We Wear The Mask (PASH)-Chap. 6
by Chrissyn
 

We Wear The Mask--Part 6
 
 

Whitney pulled the baby blue Ford escort--a seventeenth birthday present from her parents--onto the parking lot of Friendly's.

She silenced the engine, grabbed her purse off the pasenger's seat, and entered the eatery, hearing the clink of glasses and silverware and whispered chitchat.
"Thanks," Whitney said to the girl who ushered her to a booth. It was going on two, and the lunch crowd had thinned.
A few customers were scattered here and there--an old lady with a sandwich in front of her was reading a Harlequin romance.
And a harried mom was dividing her attention between a chatty four year old sitting across from her, eating a burger while swinging his spindle-legs, and a grasping baby in a high chair.
Food servers were wiping down tables, filling salt and pepper shakers, ketchup and mustard holders, napkin dispensers.
Whitney had switched her earlier outfit of a jogging suit for a pair of brown stretch jeans, and an oatmeal colored sweater.
At first, she had donned a fancy skirt, and blouse, but took it off, thinking it was excessive for an afternoon at Friendly's. She didn't want it to appear as if she was trying to impress Chad. Though in reality, that was her objective.
She had renewed her makeup, with the help of Theresa. "Go easy on the eyes," she said to her best friend, who could be too zealous with eye shadow. Whitney preferred a more subtle look.
"Hi," Chad said, pulling Whitney out of her thoughts. She looked up, and saw him smiling down at her.
"Chad," she exclaimed. "You just popped up out of no where."
"Actually, I got here before you did," he said, sidling into the booth across from her. "I had grabbed some booth, and went to the john. When I came back, I saw you sittin' over here, looking all cute...People might think I picked you up," he teased.
Instinctly, she wanted to say in flirty way, I wouldn't mind being picked up by you. But she couldn't let those words come out of her mouth. Not even in jest. She just couldn't be that forward. "Let 'em," she chirped.
Chad's expression was earnest. His eyes, admiring. "You look great, Whit."
The compliment slightly embarrassed her. "Thanks." She giggled and shrugged.
"And I like your hair," he added. "It's da-bomb!"
She had smoothed out her tumble of curls, with a blow dryer, creating a slick, more grown up style. Eve preferred the mass of curls.
They examined the menus, and Whitney settled on a turkey club, and Chad, a burger and a Fishamajig."
"Hearty appetite," Whitney commented, doing her part to keep a pulse in the conversation.
"I'm a growin' boy," he replied.
Their food server, a pretty black girl, coed age, placed their soft drinks in front of them. Whitney saw the girl surreptitiously check out Chad, and she felt a pang of jealousy. She didn't like the look in the girl's eyes when she looked at Chad.
Chad stretched across the table. "I'm with you," he whispered. "So don't sweat it."
He read her mind. And that irritated her. "You don't know what I was thinking," she said defensively. She found his comment presumptuous and bold.
"Your face revealed what was going on in your head," Chad said. "And it's cool for you to get p.o'd because some other girl checked me out...I'm flattered."
"Would you get p.o'd, as you put it, if some guy checked me out?" Whitney wanted to know.
He made a sound akin to sucking his teeth, and created two fists and shadow boxed. "Answer your question."
She smiled warmly. The conversation shifted to movies; tunes they heard on the radio. Music videos. Goals.
"I know your dream is to go to Wimbledom," Chad said.
"Yeah," she said, moving her head to one side.
Frowning, Chad bit off his burger. When he swallowed the food, he said, "You don't sound very hyped."
"I like playing tennis," Whitney said. "It's good exercise. Keeps me in shape. But--"
"And you've got a great shape," Chad flirted.
"Chad," Whitney admonished, smiling sheepishly. "But..." She had trouble saying it. She picked up the pickle spear that came with her sandwich, and put it in her mouth.
"What?" Chad asked.
She sighed. "I'd love to be a novelist," she admitted. "I love to read books. It's just amazing that a person--a writer-- can take words and make people feel a slew of emotions--anger, giddiness... And when I'm reading a book, the characters become friends, and at the end of the story, I get that last day of school feeling--my pals are leaving me...Only with a book, I'll never get to see--" She tapped her fingers together, creating quotation marks--"them again. Unless the book is a series or I reread it. " She laughed. "I bet you think I'm sounding stupid."
"I'm not much of a reader, so I can't relate to what you're saying...But hey, if books rock your world." He shrugged.
"I'd like to write one," she said. "I'd prefer that to playing tennis."
Chad shrugged. "Well, forget the tennis thing, and put a pen between your fingers, girl."
She made a face. "My dad."
Chad poked a French fry in a puddle of ketchup in a little serving dish. "What about Coach Russell?"
"He wants me to pursue tennis...He taught me to play when I was little girl. And every Saturday morning for years, I was on the tennis court at Harmony High, chasing a ball with some other girl who wanted to be the next Monica Seles or Venus Williams. And my dad would be there cheering me on."
"So YOU playing tennis is important to your dad," Chad stated needlessly.
She nodded.
"Whitney, you've got to do what puts a smile on your face. Your pretty face. And if you'd prefer to make up stories to playing tennis, YOU should follow your dream."
"I don't want to let my dad down," Whitney said. "He's bitter because his own tennis career didn't pan out."
Chad made a sincere sympathetic face. "That's too bad. But Coach Russell will just have to deal with it."
After finishing the main course, so to speak, they ordered dessert.
Over Reese peanut butter cup sundaes, they talked about Chad and how he wanted to write music.
"Man," he said, popping some ice cream into his mouth. "I'd be one happy brotha if I turned on the radio, and heard one of my songs."
He seemed so excited talking about his dream, and his joy affected Whitney. Watching him so elated filled her with happiness.
"And yo, Whitney, check this out..."
"I'm all ears."
"At nightclubs, people on the dance floor under the strobe lights, boogeying or slow draggin' to a tune by Chad Harris. Man, I'd be happy."
"I hope it happens, Chad." She paused. "I don't mean to be a party pooper, but...what if it doesn't pan out?"
Chad looked deflated.
And Whitney didn't want to bring him down. "Uh, I'm sure it will happen," she spluttered. "I've heard your music, and you're great...But sometimes becoming the next Venus Williams, or Toni Morrison, or Baby Face doesn't happen."
"You've got a point," Chad agreed.
"So what would you do if the music thing didn't work? It's something to consider."
"I'll survive," Chad said.
"You want to do more than survive."
"Well, it ain't a whole lot I can do with a tenth grade education."
"Oh, you didn't graduate from high school."
"I wasn't into school. My parents were a couple of drunks." He shrugged. "They didn't care what I did."
"You could get a GED."
"It don't matter."
To Whitney, it did matter, but she didn't want to spoil the date.
They finished the ice cream. There was a Barnes and Nobles across the street, and Whitney wanted to pick up some books for herself and Simone.
Simone was miffed with her, and she thought a few books would be somewhat of an olive branch. She asked Chad if he wanted to accompany her to the store.
"Sure," he said.
When the food server handed them the ticket, Whitney grabbed her purse to pay. She had offered to treat him, after all. Chad held up his hand. "I'm an old fashioned kind of guy," he said. "When I'm out with a girl, I like to pick up the tab."
"Better hold on to him, girl," the waitress said, taking the twenty Chad had given her. He told her to keep the change.
Outside under a glorious October sun, with birds twittering, and traffic sounds coming off Crane Boulevard, they headed for Whitney's car.
"The book store's right across the street," Chad said, pointing in that direction. "Let's walk, and we can come back for the car."
She shrugged. "Oh, okay." On the sidewalk, they waited to cross the street, and when the walk sign came on, Chad took Whitney's hand, and they scurried to the book store.