I made it to the restaurant with two minutes to spare, thanks in part to my car, which was working properly again. Last week my father had taken pity on me, again, and helped pay for a brand new ignition switch, pushing my debt up to the four digit mark. If it kept up this way, pretty soon I’d be handing my whole paycheck—plus tips—over to Dad.
“Taylor, hey,” Danielle—another server on my shift—said as she brushed past me in the back hallway. “Can you get some drinks to table five for me? Two Cokes, one diet, and an iced tea. Some brat just coughed all over me and I have to go sterilize myself.”
I secured my hair in a ponytail. “I’m on it.”
“Thanks.”
She race-walked toward the washroom with her hands facing up, like a doctor who’d just scrubbed in for surgery, while I got the drinks. Carmen had done it again. Danielle’s disdain for children had become a running joke around the restaurant, and whenever possible Carmen—Moretti’s diabolical hostess—put the families with children in Danielle’s section, just to piss her off. Carmen had three kids of her own, but Danielle was the party-girl type, a sophomore at Kinsley who came to work hungover more often than not. Because we were both students, we worked mostly the same shifts, and she was the one who had trained me. Her other claim to fame was that she’d worked at Hooters for a year before coming to Moretti’s, a fact she’d managed to insert into our very first conversation.
Because it was Saturday, the restaurant was consistently packed for my entire shift. At around five, a hockey team—little kids, which almost made Danielle pop a vein—showed up for pizza, and the next two hours whizzed by in a blur of spills and refills. When they were finally gone, Danielle bolted outside for an extended smoke break while I helped clean up the cataclysmic mess.
As I was piling Coke-soaked pizza crusts onto a tray, the door opened and in walked Robin, her cheeks rosy from the cold. This made her look extra beautiful, and every head in the vicinity turned to stare at her as she scanned the restaurant, looking for me. When she saw me, she grinned and waved her gloved hand.
“Hi,” she said when I walked over to her, still holding my tray. “When are you done?”
“A half hour.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Mr. Moretti wasn’t watching. It wasn’t that he was mean, or that I was scared of him, exactly…I just didn’t want to disappoint him by slacking off. “What are you doing here?”
“Just thought I’d stop by and say hi. Izzie dropped me off. She…well, we’ll talk about it later.” She unwound a scarf from her neck. “Can I wait for you in here? It’s too cold to wait in your car.”
“There’s nowhere to wait out here. You’ll have to sit down and order something. I’ll buy.”
“Can I get some of that yummy tiramisu?”
I nodded and went back to my work as Carmen led her to a small table by the window. The next half hour dragged. It had been a long day, and my feet were killing me. All I could think of was a hot shower, so I wasn’t really listening to what Robin was saying as we left Moretti’s and walked to my car. Only a handful of words registered—Izzie, fight, bitch.
“You and Izzie had a fight?” I collapsed gratefully into the driver’s seat. “What about?”
“She thinks I slept with her boyfriend.”
“Did you?”
She shot me a sideways glance. “Well, he wasn’t exactly her boyfriend. They went out, like, twice.”
I burst out laughing. I’d missed hanging out with Robin like this. We’d drifted apart so much over the past year, it was hard to remember us ever being so close. Like sisters. Now we were more like distant cousins who reconnected at weddings and funerals. Or when Robin needed a drive.
“When is Alan going to buy you a car?” I asked as we pulled out onto the street.
“I’ve been hinting. He just bought Mom a huge SUV so I’m not holding my breath.”
“Why does your mom need a huge SUV?”
“Search me. Hey,” she said, spinning her upper body toward me like she’d just remembered some crucial information she needed to share. “Guess who texted me yesterday.”
“Who?”
“Michael.”
The car strayed to the left. I yanked it back quickly before we merged with oncoming traffic. “He texted you?” My gaze alternated furiously between her face and the road in front of us. “Why?”
“To check up on you, of course, though he wouldn’t admit it.”
What the hell? After all these weeks of silence, he gets in touch with Robin? Who I hardly hung out with anymore? I was so flustered, I almost missed the turn for Redwood Hills. “Did he ask about me?”
“No, but I read between the lines. He wasn’t texting me to see how I was doing.”
“What did you tell him?” I tried to sound like I didn’t really care, but failed miserably.
“The truth.” She raised her chin and flicked her hair back. “That you’re blissfully happy, marvelously successful, and dating a cute soccer player.”
“You did not.”
“Well, not in so many words. But that was the gist.”
Suddenly I felt way too hot in my winter coat. I reached over to turn down the heat. “What did he say?”
“He said he didn’t need to hear about it and changed the subject. Then I asked him if he was seeing anyone.”
Now I was cold again. I jacked up the heat to maximum and waited.
“He said ‘No one special’. Whatever that means.”
My grip tightened on the wheel. No one special? Why couldn’t he have said No, I’ve been living like a monk for the past six weeks and haven’t left my room except to shower and go to class? Just how many non-special girls was he dating? I felt so pissed at him for contacting Robin now, six weeks later, just as I was starting to get on with my life. What did it mean? Had he been fishing around for info about me, hoping to hear the same chaste-like things I’d been hoping for? Maybe his curiosity had gotten the better of him, or maybe it was even simpler than that. Maybe he just missed me like I’d never stopped missing him.
“Taylor?”
“Hmm?” I glanced up and realized we were parked in Robin’s driveway. I had little memory of driving here.
“Do you want to come in? We could make hot chocolate and watch Brat Pack movies, like old times.”
“I wish I could,” I said, meaning it. It had been years since we’d done that. “But I have plans tonight.”
“The cute soccer player?”
I grinned. “Dylan. Yeah.”
She leaned over to give me a quick hug before abandoning the warmth of the car. “Have fun.”
“Thanks.”
I drove home with both hands clamped tightly on the wheel, wishing the beastly plumber from this morning had turned out to be an axe-wielding murderer after all.
****
My first date with Dylan had taken place three days after he asked me out. We went to the movies, just the two of us, and sat in the very back row. We held hands over the armrest, our eyes glued to the screen as if it were about to reveal the solutions to all the world’s problems.
And then later, when I dropped him off, he gazed at me as if I were his dream girl come to life and then leaned in to kiss me. Kissing someone other than Michael felt strange and a little wrong, like I was being unfaithful to him even though I knew I wasn’t. But then my body took over as I remembered how good it felt to kiss someone.
In the two weeks following that first date, we’d gone out a few more times, both in a group and by ourselves, and saw each other every day at school. In fact, I spent more time with Dylan than I ever spent with Michael. And unlike Michael, Dylan was always around. He was there in the mornings, waiting for me at the school entrance. He was there between classes. He was there after school, at my locker. He sat next to me in chemistry and at lunch. He called every evening and even came to my house a couple of times, when Mom was around, to study. My mother liked him for two reasons: 1) he was around my age and 2) he was here and not h
undreds of miles away at college.
Dylan was so reliable, so attentive, that it took some getting used to at first. I wasn’t accustomed to spending every waking minute with a guy. Before he went to college, Michael and I used to see each other only on weekends, and even though I missed him during the week, it was good to have that time with my friends. I guess I’d adapted to having that kind of relationship, because it didn’t take long for me to start feeling unnerved over Dylan’s constant presence.
But the dimples made up for all that. Since we’d started going out, people kept commenting on how happy Dylan seemed now, how often he smiled. It felt good to know that I’d been the one to provoke that change in him. Still, there was this dark cloud always lurking below, reminding me of the microscope I was under whenever Dylan and I were together, being watched and judged by all our friends. Dylan had liked me, had waited for me, for months, and now that he had me, I needed to live up to his and everyone else’s expectations. Everyone, including me, knew I held the power to easily and utterly break his heart. And I did not want to be the girl who broke Dylan’s heart.
So naturally, when I met up with him later that night, about an hour after dropping Robin off, not a word was mentioned about Michael’s recent texting and how pissed off I was about it. I had a feeling that even indirect contact with my ex would not go over well.
“Where have you been?” Jessica said when I finally showed up at Lia’s house, where the whole gang had gathered to celebrate Mallory’s birthday.
“Work,” I said, hanging my coat on a hook by the door. I was exhausted from driving home, showering at lightning speed, and then driving over to Rocky Lake. “You know, that thing I do every weekend to make money?”
“You should really rethink this job thing. It’s cutting into your social life. And you missed the presents.”
I followed her down to the family room. I spotted Dylan sitting in a plush chair and talking to Lia’s new boyfriend, Sam, who was a senior and on the basketball team. I left Jessica and went over to sit on the arm of the chair. Dylan smiled and made room for me to wedge myself in next to him. He liked to have me close. When we were together he was either holding my hand or putting his arm around me or sitting right next to me, like now. I couldn’t decide if I liked this or found it oppressive.
Sam moved off and Dylan grabbed my hand. “I’ve been waiting forever for you,” he said, and the way he phrased it made me think he meant it literally.
“Work was crazy.” I glanced over at the pile of opened presents in the corner. “How’d the gift card go over?”
Dylan and I had gone splits on a mall gift card for Mallory’s birthday. Neither of us knew what else to get her, and Jess offered no help, so we figured a gift card was a safe bet. We’d signed it from both of us—Dylan and Taylor. Like we were a couple.
“She liked it,” he said, and I squirmed in the chair. Assuming I was being squished, he moved over a little more. “Better?”
Instead of answering, I excused myself and scurried off to the bathroom. As I was coming out I nearly bumped into Jill Holloway, who was standing outside the door, waiting for her turn to go in.
“Hi, Taylor,” she said, offering me a tiny smile.
I was surprised to see her here, in Lia’s house. Jill still dated Austin Kerr off and on, but the girls usually made it a point to not invite her to any get-togethers. One of the guys must have told Austin about it, and he brought Jill along. I could only imagine how thrilled Mallory must have been to have Jill Holloway at her birthday party. And wearing that, I thought as I took in her skin-tight, low-rise jeans and cleavage-baring top.
“How’s it going?” Jill asked me in this low, conspiratorial voice, the kind people use when inquiring about your health after a long, serious illness. I had a flash of the holiday dance two months before, where she’d given me a look that held that same unspoken concern.
“Fine,” I said, and my fatigue must have short-circuited my brain then, because I added, “Is there something you want to say to me, Jill?”
A look of surprise crossed her face. She opened her mouth to respond, but shut it quickly when Jessica came up behind us.
“Taylor,” Jess said, stringing her arm through mine. “I forgot to ask you if you wanted some cake. Come on, I’ll get you a slice.” As she led me away I looked back at Jill, who was slipping into the bathroom, a frown creasing her forehead.
“What is her problem?” I said. I hated it when someone acted like they knew something I didn’t. Like right now with Jess, for example.
“Jill has lots of problems,” she said, running her hands over her shiny hair. “Pick one.”
“She acts like she wants to tell me something. What’s that about? She doesn’t even know me.”
Jessica sighed, as if the whole topic was too ridiculous to even entertain. “You know the girl Dylan dated before Breton?”
I shook my head. Dylan and I hadn’t discussed exes yet. We were still at the “What’s your favorite movie?” stage.
“Well, he went out with this girl Anna for a few months last year. She dumped him back in July and he was crushed.”
I made a keep-going motion with my hand. “So?”
“So Jill is like best friends with Anna. Maybe she has something against the girls Dylan dates, out of loyalty to her friend.”
I glanced over at Dylan, who was standing against the wall, watching us with a guarded expression. Turning back to Jess, I asked, “Why did Anna dump him?”
She shrugged. “He was too intense for her, I guess.”
Intense. Jessica used that word a lot with regard to Dylan. And with good reason, I understood now. Only two weeks into our relationship and already I could see it.
“What about Breton?”
“What about her?”
“Did she dump him too?”
“Breton didn’t count, Taylor. He was just using her to make you jealous. They barely even went out, except when he knew you’d be there. Like at the holiday dance.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with this information. All I knew was that using someone to make someone else jealous seemed cruel and immature, two things I never thought Dylan to be. Then again, his plan had worked beautifully. I had felt jealous of Breton.
“I’ll get you some cake,” Jess said, propelling me toward Dylan, whose eyes had never left us the whole time we’d been talking.
“No thanks,” I said over my shoulder. “I don’t want cake.”
“Don’t be silly. Everyone wants cake.” She moved toward the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”
I sighed and took my place next to Dylan. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “What were you and Jess talking about?”
“Girl stuff.” It was an answer that would have appeased most guys, but Dylan still looked unsure, so I added, “Gossip. You know Jess.”
He nodded, his face relaxing. We both knew Jess. So, when she came back downstairs with my cake a few minutes later, I knew better than to refuse again. I thanked her politely and ate the cake.
Chapter 15
“Taylor, when are you and Michael getting back together?”
I turned the music down and glanced over my shoulder at my sister, who was sitting in the backseat. Our mother claimed it was safer for her to ride in back, but having her behind me instead of next to me always made me feel like a taxi driver.
“What?”
She repeated her question and I could feel her staring at my profile, waiting. We were on our way to school, and as usual Emma liked to cross-examine me as we drove.
“I don’t think we are,” I said.
“Why not?”
I braked at a red light. “Because we broke up for a reason and nothing’s changed.”
“Will it ever change?”
The light turned green and I accelerated, thinking that this question was an easy one. “Probably not, Em.”
“Is Dylan going to be your new boyfriend?”
I laughed a little.
This kid was relentless. “Maybe. Why? You don’t like him?” Leave it to me to seek approval from an eleven-year-old.
“He’s not as cute as Michael. And not as nice either.”
“He’s just quiet, that’s all. It doesn’t mean he isn’t nice.” We pulled up alongside the curb in front of the elementary school. “Give Dylan a chance,” I said. Like I’m trying to do.
“If you say so.”
She grabbed her backpack and jumped out of the car, not looking back as she sprinted up the walkway to the school. I sat there for a moment, watching the rain pelt against the windshield and trying not to let the bleak weather—along with the mention of Michael—dictate my mood for the day.
Next, I swung by Ashley’s house to pick her up, something I still did every morning in spite of the fact that we’d grown apart in the past few months. She was always so busy, and I had my job and a whole new group of friends, most of whom she detested. Ashley wasn’t the type to fake it for the sake of social acceptance, so our friendship these days was pretty much contained to carpooling and locker-sharing.
“Have you been talking to Erin lately?” Ashley asked me on the way to school. Erin—along with Brooke and chemistry class—was one of our common-ground topics.
“Not for a couple of weeks. You?”
“She emailed me last night to gush about this guy she’s seeing. She dedicated an entire paragraph to describing his body in excruciating detail. ‘His leg hair is so soft!’” she imitated in a high-pitched voice, making me laugh. “She’s in love.”
“Clearly,” I said, amused by the look of pure repugnance on Ashley’s face.
“As if I wanted to know about her boyfriend’s leg hair. Or about what they were doing to, you know, allow for leg-hair stroking.”
Someone Else Page 13
