by Zoey Dean
Maybe it was the good breeding instilled by the This Is How We Do Things (East Coast edition) Big Book. Or maybe it was the naive, innocent part of her that still believed in Jane Austen, that Elizabeth Bennet would love Mr. Darcy forever. And that Ben was her Mr. Darcy.
A teacher walked by, saw them, and frowned. Anna knew she was supposed to be in her homeroom. “Five minutes,” she said. “But not here.” She led the way back into the courtyard, keeping as much distance between herself and Ben as possible. “Start talking,” she said. “You’re on the clock.”
He rubbed his bleary eyes. “Okay. Here goes …”
Ticktock, Anna thought. He really shouldn’t squander his time on the windup.
“One of my really close friends is an actress … a name you’d recognize. Actually … knowing you … you probably have no idea who she is … but she’s pretty well known.”
Did he have to be so damn cute while Anna was trying to hate him? Ben’s ribbings about her attention-to-pop-culture-deficit disorder were one of Anna’s favorite things about him. And she was deeply touched that in the little time they’d had together, he’d already filed away certain choice factoids about her. But she had to be strong. She had no choice but to resist the adorable side of his personality and focus on the thoughtless, cruel side that left her high and dry.
Ben hesitated, as if he could feel Anna hardening, then continued. “I’ve known her for a while. We met through my parents.”
Was this story going anywhere? “You now have four minutes,” Anna said.
“Look, it’s not easy to …” He stopped, then started again. “This girl’s image is squeaky clean. But the truth is, she’s an addict—alcohol, pills, you name it. If word got out, she’d be screwed, because the insurance companies for film and TV would refuse to cover her.”
“And?” Anna asked coldly.
“So, that night—New Year’s Eve—she OD’d at a party. The people she was with freaked—they were all afraid of getting busted—so they took her outside and left her behind some bushes. And called me on my cell.”
“Why?”
“Because they knew I’d come. Because I’ve done it before. Too many times to count.”
Except for a siren in the distance, it was dead quiet. “That’s it?” Anna finally asked. “That’s your story?”
“I had to go, Anna. As it was, I barely got her to the hospital in time. She was turning blue.”
“I bet.”
“Come on. She had convulsions and puked all over my car. There was nothing going on between us.”
“I see. So you left me all alone on your father’s boat to go get the car. Then you got this call on your cell and you just left. Oh, well, so what if Anna is on my father’s boat? No problem, I’ll just leave her there, alone and abandoned, in the middle of the night. That’s your story?”
“You have to understand, the people who called me were crying and screaming. They thought she was dying. It scared the hell out of them. And me.”
“Even if I believed you, it wouldn’t explain why you didn’t call me on the way there.”
“I did. Twice. From my car. You didn’t answer.”
“Ben, you never—” And then Anna remembered. She’d fallen asleep on the boat. Could easily have slept right through her cell phone ringing. “You didn’t leave a message. Or call me later on, even.”
“What kind of message could I leave? I kept thinking I’d just try you again, but then once I found my friend, all I could think about was saving her. Plus I would have had to be cryptic about her identity, which would have made any message I left even weirder. And then, by the time I was done with her, I figured you’d be so pissed off that you’d never want to hear from me again. I even told my parents not to say where I was.”
“You were right. That I wouldn’t want to hear from you again.”
“Anna.” His large hand encircled her slender wrist. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t go back to Princeton without seeing you. We can’t just end it like this.”
“Who writes your lines, Ben?”
He dropped her wrist and looked as if she’d slapped him. “What?”
She could tell she’d hurt him and in a rush wanted to take it back. But she forced herself to be strong. “Because this story sounds like bad dialogue from a trashy novel.”
He held his palms up to her. “It’s the truth.”
She wouldn’t let her eyes meet his. She knew if she did, she’d be lost. So she focused on his chest … and remembered what it had felt like to rest her own head there. So warm. So comforting. Damn.
“No, here’s the truth, Ben. We had one date. I met some of your friends, and for the most part they weren’t the kind of people I’d choose to be with. We went to a party and you disappeared for most of it. We went out on your father’s boat, and when I wouldn’t have sex with you, you just … you dumped me.” She could feel an ache behind her eyes but willed herself not to cry.
“Is that what you think?” Ben asked hoarsely. “You think I took off because you wouldn’t put out?”
“I’m looking at the facts.”
“I wasn’t looking for a one-night thing with you, Anna. You’ve made it pretty clear you’re not that kind of girl.”
“And you’ve made it pretty clear that you’re that kind of guy. Did you sleep with Dee?”
Ben looked stunned. “What?”
She hadn’t meant to bring it up, but there it was. So she asked again. “Did you have sex with Dee?”
“Is that relevant?”
“It’s a simple yes-or-no question.”
He took a long time before he answered and exhaled deeply. “Once. I think.”
“You think?”
“She was visiting Princeton. I’d just had a bang-up fight with my dad and I got wasted. The next thing I knew, it was morning and I had the world’s worst hangover. Dee was in bed with me.”
“You mean you don’t remember?”
“No, I don’t. Dee keeps calling me, e-mailing me, writing me letters, sending me presents. She says we had sex. Hard to believe, considering how wasted I was.”
Anna couldn’t bring herself to tell him that Dee claimed to be pregnant with his baby. If Ben was going to get that information, it would have to come from Dee herself.
“Look, I screwed up, Anna.”
“With Dee or with me?”
“Forget Dee for a minute. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I know what I did to you was unforgivable. I’m just asking for a chance to make it up to you.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“You know why.”
Her head was spinning. She wanted to believe him, wanted his story to make sense. But some mystery celebrity OD’ing in the middle of the night who needed Ben and only Ben to come to her rescue? Could that possibly be it? She stared into his eyes, searching for the truth.
“Anna.” His hand went to her hair. “Do you know how badly I want to kiss you right now?”
Anna wanted that, too. She did. She wanted to do everything she’d ever imagined in her darkest and wildest fantasies. His lips were so close to hers. It was dangerous to be near him. Yes, she’d come to Los Angeles to reinvent herself. To stop being the cautious, thoughtful girl who lived in her head instead of her heart. But then the worst thing had happened. She’d lost her heart to a boy—this boy—and she was pretty damn sure he didn’t deserve to have it. What he’d done still hurt. It hurt so much.
She hated feeling this way. Hated, hated, hated it. Where was her dignity, her pride? Who was this shell of a girl she was turning into?
“Anna?” His sad eyes held the question. The decision was in her hands. At that moment she recalled something Cyn had once told her—that it was so much easier when you didn’t give a damn. Then you could do anything and everything on your terms, without getting hurt. You were in control. Not him. You.
That’s the kind of girl I want to be, Anna thought. Forget love and happy endings—I’ll settle f
or being in control. If anyone does the leaving, it should be me.
She shook her head. “It’s too late, Ben. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. You’re the one who should be sorry.”
“But I am!”
“Save it for the next girl. And treat her better than you treated me.”
She turned on her heel and headed back toward school. Ben called to her, but she didn’t look back. The more distance she put between herself and him, the stronger she felt. There was a whole world out there waiting for her—all she had to do was reach out and grab it.
Ten feet inside the front door of the school, her cell phone rang again. Without looking, she took the phone from her purse and chucked it into the nearest garbage bin. But the impact of the fall must have tripped the ring tone setting because suddenly her phone was playing “Hava Nagilah.” Of all songs! Was this some kind of joke? Some kind of cosmic sound track devised to underscore the absurdity of Anna’s situation? The way those five monotonous notes droned over and over—it reminded her of those uncomfortable bar mitzvahs she’d gone to, where the boys and girls stood on separate sides of the room while the hired “dance motivators” tried to force them into pairs and to party!
But as Anna walked farther away from the bin and the notes to “Hava Nagilah” grew more faint, it slowly dawned on her that she was missing the point. The ridiculously tacky song was actually delivering an important message—that even though Anna had just had her heart shattered, and even though she had to fight the urge to hop on the next plane for New York, it was all happening on her terms. In essence, it was time to party.
Because for once, Anna Cabot Percy was free.