by Robin Benway
“A thing?” Jesse repeated.
“A …” My mom was right, I was a terrible liar. “A benefit auction. A silent one. For children. Who have diseases. Bad ones. The diseases, not the kids.” Yep, gotta work on those lying skills.
“A silent benefit for good kids who have bad diseases,” Jesse repeated. “Got it, okay. Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.”
“I just think you don’t want me to meet your parents.”
“Oh, I do!” I told him, and that was no lie. “You don’t even know how much I wish you could. I really wish you could because I think they’d like you a lot. But … they’re just not home tonight. It’s you and me. And my dad will still break your neck if I don’t come home by curfew, by the way.” I had no idea what my curfew was, or if I even had one, but I thought it sounded more believable that way.
“Well, if he does, maybe then they could have a silent auction for me?” Jesse grinned, leaning forward, and I kissed him, risking yet another detention.
Worth it.
“You’re antsy tonight,” my mom said as she stirred the chili on the stove, but just the thought of eating made my stomach flip. “What’s up? Friday night jitters?”
“I’m fine,” I said, then remembered what Angelo had said about the word “fine.” “I’m just thinking about everything that I have to do next week. Take another French quiz, find the Oliver documents, get the Oliver documents, get a pedicure. It’s a lot on my plate.”
My mom chuckled and I knew she thought I was joking around, which was great. Gotta butter the parents up, after all. If I had learned anything from watching hours of television, it was that parents are gullible. And yes, mine were spies and probably had a combined IQ score somewhere in the four digits, but I was their kid. All that intelligence had to distill down into something, right?
“Hey,” I said. “Remember that girl Roux I was telling you about? Well, she’s having some people over tonight and Jesse Oliver is going to be one of them, so I thought I should go.”
“Okay,” my dad said, where he was trying to solve the day’s crossword puzzle. The Friday puzzle was never good to him. I glanced over his shoulder.
“Forty-nine Down is ‘asinine,’” I told him. “Trust me. I know it is.”
My dad frowned. “No, it’s not.”
“Are we looking at the same puzzle here? Because the puzzle I’m looking at—”
“Is mine,” he finished. “Can you please corral your nosy daughter?” he asked my mom as I started to inspect the rest of the puzzle. “Let’s all just stick to our respective talents, shall we?”
“You should probably do it in pencil,” my mom replied. “In case you mess up.”
“He wouldn’t mess up if he put ‘asinine’ for Forty-nine Down,” I said. “Do they even make pencils anymore?”
“Of course they make pencils!” My mom sounded almost offended at the idea. “What about standardized tests? And grocery lists?”
But my dad and I had tuned her out. “Look!” I said. “It’s seven letters and the third one is an I!”
“Hey, when are you leaving again?” my dad asked. “Soon, right? Like, right now?”
“Ha, nice try. I still have to get ready.” I had to get a lot ready, that was for sure. “I think I’m—”
And then someone knocked at the front door.
All three of us froze, my dad’s pen poised over the crossword and my mom stuck between the refrigerator and the stove. “Um,” I said. “Did someone order food?”
My dad made it over to the video surveillance monitor in what seemed like less than two steps. “It’s a short person,” he said. “Maggie, she looks like someone you would know.”
Oh no oh no oh no.
“Roux!” I gasped when I opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry I’m late!” she said, flouncing into the room. “I know, we’ve gotta do, like, three hours of prep in about half an hour, but don’t worry, I’ve been training for an emergency like this. Oh, hi!”
My parents probably would have looked less horrified if there were a group of rogue assassins in the room. “Hi?” my mom said. “Um, Maggie—?”
“I’m Scarlet,” Roux said, reaching forward to shake my mom’s hand. “Everyone call me Roux, though. Except my grandma, but she lives in Arkansas, so who cares? Hi!” Now she was pumping my dad’s arm up and down.
The jig was up.
“Is this the Roux that you were supposed to go see tonight?” my mom muttered under her breath.
“How did you know where I lived?” was the only thing I could think to ask her.
“I saw you go inside the building last week,” Roux said, setting down her bag and starting to unwind her scarf. “And then I just took the elevator up.”
So apparently the security in this building was complete crap. Great. I’ll sleep like a baby knowing that.
“But what are you—?”
“Getting you ready for your date. Duh.” Roux started to rummage through her bag. “I went to Sephora today. Thank me later.”
“Your what?” my parents said at the same time.
I took a huge, gigantic, deep breath. Roux glanced up from her scrounging. “Oh,” she said, eyeing my parents. “Oops.”
“Yes,” I said. “Oops.”
“You have a date?” my mom asked. “With a boy?”
“No, with a tortoise,” I said. “Yes, of course with a boy! With a boy named Jesse Oliver.”
“Ah,” my dad said. “You have a date. With Jesse Oliver.” I could almost see the aneurysm bulging behind his left eye. “Okay, then. Do we have any wine?”
“I’m sorry!” Roux whispered to me. “You didn’t say that your parents didn’t know! Are you grounded now?”
“How long have you known about this date?” my mom asked, interrupting Roux. “Weeks, days, what?”
“Um, a good amount of hours,” I said. “Roughly speaking? I just thought it would be a nice way to get to know him better. You know?”
“Yes,” my dad said. “It would.” He was uncorking the wine bottle at record speed. “Your first date. And it’s with Jesse Oliver. Wonderful.”
“This is your first date?” Roux squealed. “Oh my God! Then you need to wear this!” She dug around and found a pink sweater. “When I bought this, the salesgirl called the color ‘salmon.’ Salmon!” She shook it in my mom’s direction, and my mom nodded and widened her eyes at me as Roux dove back into her bag. “Can you believe it? I was like, ‘Honey, listen. Salmon’s a fish, not a color.’” She glanced up at me. “Those are your staying-in jeans, right?”
“Right,” I said, even though I had kind of planned on wearing them out. “Hey, why don’t you go poke around in my closet and—”
There was another knock at the door, but this time it was all too familiar. So familiar, in fact, that the person went ahead and let himself in. “Hello?” Angelo said, stepping into the loft. “Is this a bad time?”
“Oh, no, this is just peachy,” I said. “The more, the merrier.”
“Angelo, what are you doing here?” my mom said, going over to him. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course, my dear, of course. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I might stop by.”
Both of my parents turned to look at me. “Does Angelo know, too?” My dad gaped. “Really? Did you tell everyone but your parents?”
“Hi!” Roux piped up. “I’m Roux! Love the suit.”
Angelo shook her hand. “Thank you, lovely to meet you, I’m sure. Maggie has told me a great many things about you.”
Roux beamed at me. “Well, the good things are better and the bad things are much worse, I assure you. So who are you?”
“Angelo,” he said. “A longtime family friend.”
“Cool.”
I halfway hoped that someone was taking a video of the scene that was unfolding in our kitchen, it was that ridiculous. Angelo and Roux shook hands while my parents and I watched t
hem, mouths open like it was the most amazing tennis match. I was pretty sure that this was going to be one of those situations that was funnier in the past tense. Like Luxembourg.
“And you go to school with Maggie?” Angelo straightened his cufflinks.
“Ugh, yes. Ugh to the school part, not Maggie, of course.” Roux squeezed my arm. “She’s, like, my best friend. What do you do?”
For several seconds, no one said a word, and then Angelo let it fly.
“Well,” he said, “I happen to be a world-class forger.”
“Okay, then!” I said, grabbing Roux by the shoulder and practically tossing her toward my bedroom. “Why don’t you go find something for me to wear?” I said. “It should take you a while, right?”
Roux was still cracking up at Angelo’s answer. “I love him!” she told me. “Why does everything sound better when a British person says it?”
“Jet lag. Focus on my outfit. Think Audrey Hepburn.”
“I’m not a miracle worker,” Roux protested, but she went anyway as I turned back toward my parents and Angelo.
“Who,” my mother demanded, “is that?”
“That’s Roux,” I said. “My friend, remember? Excuse me, ‘friend’?” I made air quotes around the last word. “She just wants to help me get ready.” I glanced behind me to make sure that Roux wasn’t standing nearby, then I turned back and dropped my voice. “Her parents travel a lot and they’re, like, never home. All she has is a housekeeper who doesn’t work weekends.”
“What about other friends?” my dad asked, but I could tell that my parents were softening. They’re big on family and togetherness.
“Um, touchy subject,” I said. “There was sort of a scene last year. It got messy. Teenage girls are nuts, did you know that? You really lucked out with me. Anyway, she doesn’t have other friends.”
“She’s quite a whirlwind,” Angelo said. “But she seems to have excellent taste in suits, non?”
“Are you insane?” my mother said to him. “What were you thinking!”
My dad closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maggie,” he said, “explain to me again how you have a date.”
“Um, he asked?” No one said a word. “And I said yes?”
“Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea. I do,” Angelo said as my mother glared at him. “Maggie is merely doing her assignment, and quite well, as a matter of fact. She seems to have assimilated in record time.”
“Yes, I have,” I said, agreeing, but then my mother glared at me and I shut up.
“Also,” Angelo continued, as calm as ever, “let’s all remember what it’s like to be young and in this job.”
Well, that certainly did the trick. Both of my parents grew thoughtful, rather than pissed. “If you want,” I offered, “you can give me a curfew.”
My parents looked at each other. “Don’t look at me!” my mom said. “I have no idea!”
“Midnight?” my dad guessed. “Eleven?”
“Two,” I said.
“In Manhattan on a Friday night?” my mom asked. “Uh-uh. No way.”
“Most of the kids I go to school with don’t even have curfews,” I pointed out. “If you make me come home at eleven, I’m not going to get anything accomplished and they’re going to think I’m weird. Well, weirder.”
“What’s Roux’s curfew?” my dad asked.
“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know what that is.”
“I don’t know what what is?” she asked. “And Maggie, is that your closet? Because there are some beautiful pieces in there that are wasting away on some equally beautiful hangers.”
I jerked a thumb in Angelo’s direction. “He did most of my clothes shopping for me.”
“Well done, sir!” Roux raised her palm for a high five, and then, in front of my very own eyes, Angelo high-fived her back.
My dad made a strangled sound and started pouring the wine.
“I don’t know what what is?” Roux asked again.
This should be good. “Roux,” I said, turning to her, “when’s your curfew?”
She pretended to think for a second. “Um, I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with the word. Is it Greek? Latin, perhaps?”
Angelo started to laugh and Roux giggled. “Kidding! I don’t have a curfew, Mr. and Mrs. Silver. My parents trust me to do my own thing.”
“Twelve thirty,” my mom said.
“Do I smell chili?” Roux asked.
Thirty minutes, three near-burns with the flatiron (Roux’s mistakes, my scars), two stubbed toes (mine after walking into the bathroom wall), and a bowl of chili (Roux’s) later, I was ready to go meet Jesse.
“Okay, I’m just gonna say it,” Roux told me. “You look beautiful. Why do our parents send us to private school when we both have all these amazing clothes?”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy looking at my reflection in the mirror. Roux had put me in dark jeans, that pink-not-salmon sweater, and leopard-print ballet flats. She even did my makeup, and although she almost blinded me with the mascara wand, the efforts paid off. I looked, for the first time in my life, like myself.
Roux grinned at our reflection in the mirror. “Jesse is going to flip his shit.”
“That sounds terrible. Let’s hope not.”
“And why are you so tall? I feel like a garden gnome next to you.” She looked really happy, though, and I knew she was in her element.
“Oh, c’mon,” I told her. “You don’t look like a garden gnome. You’d never wear that little hat they all wear.”
“Yes, but the pants look comfy.”
When my parents saw me for the first time, I swear that I saw my mom’s lip tremble, but all she said was, “You look very pretty, sweetie.” Then she hugged me, so I knew all was forgiven with the not telling about the date thing.
My dad just squeezed my shoulder and said, “Jesse Oliver’s not gonna know what hit him. And if he messes with you, then he’s really not gonna know what hit him. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Tone down the violence, Dad,” I said, but I was still smiling. It was kind of hard to stop.
Angelo kissed my cheek and said, “As beautiful as always. Roux, you have a talent.”
“I know,” she said, humble as ever as she leaned against the countertop. “Hey, do you guys ever do, like, family game night? Because I kick ass at Boggle.”
“No,” we all chorused.
“And I have to go,” I added. “I’m late, I have to meet Jesse at the Flatiron Building in, like, ten minutes.”
“I’ll walk you ladies out,” Angelo offered.
“‘Idiotic,’” Roux suddenly said. We all turned to look at her and I realized she was studying my dad’s crossword puzzle. “Forty-nine Down is ‘idiotic.’”
My dad and I both zoomed to her side to inspect the grid. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” my dad muttered, reaching for his pen.
“I could’ve sworn it was ‘asinine,’” I added.
“Well, my work here is done.” Roux sighed. “Ciao ciao, parents. Thanks for the chili and good times.”
“Bye!” I said as Angelo escorted us into the elevator.
“Be safe!” I heard my mom yell.
“Aww, that’s sweet,” Roux said.
“Let’s get this party started,” I muttered.
Chapter 23
“So,” I said, “are you trying to kill me?”
“What?” Jesse laughed.
“Sharp blades, a frozen body of water. I see what you’re up to, and frankly, I’m on to your clever plan.”
“Maggie,” Jesse said, “it’s ice skating.”
We were standing at Wollman Rink in Central Park. Well, Jesse was standing there. I was standing five feet away with my arms crossed, refusing to move.
“It’ll be fun!” he promised.
“Oh, falling on my ass on the ice, what fun!” I said.
“You’re not going to fall,” he promised. “Look, I’m here, I’ll catch you.”
The
date had started off really well. Not that I had a lot to compare it to, other than every single date I had seen on TV and in the movies, but I had been enjoying myself. Jesse had met me at the Flatiron Building, just as he promised, and I don’t want to sound boastful or anything, but he looked damn good. Curly hair everywhere, blue checkered shirt under a gray V-neck sweater, and khakis. I was pretty sure that Roux was going to pretend to slit her throat over the khakis, but Jesse wore them well. He had a peacoat, too, reminding me of the jacket he had put over me on Halloween night, and I couldn’t help but smile when I saw it.
“We meet again,” he said with a grin, and then he kissed me, and honestly, if the date had ended right there, it would still probably have been one of the best nights of my life.
“We do,” I replied. “So what are we doing? Because I’m planning on being impressed.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” he said. “You’re going to be impressed. They’re going to have to invent a new word because ‘impressed’ won’t even begin to cover it. We’re going to start uptown and work our way downtown.”
We both paused.
“Uh,” I said.
“I am so sorry!” he said. “I was speaking geographically, I swear! Totally not a metaphor for, like, seducing you. I promise.”
Seduce away, baby, I wanted to say, but I just shook my head instead. “Don’t worry. I always speak geographically.”
We took my town car after Jesse had a quick, whispered conversation with the driver, even though Jesse was like, “Um, the subway is right there,” which is why I liked him. He’d rather take the subway even though his family probably could have afforded a fleet of cars to drive him around Columbus Circle for twelve hours straight! He’s a man of the people!
And then we got to Wollman Rink.
“Um, can’t we just say we did this?” I asked him. “I get nervous wearing other people’s shoes.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Because they’re all warm and moist and then I have to say the word ‘moist’ and ugggggh.” I shuddered. “I hate that word. So that’s why I don’t ice skate.”
Jesse crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at me. “Ah,” he said. “I get it.”
I sighed. “Great, thank you so much. Why don’t we take a walk and get some of the roasted peanuts and—”
