How to Ruin Series Part 133

14.

I love listening to Hebrew prayers put to song.

I have no clue what the words mean, but hearing the cantor and congregation sing together makes me want to chant right along with them.

Okay, I admit it. Nathan surprised me. I would have never guessed the guy would go ahead and do a crazy thing like kiss me in the cafeteria and declare us a Valentine's Dance couple. Now all the kids at school are whispering about us behind my back, in front of my back, and all around me. They're waiting with bated breath for another Amy/Nathan spotting.

I'm not gonna let that happen.

So after school I take a cab home instead of waiting for the bus. If Nathan has no problems kissing me in front of half of the student body, what other stunt is he going to pull on the bus ride home?

After I let Mutt do his duty, I walk over to Perk Me Up! The rich smells coming from the cafe immediately make me feel energized and lift my spirits. I don't even need to consume the coffee in order to get the caffeine fix.

Marla hands me an ap.r.o.n and I'm immediately into Perk Me Up! employee mode. I clean off tables, start taking orders, and try to keep a big bright smile on my face. Show teeth when you smile, Marla told me last week. Yeah, I'm trying.

My toothy smile fades when Nathan walks in to the cafe. He has his backpack slung over his shoulder and I didn't notice it before, but he's got splotches of Thousand Island dressing on his white shirt. I don't think those stains are going to come out.

"I'm sorry," he says when he reaches the register. Unfortunately n.o.body else is in line behind him.

Marla stands beside me, watching and listening.

I ignore Nathan's apology and instead say to him, "Welcome to Perk Me Up! Can I take your order, sir?"

"Come on, Barbie. You kissed me yesterday. Why am I the villain for kissing you today?"

"You kissed him?" Marla asks.

I turn to her. "Only because I wanted him to stop hating me."

Marla's eyebrows furrow in fascination.

"You kiss people who hate you?"

"I don't hate her," Nathan chimes in.

"Oh, really?" I say sarcastically, putting my hands on my hips. "Then why do you keep calling me Barbie? And why didn't you kiss me back yesterday when we were in the elevator, but today you have no problem making out with me with the entire school watching?"

"It was to prove a point."

"To prove you're not gay? Listen, you're not cute enough to be gay."

Nathan laughs. "Are you kidding me?

You are the most stereotypical, insensitive, and obnoxious girl I've ever met."

"I take offense to that," I say, then cross my arms in front of my chest.

"Me, too," Marla interjects. "Amy's rough around the edges, but she's as good as gold."

"Oh, you're so sweet, Marla," I say, then hug her.

Nathan points to me. "She thinks I'm a dork because I wear old clothes and have gla.s.ses."

"Well, he thinks I'm a b.i.t.c.h because I say out loud what everyone else is thinking."

"You know what I think?" Marla says, stepping closer to the counter.

Nathan and I say, "What?" in unison.

"I think you two like each other."

I roll my eyes while Nathan does a shiver as if the thought of liking me grosses him out.

"Nope," he says.

" No t at all," I say. "Besides, I have Avi. And he's got Bucky."

"Bicky."

"Whatever."

"Yep," Marla says, then saunters to the supply room like she knows what's going on. "You guys definitely like each other."

Nathan starts to laugh.

"It's not funny," I say. More customers come into the cafe, so it's my chance to say to Nathan, "Please order or step aside so I can wait on someone else."

"I'll have a medium green tea with ice, no sweetener," he says, diverting my attention back to him.

Figures he'd order something so plain.

After I take his money and turn around to make his boring drink, Nathan says so only I can hear, "Don't spit in it."

As if I would. Puh leaze.

I hand his drink to him and focus my attention on the other customers.

The hour goes by fast. Making drinks, cleaning off the tables, and ignoring Nathan typing away in the computer corner is exhausting, though. I sigh in relief when my dad walks through the door to pick me up.

My dad has already changed clothes from work. He's wearing dark jeans and a black long-sleeve tee. I've convinced him to grow his hair out a bit, so he resembles a cuter and cooler dad but he's still got about two months to go before he can get a good style going.

"Hey, Aba," I greet him.

Out of the corner of my eye I swear I see Nathan watching us.

"How was school today?" my dad asks.

I look over at Nathan. Now he's pretending to read the computer screen, but I know he's not reading a d.a.m.n thing. He's wondering if I'll tell my dad what happened in the cafeteria. "Nothing much.

What about you?"

My dad kisses the top of my head. "Just preparing for a presentation in D.C. You ready to go?"

"Yep."

"Great. Where to?"

I grab my dad's elbow and journey into the cold outside air. "Follow me," I say, leading him down State Street.

I lean into my dad to try and soak up some of the warmth of his strong commando arm. "I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday," I say. "I just want you to be happy."

"I'm sorry, too. You didn't make any more dates for me, did you?"

"Here we are," I tell him as we turn down artsy Oak Street with the designer shops and upscale salons. I pull him into the first building we come to, a place called Sheer-Ahz. I purposely leave out the speed-dating thing I signed him up for at the last minute.

"You're getting a haircut?" he asks when he realizes Sheer-Ahz is a salon.

"Nope."

He halts his steps abruptly. "Then why the salon?"

I look up at him and smile widely as if he was a customer at Perk Me Up! "We're getting manicures."

"You mean you're getting a manicure."

"Nope. You heard me right the first time, Aba."

"Men don't get manicures."

"Come, on. Haven't you heard of metros.e.xual men?"

My dad shakes his head. "No. And I'm sure I don't want to be one."

"Didn't you say I could pick what we do tonight?"

"Yes, but-"

I turn to my dad, one of the few people who takes my c.r.a.p and loves me despite it.

Maybe even more because of it. My dad pretends he's not afraid of anything, but I've just uncovered his weakness ...

getting his nails trimmed and shaped. Give me a break. "This is what I want to do. My nails are all dry and cracked. Think of it as daddy/daughter bonding time."

"Can't we bond by playing indoor soccer or something like that?" he says.

"I don't do soccer. I do manicures." I pull all six feet of him up to the front desk.

"We have appointments for

two.

manicures," I inform the lady. "For Amy and Ron Barak."

She doesn't flinch as she punches our names in the computer, writes something on two tickets, and hands them to us. "Feel free to have refreshments in the meditation room while you're waiting."

My dad turns to me and says, "Did she just say meditation room?" in his deep, manly voice. I swear he's making it sound deeper than usual.

Once inside the white silk-draped room with scented candles and soft music, he looks nervous. I don't think a retired Israeli commando has ever been in a place like this. He'd probably look more at home in the desert. Or in a war zone.

There are no other guys in the room, just a lady in a terry cloth robe. I bet she's got nothing on underneath. She's reading one of the complimentary magazines and doesn't pay any attention to us.

"Sit down," I tell my dad while I sink into the plushy, soft, cream-colored chair and breathe to the rhythm of the slow music.

"I'd rather stand," he says tersely.

My eyes close as my mind drifts. "Suit yourself."

After a few minutes, two women dressed in long, white coats call out, "Ron and Amy Barak."

"That's us," he says, then clasps his hands together and rubs them back and forth. The sound is making me cringe and everyone is staring at him. Real smooth, Dad.

When we're sitting down next to each other, the nail technician takes my dad's hand and places it in a small container of soapy water.

"I don't want a color," he tells the woman right away.

I want to groan. Does he honestly think they're going to make his nails a brilliant red or fuchsia pink? "Aba, guys get clear.

Or just a buff." Duh.

"Oh. Okay ... I think."

Seriously, take a guy out of his element and he gets all confused and insecure. My own nail technician, Sue, is expertly ma.s.saging my wrists, palms, and hands as they turn to Jell-O under her skilled touch.

"My daughter made me come here," my dad tells the women, but he says it loud enough so everyone in the small salon can hear him. Go, manly man! Yes, tell all women you a strong warrior man. Spare me.

"Aba, you've got calluses and your skin is all dry and cracked. I swear you look like a dinosaur. Right, Sue? Just look at his paws."