by Meg Jolie
But huggers? Beware.
“I hope you don’t mind me coming to find you,” I said. “Jamie is off with Evan somewhere. Willow and Krista are scheming about something so I thought I’d come say hi. So, um…hi,” I said sheepishly.
“Hi,” Tristan said with a laugh.
And then we just stood there, looking at each other. I for one wasn’t sure what to say with a hallway full of classmates. Oddly, it didn’t seem to matter because it wasn’t an awkward kind of silence. It just…was.
“No. Way.”
I turned to look at Marcus. He was blatantly eyeing up Tristan and me. First me, then Tristan. Then back again.
“You two?” he asked. He looked a little stunned.
“Yes, us two,” I said a bit defiantly.
First Corey? Now Marcus?
What is so wrong with Tristan and me? I wondered in annoyance. I was a little flustered by the way he was looking at us. It was kind of shocked disbelief. And then I realized that maybe he thought Tristan was too good for me. Too smart for me. Too ambitious for me.
Then I realized maybe I was wrong when his face broke into a huge grin.
He clapped Tristan on the back. “Awesome! You give hope to all of us!” With that, he walked away. He was shaking his head as he went.
A nervous laugh slipped out. “What was that supposed to mean?”
“You really don’t know?” he asked in amusement.
“I really don’t,” I admitted.
Tristan watched me for a few seconds. I got the impression he was debating whether or not he should tell me. He glanced around. The hallway was crowded but there was chatter that would drown out whatever he had to say. Besides, it wasn’t as if anyone was actually trying to listen in. He finally gave a small shake of his head. As if he wasn’t sure he should say anything or not but had decided to go ahead with it.
Finally, he leaned down so his mouth was close to my ear. All I could smell was mint. I wanted to crash right into his chest. But there would be no hugging, not touching, no chest-crashing for sure.
So I scrounged up some willpower and I refrained.
“It means…” he said quietly. His mouth was next to my ear, his breath was tickling my neck. I was holding onto my willpower for dear life. Or at least out of fear of receiving detention. “That you are totally hot. And you’re a senior on top of that. And now my friends are all going to be wishing they were me.”
I laughed as I nudged him away. “Right, of course,” I said. The sarcasm was so thick it was making a puddle at my feet.
“Okay,” he said agreeably. “You tell me what you think it means.”
I thought about it. I couldn’t come up with an answer.
“See,” he said as he nudged me with his shoulder. “I’m right.”
I wasn’t sure about that.
He glanced at his watch. I knew the warning bell would be ringing shortly. “I can walk you halfway to class?”
I nodded and he grabbed what he needed out of his locker.
It could’ve been my imagination but it seemed like we got a few curious glances. Although, I imagined that happened every time a new couple showed their faces together in the hallways.
“What are you doing tonight?” I asked as we walked along.
“I work,” he said with a small frown. “In fact, I have stuff going on every night this week. But we’re still on for Friday, right?”
“Yes, definitely,” I agreed. He gave me a relieved smile. I knew he had a busy schedule. He had a job and he was on the debate team. I knew he also tutored on occasion too.
“Wait. You didn’t tell Marcus about us?” I asked. I knew Marcus was his best friend. And he’d obviously been surprised. “Or don’t guys talk about that kind of thing?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t mention it to him.”
I briefly wondered if I should be disappointed about that. Did that mean he didn’t think it was important enough, or interesting enough, to bring up?
We reached the junction in the hallway where we’d have to separate to get to our respective classes. Tristan stopped. His attention seemed to be snatched up by something on the wall.
I flicked my gaze that direction. I realized he was looking at a poster for the winter dance.
“So, ah…do you want to go to that?” he asked. Before I could answer, he jumped in again. “Or maybe we should wait on that? Is that too far away to plan for?”
“It’s barely a month away. It’s not too far away to plan for,” I assured him. My heart had taken off without warning. It was doing a crazy little beat inside of my chest. I waited patiently as Tristan visibly gathered some courage. He shifted from one foot to the other.
“Okay. Do you want to go? With me, I mean?” He made a face at himself. “Well, I guess that part is obvious. That I’m asking you to go with me. Sorry,” he said with a small self-deprecating laugh. “I kind of suck at this.”
“I definitely want to go. With you,” I clarified.
He let out a little gust of air. It almost sounded like a sigh of relief.
“Did you really think I’d say no?” I wondered.
He hung his head down and bit his lip for a second before looking back at me. When he did, it was a side of Tristan I hadn’t ever seen before. He looked almost shy as he kept his head ducked down a bit. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just never thought this…I mean us…would really happen. So. Yeah. I guess I wouldn’t have been surprised if you said no. I was kind of wondering if once we got back to school you’d maybe change your mind. Like wonder what the hell you were thinking. That’s why I didn’t tell anyone.” His face showed his embarrassment as he looked at me from under his lashes.
It was sweet.
It was really sweet.
And I was shamelessly happy in that moment. So much so that I think I melted, right then and there, in the junction between Junior Hall and Senior Hall. I did. I melted into a big pile of mush.
*~*~*
“This weekend,” Jamie said as her eyes darted between Willow and I. “We are shopping. No arguing!”
Willow made an apologetic face. “I don’t know…I don’t think I’m going to go. To the dance, I mean.”
“I said no arguing,” Jamie pointed out. “But why wouldn’t you go to the dance? You have to go to the dance. Everyone goes to the dance. Even people without dates go to the dance. They go with other people that don’t have dates. But you have a date. Don’t you?”
Willow ignored her, acting as though she hadn’t spoken at all. “I’ll go with to look at dresses, though. But I really don’t want to go to the dance.”
“Is Grant going with someone else?” I wondered.
She shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I don’t know. I told him he should ask someone else.”
“Wait,” I said, “he asked you and you turned him down?”
I got a noncommittal shrug in response.
“But you two have always gone to these kinds of things together,” Jamie pointed out.
“I just don’t want to go with Grant.”
“So…ask someone else?” This was my suggestion.
She ignored it by taking a bite out of her apple.
“Is that all you’re eating?” Jamie demanded. She cast an annoyed glance at Willow’s lunch.
Willow shrugged. “Yeah. I’m not really hungry and I’m,” her stomach rumbled loudly, “on a—”
“Diet,” Jamie wryly finished for her. “A diet that you do not need to be on. Do we need to do something about this? Have an intervention or something?” She looked at me. “Because if this keeps up, I think we need to have an intervention.”
“She’s right, Willow. You’re perfect. Why the sudden need to diet?”
“Okay,” she said, sounding annoyed. “Diet is the wrong word. I just really meant I’m not hungry.”
Her stomach rumbled again, refuting her.
She tried again. “Actually, I forgot my purse at home. I only had some change in my locker.
” She held up her apple. “This is what one gets with the change in one’s locker.”
Jamie and I shared a glance. Willow caught it and was clearly not pleased. Something wasn’t adding up. I just didn’t get it. Jamie obviously didn’t either.
She was on a diet?
She simply wasn’t hungry?
She forgot her purse?
Which one was it?
Or was none of it true?
Because I could’ve sworn she carried her purse in with her this morning. And she’d been saying she was on a diet for…I couldn’t recall exactly. But it seemed like a really long time. Yet she’d devoured as many cookies as I had at Jamie’s last week. And the lava cake. All of it. Granted, people cheated on diets all the time. So maybe it didn’t mean anything.
“What’s going on with you?” Jamie asked quietly. She was leaning forward across the table. Her concern was evident.
“Nothing!” Willow said. Her tone was drenched in irritation. “Nothing. Okay?”
I didn’t think it was okay and I was pretty sure Jamie didn’t either.
“I have five dollars in my pocket,” I offered. “If you forgot your purse, you can borrow it. You still have time to go grab something.”
Our cafeteria had a regular lunch line where students punched in an identification number to their prepaid accounts. None of us ate from the lunch line because none of us liked school lunches. We either brought our lunches from home or we opted for the small counter dubbed the Snack Shack. It had a variety of items. Everything from sandwiches to apples to cookies.
She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. But thanks.”
“What are we talking about girls?” Krista asked as she took the seat next to Willow.
“The winter dance,” Jamie said. She pulled her eyes from Willow and forced a smile for Krista. Willow, I could tell, was relieved at the subject change.
“Ohhh! What about it?” Krista asked. She pulled a clear sandwich container out of her lunch bag. I could see the outline of a croissant inside.
“Dresses,” I said. “We were talking about shopping for dresses. This Saturday.”
“Count me in,” she said. “We should make a day out of it! Lunch. Shopping. Maybe a movie after?”
“Sure,” Jamie and I said in unison.
We looked to Willow as Krista set her croissant free.
“Yeah, maybe,” Willow said noncommittally. “I mean, I’ll go shopping with you guys for sure. I’m not sure about the rest of it though. We’ll see.”
“Why not lunch?” Jamie rolled her eyes. “What? You don’t plan on eating at all on Saturday?”
Willow scowled at her. “That’s not it. I just…might not be able to. I might have to babysit or something.”
Why did that sound like a forced, manufactured excuse?
Jamie gave Krista a pointed look. “Willow’s not going to the winter dance.”
Krista froze in place and stared at Willow. It took her several long seconds to recover from that statement.
“Yes,” she said. “You are. You have to go. Everyone goes.”
Jamie gave Willow an I-told-you-so smile.
“Yuck,” Krista whined. She distracted us from the current situation as she tossed her chicken salad sandwich aside. The container slid halfway to my side of the table. “She put spinach on it. Why does she do that? She knows I hate spinach. What’s wrong with lettuce? Just plain old lettuce?”
“So pick it off,” Willow suggested.
Krista shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s ruined. I swear the chicken salad just sucks up the taste of the spinach. And little chunks of it get stuck.” She shuddered and I thought she was crazy, but whatever. She pulled out her yogurt and a banana.
“Well,” Willow said, “if you really don’t want it. I’ll take it.”
“But it has spinach,” Krista pointed out with a grimace. When Willow didn’t jump on the I-hate-spinach bandwagon, Krista relented. “If you want it, by all means take this nastiness of my hands.”
“It’s silly to waste it,” Willow told her. I slid the container back to her side of the table. She opened it up and took the untouched sandwich out. “Besides I happen to like spinach,” she said diplomatically. “It’s good for you.”
Jamie and I shared a confused glance. I was sure she was wondering about the sandwich too. Was Willow just eating it to prove a point? But I had offered her money. She had plenty of time to go grab something quick from the Snack Shack…I said she could pay me back.
She had balked at the suggestion.
And with that, I started to think that maybe I knew exactly what was up with my friend.
11
“Britta.”
I hated when he said my name like that. It made it clear that he was annoyed with me. And I was annoyed with him, too. For being annoyed with me. I sat on the edge of my bed. My muscles were stiff with tension. I clenched my phone in one hand and gripped the edge of my pillow with the other.
I hadn’t been home from school for more than ten minutes when he called. I debated not answering. But I’d told my mom that I would. And I didn’t want her to have to deal with calls to the house, tattling on me if I didn’t.
“It’s not my fault you wait until the last minute to plan things. Do you just expect me to sit around? Waiting for you to call? Waiting for you to make time for me?” I asked. My tone was sassy, bordering on condescending. I just didn’t care. I never talked to my mom this way. But my dad? I felt I was justified.
“Britta,” he said again. “I told you we would do something this weekend.”
“In a text. Without any details. And now it’s Friday night and I’m just supposed to drop what I’m doing for you? Or was I just supposed to keep my schedule wide open? Just in case you decided to follow through? No. I don’t think so.”
I expected him to chastise me for me tone. He didn’t. And that annoyed me to. I was sure I knew what he was thinking: Pick your battles, Mitchell. Take a deep breath and pick your battles.
What he said, with a resigned sigh, was, “Let’s get one thing clear. First off, I have never canceled on you. It may take some finagling to get our schedules to match up but once we’ve made plans, I have always followed through.” He paused, either waiting for me to agree or just waiting for his words to settle in. Either way, I didn’t respond so he continued. “Furthermore, I made reservations for tonight. At Luca’s. They were pretty booked up this weekend. I believe they were hosting an after Christmas party. But I was able to get a table for two at seven.”
I loved Luca’s. Of course he knew it. I softened just a bit. Luca’s was easily the nicest restaurant in town. When I was younger—much younger—it was always so exciting when my parents let me tag along. I’d always felt so grown up. I always ordered the cheese ravioli. Dad always ordered cannolis for dessert.
“I should’ve sent a more detailed text. Or I should’ve called. You’re right. I just, well, I got busy. With work,” he hurried to add. “I’ve been real busy with work this week.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing he probably knew me well enough to realize I was doing it. I fought against the urge to ask if getting busy with work was code for getting busy with his newest secretary.
Gah! I did not want my mind to go there. But it did. And now it was all tangled up in a net of disgusting thoughts I did not want to be thinking. And memories that I did not want to be remembering. Ick! Dad and Dori and just…Ick. I squinched my eyes shut tight, hoping to squeeze the visual right out of my head. This! This right here was why I did not want to know about, think about or hear about my parents dating!
I blew out a breath as I tried to shove the nauseated feeling away. I was suddenly lightheaded. My hands had started shaking because I’d accidentally remembered something I’d tried so desperately to forget. Despite that, I verbally trudged ahead.
“I’m sorry. But I have plans. I…” I hesitated, not wanting to part with the information. Because it was none of his business. But I did anywa
y because I realized he probably wasn’t going to let me off the phone. Not without an actual reason for not being able to meet with him. “I have a date.”
There was silence for a few beats. “With Corey? Are you two back together?”
Had I told him we’d broken up? I couldn’t remember. Apparently I had. I’d been a head case for weeks. I cringed, wondering just how much I had blabbed in my broken hearted haze.
“No. Not with Corey,” I said. I offered him nothing more.
“With whom then?” he asked.
“I’ve got to go,” I told him.
“Who are you going out with?” he demanded.
“Do you care? Or are you just annoyed that he’s interfering with your last-minute plans for tonight?” I shot at him.
“Of course I care. And the plans weren’t last minute. I sent—”
“A text, I know. Hey!” I said with oodles of fake cheer. “Here’s an idea! Why don’t you call your floozy? I bet she’d love to go to Luca’s!”
For the first time, his voice became hard and strained. “The woman I am dating is not a floozy. You watch your mouth.”
My stomach twisted up tight. This was the battle he was choosing? Whoever his latest bimbo was—and I hadn’t known for sure there was one, I was simply guessing—he was standing up for her. He’d been letting my attitude slide. He hadn’t called me out on it when I’d been mouthy with him. But say a word against his bimbo? I wasn’t sure if I wanted to scream or cry.
She probably deserves the title! I thought to myself. Somehow, the fact that he was defending some other woman to me? It made me sick. And somewhat speechless.
“Britta?”
“I’m hanging up now,” I warned him.
“Wait! What about tomorrow?” he wondered. “Can we reschedule if I can get into Luca’s for tomorrow? Or we could go out for pizza. We haven’t done pizza in ages.”
“I have plans tomorrow. Plans for most of the day,” I said. My tone had also gone hard and cold.
Another hefty sigh slammed into me over the line. This was the last straw. Who did he think he was? First he defended his latest tramp to me. And now? Him sighing in disappointment at me? I wasn’t okay with that.