“Pretty much what you’d expect,” Harry says. “I spent most of the afternoon fighting off Franny’s advances.”
“In his dreams,” I say with a snort.
“Pinch me, then, because I’ve been dreaming all day.” He holds his arm out to Alex, who shoves it away, more violently than seems necessary.
Isabella stands up. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.” She touches Alex’s shoulder. “Do you want to hold my cigarettes while I’m gone? Or would you rather just sniff at me suspiciously when I come back?” She turns to Harry and me. “I can’t even go to the bathroom without being sniffed up and down afterward. It’s like dating a DEA dog.”
“Whatever,” Alex says.
“I’ll join you.” Harry jumps up. “We can powder each other’s noses.”
“Sadly, that’s not a euphemism,” she says with an exaggerated sigh. They wrap their arms around each other’s waists as they walk across the floor together.
Alex and I are silent for a moment. Our eyes meet.
I say, “I don’t think I ever thanked you for getting me those books. It was really nice of you. I’m sorry if I got you in trouble.”
“You didn’t,” he says. “I can buy books for a friend if I want to.” He takes a sip of water. We’ve ordered our food but have so far gotten only our drinks. Isabella and Harry got glasses of wine—they both have fake IDs, but the waiter didn’t even ask to see them. Still, Alex and I just got water. “You and Harry seem to be having a good time,” he says flatly, putting the glass back down with a little thump.
I shrug. “It’s been a nice day.”
“Glad to hear it.” He doesn’t look glad. He looks . . . not like his usual cheerful self.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he snaps.
I shoot him a look. “Really, Alex?”
He holds his hands up in sudden apology. “Sorry. I honestly don’t know why I’m in such a bad mood. It’s just . . .” There’s a pause; then he leans forward abruptly. “Hey, Franny? Be careful, okay? With Harry, I mean. I’ve spent a lot of time with both him and Isabella, and you have to . . .” He stops himself. “Not that they’re the same. It’s just . . . I mean, they’re from L.A., you know? People are just different there. And for someone like you . . . You shouldn’t rush into trusting people. So don’t. Rush.”
“Maybe you should be careful too,” I say sharply. Why does he assume I’m some naive little kid who needs his advice? Who’s more careful than me? I’m so careful I haven’t even kissed a guy yet this summer.
Oh, wait, yes, I have. An hour ago. I kissed a guy a lot.
Cool.
“Isabella’s not like Harry,” Alex says.
“You just said she was. And, by the way, they’re best friends, so if you don’t like him, you should be wondering about her taste.”
“I never said I didn’t like him. I just don’t think you can trust him completely.”
I don’t actually disagree with him, but I’m too annoyed to let him know that. “Harry’s been nothing but nice to me.”
There’s a pause. Then Alex says, “All I know is he doesn’t deserve you.”
“What do you mean?” I suddenly wish we had more time alone, but I can already see Harry making his way toward us from across the room.
“Just . . .” He gestures helplessly with his hands. “Just know that I’m here, Franny. And that I care about you. A lot.”
I’m still turning those words around in my head, trying to figure out what they mean, when Harry arrives at the table, drops down into his chair at my side, and puts his arm along my shoulders.
I shift toward him, briefly closing my eyes to regain my balance, which feels a little unsteady since Alex’s last comment.
“You smell like smoke,” I tell Harry.
“And you smell like girl,” Harry replies. “I may have snuck out for a sec. Were you worried about where I was?”
“Nope.”
“Did you not see me go off with another woman?”
“I did. And I hope you two had fun together.”
He makes a face. “Damn it, Pearson, why are you so hard to make jealous?”
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “Was that supposed to bother me?”
“Forget it,” he says with mock hurt. “Just forget it.” Then he murmurs in my ear, “Someday I’ll make you wild with jealousy. You’ll see.”
“Yeah?” I say, and raise my water glass to my lips. My eyes meet Alex’s over the rim, and he’s watching me drink and I watch him watching me, and it’s like Harry isn’t there next to me; it’s like there’s no one else in the whole restaurant except for me and Alex, Alex and me, for that one split second before everything goes back to normal.
When the bus returns to pick us up, Isabella grabs my arm and tells the guys that the girls want to sit together. News to me, but I let her guide me to a window seat. She plops down beside me. The seat across the aisle from us is already taken, so Alex and Harry move on and sit somewhere behind us.
Once the bus is moving, Isabella says, “You probably think I was being a jerk at dinner.”
I shake my head silently.
“I know I acted like a baby about the books.” She leans her head back and gazes absently ahead. “I don’t know why I was doing that. I like that Alex is the kind of guy who’d get those books because he knew a friend wanted them. I guess I just felt a little left out. I’m used to being the one who gets the presents.” She glances at me with a little laugh. “Selfish to the core, right? Just like Harry said. He knows me well.”
“Nah,” I say. “Who doesn’t like presents?”
“Anyway, I just wanted you to know that it had nothing to do with you, and that Alex and I are fine, even if we have these moments. We just . . .” She wiggles her fingers uncertainly. “I don’t know. It’s almost like it’s too intense sometimes.” She sits up, then leans toward me confidingly, lowering her voice. “Like we like each other too much. You know what I mean?” Her big dark eyes bore into me. She sounds like she’s asking me a question, but I think she’s telling me something.
I get it. He’s hers. But she doesn’t know that he said Harry doesn’t deserve me and that he cares about me. “I get it” is the only part I say out loud. The rest I just hold on to, to think about later, when I’m alone.
“When we were together, Harry totally reamed me out about making you feel bad,” she says, shifting back and smoothing the navy fabric of her dress over her knee. “He was all, ‘Get as pissy as you want with Alex but leave my Franny alone.’ Seriously. That boy is so all about you right now—I’m sure he’d rather be fighting dragons to prove his love, but he’s stuck with fighting me. The Gorgon.”
I smile politely.
“So?” she says. “You and Harry? Yes?”
“What am I saying yes to exactly?”
“You know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh as much as you did with him today.”
“I probably never have,” I admit. “I had a lot of fun.”
“You know what’s even better?” she says. “I’ve never seen Harry think about anyone other than himself, but all day today I could see he was trying to figure out what you wanted. You’re good for him.” Her cell phone buzzes, and she pulls it out of her purse. “Sweet,” she says, studying it with a smile. “It’s Alex. He wants to know if I’ll trade places with Harry. Says he misses me. What do you think?”
“Yeah, you should go.” I’m happy to make the trade.
She wasn’t really waiting for my approval anyway: she’s already sent back a text. She puts her phone away and pats my knee. “I’m glad we got to talk.” She unbuckles her seat belt and gets to her feet, then makes her way to the back of the bus, swaying with its movement, passing Harry as he makes his way forward.
The fat, old bus driver glares into the rearview mirror and barks out, “Will you kids stop moving around? Stay in your seats or I’ll stop the bus and come back there and bust your asses.�
�
“What a charmer,” Harry says as he drops into the seat next to me with a cheerful (and therefore deliberately infuriating) wave toward the angry driver. “With his people skills, I’m shocked he doesn’t have a more high-profile job. Like as a fish descaler.” He buckles in, then turns and looks at me. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“This is better. A lot better. Alex is a terrible kisser. All tongue and no finesse. I couldn’t wait to get away from him and come sit with you.”
“I’m glad you thought of it. Oh, hold on . . . you didn’t. It was Alex who wanted to be with Isabella. You didn’t care at all.”
He shakes his head. “You’re an idiot, Pearson. And you don’t check your texts. Look at your phone.”
I pull it out of my purse. There are four new texts from Harry, all suggesting I change seats with Alex, except for the last one which is You’re not even reading these, are you?
“What’s that?” he says, leaning closer. “I didn’t quite hear that. Did you just say, ‘I’m sorry for doubting you, Harry? I’ll never doubt you again’?” His eyes are dancing. This close, I can see the separate flecks of gray within the green.
“Let me whisper it in your ear,” I say.
He obligingly leans over even more. I gently brush my lips over his ear without saying a word. He shivers.
“That’s not fair,” he growls, drawing back. “You can’t do something like that here, on a bus, surrounded by people.”
“No one saw.”
“Yeah, but they’ll see this.” He twists toward me, takes me by the shoulders, and kisses me full on the lips. The girls across the aisle make loud hooting noises. “See what I mean?” he says with a mock sigh. “Now there’ll be gossip.”
And I think, I don’t care if I trust him or not. I like him.
scene five
I stay up late that night, video-chatting with William—whenever he has time to talk to me, I jump at the chance, even if I’m half-asleep. I text him once or twice every day, and he usually texts me back, but most of the time it’s Sorry, no time to talk. <3 you, Frannygirl.
The thing is, when your brother is twenty and has a serious girlfriend and is living in New York, it doesn’t matter that once it felt like it was the two of you against the world or that you used to crawl into his bed when your parents were fighting or that you sat next to him on the sofa when they told you they were getting divorced and the only thing that kept you from falling apart completely was knowing he was there at your side.
I know he loves me and he’s there for me if I need him, but he’s got his own life these days and doesn’t need me. So I’m grateful for any time he can give me.
He asks me if there are any boys in my life, so I tell him about Harry, keeping my voice low so I won’t wake up Amelia if she’s asleep—and she won’t be able to eavesdrop if she’s not.
“How does he compare with Tyler?” William asks.
I think about that. “Less serious,” I say. “And probably not as smart. But funnier. And cuter.”
“Yeah? You becoming shallow, Franny? Only caring about a guy’s looks?”
“It’s summer. I’m supposed to just have fun, right?”
“I guess. But it’s not fun to spend time with someone who turns out to be a jerk.”
“I don’t think Harry’s a jerk.” I hesitate for a moment, then say, “To be honest, there’s another guy here who I like more. He’s definitely not a jerk. He’s really sweet. And sometimes I think he likes me. But he’s already going out with someone.”
William tilts his head toward me. Or toward his laptop camera, at any rate. He’s handsome, my brother, but at this angle you can see that his hair is already thinning on top. He’s going to be bald before he’s thirty, just like our grandfather. “If he’s going out with someone else, why do you think he likes you?”
“Just the way he talks to me sometimes. And he does really nice things for me. Like he bought me these books today, just because I said I wanted them.”
“And how did the girlfriend feel about that?”
“She was a little pissed off,” I admit.
“Hmm.”
“That’s a pretty disapproving-sounding hmm.”
“Just take care of yourself, okay, Franny? Don’t fall in love with anyone who might hurt you. Which both these guys sound like they could do.”
“I’m not falling in love with either of them. I’m not an idiot.”
“Smart people can be stupid about this stuff.”
“Wow,” I say. “Can I quote you on that?”
“Shut up. I’m making a good point.” But he drops it.
A few minutes later we say good-bye, and I close my laptop and wonder whether I was telling the truth, whether I’m really not in love with either Harry or Alex. I think it’s true. But only because they’re both around. It’s like when two people in a comedy sketch try to go through a doorway at the same time and get stuck. If I didn’t have Alex around—if I didn’t feel like he was the kinder, more trustworthy guy—I’d probably have a crush on Harry. And if Harry weren’t around, actually paying attention to me, I’d probably still be mooning over Alex, waiting for him to see the light and leave Isabella for me.
Guess I’ll have to wait for one of them to get unstuck.
Or give up on the whole idea of romance and just watch reality shows with Amelia every night. I’m sure I could learn to find Antiques Roadshow fascinating.
I sleep late the next morning and don’t have time to go to the dining hall for breakfast, so instead I just grab a protein bar from Amelia’s supply. They’re all “formulated for a woman’s needs,” which makes me roll my eyes every time I take one—I wonder what would happen to a man who accidentally ate one. Not that that’s likely to happen in Amelia’s apartment.
I walk to campus with my aunt, and on the way she quizzes me about my outing the day before. She was watching TV when I got back last night, too absorbed to do more than nod when I said hi on the way to my room, but now she’s curious. I tell her we found a great bookstore, and she nods approvingly.
“I have to say, I like to hear about kids your age who are more interested in books than anything else. It’s very refreshing.”
“We stayed there for most of the afternoon.” I figure I’ll exaggerate a little, score some points. “We went into a couple of other stores, had dinner . . . nothing too exciting.”
Somehow I don’t get around to mentioning the part where I hid in the back of a store with the hottest guy at camp and we kissed for an hour.
There’s a folded piece of paper taped to her workroom door, with both our names on it. Amelia plucks it off and opens it, and I stand on tiptoe so I can read over her shoulder. It’s the schedule Charles has worked out. He’s clearly done his best not to take up too much of my work time: For the next couple of weeks, he’s only got me down for about six two-hour rehearsals, all of them late in the afternoon, close to dinnertime. The week after that—the last week before the final performances—he’s marked out some longer sessions, and of course the days of the actual performances are completely blocked out.
Amelia’s frowning. “I don’t mind losing you during show week—we’ll basically be done by then. But that last week of rehearsal is when I need you the most. That’s my busiest time.”
“Maybe I can take some hand sewing with me to rehearsals,” I suggest. “And work on it when I’m not actually onstage.”
She considers that. “It’s not ideal,” she says begrudgingly. “But I suppose we could try that when the time comes.”
“It’ll work out,” I say.
I guess I sound a little too blasé or something, because she narrows her eyes and waves the piece of paper in my face. “I hope you appreciate my generosity here. This was not part of the bargain when I hired you to be my assistant. In fact, I told your mother there would be no special considerations for you and that you’d have to work as hard as any stranger. And yet here I am, bending over backward for
you, making my life harder, just like I said I wouldn’t do.”
“I am grateful,” I say. “Truly. And I’ll work extra hard the rest of the time.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Nothing will distract me.” I swear I mean it when I say it. But just a couple of hours later, when my phone vibrates, I pounce on it eagerly.
Amelia says, “You’re like Pavlov’s dog. That thing buzzes and you salivate.”
“Woof,” I reply absently, reading the text. It’s from Harry, who’s breaking the rules by using his phone during the day. I wonder how he managed to do it without getting caught. I’m guessing the men’s room.
Find a way to sneak out at 10:30. I’ll meet you at the bench in front of the dining hall.
No please. Just a command. He assumes I’ll go.
At ten twenty-five I say to Amelia, “I’m falling asleep here. I’m going to go grab a cup of coffee at the dining hall. Want anything?”
“I can make you a cup of tea,” she says, nodding toward her electric kettle. “Peppermint can be very invigorating.”
“Sorry—it’s got to be coffee.”
“Fine.” She waves her hand and goes back to the work she’s doing, embroidering the fairies’ dresses for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I slip out the door and run across the courtyard toward the dining hall.
I don’t even make it that far: Harry comes racing toward me from the theater building. He catches me up in his arms, swings me around, kisses me so passionately that my heart starts racing, then suddenly sets me back on the ground and steps back.
“Oh, sorry,” he says. “I thought you were someone else. My mistake.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and starts to walk away, whistling.
“I get that a lot,” I call after him. “People are always confusing me with someone else. But usually I get better kisses out of it.”
He stops and turns around. “Those are fighting words,” he says seriously.
“You accept the challenge?”
“Hell, yeah.” He reaches out, grabs my arm, and pulls me around the side of the building. Then we get busy kissing for a while.
The Trouble With Flirting Page 12