“Actually, you raised me to not even look at boys, let alone be nice to them.”
“Watch the attitude, Skylar,” Dad said, one of the limited comments he ever made at the table. He didn’t listen to content, just tones.
“You can be polite to someone without encouraging them,” Mom said. “That’s all I ask.”
“Well, that’s what I’m doing.”
“Good. Then on Sunday we can have a perfectly lovely evening.”
“What’s happening on Sunday?” Dad asked.
Mom studied him for a moment, as if he might be joking. As if Dad ever joked. “We’re going over to the Rosses’. That’s what we’ve been discussing this entire time. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Who are the Rosses?”
“A family at church. We’re having dinner with them Sunday night. Really, Paul, you can’t spend even twenty minutes at night paying attention to me and the girls?”
“I can’t go,” Dad said. “I’m working on Sunday.”
“Sunday night?”
“No, but I’ll have been in the office all day and won’t feel like exchanging pleasantries with a family I’ve never met.”
“You’ve worked every weekend this month. Take one lousy day off.”
Dad’s face burned red while Mom appeared serene. She and I were like ducks, I often thought, calm and collected above the surface, but chaotic underneath.
“I have responsibilities,” Dad said tersely.
“You have responsibilities here as well. Maybe your daughters would like to see you every once in a while.”
He glanced at us. “They have their own lives.”
“Are you the only person working at that company? Because that’s the only feasible explanation for why you’re there so much.”
Dad gritted his teeth. “I have responsibilities, Teri. One of which is paying off your credit cards.”
“May I be excused?” I asked.
Eyes locked to Dad, Mom said, “You and Abbie are both excused.”
Their grumblings reached us even as we jogged upstairs, but they faded into the background the way traffic does when you live on a busy street all your life. No surprise, Abbie locked her bedroom doors and cranked her stereo. I cringed at the sound of her pop music and called Eli.
“You’re never going to believe what I just found out,” I said, plucking at the lace of my duvet. “Guess where I’m having dinner this Sunday.”
“The White House?”
“With the Rosses.”
Silence. Then, “As in Connor Ross?”
“Yeah. His mom and my mom met at a brunch this morning, and now I have to eat dinner over there. Weird, huh?”
“Weird,” Eli agreed. “And there’s no getting out of it?”
“Mom seems pretty adamant that Connor and I are going to get along. Clearly she’s never met him.” More silence. “Eli?”
“You said your mom is crazy strict about guys, but she’s encouraging this thing with Connor?”
I could hear the jealousy lining his words, tightening his voice, only I didn’t know how to fix it. “I don’t know why she’s acting like this. I guess she just really likes Amy.”
“Who?”
“Connor’s mom.”
“She doesn’t like my mom?”
“She likes your mom.”
“I don’t see her forcing you on me.”
“She’s not forcing me on Connor. Her exact words regarding him were for me to be polite but not encouraging. Does that sound like forcing?”
“Is something going on between you and Connor?”
I forced a laugh. “Do you mean other than my intense dislike for him?”
“I saw you guys talking this morning after history.”
“Yeah, we were arguing.”
“What do you and Connor have to argue about?”
“I told you there’s nothing going on. Why can’t you just believe me?”
No answer.
I blew at my long bangs and waited a few seconds. “So, what, you’re not talking to me now?”
Dead air.
I pulled my cell phone from my ear and found it flashing, “Call ended.” He’d hung up on me? Did he think I was like every other girl he’d dated, who’d frantically redial his number, desperate to right the situation?
I powered off my phone. “Take that.”
5
The banners announcing “Fall Ball is September 20th!” put Lisa in a funk the moment we got to school.
“This is going to be the first year I don’t have a date. Couldn’t he have held off a few more weeks?”
I sighed, sick of Lisa’s whining. “We’ll find you a date.”
“Find me a date,” Lisa repeated mockingly. “I’m one of those girls now, who’s so pathetic her friends have to force some guy to go with her. Like last year when Eli went to prom with Jodi just because you already had a date. Everyone knew he only asked Jodi so he could hang around you.” She sniffled. “I bet Eli’s already asked you to Fall Ball, hasn’t he? I bet he spent a lot of time thinking of the perfect way to do it.”
“I’m his girlfriend, he doesn’t need to ask me.”
Lisa gave me a horrified look. “Yeah he does.”
“Why? Isn’t it understood?”
“It’s understood that you’ll say yes, but he should still ask. It’s romantic.”
“Eli’s many things,” I said, “but romantic is not one of them.”
“Sure he is. He pursued you all these years—”
I interrupted with wry laughter. “And we got together at a gas station after the worst night of—” I stopped myself. “Never mind. Eli’s not going to ask. He’s my boyfriend.”
Lisa sighed. “I miss that, having an understood date.”
“You want him?” I asked, fingers raking through my hair with frustration.
Lisa snapped out of her sorrowful state. “Is something wrong?”
I remembered Connor crouched beside my flat tire, the back of his neck damp with sweat. “Nothing. Just a little disagreement.”
“A disagreement? What happened?” Lisa asked as we turned into the locker hall. Alexis and Jodi stood there conversing about the obvious fake bakers in our class, although they left themselves off the list.
“Hey, guys,” Jodi said. She noticed my pink plastic sandals. “Great shoes. Very retro.”
“They were my mom’s like fifteen years ago. I found them in her closet.”
“Enough about shoes,” Lisa said. “We were talking about you and Eli.”
“What about you and Eli?” Jodi asked. She appeared suspicious, as if I’d left her out of the loop.
“Nothing, I don’t even remember what I was saying,” I lied, coloring my lips with a deep berry gloss.
“Ooh, pretty.” Alexis reached for it. “Can I have some?” I passed her the tube.
“Why are things just ‘fine’ with you and Eli?” Lisa pressed.
“I thought things were great with you and Eli.” Alexis paused to press her lips together. “You’re a major PDA couple.”
“Ick,” I said, followed by a dramatic shudder. “Don’t tell me that.”
She puckered her mouth. “How does it look?”
“Your coloring is all wrong,” I said.
“No fair.” Alexis wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Tan people get to wear all the fun colors.”
I gave her a look. “I’m not tan. I’m Hawaiian.”
Eli appeared in the hallway, John in tow. John passed Lisa a nervous glance, but she feigned oblivion and turned to her locker.
“Morning, girls,” Eli said. His eyes swept over my friends before landing on me. “You ready?”
I shrugged and threw my bag over my shoulder.
Jodi turned to Alexis and staged an aside comment. “Connor never lets me carry my own backpack. Isn’t that so sweet?”
“I carry Skylar’s,” Eli said, his eyes narrowed. “I was just about to take it from her.”
“I can car
ry my own bag,” I said.
Eli turned on a smile that would charm even his sworn enemy. “This is a game she likes to play. She’s so independent.”
I ignored this and walked away, not caring if Eli followed. He did.
Eli attempted to take my bag. “Come on, Skylar.”
“This isn’t a competition. You don’t have to carry mine just because Connor carries Jodi’s.”
“I’m your boyfriend. I should carry your backpack.”
I picked up my pace. “Yeah, you also shouldn’t hang up on me, but I don’t see that stopping you.”
“I didn’t hang up on you. My phone died. I tried calling you back for the rest of the night but all I got was voice mail.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. As if he intended to say it under his breath, he added, “Now I wish I’d hung up on you.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “And you call John a drama queen.”
“You said I’m a drama queen?” John piped in from behind us.
Eli paid no attention to him. “You know, all I wanted to hear you say last night was you have no feelings for Connor, and you never did.”
“You’re right, I didn’t. I told you I have feelings of intense dislike for him. That’s not enough for you?”
“I think you’re lying.”
“Well, I don’t care.”
“That’s obvious.” He pushed ahead of me into the classroom.
Connor already sat at our assigned table. Eli took his seat, and when I went for the desk beside him, he slapped his hand over the chair. “No way.”
I snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Not until you tell me what you two were arguing about yesterday.”
“Why is that any of your business?” I asked, doing my best to disregard Connor’s and John’s curious stares.
“Because I’m your boyfriend.”
I wrestled my chair from under his hand and plopped in it. “Well, you won’t be for much longer if you don’t stop acting like a baby.” I glared at Eli as I scooted to the table. “Don’t tell me where to sit ever again.” Then I pulled my textbook from my bag and fake read.
John sat in the chair across from me as if taking a seat on an active volcano. Connor returned to his sketching, but Eli just sat there and watched me. I’d made it through an entire page before he said, “Please don’t be mad at me.” Beneath the table, his fingertips found my knee. “You’re right, okay? It’s none of my business, and I was being stupid and jealous. Just please don’t be mad.”
I made the mistake of looking at him. His expression, remorse with a hint of pain, bewitched me far more than his smile. I caused that. I, Skylar Hoyt, broke the great Eli Welling. I couldn’t remember him ever apologizing to anyone. A strange sense of empowerment rushed through my body.
I placed my hand over his and squeezed. “I shouldn’t have assumed you hung up.”
He smiled and leaned to kiss me, declaring the fight over.
I stood at the sink brushing my hair into a ponytail when Abbie emerged from throwing up. She leaned against the doorway and looked at me through the mirror, her eyes dim with a strange look of defeat.
“I’m miserable,” she said.
“Girls?” Mom called up the stairs. “It’s time to go.”
“Just a second!” I said.
“Where are we going?” Abbie asked, her voice hoarse.
“It’s Sunday night.” She shook her head, still unsure. “The Rosses’.”
She groaned. “Like that’s what I need right now, to sit around with all their perfect kids.” She exited through my room and walked to the edge of the stairs. “Mom? I don’t feel good. I’m going to stay home.”
“Abigail Marie Hoyt, you’ll do no such thing!”
“You’d really expose the entire Ross family to my germs?”
“Fake germs aren’t contagious, so I’m sure they’ll be fine. Now, hurry up or we’ll be late.”
Abbie reentered my room. “Can you please get me out of going?”
“Please come.” My tone sounded desperate as well. “I don’t want to deal with Connor on my own.”
“But I’m a wreck. I just spent the last ten minutes hugging the toilet, and”—she plucked at her shirt—“I should have thrown this thing out ages ago.”
“Then brush your teeth and change your shirt.”
“All my good clothes are dirty. How much longer do you think it’ll be before Mom caves and does laundry?”
I hesitated a moment. “Do you want to borrow something of mine?”
Abbie gave me a wary look. “Is that a joke?”
I shook my head.
“I can borrow anything I want?”
“Sure.”
Abbie peeked into my open closet doors. “Even your Juicy jeans?”
I cringed. “If you’re really careful.”
“I’ll be careful.” Abbie lifted them from their hanger like a precious artifact.
“I mean really, really careful. Like your-life-depends-on-not-ruining-these-jeans careful.”
She plucked my lace-up sandals from the floor. “I love these.”
“No, I’m wearing those.” But Abbie had already grabbed the shoes and headed to her room. If I wasn’t so relieved to be back on friendly terms, she never could’ve gotten away with disrupting a planned outfit.
Mom scowled when Abbie and I came downstairs. “We’re going to be late.” She ushered us through the garage door. “Already your father is irritated about tonight. The last thing I need is the two of you dragging your feet.”
“Sorry, Mom,” we chorused.
“Honestly, it feels like I’m the only one concerned with how our family appears,” Mom continued as we walked to the idling car. Dad sat in the driver’s seat, fingers tapping the steering wheel with impatience. “Being late to a social engagement, especially the first, is incredibly rude and inconsiderate.”
At the Rosses’, Mom made profuse apologies for our tardiness, even though it was barely five minutes past seven.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Ross said, bubbling over with hospitality. “Come in, come in. Teri, Paul, I’m Brian. It’s nice to meet you.”
Dad put on his best smile, the one he used for clients. “Likewise, Brian.” He offered his hand to him, then Amy. “Thanks for having us over.”
“Were my directions okay?” Amy asked, wiping her hands on her apron. With the sprinkling of flour in her hair, she looked like an advertisement for the 1950s.
“Your directions were perfect,” Dad said. “When you live with two princesses, getting out the door can take awhile.”
Abbie turned red. I ground my teeth.
“Believe me, four boys aren’t much easier.” Amy winked at Abbie and me. “What a great dress, Skylar. And Abbie, I didn’t remember your hair being so red. Brian, who does Abbie’s hair remind you of?”
He studied my sister. “Martha.”
“Exactly who I thought of. Martha is Brian’s youngest sister.” Amy reached for the fruit salad Mom held. “Thanks so much for bringing something, Teri.”
“I was happy to,” Mom said. I flinched at the sight of the supermarket packaging. Couldn’t she at least have dumped it into a different bowl? Maybe one without the price stamped on it?
At the sound of a dog barking, Amy called, “Boys, will someone let him in?”
“Can I help you with anything, Amy?” Mom asked.
“Sure. Brian is doing most everything on the grill, but I’m getting the pies ready to go in the oven.”
“I don’t know if I’d allow Teri in the kitchen.” Dad’s voice teemed with testosterone. “Those pies might burn if she so much as glances at the oven.”
Brian smiled politely and Amy chirped a good-natured, “Nonsense!”
With that, the adults left Abbie and me in the entryway to find our own entertainment. Seconds later, a Westland Terrier burst into the room, Cameron at his heels. “Don’t pet him! Don’t pet him!”
Abbie froze, her hand halfway to t
he tiny dog. “Why not?”
Cameron leaned against the wall, panting. “He’ll pee on you. Let him calm down.” He turned his golden-green eyes up at me and grinned. One shoelace was untied, and his forehead sported a red sticker. When I smiled back at him, he ran from the entryway squealing.
Connor appeared from upstairs. “You’ll have to excuse him. He has a crush on you.”
“On me?” I said.
Cameron, who’d apparently been listening, cried out in anguish. “Connor!”
“Connor, don’t embarrass your brother,” Amy said from the kitchen.
Abbie cast a sympathetic look at the dog wiggling and whining at her feet. “Can I pet him now?”
Connor evaluated him. “I’d give it another minute or two.”
“If that dog pees on my jeans, you’re dead,” I said so only Abbie could hear. Having his filthy paws all over them was bad enough.
“Come on in,” Connor said, walking deeper into the house.
Growing up with a mom who regularly adjusted the color scheme of our home according to the latest design magazines, I’d developed the habit of judging people based on their decor. You could learn a surprising amount—like Lisa’s family had money but no imagination. The rooms in their house always looked like catalog pages from Z Gallerie. Eli’s mom grew up on a farm outside of Abilene, Kansas—Country Living could’ve featured their house.
With the Rosses’, I expected one of two extremes—either one of those too-organized, over-labeled houses where you fear being shot for not using a coaster, or someplace ragged and worn down because they’d rather give the money to charity than buy themselves a new couch. Instead, I walked into their living room and thought, Comfortable. Warm. Home.
Rich-colored walls showcased family photos and the boys’ artwork. Furniture filled the room—worn leather couches, corduroy chairs, and a coffee table that invited you to throw your feet up. Most surprising was the TV, larger even than ours. I’d assumed the Rosses spent evenings reading Bible stories rather than watching prime time.
Curtis sat cross-legged before the giant screen, too absorbed in his cartoon to acknowledge us. Cameron giggled when we entered and curled into a ball against the arm of a couch.
“Where’s Chris?” Abbie asked, settling into an armchair.
Connor took a seat on the other couch. “I don’t know.”
Me, Just Different Page 5
