Once Upon a Kiss Read online

  “The Galleria.”

  He looked blank.

  “The big mall over in the Valley?”

  “You worked in the Valley?”

  “I did. And so did you.”

  “Are you sure it’s still around?”

  “I have no idea. But I can at least tell you how to get there.”

  “I just realized we haven’t said a word since we got in the car,” he said a few minutes later as we crawled up Coldwater Canyon. “We should be talking, right?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes we go hours without talking.”

  He looked at me. “We do?”

  I nodded. Jonah was the only person with whom I could sit quietly without saying a word and not feel the urge to have to blab on and on just to fill the silence.

  “Huh. Interesting.” He was quiet for a second. “So . . . what kind of music do you like? Wait—we already covered this subject. What about TV shows? We haven’t talked about that—”

  The kind of blabbing that he was doing right then. “Jonah,” I said cutting him off. “It’s okay to not talk.”

  He sighed. “Got it.” We rode in silence for about a minute before he reached for the radio. “Let’s listen to the radio.” He punched some buttons until “I Melt with You” came on.

  We looked at each other, freaked-out.

  What were the chances of that happening two times in a row?

  But then again, by now, nothing should have surprised me.

  And then—in stereo—we began to sing together at the top of our lungs.

  “I’m telling you, this place was way different back in the day,” I said as we walked through the almost-empty mall. “Back then, it was mobbed.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said disbelievingly as we moved out of the way for a pack of elderly speed-walkers.

  “It was. This was the place. They used it not only in the movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High, but also for Valley Girl.”

  He looked blank.

  “You bought me the soundtrack for my fifteenth birthday.”

  “I did?”

  I nodded. “On cassette tape.” As we got on the up escalator, I pointed. “Right over there is Express. That’s my second favorite store after Terri’s place,” I explained. Except that once we got off the escalator it was no longer there. “Color Me Mine. What’s that?” I asked, reading the sign.

  “It’s this place where you paint pottery,” Jonah explained. “My mom loves it.”

  “I can’t believe Express has been replaced by a mom place,” I moaned. My stomach began to rumble. “Okay, time to show you where I worked.” I wondered if Wally still worked there and had made his way up to manager yet. And how I was going to ask him for my job back. As we turned the corner I stopped short. “Hot Dog on a Stick is now a cupcake store?”

  “What’s a Hot Dog on a Stick?”

  “The place where I worked.”

  He laughed. “You worked at a hot dog place. That’s genius.”

  “I was very good at my job,” I replied. “At least until the last day.”

  Jonah did that thing he did whenever he was thinking hard, which was where he scrunched up his face and squinted. The one time I snapped a picture of it with the Polaroid camera that I had gotten for my fifteenth birthday he had torn it up because he thought he looked like a crazy person, but I loved it. “Wait a minute—there’s a Vegan Dog at the Dell. And since that’s like the Galleria of today, maybe we should try there?”

  I smiled. “See? I knew I couldn’t do this without you.”

  Maybe it was the crash after the sugar rush of the cupcakes and the Charleston Chew and the Laffy Taffy and the Mounds and the Kit Kat that I bought in the candy-by-the-pound store that we passed on our way back to the parking garage (the only decent store in the mall now, in my opinion). Or the way a person can’t help but be lulled into relaxation by the chorus in Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me,” which was playing on Sirius’s Totally ’80s station. Whatever it was, during the drive back over the hill to the Dell, I felt like Jonah and I were finally me and Jonah again. Not only did I feel comfortable singing in front of him to Falco’s “Rock Me Amadeus” (seeing that I was somewhat challenged when it came to my vocal talent, I tended to be a mouther), but soon enough we were finishing each other’s sentences.

  And yet as comfortable as it all was, something was off. And not just because the roads were filled with something called Toyota Priuses, which were supposed to burn less gas, and giant SUVs, which made up for the gas that the Priuses saved. It was more like, for the first time, the fact that we were so comfortable made me uncomfortable. As in this was the kind of comfortable you wanted to be not just with your best friend, but with a boyfriend, too.

  “You’re really easy to talk to,” Jonah said, surprised, as we came over Coldwater Canyon.

  “So are you,” I said. But I couldn’t date Jonah. He was Jonah.

  We were quiet for a bit. “So you’re really not interested in Montana, huh?” I asked, breaking the silence. What was I doing bringing this up again?! He had already said he didn’t want to discuss it. In an attempt to keep quiet, I rummaged in my bag for some Dentyne Fire and shoved four pieces in my mouth. (One of the things I was most disappointed to discover over the past few days was that Bubble Yum, Bubbalicious, and Hubba Bubba seemed impossible to find.) The gum worked . . . for all of a minute. “Seriously,” I said, my mouth on fire, “she’s great, you’re great—if you got together, you’d be great to the second degree.” Seeing that I hated math so much, I wasn’t even sure that was correct. But it sounded good.

  “She is great,” he said, “but . . . I don’t know. I just . . .” As we stopped at a red light he turned to me. “This is going to sound really stupid. But I guess if anyone would be crazy enough to believe something really stupid, it would be you.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  That was the thing. I did know what he meant. I always knew what he meant. And while in the past I had always taken that for granted, now the idea of that left me feeling . . . sad . . . somehow. Because the ability to get someone and be gotten by them—that didn’t happen very often. In fact, I had a sense it happened, like, a few times in your life, if you were lucky. “So what is it?”

  He stared straight ahead. “It’s just . . . I feel like there’s someone out there,” he said quietly. “And when I meet her, it’ll be like I’ve known her forever.”

  “I feel the same way,” I whispered. I felt my face get hot.

  I began to feel that if I didn’t stop talking about this, I was going to do the scarf and barf thing. “So. Changing the subject. Can you please tell me what the deal is with those Kardashian chicks? I mean, why exactly are they famous?”

  From the way the color came back into his cheeks and he stopped gripping the steering wheel, I could tell he was glad for the change of subject as well. For the rest of the drive, he filled me in about this thing called reality TV and the fact that really stupid, untalented people were paid lots of money to let cameras record their every move, which resulted in them becoming famous and doing ads for energy drinks.

  Jonah was still going on about it as we walked into the Dell, shouting over the sound of the fountain and the ballad by Beyoncé, according to the electronic Now Playing that was flashing next to it.

  There had been a bunch of people there the other day, but today it was packed. Like Galleria-level packed back when the Galleria was the Galleria. “So where’s the food court?” I yelled over the music. “I’m starving.”

  “This way,” he said as he led me through the crowd. “But I’m telling you—I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  “Hey, I’ve never met a food court I haven’t liked.” As another group of elderly speed-walkers came barreling toward us (much better dressed), Jonah grabbed my hand
and pulled me aside before I was mowed over. The minute his fingers touched mine I felt a shock go up my arm. He seemed to feel it as well, because he let go as fast as he did the day that his hand landed on the stove we forgot to turn off after melting chocolate to put on our popcorn before we watched the very special episode of Family Ties where Tom Hanks plays Alex P. Keaton’s drunk uncle.

  “Thanks,” I said to the fountain.

  “You’re welcome,” he said to the cart that sold sparkly iPhone covers.

  We kept walking, weaving our way through the double strollers (according to Jonah, the reason for so many twins was because lots of women nowadays had to go on drugs to get pregnant that apparently worked better than expected), while that Katy Perry chick warbled about being someone’s teenage dream (from the response of the crowd, she was a big hit with the tween crowd). When we finally got to the food court, I cringed. “Okay, maybe I need to amend my statement about the food court thing,” I announced. Out of the seven different stands, there was not one unhealthy choice among them. Nothing deep-fried. Nothing smothered in sauce. Nothing with signs that said jumbo-sized or loaded or all you can eat. Instead it was stuff like green juice, and brown rice, and tofu, and signs that said MACROBIOTIC and GLUTEN-FREE and DR. OZ-APPROVED.

  “This is the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen,” I announced.

  “Tell me about it,” Jonah replied.

  And then I saw it. In the corner.

  “Vegan Dogs,” Jonah and I said at the same time.

  There wasn’t as big a crowd as there was at the sugar-free, gluten-free frozen soy yogurt place. In fact, there wasn’t a crowd at all. There was just one guy, Wally’s height, Wally’s scrawniness, with a similar pattern of pimples, standing behind the counter. “Look at the hat!” I gasped.

  “Whoa. That’s weird,” Jonah replied. “It’s almost exactly like the one in the picture.”

  While Hot Dog on a Stick wasn’t at the Galleria, I had been able to Google a photo of the uniforms so Jonah could see just how ridiculous they were. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The guy was wearing a hat almost identical to the Hot Dog on a Stick one, except this one had a hot dog (well, a vegan dog) perched on top of it.

  As I marched over to the stand, the guy drew himself up to his full height, which, at about five-three, was still three inches shorter than me. “Welcome to Vegan Dog. Can I interest you in a delicious organic, hormone-free, no-cruelty vegan dog today?” he asked. “Perhaps with a side of air-baked sweet potato fries?”

  “Actually, I’d like a job, please,” I replied.

  The guy behind the counter—whose name, I now saw on the tag that was in the shape of a smiling vegan dog, was Larry (I knew I’d be pushing it if I said that both names having an A followed by double consonants was evidence that he was the modern-day version of Wally, but it was strange)—looked confused. “You want to work here?” he asked.

  I nodded and flashed what I hoped was an excellent-customer-service-level smile. “Very much so. In fact, it’s been a dream of mine ever since it opened.” I turned to Jonah. “Hasn’t it been?”

  He nodded. “It has. It’s pretty much all she talks about.”

  Larry stood up even taller. “Yeah, well, I can understand that,” he said. “It was mine, too, and even though it took a while for me to convince Corporate that the fact that I failed the spatial reasoning test was just a fluke and had nothing to do with my ADHD, which, for some reason, tested off the charts that day, I achieved it,” he said proudly. “The twenty-one dollars and ninety-five cents I spent on that prayer request from that website in Bali I found may have helped as well.” He stood up even taller, which, when I glanced over the counter, was due to the fact that he was on his tiptoes. “What kind of experience do you have?” he demanded.

  “Oh, I have lots of experience.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like—” I looked at Jonah for help.

  “She’s president of the junior class.”

  “Really,” Larry said as he stroked his chin. “Well, that could come in handy. Leadership ability can be helpful when dealing with customers who are having trouble deciding which of our organic, sulfite-free, fruit-based relishes to enjoy with our delicious organic, hormone-free, no-cruelty vegan dogs,” he said. “Not to mention you’re not too hard on the eyes. Heh-heh.” He turned to Jonah. “Sorry, dude. Not cool of me to say about your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Jonah said over my “I’m not his girlfriend.”

  “Do you have a résumé?” Larry asked.

  “A résumé to get a job at a hot dog stand?” I asked.

  “Okay—first of all, according to the e-book I just read about how to succeed in business, the number two commandment after making sure you brush your teeth before a job interview is that you should have your résumé on you at all times,” he said. “And second of all, these are not hot dogs. They’re not even vegan dogs. They’re—”

  “Delicious, organic, hormone-free, no-cruelty vegan dogs?” I suggested. “Which taste even better when topped with one of our organic, sulfite-free, fruit-based relishes?”

  “Very good,” he said, impressed. “When can you start?”

  I hopped over the counter. “Right now.”

  Of all the things that had been phased out since 1986, you’d think that polyester would be at the top of the list, but not in Vegan Dog’s case.

  “Wouldn’t organic cotton be a more appropriate way to go?” I asked Larry as I scratched at my neck, which, only five minutes into wearing my uniform, was already turning red.

  “Feel free to put something in the suggestion box about that,” Larry said, motioning to a metal box that had both a padlock and a combination lock on it. “Might win you some points with Corporate, the fact that you’re thinking in such a PC way. But just so you know, they’re never going to lose the polyester.”

  “How come?” I asked as I tried to balance my hat on my head. The weight of the smiling vegan dog made it that much more difficult.

  “Because the owner of Vegan Dog, Shalom—his real name was Asher, but he had a religious experience at a Lil Boosie concert and changed it—his grandfather used to own this place back in the eighties called Hot Dog on a Stick, where I guess the uniforms were made of polyester. So I guess it’s kind of in his honor.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up again. I couldn’t wait to tell Jonah when he got back from the Apple store about this new twist. “You know, I’d love you to go over the different relishes with me again before we get a customer,” I said.

  Larry smiled proudly. “I knew that twenty-four ninety-five I spent on that download on iTunes about how to trust your gut in business would pay off. I could tell from the minute you walked up that you were the kind of person who’s very conscientious.” He looked around to make sure no one was listening—which they were not, seeing that they were all in line for frozen yogurt from Red Mango. “I don’t want to get your hopes up or anything, but if you continue showing this kind of commitment, you have a good shot of becoming assistant manager when they promote me to manager. You’re already much better than Waheel, my other employee. He spends his entire time working on his Twitter novel.”

  “Wow. That would be just great,” I replied.

  I was waiting for Larry to finish writing up the cheat sheet of the menu (as the only item on the menu was the Vegan Dog and the sweet potato fries, I didn’t need one, but I kept quiet, since it was a good way to waste time), when I looked up and happened to see Brad and Andrea loaded down with shopping bags, laughing and looking very much like a couple.

  Déjà vu all over again.

  “Brad! Andrea!”

  As they looked over and saw me, they immediately moved about three feet apart. But the guilty looks on their faces were quickly replaced by horror, as if I were standing there in my bra an
d underwear rather than a polyester uniform and a majorette hat with a smiling Vegan Dog on top of it. It was 1986 once more, except this time Andrea wasn’t snarling at me.

  They came closer slowly, kind of like the way you’re supposed to approach a feral cat. “Hi, you guys! It looks like you’re having so much fun together,” I said with a smile. At that, they went back to looking guilty. I motioned to their shopping bags. “Looks like you did some serious damage, huh?”

  “Why is there a hot dog on your head?” Brad asked, confused.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Larry waiting to see how I answered. “It’s not a hot dog,” I corrected, “it’s a delicious, organic, hormone-free, no-cruelty vegan dog.”

  He nodded approvingly.

  Andrea leaned in to get a better look at me. “Is that . . . polyester?

  I could tell from the way Larry was trying to make himself taller, he was thirty seconds away from telling me that socializing with friends while on the clock was not acceptable. “May I interest you in one? They’re extra delicious when topped with one of our organic, sulfite-free, fruit-based relishes?”

  “Tell them about the two-for-one special,” Larry hissed.

  “It seems to be your lucky day,” I said. “Because this week only we’re having a two-for-one special!”

  Brad turned to Andrea. “Do you think that, like, she’s got some sort of brain tumor?” he asked in a loud whisper. “’Cause I saw a movie once where this girl started acting really weird and it was because of that.”

  “Tell them about the air-baked sweet potato fries!” Larry whispered.

  “Our air-baked sweet potato fries are a wonderful complement to our Vegan Dogs,” I said mechanically. “And studies have shown that together, they actually help to facilitate weight loss.” That one I didn’t believe, and had been thinking of asking Larry if it was possible to see these so-called studies, but I didn’t want to get fired for nothing. I wanted to get fired for getting into a fight with a customer.

  Andrea and Brad looked at each other. “I think I’m going to pass,” Andrea said.