I stared at her for a second. I wasn’t mad exactly, I just wasn’t sure what to say. I was kind of surprised Mom was acting like I was gonna yell at her. I tried to think of how I could use her guilt to my advantage.
“But . . .” Mom said, her voice getting brighter. “I think you’re gonna be glad I did answer your phone.”
“Mom—who was it?” I didn’t know whether to hope it was Julie or Josh. My life was so complicated.
She pulled out the small piece of paper that she had been holding behind her back and taunted me with it, enjoying herself.
“It’s a boy. . . .” she teased.
“Was it Josh? Mom, come on, was it Josh?” I demanded as she smiled at me. “Just tell me!”
“It was Josh Heller!” she said handing me the paper. The note was written in Mom’s neat script: Call Josh Heller, 516-555-4703. 3:15pm. Mom always wrote down the time someone called. She must have learned that a million years ago when she was a secretary at Doubleday.
Usually if my phone rang and I wasn’t home, my parents ignored it. My dad had just gotten a telephone-answering machine for their phone. He hooked it up to the phone in their bedroom, the one that sat on Mom’s vanity. It was the coolest thing—it was a tape recorder set to tape someone’s voice so you could know who called when you were out. Whenever we played back the phone messages, though, we always heard the click of someone hanging up the phone like they didn’t want to leave a message.
Call Josh Heller, 516-555-4703. 3:15pm. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. He called me. I mean, I sort of expected him to, but the fact that he actually did kind of surprised me. Did that mean that he had a good time last night? That he was gonna ask me out again? When should I call him back?
I closed my door and kicked off my sneakers. I took off my red hooded Performing Arts sweatshirt and sat on my bed. I stared at the hanging plants over my double windows. Dad had insisted on keeping them in my room because I got the best sunlight in the apartment, he said. I didn’t really care, ’cause he took care of them. I didn’t have to water them or anything. Ellie told Dad she didn’t want any hanging plants in her room ’cause they were “too seventies.”
When I was a little girl, spider plants scared me. In the dark of my room, trying to fall asleep, I’d imagine the spider plant would become a giant spider and eat me whole. But at fifteen, I wasn’t scared of spider plants anymore. I stared at the spider plant, noticing the yellow in some of the leaves. I sat cross-legged on my bed, holding Josh’s message, unable to move.
The next Thursday after school, Daisy, Jennifer Smalls, and I went to Serendipity, the delicious ice-cream place that was kind of near Fiorucci, where Jennifer insisted we look for a new outfit for me for my second date with Josh Heller. It felt kind of weird that Julie wasn’t with us. Jennifer said Julie had a doctor’s appointment, but I thought, Yeah, right. She was probably avoiding me.
“He’s taking you to Avery Fisher Hall?” Jennifer said as she took a big gloppy bite of her frozen hot chocolate. Serendipity was famous for their frozen hot chocolates—amazing gigantic chocolate slushies with tons of whipped cream and chocolate shavings on the top. Frozen hot chocolates came in these huge glass goblets, and some of Jennifer’s spilled out over the edge, which gave me a pang at all those delicious slurps wasted. But that day I was having a sundae with coffee ice cream, cookies-and-cream ice cream, and hot fudge.
“Wow,” Daisy said. “That’s pretty fancy.”
“I know!” I said. “At first I was really impressed, but then he told me his mom works for some music company and got tickets for free. He says she gets tickets all the time.”
“Is he taking you out to dinner first?” Jennifer said.
“Yeah, he said we should go to the Saloon ’cause it’s right across the street from Lincoln Center. Did you know the waitresses there are on roller skates? It’s pretty cool.”
“Groovy!” Jennifer squealed. I was psyched that she was being so excited for me. Suddenly she gasped. “Oh my God! I just realized something!”
“What?” I said, holding my heart. She totally scared me.
“Maybe he’ll ask you to the Spring Dance!” Jennifer got all squealy and giggly.
“Shhh!” I said. “We haven’t even had a second date yet! Are you crazy? Are you trying to jinx me?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jennifer said, still giggling with her hands over her mouth. “You’re right. Let’s just focus on the second date. When is it, anyway?”
“Saturday night!” I said. I was both scared and excited.
“What are you gonna wear?” Daisy asked.
“Oh my God, I have no idea!” I said. “I hope we find something at Fiorucci. Maybe just a new top, if it’s not too expensive—something that goes with my skirt with the buttons....”
“Oh yeah, that skirt!” Jennifer remembered. “Well, who cares if it’s expensive—you know what to do. . . .”
“I know,” I said. “But I’m not really doing that any more....”
“Oh, right,” Jennifer said, seeming disappointed. I thought I saw her roll her eyes, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what Julie had told them about our fight. They knew we weren’t speaking and hadn’t in a couple of weeks, but Jennifer and Daisy hadn’t taken sides.
Daisy whispered, “You want me to get something for you?”
“No,” I said. “That would be, like, the same thing.”
In Fiorucci, Daisy went right down to the jeans department and Jennifer and I stayed on the first floor in the back where the blouses were. The only thing I liked was this tight purple cotton top with black dots all over it. It was thirty-two dollars, which was more than I had. But I tried it on anyway. Jennifer and I were in the dressing room together, and she said it looked good on me.
“Really?” I said. “Even though I don’t have a big chest?”
“You’ve got plenty,” Jennifer said, circling me as I stood in front of the mirror. I knew she was searching for a plastic tag. “You want me to pull off the price tag?” she whispered. “There’s no plastic; that’s a good sign. . . .”
“No,” I whispered back. Then in my regular voice, I said, “Are you sure I can wear something this tight?”
“Definitely,” Jennifer said. “Guys love tight stuff.” Then whispering again, she said, “C’mon Jule, this is an easy one. It’ll roll right up in your bag—and thirty-two dollars is a lot for a little piece of cotton. I don’t think it’s worth it.”
She had a point. Oh man, it was so tempting. I could hear myself saying, as I had said to myself so many times, Okay, maybe this time will be the last time. I took off the shirt and held up a bunch of other shirts that I didn’t really like ’cause they seemed itchy and hung them back on the hook. Jennifer rolled up the purple shirt and started rooting around my Chocolate Soup bag to hide it. I felt that familiar feeling of my heart beating in my throat.
We went to the earring counter, where Daisy was shifting her weight from foot to foot, but I couldn’t tell if she had a pair of jeans on underneath her pants.
“You guys ready?” she said.
“Almost,” Jennifer said. She had a couple of sweaters over her arm. “Let me just try these on. I’ll be quick.”
Jennifer came out of the dressing room all smiles. “Ready!” she said. We went to get our free Fiorucci posters, which I didn’t really want ’cause they were kind of ugly—this weird cartoon of some European rock band I didn’t know, and it was mostly in this puke green color. I felt like the purple shirt in my bag was burning a hole in my side.
We got outside and Daisy said, “Where to next?”
“How ’bout Bloomingdale’s?” Jennifer said. “Just kidding!” I wasn’t really listening to them as we walked a few steps away from Fiorucci.
“Hold on a sec,” I said, and suddenly, without even thinking, I ran back into Fiorucci. I headed straight to the back of the store where the dressing rooms were. Now there was a salesgirl who wasn’t there before.
&nbs
p; “I think I left something in there,” I lied, pointing to the curtain where we had been.
“Sure, have a look!” she said, and waved me past her. I exhaled a small sigh when I realized she wasn’t going to follow me in. Inside the dressing room, I pulled out my balled-up shirt and hung it on the hook without a hanger. Then I fished around my bag for my orange Reminiscence heart-shaped sunglasses.
“Found them!” I said to the girl, coming out from the curtain, holding up my glasses.
“Oh, good,” she said, smiling, but she was busy sorting items on a rack. I could feel my heart slowing down to normal and the blood coming back to my cheeks. Jennifer and Daisy were still waiting for me outside.
“Sorry,” I said under my breath. “I had to do something.”
They just looked at me for a second, and I knew they knew. Then someone said, “C’mon, let’s get the bus.”
20
The Ides of March
That night I decided, Enough of this stupid fight, and I tried calling Julie about three times, but her phone just rang and rang, and I couldn’t imagine where she was. Maybe she was out with Oliver. I tried calling Mimi’s phone, too, but there was no answer there, either. I had this horrible feeling in the center of my chest like a pain and an ache, and I just couldn’t believe that Julie could stay mad for three weeks because I didn’t want to steal anymore.
The next day I got to homeroom just as the second bell was ringing. Julie and Natalie were in a whispery conversation. I slid into a chair next to them. Julie kind of had her back to me.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” Natalie said, and Julie said hi, too, but barely looked in my direction.
“All right, all right, quiet down! Quiet down!” Mr. Werner said. Everyone was quiet for about a second as he started attendance, then they went back to their conversations.
“Here!” Julie said when Mr. Werner called her name, and she barely turned her body to the front while continuing to talk to Natalie. I suddenly felt like it was the first day of school all over again and I didn’t know anyone.
When the bell rang at the end of homeroom, Julie walked so quickly to the door I could barely catch her, but I got her arm and said, “Julie.”
She turned around as kids pushed passed us.
“What’s going on?” I said, holding back the tears. I was not going to cry. If she was still mad at me for a dumb reason, I was not going to let her see me cry about it.
“What?” she said.
“This stupid fight. Why are we doing this? Why are you, like, ignoring me?”
“I’m not ignoring you. What do you mean?”
“You’ve been avoiding me for weeks and being cold, and just now you, like, clearly didn’t even want to say hi to me.” I forced my voice not to get high-pitched and caught in my throat.
“What—Mr. Werner told us to quiet down,” she said, which was, like, the worst excuse I ever heard. “I gotta go now,” she said. “I have dance.”
I just stood there for a second like, What the hell? I swallowed hard. Then I dragged myself downstairs to class.
I got home that day feeling totally depressed. As I was dumping out my book bag on my bed, I looked at my loose-leaf notebook, the one Julie and I had decorated together with stuff from cool lipstick ads and lettering from pictures we had cut out of Seventeen and Glamour magazines. My phone rang. That’s gotta be her, I thought, calling to say she’s sorry. She would probably tell me I’m still her best friend and she’d ask me if I wanted to hang out tonight.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hi!” Josh’s voice said, sounding upbeat.
“Oh, hi!” I said, feeling a weird mix of disappointment and relief.
“I can’t really talk right now ’cause I’m going to have dinner with my dad and stepmom, but I just wanted to see if we’re still on for tomorrow.”
“Yes, sure,” I said. “Six o’clock, right?”
“Right. Do you want me to pick you up, or should we meet at Lincoln Center?”
“We can meet at Lincoln Center,” I said. “That’s fine.” I wasn’t ready to introduce Josh to my parents or Ellie.
“Okay . . . um . . . let’s just meet at the fountain, then. You know the big fountain, right?”
“Yes, the fountain. Six o’clock,” I repeated.
“Um . . . ” Josh paused for a second. “Are you okay? You sound funny.”
“I do?” I said, noticing my voice getting high. He totally caught me off guard. Man, was he observant! “No, I’m fine,” I stammered. “I’m just, it’s nothing.” I couldn’t decide if I should tell him about my fight with Julie.
“All right. Well, whatever it is, will you tell me when I see you?” Josh said. “I mean, you don’t have to, but—”
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a whole big thing. Sure, I’ll tell you later.”
“If you feel like it,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you at six.”
“Great,” Josh said, and we hung up.
Saturday night, March fifteenth at six o’clock on the dot, I was at the Lincoln Center fountain. The Ides of March, I was thinking, since we had just finished reading Julius Caesar in English. Ellie let me borrow one of her antique dresses, the yellow one with the tiny pink flowers that almost looked like apples. I was wearing it with my pink plastic belt. For some reason, I felt kind of relieved to not wear anything stolen. I wore white tights, my pink flats from Capezio, and a light pink scarf in my hair. I only had on a little bit of makeup: liquid eyeliner, Iridescent Baby Pink lipstick, and some blush. Standing there waiting for Josh, I started to doubt my outfit—I looked like an Easter egg. Thank God I had my jean jacket on, ’cause it was a little chilly out, and I hugged it around me with my hands in the pockets. I felt this weird kind of nervousness, like when I was about to perform in acting class, but I kind of liked it.
“Hi,” Josh said, appearing out of nowhere. I could see his breath. “You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”
“Like, two minutes,” I said. He leaned forward to kiss me but I got confused and turned my head a little, so we sort of kissed half-lip-half-cheek. I laughed stupidly, but Josh just smiled. God, sometimes I was such a dork.
“I have something for you,” he said, pulling a brown paper lunch bag out of his pocket.
“You made me a sandwich?” I said, which made Josh laugh. Without skipping a beat, he said, “Yes. Pastrami on white with mayonnaise. That’s your favorite, right?”
“Eww! No! Who do you think I am, Annie Hall?” I said.
“I can’t believe you got that,” Josh said, looking surprised and pleased. “Annie Hall is one of my all-time favorite movies. Sometimes you remind me a little of her.”
“Really?” I said. “Thanks. I think.” I wondered how I was like Annie Hall. Did Josh think I was ditzy?
“The way you dress, sometimes,” he clarified, like he was reading my mind. “Anyway, so now you deserve this even more.” He handed me the paper bag.
“Wow, thanks. . . .” I said. “Should I open it now?”
“Sure.”
I stuck my hand in the paper bag and could immediately feel it was a cassette tape. I pulled it out.
“Cool, Toto IV!” I said, reading Josh’s small block-lettered handwriting. Side A had a list of all the songs, including “Africa,” the song we said we loved on the phone that time. “Thank you,” I said, feeling like I didn’t know what else to say. Should I kiss him? I thought.
“You’re welcome,” he said, putting his hands back in the pockets of his red baseball jacket. “I wasn’t sure what to put on Side B, so I just put Billy Joel’s Turnstiles. It’s one of my favorite records.”
“Great,” I said. I’ll listen to it till I’ve memorized every word, I thought.
Then he took my hand and said, “C’mon, the Saloon is right across the street. Are you hungry?” Oh man, holding his warm hand was, like, the coolest thing.
As soon as we walked into t
he restaurant, a tall girl in long ponytails and a tight yellow T-shirt rolled up to us on her rollerskates and stopped short.
“Two?” she said, holding white plastic menus that said “Saloon” in script on them.
“Yes,” Josh said, motioning for me to go first. I felt so unbelievably short following the roller-skating hostess to our table near the window. We could watch all the people passing by. That was one of my favorite things to do—watch people. New York City was especially good for that. Mrs. Zeig said becoming a keen observer of “human beings being human” was one of the secrets of good acting. “Watch like doctors!” she would shout at us when we observed each other in a scene or a monologue or whatever.
Josh asked me if I liked white wine. I liked wine coolers, like Bartles & Jaymes, and my parents had let me try a sip of their wine now and then, but I wasn’t really sure if I could say I liked it. I didn’t want to look stupid, and beer always tasted like metal to me, so I said yes.
“Two glasses of Chardonnay,” Josh told the waitress, sounding so grown-up, and I held my breath for a second to see if she would card us, but she didn’t. Then I had this moment of total euphoria, looking out the window at Broadway. I felt like, I can’t believe this, I’m on a second date with Josh Heller.
The concert at Avery Fisher Hall—it was some orchestra from Vienna or something—was pretty boring, but Josh did funny things like pretend he was playing the flute when the flute part played or the cello or whatever, and he kept passing me tropical fruit Life Savers.
We got out at about ten thirty, so I still had a whole hour to be with Josh before I had to get home. We walked with the crowd of people, and it was still pretty nice out. Josh took my hand and said, “Let’s go sit by the fountain.”
The dark gray marble felt cold on the backs of my thighs, through my tights, and I started feeling nervous again. I wondered if I’d ever get good at being on a date.
“That concert was pretty boring, wasn’t it?” Josh said.
“Um, yeah,” I said, and we both started laughing. “But I didn’t mind.”
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