by Meg Cabot
Oh, I definitely know how it goes. Geri Lynn is a total expert at snagging boys out from under my nose.
No. That wasn't fair. I'd never wanted Luke.
And I was happy for him. I really was. For him and for Geri Lynn. They made a nice couple. He was totally gorgeous, and so was Geri. He was only a year older than she was, after all. And she was heading off for college in L.A., where Luke happened to live.
True, Geri was going to major in journalism, and Luke didn't happen to be all that fond of journalists. But Geri didn't seem all that fond of "theater types." So maybe they were even.
Whatever. What did they need my blessing for?
"It's just that you're so incredible," Luke droned on, the fake jewels in his oversize Spring Fling king crown winking in the spotlight. "Really, really incredible, Jen. What you did, in just a week, at that school . . . it's unbelievable. Geri thinks you should run for student body president next year. I couldn't agree more."
"I don't know," I said. "I'm not all that interested in politics."
"Well, get interested," Luke said. "Because you're a natural. At least promise me you'll think about it."
"Yeah," I said, mostly to get him off my back. "Okay, I'll think about it. Listen. About the Ask Annie thing. Did you really just figure that one out? Or did Geri find out somehow—" Um, because Scott, her boyfriend, told her, for instance? "—and tell you?"
"Figured it out myself," Luke said. "And don't worry. I won't tell her. Just like I'm not going to tell her about the other thing."
"What other thing?" I asked him, not for one iota of a second expecting him to say what he did next, which was:
"You know. That you're in love with her ex."
It was a good thing our spotlight dance ended just then, or everyone at the Clayton High School Spring Fling might have gotten a real good look at my tonsils. Because I'm pretty sure that's how wide my mouth fell open at the words in love with her ex.
"I am not," I stood there and blathered like an idiot. "I most certainly am not. . . in love . . . with . . . Scott Bennett."
"Why don't you take your own advice, Jen?" Luke asked me, as we were joined on the dance floor by dozens of other couples. "Why don't you let him know how you feel?"
"Th-that was my advice for you," I stammered. "I mean, for Scott. I mean . . . Oh, I don't know what I mean."
"Well," Luke said, as Geri Lynn suddenly appeared, beaming, at his side "I don't know what you mean, either. But I do know one thing."
"What's that?" I asked him.
"There's a limo waiting outside that will take you anywhere you want to go."
"Huh," I said, because that information was of absolutely no use to me whatsoever. "Thanks."
And then he drifted off to sign a few autographs for some people who simply couldn't help themselves and came up with their Spring Fling programs, begging.
"Look, are you really okay about this?" Geri asked me, as soon as he was gone. "I mean, about Luke and me?"
"Oh God, yes," I said, meaning it. "I told you, we're just friends."
"You're the best, Jen," Geri said, giving my hand a squeeze. "None of this would have happened without you. I'm just so happy! I can't thank you enough. Like Luke said, you really are special."
Yeah. I was special all right. That's why my date for the Spring Fling had walked out on me.
I told Geri I was happy for her (again) and drifted back to our table, where Steve was giving Trina a foot rub. Apparently it's possible to get blisters on Spring Fling night even if your new shoes happen to be sneakers.
"Geri Lynn is such a skank," were the cheerful words with which I was greeted by Trina. "Imagine her scamming on your man. And right in front of you!"
"Relax, Trina," I said. "I told them both it was all right. Luke and I are—"
"Just friends," echoed Trina, Steve, Bored Liz, Tough Brenda, and their dates.
"Well, we are," I said a little defensively. Why wouldn't anyone believe me?
"The Spring Fling sucks," Trina observed a second later. "You know what I wish? I wish we hadn't even come to this stupid thing. I wish we had gone to Kwang's anti-Spring Fling party instead. I bet those guys are having a lot more fun than we are."
And that was when it hit me.
What Luke had said about using the limo, I mean.
"Why don't we?" I said, my heart thumping a little uncomfortably beneath Luke's corsage. "Go to Kwang's party. It's early—only ten o'clock. The party's probably just getting started."
"I heard he was going to have a campfire," Bored Liz said, looking visibly less bored.
"I heard he was gonna have illegal fireworks," Tough Brenda said with relish.
"Let's go," I said. "Luke said we could take the limo."
Trina blinked. "Are you serious?"
"Sure," I said. "What does he need the limo for? He's got the Harley."
"Time," Steve said, putting down Trina's foot, "to motor."
We didn't bother saying good-bye to Luke and Geri. That's because they were too busy making out on the dance floor to be interrupted. I could see Dr. Lewis eyeing them uncertainly.
There wasn't much he could do about the situation, of course. Geri was eighteen, a legal adult. If she and Luke wanted to rent a room at the inn later—hey, who could stop them?
Still, I would lay money on Juicy Lucy trying to.
I thought a little dejectedly of tomorrow's headlines. You know, when the press found out I'd been ditched by Luke for another girl.
Or maybe they'd work it from the other angle. You know, the one where I'd ditched Luke at the Spring Fling to go to another party. You never know. It could happen.
When the limo driver pulled up in front of Kwang's place—which was this huge white farmhouse way out in the country with a big barn and cornfields and its own woods with a stream running through it and everything . . . the perfect place to have loud parties complete with campfires and illegal fireworks—he said kind of skeptically, "Is this really where you want to be?"
Our only response was an enthusiastic, "Yes, thanks!" as we tumbled out of the car and ran for the distant glow of the campfire.
Everybody was there. Well, everybody who hadn't been at the Spring Fling, anyway. There were long picnic tables piled high with chips and sodas, and a stereo system attached to two enormous speakers booming loudly enough to be heard by over half the county, practically.
Kwang was sitting in front of the roaring campfire with a stick in his hand. At the end of the stick was a marshmallow. Seated beside Kwang was Cara Schlosburg. In her lap was an opened packet of graham crackers and some half-eaten chocolate bars. They giggled guiltily as we came up.
And if the thin strand of gooey marshmallow that ran from Kwang's mouth to Cara's was any indication, I knew that they weren't exactly feeling guilty over having gone off their diets.
But none of us chose to go there. At least not then. Instead, everyone gathered around, clamoring for their own sticks and marshmallows, yammering on about what happened at the Spring Fling. The story of me winning Spring Fling queen proved to be a crowd pleaser I heard a familiar laugh and turned around . . .
. . . and there was Scott, sitting on a log on the other side of the campfire.
And I knew. Just like that.
Well, not just like that I mean, my heart did some pretty serious turning over in my chest. And suddenly I felt like I couldn't breathe. Those were pretty strong indicators.
It's just that at that moment, I finally knew what they were indicators of:
That I was in love with Scott Bennett. That I had been in love with him my whole life, practically. Suddenly, all of these images flashed before my campfire-dazzled eves—
Scott's name above mine on the checkout card for The Andromeda Strain; Scott getting out of his car in the parking lot, years later, that day we left for the retreat, Scott lifting me toward that log; Scott going over my ad copy layout, Scott chasing me around the Chi-Chi's parking lot with that bucket; Scott helping me
rescue Betty Ann . . .
And I knew. I finally knew What Trina had known all along. Luke, too, apparently.
But until that moment, I'd had no idea.
But I did now.
Which is why I did what I did next. Which was walk over and plunk myself right down beside him, resolutely ignoring my staggering pulse, suddenly shallow breath, and, most of all, the nagging conviction that I might be too late. Again.
"Hi," I said to Scott. I don't even know how I got the word out, but I did.
"Hi," Scott said. "Is that the Hope diamond? Or an uncannily realistic replica?"
I went, "What?" Then, "Oh," as I reached up and was embarrassed to realize I was still wearing my crown I took it off and set it on the log between us "Sorry I'm a queen."
"I always thought so," Scott said gallantly. "Marshmallow?"
He presented me with the one he'd been carefully roasting on the end of the stick he held.
"Sure," I said, and peeled it gingerly from the stick. "Thanks."
"So " Scott slid another marshmallow onto the stick and put it in the flames "Spring Fling over?"
"Oh, no," I said. "It's still going on."
And suddenly I remembered who was still there. At the Spring Fling, I mean Luke. And Geri Scott's ex-girlfriend. What if he asked me? What if he asked what had happened to my date? Was it really true about him being in love with someone else? What if it was Geri he still cared about?
"Weren't you having a good time?" he asked.
"Oh, no," I said, more lightly than I actually felt. "I was."
"What happened to Luke?"
And there it was.
"Well," I began slowly.
But it turned out I didn't even have to go on. Because Scott went, "You know, don't you? About Geri?"
I hadn't eaten the marshmallow he'd given me. I don't think I could have eaten anything just then if I'd tried. So when he said that, well, my hands went sort of numb, and the marshmallow, even sticky as it was, slipped from my fingers and fell into a gloppy mess at my feet.
"You know?" My voice cracked.
Scott looked down at the marshmallow. "Yeah. Geri told me."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
Yesterday? "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried to," he said. "In the car, remember?"
That was what that had been about?
"I guess I should have tried harder. But—" Scott presented me with a new marshmallow, perfectly golden on the outside. "I thought . . . well, I thought you might get upset."
I dropped the second one, too.
"Upset? About Luke and Geri?" I stared at him. "Why would that make me upset?"
He looked surprised. "Well, because—"
"Oh my God," Trina said, collapsing onto the log next to me. "Did you get a load of that strand of marshmallow goo between Cara and Kwang? 'Fess up, Scott. Were those two making out before we got here?"
"I don't know," Scott said.
When I glanced over at Scott again, I found him looking at me, not Trina. I would venture to say he was looking at me intently, but the truth was, I could only judge that from the fact that his head wasn't moving. I couldn't see his eyes, because the flames from the campfire had cast them into deep shadow.
I swear, though, the way he was looking at me, for a minute, I almost thought . . .
Well, I almost thought maybe I was the mystery girl he was supposedly in love with. And that, you know, he hadn't said anything because—
"Well, I think they were making out," Trina went on, "and with their mouths full. I'm sorry, but if Steve ever tried to kiss me with his mouth full of 's'mores, I'd be all, See ya, dude. Even if he is, you know, my soul mate and all."
"Jen," Scott said to me suddenly. "Do you want to go for a walk?"
Trina looked at him like he was crazy.
"Don't go for a walk now" she said. "The fireworks are about to start."
But if anybody thinks I was going to give up a walk with Scott for an illegal fireworks show . . . well, I'd have to say they're nuts.
"Sure," I said, somehow managing to sound casual, even though my heart was in my throat. "I'll go for a walk."
Ask Annie
Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions.
Go on, we dare you!
All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School Register.
Names and e-mail addresses of correspondents guaranteed confidential.
Dear Annie,
But I really love him. And I really need your help. Do I make the first move? Will that make me seem like a slut? But what if I wait for him to make the first move, what if some other girl gets to him first? I don’t want to be too pushy, though, because you always say that’s a turn-off. WHAT DO I DO???
More Desperate Than Ever
Dear Desperate
I DON’T KNOW!!!! I’m still trying to figure it out myself.
Annie
EIGHTEEN
Scott didn't go very far, I noticed. Just far enough so that no one else could listen to our conversation.
I could still hear the music—although now the chirping of crickets in the grass beneath our feet was louder than the strains of John Mellencamp. I could still see the people gathered around the campfire, but I couldn't make out their features. We were walking, I noticed, toward the little woods near Kwang's barn. The copse with the stream running through it.
It was kind of funny how Scott and I kept ending up in the woods together.
"If society as we know it ended, and I had to rebuild it," Scott said, leaning down and picking a piece of Queen Anne's lace, "I wouldn't let any actors into my new civilization "
I have to admit, I smiled a little at hearing that. In spite of my hammering heart.
"Oh, yeah?" I said. "What about journalists?"
"Oh, I'd let in journalists," Scott said, spinning the Queen Anne's lace around in his fingers. It looked like a tiny parasol. "Because there has to be someone to record what's going on. So the new society doesn't make the same mistakes as the old one."
Even in the distant glow of the fire, I could see the fingers of his free hand go toward the tiny purple cluster of petals in the center of the flower he held.
My mind instantly flashed back to an afternoon at the retreat. Mr. Shea had told us the old wives' tale that if you pull out the purple part of the Queen Anne's lace, you kill it, because the tiny purple flowers are the flower's heart.
So I went, not even thinking about what I was doing or saying, "No, don't, you'll kill it."
Then I put one of my hands over his to stop him. . . .
And the next thing I knew, Scott had dropped the piece of Queen Anne's lace. And his hands were cupping my face. And he was kissing me like he never wanted to stop.
And I was kissing him back.
And I wasn't even imagining it because I couldn't possibly imagine details like Scott's hands smelling of marshmallow and Queen Anne's lace . . . and feeling so rough against my cheeks, even though they were holding me so gently . . . and the way his lips tasted, sugary at first and then not at all sugary . . . and the way they felt, soft at first and then not at all soft. . . .
And then his hands weren't cupping my face anymore but had gone to my waist and were pulling me toward him until our bodies banged together and were flush with each other, and I could feel his warm skin against mine, and my arms were around his neck, and Luke's corsage was getting crushed against Scott's chest—
—and the pin that held it to my dress dug into my chest.
"Ow," I said and let go of Scott and took a step back.
"What?" Scott's gaze looked unfocused, and some of the hair on the back of his head was sticking up a little from where I'd run my fingers through it. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I said. Because nothing was wrong. For the first time in my entire life, it seemed, everything was suddenly, fantastically right. "It's just that—"
"I'm sorry," Scott said. Alth
ough he didn't actually sound sorry at all. "But I had to do it, Jen. Because because I know I'll probably never get another chance."
I'd been unpinning Luke's corsage as he spoke. Now I dropped it. It disappeared into the long dark grass.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, not all that certain I wanted to know.
"I know you said you were just friends," Scott said. He sounded more upset than a guy who'd just been doing some pretty serious kissing should have. Especially considering the fact that I'd definitely been kissing back. "But . . . well, I mean, I'm not stupid. He's Luke Striker, Jen."
"What does . . . this . . . have to do with Luke?" I asked, genuinely bewildered . . .
. . . and starting, from the anxious tone of his voice, to feel less like everything was perfect at last and more like there was something I should be anxious about, too.
"I'm just saying," Scott said, like he hadn't even heard me. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking back at the campfire. "When I met you again—at the retreat last summer, I mean—I thought you were . . . well, I thought you were really cool. But I couldn't tell whether or not you felt the same way about me. I mean, you were so nice. But you've always been nice. To everybody . . ."
If he had stabbed me in the heart, it could not have hurt as much. Little Jenny Greenley, everybody's best friend.
"It was really hard to figure out what was going on with you," Scott went on, speaking fast and low, like he was trying to get it all out before he changed his mind. "If you liked me—I mean, really liked me—or just liked me the way you liked everybody else. And then Geri told me you don't really date—"
Oh my God. Geri was so dead.
"—and I just figured, you know, it wasn't meant to be. And Geri, she was really sympathetic and all, and one thing just led to another, and—"