“I hear Rich, Brett, and Shane got smashed at your house.”
My stomach lurched. “No, actually they arrived that way.”
“That’s not the way I heard it. Did you really go out partying with them afterward and get arrested?”
This is not something you should say to a person who’s standing on the top of a ladder. I came dangerously close to toppling off. As I grasped onto the top rung, I sputtered out, “No, that didn’t happen.”
“The police didn’t pull you over while you were speeding around downtown in Shane’s car?”
“Well yeah, but we weren’t partying, and we didn’t get arrested. At least I didn’t.”
She shrugged her shoulders and blinked up at me. “See, that’s what I mean. Nothing that exciting happened at our party—well, except for when you all came by and threw a bottle at Wilson’s house.”
I held onto the ladder tighter, too shocked by the speed of the rumors to care that she was still smiling up at me. “I didn’t throw that bottle. I had nothing to do with it.” Well, except driving the getaway car.
“Right.” As she turned away, she gave me a last triumphant look over her shoulder. “Good luck with your campaign. Hopefully from now on you’ll be able to convince your followers to keep their pants up.”
And that was just the start of the day. By lunchtime I’d heard several versions of my wild night with Rich, Brett, and Shane. In some of them I was drunk, in some I mooned people. In all of them I had hauled my party guests over to Wilson’s house in an attempt to vandalize the place.
Charity and Raine, I would like to add, didn’t figure anywhere in these stories. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad their names weren’t dragged down with mine into the tawdry world of drinking/mooning/vandalizing, but still I wondered why.
Was it because they were so good no one would believe they’d been involved with all of that, but me—the Frog Avenger—well, it was easy to think that I’d been doing all three things simultaneously?
Or maybe someone had it out for me. And if so, who? Jesse and Luke were the only ones that knew about the whole mooning thing. Luke might have told Bridget about it—that is, if he had managed to peel her away from Jesse’s side for long enough to have a conversation with her. Could Jesse be the one who told Bridget all those outrageous stories?
The thought made my heart thud into my rib cage.
When I walked into English class, Wilson was sitting on a girl’s desk at the front of the room fulfilling his daily quota of flirting. He ignored me, as usual, which for once I appreciated. I dropped my books on my desk with a thud and slid into my seat. Bill glanced over at me and nodded a hello, then went back to working on his homework. Jesse leaned back in his chair, watching me, and in his slowest drawl, said, “So are you talking to me today, or are you still pretending you can’t see me?”
I had the urge to gaze past him and mutter, “Bill, did you hear something?” Instead I glared at Jesse. “I see you.”
The muscles flexed in his jaw, making him look suddenly dangerous. “Good. Because I want to hear the explanation from your own lips. What were you doing riding around with a bunch of hoodlums Saturday night, and why were you chucking things at Wilson’s house? Was that your idea of revenge or something?”
I leaned around Bill to get a better view of Jesse. “If I wanted to take revenge on Wilson, don’t you think I could come up with a better plan than, say, throwing an empty bottle at his driveway?”
Jesse leaned toward my desk, his blue eyes smoldering. “I don’t know. Nothing you do makes sense anymore.”
“Nothing I do? When did you drag your attention away from Bridget long enough to pay attention to anything I’ve done?”
Bill put his book down on his desk. “Do you want to switch places with me? I’ll let you have my seat.”
“I pay attention to what you’re doing,” Jesse said. “And the last thing I noticed you doing was driving around like a maniac while three guys made butt-prints on the car windows. I noticed that, Giovanna.”
The mention stung, and I felt my face flush. “Yeah, while we’re talking about Saturday night, who told the entire student body the mooning story?”
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
Bill’s gaze swung to Jesse and then to me. “You know, they have counselors to help people work through these things.”
I leaned over until I was touching Bill’s desk. “Well, only you and Luke saw the mooning, but bright and early this morning Bridget was sure to rub it in. She must have found out somehow.”
“And so you just assume it was me and not Luke.”
Bill tapped his fingers against his desk and looked straight ahead. “Conflict resolution. That’s what they call it. They probably have a twelve-step program or something.”
“Yeah, I assume you told Bridget. She’s been standing so close to you she can probably hear your neurons fire, let alone listen to every word you speak.”
There was a glint of a smile in Jesse’s eyes, as though he’d won a point of contention. “You keep bringing up Bridget. Why is that?”
I shrugged. “Would you like the long or the abridged version of all the things that are wrong with her?”
More tapping from Bill’s desk. “Maybe it’s not too late to transfer into World History. Of course, I’ll be behind, and probably have to do hours of homework to catch up, but that’s a small price to pay.”
Jesse’s expression turned serious. I couldn’t have pulled my gaze away if I’d tried. In a lower voice he said, “The only one I told about last night was Wilson, and that’s because I thought he had a right to know who was flinging things at his house.”
“Then Wilson sure told a lot of people.” Which, I realized as soon as I said it, was the truth. Of course Wilson had told everyone. I’d given him the perfect ammunition to use against Dante.
I glanced over at Wilson. He was now talking with two girls up in the front of the room and smiling at both simultaneously. He’d come off as the victim in this whole affair, while Dante and I looked like some low-class thugs who used mooning drunks to vandalize his opponent’s party.
Mrs. Pembroke stood up from her desk carrying a piece of paper. She raised one hand to get our attention, and the individual conversations among the students died away. “Well, class, I received another rejection letter.”
She held up the paper for our examination, then walked over and stapled the letter to the bulletin board. I watched her numbly. Pretty soon she’d need more room. It takes a pretty big space to handle all of that rejection.
On the way to lunch I talked with Charity to find out how much trouble she’d gotten in. She said her parents understood, but she sighed a lot while she told me this, so I knew they hadn’t been happy with her. “From now on I’m supposed to avoid the very appearance of evil,” she said. “And I’m supposed to call them if anyone I know needs a ride home.”
I didn’t ask her if that whole appearance-of-evil thing applied to coming to my house. I mean, Gabby and Dante lived there, and both of them often appeared to be evil.
But hopefully the whole thing would blow over soon. Well, you know, after the kids at school stopped yelling, “Hey Giovanna, can you give me ride? I’ve got some stuff I want to throw at Wilson’s house!”
At the end of the day Daphne drove me home. She talked cheerfully about her summer plans, and I was happy to let her rattle on because it meant I didn’t have to think of many upbeat responses. Just before she pulled into my driveway, she said, “I found you a date for Thursday night.”
I stared at her, trying to figure out what she meant. Denying rumors had taken up such a large portion of my day that I’d completely forgotten about everything else.
“It wasn’t easy, either,” she went on. “First I had to slyly find out from Luke where Wilson is holding his campaign meetings. I’d hoped he would have some of them at the club, because that is so Wilson’s style, but most of them are before school in the library. Well, you can’t ver
y well bring some hot A-list Swain guy to the library in the morning. That wouldn’t work.”
“Oh, right.” The reference finally clicked, and I remembered our conversation about A-list people, and how I was supposed to pretend to be one—which at this point was obviously hopeless. “Thursday night?”
“Right. Wilson is taking everyone who worked on his campaign out to dinner at five thirty at La Comida Ranchera. You know, sort of a thank-you dinner before election day. Which means Jesse will be there.” Her voice was thick with implications. “Which means you should stroll in with Buddy around about five forty-five.”
“Buddy?”
“That’s just his nickname, because he’s a really good singer and likes to sing Buddy Holly songs. Actually his name is Horton—and I know, that sounds like a geeky name, but he’s named after his daddy. It’s one of those family names that goes back for so many generations you’re required to stick it on one of your kids.” She shot me a conspiratorial smile. “But don’t worry, he’s gorgeous. Absolutely guaranteed to make any ex-boyfriend swell with jealousy.”
I shifted my backpack on my lap so I was half hugging it. “You found a date for me? You did that already?”
She shrugged. “I know—I’m amazing. I had planned on waiting a little while—until the whole pool table thing blew over, but then after Raine told me about Saturday night, well, I figured it was only going to get harder to find you a man. So I called up Buddy Remington and explained the situation to him. It took a little begging on my part, but he finally agreed to play the part of the studly new rival.”
“You told him all of it? He knows I’m just using him to make Jesse jealous?”
She blinked at me. “Well, I had to tell him.”
I didn’t want to imagine that conversation and how utterly pathetic I had sounded in it.
Daphne: Hi, Buddy, I have this friend who I’m trying to set up—
Buddy: I’m busy that night.
Daphne: I haven’t told you what night.
Buddy: If she’s not capable of getting a date on her own, then I’m busy.
Daphne (because Daphne is delusional when it comes to her friends): Giovanna is gorgeous, smart, and nice—everything anyone would want, but, well, she sort of has this criminal past, and there have been a few incidents lately where she appeared to be partially insane, but we’re trying to find someone who’ll make her ex-boyfriend jealous.
Buddy: Guess what—I’m still busy.
Daphne: I’ll pay you.
I was just imagining the monetary negotiations when Daphne broke into my thoughts. “We’ll get your hair done and go clothes shopping sometime beforehand, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, because you can’t turn down a friend who pays large sums to guys in order to get them to take you out. I trudged into my house, fingering my hair, and wondered how I had gotten myself into this.
I mean, Jesse and I had just fought. Again. I really didn’t think that if I showed up with a guy, no matter how studly, it was going to make Jesse want me back. More likely Jesse would walk up to Buddy and offer him condolences.
But somehow I still had a date with a guy, a scenario to act out, and a pending haircut.
I mulled it over in my mind, looking for an excuse to cancel, or the conviction to see it through. On one hand, Charity had told me I should talk with Jesse. But then Charity had never gone out on a date. Not even once. The guy she currently liked was my brother—which meant right off there was something wrong with her reasoning ability. Plus, Dante had no clue she liked him, which really didn’t encourage me to trust her methods when it came to guys.
Daphne, on the other hand, thought I should show up with Buddy and this would help me get Jesse back. She’d been out with the equivalent of a small platoon and had men dangling from her fingertips.
So probably I should trust Daphne about this.
I walked inside and dialed my grandmother’s number to set up a time to go to her house on Thursday. It wouldn’t be too hard to convince Dad and Gabby to let me go. Thursday’s not a big date night, so it shouldn’t even raise their suspicions. Grandma didn’t answer—a lot of times she takes naps during the middle of the day and turns off the phone—so I left a message. I waited for her to call back, but while I did, I kept hearing Jesse’s voice in my mind saying, “You know Daphne’s judgment isn’t the best.”
Chapter 13
Maybe Dante is right about me. I’m too emotional, and when I’m upset, I overreact and then regret it later. When Grandma called back after dinner, she asked me, “How was your day?”
I thought about the rumors, and how Wilson was bound to win the election, and how Jesse and I had fought in English, and with the phone still pressed to my cheek, I burst into tears.
Grandma said, “Bellissima, what’s wrong? It’s that woman again, isn’t it? What has she done now?”
And then I had to tell her that no, surprisingly it wasn’t Gabby this time. I didn’t want to tell my grandma about the whole mooning incident, or that her grandson wasn’t popular enough to win the school election, so I told her I felt awful because I’d broken up with Jesse. All my dates since then had been horrible, and I was obviously destined to end up as one of those old spinsters who lived with twenty cats and did crossword puzzles all day. Also I’d just realized that Dante was right about me, and I was way too emotional, but I couldn’t help it, and how could I go to school tomorrow knowing I was too emotional, and I would probably do something to humiliate myself in English class?
Then Grandma spent the next half an hour telling me how wonderful I was and that Jesse didn’t deserve me, and I wasn’t too emotional, I was piena di vita! Grandma had been the exact same way as a girl.
I’m not sure how comforting that last part was, because it made me worry that I was doomed to be the kind of little old lady who insults her granddaughter’s dates twelve seconds after meeting them. So you know, maybe there really is a time and place to rein in those overreactions.
Still, Grandma said I could come over Thursday night and in fact any night I ever wanted to, and she was going to invite over Gary, that nice young man from her bingo group, to meet me sometime.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Daphne is doing a fine job of setting me up. In fact she’s setting me up more than I want to be set up.”
“But who is she finding for you? Is he Italian, this boy?”
“Buddy’s American, Grandma. We’re all American.”
“Is he Catholic at least?”
If I had been smart I would have said, “Yes.” I mean, what would it have mattered? The guy was already pretending to like me for Jesse’s sake. What difference would it have made for him to be Catholic for one night? But instead I said, “I don’t know,” which earned me a lecture that I couldn’t quite follow because she kept lapsing into Italian. Finally she said, “Bellissima, it will all work out for the best, and I’ll see you on Thursday.”
The next morning I felt a little better. I told myself that from now on instead of being emotional, I was going to approach my problems from a logical point of view. Dante obviously did this, and it worked well, because thus far he’d never been arrested. Well, okay, maybe he wasn’t approaching the whole thing with Raine very logically, even though I told him again that she didn’t like him. Dante wouldn’t look at her, and he was clearly avoiding her.
I mean, really, was that the best way to handle things? He was going to hide from Raine until he was convinced she didn’t like him anymore? Wouldn’t the logical thing have been to talk to her and say something like, “Hey, I just like you as a friend”? And in which case she would have told him, “Hey, you’re so full of yourself. What makes you think I like you in the first place?”
And then he would tell her about our conversation on Saturday, and well . . . maybe it was better for Charity if I let Dante be illogical about this one. I didn’t want him to start avoiding her.
Anyway, the point is, I was trying not to be emotional. I examined the
facts surrounding my problem. Fact 1) I broke up with Jesse because he’d betrayed Dante. Fact 2) That might have been an overreaction, but now we weren’t on the best of terms, and Jesse had said some things that irritated me, but Fact 3) I had probably also said some things that had bothered him, like when I yelled, “We’re through” in a roomful of people. Fact 4) Daphne had assured us that she knew the way to the concert stadium in Houston, but instead had driven us everywhere except to the concert stadium in Houston, so probably I should give Charity’s advice a try and talk to Jesse.
So drawing upon the vast powers of logic, which, after all, were used to build complex things like computers, bridges, and an entire amusement park made out of Legos, I decided I needed to talk to Jesse. Face to face. These really weren’t things I wanted to talk about over the phone. I didn’t have time during English class, since I knew if I even looked in Jesse’s direction, Bill would start into a treatise on transferring into World History.
But I had a good idea where Jesse would be in the morning. Daphne had said Wilson held his campaign meetings in the library. I’d seen Wilson hang out in the library before, so I knew where he liked to go—the very back corner of the nonfiction section. If I got there early enough, I could intercept Jesse before his meeting. I’d be casually reading up on the life of Nikola Tesla, and see him, and I’d say something like, “We really should talk.”
And then we could work things out. Or he would tell me we couldn’t work things out. In which case I was so going to La Comida Ranchera with Buddy to make him jealous.
Oops, I’d let emotion creep back into my thoughts. I had to stop doing that.
At breakfast time I sat down beside Skipper and Dante and poured myself cereal.
Skipper chomped on a spoonful of Cheerios, then tilted her head at me. “How come your eyes are puffy?”
Leave it to the five-year-old to notice details the adults overlooked. “I guess I’m having a reaction to my new mascara,” I said.
How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend Page 13