by Mary Strand
“You squealed, Cat. You didn’t used to be the sort of little shit who squealed.”
Her shoulder lifted in the tiniest shrug imaginable.
I backed away from her. “And I didn’t do anything to make Jeremy dump you, but I can’t blame him.”
She looked up at me when I reached the door, but all of the accusation in her eyes a few minutes ago was gone. An apology was also missing in action.
I shook my head. “You suck.”
I pulled another afternoon of hard labor for Mr. Fogarty, grateful for the sunshine and the cash and not much else. Okay, being outside also gave me a reprieve from Mom’s tirade against Dad, which showed no signs of letting up by dinnertime. She served an amazingly decent burger to me and a veggie burger to Cat, then dropped a minuscule charred hockey puck on Dad’s plate.
He deserved it, and more, but I didn’t need to watch.
By Sunday, I was ready for anything that didn’t involve hedge clippers, paintbrushes, or Mom’s screaming, so I gave Drew a call. He said we were still friends, right?
Once he got past the stuttering, probably because Chelsea was three inches away from him and breathing fire, he admitted that the band was practicing at two o’clock at Michael’s house.
But he didn’t offer me a ride.
Fine by me. I was getting used to walking everywhere, and catching rides with Drew sometimes came with drawbacks. Like getting my hair yanked out by Chelsea.
I ran a hand through my hair as I hung up, wondering if it would ever grow out. Wondering if I wanted it to. No one in the world mistook me for Cat anymore, and seeing how she’d turned out made me grateful for that.
At two o’clock, I took off for Michael’s house in a miniskirt and without breathing a word to Cat. She hated the band, didn’t she? And hated me more? I didn’t even need to get to the fact that the drummer in the band had dumped her.
Reaching Michael’s house, I walked inside without bothering to ring the bell. Once again, his parents were nowhere in sight. I wish I could say the same for mine, who’d now been fighting at the top of Mom’s lungs for over twenty-four hours straight.
I went down to the basement, feeling almost unsure of myself. Definitely a new experience. Because of Kirk? I liked him, but I’d known him forever. Drew and Chelsea? No way. Drew finally knew the score—I’d flirted, maybe too much, but wasn’t interested—and Chelsea wasn’t worth my time. Jeremy? He hated me enough to threaten to leave the band, but he wasn’t the first person I’d ever met who hated me. Just the first guy.
Squaring my shoulders as I reached the bottom step, I strutted into the basement as if I owned it.
I blinked when the first person I saw was Cat.
Her jaw dropped when she saw me, but I don’t know why. I’d come to a couple of band practices, hadn’t I? Unlike her?
I glanced at the wraparound couch, which held Cat, Amber, Drew, Chelsea, and two other girls, leaving a space big enough for maybe half of me on the end closest to the band. Right next to Chelsea.
Swallowing my disappointment, I sashayed over to the couch and plunked down next to Chelsea, then wiggled my butt until she scooched a few inches closer to Drew.
Drew stared at my bare legs, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in time to the music, but that was Chelsea’s problem. If I exacerbated her problem by not tugging my skirt down, that was just a bonus.
The band finished a Green Day song I loved with an unexpected flourish by Heather on her guitar, something I couldn’t have pulled off if they paid me a million bucks. As I stared at her, envious, Kirk shaded his eyes against the glare of the band lights and called out to me through his mic—as if I weren’t sitting fifteen feet away from the guy.
“Lydia, is that you? Thanks for coming out.”
Chelsea snorted, but it only made her resemble a pig even more, and that worked for me.
I waved at Kirk. “Hey. You’re sounding good.”
He looked good, too, except for his stupid rock-star sunglasses. Tight jeans, a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and arms that were both tan and ripped. Okay, Kirk was hot. But his girlfriend, Amber, was five feet away from me, and Kirk hadn’t exactly called, let alone asked me out, and I didn’t feel like begging. I was as good as he was, and I was way better than Amber.
I just wish I could stop biting my lip.
The band started its next song, Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi,” with Heather singing in her soft, sweet soprano. The guys in the band watched her as she sang, all of them except Jeremy acting like they had a crush on her. Jeremy always looked like his eyes were closed when he played drums, and now his closed eyes seemed to be facing the wraparound couch—aimed at Cat—but still. Definitely no worship of Heather.
It was the only thing I liked about Jeremy.
An hour and a half later, when the band finished its last song, I wondered why I’d just wasted a gorgeous September afternoon in a dark basement, sitting with people I couldn’t stand, listening to a band that had replaced me. Easily.
And that was before Kirk walked right past me to Amber, pulled her to her feet, and wrapped her in the biggest hug I’d ever seen him give a girl.
As my shoulders slumped, Chelsea’s hips sent me flying off the end of the couch.
“Hey! You bitch.”
“Sorry.” Not according to her nasty grin. “I guess I forgot you were there. It’s just that you’re so—”
“Skinny? Unlike you?”
Her glare made her look even less attractive, if that was possible. “Easy to forget. You’re just so easy to forget.”
Next to her, Drew had gone rigid, but no one else seemed to notice. Kirk was whispering something to Amber, Jeremy and Cat eyed each other warily, and the two girls who’d been sitting next to Amber took off for the stairs.
I gave Chelsea an amused up-and-down. “Talk about easy to forget. You could’ve invented the concept of amnesia.”
I heard someone laugh—Cat, shocking me—a moment before someone else grabbed my arm. Zach. Shocking me even more.
“Need a ride? I was heading in that direction, if you’re ready to go now.”
I frowned at him. Zach? Who hated me the last time he gave me a ride and didn’t bother to hide it? Who probably did find me easy to forget?
“I don’t—”
“Great.” He didn’t let go of my arm, just tugged me to the stairs. Part of me was too surprised to fight him. Part of me—okay, my legs, from all that weeding yesterday—was grateful I wouldn’t have to walk.
As I followed him upstairs, I heard dead silence behind me. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one Zach had shocked, but I was the one leaving with him in a butt-ugly orange VW Beetle.
Why he’d asked, I had no idea.
“Good friends with Chelsea, huh?”
I blinked as I fastened my seatbelt, wondering if he was serious or actually had a sense of humor. Oh, wait. He must. He wore a Cat in the Hat tattoo and drove a bright-orange car just because his mom liked it. “She’s a real trip.”
Zach pulled out from the curb. “You don’t want to mess with her.”
I shrugged. “She shouldn’t mess with me, but she’s not my issue. I just feel sorry for Drew.”
“Yeah. Real sorry.”
He switched on the radio. Vomit-inducing classical music poured out, just like the last time. Unlike the last time, I didn’t try to change the station.
I was too busy being annoyed with Zach.
“Of course I feel sorry for Drew.” My jaw clenched, maybe because I didn’t feel a bit sorry. Drew was an idiot and a wimp. He deserved Chelsea. “He could’ve dated my—”
I broke off, not sure I should mention Drew’s past history with Cat, such as it was, since Cat was now with Jeremy—or at least had been, and might be again.
“Your what?” Zach flicked a glance at me before returning his gaze to the road. “He could’ve been lucky enough to date you?”
I bristled at the way he said it, as if I had a disease. Did every guy in
the band hate me? Even the ones—like Zach—I didn’t know?
“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not my type. Like, at all.”
“So you were just giving him artificial resuscitation the last two times I saw you as a humanitarian gesture?”
“Ha ha ha.” Pissed, I crossed my arms and wondered if I should leap out of the car the next time he slowed for a corner. But I was still wearing the miniskirt—which he didn’t seem to notice, by the way—and something about his hostility made my lips twitch. I mean, seriously. The guy was too funny. I slid him a glance even though his own gaze was locked on the road. Mr. Driver’s Ed. “I guess we have that in common, huh?”
When he finally looked over at me, his light-brown hair—soft and shiny enough for me to covet—almost covered his eyes. Hazel eyes, I decided after a moment. Probably the first thought I’d had about Zach that didn’t involve his tattoo, his car, or his overprotective attitude.
I nodded in answer to the question in his stupid hazel eyes. “We’re both into humanitarian gestures. Me with Drew, you with me.”
Frowning, he glanced at my lips and—just for an instant—at the tops of my thighs. Maybe he wasn’t completely impervious to miniskirts or the terror known as Lydia Bennet.
His gaze went back to the road, but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and I don’t think it was because I’d pissed him off. At least, not today.
“I didn’t give you a ride to kiss you.”
Kiss me? He’d even thought about kissing me?
Grinning, I twisted in my seat, even though it made my miniskirt ride up a little. Or maybe because it did. He didn’t glance down at my legs again, though. His jaw clenched, and his knuckles were nearly popping through his skin, but he must’ve already looked at me as much as he could handle.
“So why did you give me a ride? I walked to Michael’s house, and I could’ve walked home. You really do get off on humanitarian gestures? Like a Boy Scout?”
The corner of his mouth twisted. “Only on Sundays.”
I laughed. He was funny when he relaxed around me, which wasn’t often. Leaning back against my headrest, I tugged my skirt down—another humanitarian gesture—and wished we could hang out together. But we were just a few blocks from my house, and Zach didn’t look like the kind of guy who did joyrides. It didn’t fit with the classical music.
We rode in silence until we reached the corner closest to my house, when he cleared his throat. “You’re okay, Lydia.”
I blinked. “Yeah?”
“I gave you a ride to get you away from Chelsea.”
“Thanks, but I can—”
“And Drew, who can’t handle you. And Kirk and Amber.”
It was too late to fling myself out of his car, unfortunately, but I contemplated slugging the guy. Hard.
“You forgot Cat and Jeremy. What’s the matter? You think they can somehow handle me?”
He tilted his head. “Doubtful. But whatever is going on with them isn’t about you. They might think so, but it isn’t.”
“And you know this because—?”
He pulled up in front of my house. Shocking the hell out of me, he turned off the engine and half turned toward me. “I hear everything, and I pay attention.”
I rolled my eyes. “You must’ve heard enough about me, then, to make you faint. No wonder you’re into humanitarian gestures. Maybe you think you can reform me?”
“I wouldn’t even try.” He glanced at my hair, but I couldn’t tell if he wanted to run his hands through it or shave it all off and ship me to a convent for wayward girls. “I hear everything, but I didn’t say I believed it all.”
“Imagine my relief.”
I grabbed the door handle and started to open it—jumping when he reached across to stop me.
I couldn’t help it. I slapped his hand. “Don’t do me any favors, okay? You gave me a ride I didn’t need and saved me from Chelsea, which I also didn’t need. You don’t need to believe me or not believe what other people say about me. So go bug someone else. Like maybe Heather.”
I turned to reach for the door handle again, partly because I wanted to get out of this stupid car and partly because I was two seconds from crying. I refused to cry in front of Zach any more than I would in front of my dad.
He didn’t stop me this time, but he spoke again, so softly I barely heard it. “You’re not as bad as you claim to be, Lydia. It’s just that you’re—”
“—not your type. Too wild. Too whatever.”
I couldn’t believe I’d filled in the blank for him, but I’d heard this speech too many times in my life.
Shoving the door open and climbing out, I didn’t even bother to yank my skirt down. Zach didn’t give a rat’s ass. He probably did like a goody-goody like Heather, just like the other guys. And I wasn’t into guys who played classical music and drove butt-ugly cars just to make their mom happy.
With any luck, I wouldn’t see Zach again. As I heard his car slowly pull away from the curb, I hoped I got my wish.
Chapter 13
“Her character will be fixed, and she will,
at sixteen, be the most determined flirt
that ever made herself and her family ridiculous.”
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume II, Chapter Eighteen
I kept my head down the next couple of weeks—at school, at home, you name it—and focused on homework, guitar, Mr. Fogarty’s never-ending list of jobs, and a few ugly trips to the school gym to reacquaint myself with the uneven parallel bars.
I hadn’t shaved my head, but I might as well have entered a convent. A convent of one.
Cat and I did our best to avoid each other. I didn’t see her with Jeremy. In fact, except for random passes in the hall, I didn’t see either of them, period.
I was so used to my new cloistered life that I barely looked up when Lauren tapped my arm in Accounting class.
“The band is playing a gig this weekend. Eight o’clock Friday night at the pizza joint next to Cold Stone Creamery off Valley Creek Road. Russo’s?”
I glanced at her. “The band?”
The only band I could think of was Kirk’s, but Goth Chick didn’t exactly strike me as the type to hang out with anyone from school. At least, if the rumors were true, not anyone who wasn’t doing drugs.
She nodded. “I promised Zach I’d come. You know, for old times’ sake.”
I frowned. “Because you used to get naked in wading pools together?”
I still couldn’t picture it. Okay, I could picture Lauren doing it—she looked like she was up for pretty much anything—but Zach? No way. He’d probably been the only four-year-old in town who never ran around naked or did a damn thing his mom didn’t want him to do.
Ms. Frey walked in then, so Lauren just gave me a cryptic smile and pretended to flip through her textbook. She didn’t ask me to come watch the band with her. She probably thought I’d get in the way of her making a date with Zach to get naked afterward, in a wading pool or otherwise. But why would I have the slightest interest in Zach? I still wanted Kirk. More important, I didn’t want Zach.
Last time I checked, hell hadn’t frozen over.
Friday night, I had no idea why I had a sudden craving for Cold Stone ice cream. Or maybe a slice of pizza.
I really had no idea why Dad let me take the Jeep.
Cat had been hiding out in her room when I got home from my guitar lesson, where Jazz had finally let me move on to a new song: Coldplay’s “Yellow.” I was in such a good mood, I almost knocked on Cat’s door and asked if she wanted to go out—for Cold Stone or pizza, not necessarily to hear the band—but my hand hesitated. Finally, I shook my head and headed downstairs.
As I walked out to the Jeep, my good mood gone, I still couldn’t believe she’d blabbed about my guitar prowess or lack thereof. Sure, the band would’ve figured out I couldn’t play guitar in five seconds without her help, but the Cat I used to know would never have done it.
&n
bsp; Ten stomach-churning minutes later, I walked in the door of Russo’s. Kirk and the rest of the band were setting up in the corner at the far end, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides. Seeing Kirk in his usual rock-star sunglasses, I grinned and let out the breath I’d been holding.
Some things didn’t change.
My grin faded when I spied the table closest to the band. Drew, Chelsea, Amber, and Tess. No chair for me. Not that I wanted to sit with any of them except maybe Drew, and even Drew created too many complications in my life.
Just like everyone else I knew.
As I stood by the door, debating where to sit or whether to leave, it took me several moments to realize that someone was calling my name. It wasn’t anyone in the band, and it definitely wasn’t anyone at Drew’s table.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Lauren. Sitting at the bar.
My mind flickered to a memory I thought I’d long since buried: that judge in Milwaukee, who’d droned on about all the things I couldn’t do if I ever got out of reform school. I’m pretty sure sitting at a bar was on the list. A bar in a family pizza parlor? It wasn’t a chance I planned to take.
Pretending I hadn’t heard Lauren, I strolled over to Drew’s table. Casually. Feeling everyone’s eyes on me.
But not like in the old days, when I ruled.
Not at all like the old days.
“Hey, Drew.” I ruffled his hair as I walked by, unable to resist annoying Chelsea and totally forgetting for a moment that Kirk might be watching. “Good to see you.”
Drew blinked several times, probably trying to find his tongue or his brain. Ignoring Chelsea and Amber, I gave Tess a friendly wave. She sat so straight, I could’ve sworn she had a pole up her ass. In fact, it was how she’d looked all semester: unhappy but stoic. No wonder. She was forced to hang out with Amber and Chelsea.
I nodded at her as I grabbed the nearest empty table. “Hey, martyrdom is so last year.” In my case, literally. “Join me? It’s been ages since we’ve really talked.”
Not since I’d been back, definitely. Before that? In truth, Tess had always been closer to Cat than to me. I’d had Cat and, for better or worse, a million guys. I hadn’t needed or wanted girlfriends, but some of the girls had worshipped me.