Not Another Love Song

by Olivia Wildenstein

  “That’s more than most people know about me.”

  Suddenly a hand closes over mine, and it isn’t Ten’s. I’m whisked backward and then twirled.

  Rae shouts into my ear, “Just checking if you need me to stage an intervention!”

  I frown.

  She jogs my memory. “Momma Jade’s instructions about the boss’s son?”

  Right. I glance over my shoulder at Ten, who’s watching me right back.

  “Should I spin you back into his arms?”

  Even though I’m nervous, I nod.

  An eloquent smile starts on her lips and then takes over her entire face. Rae is positively radiant.

  Earlier, I dusted her cheekbones with gold bronzer—I did all the girls’ makeup because I need training if I want to become as talented as Mona—but that’s not what’s making Rae sparkle. She’s just one of these people who glow no matter the lighting, no matter the makeup.

  Harrison steps toward Rae in a suit as black as his hair, nods to me, then grabs her hand and reels her into him. Rae throws her head back and laughs. If I’m to be completely honest, I’m glad she’s set her sights on a boy other than Ten. Although I’ve always fought for what I wanted, I could never have fought with my best friend over a boy.

  I return to Ten’s side. Thanks to Mom’s vertiginous pumps, I’m only a few inches shorter than he is. “Sorry Rae interrupted our long and boring conversation.”

  His lips curve. “Want to pursue it somewhere more quiet?”

  Even though my pulse thumps in time with the heady beat of the drums, my body becomes as quiet as the Bluebird after closing time. “I don’t think we could get off this dance floor even if we tried right now.”

  Just as I say that, a body slams into my back, sending me flying into Ten. There wasn’t much space separating us, but now there’s absolutely none.

  Ten catches my waist, steadies me. Instead of releasing me, though, he keeps me close. And then he starts moving to a rhythm that’s much slower than the one erupting from the stage, but right on beat. I place my hands on the nape of his warm neck, keeping my touch light so he won’t feel how clammy my palms have become.

  I haven’t slow-danced since drama camp two summers ago. If what we’d done then could even be deemed dancing. Killian had two left feet and thirty-three zits—I’d spent the entire song counting them while he’d crushed my toes.

  Ten hasn’t stepped on my feet once, and his skin is absolutely flawless. I’m dying to run my fingers over his jaw, to learn if his stubble is soft, or spiky like his hair.

  “How’s your knee?” His mouth is so close to mine that I can’t feel my knee anymore.

  I can hardly feel my face.

  “Why can’t you feel your face?”

  I snap out of my trance. “What?”

  “You just said you can’t feel your face.” His eyes are wide with genuine alarm.

  “I—um … I meant I can hardly feel my knee.”

  When I get nervous, I voice my thoughts. One of my many quirks. Obviously this isn’t something I feel like explaining to Ten. He said he liked girls who were spirited, not crazy.

  The concern leaves his face, but the tiny groove between his eyebrows remains. “Angie?” He dips his face toward mine.

  “Yes?” I breathe.

  He dips his head lower but stops again, as though asking for permission to move any closer.

  I part my lips and wait for him to bridge the distance between us, but instead of coming closer, his head jerks back violently. I’m not sure what happened. At first, I think someone’s yanked him backward, but no one’s touching him. Gradually, the fog of Ten’s proximity lifts, and I hear the song the band has decided to play. One of Mona Stone’s most epic love songs.

  I always dreamed of being kissed to this song, but Ten looks likelier to punch than to kiss. His grip hardens, becomes almost bruising. Carefully, I pry his fingers off my waist, but I don’t let him go.

  He tries to remove his hands from mine, but I clasp them tighter.

  “I’m sorry. I need to get out of here,” he says.

  “Ten…”

  He looks down at our joined hands.

  “What just happened?” I ask.

  His gaze swings back up to my face. As though my idol’s voice is causing him physical pain, the skin around his mouth puckers.

  “Why do you have this reaction to Mona Stone’s music?”

  He studies every millimeter of my face, as though trying to decide whether I’m trustworthy. In the end, he must decide I’m not, because he says, “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry…”

  “Don’t shut me out.”

  His hands slide out of mine, and then he strides through the mesh of swaying bodies.

  21

  Spite and Stones Can Hurt Your Bones

  I’m hurt but mostly mad.

  Before I even realize that I’m walking, I’m halfway across the gym. The doors swing shut. I pick up my pace, knee burning from my mad dash in sky-high heels.

  When I push through the doors, I find Ten trudging down the yellow-lockered hallway.

  My heels click on the linoleum. If he hears them, he doesn’t turn. “Ten!”

  He pauses but keeps his back to me. “Angie, please. Don’t push me.”

  I finally manage to catch up. “You just went Jekyll and Hyde on me. The least you can do is tell me why.” I circle him until we’re face-to-face. “What is it about Mona Stone’s music that sets you off?”

  He palms his hair. “Just leave it alone. I’ll be transferring schools soon, and—”

  It feels like he’s just slapped me. “You’re leaving?”

  “I’m applying to a boarding school outside of Boston. Hopefully I’ll be out of here before the end of the term.”

  I can still taste his breath on my lips. “Because of Mona Stone?” My voice has never sounded flatter. Emotions create melody, and right now, I feel numb inside.

  “Angie—”

  “No. Don’t Angie me.” My pink glass necklace casts jeweled pinpricks of light over his wary face. “The least you can do is explain why Mona Stone triggers so much anger in you.”

  He eyes the door next to us that leads into a deserted classroom. Is he planning on hiding inside and waiting me out? He clasps one of my wrists and tows me into the moonlit room. My heart erupts with heartbeats. Once the door snicks shut, Ten releases me and paces the narrow space between the whiteboard and the teacher’s desk, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black suit trousers.

  After what feels like an eternity, he stops his frenzied prowling. “Why do you think we changed our name?”

  “I’m not sure … witness protection? Oh my God.” My eyes go very wide. “Did Mona Stone threaten your family or something?”

  He barks a laugh as dark as the sky beyond the windows.

  I cross my arms. “I’m guessing that’s not it.”

  “Nope. Not even close.”

  As though the leopard spots have penetrated my skin and altered my nature, I growl at him. “Can you just tell me already? I’ve never seen someone get so angry at a singer.” I sense I’m close to the truth. A couple more swings, and it’ll pour out of Ten like candy from a piñata. “At first, I thought it was music in general, but you don’t hate all music, you just hate her music.”

  Shadows tarnish the gilded brightness of Ten’s eyes.

  “Did your sister ask Mona to be her mentor, and Mona turned her down? Is that—” I stop talking.

  Mona Stone has children.

  A boy and a girl.

  I sweep my gaze up and down Ten’s face. At first, he keeps his eyes leveled on mine, but then, slowly, he lowers them to his patent loafers. I’m not sure whether to take a step toward him or away.

  I feel like I’ve just trespassed into a room I have no right or desire to be in.

  Mona went through a terrible divorce. Her husband, a big-shot lawyer, proved to the court she was unfit to be a parent, and then, to add insult to injury, he ha
d her stripped of visitation rights.

  “Your last name … it was Stone.” It’s not a question. I just need to hear myself say it.

  He raises his gaze back to my face.

  The oxygen in the room seems to have thinned. I place a palm on my belt, but don’t fiddle with the buckle. I just need something to hold me up, and somehow a hand against my abdomen does the trick.

  “My father gave up his own family name in the divorce settlement. To protect us, he gave up his own name.”

  Ten behaves as though Mona deserted them, but the choice wasn’t hers. It was her husband’s. He took everything from Mona, and then excluded her completely by altering his last name along with their children’s. And then worse, he set his son and daughter against their mother.

  Heart cancer … “You told me she was dead,” I whisper.

  “She is. To me, she is.”

  The rows of desks seem to undulate like the streamers sparkling in the gym. I need to get out, get away from Ten. I back up until I hit the door and then I swing around, pull it open, and escape the airless classroom.

  22

  Back Rolls and Spring Rolls

  Last night has toppled my entire world.

  I danced with Mona Stone’s son.

  I’d been about to let him kiss me.

  I’m still reeling from how betrayed I feel. Not by Ten, but by my mother. Considering how evasive she’s been about them, I have no doubt she’s aware of their connection to Mona. How could she not tell me? Don’t I deserve to know who I’m sitting next to in school?

  Maybe she was hoping I would never find out since Ten is transferring schools soon. Or maybe she was hoping I’d like Ten so much that I’d change my opinion of my idol.

  Unless Mom doesn’t know who the Dylans really are …

  I stare at her upside-down head. She’s so concentrated on her yoga flow that she doesn’t feel my eyes on her.

  “Warrior three,” our yoga teacher says.

  Mom puts her right foot between her hands, then lifts her back leg. I follow suit. She lifts her palms and stretches her arms in front of her. I attempt to do the same, but lose my balance. I topple, whacking my hip bone so hard against the vinyl-wood flooring that a breath rushes though my parted lips.

  Mom mouths, You okay?

  No. I’m not okay. I don’t shake or nod my head, don’t answer her vocally. Instead, I go back to attempting mediocre poses while watching the wall clock.

  As we pick up our mats, Mom says, “Is everything okay, baby?”

  I have never rolled up my mat so tight. “Yeah.” I lead the way out of the glassed-in yoga studio.

  She beeps the car open, and I toss my mat in the back alongside hers, then sink into the passenger seat.

  “Did something happen at homecoming?” she asks, settling behind the wheel.

  I eye Mom. Debate whether to tell her about my discovery. She’ll probably just take the Dylans’ side. “Nope. Nothing.”

  She combs her fingers through her hair, then starts the car and drives out of the lot. “You know you can talk to me.”

  Why would I when you don’t talk to me?

  I fiddle with my phone the rest of the way to Golden Dragon. I hate that Ten gave it to me. Hate it so much that I decide to erase the content and give it back to him tomorrow. As though the tech gods heard my thoughts, I find a text from the Apple Store informing me that my old phone is fixed.

  We park across from the restaurant, then get out.

  “Hey, Mom, can you pick up my phone tomorrow at the mall?”

  Her forehead grooves. “Your phone?”

  “I dropped it off to have it fixed.” When she glances at the one Ten gave me, I say, “This was just a loaner.”

  “Okay…”

  “Jade. Hey!” A man with dark eyes and a closely trimmed beard is smiling at my mother.

  I tuck my phone into my hoodie pocket.

  Mom’s cheeks have dimpled with a wide smile. Whoever this man is, she likes him. As though remembering I’m standing there, she drapes her arm over my shoulder and pulls me to her.

  “This must be Angela,” the man says, sticking out his hand toward me.

  “Just Angie.” I shake his hand. “Angela’s when I’m in trouble.”

  The man laughs. He has a nice, deep laugh. “Pleasure to meet you, Angie. I’m Jeff.”

  He releases my hand, but instead of arcing downward, my fingers stay suspended in midair.

  Jeff … Did I just shake Jeff Dylan’s hand or is this some other Jeff?

  Two people come up behind him—one tall, one short. My limp hand finally drops. Wiping my palm on my camo-print leggings, I duck out from underneath my mother’s arm.

  “Hey, honey.” My mom steps forward and gives Nev a quick hug.

  I hear my name. Jeff must’ve asked me a question. I snap my attention to him, but my ears are ringing too loudly for me to grasp anything he’s saying. Mom’s hand lands on my forearm. She squeezes, and the ringing begins to lessen.

  “Baby?” One of her eyebrows tips up.

  “What?”

  “Jeff just asked if we want to join them.”

  “Join them?”

  “Share a meal with them?” She gestures toward Golden Dragon.

  I suck in a breath. I don’t want to share a meal with them, much less the same air.

  Nev and her father are watching me, waiting. Ten’s concentrated on his cell phone.

  I force my lids up real high. “I completely forgot about an assignment that’s due tomorrow!”

  Mom’s brow furrows in surprise or in disappointment—probably both. “Can it wait until after dinner?”

  “It’s a diorama. It’s going to take me all night.”

  Jeff glances at his son. “Did you also have a diorama to make, Ten?”

  Ten looks at his dad. They’re the same height and have the same lean, solid build. But Ten has his mother’s eyes, and her hair color, and her mouth …

  “Angie and I aren’t in all the same classes, Dad.”

  “Well, that’s a shame.”

  That we aren’t in the same classes? It’s a godsend.

  Maybe he was referring to us not being able to have dinner with them.

  Jeff tucks Nev against him. “Is it still okay for next weekend, Jade?”

  Nev’s not wearing her pink baseball cap, but her hair’s combed forward, obscuring most of her face. She peeks at me, and although her eyes are gray brown like her father’s and her pale face is splashed with freckles, I see a lot of Mona in her.

  “Of course,” Mom says, all smiley.

  “What’s going on next weekend?” I ask, my voice a little shrill.

  “Nev will be staying with us, because Jeff and Ten are going out of town.”

  Was she planning on telling me about our surprise houseguest?

  Ten lowers his phone. “Or you can just come with us, Nev.”

  “Don’t be silly, Ten,” Mom says. “I’ve got a girls’ weekend all planned out.”

  Nev’s lips quirk into a smile, but then her gaze snags on me, and the smile slips away. She interprets my surprise as reticence and flattens herself against her father’s side.

  Well, crap. Now I feel bad. “Mom plans the most fun stuff,” I say, even though I have no clue what Mom intends to do.

  A sliver of space appears between Jeff’s and Nev’s bodies.

  I add a smile. Nev might be a Dylan, but she enjoys singing. If she enjoys singing, she can’t possibly hate her mother, can she?

  “Oh, Jade, I had time to look over those rug samples,” Jeff says. “I have them in the car. Let me give them to you now, because I have an early meeting tomorrow and I don’t think I’ll have time to discuss anything before I leave.” He lets go of Nev, then tips his head toward a gleaming navy sports car parked down the street. It’s a little evil of me, but I can’t help wondering if it was paid for out of Mona’s alimony. According to People magazine, she has to pay him spousal support since she’s the more succ
essful of the two.

  Mom follows Jeff to his car, leaving me alone with the siblings.

  “A diorama, huh?” Ten says, the second our parents are out of earshot.

  Nev frowns at him, then at me. “What’s a diorama?”

  “A three-dimensional model,” I answer.

  “Oh, that’s cool,” she says. “I’ve never made one.”

  “Maybe Angie’ll have another one to make next weekend,” Ten mutters.

  “We’ll be doing way more fun stuff than that,” I lob back.

  Ten’s expression becomes as stiff as the geometric wolf face on his mustard-yellow T-shirt.

  “Jade told us this is the best Chinese food in town,” Nev says.

  “It’s our favorite, but I don’t know if it’s the best.” Mom and Jeff are standing by his trunk, heads bent over a thick binder. “You guys are probably used to better ones in New York.”

  Nev toes an old cigarette butt with her gray Converse. “You really don’t have time to stay and eat?”

  She seems so frail and delicate, but maybe it’s because she’s dressed in wide cargo pants and an oversized Henley. Her choice of clothes makes me wonder if she’s not allowed to wear anything but Ten’s hand-me-downs. Then again, I did cross paths with her at the mall. Maybe she has lots of girlie stuff but is forbidden to wear it out of the house or something.

  “I really need to get home,” I say.

  The door of the restaurant opens as diners exit trailing the scent of vinegary shrimp dumplings and deep-fried spring rolls. My stomach emits a ravenous growl.

  Nev pushes some hair out of her eyes. “Was that your stomach?”

  I rest my palm on my abdomen, which is still gurgling with hunger. “Yeah. I’m always hungry. Plus we just went to yoga.”

  “I’ve never done yoga.”

  “Maybe you’ll get to do that too on your superfun girls’ weekend.” Ten’s voice drips with sarcasm.

  Nev’s lips pucker. “Forgive Ten. He’s been grumpy all day.”

  Ten doesn’t blush, but a nerve twitches in his jaw. He turns his face ever so slightly toward our approaching parents. Mom is laughing. Friends exchange jokes, not business colleagues … or whatever redoing a house makes her and Jeff. Their camaraderie twists the knife she planted in my back the day she accepted work from this family.