Less Than Three

Chapter 15: Happily Ever After, Here We Come!

Monday, June 15 9:02 AM

Term of the Day: Raison D'etre -- Purpose for living

Some mornings you wake up with a sense of your raison d'etre. According to my mom's list, that raison should have been dusting the bookshelves. Of course.

I gave the bookcase a quick swiffering, at least until I found where Mom had hidden my phone (top shelf, beside a book titled WEBSITES FOR IDIOTS and a sticky note reading: Hint! Hint!). I started texting my friends. Craig: check. He'd contact Dave for me. Madison had a tennis lesson but she'd meet us later. Kiersten didn't reply. 

Brady didn't want to skate. Was I interested in going to Jacob's cousin's to check out the new whatsit for the race car instead? I practiced the art of compromise. If Brady would skateboard with me that morning, I'd look at all the car thing-ma-who-sers he wanted in the afternoon.

What did I have to lose? No, that was totally the wrong way to look at it. What did I have to gain?

1. A chance for our whole group to have fun together (minus Jacob -- who I would conveniently forget to call).

2. A chance for Dave and Madison to realize how perfect they were for each other (without any possibility of first date foul-ups).

3. A chance for Brady to see that he had nothing to worry about (between Dave and me).

Happily ever after, here we come.

Or so I thought until Brady showed up ... with Jacob. Neither of them looked too pleased to see Dave Brown skate up behind Craig and me.

It wasn't awkward long though. The guys started doing their kick flips, their backside 180s, their five-0-s. I worked on my pathetic ollies. Everyone smiled. Even with Jacob around, I still had high hopes. So maybe Dave and Madison wouldn't fall in love, there would be other days for that. At least all my guy friends were getting along again.

Until it got hot. Really, freakin' hot. So hot that skating the three pitiful blocks of our downtown to get to the coolness of the coffee shop seemed impossible. We stood and we sweated. We sweated and stood.

"Have you ever been in the thrift store?" Dave asked.

I remembered hanging on my mom's arm there the year I was a mutant/princess/power pal for Halloween. But no, I hadn't been there lately. Neither had the rest of the boys. Nor were they sure they wanted too. In the end, a faded handwritten sign sealed our fates. 'Please close the door behind you,' it said. 'Air-conditioned inside.'

2:08 PM Thrift stores are cool, and not just because of the air-conditioning.

The first thing I noticed was: really, really, really, really, really old people work there. They talk slow. They move slow. I figured they probably thought slow too. Note to Self: Quit judging books by their covers. Even ones that are a little dusty might still have something fun inside.

The second thing I noticed was: the stuff they sell in the thrift store is almost as old as the employees. I was up to my elbows in a pile of ancient t-shirts when a silver-haired lady appeared beside me. She must have moved so slowly that I didn't register her approach. Either that, or the 'HELLO! My name is: GENEVIEVE' model of senior citizen comes equipped with stealth technology. She shook a grass green polyester jacket at me.

"This will fit you," she said.

I spotted Dave across the aisle, with an almost identical silver-haired lady next to him. She was shaking a cream colored suit coat in his direction.