“I don’t want you to—” Jack began, but before he could finish, Victoria blurted, “I love you too.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Victoria realized she’d been waiting to say them, like they were a present she’d picked out for Jack months ago and had been carrying around with her as she waited for the right moment to give it to him.
He smiled and took her other hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. “I was going to say that I didn’t want you to think you had to say it back.”
“I know,” Victoria whispered. “I said it because I wanted to say it.” She stood on her toes and tilted her face to his. As his lips came down to meet hers, she felt the familiar soaring feeling she always felt when Jack kissed her; only now, after what they’d just said to each other, it was stronger. She was taking off. She was leaving the world far below.
She was flying in love.
NATALYA HAD COME to dread English.
It had never been her favorite class to begin with, but she hadn’t officially loathed it until October, when she’d stopped being friends with Sloane Gainsford, Morgan Prewitt, and Katrina Worthington, the most popular girls in her grade.
Back in October, Natalya had thought maybe she could stay friends with them and still do her own thing, but they had made it abundantly clear that that was never going to happen. Morgan’s friends had lunch with Morgan when she told them to, liked the boys Morgan told them to like, and partied how and where Morgan told them to party. You couldn’t be a tourist in Morganland; once you were invited inside its borders, you lived there, or you were exiled forever.
These days, it wasn’t like Morgan and her friends made up mean jingles featuring Natalya’s name or tried to trip her when she walked by. They just effortlessly managed to make her feel like a complete loser. Once, for example, she’d said hello to them when they were walking down the hallway toward her, and they’d said nothing back, just stared at her as if they had no idea who she was or why she was talking to them. Since then, she’d twice seen Katrina and Morgan roll their eyes at each other when Ms. MacFadden, their English teacher, called on Natalya, and Natalya responded with something particularly stupid.
Today, Ms. MacFadden smiled at the class and said, “Let’s start by looking at the scene in Gatsby’s house when Daisy finally spends the afternoon there. Natalya?”
Even before she, Morgan, and Katrina were ex-kind-of-friends, Natalya had hated when her English teacher called on her, mostly because she hated the kinds of questions she asked. How did you feel about last night’s reading? What did the character really mean when she said/did/thought that? Her prompts made Natalya feel as if she should go out and buy a mood ring or a crystal ball. Dr. Clover, her bio teacher, would never ask a student how she felt about evolution or what was motivating a leaf she was examining under the microscope. Natalya’s math teacher never began class by gently inquiring, “Did everyone enjoy those problems we did for homework last night?”
It was as if English were something other than a class, some weird hybrid of academic inquiry and psychotherapy.
Today, Ms. MacFadden hadn’t even asked a question. She’d just said, “Let’s start by looking at the scene in Gatsby’s house when Daisy finally spends the afternoon there,” then Natalya’s name with a little rising inflection, like Natalya would be able to read her mind and know exactly what Ms. MacFadden wanted to know.
Natalya considered the scene she had read for homework. Gatsby had his old girlfriend, Daisy, come to his house for the afternoon. He showed her all the stuff he owned, because he’d gotten really rich since the last time she saw him. At one point, Daisy was looking at his shirts, and she started to cry because they were so beautiful. Personally, Natalya couldn’t imagine crying over a bunch of shirts, no matter how nice they were, but she didn’t think Ms. MacFadden wanted to hear about that.
Instead, Natalya said, “I guess…I wasn’t sure what the point was of showing her the shirts.”
Ms. MacFadden cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean by ‘point’?”
Sometimes her teacher’s questions made Natalya feel as if she were an idiot, and other times they made her feel as if Ms. MacFadden were the idiot.
This was one of the Ms. MacFadden-is-an-idiot questions.
“Well,” Natalya explained carefully, “I mean, he is trying to get her to leave her husband and marry him.” Natalya felt she was pointing out the obvious, but maybe her observation was breaking new ground for Ms. MacFadden. “Shouldn’t he have a plan or something?”
“You mean he should introduce her to a divorce lawyer?” The teacher’s eyebrows were raised in amusement. From the side of the table where Morgan and Katrina were sitting, Natalya heard a snicker.
“No!” Natalya said firmly. Was Ms. MacFadden willfully misunderstanding her? “He doesn’t have to be that obvious about it,” she continued more calmly. “I just think that since she’s mad at her husband, and, you know, she seems to be into Gatsby right now, he should press his advantage.” Her phone buzzed, and her heart leaped at the possibility that it could be a text from Colin.
Ms. MacFadden’s face lit up with understanding. “Are you saying that all’s fair in love and war?”
Natalya was too flustered by the thought that Colin might have texted her to have any idea what she’d been saying to Ms. MacFadden. All she wanted was to end the conversation and see who’d just sent her a message. “I guess so,” she answered.
Ms. MacFadden gave Natalya one of the enthusiastic grins she usually reserved for girls like Morgan and Katrina, students who’d spent the summer reading Pride and Prejudice and got teary-eyed when they talked about Anna Karenina’s tragic end. “That’s a wonderful insight.”
It was the first time all year her teacher had liked something Natalya had said, and Natalya wasn’t even sure she’d said it. Still smiling, Ms. MacFadden called on a girl whose arm had shot to the ceiling the second Ms. MacFadden called on Natalya. “Yes, Amy?”
Amy took a deep, significant breath. “I just feel like Gatsby feels like Daisy feels…” Natalya tuned out Amy’s feelings about feelings and, without looking down, began inching her phone out of her bag just as Ms. MacFadden cried, “Oh, Amy, I love that idea.”
As she gave a tiny, private eye-roll, Alison Jones, who sat directly across the table, gave her a knowing grin. Natalya really liked Alison, who, despite being as beautiful as Morgan Prewitt, as rich as Morgan Prewitt (Natalya and Jordan had gone to Alison’s palatial penthouse in December for a major bio-study session), and as Old New York as Morgan Prewitt, was exactly as nice and friendly as Morgan was scary and snobbish. Privately, Natalya thought of Alison as the anti-Morgan. She smiled back and glanced down at her lap to check her phone.
One new message from Jane.
i m sorry if i gave u bad advice. u should just write colin that u want to be friends. or whatever. i m retarded when it comes to guys. sorry. your darling j.
Reading Jane’s message, Natalya wondered if maybe Ms. MacFadden was right. Maybe Natalya had been saying “all’s fair in love and war.” Not that she was in love with Colin, but still. She liked him. So she was working with her friends to come up with a strategy to seduce him. Well, not seduce him, she quickly corrected herself. But it was too late. Just thinking the word seducing made Natalya unable to repress a snort of embarrassed laughter at herself. Luckily it was disguised by the bell.
“Don’t forget your compare-and-contrast paragraphs on Daisy and Myrtle!” Ms. MacFadden reminded the class as they began shoving books into their bags.
At her announcement, a few girls hastily reached for their assignment pads, but Natalya had already written the paper.
Walking into the hallway, she typed a response to Jane.
u r not retarded. colin is retarded. the e-mail u sent him was really cool. i mean the e-mail i sent him. we sent him. whatever. xoxo your darling n
“Hey,” said Alison, coming up beside her. They fell into step together as Alison asked, “Do you ever
feel like Ms. MacFadden feels that English class should feel like a group therapy session?”
“Definitely,” agreed Natalya, laughing at how perfectly Alison had echoed both her own thoughts about Ms. MacFadden and Amy’s flaky commentary on the book. Her phone buzzed, and Natalya was about to look down to see what Jane had replied when Jordan, coming down the hallway toward Natalya and Alison, called to them without slowing down, “See you at lunch?”
“Totally,” agreed Alison.
“Definitely,” said Natalya, flipping her phone open.
“See you,” Alison called to Natalya as she let the crowd of girls sweep her off to her next class.
Normally, Natalya might have taken a moment to be internally grateful that she’d made friends like Jordan and Alison. At the very least, she would definitely have said something in response to Alison’s leaving, even if it was simply “Bye.”
But checking her phone seemed to have taken from Natalya the power of speech.
ok. now that we’ve both seen each other, r we ever going 2 finish that game of chess we started? colin
AT LUNCH JANE listened to Dahlia talk about rehearsals for Chicago with more than a little envy. Jane missed being in a cast. She missed hanging out in the theater, having lines and blocking to memorize. The massive amount of schoolwork she’d been spending her afternoons on lately was a sorry substitute for the hours spent rehearsing Midsummer in the fall.
“You’re coming opening night, right?” asked Dahlia, sweeping her sandwich wrapping and empty potato chip bag onto her tray.
“Of course! You think I’d miss it?” Jane dropped her fork into the empty container that had held her Caesar salad, and stood up. As she did, Mark suddenly materialized at her side.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said, giving her a suave smile.
“Hi, Mark.”
Mark waved at Dahlia. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Mark.”
“Dahlia,” said Dahlia. Jane could tell from the way Dahlia looked at him that she thought Mark was cute.
Just wait until he starts talking. Then he’s not so cute. She hoped Dahlia was receiving her telepathic communication, but Dahlia misinterpreted the look Jane gave her.
“Well, I’ve got to get going.” She hurriedly grabbed her tray and backed away from the table. “See you, Jane.”
“See you.” As her friend practically sprinted away, Jane rolled her eyes at Dahlia’s fantasy that Jane was desperate for alone time with Mark.
“Tell me you’re finding my stalking you endearing,” Mark suggested.
“What gave me away?” Jane pressed her hand to her mouth in mock embarrassment.
“Oh, I’ve got your number.” Mark gave Jane a knowing wink, then beckoned to someone standing behind her.
“I have someone I want you to meet,” he said.
“Is it the person you’ve gotten to take my history test for me next period?” Jane asked. “Because that would earn you mad points.”
Mark snapped his fingers regretfully. “Not quite.” Still looking just past her shoulder, he continued, “It’s the person I want you to act opposite in that scene I told you about.” Nodding at whoever was behind her, Mark said, “Jane Sterling, meet Simon Booth. He’s a sophomore here at ye olde Academy. Simon, Jane Sterling. Who needs no introduction.”
“I wasn’t kidding when I said—” Jane began.
But before she could finish her sentence, she found herself shaking hands with the handsomest boy she had ever seen in her life. With his square jaw, perfect aquiline nose, shiny blond hair, creamy skin, and vivid blue eyes, Simon wasn’t just handsome. Looking up at him, Jane felt simultaneously thrilled and calm, the way she felt when she stood on the porch of her father’s house in L.A. at sunset and looked out over the city and to the Pacific Ocean beyond. He was…
Perfect.
“Hi, Jane,” he said. His voice was deep, his smile toothpaste-commercial bright. Had Mark found him in a catalogue or something? “I’m Simon.”
Though she prided herself on having something to say in absolutely any situation, now Jane barely managed to stutter a monosyllabic response. “H-h-hi.” Simon’s handshake was firm but not crushing. For an insane second, Jane wanted to keep holding his hand, but then she made herself let go.
Mark seemed to sense the effect Simon was having on Jane, because he didn’t speak for a moment, just let her bask in the beauty of her potential costar. Then he said simply, “Si, I’m hoping you can convince Jane to be in that scene from Medea.”
“It would be an honor to act opposite you. I loved you in Midsummer.” Simon’s smile was slightly abashed, as if despite the fact that he was gorgeous and a sophomore, he was a little awed to be in Jane’s presence.
Jane didn’t think she’d ever gotten such a genuine compliment. It would be an honor to act opposite you. She was so taken aback by his sincerity, she almost forgot to say, “Thanks.”
“I’ve never had the guts to try out for a main-stage production, and I’m a sophomore.” He shook his head as if amazed anew by Jane’s courage, then realized his words could be misconstrued, and added quickly, “I don’t mean I would have gotten a part if I had tried out.”
“Now’s no time for modesty, dude,” Mark insisted. “This is the big sell here.” He put his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Simon is a gifted actor. He was one half of a brilliant Happy Days in the fall.”
Simon blushed. “Brilliant’s a bit of an exaggeration. It’s a great play. Have you read it?”
Jane shook her head. She hadn’t even heard of it.
“Don’t feel bad; neither had I until the audition.” Again that warm, gentle smile. “Then I went on a total Beckett orgy. He’s…amazing. I feel like it totally changed the way I think about theater. If you want, I’ll lend you my copy of the play.”
“Hey!” Mark snapped his fingers sharply, as if he’d just gotten an inspired idea. “I know! You can lend it to her at rehearsal.”
Simon rolled his eyes as Jane laughed. “Mark, enough, okay?”
“Enough?” Mark yelped. “Simon, you’re supposed to be working for me.”
Shaking his head more with amusement than frustration, Simon said, “He really is a good director. I couldn’t have done Happy Days without him.”
“Oh yeah!” Mark pumped his fist in the air. “I told you I was great.”
Jane raised her eyebrow at him. “I believe the word Simon used was good, Mark, not great.” Another word Simon had used was orgy, but Jane knew better than to linger on that.
“Hmmmm.” Mark stroked his nonexistent beard as he considered her point. “You’re right. I believe the word I used before was fabulous, not great, wasn’t it?”
Before Jane could respond, Simon interrupted. “Mark, you’re your own worst enemy here.” He turned to Jane. “Seriously, I’ll lend you the play even if you don’t do the scene. But I think it would be really fun to work with someone who’s as gutsy and talented as you clearly are.” While he spoke, Simon kept looking at her with his blue, blue eyes, as lovely and endless as a summer sky.
Jane hesitated. Mark was annoying, there was no doubt about it. But she was going to have to get back onstage at some point. She did go to the Academy for the Performing Arts, after all. Besides, Simon seemed so nice. And so smart. And so…gorgeous. She wanted to borrow his Beckett plays and hear how they had changed his ideas about theater. She wanted to spend time with him.
If she said no to Mark, was any of that going to happen?
“Yeah, I guess. Okay,” she said casually, though the decision felt anything but casual.
When Simon’s face split into a smile, it was like the sun coming out; Jane couldn’t not smile back. “Are you sure?” he asked. “We’re not bullying you into this, are we?” He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, a part of her anatomy of which Jane had never been particularly aware, but in which her entire being suddenly felt concentrated.
“Oh, she loves when I bully her,” Mark assured Simon.
He glanced at Jane, who was looking at Simon, who was still holding her shoulder. Then Mark took out his phone. “Jane, as soon as you regain the power of speech, you feel like giving me your number?”
Without taking her eyes off Simon, Jane asked Mark, “If we’re going to work together, do you think you can try not to be the most annoying person in the universe?”
Mark pretended to consider her question. “Mmmm, probably not.”
Simon suggested they all exchange numbers. Jane entered Mark’s number more or less unconsciously, but when she typed simon, she savored every letter, almost as if she were writing something holy.
Simon.
“Okay,” said Mark, flipping his phone shut and nodding happily. “Mission accomplished.” He stepped away. “See you later, Jane.”
Simon hesitated briefly. “I guess I’ll see you at rehearsal.”
“I guess so.”
Was it Jane’s imagination or did Simon follow Mark a little…reluctantly? She watched the two of them walk away, noticing how perfectly Simon’s rib cage tapered down to his waist. He was wearing a dark red T-shirt that was tight but not too tight, with a pair of faded jeans. The way he looked made her think of a poem her English teacher had them memorize right before Christmas break. She couldn’t remember the whole poem anymore, but her favorite part had stayed with her. It was: “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”
Simon was definitely a thing of beauty.
As she watched his perfect back disappear into the crowded cafeteria, Jane’s phone buzzed.
colin wrote back!!! colin wrote back!!! he wants 2 finish r game of chess!!! u r a genius!!!!
So her advice to Natalya hadn’t been bad. It had worked, and now Natalya had a date to play chess with Colin. Rereading Natalya’s text, the memory of Simon’s smile still fresh in her mind, Jane couldn’t help thinking that maybe she wasn’t on board the Titanic after all.
Maybe she was the captain of the Love Boat.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Natalya had a free period. Like the conscientious student she was, she sat with her notebook open and a pen in her hand, ready to get down to work. The work she was ready to get down to, however, had nothing to do with school.
The Darlings in Love Page 3