“Yes. Of course, I plan to come back after the next election. Either this president will be out of the White House and a Democrat will be in, so the circumstances of the divorce won’t be an issue, or President Carew will bring me back. I have his word, and he isn’t a man to go back on his promises.” My dad gets a self-satisfied smile on his face. “I’m very good at what I do. Whoever’s in the White House will want me there.”
“I know.”
“But in the meantime, I’d love to have you with me in Schwerinborg. I think it would be a real adventure to get to see more of Europe before you go to college.”
“Not that I’m saying yes, because I’m not … but where would I go to school? What’s involved here?” I mean, is there a Schwerinborg High? Do I have to learn German? That I cannot do. French is my thing. I’ve had straight A’s in it since seventh grade. I think I might even get the French award this year, and that would rock on my college applications since those awards usually go to seniors and the occasional junior, and I’m only a sophomore.
“There’s a private American high school near the palace. Prince Manfred and Princess Claudia send their son there to help improve his English. Most of the foreign diplomats’ kids attend, as well. The program is impressive. The teachers are primarily Americans, and classes are conducted in English.”
My crab cake isn’t tasting so good anymore. Going to school at Lake Braddock versus attending some high school with a bunch of foreigners who’ll be able to talk about me in German behind my back?
“I’m not getting much of a choice here,” I point out, as if this isn’t obvious to him. “Either way, I don’t get to stay at my school. That’s totally unfair.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can do. If you decide on Lake Braddock, you’ll still see your friends after school.”
“No, I won’t. None of us have cars.” Driver’s ed isn’t until next semester, and I’m one of the last of my friends to turn sixteen.
“I think your mother will make the effort.”
Now I really think I’m going to cry. There’s no way I can avoid telling everyone about Mom if I live with her. I mean, what do I say about Gabrielle if she comes to pick me up at school? I lucked out that Christie didn’t catch on this afternoon. Jules and Natalie would have immediately, and I can’t handle their oh-poor-you-but-I’m-so-glad-it’s-not-me sympathy right now.
As much as I love Mom, I really, really don’t want to live with Gabrielle. I just know she’s going to boss me around and make me eat organic greens and quinoa all the time. Besides, it would just feel weird. How would I handle being around Mom with anyone besides Dad, let alone a new girlfriend? I’m as laid back as the next person, but I get uncomfortable around Christie and Jeremy when they start playing tonsil hockey near me.
Then it occurs to me that David Anderson s dad is a big deal conservative lobbyist. David idolizes the man, partially because he was a big college track star, partially because he’s always on the Today show yammering away about family values with Katie Couric and Matt Lauer. If the president is willing to ship Dad off to Schwerinborg over all this, what’s David going to think about me when he hears?
I bet kids who go to high school in Nebraska or California or Minnesota and other normal places don’t have to deal with this kind of political stuff messing up their relationships.
I swipe a tear off my cheek, because I do not want my dad to see me cry. I am not one of those wussy girly-girls who cries to get things my way. Girls like that piss me off.
“Hey, it s going to be okay.” I can hear the guilt in Dad’s voice, and it makes me feel even worse. “I’ll come visit you as often as I can. And if you want, you can come to Schwerinborg during spring break. I have more than enough frequent flyer miles to cover the ticket. Well go skiing together. Maybe we can go to Interlaken—”
“No, Dad,” I interrupt. I’m finally realizing that I’m never, ever going to date David. Because as ticked as I am at my mother right now for ruining my life, I love her, and I can’t be someone I’m not just to go out with David Anderson. If he’s even interested in me. I mean, come on. One conversation with Jeremy about who I,might be dating could mean anything. Right?
“No, what?” A serious pair of wrinkles forms in the space between his eyes as he looks at me. “You wouldn’t even visit?”
“No, as in I’m coming with you. I’ll move to Schwerinborg. Why the hell not?”
“Don’t say hell, Valerie,” comes his automatic response. Then he tilts his head at me, and I can tell he’s trying very hard not to smile. “Really, though? That’s what you want?”
“Yep.” I grin, even though I don’t really feel like smiling. “That’s what I want.”
Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone there will be as godlike as David. And they won’t care how my mom lives her life.
“I don’t get it. Why not just suck it up and go to Lake Braddock?” Natalie hisses on Monday morning as our history teacher, Mrs. Bennett, turns her back to start a video on the battles of Gettysburg and Manassas. We’ve been doing the Civil War in United States and Virginia History for the last three weeks, and frankly, I’m sick of all the blood and gore. At least it’ll be over after tomorrow.
On the downside, this Friday is the end of our second quarter, aka major exam time, and the next day I’m off to Schwerinborg. Just like that. Dad says it’ll be easiest for me to switch schools between quarters, even though I thought I’d have a little more time. Like at least until after Christmas.
This is the one thing I hate about going to Vienna West. We finish each quarter before every other school in the district because our school’s used for summer camps and they need us to be out of here earlier in the spring. If we were a normal school, we’d finish second quarter in January and I’d have another month to figure things out. But I don’t. Which is what has Natalie so ticked off today.
Ticked off at me, that is. Not the Civil War or our exam schedule.
I ignore Natalie’s question, but as soon as the video starts and the room gets dead quiet, a wadded piece of paper comes flying from my right and goes skittering over my desk. I catch it as it goes off the other side, barely keeping it from landing by David Anderson’s feet, since he sits in the row next to mine, one seat back. Natalie is a terrible note passer.
I glance at Mrs. Bennett to see if she s noticed, since of course everyone else in the room has, and a few people start snickering. Luckily Mrs. Bennett is focused on grading our quizzes from Friday, and is looking down at her desk, punching numbers on her calculator. Good thing, because if Natalie gets caught with a note in class, especially when she s already grounded, her parents are going to hit the roof.
I frown at Natalie, since I’ve warned her to lay off the note passing unless it’s urgent, then slowly open up the paper, trying to keep the crinkling to a minimum.
Did you at least argue? Ask your mom to maybe get an apartment here in Vienna instead?
Lake Braddock might suck, but it’s got to be better than Smorgasbord. I would NEVER move there, just because my parents said so!
ESPECIALLY if David Anderson liked me. What kind of crack are you SMOKING?!?!
I fold up the note and stuff it in my pocket, fast. Natalie glares at me, but no way do I want to get caught with this. Not with David right across the aisle from me. With my luck Mrs. Bennett will catch us and read it out loud to the class. She’s done it before.
I take a new sheet of paper from my notebook, uncap a pen, and scribble.
Like you would NEVER stay in Girl Scouts, just because your parents said so?
I know this is a low blow, so below that I add,
(You know what I mean.) I tried, no luck. It won’t be so bad, except for missing you guys like crazy. I get to live in a palace and go skiing. And Dad says it won’t be long. I’ll probably be back for the second half of junior year. That’s only a year away.
I know a year is a wicked long time. But since that’s two months after elections, and Dad
said he’d be able to come back to the White House by then, I figure this is a safe bet. I fold the note—a lot more carefully than Natalie did—and when I’m sure Mrs. Bennett isn’t looking, I slide it across the aisle with my foot.
A few minutes later, right when a Confederate cannon goes kerblam and half the class jolts awake, the paper comes flying back onto my desk, hitting me in the hand while I’m taking notes. I almost scream. I’m going to have to talk to Natalie about throwing notes across the aisle during the scary parts.
But what about HIM?!
Him meaning David Anderson, and not Dad, I assume. I look over at Natalie and mouth, “Later!”
She flattens her hands against her cheeks and makes an Edvard Munch-like scream face at me, but I glare at her until she turns back to the video and starts taking notes, since all this stuff will be on the exam, and we only have a few days to go.
I start writing too, but I cannot wrap my brain around the logistics of Pickett’s Charge or remember whether General Longstreet was on the Union or Confederate side. Not with Natalie, Jules, and especially Christie so upset. They all cried when I finally told them last night, over Spicy Chicken Fillet Sandwiches and Frostys from the freshly cleaned machine at Wendy’s—once Natalie’s parents finally agreed she could come out for an hour.
It’s nice to know that my buds will miss me, but I feel guilty, too. They think I’m dissing them, and just don’t get why I’d move to Schwerinborg, even if staying means I have to go to Lake Braddock and I’d hardly ever see them.
And of course, I can’t tell them the whole truth. They don’t buy my story about Dad being lonely and me wanting to keep him company either. I think it’s because they all secretly believe Jules’s girlfriend theory. Like a girlfriend would follow him to Schwerinborg. Not. I wouldn’t go if the situation here was even remotely tolerable, and I’m his daughter. And he’s bribing me with ski passes and stuff too.
I can tell that in their minds I’m going to be gone forever, even though I told them over and over that I am so not going to live in freakin’ Schwerinborg the rest of my life. I bet they’re still getting first-run Buffy episodes over there. And although I wouldn’t mind seeing the whole Spike/Buffy pseudoromance storyline from the beginning, I’d much rather be in Virginia with all my friends, chilling out in Christie’s basement watching MTV Cribs or making fun of the idiots who go on Survivor and American Idol.
I let out a little sigh, then realize it was loud enough for Mrs. Bennett to hear. She’s glaring at me, so I yank myself into something resembling good posture and begin watching the video for real.
They keep showing maps of the battle-field, and reenactments of young soldiers running across fields and up hills, fighting for their lives. There’s a voiceover, reading letters sent back home by the soldiers. Apparently, as the men were listening to the cannons and guns firing around them, and the agonized cries of their dying friends (which sound totally fake on the video), they weren’t thinking about politics or slavery or any of that stuff. They were thinking of home and the mothers and wives and girlfriends they left behind.
I wonder if David will think of me when I’m gone.
I glance over my shoulder. David’s totally focused on the video, which doesn’t surprise me, because he’s got the highest grade in the whole class. Well, except for me, though if I keep allowing the whole Schwerinborg situation to distract me, he may beat me on the exam.
But even just sitting there, staring at the video with the overhead lights off, the guy is totally hot. He’s got one elbow on the desk, his fingers forked through his hair, propping up his head. He’s taking notes with his other hand, and for a moment, I wonder what it’d be like to sit in the dark and have his fingers interlaced with mine. He has such long, strong fingers.
Is it possible for a guy to have sexy hands?
I’m guessing he’s heard my Schwerinborg news. He must have. Christie would have called Jeremy on her cell after we left Wendy’s last night, since she was upset and she always cries to Jeremy when she’s upset, and Jules told me that David and Jeremy sit together in English during first period.
I start to turn back around so I can figure out the whys and wherefores of Pickett’s Charge, but then my eyes catch David’s, and I realize he’s been watching me stare at him.
Oh, crap.
I shift in my chair as subtly as possible, making like I was looking out the window at the quad, where the band geeks are all lined up to practice marching, but we both know I wasn’t.
Then he gives me this long, slow wink.
Oh. My. God.
Three
In a panic, I turn back to the video.
Oh. My. God. Ohmigod. I am so busted. What the hell did that wink mean?
That I’m a total idiot and he knows it?
Or that he’s interested?
No. No way, no how, no matter what Christie says. I haven’t had a boyfriend since seventh grade, when Jason Barrows kissed me on a dare and everyone went around afterward saying we were boyfriend and girlfriend, which doesn’t really count as having a boyfriend, since he wasn’t. My boyfriend, that is. Even though everyone told me he had a thing for me because I’m a redhead. I mean, ick.
The bell rings, and Mrs. Bennett gets up to stop the video while everyone rushes to grab their stuff and get out of class before she can give us a new assignment. It’s not as if we don’t have enough to worry about with exams starting Wednesday. When I lean over to grab my backpack, I see that David is still looking at me.
Natalie grabs my arm. “We have got to talk. Now.”
But as Natalie yanks me out the door, David shoots me this wicked grin that says, I know exactly who you’re going to talk about too.
I bet he saw the note Natalie passed me. Bet he read it over my shoulder. Even if Gabrielle’s presence wasn’t forcing me to already, now I have to go to Schwerinborg.
“Wait a minute,” I tell Natalie as soon as we’re out in the hall. “I think I left my notebook.”
I elbow my way back inside as the last few people rush out the door, only to see that Mrs. Bennett has my notebook in her hand. Great.
“Forget this?”
I nod and take it, and she makes some comment about how I can’t afford to lose it seeing as I need to ace the next exam if I want to turn my A into an A+ for the term. Then she blows by me on her way to the teachers’ lounge, since this is her break period.
She must’ve seen Natalie pass that note, or at least she suspects. Otherwise she’d never be on my back about my grade. I mean, really. I bet she didn’t have as high a grade when she was a sophomore. Sometimes you just know you’ve got more book smarts than one of your teachers.
I drop my backpack on top of the nearest desk and unzip it to shove my notebook inside while I try to figure out what to say to Natalie. I so don’t want to argue about this with her anymore, but I just know she’s going to be all over me about moving once I go back into the hall.
“Hey, Val.”
I look up, and there’s David. Like, RIGHT there. Either he never left the room, or he followed me back in. How could I not have seen him? Usually I can tell whenever he’s within a hundred-yard radius. After all these years of having an insane crush on him, I’ve developed a finely tuned David radar.
“Um, hey.” This is about all I can manage, which makes me sound like a total dork. I mean, we’ve known each other forever, and we’re kind of friends, so what’s my problem? “What’s up?”
He sits on top of the desk next to my backpack. I think I’m going to keel over, right here in room 104. David’s butt is actually touching my backpack. Since I’m busy trying to unstick the zipper, I can’t help but see the fabulous way his Levi’s curve around his rear. And if I pull the backpack zipper all the way around, I could touch him. If I wanted.
Once last month I saw Christie and Jeremy waiting for a ride after Christie finished volleyball practice, and she had her arms around his waist, with her index fingers hooked in the back pockets
of his jeans while he kissed her. At the time I thought it was kind of weird, but now I’m thinking I’d like to have my fingers hooked in David’s pockets. Oh, yeah. I can definitely see how that would be fun.
He scoots on the desk, and I realize I’m staring at him. Again. I make myself focus on his eyes and try not to turn red. Of course, since I’m about as fair skinned as a human being can be, that’s pretty much impossible.
And did I mention that his eyes are phenomenal?
“I, uh, I heard you’re moving to, um …”
“To Schwerinborg.”
He smiles, but only on one side of his mouth. Could he be any more delicious? “Yeah. Of all places. Can’t believe you’re going to Smorgasbord. Who’da thought?”
I need a ventilator. Not only has David heard my news, he wants to talk about it?
“I’ll miss you, Winslow. I know we don’t hang out as much as when we were kids or anything, but I’ve always thought you’re one of the few truly cool people in this place. Plus, you’re the only person who can outscore me in history. What’ll I do without you here to challenge me?”
My mouth can’t form a reply, since I’m thinking, Me, cool? Me, with my whacked red hair and freak show green eyes, when he is a complete and total sex god who can go out with anyone in the entire universe? Or at least with anyone in the entire school—which is still a hell of a lot of people, seeing as there are twenty-five hundred students at West Vienna High.
He stands up, and his gorgeous butt is no longer in contact with my backpack. “Will you have e-mail there?”
“I think so.”
He fishes a piece of paper out of his notebook and scribbles down his e-addy. “In case I forget later, with exams and all. Let me know what’s up with you over there, okay?”
“Yeah, I will.”
As I slide the piece of paper into my jeans pocket, he says, “I’d really like to keep in touch. I’ve been thinking lately that we should hang out more. It’d still be cool to chat, even if it’s long distance now.”
Royally Jacked (Romantic Comedies, The) Page 3