by Rose David
And then, to my surprise, Dad chuckled. “Do you remember when you were going to go to kindergarten, and we actually tried to reason with you about locking up your ring?”
My mouth twitched into a smile. “Of course I remember. It was the last argument I ever won.”
“Now, I wanted to just tell you to do it,” continued Dad, “but your mother knew you wouldn’t stand for it, so she told me, ‘You’re the lawyer, you go negotiate with her.’”
We both chuckled.
“She’s always looking out for you,” he said. “You know that, right?”
My stomach sank. “Of course I know that. Come on, Dad, I already feel guilty enough, okay?”
“This isn’t a guilt trip, kiddo. I know you’re going through a hard time. Just try to remember it isn’t easy for your mother, either. She’d do anything not to put you through this, and so would I.”
“Yeah, but...” I began, wanting to tell him how unfair it was that my ring had been taken from me again, especially after losing Natalie and getting screwed over by Sean.
But, suddenly, it didn’t seem so important. Instead, I wondered how Mom and Dad had felt the first time we did this, before kindergarten. They were only trying to keep me safe, but I had screamed until my face turned blue and probably made them feel like the worst parents in the world.
From then on, Mom and Dad must always have felt some anxiety for me, knowing that I could potentially screw up my life forever just by misplacing my ring. I could forgive myself for the first tantrum--I had only been five-years-old, so maybe that should have been expected--but at fifteen, I had no excuse for behaving like an angry toddler, which was how I had been acting all morning.
I stared ahead at the bank’s entrance, knowing Mom wouldn’t come out for another few minutes, but still feeling impatient. I wanted to show her I was okay and definitely not screaming my lungs out this time.
Before I could chicken out, I let the words tumble out of me. “Dad, I’m really, really sorry.”
He turned, his brow knitted with surprise. “What did you say, kiddo?”
“I should have thought more about how you guys felt,” I continued. “It’s not so bad without my ring. I feel okay.”
I wasn’t lying; I really did feel fine. I would have preferred to have ring in my pocket right now, ready for me to hook a nervous finger around the band, but I didn’t need to have it there. A few weeks apart had weaned me from it, I realized.
My father nodded, the shock still etched on his face. “Thank you, Layla. That’s really mature of you.”
I smiled. It had been a while since anyone had said that to me, but then again, I hadn’t done much to deserve over the past few weeks. “Thanks, Popsicle,” I said. “Now let’s talk about homeschool. I Googled some stuff last night, and it’s not really that expensive if--”
“Whoa, hold on a minute.” He cocked his head. “What did you just say?”
“I said I Googled--”
“No, no, no. You just told me you wanted to talk about homeschooling.” He should have been relieved, but Dad just looked at me like I was trying to set my own hair on fire. “Sweetheart, you can go back to regular school on Monday. We’re not forcing you to stay in the house.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry about that,” I said. “You guys wouldn’t be forcing me. I think it’s the best thing.”
By now, Dad should have agreed that homeschool was the best option and then maybe congratulated me for being so responsible--but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes narrowed with thought. “I see,” was all he finally said.
I sat up, my skin prickling. “You see what?”
Dad only frowned, letting the silence bloat between us.
“You know, it’s not like I’m running away from everything,” I said. “Is it so weird for a human being to want some time alone? I’m actually super-independent, you know.”
“Layla--” Dad started.
“And lots of people who were homeschooled are doing fine today!” I broke in. I wasn’t sure why my voice had gotten louder, but it seemed to emphasize my point, so I ran with it. “Like Britney Spears. Her parents pulled her out of school at my age and look how she turned out.”
Dad uttered a cough that sounded suspiciously like a smashed-down laugh. “That’s not exactly the best evidence.”
“Well, I’m kind of grasping at straws here, Dad. I mean, don’t you want me to be in homeschool? Haven’t you been worrying about how risky regular school is since, like, forever?”
“All right, you’ve got me there. Homeschool might technically be safer for you, yes.”
Triumph jolted through me. “Exactly! So what’s with all this talk about me running away from things?”
“Layla,” Dad said slowly, “you’re the one who said that, not me.”
“What? No, that’s not right.”
Dad shook his head. “The only person in this car who thinks you’re running away is you.”
I shook my head, wanting to argue, but unable to find the words. Dad was right; we both knew it. I had leapt up to defend myself against things that I hadn’t even been accused of yet, which meant...
Ew. I hadn’t been trying to convince my dad, I had been trying to convince myself.
But who could blame me for wanting to run away? I had made a royal mess of my life, starting with that stupid wish in Public Speaking class. Turns out getting puked on isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you.
“So,” Dad said, “what’s going on? Is this because of your fight with Natalie?”
“Kind of.” I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to discuss my love life (pathetic though it was) with my father.
Dad watched my face for a minute before nodding. “And I’m guessing it has something to do with that Fabry kid, right?”
“Actually, yeah. How’d you know?”
“Father’s intuition,” he said. “I get bouts of it, sometimes.”
I let out the ghost of a chuckle and stared out the bank’s revolving doors. Inside, my ring was being put into a locked box, safe as could be. I knew it was for the best, but it would have been nice to have my ring in my hands as I admitted, “Everything’s screwed up, Dad. I just don’t want to think about it anymore.”
He nodded. “We can put you in homeschooling, if you like.”
I looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Really?”
“Sure. We can afford it and I think you’re focused enough to learn on your own.”
“Dad, that’s awesome. Seriously! I promise I’ll be super responsible and...” Something about the gravity that lingered on his face stopped the words from bouncing out of my mouth.
“Is that what you want, though?” he asked.
“Of course it is.”
“Really? Or is it just easier than facing things with Natalie and Sean?”
I opened my mouth to argue, but again, no words came out. I sank back against the cushy seat, the breath whispering out of my lungs.
Of course I wanted to be homeschooled--why wouldn’t I? Even with my ring in the safe deposit box, it would always be safer to avoid regular people. Sean was living proof of that.
Safer, I thought, clinging to the word for as long as I could.
Which was probably ten seconds, max, because safer didn’t always mean better or braver or happier. My heart thumped as I realized what I had to do. My brain felt ready to explode.
A second later, Mom stepped out the bank. As she settled into the front passenger seat, she looked between Dad and me, her forehead crinkling. “Layla?” she asked. “Are you feeling okay?”
I nodded, taking a deep breath. “Mom, I’m really sorry,” I said, forcing my voice above a squeak. “I should have put the ring away a long time ago, but I was selfish. I don’t want you guys to worry about me all the time, not anymore.”
All at once, a glowy look flooded Mom’s face, almost like I had rigged a spotlight to the ceiling. Her eyes looked shinier than usual as she said, “Honey, that’s so...”
�
��Responsible?” I shrugged. “Yeah, I thought I’d give it a try.”
“Really. I can’t believe how sweet you’re being.”
“Mom!”
“Oh!” she said. “Well, you know what I mean.”
I couldn’t help but nod because, yeah, I kind of did. After a pause, I said the next words in a rush so I wouldn’t back out in the middle:
“Can you guys drop me off at Natalie’s house? She and I have some stuff we need to talk about.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A few minutes later, I was cowering in front of Natalie’s bedroom door. Crumpling my hand into a nervous fist, I rapped the softest possible knock, half-hoping she wouldn’t hear me so I could slink away unnoticed.
“Come in!” Nat called from the other side. At the sound of her voice, a flashback of her angry wolverine sounds hit me in full force.
Choking back the urge to run like hell, I opened the door. It felt like forever since I had been in Natalie’s room. As I stepped in, the familiar sight of her old records tacked on the wall like artwork made me smile, despite the nervous flutter in my stomach.
Nat sat cross-legged on her bed, her guitar sprawled across her lap. I caught her in mid-note. When she saw me, her mouth fell open. “What are you doing here?” she asked, though not unpleasantly. She sounded more surprised than annoyed.
“Your mom said I could come up.” I cleared my throat. “Can I, umm, talk to you?”
She gave a little bob of a nod--not exactly enthusiastic, but at least she didn’t fling her guitar pick into my eye like a ninja’s throwing star. “You weren’t in school today,” she said.
“Yeah, I was feeling kind of crappy.” I shut the door behind me and settled on the floor near Nat’s vintage record player, nestling into one of the fluffy cushions tossed beside it. “But I’m better now. I think.”
“Oh,” was all she said.
I realized it probably would have been kind of uncool to tell her how miserable I’d be if she told me to go away and stop stalking her, so (for once) I kept my ramblings to myself. I bit my lip, wondering what else I could say.
“Well,” said Nat, “I got your homework for you.”
“Huh?”
“It’s no big deal. I thought you could work on it over the weekend or something.” She shrugged.
“Wow. Thanks. That was cool of you.”
“I guess.” Nat looked away and plucked at a guitar string, sending out a law, lazy note that hung in the silence that followed.
Well, it was now or never. “Listen, I’m sorry about--” I started.
“Layla, I’ve been really--” said Nat.
Our voices blended together, blotting each other out. I raised my hand and asked, “Me first?”
“Go ahead.”
“Nat, I’m sorry about like, everything. Going out with Sean, lying about Sean, telling him about you.” The last part made me flinch. “I don’t know why I did that. It was so stupid.”
Nat’s face puckered with thought. She was probably remembering how she had felt that day, finding me there with Sean, spilling her secrets. Thinking about it made my chest tighten again.
“I wish I could just take it--Ugh, no. Crap!” I cried.
Yikes. That had been a close one. One more word and I might have created some weird time loop. The last two weeks had royally sucked for me, but I didn’t want to think about how changing things might affect everyone else.
Meanwhile, Nat stared at me, her eyes wide as she wondered why her mother had let a crazy person into the house.
I sighed. “What I meant was: I made a mistake. Actually, make that mistakes. Plural. Probably more than I can count. And I’m sorry about all of them.”
Nat looked at me for a long moment, her big eyes difficult to read. After about five seconds, I was ready to throw my hands in the air and beg for forgiveness, but then she said, “I know.”
I gulped. “You... What?”
She slid the guitar off her lap and leaned forward. “I know you’re sorry, Layla. And it’s okay. I mean, mostly.” Her mouth twisted to one side. “I still have a lot of questions, but I know that you feel bad about it and I’d honestly rather forgive you.”
Now it was my turn to stare with my mouth hanging open. “Really?” I managed.
Nat smiled. “Being mad takes a lot of effort. I don’t think I’ve got that kind of stamina.” She laughed.
Then I laughed. No, we laughed--Natalie and I were a we again. Relief rushed through me like a dam bursting water, and, without another thought, I crossed the room and pulled Nat into a lung-crushing hug. She made a sound like an accordion being squeezed, and I laughed again.
As I sank down beside her, I sighed. “Thanks. For forgiving me, I mean.”
“It’s cool. I’m glad you came over, actually. I know I haven’t been very nice lately.”
I scoffed. “Dude, you don’t exactly owe me an explanation. I’m the screw-up here, remember?”
“Uh-huh. We’ll talk about that in a second,” she said lightly. “I’m just saying: you’re my friend. Sure, I’ve liked Sean for a long time, but you and I have been friends for way longer. I should have at least tried to talk to you.”
I smirked. “You should have tried to punch me in the nose.”
“Layla.”
“Okay, okay.” I held my hands up. “I’ll acknowledge that maybe you could have tried discussing this with me. Maybe. Like, on some kind of alien planet where best friends share boys and--”
Natalie snorted and rolled her eyes. “About that. So, you and Sean. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Everything’s sort of... down.” I shook my head. “It was a mistake. A huge, gigantic, moronically epic, colossal--”
“Okay. Big mistake. I get it.” She smiled. “Just tell me how it happened.”
I paused, studying Nat’s easy expression. For someone who was about to hear about how her best friend had been semi-dating her object of (unrequited) affection, she looked oddly relaxed. Cheerful, even. Natalie raised an eyebrow, impatient for me to go on, so I took a deep breath and said, “Remember the soccer game?”
From there, I told her everything--except for the genie stuff, obviously. I was surprised to find that my story held up pretty well without it. It just sounded like Sean and I had been hanging out casually for a couple of weeks, then things had taken a turn for the weird after we had kissed. Not so far from the truth, really.
Throughout this, all Natalie did was nod, her face totally placid. She only spoke up at the end, when she finally asked, “Is he a good kisser?”
I couldn’t stop the smirk from denting my face as I quoted my second-favorite John Hughes movie. “Yeah. He must practice on melons or something.”
It came out more like an accusation than a compliment, but hadn’t it been those very same lip-locking skills that had gotten me into this mess in the first place?
Well, part of this mess, at least.
As she noticed my distaste, Natalie shook her head, swiping away the kiss-laden clouds floating in her eyes. She squinted at me, concerned. “When did you break up?”
“Not soon enough, dude. It should have been over a long time ago, I was just too much of an idiot to realize it.”
“Layla, relax. I’m not mad, okay? I mean, yeah, I was,” said Natalie. “But I don’t own Sean Fabry. And I’m not in love with him or anything. Really.”
“Wait, what? You’re not...?” I made several strangled attempts at speaking. Eventually, I settled for a simple, “Huh?” to convey the rich tapestry of WTF?!-type questions that had bubbled into my mind.
Nat shrugged, as calm as ever. “I don’t know. I was really into him when we were twelve, but I don’t know him, Layla. We’ve never even had a conversation.”
I bobbed my head up and down, because that seemed like an appropriate response. Meanwhile, it felt like my brain had disappeared, only to be replaced with cotton. “Huh?” I uttered again, the only syllable that I could manage.
Funn
y how caveman sounds could still be so expressive.
“He’s just this cute guy that I’ve been fixating on for way too long,” Nat said. “I’ve just been using Sean as an excuse not to do other stuff. You know, I haven’t even tried to date because I kept telling myself I already liked someone. How stupid is that?”
“Right. So you... don’t like Sean?” I said. (Of course, the only way I would really believe it was if Nat provided a signed affidavit, but a verbal confirmation would do for now.)
“Well, I like looking at him, sometimes.” She chuckled. “Well, a lot of the time. But I don’t think I’d know what to do if he ever asked me out. We don’t really have much in common.”
“Yeah...” I stared at my cheerful friend, my brain slowly revving back to life. At this point, Chace Crawford could have burst through the door and done a striptease and I would barely have noticed.
So Nat didn’t like Sean anymore. Something excited and hopeful flitted through me, but then I remembered... Sean and Diana.
Kissing.
Last night, I must have fainted right as their lips met. An image of them joined in a perfect, movie kiss (complete with romantic music screeching in the background) flared inside my mind. I hoped they had both had incredibly bad breath, something in an onion-and-garlic blend, maybe.
“Well, I’m glad you’re over Sean,” I said. “He’s totally not even worth it.” But even I could hear how pitiful that sounded. Biting my lip, I stared down at my lap.
Nat rested a hand on my shoulder. “Layla, I’m really, really sorry. Maybe things could have worked between you guys if I hadn’t--”
“No.” I jerked my head up. “It wouldn’t have. I don’t think he really even liked me.” The last words made my chest wobble.
“Still,” said Nat, “I’m sorry.”
“Who cares, right? He’s going out with Diana Bukowski now.” I forced myself to shrug. “Like it matters to me, anyway.”
Natalie just nodded, a sympathetic wince tightening her mouth. At that moment, I could have hugged her all over again.
Instead, I rolled my eyes and said, “Let’s talk about something less annoying. Like... Mr. Lopez’s secret shoe-lifts?”