Irina saw them and set her drink on a bookshelf. I didn’t have a chance to ask her what was up, because the girls were on us.
“Irina!” said the redhead, and gave her a cheek kiss. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”
One of the brunettes leaned in for a cheek kiss, too, and they kind of pulled Irina away into a girl knot. Well, that was good, I guessed. I wanted her to feel welcome. I wondered how they knew each other, anyway. From when Irina went to regular school?
Erin and the last brunette moved in on me. Erin asked, “Hey, Gabe, have you met Becky Philman?”
She knew I hadn’t.
Becky smiled and said, “Hi,” in a soft voice. I looked at Irina really quick, because I felt like there was a big red sign on my forehead, “Checking Out Another Girl,” but the other two were walking away with her. Girls are so damn crafty.
“Hey,” I said to Becky. “I’ve seen you at school.” I had seen her; she was hard to miss—long brown hair; light blue eyes; curvy in the best way.
“Yeah, you have English third period, and I’m in chemistry next door.” Then she blushed, and man, I kind of fell for that. It’s hard to fake a blush.
“How do you like Stevens?” I asked, because I knew he taught chemistry that period, and I’d heard he was a monster.
Becky started telling me about his horrible quiz policy, and Erin said, “Oh, I think Kyle needs me,” and melted away. The jungle juice was pretty potent, and Becky was one of those soft, nice girls who look at you like you’re a king, and I started to really enjoy myself. She wasn’t hard to talk to, and I felt back in my game. I didn’t have to go renting cars to impress this girl.
There was a break in the conversation, and Kyle and Erin walked by, wrapped around each other.
“Kyle thinks you’re cool,” Becky informed me, like she was giving me extremely good news.
I raised my eyebrows. “I think you’re cool.”
She knocked back whatever she had in that red plastic cup and touched my wrist lightly—an invitation.
I wanted to so badly, I actually took a step after her. But then I stopped. I wasn’t that drunk. I’d brought Irina here, where she barely knew anybody except a few girls who were running interference for their friend. It would be a jerk move to take someone else into a back room. Besides, I’d already put a lot of effort into Irina, and going off with Becky would mess that up.
I was just buzzed enough to tell the truth. “I can’t. I brought somebody. But I wish I could. I like you.” Becky turned flame red and I felt so bad, I made it worse. “I mean, I’m not saying you want to do anything, I’m not conceited like that, but—”
Becky squeezed my arm. “It’s okay. You’re doing the right thing.” Then she disappeared.
I tossed back the rest of my juice and decided it was time to find Irina. Because I was having serious thoughts of going after Becky and telling her hold on, I made a mistake, let’s hit that closet. Something good had better happen with Irina to make up for this. Where was she, anyway?
I pushed through the crowd and almost knocked into Forrest. He was yelling something at Matt, and they both looked fired up. Forrest grabbed my arm. “Gabe! Where would India be without British colonization?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter, because Matt threw back, “This fool is trying to say colonization was a good thing! Forget the dead bodies in the sugar fields!”
“That was a tragedy, okay?” snapped Forrest. “I’m not saying it wasn’t. What I’m saying is that India’s jumping into the first world because they made the best of a bad situation. They looked at the British system. They said, ‘This works. Let’s use it.’ And now look at their growth rate in GDP!”
“You’re a white dude!” Matt said. “Of course you—”
“Ad hominem!” shouted Forrest.
I clapped them both on the backs, and Forrest sloshed his beer a little. “I’m going to leave you two alone,” I said. They were like professors posing as people my age. Was everybody at Claremont like this, or just my new friends?
I wandered back through the party—people were definitely flying now—and guess what? Irina wasn’t too hard to find at all. She was in the middle of a circle of rowers and lacrosse players, who were all pure undiluted first-class assholes, if you asked me. She was grinning and her eyes were sparkling, and she must have been saying something funny, because all the guys were laughing.
I walked right up to the group, edged in, and stared at her, like, What?
She winked. Winked! “Hey, Gabe,” she said, and went back to talking about whatever. Then Pete Winters, who’s one of those genetic freaks with a Superman body and Polo-model face, put his arm around her!
That was it. I shoved through the admirers and said in her ear, “This is boring. You want to go?”
She looked at me, looked at Pete, and gave me this wicked smile like she knew exactly what I was worried about. Then she said, “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”
I admit it was a pretty great moment seeing those dudes’ faces as we left. But I was stinging. Leave a hot girl for one second and she gets attacked.
“You seem to make friends pretty quick,” I said the second we were in the car.
She closed her seat belt. “I know those guys from middle school. Anyway, I could say the same for you.”
I took off down the road. “It’s not my fault she was hitting on me.”
Irina laughed. “You looked like you really minded.”
Dang. I didn’t know she’d been watching. Better change the subject. “It’s still early. You want to check out Marymoor Park?” I’d heard it was a good place to take girls.
“You mean Hookup Park?” she teased. “I’m kind of tired, actually. I need to get home.”
I frowned. “I never said anything about hooking up. I just feel like walking.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” Irina paused, then said gently, “Gabe, I’m not into head games. I’m going to be honest with you. Nothing is going to happen between us. You should have gone for that girl, if you wanted to.”
I stared straight ahead, trying to hide my shock. Finally I said, “Why is nothing going to happen between us?”
“I’m not your type.”
I was starting to get mad. I pressed down harder on the gas. “How do you know what my type is?”
“I guess I don’t, but I’m pretty sure I’m not it.” She started ticking off on her fingers. “I’m not ‘cool.’ I’m into stuff like classical music. I’m not going to have sex with you.”
I stopped her right there. “So you’re not attracted to me.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just not having sex until I’m married.”
I almost crashed the car. “What? Who even does that?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“A few reasons.”
My mind was racing. It had to be religion. She was probably wearing one of those rings. A few girls I knew had them, and it meant they were engaged to God or their dad or something. I glanced down.
She saw me looking and held out her hand. “I’m not wearing a purity ring. I’m not Protestant. I’m Orthodox.”
“You’re Jewish?” I felt like an idiot. I didn’t think of Jewish people as blond.
She smiled. “No, Russian Orthodox. It’s Christian. And we don’t wear purity rings. But yeah, one of my reasons for waiting is my religion.”
“What are the others?”
She looked out the window. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“No, I won’t,” I said. “Tell me.”
She took a breath. “I want a relationship that’s deep. Like the best music. It takes a long time to build that. In America, everything is on the surface. People think they’re in love if they want to have sex with someone. I want to love with my mind and soul. And I want it to last my whole life, to have one great love—not a bunch of experiments. So I’m waiting.”
I snorted. “In America? Come on, you’re t
elling me Russians only have deep, meaningful love affairs? I don’t think so.” Oops. Shouldn’t have said that. I looked over, and sure enough, she looked annoyed. I tried to backpedal. “Never mind. Anyway, you don’t have to love somebody to have sex with them. You can just like them. Or you can even just want them. It doesn’t have to be all serious.”
Irina made a sound with her tongue, a Russian sound. “That’s cheap. And it diminishes people who do it.”
“Diminishes? How?” I said.
“They’re using themselves up.”
“Sex isn’t like money. You don’t spend it and use it up,” I said. “There’s always more.”
Irina said quietly, “No, it’s not like money. But a person can get used up. They can get so that sex is just a physical act for them, like eating.”
Now, that was a weird thing to say. Because honestly, I thought sex was sort of like eating. You get hungry, you eat, then you’re full. At least, that was the only way it ever felt to me. I wondered again what it would be like to have sex with a girl I loved. But there was no way I was admitting that to Irina.
“You’re not going to find a guy who’ll wait,” I told her. “And you’re definitely not going to find a guy who’s a virgin, if that’s what you want. Unless he’s a loser.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “You don’t even know what a loser is. It takes a man to wait.”
An image of Phil the Toolbox flashed into my head.
“Besides,” she said, “even if he’s not a virgin, I’ll make him wait at least a few years while we’re engaged.”
“He’ll cheat on you,” I said confidently.
“And that,” she said softly, “is why you and I have no future.”
I felt my face heating up. “I’m not a cheater!” It was a lie. I had cheated on the only two serious girlfriends I ever had. Quite a few times.
Irina said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insulting.”
I glanced at her, and she looked so beautiful with her cool stare and pale skin that I wanted to kiss her right there and make her admit she was wrong; we did have something. “Are you attracted to me?” I demanded, because I wanted a straight answer.
“Of course I am. You’re ridiculously hot. And I think you have a good heart, although I can’t tell for sure.”
I felt a little better.
She went on. “But you seem like sort of a player, and anyway, I’m attracted to a lot of people.”
Man, this girl could put her spike heel through a guy’s heart and grind it in. The problem with her was that she was too used to calling the shots. She needed a guy who didn’t let her boss him around.
“Let’s just be friends, then,” I said, really cool. “Are you allowed to do that? Be friends with a guy?”
She looked surprised. “You really want to be my friend?”
I nodded.
“Okay. I would like that.” She sounded happy. Good move.
I pulled up outside her house and had a sudden thought. “You don’t have a boyfriend or anything, do you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “Anyway, why do you care, if you just want to be friends?”
“I don’t want some Russian dude trying to shoot me.”
She giggled. “Other than my dad, no Russian dude is going to try to shoot you.”
That was sort of scary.
“Okay, friend. See you later,” I said as she climbed out.
She grinned at me. “See you later, Gabe.”
I watched her walk into her palace. The princess would go up into her tower and brush her long blond hair. I’d figure out a way to climb up it.
CHAPTER FIVE
After Morton’s party, I was “the Man.” Nothing like having drug connects and leaving with a pretty girl to build status. The athletes were friendly to me, and Kyle and Forrest kept asking me to lunch and to hang out after school. Matt wasn’t sure about me, I could tell, but he was a nice dude and didn’t seem to mind that I came along.
The three of them had been tight since elementary. Kyle was the ace; he knew what to say to make people feel good about themselves, but not in a kiss-ass way. And he always seemed to be having a good time, or about to have one.
And Forrest didn’t give a shit—about anything. I think he had some messed-up family stuff going on, not that he’d ever talk about it. He was skinny, with dark brown curly hair, and somehow he made his Diesel look as if it came from a pile at Goodwill. He had a wicked edge and liked to shock people, which could be very funny.
Matt was deep into computer science and quiet, except when he was arguing with Forrest. He would have been a computer geek if he wasn’t such a good rower. When the rest of us started talking about partying, he’d kind of disappear, or open a book, or check his phone. But he never gave us a hard time. I respected him.
Every day, we’d pile into Kyle’s or Forrest’s truck and get lunch, usually with a few girls, like Erin and Becky. I think Becky liked me even more after I said I couldn’t hook up with her.
One day as we were heading to the parking lot, Kyle said, “Gabe, can you drive? My tank’s on E.”
My brain stalled for a second. Then I thought, Fine. I grinned at him. “You really want me to drive?”
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing. Come on.” I led the way to my junk heap, which I always parked in the back lot so no one would see it. Their eyes were bugging before I even opened the door. I swept out my arm. “Ladies first.”
Erin giggled. “Um … are you serious? Will we even fit?”
“Maybe in the trunk,” I said.
Kyle chuckled. “That is the worst piece of crap I have seen in my life. Do you seriously drive this thing?”
I shrugged. “I don’t have a rich mommy and daddy to buy me a Porsche. Besides, I like my car. It has personality.” Inside I was holding my breath. Would they buy it?
They did. They thought it was funny. “Yeah, it does have personality,” said Forrest. “It’s a pissed-off old man. A dwarf war vet.”
“Actually, I won it in a pool game from a vet,” I told them, and that sealed it: now they thought the car was cool.
“Yeah, but we’re not going to fit. Let’s take my car,” said Forrest. So we did. I was relieved. Just another reminder that if you act confident, people will swallow anything.
On the way to the restaurant, Kyle gave a fake cough. “Announcement. My parents just told me they’re going to Sonoma in two weeks. Second weekend in October, the house is ours.”
Forrest whooped. “Party?”
Kyle shook his head. “Nah, did you see how bad they destroyed Morton’s place? I’m thinking a small get-together. Just us.” He looked at Erin. “And maybe some more of your friends.”
Forrest smirked at me over his shoulder. Erin’s friends were straight Victoria’s Secret.
Kyle punched me on the arm. “Hook up some supplies?”
I didn’t answer for a second. It was the third time he’d asked since the last party. On one hand, I had nothing against people getting high. On the other hand, I’d spent plenty of time around the tweakers in White Center, and I knew twenty-five-year-olds who looked fifty, with their nasty rotting teeth and caved-in cheeks and jonesing ways. I’m not saying e is meth, but that gateway crap is real.
But I needed the cash. We were dropping ten bucks a day on lunch, going out sometimes after school, seeing movies … Anyway, it’s not really dealing if you’re just hooking up friends.
“Sure,” I said.
“You can bring a friend if you want.” He gave me a look and I knew he meant Irina, but he wasn’t saying it in front of Becky. Kyle had my back.
“Nah, I’ll come alone.” I didn’t want to scare off Irina with the drugs. I’d been working on her, and I thought I might be getting somewhere. We were hanging out that night, actually. We’d been text-battling over which was better: music with lyrics or music without. S
he wanted a standoff. I couldn’t wait. She was cool; salty as hell, always talking smack. I actually did like her as a friend, although of course I wanted more.
We got to the restaurant, and ordered food and sodas. Becky sat next to me in the brown puffy booth, and Erin kept trying to get us talking the whole time. It’s weird how girls are always trying to hook each other up. But I was a little zoned out, thinking about which tracks to play for Irina. KRS One? The Roots? Maybe something old-school, like Bob Dylan?
Then Erin said, “It’s going to be great at Kyle’s. Small parties are better than big ones.” She looked right at me, then at Becky. You couldn’t miss her meaning.
Becky turned pink and said in a soft voice, “I like small parties, too.”
Suddenly I had pictures of big fancy beds and this sweet girl and me with practically a whole house to ourselves. “Yeah, me, too,” I told her.
Erin smiled and took a sip of her Coke.
No way was I going to rent a car just to drive to Irina’s house that night, so I parked the junk-mobile half a block away and walked. Irina’s mom answered the door. Her blond hair was pulled back, and she was wearing a white sweater and a long black skirt. She didn’t even say hi, just, “Follow me.”
I looked around, but Irina wasn’t coming to save me.
Mrs. Petrova waved her hand. “Come!”
I followed her through the baby-grand room, down a hall, and into another big room, all white: white chairs, white couch, white vases, with a big black-and-white striped rug. It made me paranoid about my shoes. Mrs. Petrova sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. “Sit.”
I had a sudden horrible thought that maybe she was one of those bored housewives who are into younger guys, and this was going to be like a bad movie, and Irina would walk in right when her mom was pushing me down on the sofa.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad … But Mrs. Petrova picked up a remote, and I realized I was being an idiot. She clicked it, there was a whirring sound, and a screen came down from the ceiling.
“Nureyev,” said Mrs. Petrova. “Le Corsaire.” She pointed the remote.
Betting Blind (Betting Blind #1) Page 4