by Marni Bates
“What about Frank?”
Mrs. Blake repositioned me into a better pose before answering. “Oh, Frank doesn’t count. Mean one, nice one, only counts if you marry them. It’s a technicality, sure, but I like it. Now with Janie here—”
“So, uh, did Annette comment on anyone else’s love life?” I interrupted, wanting to keep the conversation as far away from me as possible.
“Sure! Why, just last week she foretold Joy giving me the sweetest little great-grandchildren.”
“J-Joy?” I sputtered. “She’s what? Fifteen?”
“Fifteen and a half coming up next week.”
Scott and I just stared at her.
“Well, I don’t expect it to happen right this second. It must be one of those out-of-sequence events. Annette told me very clearly that the spirits get confused sometimes. Something about different types of psychic energies . . . Oh, I can never keep it straight.”
“Interesting. Do you see a lot of your granddaughter? Jane, tilt your head to the side a little more. Great.”
I obeyed the command before I remembered my plan not to be such a pushover. If I kept allowing myself to be easily maneuvered, I wouldn’t be taken seriously on the school paper. Then again, following instructions was practically a hardwired response for me. Stopping cold turkey sounded next to impossible. I couldn’t recall the last time I had purposefully ignored an order—or if I ever had.
“Joy comes into the store every Saturday afternoon and helps me sort books. Then we get frozen yogurt together.” The very mention of her granddaughter put an extra layer of sweetness into Mrs. Blake’s smile. “We’re working on a novel together.” Her eyes darted from Scott to me so quickly, I wondered if I had imagined a furtive expression flickering across her face. “It’s still in the planning stages.”
“Okay.” Scott didn’t appear to be listening any longer. “Now, Jane. I want you to put your arm around Mrs. Blake’s waist. Try not to stand so rigidly. Just like that, perfect. Don’t move.”
“What’s your story about?” It was easier to relax into the position when I ignored the way my pretend-boyfriend’s disheveled brown hair and camera obscured his face and focused instead on the perky grandmother next to me.
“Oh, it’s about a teenage girl,” she said airily. “Scott, can you believe our Janie hasn’t told me anything about you? Why, I was sure she would call me the second she started dating. I can see that we have a lot of catching up to do. Tell me how you met.”
“Hmm,” he mumbled distractedly as he tried to capture the perfect shot.
“Um, we met in journalism class.” I wanted to keep the story as close to the truth as possible. “I was editing. Scott was standing around while everyone else worked.”
That caught his attention.
“It was my first day,” Scott said defensively, “and out of nowhere, Jane told me to sit down before I got into trouble.”
“And you didn’t take my advice.”
“I didn’t think you were serious.”
I tried to remember what exactly Mr. Elliot had hollered at Scott that day. Something about stepping up his game . . . and making himself useful for the first time in his pathetic life.
Of course, Mr. Elliot hadn’t realized at the time that Scott was new.
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t joke around when it comes to Mr. Elliot.”
“Well, I know that now. You weren’t much help at the time.”
My arms crossed automatically as I glared at him. “What? That wasn’t my fault!”
Who, me? Defensive? Never.
“Oh, this is so romantic.” Mrs. Blake clasped her hands together.
I didn’t see anything romantic about being blamed for something that wasn’t even remotely my fault. Okay, maybe I should have tried harder to save him from Mr. Elliot since he was the new kid . . . but he wasn’t exactly a defenseless toddler. Scott had handled it just fine without me.
He sighed, obviously playing it up for Mrs. Blake. “Mr. Elliot reamed me while Janie stared silently at her computer screen.”
“As if I could have said anything to make it better!”
“But once the crisis was over,” Scott continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “Jane turned to me, introduced herself, and cordially welcomed me to hell. That’s when I knew she was special.”
Actually, that was sort of sweet. Especially since I knew that he was trying to tell Mrs. Blake as much of the truth as possible. Okay, so the part about finding me special was a lie. If he had been really honest he’d have said: That’s when I knew she was a neurotic nutcase.
But it was a nice alteration.
“Right. That’s how we met,” I blurted out. “I think we’re done here. And will you look at the time? My mom will be here to pick me up any minute. So—”
“But how did you ask her out?” Mrs. Blake demanded. “I want the full story for Joy so that we can . . . well, you know what gossips we are sometimes.”
Yeah, I did know. I had intentionally switched to working Sundays in order to avoid the two of them together for that very reason. Well, that and because the way Joy stares at me kind of freaks me out.
“Uh, well . . .”
“It’s a great story, but we’ll have to save it for another time.” Scott continued snapping photos. “Ditch the sweatshirt, Grammar Girl.”
I instinctively unzipped it before I remembered what I was wearing underneath.
“Well, isn’t this pretty!” Mrs. Blake cooed as she rested her hand on the pebbled silk of my sleeve. “It feels so nice. Why, Janie, where did you get it?”
I did my best to ignore the way Scott soaked in this alteration before he started snapping in a flurry of activity. I didn’t blame him. I bet my blue shirt photographed much better than a beat-up sweatshirt. It just made me feel more exposed. No wonder my dad had freaked out on me earlier.
“Kenzie gave it to me.”
“Oh. And is she still dating that lovely boy I met a few weeks ago?”
“Logan. Yeah, they’re still together.”
Scott smirked. “I can’t picture Hockey Boy in here. Not unless he was tricked into thinking he’d get to meet Wayne Gretzky.”
There was nothing even remotely flirtatious about the death glare I shot him. “For your information, they were looking at books on U.S. history.”
“Oh, so Hockey Boy’s girlfriend was the one interested in the books.” Scott nodded as if that explained everything. “She can do a lot better.”
“Her name is Mackenzie Wellesley, not ‘Hockey Boy’s girlfriend. ’ And Logan had a great time checking out our books on painting. He’s actually a very talented artist.”
I don’t know why I felt the need to defend Logan. It’s not like he cared in the slightest what Scott Fraser thought of him. But their interaction made absolutely no sense to me. Scott hadn’t been at Smith High School long, barely over a month, and yet in that time he had somehow managed to alienate the nicest guy at school.
“Sure, beneath those hockey pads beats the soul of a tortured artist,” he scoffed.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Erm, why don’t I take a photo of the two of you?” Mrs. Blake probably thought she was interrupting one of our lovers’ quarrels.
Yeah, right.
But the reminder that we still had an audience effectively silenced us both. I couldn’t believe that I had even temporarily forgotten she was there. Mrs. Blake isn’t exactly the type to blend into the background.
Scott sheepishly handed her his camera. “Sorry about that, ma’am. Difference of opinion.”
And just like that, he was completely redeemed in her eyes.
“Oh, I understand. William had this friend, Jennifer.” She pursed her lips in distaste. “I never did like that woman. She wore the most atrocious perfume, really cloying stuff. Eau de desperation, I used to say to William. Then I came home one day and the pillows reeked of it.” She shrugged. “Ah, well. It was for the best in the end.”
I turned to Sco
tt, but he didn’t look like he knew how to respond to that either.
“Uh, let’s take that picture,” I covered gamely, even though the last thing I wanted was to stand anywhere near Scott. I did it for Mrs. Blake. I followed her every instruction and let Scott drape his arm around my waist. I even smiled nicely for the camera.
My brittle grin was still frozen in place when my mom entered the memoir section . . . and caught sight of her little girl entangled in the arms of an unknown boy.
If this was karmic retribution for one small fib, I’d never lie to a sweet old lady ever again.
Chapter 14
“Uh, hey, Mom.”
I couldn’t come up with anything else to say. Although, there aren’t all that many options when your mom stumbles upon you hugging a green-eyed hottie in a bookstore while your boss is instructing you to “snuggle closer.”
Maybe something along the lines of, This really isn’t what it looks like would have been better. But then I’d have to explain what exactly I meant by that, and Mrs. Blake’s feelings would be hurt. I racked my brain for a way to gracefully extract myself from the situation.
“Oh, Susan, how wonderful to see you! I take it you’ve already met Janie’s boyfriend.”
Oh, hell.
“I can’t say I have,” my mom replied, glancing pointedly at the arm Scott still had wrapped around my waist.
I found myself too stunned to move. Unfortunately, Scott was not similarly affected.
“Scott Fraser. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Smith.”
My mom shook his extended hand and then looked at me as if she expected me to yell, Psych! Even my mother acted like it was impossible for me to have a boyfriend. She clearly found it inconceivable that any guy could be interested in this one of her daughters that way.
Which was doing wonders for my self-esteem. Oh, wait. Not so much.
“Hi, Scott. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I inwardly winced at my mom’s words. Scott and I both knew that if I had said anything about him at home . . . it wasn’t complimentary. Well, at least I wasn’t the only liar in my family. “You’ll have to come over for dinner sometime.”
“Mom, that’s un—”
“—believably generous of you,” Scott cut me off. “I’d love to get to know Jane’s whole family. Hear all the embarrassing stories.”
That last part was said with a grin that looked awfully self-satisfied to me.
“Well, this week is crazy, but . . . how about on Monday? Are you free then, Scott?”
Sorry, I can’t make it. I have plans. Big test coming up. I’ll have to take a rain check.
Any of those excuses would have worked.
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“Wonderful! Then it’s settled.”
Apparently, I didn’t get a say in whether or not my fake boyfriend was invited to dinner. Then again, that was probably because only Scott and I knew the whole thing was a sham.
But just because he wanted to tinker with my life didn’t mean I had to play along.
“You know, Scott might not have time for dinner at our house. He has a pretty hectic weekend scheduled.”
My mom gave me a long, hard look. “Is there anything more important than family time?”
It wasn’t actually a question.
“Of course not, it’s just . . .”
“Jane is worried that I won’t have enough time to work on the school paper.” Scott effortlessly pulled me into the crook of his arm, which felt oddly comforting given that he was the one responsible for this latest set of complications. “It’ll be fine, sweetie.”
Sweetie? This was definitely hell.
“Oh, I’m sure you will be fine,” I gritted out. “I just think that we need to discuss boundaries for the article. Make sure it doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable.”
He grinned. “Interesting, whereas I think more digging is in order to get the full scoop.”
The subtext of all of this went completely unnoticed by my mom and Mrs. Blake.
“Jane, we need to get going. I have to pick up some things from the grocery store for dinner. Scott, it was nice to meet you, and we’ll see you Monday night.”
“Absolutely. I’ll see you later, Jane.”
The jerk had the nerve to wink at me. I had to bite my tongue to keep from growling back.
“Sure thing, Scott.”
Then I was propelled out of the bookstore and into the supermarket, where my mom simultaneously purchased veggies for our stir-fry and interrogated me about Scott. It wasn’t easy fielding her questions since I didn’t have the answers to most of them. I didn’t even know the most basic information about him. Stuff like what his parents did professionally and whether or not he had siblings.
It didn’t get any less stressful when she moved to the more personal questions either—like how long I had been hiding this secret relationship from everyone.
Talk about a minefield.
I think I covered pretty well. I said that we had started a thing together a few days ago, and I wanted to keep it low-key until we knew each other better. I said that I didn’t want her to get all excited over nothing if it didn’t pan out.
But maybe I should have stuck with no comment. Maybe that way she wouldn’t have gotten all teary-eyed in the frozen food section over how quickly her little girl was growing up and putting on makeup to impress her new boyfriend.
Of course I couldn’t say, Oh no, Mom, that’s just to hide the black eye I got from a psychopathic football player.
So I loaded up the grocery cart while she wiped at her watery eyes and welcomed me into “womanhood.” I hated lying to her, but I didn’t know how to take it back. Not without mortifying one or both of us.
I just hoped she wouldn’t make too big a deal out of it, which was why I begged her to keep it to herself.
She barely managed to pass Elle the stir-fry before she dropped the bomb.
“Jane’s got a boyfriend!”
Yeah, that went over about as well as a case of head lice at an elementary school.
“You’ve got a what?” Elle demanded, nearly spewing apple juice in her surprise. “Yeah, right!”
“I do!” I insisted, even though . . . I didn’t. But I hated the way they assumed I was pranking them about this when I’ve never lied to them before. I mean, come on! It isn’t like I was born with an extreme social disorder or a case of leprosy. It was ridiculous the way my family acted like I had just announced, Well, tomorrow is the coming of the Messiah.
My dad looked pained. “So . . . does this mean we need to have the talk?”
I knew exactly what talk he was referring to, and I definitely didn’t want to have it. Not over dinner, not with him, not ever.
“Nope. I’m fine, Dad. Really, they cover all of that in school these days.”
Elle snorted before she heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll make sure she knows all about STDs and contraception.”
What I actually needed someone to explain was how my sister could imagine that I would appreciate her discussing that stuff with me, because that was beyond me.
I focused on spearing a piece of red pepper with my fork. “No explanations necessary.”
My mom and dad traded looks. “You haven’t already . . .”
“NO!” I could feel my cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Can we please drop this?”
“See, Mom! If she’s not mature enough to have this conversation, then she definitely isn’t ready for sex.”
I glared at Elle. “Not wanting to discuss my sex life over dinner doesn’t mean I’m not mature enough to . . . do it.”
“Aw, she said, ‘do it.’ Isn’t that precious?”
“Shut up, Lane.”
Her jaw stiffened. “It’s not my fault you’re not ready to be in a meaningful, lasting relationship.”
Translation: You’ll never be ready to have wh
at Jeff and I had together.
That had me so annoyed I barely noticed when my fork slid from my fingers to my plate with a clatter. “Okay, enough. Scott and I have just started spending time together. We’re not exactly searching for the cheapest hotel room we can rent by the hour. And I promise that if we do have sex, I’ll be as safe as possible. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m carrying a condom around with me as we speak.”
Technically, that wasn’t a lie, since the condom Sam gave me was still in my backpack upstairs. I just didn’t plan on using it with Scott—or anyone else, for that matter. My dad shot my mom one wild-eyed look, but he didn’t comment, probably because he didn’t want to say anything that would send me looking for one of those cheap hotel rooms.
I’m not sure what shocked the family more: the announcement that I had a boyfriend or a condom.
“Can I be excused? I’ve lost my appetite.”
My parents nodded their permission, probably because as soon as I left the room they could begin discussing these latest developments. Not that I had any interest in eavesdropping. If I heard my mom sniffle over her little girl reaching womanhood one more time, I was going to lose it.
So I bolted for my room, cranked up my music, and flipped open the ancient family laptop to see who was online. I was hoping to find Kenzie on Skype, but she must have been focused on her homework or out on a date with Logan—either way, she wasn’t online. A week ago, I probably would have started in on my homework like a good girl. Then again, a week ago I also wasn’t getting lectured about safe sex over the dinner table.
I decided to waste some time on Facebook. There was nobody I particularly wanted to message, but I thought it might be a good way to unwind from the awkwardness of my family dinner. Or at least I did until I began wading through a slew of pointless status updates, most of which were painfully long quotes from random people and pictures of food.
Still, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.
I was still clicking through photographs of Kenzie and Logan together, when Scott logged on. I would never have voluntarily friended him if Mr. Elliot hadn’t required everyone in the journalism class to add each other. He claimed it would foster a sense of solidarity. All it had actually accomplished was a shared sense of outrage at the total breach of privacy. Not that anyone was about to confront Mr. Elliot on it.