The Oracle Rebounds

by Allison van Diepen

  “Thanks, sweetie.”

  I go over and give her a kiss. Then I catch sight of Erland, whose face is rather pink. He’s trying not to laugh, too.

  Tuesday after school I stay in the library until five to five, when the librarian flickers the lights to let us know that he’s ready to lock up. I’m packing up my books when I hear my name.

  Jared has emerged from the back, where the study carrels are, and is looking at me with a startled expression. I know I don’t often stay after school, but I don’t see why he looks that surprised.

  We walk out together, pushing the heavy doors and entering the deserted hallway. I see he’s got a big black sketchbook under his arm. “Still working on the portfolio?”

  “Yeah, I’m applying for scholarships at a couple more places, so I’m redoing my whole portfolio.”

  “The whole thing? But it was amazing.”

  “Thanks, but it wasn’t enough to get me where I want to be. Anyway, these new drawings will be a lot more polished.”

  He’s got a determined look in his eyes, as if failure is not an option. The Jared I’m used to is more laid-back than that, but I know he feels there’s a lot at stake here. His dream is at stake. I can relate to that.

  “Are you heading to the subway?” he asks. “We can walk together, if you’re cool with that.”

  “Of course I am. I’m cool with you, Jared. You got that email I wrote you a couple of weeks ago, right?”

  “I did.” His eyes dart away, in the direction of his locker. “I just need to grab a couple of things.”

  “Me, too.”

  We get our stuff and head out the side doors. The sky has mostly cleared up after some earlier rain, and the late-day sun peeks out from behind the clouds. It’s May, finally, and warm enough that I don’t need my hoodie.

  Something about Jared seems stiff, awkward, and so I start blabbering about random stuff to kill the silence. At one point he looks at me and says, “Your email sounded like a goodbye. Like you didn’t want to talk to me again.”

  “I wasn’t saying that. But I didn’t hear from you for ages, and then suddenly you wanted to see if I was okay.”

  He rakes a hand through his dark curls. “I never meant to come across that way.”

  “You said yourself that you didn’t think we could be friends.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I want to be friends with you, I always have, I just never knew how. I know I screwed up royally.”

  “I won’t deny you screwed up. But I think I can be friends with you now.”

  I know that “being friends” doesn’t mean we’ll be hanging out like we used to or calling each other often. When people do that, it becomes even harder for them to move on. I’ve had countless clients who claim to be good friends with their exes, and it usually ends up with one of them still pining for the other. As for Jared and me, I think we’re saying we want to be friendly, and we don’t want to avoid each other anymore.

  “I know you’ve moved on, Kayla. I hope everything’s going good for you.”

  “It is. I’m not still in touch with Benoit, but it was fun while it lasted. And the possibilities are out there if you know where to look.”

  “I’m not concerned for you. You can have any guy you want.”

  “You don’t have to say that.”

  “I know, but it’s true.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” I smile, and he smiles back, and I feel the zing that was always there between us. That zing is the reason we can’t ever be close friends again. Jared knows it, too.

  “I’ve wanted to contact you lately,” he says. “I saw what’s been happening with that trashy teenmoi site. Those people are being really unfair to you.”

  “They’re doing a pretty good job of destroying my reputation.”

  “Actually, they’re not. They’re making themselves look like idiots. You refused to stoop to their level. You’ve come across as classy all the way. Anyone with a brain is going to see that.”

  “Thanks. It’s funny…when this happened I wanted to talk to you about it. You always had this way of calming me down and making me feel better about things.”

  “I wish you had come to me.” He glances my way. “I’ve wanted to talk to you, too.” He takes a breath as if he’s going to say something else, but he seems to think better of it.

  Suddenly the air is feeling heavy. I give an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, I was hoping the controversy would die down, but it seems to only have picked up steam. A bunch of different websites are scrutinizing me now.”

  “All that publicity’s going to pay off eventually. Are you getting more clients?”

  “No.”

  “They’ll probably visit the site a few times before deciding to contact you. You always said that’s how it works. Give it time.”

  “If I could get some new clients out of this fiasco, it would be sweet. Though I’m not sure a few more clients will make up for it. Anyway, I’m not desperate for more work at the moment. My midterm grades weren’t stellar so I’ve got to hit the books hard the next few weeks.”

  “Your grades slipped?” He looks shocked.

  “It’s been a busy few weeks, especially with the blog tour and, you know, the exchange student.”

  “Right.”

  When we get to the subway platform, my train comes up within seconds. “Well, I’ll see you.”

  “Yeah. I’ll see you.”

  I step onto the train and sit down. I’m tempted to give him a little wave as the train pulls away, but I decide against it. I always used to do that, and I don’t want him to misinterpret it. As I lean back and put on my iPod, I reflect on our encounter. Jared seems to be working hard to find a way to afford art school. I hope he gets where he wants to be. He deserves to be happy.

  It was cool to hear that he’s been checking my website and that he’s rooting for me. It’s a shame that we can’t be as open with each other as we used to be, but at least we can cheer each other on from afar.

  I’m pumped. Tonight I’m going to help Evgeney get the girl, or die trying.

  Not only has he made some excellent tweaks to my site, he’s been really supportive through the teenmoi fiasco. He’s proven himself to be a true friend, and I’ll have no problem talking him up to this girl, Rose. I only hope the plan works.

  I meet Evgeney at the subway station and am pleasantly surprised to see he’s nicely dressed in black slacks and a stylish button-down white shirt. True, he’s overgelled his hair, but you can’t expect perfection.

  “You look great—and I love that cologne.”

  “It’s Reckless. You recommended it on your site last month.”

  I wink at him. “True that.”

  As we ride the subway, we discuss a plan of action. I’m to come into the class as a friend of his, partnering him in a few dances. Of course, I’m to laugh at his jokes and generally seem to enjoy his company. And I’m to talk with Rose whenever I can, extolling Evgeney’s virtues. He asks me to be subtle about it, and I promise that I will. I want this to work. Evgeney deserves a shot with this girl.

  Once we have the plan ironed out, I ask him a question that’s been bugging me. “What’s with Eastern European guys and dancing? You watch those dance shows and it’s like half the guys are from Eastern Europe.”

  “It’s part of our culture to learn to dance—it’s considered a masculine quality to be able to dance well. Here it seems it’s mostly girls who take dance. Even in this class we’re going to, it’s mainly girls. I think a lot of people have become interested from watching the dance contests on TV. I wonder how many guys these days can sweep a girl across a dance floor in a waltz or dazzle them with a tango. None that I know except for me.”

  We get off in Soho then walk a few blocks to Dimitri’s Dance Studio. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, we enter a large room with shiny oak floors and walls lined with mirrors. There’s already music on and a group of people at the side of the dance floor. They’re being entertained
by a gorgeous couple spinning around the floor.

  “That’s Dimitri and his partner, Svetlana.”

  Dimitri, with his slick dark hair and lean tight body, looks like one of the professional dancers on Dancing with the Stars. I swear, how do people even move like that?

  Before we gather with the rest of the class, Evgeney whispers, “She’s the one with blond hair and glasses, standing by the exit.”

  I see her right away, and inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. My first impression of Rose: sweet and shy. Part of me was worried that Evgeney’s crush would be a bombshell with whom he’d have little chance of getting a date. Rose seems like she’d be a good match.

  I’ve read several studies which concluded that people tend to go for mates who are around the same level of good looks as they are. Gorgeous people tend to find gorgeous mates, average-looking people with the same and so on. The interesting part is that it’s rare that people end up marrying someone who is more than a point or two different on the good-looking scale. Now, of course good looks can be subjective, but studies find that we tend to be attracted to people who look like us. I’ve noticed the same phenomenon myself. Sometimes I’ll see a couple holding hands on the street and swear they could be brother and sister.

  “I see we have a guest today!” an enthusiastic male voice bursts out.

  I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to notice that Dimitri and his partner had stopped dancing, and he’d zeroed in on me.

  “What is your name?”

  “Kayla.”

  “And what brings you here today, Kayla?”

  “My friend Evgeney says it’s a great place to learn to dance.”

  “Wonderful! Welcome, welcome!”

  Dimitri comes up to me as if he’s going to drag me onto the floor, but he just reaches out to bend over my hand and bow grandly. I’m sure Amy would love this, but the attention is making me uncomfortable.

  He takes a few steps back, and in another grand gesture, opens his arms. “Today, my friends, we learn a dance that will call upon the romantic inside you. Some say it is the most intimate dance that can happen between a man and a woman, besides the dance that brings all life.” Holy crap, is he talking about…? “The Viennese waltz!”

  A couple of girls cheer and the rest of us shuffle our feet and wait for the demonstration. It’s weird that I’m going to be learning the waltz, the most romantic dance, with mostly female partners. This could be a good thing for Evgeney, though. Being the only single guy (the three other guys have come with partners) ratchets up his attractiveness.

  Dimitri and Svetlana do an initial demonstration then break down the specific skills: the footwork, the position of the arms and hands and the facial expression. We pair up, and Evgeney is, of course, my partner, though I know we’ll be rotating partners soon. Dimitri’s philosophy, apparently, is that it’s best to learn to dance with a variety of partners.

  The music comes on, and we negotiate the first few steps of the waltz. To my surprise, Evgeney is an elegant dancer. I can tell from the moment he assumes the posture. Why should I be so surprised? Evgeney wowed the whole school with his wild dance number at the Halloween dance. Obviously his talent translates into ballroom.

  Every few minutes we rotate partners, and eventually I’m dancing with Rose. It’s weird holding another girl this way, even though we’re not superclose to each other. Dancing is so different now than it used to be. I bet in the old days girls learned to dance by dancing with each other.

  Rose is as sweet and shy as she looks, not to mention a little socially awkward. She has more talent for dancing than I do, though, because she’s as graceful as a gazelle while I’m stepping all over her toes. Thank God we’re not doing the quickstep.

  “No, no, no—watch us, Kayla!” Dimitri pulls Rose away from me and waltzes her around the floor. When he gives her back, her cheeks are flushed.

  “Now you.” Uh-oh. I have to dance with Dimitri. I do my best to get through the steps, and he gives a slight nod. “Yes, some improvement.” Then he hands me off to Rose.

  “You’re doing really well,” she says. “I think Dimitri’s a little high on himself, to be honest. He’s a great dancer but Evgeney’s a better teacher. I think he belongs in the advanced class, but I’m glad he stayed with us.”

  “Yeah, Evgeney’s awesome. It was so nice of him to bring me here. My boyfriend doesn’t want to have anything to do with ballroom dancing.” I feel a twinge of guilt at the lie, but I feel it’s important to let her know that Evgeney and I are just friends.

  “He’s very nice.” Her eyes dart away shyly, and I hope I’m sensing what I think I’m sensing. Normally I’m good at reading if someone likes someone else, but right now I have a vested interest that could cloud my judgment.

  I switch to another partner, a girl named Naomi who, like me, is puzzled by the turns required for the waltz, and we keep knocking each other over and laughing. So much for my dreams of being a natural dancer gliding gracefully across the floor.

  The class is mercifully only an hour and a half long. When it’s over, I say to Evgeney, “Wanna get something to eat?” Then I ask the others, “Anyone up for some food?” And I make sure to look at Rose specifically.

  “Sure,” she says. And two other girls say yes, and one of the couples.

  “Any ideas on where to go?”

  Evgeney suggests a diner a few blocks away, near the subway station. As we walk there, I’m hoping that Evgeney will find a way to walk with Rose, but instead she falls into step with the two other single girls, and Evgeney ends up leading the way.

  When we get into the diner, I know what I have to do: get Evgeney and Rose sitting together, or at least across from each other. When Evgeney is about to slide into the booth, I catch his arm and give him a look. He nods, understanding, and stands next to the table as everyone sits down. When Rose slides into the booth, he slides in next to her, then I get in after him. He flicks me a satisfied glance.

  “I think the waltz is your dance,” Evgeney says, and she giggles demurely. I turn away so as not to interfere with their conversation. Naomi’s across from me, and we commiserate on how the waltz isn’t our thing, although we wish it could be. We both agree that we’d do better in hip-hop lessons.

  Evgeney and Rose seem to be getting along well, but unfortunately other members of the group keep butting in, making it a table-wide conversation. Oh, well. I can tell they’re sitting quite close together. I wonder if their bodies are touching.

  The group of us hang out for just over an hour, enough time to chat and get a milkshake or a burger. But since it’s a school night, we decide to get the bills as soon as we’re finished and head off.

  Outside the diner, we go our separate ways, with most of the group going north, and Evgeney, Rose and I going into the subway station. Once the subway pulls up and they get on, I hang back, saying, “The R train is better for me.” Evgeney looks puzzled, since he knows that isn’t true. He tries to wave me in, but I just wave and step back from the platform.

  The train pulls away, and I only have to wait a few minutes for the next one. I’ve got a smile on my face the whole way home. I’ve given Evgeney a great opportunity to get to know her better. I just hope he gets a date out of it.

  ten

  54 Days into Rebound Equation

  “Well, did you?” I demand in chemistry class the next day.

  “Did I what?”

  “Get her phone number.”

  Evgeney grins. “I did. And then she asked for mine.”

  “Yes!” My exclamation is so loud that I get shushed by Mrs. Moser, and I have to resort to silent exuberance.

  “You did an excellent job of making me a viable option, and I thank you for that.” Then he looks at me pointedly. “But you shouldn’t have stayed on the platform. It was dangerous, and I never would’ve forgiven myself if…”

  “Give me a break. It was fine. There was a businessman not far away who I’m sure would’ve played the hero if some
one had tried to mug me. Plus, I carry Mace.”

  “You do?”

  “Well, no, but I’ve always planned to. Anyway, I did what I had to do to accomplish my mission. I doubt you guys would’ve exchanged phone numbers if I’d been there. So, when are you going to call her?”

  “Tomorrow night. You mentioned on your website that a guy should call within two days to show he’s interested.”

  “You’re my prize pupil, you know that?”

  He chuckles. “I guess I am.”

  I realize that if Evgeney calls her Friday night, I’ll have to wait until Monday to find out what happened, and that’s unacceptable. “Call or email me after you talk to her, okay? I want to know how things go.”

  “I will.”

  But it turns out, Friday morning in class Evgeney has an update for me. “Guess who called me last night?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. And when I casually asked about her weekend plans, she mentioned she had plans on Saturday night but not tonight. She left me the perfect opening to ask her out for dinner.”

  I’d like to shout hurray, but seeing my teacher’s eyes on me, I just pat him on the back. “This is totally freaking fantastic!”

  Evgeney agrees.

  That night, Tracey calls. “He’s still on the website, Kayla.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “I don’t get it. I took myself off after dating him for a week—I was getting all these responses and I didn’t want to date anyone else. But he’s still on there.”

  She’s talking about Iced Mocha, aka James. They’ve been dating for over three weeks and I thought things were going really well.

  “Maybe he’s not checking his account.”

  “I wish. It usually says at the bottom of the screen when the user was last active, but he made that invisible. So he could be on there every day and I wouldn’t know it. Here’s the worst part—he put up a new profile picture.”

  “Are you sure the default pictures don’t change automatically?”

  “I’m sure. He changed it himself. Why would he do that if he wasn’t looking to meet someone else?”