And I could feel her getting a little embarrassed again too when her father and mother began talking about her.

“This is what Annie’s told us about you, Ryan Dean,” her mother said. “Tell us if we’re right. She says you are the smartest boy in the school, you’re a great athlete, and you made the varsity rugby team when you were in tenth grade. And she told us you are the best-looking boy at school too.”

Annie coughed.

My ears turned red.

“You’re Annie’s first real boyfriend,” her father said.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Annie said. “Ryan Dean and I are just really good friends. That’s all.”

I guess that whole “boyfriend” label did kind of make it sound like salmon spawning, as Seanie might have noticed.

“Tell us about where you live, Ryan Dean,” Doc Mom said, turning sideways to look at me.

“O-Hall,” I said, and then I thought, why am I such a fucking idiot? I wasn’t even listening to her; I was too caught up in thinking about being Annie’s “boyfriend.”

Annie coughed again, no doubt choking on the thought of bringing a delinquent to Bainbridge Island for the weekend.

“I mean . . . I live in Weston,” I corrected. “I don’t get home much.”

“That’s a shame,” Doc Mom said. “Well, you are welcome to visit us anytime you’d like.”

I looked at Annie and smiled, and she mouthed “pervert” to me.

We were paused in a line of cars making their way onto the ferry.

“Well, what brought you two together?” Doc Dad asked me.

“Annie was the first person I met at Pine Mountain,” I said. “I was really lost and out of place when I started.” I slid my hand over so I touched Annie’s fingers, and she pulled her hand away. “But Annie came right up and introduced herself and helped show me around. She’s been my best friend ever since that day, and I’d do anything for her.”

“You are such a sweet boy!” Doc Mom chirped. “Have you ever been to Seattle before, Ryan Dean?”

“No, ma’am,” I said, laying it on as thick as possible, momentarily fantasizing about that dreamed-of couch in Annie’s bedroom. “But it really is beautiful here.”

“Wait till you see the house,” she said. “We are right on the waterfront, and we look across the sound to the Seattle skyline and Mount Rainier. It’s a perfect spot.”

Yeah, I thought, how could it not be? As long as it’s got Annie in it—and you keep her gay dog off my leg—you could live in a fucking plywood lean-to.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Annie said. “Did you bring any swim trunks? We have an indoor pool and Jacuzzi.”

“Wow,” I said. “No. I didn’t.”

I looked down, then shrugged and looked over at Annie and whispered, “I’ll go without.”

Annie rolled her eyes.

“We can pick some up for you on the island, Ryan Dean,” Doc Mom said.

Score.

Even if it rained all weekend, I’d still get to be Annie Altman’s pool boy.

OKAY.

I realized why my dad refuses to shop for anything, even golf clubs and fishing gear, with my mom.

For most women, I think shopping becomes something like a model of the expanding universe, only rather than relating to the Big Bang, Ryan Dean West’s Law of Shopping deals with the expansion of time, and “adorable stuff” to look at. Kind of like a supernova rather than a black hole—the opposite of having your balls stepped on, as similar as the experiences may actually be.