Solving for Ex

by LeighAnn Kopans

  It was just his hands on mine, but for that moment I felt like our skin was touching everywhere. My heart stopped, and I drew my hands back. I took a deep breath and said, “Why don’t you try some test shots, okay? Just make sure your light meter is just a little right of center.”

  He peered through the viewfinder and snapped some shots, then drew back to look at them in the screen. “Hey, that’s not bad!” he said, smiling. “This really is a stunning city.” He started snapping again, then held the camera out to show me what he’d gotten.

  “You know? Those are actually some really good shots.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, leaning back and setting the camera on the hood behind him.

  I bristled, and leaned back to pick it up. “Vincent, don’t put that camera down on the dirty hood of the car. It’s so—”

  His hand covered mine on top of the camera, and didn’t move. He looked me right in the eye. If I leaned forward at all, our noses would touch. His breath blew hot against my lips.

  “I’m so sorry about your birthday.”

  “Vincent, I—”

  “Not because the party was such a disaster. Because I insisted on having it in the first place. I should have known you better. I should have paid more attention.”

  “Really, just forget about it.” I knew his eyes were still on me, and it became so overwhelming, filling me up with a pressure, an anxiousness I couldn’t name. His fingertips brushed my jaw, drawing my gaze back up to his.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been paying more attention to you. Who you are. That’s why I wanted you to teach me how to use this. I just wanted to get to know you. No other kids at school, no Mathletes, no parties, no bullshit.”

  I parted my lips slightly, drawing a shuddering breath in through them. I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know if I should move, or if I wanted to, or if I did, whether it would be backwards and away, or forward, pressing my mouth into his.

  His beautiful face was certainly making it difficult for me to choose the former. Either way, I was frozen. A deer in the headlights.

  Finally, after one, two, three breathless waiting seconds, Vincent dropped his fingers from my jaw and let his head fall forward, touching his forehead against mine.

  I lifted my chin just enough to brush my lips to his. For an instant, he pressed in, so soft and warm I could have been dreaming it. I finally let myself feel what it was like to kiss a guy who wasn’t the one in my daydreams.

  It wasn’t bad. Not bad at all.

  I made sure to take steady, regular breaths. I had kissed Vincent, and it was okay. Until he parted his lips against mine, and I felt his tongue flick against my lower lip.

  All at once, I knew I didn’t want this, and that I had to find a way to break off the kiss without embarrassing him.

  Another car’s tires crunching over the gravel gave me just that. Startled, I whipped my head toward the noise.

  There was Brendan, staring at us from the rolled-down window of his tan-gold sedan. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. How much had he seen? And, more importantly, why wasn’t Sofia with him?

  I shouldn’t have felt guilty, or afraid, or angry, or worried. But I felt all those things. I knew that this was not usually the route Brendan liked to take home. He only drove this way if he was frustrated or upset about something.

  My heart thudded so loudly in my chest I was surprised no one looked up to see where the helicopter was.

  Finally, Brendan managed, “I…uh…you forgot…” he swallowed.

  Oh, shit. I’d forgotten my camera. I’d been so pissed at Brendan that I’d left behind one of the only objects I’d cared about. It made everything worse that I loved it because he’d given it to me, and I’d left it in our freaking diner. I wished I could take it all back.

  Now I wished I could take back kissing Vincent, too. Or maybe just Brendan seeing me kiss Vincent. I hated that I didn’t know which.

  I lifted both hands off the hood and pressed my palms to my temples.

  “Look, Brendan, I…”

  “No, no. It’s cool. I can see I interrupted you, and I…I’ll just drop this off at home, okay Ash? I’ll see ya.”

  And just like that, his window rolled back up and he revved the engine on that poor little car harder than I would’ve imagined it could go. He sped off toward home, taking my camera with him.

  Well, his camera that he’d basically given me.

  I felt sick, all of a sudden. The world spun around me, the beginnings of an epic panic attack. I let myself slide down off the hood of Vincent’s car, brushing dirt I wasn’t sure was there off the backs of my jeans.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I was definitely not okay. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I pressed my palms to my temples again, because that seemed like it was probably something someone with a headache would do. “Yeah, just a headache.”

  Vincent’s eyebrows tented in what could only be very serious concern. He rubbed his hand up and down my back, once, twice, between my shoulder blades. Yep. One hundred percent, seriously concerned.

  “Let’s get you home. Okay?”

  I nodded and ducked into the car when he opened my door. “My house or yours?”

  I laughed once, short and soft. “Mine’s fine. I want my own bed.”

  “Yeah, of course. Mount Washington isn’t going anywhere. We can totally do this any other morning.”

  We rode home in silence, me resting my head back on the seat and closing my eyes. I tried to focus on the rumbling in my belly, or the awesomeness of the camera Vincent had just swiped off the car’s hood and tossed into the backseat. Tried to feel the warmth of the sun on my face. But as soon as I thought of that, I remembered the warmth of Vincent’s lips on mine, however briefly, and I suddenly felt very warm all over. Then I felt dizzy again.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Your cheeks look so red all of a sudden.”

  My eyes snapped open and I sat up.

  “Yeah, I should just probably lie down. You know.” I pressed the backs of my hands to my cheeks.

  This was getting ridiculous. My mind scrambled for something, anything else we could talk about while I was basically losing my shit in the front seat of Vincent’s beautiful car. I remembered how, just moments ago, Vincent’s fingers hadn’t been half bad at clicking the buttons on the camera in the correct order and quick succession. Even though I was helping him, he seemed really comfortable for someone who had been picking up a DSLR for the first time.

  “So that was really your first time with a DSLR?” God, that sounded bitchy. But it was true. I really did feel that way, sometimes. All the time, maybe. Like I couldn’t trust Vincent with a single word he said.

  He laughed. “Yeah. Really really. Why? Am I so awesome that that’s hard for you to believe? Am I a prodigy? Please say I’m a prodigy.”

  My face fell a little then, and he must have recognized my patented Disappointed Stare, because he backed down. “Whoa, whoa. Kidding. Okay?”

  “No, you did get some good shots, for sure. You’re good with electronics. Not so much Austen.” I smiled at him, but then remembered. His freakishly good grade on the Mansfield Park test without even cracking the book. The way I’d asked him which sibling pair he and Sofia were most like, and he had no idea what I was talking about.

  I decided to recheck. Just to be sure.

  “I was talking to my Aunt Kristin, and she was all upset about how Mrs. Crawford totally ignored the most important social theme of the book when she was teaching us Mansfield Park. What do you think?” I turned my full attention to him, just waiting for his response.

  “I…you know, you really are amazing with a camera. Who taught you?”

  “You never read it, did you?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a laughing breath. “Okay, yeah. You got me. Okay? I…uh…I got overwhelmed with new stuff, and I had one of Sofia’s friends dig up her answers from the year before. Everyone knows Crawford uses the same te
sts every year, so it’s really her fault, right?”

  I just stared at him, my mouth hanging partly open. When I finally reminded myself to close it, I said, “Are you seriously telling me you just cheated on a test at Mansfield Prep?”

  He laughed again. “Yeah, I guess. But I mean, it’s just a quiz. Doesn’t everyone cheat? It’s a prep school, Ashley. Everyone’s trying to get ahead. Don’t tell me this is the first time someone’s done it.”

  It wasn’t. I’d heard that all the other kids did it to get ahead. But I was always so crazy about studying, and never really had much else to do. Plus, I was just morally opposed to it in general. And there was no way I could afford to go to an Ivy League anyway, so I just never stressed as much as the other kids seemed to.

  And I knew Brendan never cheated. Never would.

  As Vincent drove, he flashed his gaze back to me, every few seconds. “Ashley. Ash.”

  I bristled when he called me “Ash.” Even if I had kissed him. Only Brendan called me that.

  “The cheating really bugs you, doesn’t it?

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Look, where I come from, it’s pretty normal. A lot of kids do it for every test. I only do it when I get really stressed. Okay? I swear. The adjustment to school was rough, and I just remembered we had the test that day. And I haven’t done it since then.”

  “Did you even read the book?”

  “That, I wasn’t lying about. I really did. Last year. I just…we read so many, I have trouble remembering it. I’m not the best reader.”

  By then, thank God, we had pulled up to the house. “I just…God, it weirds me out, you know?”

  “If it weirds you out, I won’t do it. Not anymore. I swear. Look, Ashley.” He threw the car into park and brushed his fingertips against the back of my hand. Cautious. Respectful. The same way he’d kissed me.

  Or, rather, let me kiss him.

  My heart started hammering. Even from that single soft kiss, I could tell he was a seriously good kisser. And he smelled delicious.

  “Look. I’m just gonna say this and hope I don’t sound like too big of an idiot. I noticed you from the first day I was at Mansfield, okay? You are gorgeous, and awesome, and smart, and not like the other girls. You care about things that other girls don’t care about, and that makes me want to spend more time with you. So…I know you know this, but I like you. Really like you. And I get that maybe you don’t feel quite the same way, but if we could hang out, that would make me really happy.”

  I had no idea if he was saying “hang out” in the “let’s get together on Saturday mornings to make out” sense or the “no pressure but can I spend time with you” sense. And that morning, between arguing with Brendan, kissing Vincent, Brendan seeing me kiss Vincent, and finding out for sure and certain that Vincent was not same guy I thought he was, I was too overwhelmed to really ask the question.

  “Look, I…I’m still not feeling well. I really should go,” I said, pressing the back of my hand to my cheek again.

  Vincent’s face fell. “Yeah, for sure. Can I walk you to your door?”

  “I think I’ll be okay,” I said. “We can shoot again this week, okay? This time I’ll bring my camera, too.” In that moment, I did feel a rush to my head. Remembering our hands together on that camera. Remembering the warmth of his skin against mine, the tingle that his mouth on mine sent through my whole body.

  On came Vincent’s standard soft, patient smile. The fake one. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

  “And I’ll see you Monday.”

  Ω

  I trudged toward the front door, struggling to put one foot in front of the other in smooth motion as I listened to Vincent’s car glide down the driveway. I dropped my bag inside the front door, and my keys along with it. They clattered against the newly polished wood, and I winced.

  “Breakfast with Brendan?” called Bruce from the kitchen, where he and Kristin were doing their Sunday morning newspaper-and-breakfast thing at the little round black table in there. Kristin had her feet propped up on Bruce’s knees, and he read the paper with his left hand while covering them with the right. She worked a crossword, occasionally pulling a pencil from her tufted bun of hair, and drank coffee. Every lazy weekend morning, exactly the same.

  Just like Brendan and I used to be.

  “Yeah.” I didn’t want to elaborate on what else, even though I knew I’d be welcome to butt in if I really wanted to. My heart still tripped a little, and I still felt a little flushed, and the room really spun now. “I’m just going to my room. Read a little bit.”

  I flopped down on my bed and stared up at Brendan’s window, just like last night, and every other night before. Brendan sat at his desk, staring at the computer. I dug my cell out of my pocket and punched in “2” on the speed dial. “Come on, pick up,” I muttered.

  He reached for his phone, looked at the number, and craned his neck to look out his window. Right at me. Then he reached up and pulled down the blinds.

  And a big, gaping hole formed in my chest.

  the height of her ambition

  I spent the rest of Sunday holed up in my room. I said I was doing homework, and watching TV. Sunday was rainy, so it probably didn’t actually seem all that weird. By the time I emerged on Monday morning, ready for school, I couldn’t ignore the look of relief on Kristin’s face.

  “You feeling okay, honey? You seemed under the weather. And we didn’t see Brendan all weekend.”

  Like I needed the reminder. “Yeah, I’m fine. And he just had other stuff going on.” It wasn’t a total lie. If “other stuff” was code for “avoiding Ashley.” Not like I was trying hard to get in touch with him, although I was doing plenty of staring at my phone and willing it to ring. Unfortunately, I still hadn’t really decided who I hoped it would be.

  Brendan was obviously angry. But if he was going to claim he didn’t like Sofia and then make out with her in the middle of our weekly breakfast date, then he really had no right to be pissed if I wanted to sit on the hood of Vincent’s car and teach him to use his damn expensive camera. And maybe kiss him if I wanted to.

  All I knew about that was that actually kissing Vincent made me want to do it again. At the same time, remembering the conversation I’d had with Vincent about cheating made me not really want to hang out with him again. Even though he said he would stop.

  I was still trying to figure out if I believed him.

  All of that was why riding to school with Brendan would not be a good idea today. I’d either scream at him or dissolve into a blubbering heap of tears. Or try to kiss him and see if I liked it better than kissing Vincent. Neither of those things would be good.

  “Aunt Kristin. Care if I hitch a ride to school with you today?” A look of confusion swept Kristin’s face, but she must have seen the bummed-out look on mine, because she quickly said, “Sure, honey. It’ll be nice to get the time together.”

  Aunt Kristin, at least, knew exactly what I needed to hear.

  Ω

  Everyone at school was talking about my birthday party, but not about how epic the band or the kegs or the swimming pool car crash was—they were talking about what a miracle it was that no one had gotten in trouble, not a single kid had been arrested for underage drinking. My seventeenth birthday party would go down in Mansfield Prep history as the one with the most alcohol, the most vomit, and least amount of planning, with no—absolutely zero—kids getting busted.

  I was hoping to be that lucky avoiding all the people I had no desire to deal with. I ducked into the girl’s bathroom between classes until the last possible moment of hallway transit, just to avoid seeing either Brendan or Vincent. It was chicken shit of me, but surprisingly, all the sleeping, stressing, ice-cream eating and stupid show watching hadn’t really solved the problem of which guy to talk to in which way.

  The only problem with the girls’ room was that other girls could go in there. And did, apparently, because on my way out of the stall between sixth a
nd seventh periods, Sofia stood there, leaning into the mirror, daubing something on her already naturally perfect face. And slung around her shoulder and resting on her hip was my camera bag.

  I froze. I could barely comprehend what I was seeing. My gray canvas camera bag, with navy padded inserts, holding my camera.

  Except, it wasn’t mine. Not really. It was Brendan’s. He’d gotten it for his birthday, and had absolutely no interest in it. I’d picked it up in his room one day, taken some test shots. Borrowed it one weekend and I was hooked. He’d taken one look at the shots I uploaded from the card onto the school’s editing program in the computer lab, squeezed my shoulders, and said, “Well, guess that camera’s yours, huh?”

  I hadn’t been able to stop smiling for a week.

  And now this bitch had it resting against her hip, wearing it like it was hers. Like she even knew how to use it.

  Oh, God. Did she know how to use it? Was she good at this too? Suddenly, I fought for every breath.

  I must have been staring at that damn bag, because she grasped the strap and said, “I know, the bag’s totally scuzzy. I ordered a new one this morning. Brendan lent me his camera since I just joined yearbook, wasn’t that sweet? And now that I have such a nice camera I’ll be able to take the best pictures, so they said I can be in charge.”

  My heart wept for the idiots at this stupid rich school who didn’t’ realize that you’d get better pictures from me using my cell phone than Sofia, who knew nothing about camera work, using Brendan’s eight-hundred-dollar camera.

  The camera that, considering Vincent’s three-thousand-dollar one, she definitely could have bought herself.

  She leaned over to me from the sink, making a big deal out of looking in all the other stalls, presumably to make sure no one was there. “I think he really likes me. Like, really a lot. He looked kind of emotional when he handed the camera over.” She stood back up and kept applying more goop to her lips. “And I know he’s not the coolest guy in the school or anything, but he’s so smart, and he’s so…well, I would definitely be going on the nicest dates and get the sweetest birthday presents. You know?”