Monday is the Romeo and Juliet presentation, and I’m somewhat confident—eighty percent. We finished the project early, and we were thorough, planning every detail. What could go wrong?
Turns out—everything. Nick is absent today because he hurt his wrist doing some silly boy stunt involving Jason and Ryan, and the side of a house. Honestly, that guy gets hurt more than anyone I know. Also, Heather is quarantined at home with a sudden case of pinkeye! Her left eye is super gross and gloppy—I know because she sent me pics! But we brainstorm, and Mr. Shannon saves the day by suggesting we set up a video chat, and offers us the use of his laptop. So Heather, wearing an eye patch, is able to perform her roles as Mrs. Capulet, and Olivia Channing—star prosecutor. She’s fantastic despite the pus, and Andrew Rosen asks me for her number after class.
Dean is forced to take Nick’s part, and he is not happy. He delivers every line in his deep unemotional voice, and is unintentionally hilarious. Watching Dean act is probably half the reason Mr. Shannon praises our presentation with a huge smile on his face. He also commends us for going outside of the box, and I can’t help the smug look I give Dean. He gives me a deer-in-the-headlights look back. I think he’s still traumatized. I feel bad for him, but not really because I realize that no matter how stiff and uncomfortable he is in front of an audience, all eyes are glued to him. I can easily see him in the movies as an action hero. Heck, I’ve seen less emotion from famous actors who aren’t as handsome as Dean. Heather, on the other hand, would make a terrific actress—a career far more suited to her personality than a pharmacist, which is what she’s leaning toward. Must remember to mention it to her.
The rest of the week passes quietly. I see Johnny around in school, and he always just barely acknowledges me. I’ve been eating lunch in the caf with our group once I realized he’s been going out to eat. Tanya tells me that Johnny’s refused all the girls at Leclare who have asked him out—but apparently everyone else is fair game.
“Dani totes thought she could move in on him,” Tanya whispers to me as we watch her glide past us in the hall. “But he turned her down cold. By the way, you never said what’s going on between you and Johnny? Did you guys have a big fight, or something?”
“Or something,” I reply with a shrug. “Like I’ve said several times before—I’m not interested in what he does anymore.”
“Hm. But he was so in love with you—it was so romantic!” She sighs deeply before suddenly giving me a speculative look. “Wait, does the fight have anything to do with Ben Parrish? I notice you guys are always together lately.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re just friends! Besides, he has a girlfriend—Arianna.”
“Yeah, I know. She’s such a bitch! You and Ben would make a cute couple.”
I start walking faster, but she easily keeps up with me, hitching the strap of her bag over her shoulder. We’re almost running by the time we hit the parking lot.
Exasperated, I turn to her. “Why are you so interested in my love life, anyway?”
Tanya looks surprised by the question. She pauses, tilting her head to the side to consider. “Um, well, I guess I’m just rooting for you,” she says slowly. “You’re this normal girl who got the golden ticket to the Beautiful People Party! It gives the rest of us hope, you know?”
“So,” I say. “You like me ‘cause I’ve successfully risen above my station?”
She snorts self-consciously. “Juliet, I love how you talk! And I like you ‘cause you’re funny and cool. I want to be you because you’re friends with the hottest guys in school.”
Oh. “So when you say you want to be me, do you mean, like, wear my skin as a cape?”
“If it means Dean Youngblood will talk to me, then yes. Because—drool.”
I shrug at her unapologetic grin. I am never telling her how much Dean and I see each other outside of school. She may have me killed.
Tanya follows me to my car like an enthusiastic puppy dog. If she tries to get in, I swear I’m going to zap her with the spray bottle of water I keep in the backseat (don’t ask why).
“Are you going to the game next week?” she asks, leaning against the side of my car. “It’s the last game of the season.”
“I work, Tanya,” I say impatiently, unlocking the driver’s side.
“Are you going to the party at Dean’s and Johnny’s after the game?” she persists, trying to stick her head in after me as I slide behind the wheel.
I forcibly eject her by her forehead. “I don’t think so. It’d be too weird.”
“No, it wouldn’t! It’s gonna be a huge party—it’d be easy to avoid him. Come on…” she whines, her dark eyes big and pleading.
“I’ll think about it,” I concede, starting up my car.
“Yay! Okay, text me later—!”
I drive off before she finishes her sentence. The girl is driving me a little crazy. I may have to introduce her to Heather.
******
Chapter 31
Hooray for three day weekends. I spend it at Dad’s, where he surprises me with a friend of his from work. Her name’s Cerise(!), and she’s the new receptionist at his accounting firm. She’s also bouncy, blonde, and in her early twenties. She comes over for lunch, and though she seems nice enough, I can’t look at her and Dad together without having serious acid reflux. Unfortunately, Michelle isn’t there to consult with on this latest development—she and Uncle Derek are in Vegas right now, having what she calls a…babymoon? I desperately wish I was with them, doing some underage gambling—instead of sitting at the table and watching Cerise flirtatiously brush a lock of hair out of my father’s eyes.
Speaking of his eyes…is that a twinkle I see in them? Uh-oh, I’ve never seen him look like that with the other women he’s been out with. Then again, I’ve never seen him with a pretty young blonde with a butt you can bounce a quarter off of. And yes, I tried. She didn’t even notice!
After she leaves, I sit on the couch, feeling a little unnerved and slightly traumatized. After hovering hesitantly above me, Dad finally sits next to me.
“So…” He draws out the word. “What did you think of Cerise?”
“Oh, well, she seems really nice. She’s young, huh?”
Dad flushes and rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah, she is. Too damn young for me,” he admits gruffly. “But we get along really well. I…like her a lot.”
“Wow, that’s great.” I clear my throat, and stare down at my hands. “How long have you been seeing her?”
“Oh, not that long. She’s been with the company for a couple of months, and we’ve gone out a few times, mostly with others from work. We started talking, and believe it or not, we found we had a lot of things in common…”
Oh, my god, my dad is gushing like a teenage girl! He never gushes, never shares any kind of details—especially about women. Now I see—that’s a good thing. Because I don’t need to know that Cerise used to be a gymnast, or that she donates plasma twice a week.
But look how happy he is. I nod and smile, feeling almost faint with the effort. Then I realize, I’ve been holding my breath. I let it out in one big whoosh.
“So…are you okay with this, Juliet?” Dad asks, almost reluctantly. The glow fades from his face as he studies me uncertainly.
“Yeah.” I blow out another breath, and unintentionally make a motorboat sound with my lips. “You’ve dated before..right? It’s been years since the divorce, and it’s not like I think you and Mom are—ha ha—gonna get back together, or anything…right?” I try to sound flippant but my voice grows tiny and questioning with hope at the end.
Dad rubs the back of his neck again. “Right.”
I can’t keep my shoulders from slumping. “But you still love her.” It sounds like an accusation.
“Yes, yes I do. I probably always will. But.” He runs his fingers through his dark hair, sighing. “We’re not meant for each other. Too much has happened between us…lost time, loss of trust…I made a big mistake, and she can’t forg
ive me for it. I can’t forgive myself for it, and I—I don’t want to feel bad about myself all the time. Guilty, and nothing but a big disappointment. I want to be with someone that makes me look forward to another day, and fills me full of hope.”
I stare at him, freaked out. Dad’s face is drawn in lines of exhaustion from all that profound talking, but an awed smile blooms on his mouth. It’s the smile of someone who’s falling in love. With a Cerise? Too much too soon.
Oh, man, he’s looking at me like he wants me to say something. Am I supposed to say I approve that he’s moving on? I guess I do, but the little girl in me whose dream of having her parents reunite under fireworks of renewed love is crushed.
“That’s awesome, Dad,” I say finally, forcing a smile. “I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you happy.”
His whole body relaxes in relief. “Thanks, hon. Of course, it’s too soon to tell, but I—”
And he’s off.
My dad’s in love with a Cerise. I can’t even.
I’m making turkey rice soup, and it’s weird not to be in a rush, while trying to get ready for work at the same time. While I’m waiting for the turkey bones to cool so I can pick them, I check my news feed on my phone. It’s been a while since I’ve logged on, and I’ve apparently missed a lot of updates and parties.
A post from a friend of a friend catches my eye. Johnny Parker is tagged in one of her photos. I zoom in on the picture, and my heart drops. A dark-haired girl is straddling Johnny’s lap. They’re kissing passionately, and one of his hands is under her short skirt. The caption over the picture says “Get a room!”
Well, it’s good to know Johnny is back to his manwhore-ish ways—and not alone in his room, like, pining over me. Whatever. I give a quick shrug, pretending to myself it doesn’t hurt, and wishing it didn’t.
Oh, get over it, Juliet. Johnny did. So he’s out with yet another girl. He’s got a whole harem of them. Who cares.
I text Heather to ask if her she wants to come over for turkey rice soup, and she accepts with a smiley face. Then, on impulse, I text Dean and invite him. I don’t think he’s going to reply, but then my phone beeps a minute later with a text from him asking what time he should be there. This inexplicably lifts my mood. I really am happy that Dean is starting to become such a good friend. Maybe Johnny told him to look out for me since he’s too pissed at me to do it himself, but…I like him.
I finish making the soup, and throw some biscuits into the oven. That should be good enough, right? I’m sure it will be—Heather will eat anything, and Dean doesn’t seem the picky type. Yuck, I need to grab a quick shower, though. I find a piece of popcorn in my bra, and I’m not sure how it got there—oh, that’s right, I nuked a bag of it last night right before bed. Gross.
Heather walks in on me in the shower, and I freak out at first, thinking it’s Dean for some reason. When she finds out he’s coming, she gets awfully excited for a girl who only likes girls. But then when he shows up in a big black truck, and Heather immediately starts peppering him with questions about Sloane, I realize why. I forgot I had told her that Dean and Sloane hang out.
“Our fathers do business together,” Dean replies to Heather. “I’ve known Sloane for a long time.”
Hm, I wondered why he was friends with her when he’s anti-drug, and she’s so obviously…pro. I wonder what he thinks of her little habit?
Heather opens her mouth, no doubt to grill him further, but I kick her under the table. She gives me an apologetic goofy grin, then asks Dean what his Thanksgiving plans are. She’s such a goober.
After dinner (where Dean again does the dishes, meticulously washing them off and loading them in the dishwasher), I don’t want them to go, so I persuade them to play Monopoly with me. Except when I haul out my mom’s old set, we discover half the pieces are missing—and five jellybeans, hard as stones, are mixed in with the houses and hotels. Why did we even keep it? Heather is completely grossed out by the jellybeans.
Mom walks into the living room while we’re trying decide what to do next. I jump up from the couch, startled by her sudden appearance.
“What are you doing home? I didn’t hear your car,” I say rapidly, glancing from Heather to Dean.
Mom, wearing her navy scrubs and looking exhausted, is staring at Dean. “I’m going back for another shift after I take a nap,” she says vaguely. She tears her gaze from him, and gives a little wave to Heather. “Hi, Heather.”
“Hi, Mrs. Somers,” Heather chirps from her sprawled position on the floor in front of the TV. She casually kicks a leg back and forth.
Mom looks back at Dean, then at me. Her eyebrows are raised in question. “Oh, this is Heather’s friend, Roberto,” I say, gesturing at him. “He doesn’t speak English.”
Dean seems to freeze. Then he he cocks his head at me, his brow furrowing in bemusement. I avoid looking directly at him.
Mom raises an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving. But she thinks it’s Dean I’m messing with. She flashes a cynical smile at him. “Roberto.”
He nods stiffly back. “Signora.”
Mom hesitates, about to comment, then shakes her head and trudges toward the stairs. “See you later, kids,” she mutters.
It’s weird after that. Heather and Roberto leave, and only one of them is amused. When they’re gone, I recall how tired Mom looked, and decide I’m a crappy daughter. For the next hour, I run around the house doing chores. When she wakes up, I’ll bring her a bowl of soup and some biscuits. She really has been working hard lately. I wish she would take a break once in a while—this schedule can’t be good for her health. I resolve to be more thoughtful and understanding.
This inspires me to go upstairs and write a long letter to myself. Mostly rambling, I rant about the bad choices I’ve made over the years, and the fact that I have no clue what I want to do with my life. What college do I want to go to? What do I want to major in? Why don’t I know these things already? I write down some tentative goals and resolutions, and the list is pitifully short.
Writing everything down, then re-reading it helps put things in perspective. Also, I’m a terrible speller when I’m ranting. I fold the paper up into squares and stick it under my pillow, nodding determinedly. Then I go downstairs to prepare Mom’s dinner. I heat up the soup, butter the biscuits, and add a slice of spice cake to the tray. Then walking slowly, I carry the tray up to her room, careful not to spill anything. I hope she’s hungry.
But I’m too late. She’s already left for work again, probably while I was writing a my letter. Great. Feeling stupid, I take the tray back down and stick it in the fridge. Except for the cake. That cake is toast. So is the tub of coffee ice cream in the freezer. It was only half-full, anyway.
Afterwards, I waddle upstairs. I’m going to find my manifesto, and I’m going to eat it.
******
Chapter 32
I’m restless, oddly agitated—and very crabby. I guess I could blame it on being that time of the month. There’s a pop quiz in Calc, and I’m pretty sure I failed it. I can’t seem to concentrate, and my thoughts are scattered in dozens of directions.
I see Johnny outside of Johnson Hall, talking with a couple of guys I don’t recognize. I don’t look that closely, though. I’m determined to ignore him, the way he’s been ignoring me.
Except this time, I feel his attention on me as I walk toward him. His gaze is like a physical touch, a hot tingling sensation that pricks just under the surface of my skin.
On impulse, I turn my head and meet his stare. Our eyes lock, and his clear blue ones widen fractionally, reacting to the nervy challenge in mine. As I pass him, I toss my head in disdain.
My hand is suddenly caught in a strong grasp, and I’m tugged back, facing Johnny. He looks down at me, his face darkening with some indecipherable emotion.
“Teeny,” he says huskily, almost pleadingly.
For an infinitesimal space of time, I am frozen. Then my senses kick in with a vengeance, and I yank my hand ou
t of his grip. I walk away on legs that have turned to jelly. I don’t look back.
The encounter is strangely cathartic, and I decide I’m going to the party on Friday. I might even bring a date.
I do bring a date. It’s Heather. We get ready at my house like we’re preparing for war. For me, more confidence equals more makeup. That’s probably a bad philosophy. But I have Heather there to make sure I don’t go the way of the hooker, and I’m pretty pleased with the end result. My deep magenta dress is flirty, with a low neckline—but not obscenely low. Heather’s wearing a slinky sparkly blue top, and tight black jeans. She looks lanky and sexy, and if she had a pink cowboy hat, she would totally be able to pull it off.
The scene that greets us at Johnny’s and Dean’s house is so similar to the night of that fateful party that I unwillingly get flashbacks. I haven’t been back since that night, I just realize. Cars are parked haphazardly everywhere, and the girls are still dressed skimpily, despite the noticeably cooler temperature.
Mack is out front. He gathers Heather and I up in a spine-adjusting hug, lifting the both of us off our feet with scary ease. Big Mack Aina. His grin is beautiful and blinding as he recounts how Leclare killed in the championship game. Heather and I jump and down in excitement for him, and he joins in. The three of us bounce around and giggle like fools. God, I love Mack. If I were famous, I’d hire him as my bodyguard, and make him carry me places, like to the kitchen for a snack.
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