“Wow, it’s stunning,” I whisper, afraid to be too loud, since we’re trespassing and all.
Cabot is not similarly worried. His voice booms in the darkness. “Isn’t it? I knew you would like it. This place closes before sunset, but my grandfather thought the moonlight really brought this one to life.”
“Your grandfather brought you here to see this at night? You have quite the criminal family history, Cabot Wheeler. Also, kind of a pervy granddad.”
He laughs. “Yes, and yes, but it wasn’t a criminal activity then—this property used to belong to him. He sculpted all of these.” Cabot points to several other statues that I can make out in the dim light. “This one he called The Rapture; it was his favorite, and his best, I think anyway. When he died he donated all this to the city, so if I want to see it at night, I have to sneak in.”
“He must have been an amazing artist.”
“He was. He’s the person who first taught me to paint. When I was a kid, he gave me a little easel and palette and set me up a space in his studio. Then while he sculpted, he would talk to me about art and cultivating an artistic eye, how to see the world with your heart and not your mind.”
We’re quiet for a moment, looking at the sculpture together. Then Cabot says, “I’m starving. Let’s eat.” There’s a bench across the bridge. We sit and Cabot pulls the containers out of the bag. I watch as he pulls apart a pair of wooden chopsticks and then expertly uses them to dip his pot sticker into the cup of soy sauce. I am using a plastic spork to eat my egg roll.
“Did your dad teach you to use chopsticks, too?” I ask.
“No, my mom. She loves sushi. I’ve been using chopsticks as far back as I can remember. Do you like sushi?”
I make a face. “Raw fish? No thanks.”
“You’re only saying that because you’ve never tried really good sushi. I’ll take you. There’s an amazing sushi restaurant not far from here. You’re going to love it.” He bites into another pot sticker.
“I don’t know, I may take some convincing.”
“Fine, we’ll go as many times as it takes,” Cabot says, as if we have infinite days ahead of us.
My heart does a flip-flop. I have to know if that’s what he wants—infinite days ahead of us. I take a sip of lemonade to gather my nerves (and also swish away any lingering veggie eggroll in my teeth). “We only have one more week left, though, until the dance.”
Cabot nods. “I’ve been thinking about that, and my thought is, what if you and I weren’t fake anymore? What if instead of going separate ways after the dance, we go the same way, together?”
I want to say yes, but something holds me back—something that sounds suspiciously like Willa’s voice in my head warning me to be careful. Yes, because I want more moonlit picnics, compliments, and, of course, watching black-and-white movies on the sofa while it thunders outside. But also the constant worry about fitting into his world, showing Cabot where I live, sharing with him all the sad details of my life—what if those are darker and deeper places than he wants to go with me? Can my heart handle that?
Cautiously, I say, “What if we try this and it ends badly? Another breakup is not something I want to go through this year.”
He reaches up and tucks a curl behind my ear, then slides his thumb back and forth slowly along my cheek. “What if we do this and it’s awesome?”
And just like that, all the voices, Willa’s, Jacen’s, mine, saying this will never work, vanish. The way he’s looking at me, so sure we can do this…how can I not say yes? “Okay,” I whisper, almost too scared to say it out loud. “Let’s be awesome.”
Then, I do something I’ve wanted to do all night: I kiss Cabot. A soft kiss, just lips, but all the feelings.
Looking shocked, he chuckles. “Did you just stage-kiss me?”
I bat my eyelashes, all Clara Bow coquette. “The moment felt right. No big deal.”
His smile fades, his gaze falling to my lips. My heart beats double time. “I really want to see you this weekend.”
The smell of his warm skin makes my head swim, and his blue/black eyes invite me to take a dip. I have to swallow before I can speak. “When you put it like that, I might be able to pencil you in.”
“Might? What if I put it like this?” This kiss starts soft then crescendos like a symphony, long and lingering, hitting all the right notes as he pleads a case he’s clearly going to win.
“You’re very persuasive, Cabot,” I say when I can breathe again. “I bet you won all of your debates.”
“As long as I win this one, that’s all that matters.”
I really, really want him to win this one, too.
Chapter Eighteen
I am totally blissed out. Friday is a blur. Cabot meets me before school, like usual. We get coffee and tea, like usual. We hold hands, like usual, except now it’s for us and only us. If anybody at NextGen is still paying attention to us anymore, there would be no doubt in their minds that Cabot and I are into each other.
Willa’s brow furrows only a little when I tell her. “If you’re sure this is what you want, then I want it for you, too.”
“So sure. I want this.”
“And Cabot knows that between school, and rehearsals, and work you hardly have any time for a social life, right?”
“We’ll make it work—other couples do.”
“So, you’re also going to be okay with him seeing where you live? Because even though I’d love it if you moved in with me so I would have company over at Elsa’s Ice Palace, I think Lita would have something to say about that.”
I hadn’t thought about this. Cabot knowing I’m on scholarship and Cabot seeing what that looks like in real terms…my enthusiasm falters, but only a little. I don’t have to think about that right now; not every issue we have has to be solved in the first five minutes. I will not let Willa’s motherly pragmatism ruin my mood today.
“Yes, it’ll be okay, Willa. Everything is going to be awesome.”
After school, Cabot drives me to the Drafthouse. We get there ten minutes before my shift starts, and I’m still almost late because I can barely pull myself away from him to get out of the car.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up later?” he asks. “I really, really don’t mind.” A grin tugs the corner of his mouth.
I want to see him so badly I consider the offer, but even though I told Willa that I was ready to let Cabot in on the facts of my home life, I’m not. “I know, but I’m going to catch a ride with Willa so we can settle our plans for the dance.” I shouldn’t be lying to him—so much of us has already been a total fiction—so I swear to myself I’ll tell him soon.
Tonight, I’m scheduled to work the Girlie Night show; it’s a female-centric film, usually with a lot of romance and naked male torsos. Tonight it’s The Notebook. Personally, I find this movie a little too schmaltzy, but young Ryan Gosling puts butts in seats, and the theater is sold out. I have four rows assigned to me. The tips will be good, at least.
I come to the end of my first row taking orders, and I hear a too-familiar voice. “You have got to be kidding me.” I glance over and lock eyes with the spawn of Satan Audrey. She’s with two other girls: Thing One I recognize from school, another dancer; Thing Two I don’t know, but if she’s friends with Audrey that tells me pretty much everything I need to know about her.
I look around for someone, anyone, that I can trade rows with but my coworkers are already elbow-deep in orders. So I force myself to pull up my big-girl panties, as Willa likes to say, and paste on a smile. At least I try to—Audrey is like kryptonite against my ability to act—and launch into my standard spiel. “Good evening, ladies, have you been to the Drafthouse before?”
“Look at you, uh”—she peers at my name tag, as if she’s doesn’t know my name, or hasn’t probably stalked me online the past two weeks—“Mariely, that’s right. Don’t you look positively proletarian in that uniform shirt. Who knew Cabot found blue collar so appealing?”
> I take a breath. Blow it off, Mariely. You are at work. You need this job.
“Do y’all know what you want to order?” I ask.
The three of them all order salads, dressing on the side, and Coke Zeros, of course. I take the order and move on, proud of myself for not allowing Audrey to get to me. When the theater is sold out the kitchen gets super busy. I’m running up and down the stairs with drinks from the bar and food from the kitchen, all while navigating around the other waitstaff doing the same thing before the show starts. And each time I go by Audrey’s row she asks for something else to be added to her order: popcorn, nachos, fried pickles, a sundae. She’s doing this to be a bitch, of course, but I keep my cool.
I rush past her row, carrying two Oreo milkshakes in one hand and a bowl of buffalo wings, extra sauce, in the other. Audrey taunts me. “How hard is it to bring out three salads? You’re supposed to be an actress, right? Why don’t you act like a waitress and get us our food?”
That’s it. Before I can stop them, the words fly from my mouth. “You know, I’m pretty sure it’s the fact that I’m not a bitch that Cabot finds so appealing.”
Thing One and Thing Two gasp. Little flames of hellfire ignite in Audrey’s eyes. “No, honey, what he finds appealing is that you’re so easily impressed by him. His Porsche is quite the upgrade from Capital Metro, isn’t it? Guys are so basic, they can’t resist a good ego stroke.”
“Or maybe Cabot likes the fact that when I’m stroking his ego I’m not also stroking some other guy on the side.”
Audrey jumps out of her seat, blocking my way. “Please, everyone can see he’s using you to make me jealous.”
“Believe whatever you want, but Cabot and I are together and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”
Audrey sticks out her bottom lip. “Aw, what did he do to make you feel so special? Did he tell you all about his hopes and dreams of being a great painter? Open up about all the torment of his parents’ divorce? Take you to Thursday dinner with his dad?”
I try to keep my face expressionless, a total blank, as she slings these questions at me, but I can’t help it—it gets to me that she’s right, about all of them. I must give it away because a viperish smile curls her lip, knowing she’s drawn blood.
“Thursday dinner? Of course he took you, you idiot, because he’d rather eat broken glass than be alone with his father. Poor little Cabot and his big bad daddy issues. God, I can only imagine what Mr. Wheeler must have thought about you, poor East Side trash at his country club with his son.” She shakes her head. “Enjoy your little Cinderella fantasy while it lasts, because we both know it’s only a matter of time before Cabot comes to his senses. I just hope when that happens he doesn’t turn to guys like your last boyfriend did.”
My hands are shaking and I can feel hot tears welling behind my eyes. Before I can think twice about it, I toss the two milkshakes in Audrey’s face and dump the dozen buffalo wings, extra sauce, down the front of her shirt.
Audrey squeals. She looks like Carrie after the prom. Thing One and Thing Two jump to her assistance while the entire theater turns to see the commotion. I push past her and march up the stairs into the kitchen. I drop the now-empty dishes I’m holding into the nearest bus box and head for the back door, then the bus stop, and finally, to the poor East Side trailer I call home, where no one can see me cry.
Chapter Nineteen
Saturday morning, Cabot came home from his run to find Audrey’s car parked in the driveway.
Shit.
He glanced at his phone. One hour before Mariely’s lunch break at work. He was going to surprise her. He did not have time to deal with Audrey.
Inside the house, he dropped his phone and earbuds on the foyer table. “Mom, I’m home.”
“We’re in here,” she called out from the kitchen. Cabot found them sitting at the counter together, chatting over mugs of coffee.
“Hello, Cabot,” Audrey said, casual and friendly, as if they were on the best of terms. Not like she’d cheated on him and then tried to ruin his life by taking his best painting. Her being here couldn’t be good.
“Audrey,” was all he said, because he tried never to cuss in front of his mom.
“I’ll leave you two alone to chat,” his mom said, taking her coffee and rising from her seat. “It’s so good to see you, Audrey. Remind your mom about our lunch on Wednesday.”
“I will, Ms. Koenig,” Audrey answered, perfectly polite and oh so pleasant.
Cabot waited until he heard his mother close the door to her bedroom. “What do you want?”
Audrey’s pleasantness disappeared. “Don’t be rude, Cabot. I came to bring you the crap you left at my house.” She leaned down and picked up a blue shopping bag. “Here.”
Cabot took the bag. Inside was a gray Austin NextGen hoodie and a pack of Doublemint gum. “You could have just brought these to me at school.”
“I could have, but then I wouldn’t have gotten this back.” She held up a tube of lip gloss. “Chanel. Forty dollars. I was pretty sure I’d left it here. Your mom helped me find it in your room. Oh, and I found this in your room, too.” She pulled some folded papers from her purse.
Cabot’s heart halted. Those were the notes and scripts Mariely had given him. He tried to snatch them from Audrey’s hand. “Those are private. Give them back.”
“Oh, sure, here.” She handed them over without batting an eye, making Cabot suspicious. “I don’t need them anymore. I have them here.” She held up her phone. “I knew you were only with her to make me jealous, Cabot. God, just when I thought she couldn’t be more pathetic.”
“Screw you, Audrey. She’s not pathetic. And the whole thing was my idea, so you would leave me the fuck alone. These papers don’t matter anymore anyway because Mariely and I are together now, for real, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Audrey’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’re wrong. She was pretty upset yesterday after our run-in at the Drafthouse.”
Cabot went still. “What did you do to her?”
“Me? I’m the one who ended up covered in food and drinks. All I did was remind her she didn’t have a great track record when it comes to relationships. I mean, first her boyfriend dumps her for another guy and now you break up with her just before the dance.”
“I’m not breaking up with her.”
“Of course you are. You can’t take both of us to the dance.” A sly grin twists her lips. “And if you don’t, I wonder how she’ll feel about you when I post these for everyone at NextGen to see. How much public humiliation can one girl take in less than a month?”
Cabot’s mind raced. He couldn’t let Audrey post those papers; it would kill Mariely to have everyone gossiping about her, laughing at her, all over again. “Why do you want to be with me when I don’t want to be with you?”
“Because I still love you. And I deserve a second chance. We can put all of this behind us, your painting will be in your show, and we can be happy again. I know it. You don’t belong with her, Cabot. She knows that.” Audrey picked up her purse. “Don’t wait too long to decide. There’s only six more days until the dance.” She let herself out.
Cabot wanted to punch something. How could he have ever loved Audrey? He unfolded the papers and read them again. This was bad, so bad. He ripped them apart, tore and tore until there was nothing left but a mound of confetti on the floor.
He had to see Mariely.
“Mom, I’m going out,” he called down the hall, and then he was out the door.
Chapter Twenty
Gia and Alé are in the other room watching cartoons, and Lita is too busy trying to get lunch fixed for them to check on me. Besides, she’s not happy with me right now since I lost my job because of my “distraction.”
My phone buzzes again. I ignore it, like I’ve ignored it all morning. I bury myself deeper into the covers. There’s a knock at the front door and then voices, but I don’t pay any attention—other kids who live in the trailer
park come to our door all the time. A moment later there’s another knock, this time on my bedroom door.
“I’m sleeping,” I croak miserably.
“Mariely,” Lita says from the other side, “you have a visitor.”
I throw off the covers, confused. The only person who ever drops by to see me is Jacen, and we’re not exactly on dropping-by terms at the moment. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Mariely.”
Mother Fay Wray! Cabot? I fly out of bed and across the room, making sure the door is locked. Not only am I not ready to talk to him right now, but I’m definitely not ready for him to see me in my holey sweats, no makeup, and my hair going in nine million directions at once.
“What are you doing here, Cabot?”
“I have to talk to you. I know what happened with Audrey.”
“How?” There’s only two people who know about what happened who would care enough to tell Cabot, and I didn’t tell anyone except Lita.
“Because she told me. Please, Mariely, open the door.”
I don’t know which is worse, that he’s here at my house, or that he knows about the scene with Audrey. Both are humiliating beyond my wildest dreams. “Go home, I don’t want to talk right now.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Come out this minute, Mariely Hinojosa,” Lita snaps. “You’re being rude, and I did not raise you like that.”
“Fine.” I strip off the sweats and dig through my closet. What is the appropriate outfit for when your rich maybe-boyfriend comes to your falling-down-around-you double-wide trailer for the first time? I pause when I come to the dress I wore the other night to the disastrous dinner with Mr. Wheeler. When he said I was beautiful and convinced me we could be awesome together. The perfect boy with the perfect line. How long can I keep up with trying to be perfect for him, trying to fit into his world? I don’t have the time, and I definitely don’t have the bank account.
Crazy, Stupid, Fauxmance (Creative HeARTS) Page 13