by Piper Banks
He’d called two days earlier to invite me to get together with him and a few of his friends. I truthfully told him that I couldn’t— that was the afternoon that Sadie and I went to Brown’s for high tea—and he’d been nice enough about it, although I could tell he was disappointed. Which was, of course, hugely flattering. And made me seriously consider relocating to London. Less than one week here, and I already had a cute guy calling me. I’d spent almost sixteen years living in Orange Cove, and—other than my one kiss with Dex—I’d gone completely unnoticed by the local male populace.
“What are you up to today? Have you wrangled an invite from the queen yet?” Henry asked.
I laughed. “No. Her Majesty hasn’t returned my calls,” I said.
“In that case, a few of us are getting together to go see the new Bond movie this afternoon. Care to join us?” Henry asked.
I hesitated only for a moment. I was on my own that afternoon. Sadie had an editorial meeting and some last-minute shopping to do. She’d told me not to wait on her for dinner. And it wasn’t like Henry was asking me on a date. It was a group thing.
“Sure, that sounds like fun,” I said.
“Brilliant,” Henry said.
We made plans to meet in front of the movie theater, which was in walking distance of Sadie’s house. I knew where it was—Sadie and I had passed by it a few days earlier on the high street—but Henry gave me very specific directions.
“Don’t worry, I won’t get lost this time,” I said.
“I’m not worried,” he said. “But why don’t you take down my mobile number just in case?”
When I got to the movie theater, Henry was waiting outside for me. He was wearing faded Levi’s and a navy peacoat that made his eyes look even bluer than usual, and his cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink from the cold. Henry grinned when he saw me.
“You made it,” he said.
“I’m not always lost,” I said.
“Good to know. Shall we head in?”
I looked around, surprised. “Aren’t we meeting your friends? Or are they already inside?”
“Actually . . . neither. Joseph said he wasn’t feeling well, and Oliver’s mum made him go to his granny’s for dinner,” Henry said. His voice was casual, but he glanced away as he spoke.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” I said. “I wanted to meet your friends.”
“We can get together another day. You’re here for a bit longer, right?”
“Until January third,” I said.
“So you’ll be around for New Years’,” Henry said.
I nodded.
“Excellent. Then you’ll be able to come to the party at my house,” Henry said. “My parents have one every year.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said. I noticed that there was a line queuing in front of the ticket booth. “We should probably buy our tickets.”
“I already got them. I bought them online,” Henry said.
“Let me pay you back,” I said, pulling my wallet out of my coat pocket.
But Henry waved me off. “Don’t worry about it.”
I hesitated. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “You can get the popcorn,” he said.
We went inside, and I purchased an extra large tub of popcorn and two sodas, and then Henry and I made our way to the theater where our movie was showing. The movie theaters in London worked differently than they did back home; instead of picking which seat you wanted when you went inside, you were assigned a seat when you bought your tickets.
“But what happens if you don’t like your seat? Or if someone really tall sits in front of you?” I asked. “Can you move?”
“Sure. It’s not like the seat assignments are enforced by a police presence,” he said.
“There isn’t a Movie Special Ops?”
“Not that I know of. If they exist, they must be top secret,” Henry said. “One of those government agencies that you need clearance to even know about.”
It wasn’t until we were sitting down and companionably digging into the tub of popcorn that it occurred to me: Henry and I were on a date. At least, I thought we were. After all, he’d asked me to go to the movies with him, and he’d bought my ticket. Maybe his friends really did back out at the last minute. . . . But maybe they were never really planning on coming in the first place.
I wished for the ten zillionth time that I had more experience in guy-related matters. My stepsister, Hannah, might not be able to calculate the square root of the number one, but she’d certainly know whether or not she was in the middle of a date with a cute guy. And right about now, her brand of genius would really come in handy.
After the movie, Henry and I went to Pizza Express for dinner. We each ordered our own pizza—I had the Quattro Formaggi and Henry ordered something called Il Padrino, which turned out to be a pizza covered in chicken, tomatoes, and vegetables. Henry didn’t seem horrified that I ate as much, if not more, than he did, which was another point in his favor. I’m not one of those girls who can eat a few lettuce leaves and pretend I’m stuffed.
“Did you like the movie?” Henry asked as we ate.
“It was great,” I enthused. “I especially liked the chase scene with the helicopter, the high-speed train, and the motorcycle. How about you?”
“Yeah. I thought it was brilliant,” Henry said. “I really want one of those pens that double as a grappling hook.”
“Because you have a pressing need for grappling hooks here in London,” I teased him.
“Hey, you never know when you’re going to have to scale the side of a building.” Henry folded his slice of pizza and took a big bite. He swallowed before speaking again. “Look at James. He got a lot of use out of that thing.”
“Yes. Although, to be fair, he was chasing down an evil oil tycoon’s henchmen after they tried to kill him with a high-tech laser gun,” I said.
“Well, yes, if you’re going to argue semantics,” Henry said. “So, give me your top three bad guys.”
“In real life or fiction?”
“Fiction. It’s less depressing.”
I thought about it for a few minutes. “Well. The White Witch from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe would be on my list,” I said, thinking of Peyton, who bore more than a passing resemblance to that cold-blooded witch. “And the Queen from Snow White. Actually, all of the evil stepmothers. Cinderella had a nasty one, too.”
“I’m sensing a theme,” Henry deadpanned.
I grinned at him, and then inspiration struck. “Number three is Hannibal Lecter from Silence of the Lambs,” I finished triumphantly.
“Not bad, not bad,” Henry said. “I would put Hannibal on my list, too.”
“Who else?”
Henry pondered this. He took his top-three lists very seriously, and wasn’t one to rush in with a slapdash answer.
“The possessed girl from The Exorcist. She was seriously creepy. And Voldemort from the Harry Potter books. Although the book version of Voldemort, not the movie version,” he said.
I shrugged and nodded. That was a given. “I think your list is better. Maybe I should rethink mine. Top three heroes?”
This time Henry didn’t hesitate. “That’s easy: Indiana Jones, Han Solo, and Bond, James Bond,” he said.
“Han Solo? Really? I thought Luke was supposed to be the hero in Star Wars,” I said.
“Luke was a prat,” Henry said firmly. “Although to be honest, the best character in that movie was Boba Fett. Boba Fett was the ultimate in cool.”
“Cooler than James Bond?”
Henry had to think about that. “I don’t know. It would be a close call. On the one hand, Boba has the Wookie-pelt cape and the wrist-mounted flamethrower.”
“I’m not even going to ask how it is you know that,” I said.
Henry ignored me. “But Bond gets all the cool MI gadgets and the hot girls,” he said.
“So you’re torn between a hot girl and a Wookie-pelt cape?” I asked.
Henry
shook his head definitively. “No, you’re right. I’d totally go for the Wookie-pelt cape,” he said.
“What is it with guys and Boba Fett?” I asked. “My friend Finn is a total Boba Fett freak. I even gave him a Boba Fett T-shirt for his birthday.”
“They have Boba Fett T-shirts in America?” Henry exclaimed. When I nodded, he whistled. “It truly is the land of opportunity.” He hesitated, looking down at his pizza for a minute. “So . . . this Finn bloke. Is he your boyfriend?”
“God, no,” I exclaimed, and shuddered at the very idea of being romantically involved with Finn. It’s not that Finn is unattractive—I suppose he has his charms—but he was Finn. We’d been friends for so long that it was impossible—and frankly a bit creepy—to think of him as anything else. Besides, while brilliant and extremely funny, Finn has no moral center. “We’re just friends,” I said firmly.
Henry coughed and looked embarrassed. “Do you have a, um, boyfriend?” he asked.
I thought about Dex and our kiss and how he hadn’t sent me a single e-mail in the week since I’d gotten to London.
“No,” I said truthfully. “I don’t.”
Henry looked up and grinned at me. The smile reached his eyes, which were the exact color of the river that runs through Orange Cove at its deepest point.
“Good,” he said.
And I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement at knowing that Henry liked me.
After that, Henry and I started to spend more and more time together. Partly it was because Sadie was restless to get back to work, so my afternoons were freed up while she wrote. And partly I just had fun with Henry. I felt like I could be myself around him. When I was with Henry, I wasn’t the brainy girl who goes to that geek school. . . . I was just me. Miranda.
Another thing I really liked about Henry was how happy he seemed to accompany me on my various sightseeing expeditions. He didn’t roll his eyes and act like it was all beneath him. He even seemed enthusiastic about going. Together we went to the Tower of London, which was amazingly cool. And we took a water taxi down the Thames River to Greenwich, where we hiked up a huge hill to the Royal Observatory to stand on the prime meridian, each foot planted on a different hemisphere. Even though it was touristy and more than a little cheesy, we even went to Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, with its gory Chamber of Horrors.
I was learning a lot about Henry. He was smart. (His top three university choices: Oxford, Cambridge, and the University of London.) He wanted to be a barrister. (His top three alternative careers: pro soccer player, movie critic, hypnotist.) He and his friends were accomplished practical jokers. (Top three practical jokes of all time: Henry switching around the keys on his friend Simon’s laptop, so that Simon grew increasingly frustrated as he kept misspelling everything he typed; Joseph slipping an antitheft security strip in Henry’s pocket, so that he set off the alarm at a Virgin Megastore, and was subsequently tackled by a security guard; and Oliver stashing a handful of frozen prawns in the glove box of Joseph’s car.)
“That’s just gross,” I said, appalled.
Henry had started to laugh as he told me about it, and by now, he was chortling so hard, his eyes teared up. “Joseph kept saying, ‘Do you smell that? It’s all pongy in here.’ Pongy, I tell you!”
“But what happened? Didn’t it ruin the car?” I asked.
“Well, I won’t say it ever smelled good after that,” Henry said, wiping his eyes.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” I said.
“Girls never appreciate practical jokes,” Henry said philosophically. “Must be a genetic thing.”
But despite all of the time we spent together, Henry never once tried to kiss me or even hold my hand. As clueless as I was about guys, even I couldn’t have misinterpreted his interest. . . . Or could I have? Maybe he’d finally noticed that I have a horrible, too-big nose and the sort of frizzy hair that turns bushy in the humidity. But, even so, he seemed perfectly happy hanging out with me most afternoons. It was very confusing.
I checked my e-mail every day, but Dex never wrote. Finn sent me the occasional note, and Charlie wrote frequently. She’d started dating a guy named Mitch, a junior at Orange Cove High who worked at Grounded, our favorite coffee shop. When I’d last seen Charlie and Mitch together, they hadn’t seemed all that serious. But in the two weeks since I’d been gone, they’d apparently gotten really close. In fact, it was all Charlie wrote about—how good Mitch smelled, how she loved the shape of his ears, how his brown eyes were the exact color of a slab of dark chocolate. It was actually pretty revolting, and very un-Charlie-like, so much so that I wondered if she’d sustained a blow to the head in my absence. The Charlie I knew and loved was deeply unromantic.
On Christmas Eve, while I waited for the quiche Sadie had baked to be ready, I checked my e-mail and was soon rolling my eyes over Charlie’s latest gushing letter about the bracelet Mitch had given her and how much he’d like the portrait she’d painted of him. Trying to stay positive and supportive—no one wants to hear that they’re acting like an idiot over a guy—I wrote back and told her that all sounded great and I was happy for her. Then, my duties as best friend discharged, I launched into my current dilemma. I outlined the Henry situation and the lack of communication from Dex, and then begged Charlie for some advice.
So what should I do? Do you think Dex has forgotten me? Is Henry really interested in me? If so, why hasn’t he made a move? Do you think it’s because I’m leaving in eight days, and he doesn’t want to get attached? I wrote, and then hit the send button. Charlie’s response came back five minutes later.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re:[Re:] Love is in the Air
You’re overthinking this, Miranda.When love is right . . . it’s just right. I can’t explain it, but if Henry’s the one you’re meant to be with, you’ll just know. Trust me. I knew with Mitch, on a deep—so deep it was almost cellular—level.
As for the Dex situation, well . . . I wasn’t going to tell you this, but since you asked ... I actually ran into Dex a few days ago. Mitch and I went to see that new Joaquin Phoenix movie—Mitch was so sweet, he insisted on paying for everything, and while we were watching the movie, he had his arm around me and was drawing circles on my shoulder with his fingers, and I just about melted. . . .
Where was I? Oh, right: Dex. He was there. At the movies.And he wasn’t alone. He was with a girl. I don’t know if it was a date—I didn’t see them kissing or anything—but they were laughing a lot. I’m so sorry. I hate being the one to tell you about it, but I also don’t want you to waste your time in London worrying that you’re cheating on Dex.
I stopped reading Charlie’s e-mail, and then started again from the beginning. But the content didn’t change. Dex had been out on a date. With some other girl.
I began blinking very fast, trying to keep back the tears that were welling up in my eyes and clinging wetly to my lashes. My stomach felt pinched and sour, and my throat was oddly dry and prickly at the same time, as though I’d swallowed a fistful of feathers.
So that was why Dex hadn’t written to me . . . he’d found someone else. A girl who made him laugh. Charlie hadn’t said whether the girl was pretty, but I had to assume she was. Dex’s last girlfriend was a model. In fact, maybe that was why he’d lost interest in me; maybe I wasn’t pretty enough for him.
I could actually feel a throbbing pain in my heart. I had liked Dex. Really, really liked him. And I’d thought he liked me, when clearly . . .he hadn’t. Or, at least, he hadn’t liked me enough. Which was almost worse.
I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t come to London. What if I’d canceled my trip at the last minute and stayed home? Would Dex and I be together then? Would he be at the movies with me, laughing at my jokes?
“Miranda.” It was Sadie, calling from the bottom of the stairs. The house was so tall and narrow that her voice echoed in the stair-well. “Dinner
’s ready! And I put the Mame DVD on!”
I inhaled a deep, ragged breath, and tried not to sniffle.
“Okay, I’m coming,” I said, shutting down my e-mail, without responding to Charlie’s note.
Merry Christmas to me, I thought, and sadly wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand before heading downstairs.
Chapter 7
Sadie and I had plans to spend a quiet Christmas lounging around in our pajamas, drinking cocoa and watching a movie marathon of all our old favorites: Jerry Maguire, Moonstruck, Gone with the Wind. We ate leftover quiche for breakfast, and Sadie planned to roast a duck for dinner. I felt too depressed over Dex to really get into the Christmas spirit, but I tried to fake it for my mom’s sake. And I was—temporarily, at least—cheered when I opened Sadie’s gift to me: the new laptop I’d been pining away for.
“Mom!” I cried, pulling the laptop out of its box and cradling it against my chest. “It’s perfect, perfect, perfect!”
Sadie beamed at me. “I thought you’d like it,” she said. “And I adore my new bookends.”
Sadie loves all things Art Deco, and I’d been lucky enough to score a pair of vintage bronze greyhound bookends on eBay. She’d already set them out on her desk, where they stood guard over a row of her best-selling novels, which she wrote under her pen name, Della De La Courte.
My dad had sent me a pretty gold bracelet, Peyton gave me a gift certificate for a pedicure (which I knew was her way of criticizing the state of my feet), and Hannah gave me a cute T-shirt with a picture of the Union Jack on it, which just goes to show she can be oddly thoughtful at times. Finn gave me a computer game he’d designed, and Charlie had painted a tiny portrait of my dog, Willow.
All in all, it was a great Christmas. . . . Except for the part where I was completely heartbroken over Dex.
“Forget about him,” Sadie declared once she’d finally dragged out of me the truth about why I was so mopey. “Have I taught you nothing? You don’t need a man, Miranda.”