“It was really nice of you.”
“It wasn’t that nice. It was Julia’s bouquet.”
“But it was your idea.”
“And you’ve remembered it all this time.”
We look at each other.
“I’m glad I gave you a flower,” he says.
“You gave me a lot of books, too.”
“I guess I like giving you things.”
“Why’s that?” I take a step toward him. He reaches out to me. His hand finds mine and pulls me toward him. In the dark, we hug. Like friends? No, not like friends, I think, and I raise my face to his. His lips brush against the corner of my mouth. He whispers my name, and I freeze, afraid that if I move, I’ll break the spell. I feel his lips close to mine again, their warmth only an inch away. Then they’re brushing lightly but deliberately against mine—
And then I hear the sound of a girl laughing nearby.
Alex startles and drops my hand. He turns away from me.
“We should go back,” he says, and starts to walk.
I follow him silently, but I don’t want to just leave things like this. My heart is pounding. My skin is prickling all over, like it’s woken up from some kind of deep sleep. But I’m not sure exactly what happened—I mean, I know what happened; I just don’t know what it means. Or what’s supposed to happen next.
“Wait,” I say as we’re about to round the corner.
He halts and glances back at me. It’s lighter here, but that actually makes it harder to see his eyes. They’re in deep shadow, while the light picks out the planes of his forehead and the bones of his cheeks.
“It was fun,” I say a little desperately. “Playing darts tonight. Being with you.”
“I know,” he says. “It was amazing. Franny, I—”
And then suddenly Isabella appears around the corner of the building.
She studies us both coolly. “I thought I heard your voices.” Smoke escapes from her mouth with each word.
“There you are!” Alex says with excessive enthusiasm. Well, it sounds excessive to me, anyway. “Thought you were still with your roommates!”
“We finished. So Harry and I . . .” She gestures with the cigarette held between her long fingers just as Harry appears next to her, also holding a cigarette, only he holds it pinched between his index finger and thumb. It occurs to me that I’ve never actually seen him or Isabella smoke before: they’re always so careful about getting far away before lighting up.
Or maybe it’s because their cigarette breaks are my chance to have Alex to myself, so I’ve never even thought about following them.
Harry puts his cigarette to his lips and sucks briefly at it as he looks at me and Alex standing there in the dark together.
“Hi,” I say unsteadily. “How was your rehearsal?”
“Fine,” Harry says. “You were supposed to text me when you were done with work.”
“Sorry. I came over and didn’t see you and figured you and Marie were still rehearsing, and then I ran into Alex and we just started talking.” It’s the truth. So why does it feel like a lie?
“Kind of a dark place to talk, don’t you think?” Harry says.
Isabella says, “Definitely.” She flicks a bit of ash off her cigarette, puts it back between her perfect lips, and sucks at it so the tip glows for a second. It’s pretty the way it lights up, and I stare at it. It’s easier than meeting anyone’s eyes.
“We were playing darts,” Alex says. “It was really hot in there, so we came outside for a minute.”
“Uh-huh.” Isabella drops her cigarette on the ground and neatly swirls the sole of her ballet flat on it.
Alex touches her lightly on the elbow. “Want to go get something to drink?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Soda in the dining hall?”
“I’d rather walk into town and get a real drink.”
“Okay.” He looks at his watch. “We only have about an hour until curfew.”
“Better get going, then. You guys want to come?” She looks at Harry, not at me.
“Franny?” He waits for my response, head politely cocked.
It feels oddly like we’re all onstage, stiffly reciting lines we’ve barely memorized. Nothing sounds natural.
I shake my head. “I promised my aunt I wouldn’t be late. I should head back.” I’m so uncomfortable right now . . . I want to be away from them all. No, wait, not Alex. I don’t want to be away from Alex. I want him to pull me back into the shadows. Or—even better—to stand right here in the light and tell Isabella that he wants to walk me home.
But he doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t even meet my eyes.
It’s Harry who says, “I should walk you back. It’s late.”
“You don’t have to.” I don’t want him to. I need time alone to think. To figure out what just happened.
“I’ll take Franny home and then meet up with you guys,” Harry tells Isabella. “Text me when you know where you’re going.”
“Okay.” She suddenly throws her arms around him. “I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you too,” he says soberly, and hugs her back.
They release each other, and then Isabella and Alex move away.
Harry and I stand there for a moment watching them go. Then he says abruptly, “What were you and Alex doing out here?”
“He told you—getting some fresh air.”
“Right.”
“I don’t know why you’re acting like this,” I say, snappish because I feel guilty and confused and it’s easier to feel angry than either of those things. “Like I’ve done something wrong—you were the one who went off with Marie for half the night. And you’re always flirting with her, but I never make you feel bad.”
“I asked you to come with us tonight. And told you to let me know when you were done with work. Which you didn’t do.”
I shrug irritably. “The point is, we both spent time with members of the opposite gender tonight. Who cares? This isn’t the eighteenth century.”
“There’s nothing else going on, right? With you and Alex? Because Isabella . . .” He stops.
“What?”
“She thinks Alex has a thing for you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “He’s been in love with her since we got here.” But my voice sounds too high, because I’m excited: if Isabella is worried that Alex likes me, that’s just more evidence that he really does.
“True,” Harry says. He takes a quick, audible breath. “Franny, this is weird for me. I don’t do the whole jealous thing. To be honest, I’ve never had to. So just tell me everything’s cool and I’ll believe you.”
“Everything’s cool,” I say.
He takes my hand. “Now look me in the eyes and say that. And it wouldn’t hurt if you said something reassuring about how Alex looks a little like a frog with those bulgy eyes of his.”
I take a deep breath, squeeze his fingers, raise my gaze to his, and say again, “Everything’s cool—”
He bobs his head. “Okay then.”
“—but we never said we were going to be exclusive, you know.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to add this. I guess I just want to make something clear to both of us.
He drops my hand. “That wasn’t all that reassuring.”
“I’m just saying. Not that it matters, necessarily. But since you’re the one asking all these questions, I think it’s important to be honest and . . . and clear about these things. Right? So no one gets hurt.” I’m babbling and I know it. I force myself to stop. Which only makes me more aware of the silence that falls as soon as I do.
“Are you mad?” I ask after a moment goes by.
He shakes his head, slowly, like he’s distracted. Like he’s thinking.
Some kids walk by us and open the dorm door. Light streams out. They go in and it gets dark again. Then Harry says slowly, “There are some things I guess I thought went without saying. But maybe I’m wron
g about that.”
“We have fun together,” I say. “That’s all that matters, right?”
“That’s all that matters,” he repeats, almost absently. “So if you suddenly felt like ‘having fun’ with someone else, then that would be all that mattered. Right?”
“I guess.” Part of me wants to keep everything all right between us. And the other part wants to make everything completely shattered between us and then go tell Alex that it’s shattered. And that part is desperately hoping that he’s busy shattering everything with Isabella right now.
“And the same would go for me?” Harry asks. “Just to be clear? We’re both free to ‘have fun’ with anyone at any time?”
“Oh, come on, Harry,” I say. “You know you already do whatever you feel like. Especially when it comes to girls. None of it really matters to you, does it? Not in any serious way.”
He takes a step back. His eyes glitter in the glow from a courtyard streetlight, which looks like an old-fashioned oil lamp but only because it’s a fake. “Do you really think that?”
I say quickly, “It’s not a criticism—not at all. It’s just who you are. Which is fine. I’m not trying to change you.”
“I’m so glad,” he says. His tone is mild, almost amiable, but he hunches his shoulders forward like he needs to protect himself against an imminent attack.
“I like that you’re easy to be with, Harry. It’s a good thing. You’re the most fun guy I know.”
“Just so long as you don’t make the mistake of thinking I could ever be serious?” he says.
“We’ve both wanted to keep things casual.”
“Give me a break, Franny.” His voice is suddenly sharp with anger, something I haven’t heard from him before. I’m so surprised I just stare at him. I didn’t think Harry got angry. “You decided what kind of person I was without even giving me a chance. In what way haven’t I been a good boyfriend? In what way have I treated you badly?”
“I never said you did. And I wouldn’t—you’ve been incredibly sweet.” I touch his arm.
He flings my hand off. “Don’t call me sweet! Jesus. That’s what you call your old aunt who smells funny. I don’t want to be your old maid aunt, Pearson. You already have one of those and you hate her.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
He shakes his head. “Everything you’re saying to me tonight—you’re damning me with your words. I’m fun. I’m sweet. I’m a flirt. God, kill me now. Why are you doing this? Does it have something to do with Alex?”
I ignore that last question. “You can’t deny that since you’ve gotten here, you’ve flirted with every girl in sight.”
“Flirted, yes. Actually liked? One girl. Actually kissed? One girl.”
“Come on,” I say. “You spent an hour in the hot tub with Marie. You going to tell me you didn’t kiss her?”
“She kissed me.”
“Oh, please.”
“It’s a real distinction!”
“You guys disappeared on the beach—”
“Right. We went for a walk together. She flirted with me like crazy and kept grabbing at me, but I wasn’t interested. I’ve never been interested in her. If I had been, we’d have hooked up.” He pounds his fist against his thigh. “God, Franny, I’m not the one playing two girls against each other. I’m not the one who waits for his girlfriend to walk away so he can go grab hold of someone else.”
“Alex doesn’t do that! He—”
“I’ve seen him do it, over and over again! It drove me nuts for Isabella’s sake, but I thought that at least he didn’t have a chance with you—that you were too smart for that kind of shit.”
“Alex and I are old friends,” I say. “We like to talk to each other, that’s all.” Which has been true, right? Up until tonight. “But the stuff between you and Julia and Marie—that was ridiculous, and it went on for days. You sucked up all their adoration and let them slug it out.”
He raises his hands, like he’s strangling the air. “That was their fault, not mine. I never claimed to be involved with either of them. They were interchangeable to me.”
“Who isn’t?”
He just stares at me, and I writhe uncomfortably under his silent gaze.
“Anyway,” I say, “I don’t actually care. The thing with Julia and Marie . . . it doesn’t matter. I was just making a point.”
There’s a pause. Then he says, “You really don’t ‘actually care,’ do you?”
“I just said I don’t.”
“I mean about me. About . . .” He points at me, then at himself.
“Of course I care about you,” I say. “You’re one of my best friends here, Harry.”
“Right,” he says coldly. “And let’s not forget that I’m sweet and fun.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I sneak a sideways peek at him. Maybe he’ll laugh. He likes to laugh.
But he doesn’t laugh. He just stands there, waiting for me to do or say something else. But I don’t know what to say or do. Now it’s like I’m caught in that narrow doorway with him and Alex. None of us can pass through.
When the silence has gone on for an entire minute . . .
“Screw this,” he says, and walks away.
I call after him—I don’t want him to go away mad—but he just flicks his fingers in my direction and keeps walking. It looks like a friendly wave from a distance, but it’s not.
A noisy group of girls is also heading toward the dorm door. As they get closer to the light, I realize Marie is one of them. Harry spots her at the same time. He glances back at me. Then he strides forward with sudden energy, grabs her by the arm, and pulls her away from the other girls and against his hip. She laughs and clutches at him as he spins her around so they can head away from the dorm together.
Harry doesn’t look back at me, but Marie does. With a smile and a toss of her head. Which she then leans against his shoulder as they disappear into the dark.
I feel a spasm of anger and something else, too: something like pain. Did he really just run off with her? Like that—two seconds after telling me I was special?
I guess he’s as unreliable and changeable as I thought. I should feel glad that I escaped before I got so tangled up with him that he had the power to hurt me. It’s pretty clear right now that any girl who really likes Harry Cartwright is going to end up getting hurt.
I should feel good about this. To hell with him.
I stand there for a while, trying to appreciate how good this should make me feel, but I’m still not convinced when I finally turn around and head slowly back toward Amelia’s apartment.
What else am I going to do? I have nowhere else to go right now.
scene two
I don’t know who’s more surprised that I’m home at such a reasonable hour, Amelia or me. I immediately tell her I’m tired and just want to crash in my room with a book. She’s riveted by the show she’s watching—people are screaming at each other—so she lets me go without an argument.
I fall down on my bed and curl up so my feet are sticking out over the side, since it feels like too much work to take off my shoes. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and spin it around on the blanket.
I feel unsettled. On edge.
There’s this weird little bubble of happiness inside of me—Alex kissed me!—and then this bad feeling that has to do with Harry walking away furious and clutching Marie to his side.
Why’d he have to grab her like that? I know I shouldn’t expect anything else from him—but still . . . it was rude and deliberately hurtful.
But Alex, I remind myself. Alex.
Some time passes. I sit up and pick a book off the stack on my desk and try to settle myself down with some reading, but then I realize it’s one of the books Alex gave me on our day trip, and that gets me started all over again: thinking about whether Alex bought the books because he liked me, remembering how much fun Harry and I had that day, wondering whether Harry was just trying to teach me a
lesson when he disappeared with Marie right now or if something happened when they were alone rehearsing that had him already planning to do that.
My phone buzzes, and I snatch it up instantly.
Come to the window.
It’s from Alex.
I scramble to my feet and look out.
Alex is standing in the courtyard, gazing up at Amelia’s room. The fact that he’s confused about whose window is whose makes me melt toward him.
Not that I needed any extra heart-melting in his direction.
I open my window—only a crack because Amelia’s put in some kind of thief-deterring hardware that keeps it from opening any wider—and call out a muted but very happy “Wait there!” through the inch of open space. He turns and sees me, so I wave before ducking down and running into the living room. I’m in luck: Amelia has disappeared into her bedroom, so I’m free to creep through unchallenged. I close the apartment door behind me very quietly.
He’s right below the front step as I come out. His eyes search my face eagerly.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says. He’s wearing the same blue T-shirt and jeans he was wearing when I last saw him an hour or so ago. Of course he is. Why would he have changed? Nothing’s changed.
Unless everything’s changed?
“I’m fine,” I say. We’re both speaking in whispers. People are asleep in the buildings all around us. I hope Amelia is asleep.
“Harry and Marie . . .” He stops, sticks his hands in his pockets. “He was with her when he met up with us, and they were all over each other.. . . I didn’t know if you knew about it. I thought you should.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But it’s fine. I don’t care.”
“So you guys broke up?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “We weren’t going out enough to call it breaking up. I mean, I knew all along that he and I didn’t really belong together.”
“So you’re not upset?”
The Trouble With Flirting Page 14