“Wow,” Arden sighed as we drifted back to the table. “That was something.”
Lydia popped open a can of seltzer. “Yeah, a disaster.” She gestured at the window. “Nature Boy chose option D. None of the above.”
“But wasn’t it epic?” Arden tugged the bowl of snack mix from Jasper’s greedy hands before he could finish it off. “I forgot what it’s like. There’s so much passion at the beginning of a relationship. You want to spend every second together, just staring at each other. You wouldn’t dream of canceling plans at the last minute or waiting four hours to answer a text.”
Jasper dragged the plate of date rolls to his side of the table. “Tell us more.”
“Don’t,” I warned her. “He’ll use it against you later.”
Terry’s hand darted out, snagging the second-to-last date roll. “I don’t blame him for liking your sister. She’s so bold and strong and—” She gestured mutely with one hand.
“Formidable?” I suggested.
“Scary?” Jasper countered.
Terry managed to shrug and nod at the same time.
“The chemistry was off the charts,” Bo chimed in. “So much tension in that scene. I would have set it in the middle of a rainstorm, though. Like Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
Arden clapped her hands together. “Or The Notebook!”
“If you want to go contemporary,” Bo conceded.
I found myself in the unaccustomed position of waiting for someone else to explain a reference. “What’s that?”
“You haven’t seen The Notebook?” Arden sat back, looking stunned, before visibly gathering her resolve. “That’s it, we’re going to my house right now. It’s totally based on a book,” she assured me, reaching for her purse.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Lydia said.
“Of course we’ll help clean up first.” Arden reached for one of the untouched glasses.
Lydia shook her head. “Are you up for this, Mary?”
“It’s Ryan Gosling,” Arden pointed out, as if that answered the question for me.
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Maybe she’s disappointed? Since we built up this whole Nature Boy thing and now”—she blew a raspberry—“we have nothing?”
“Not nothing,” Arden protested.
“Excuse me, I forgot the valuable lesson we all learned.” Lydia pretended to make a note. “Don’t try to get with a guy who has the hots for your sister.”
“It’s fine. Really.” The prospect of romance had been gossamer as a soap bubble, here and then gone. The odds of unrequited pining for Jeff, whom I had barely met, seemed slim.
“Trust me, this is the perfect movie for when you’re having all the feels.” Arden raised her index finger, in the universal sign for someone about to make a point. “I’m having another brain wave. Let’s take this to the next level. Tomorrow, my house, movie night and a slumber party. A two-for-one special.” She consulted her phone. “We are blazing through my list.”
“What list?” Jasper asked.
“None of your business.” The last thing I wanted to discuss in front of him was my induction into Normal Teenage Life. The mockery would never end.
“Tampon, maxi pad, cramps.” Arden’s incantation sent Jasper and Bo fleeing, hands over their ears.
“Nice,” said Lydia.
Arden winked. “Works every time.”
* * *
After dinner, I spread my books out on the dining room table and dived into the morass of homework. That was another difference between Millville High and my old school: due dates were a lot less negotiable.
When I finally looked up, rubbing tired eyes, the rest of the house was dark. Yawning, I rolled the kink out of my shoulders before depositing my tea cup in the sink. Then I gathered my things in a messy bundle and crept up the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots. As I passed Cam’s room I heard a series of rhythmic thuds and grunts, as if she’d installed a punching bag. Somehow she had returned to the house unobserved, suggesting either supernatural stealth or the tree outside her window. After a moment’s hesitation, I knocked softly.
“Yeah?” she called.
I pushed open the door. Cam was on her back on the braided rug, legs bent at the knee and arms crooked behind her head.
“You’re doing sit-ups?” On the face of it this was a stupid question, but Cam seemed to understand the unspoken now?
“I couldn’t sleep.” She wiped her forehead with the hem of her T-shirt.
“And . . . sit-ups help?”
She shrugged, looking away.
It seemed I would have to introduce the subject of the Incident, but how? It felt silly asking my fearless older sister if she was okay, though perhaps not as embarrassing as inquiring whether she now had a boyfriend, and if so what that was like.
“Jeff said your friend invited him over.” Cam’s words emerged reluctantly, but I was still grateful for the opening.
“I didn’t know,” I said quickly. “That the two of you had, you know, history. I mean, I saw you together a couple of times—”
“You did?” she interrupted, startled into looking up.
I nodded. “At that party. And your game.” Her eyebrows climbed fractionally, which by Cam standards was practically a double-take. “I’m a younger sister,” I said modestly. “We notice things.”
Belatedly, I recalled that Cam was also a younger sister. Strange that I’d never thought of her that way. “Is there a reason you didn’t want to talk to him?” I asked delicately, leaning against her dresser.
Cam reached for her water but didn’t take a drink. “I don’t know.”
None of the usual objections seemed to apply. She and Jeff didn’t come from different social classes, or warring clans. Besides, those lines were a lot more fluid in this century. Short of being royalty or blood relatives, there weren’t many barriers to a relationship between willing parties.
“You just don’t like him?” I finally asked, though that had not been my impression.
Her laugh sounded more like a sigh. “I wish.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to become a person I don’t recognize. Jeff’s girlfriend. Half of a couple. I like this me.” She thumped her thigh with a fist. “I don’t want to lose myself.”
“Is that what happens?”
She tipped her head back, leaning against the unmade bed. “How should I know? That’s how it looks from the outside.” Cam blew out a breath. “Since when is a high school guy mature enough to respect my autonomy?”
“He certainly looks mature.”
The ghost of a smile played across my sister’s face. She knew I was talking about Jeff’s manly physique.
Ignoring the blush I could feel creeping up my neck, I summoned a serious expression. Seeing them together this afternoon, I would have sworn the matter was a fait accompli. The emotion between them had felt so real, beyond anything I’d imagined existing in the realm of High School Relationships. Surely there could be only one outcome.
“You could always take a risk and see what happens?” The irony of saying this to the sister whose derring-do was the stuff of family legend wasn’t lost on me. Then again, in this one area, her bravery seemed to have a blind spot. “It wouldn’t have to be a lifelong commitment. Since you’re seventeen and all.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “You think it might be okay?”
Cam, the most resolute of my family members—possibly of anyone’s family members—soliciting my opinion? I would have to record this moment for posterity later.
“I do.” If Arden were here, she would already be plotting their next encounter. Almost I could hear her voice, speaking through me. “You could start small. Something low-pressure, like coffee or lunch?”
“Lunch,” Cam repeated, expression thoughtful. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
In the interest of discretion, I opted not to answer.
Dear Diary,
Today I’m going to see a movie
without reading the book first.
Mea culpa.
M.P.M.
Chapter 20
Located in a gated modern subdivision lined with neatly manicured lots, Arden’s house was decorated in the same palette as her beloved coffee drinks: not quite brown, not quite beige, but with hints of each swirled into the creamy background fluff. Terry called it dulce de leche, and said it made her want cake. To someone raised in a warren of lamp-lit rooms scaled to the tastes of a previous century, the newness was endlessly fascinating, as was her pantry full of the kind of snacks that get advertised on TV. I didn’t see the words superfood or non-GMO anywhere.
After hauling our colorful bags of junk food to the basement, we sank into the mammoth L-shaped couch facing the flat-screen TV.
“Are you ready?” Arden asked me, remote pointed at the screen.
I nodded solemnly.
She closed her eyes as a shiver passed through her narrow frame. “I can’t believe this is your first time. It’s like the one classic you don’t know.”
I pasted a pleased smile to my face as the movie began, ready to be amazed. But what was all this dappled sunlight? Whence the rowboats and waterfowl and old people? It reminded me of a greeting card, and not the fancy letterpress kind. This is what happens when you don’t read the book first, whispered a critical voice inside my head.
Once the action moved to the past I felt more in my element. The old “rich girl, poor boy” scenario; the picture was coming into focus. I settled more deeply into the cushions, box of chocolate sandwich cookies at my side.
* * *
When the final credits rolled, Arden reached for the remote to mute the sound. “Gets me every time,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “What a relief.”
“The way it ended?” I ventured. “Or just that it’s over?”
“I needed a good cry.” She blew out a long breath. “That’s what’s so great about movies like that. Once you start crying, you can cry about anything.” She turned to me with a watery smile. “What did you think?”
“It was definitely intense,” I said, borrowing a term from her. She nodded eagerly, the look on her face saying, And?
“I was a little confused about one thing. Why was the other guy—her fiancé—no good?”
“Same,” said Lydia. “What’s wrong with having a steady job and getting your hair cut on the regular?”
“But that’s the whole point.” Arden gestured at the silent television. “There’s nothing really bad about him except that he’s not Ryan Gosling, and, you know, destiny. That’s why it’s so bittersweet.”
And just a tad unconvincing, I silently added. “Then the theme is basically—”
“Follow your heart,” Arden said at once. “Don’t be afraid to put yourself out there.”
“Go with the guy who supports your career,” offered Lydia.
We paused to give Terry a chance to weigh in.
“Do crosswords and stuff? It keeps your memory sharp.”
“Valid point.” Arden patted her hand. “Then he wouldn’t need to tell her the whole story every day. They could travel.”
On the coffee table, Arden’s phone lit up. She lunged for it, sighing as she read the incoming message.
“What?” Lydia asked.
“I thought it was Miles. He was supposed to call me when he got back to the hotel. Maybe they’re still at dinner.” Her smile lacked conviction.
Lydia took a careful sip from her water bottle, eyes never leaving Arden. “You’re still worried about what’s-her-face?”
“Not all the time. I’ve been keeping busy, you know, concentrating on other things—”
“Like Winter Formal.” Lydia did not sound entirely approving.
Arden rubbed her forehead with the heel of one hand. “In case you haven’t noticed, we are up against the wall, time-wise. It’s the same thing every year. As soon as the weather gets colder, everybody’s like, ‘Okay, fantasy time is over, who can I realistically expect to go out with me?’ And now they’re scrambling to seal the deal. If we wait much longer, every eligible person at our school will be taken! Plus there’s Thanksgiving to worry about.”
Terry and I exchanged a quick look of consternation. “What happens then?” she asked.
“We lose almost a week of school. Which means no one is asking anyone to go anywhere!”
“That’s true. Good point.” Lydia’s voice had taken on a soothing tone I’d never heard before. “But I still think it might be a good idea to give it a rest, just for a little bit. Take a break from all this who’s-dating-who stuff. Think about something besides people’s love lives.”
Arden stared at her, crumpling a tissue in her white-knuckled fist. “Why? Because Miles is going to dump me? Is that why you want me to stop caring about love—because my heart is about to be ripped out?”
“No!” Lydia’s eyes widened. “I just thought maybe you were putting too much pressure on yourself with all this”—she held her hands to the sides of her face, suggesting the shape of a tunnel—“extreme focus. It happens, it doesn’t happen, it’s okay.”
Terry and I nodded.
“As for Miles,” Lydia continued, choosing her words with care, “isn’t it always like this when the debate season kicks into high gear?”
“I don’t know,” Arden said bleakly. “It feels different this time. Worse.” She turned to me. “Was there ever something like this in a book?”
“An elite debate team?”
She shook her head. “Where it seems like the other person might be losing interest. Or even possibly . . . cheating.”
Talk about a minefield! There were dozens of depressing examples I could have shared, but it was hard to see how that would be helpful to Arden.
“Most philanderers are pretty obvious,” I said slowly, grasping at a positive spin. “Like this horrible count who marries a young American named Isabel for her money and then tells her, ‘Oh, we have to hang out with my old friend, she should vacation with us,’ and obviously the lady is his mistress, which everyone but Isabel figured out in seconds, only by then it’s too late because she’s already stuck raising her husband’s love child.”
“See?” Lydia pointed at Arden. “Miles would never do that to you.”
“Or this other guy whose wife came up to him in the garden one night and he started kissing her passionately and she was like, ‘Oh good, maybe he’s going to stop being such a jerk to me.’ Then she said something, and he jumped back like, ‘Helen! What are you doing here?’”
Terry clucked her tongue. “He thought she was someone else.”
“And that’s when she figured out he was cheating?” Arden whispered.
“Pretty soon after that,” I hedged. “She was a little slow.”
“Okay,” Lydia said briskly. “Those are warning signs. Miles is not one of those guys. He’s not a drama magnet, and he is definitely not sneaky. You have to be rational about this.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “This is Miles we’re talking about, okay? Not some sleazy cheater. You know who Miles isn’t?” She extended a hand in my direction.
“Alex Ritter,” I said, recognizing my cue. His name left a sour taste on my tongue. This was a rotten way to repay him for his help, but I shoved that thought aside.
“I rest my case,” said Lydia. “If there was a problem you would know, because Miles would tell you instead of running around behind your back. You guys are rock solid.”
Arden flopped backwards, arm crooked over her eyes. “Unless there’s a landslide.”
Lydia stretched out a socked foot to kick her in the shin. “Where is the real Arden and what have you done with her?”
“I’m just saying love is a risk.” Her chin jutted stubbornly. “It makes you vulnerable.”
It would have been easier to argue if she didn’t have centuries of literary tradition on her side.
Grabbing the remote, Lydia switched off the television, which had reverted to a sti
ll of the star-crossed lovers wrapped in each other’s arms. “Enough of the gloom and doom. Let’s talk about something else. What’s next on our social calendar? Besides the dance.”
“I was thinking music.” Arden dabbed at her nose with the rumpled tissue. “Like an all-ages show, so we can dress up like rocker chicks and get our hands stamped and dance around.”
“Sounds awesome,” Lydia said with uncharacteristic perkiness. “When is it?”
“I don’t know,” Arden admitted with a sigh. “I haven’t even looked up concert listings. I’m sorry, you guys. I’m totally falling down on the job.”
“Nope,” said Lydia, holding up a hand. “No more tears. We’re going to figure this out together. Anybody know a good show coming up?”
“Not really,” Terry said, with a shrug of apology. Lydia sent me a desperate look.
“Um, there’s Improv Opera?”
“Huh.” Lydia scratched her head. “Is that—pretty much what it sounds like?”
“People making up operas on the spot? Yeah.” I looked down, regretting the suggestion more keenly with every breath. An evening of arias about women dying of lovesickness: Good call, Mary! That’ll cheer everyone up.
“I think it sounds very elegant,” said Arden, supportive even in the throes of her own misery.
“I just feel like we need something to get our blood pumping. Leave it all on the dance floor.” Lydia made a growling sound, pretending to claw the air with her hand.
“Oh!” I bolted upright, forgetting my resolve to never make another suggestion.
“What is it?” Lydia clenched her fists in anticipation.
“Trivia Night. It’s hardcore,” I assured them. “All the different college departments have a team—”
“College?” Arden interrupted. “As in, college students?”
I nodded. “Also faculty, staff, family, alums. Anyone with a connection to the college. There’s a townie team, too.”
By the Book Page 16