"I think I'm falling for you," I finally whisper. "For real."
"I love you, too."
My smile matches his. Xander pulls me close, and we fall asleep in each other's arms.
Dear Miss Swoon:
How can you tell if you're in love?
—Falling?
Dear Falling:
If you were in love, you wouldn't have to ask.
—Miss Swoon
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Even though I can see Grace peeking through the curtains at us, I don't immediately get out of the car. I rode home with Xander after heading down to the dock to inspect the damage to the boat: a deep gash on the right side and some minor paint damage on the left. The guy at the marina thought a couple of thousand bucks could handle it—in other words, about fifteen credit hours of in-state tuition or a summer's worth of Wild Waves savings.
"You sure you don't want me to come with you?" Xander smiles. "Your mom loves me."
"Probably more than she loves me."
"Hey, don't."
"I know." I take a deep breath. "I just think I've got to do this on my own."
He jumps out of the car and runs to open the door for me. I catch Grace grinning at me through the window, and I try to shoot her a dirty look, but I can't help smiling at Xander, acting all proper. He lifts my duffel bag out of the back seat.
"You don't have to walk me to the door or anything now that you've got me, or whatever."
He flashes his eyebrows at me. "Maybe I'm not ready to say goodbye yet."
I feel awkward when we reach the door, since so much has changed between us. We stand there for a few moments shyly smiling at each other. And it feels heart-revving in a nice way. Right as I tiptoe up to kiss him, the door swings open.
"Well, it's about time," Grandma says.
I back up covering my mouth like it's criminal evidence or something.
"They've kissed lots of times before." Grace squeezes next to Grandma. "I've seen them."
"But now Polly doesn't look so frightened, dear. That's what I was talking about."
"Grandma!"
Xander just starts laughing. "You sure tell it like it is, ma'am."
"Don't you dare 'ma'am' me! I've got a date tonight with a man young enough to be your uncle."
"Grandma, please. What happened to Bookstore Guy?"
"Way too much nonfiction, if you know what I mean. Oh, could that man talk about himself!" she says. "I'm headed over to my new health club. Plenty of well-preserved hotties."
"Oh, Grandma, you sound like The Sassy Sage or something."
"Yeah, well, she'd better watch her tight little fanny. I made a breakthrough on my book today—an actual breakthrough with a word count and everything. No more of those ridiculous affirmations. I'm writing a dating guide for the geriatric set."
"Finally something you actually know about."
Grandma fluffs her hair. "You said it! Well, I'm off to do research. I'm sure I'll see you soon, Xander." She turns to me. "You just stay calm, sweetie. He's a keeper."
"I'm not going anywhere." Xander kisses me—in front of Grandma and Grace. And Mom.
"Oh, you're back. How did it go?" Mom raises her eyebrows. "Better than expected, huh?"
"Yes and no." I shrug at Xander. A look of concern crosses Mom's face, and once again I realize what a burden she's been shouldering. Making time for Grace, listening to me freak out, reading rumors about me on Sonnet's blog, watching Grandma date up a storm, fighting with Dad, bickering with Grandma, and on top of it all, money problems. "I'll explain everything," I say.
Xander kisses me again. "I'll call you later."
I stir more sugar into my glass, even though I don't like sweetened tea, but then two days ago I didn't like Xander Cooper. Okay, so that's kind of a lie. I didn't like having boyfriends. Well ... I reach for one of the cookies I've arranged on a serving plate to give our talk a casual, tea party feeling.
Mom sips her tea. "Xander is such a nice boy. A true spirit. Although I have to admit I'm a little surprised. You've been resisting him all summer. Blog love poems aside." Mom laughs. "Mom. Those aren't real."
"I know, honey. Xander wrote better verse back in the fifth grade. Sonnet, on the other hand, does not live up to her name. Poetry has too many rules to follow." Mom touches my elbow. "What's up?"
"Yeah, well, a lot kind of happened on the camping trip."
Mom's eyes grow wide like she's suddenly realizing that she should've given me another, stronger version of her Big Talk. One that maybe went beyond her standard keep-your-virginity-until-you're-thirty-five joke.
"Not that kind of thing."
"I didn't think so, but you never know, the way you've been chasing boys like a dog chases cars."
"Mom!"
She picks up a cookie but puts it back down. "Sorry, I was thinking of that Kurt kid."
"Yeah, well that ended because I wouldn't—" I tilt my head back and forth. "Do that."
"Well, thank the Heavenly Hamburger that you've been listening to some of what I've been saying."
"That's not fair." I push away my too-sweet tea. "You're the one who tries not to talk about anything. You're always telling stupid jokes instead. Your heart is broken? At least it's not Uranus."
"All of my jokes are better than that one." Mom smiles. "Although with a little tweaking..."
"I'm trying to be serious here. Life is serious. Full of serious problems."
"That's why I need to laugh a little."
"Well, you won't be laughing when I tell you that I hijacked Dad's boat and crashed it into a canyon wall."
Mom's face goes blank. "I thought he sold the boat."
"It is for sale! You knew about it and didn't tell me?"
"Wait." She shakes her hand. "You back up and tell me what you did."
She munches down four or five cookies while I explain how Dad canceled our weekend at the cabin, and then I saw it for sale, along with the boat. I tell her some stuff about Sawyer and Kipper and feeling so scared about falling for Xander.
And she just listens. No joking.
"We'll have to pay for the damage to the boat. And soon," she says.
"How can we pay? You've got stacks of unpaid bills!"
"Where?" Mom looks around the kitchen.
"I saw them! Stacks of unopened, patented Mom-style unpaid bills."
"Oh, honey. That was back in June. You know how crazy things get at the end of the school year. Yeah, I let things slide for a couple of weeks, but I'm back on track now."
"Then why the Hamburger Heaven job?"
"My undying love of french fries and snarky teenagers."
I shoot her a look.
She unfolds her wadded-up napkin. "Someone around here has to send you to college."
"But that's Dad's job. He's the one with all the cash, even if he won't talk about college."
Mom bites her lip. "No, sorry to tell you, I'm the one with the cash."
"I told you not to joke around with me."
"I wish I were joking. Look, your dad's business has been struggling. All along he's been planning to send child support and then pay for your college." Mom looks away. "But he's about to lose his condo. And he just can't."
"Why didn't anyone tell me? I thought he hated me!"
"He's a proud man, honey. And stubborn. Look, we both know I could sit here for hours and recount his various faults, but the bottom line is that he's going through a difficult financial period and I'm left picking up the slack." She frowns. "As usual."
"And Grandma?"
"It's like her condo and Dad's ran off to foreclosure together."
"Absolutely not funny."
"Look, Grandma's trying hard to reinvent herself. I don't know if she will, but it hasn't been too awful having her around, has it?"
"I'm living in a room with six thousand stuffed animals."
"And I'm seriously considering couples therapy—with my mother. But what can I say? She's family."
&nbs
p; "Why haven't you told me this stuff before?"
"You've had such a rough year. All those boys." Mom rolls her eyes. "Distancing yourself from Jane. Searching for yourself. I wasn't sure you could handle much more."
"Thanks a lot. I'm not stupid, you know."
Mom sighs really deep. "Look, you have so much admiration for your grandmother. I didn't want to ruin that. And as far as your dad goes, when we divorced, I promised I'd try to keep my feelings about him to myself."
"So instead you let them both lie to me?"
She doesn't say anything but crunches down another cookie.
I consider taking a drink of my tea but set the glass back down. "Mom, I don't like living with so many secrets and pretending everything is okay. I'm not doing it anymore. I want to see the best in people, but I want to be okay with their faults, too. Everyone has them, you know."
"Well, listen to you. The next Miss Swoon." She grins.
I roll my eyes as dramatically as possible. "Yeah, right. Soon I'll have my own TV show and magazine."
Mom laughs. "Sounds like a plan. No more slinging burgers."
"Are you going to keep working there once school starts?"
"One evening a week. And you'll have to do your part—maybe earn a scholarship or ten."
She starts clearing the dishes from the table, signaling that our talk is over. I follow her to the sink with my almost untouched tea.
"Do you think we could maybe make these tea parties a regular thing?" I ask.
"Only if we have special snacks so it won't remind me of a parent-teacher conference."
"Maybe we can do it with Grandma and Grace, too?"
Mom slouches dramatically and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. "I don't know. Like, my mother just doesn't, like, get me at all." After a summer at Hamburger Heaven she does an impressive impersonation of a teenager.
I laugh. "You remind me of someone: Riley McGhee!"
"We've been, like, so burdened with the same, like, shift for like two whole, like, boring weeks."
I glance at the clock. "I'd better call Dad before the guy at the marina does."
Mom turns serious all of a sudden, turning and putting both of her hands on my shoulders. "I'm not sure how he's going to react. But don't take it personally. It's about him. Not you. It never was. Do you understand that?"
I nod, shake my head, nod again. My heart pounds in an entirely unpleasant way. I'm sure there's some kind of medical term for it and some kind of machine at the hospital to fix it. The cookie I ate is suddenly making me nauseous.
Dear Miss Swoon (and Grace):
You're invited to attend bimonthly honest family discussions on the first and third Sundays of each month. 7:3o p.m. Dessert and tea will be provided. No stuffed animals, no affirmations, and no boys allowed!
— Polygraph
Dear Polly:
Yay! (But not about the stuffed animals—that's not fair) Will you make something chocolate?
—Graceful
I will be there with bells not beaux.
—Miss Swoon (AKA Grandma)
"Swim at your own risk" the sign read, and we did. Sun, storm, stars, holding each other the whole time.
— X.C.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jane frowns at her butt in the mirror again. "Maybe I could start a new fashion trend and wear a burqa on the first day of school."
"What about moving up a size?" I grimace, worried I'll offend her. "I mean, maybe that's part of the problem."
"Are you saying I'm fat?"
"I'm only saying that your curvy and totally cute figure might be more size-ten than size-eight. You've gotten like two inches taller this summer."
"I'm never going to stop growing. I'm going to be some freaky giant who can only find love at the circus."
"Rowdy seems to like you plenty."
"What if he's the only one I ever meet who likes tall girls?"
"What if he's the only one you ever need?"
Jane's mouth drops open. "Who are you and what have you done with my neurotic friend Polly?"
I shrug. "Maybe some relationships do end up happily ever after."
"Oh. My. God. You're in love."
I turn around and pretend to look for a sweater I liked, but my smile shines in the three-way mirror.
"Well, I never. Good old Xander Cooper. The guy who in fourth grade—did what?"
"Licked his desk."
"Righto."
"He's metamorphosized since then."
"Glad you finally noticed! So now you're all in love, huh?"
I shrug, not wanting to share everything just yet. "I'm only saying that just because my parents got divorced and my grandma has her lawyer on speed dial doesn't mean that some relationships can't last." I hold a sweater up to my chin. "Wouldn't this color look good for a prom dress?"
"Now, that's optimism! I'm just hoping Rowdy and I can make it through the first yearbook staff meeting."
"You're joking."
Jane slips the larger jeans over her hips. "Oh, they're so comfortable. Promise not to tell anyone my size!"
"I don't know. I've got my new honesty policy and everything." I smile. "Isn't the important thing that you're comfortable and look good?"
"You sound like your grandma's last column."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should!" She glances over her shoulder at her butt again. "So, where did you find this pair? I'm buying all of them."
"You've got your mom's credit card again?"
"I most certainly do."
After paying and gathering all her shopping bags, Jane stops for a frappuccino at the coffee bar outside Macy's. I order a much cheaper iced tea.
"Where should we shop next?" she asks. "I'm thinking I need a miniskirt and some new tights."
I shrug. "We can go wherever you want. Most of my clothing fund is going toward boat paint. I'm thinking I can streak my legs with a mariner blue so they will look almost like designer jeans."
Jane stops walking. "Did your dad freak?"
I take a long sip of iced tea. I consider making another joke. She waits patiently, not even glancing at the nearby window display. I finally whisper, "Oh yeah."
Jane crumples her lips into a sympathetic frown.
"He yelled so loud that several dogs in the neighborhood lost their hearing."
She just widens her eyes.
"He said so much stuff, as if he'd been holding it in for my entire life. It's like I've been disappointing him for years. I felt like I'd gone through his office shredder when he was done."
A tear drips down my cheek, and Jane hands me the napkin wrapped around her frappuccino. I dab my eyes. "It hurts so much. And I'm not even sure how to talk about it. I'm not very good at this feelings stuff."
"Who is?"
"I don't know. Sometimes it just seems so much easier to pretend that things are okay."
"But that leaves you carrying your burdens alone."
"It's not like they're as heavy as your shopping bags." I smirk at her.
"Yeah, well, these come with their own set of expectations—like perfect grades and majoring in prelaw at Stanford. You think I'm going to be allowed to take one single photography elective?" Jane looks down at her shopping bags, and I can tell she feels a little guilty. "We all have our crap to deal with—"
"Some of us are just better dressed for it."
Jane laughs so loud a couple of extremely well-groomed old ladies stare at us. "Yeah, and some of us have petite little figures that make all the boys swoon."
"Well, I'm not going to swoon back. Not anymore." I sip my iced tea.
"Now that you have your tall, mysterious, poetic Xander Cooper."
"X marks the spot." I grin around my straw.
Dear Miss Swoon:
Is it true that clothes make the man? My girlfriend is always nagging me to dress up when we go out with her friends. I say, shouldn't they like me for who I am?
—What's One Little Hole
Dear What's:
You seem to have a hole in your head when it comes to acceptable manners. Just because it's your favorite T-shirt doesn't mean it belongs in her favorite restaurant. Make her day and let her take you shopping!
—Miss Swoon
Not Shakespeare's Sonnet
HOOK-UPdates:
Polly Martin and Xander Cooper: Finally, guys! Emily Wright and Luther Smith: Cutest s'more-making sophomores ever!
Me: Nothing. But I'm okay with that. (See, Mom? Dad? No need to phone a therapist.)
New Contest: Prom Partner Predictions!!! Let's start the school year by pairing the new seniors into Prom Partners. You predict the breakups, makeups, make-outs, and wanna-be-left-outs. There will be prizes for most accurate, most creative, and most delusional!!!!!
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I watch the breeze ruffle through the leaves above me as I lie with my head in Xander's lap. Such a simple thing, a tree. Yet, it takes this complicated process of roots and photosynthesis to make it grow. And I've realized that everything is that way: complex. We've walked down to a small park in our neighborhood. Not too far away Dex and Kyra climb on the playground equipment. Xander twists one of my curls around his finger.
"You sure I can't talk you into joining the academic team? We could use a science geek like you."
"I'm not a geek."
"Just thirty seconds ago you were explaining xylem and phlegm to me."
"Phloem. Just remember the phloem helps the nutrients flow throughout the tree."
Xander smiles. "Like I said, we could use a geek like you." He tickles my neck with his fingers. A leaf falls, brushing his hair, falling into mine. "The tree says yes."
"It's just that I don't want to join another club for a boy. You realize that if I do in fact score a college interview, when they ask me about my interests, I'll have to say, 'Oh yes. I joined the Nature Club because, you see, there was this guy.' I don't even need a diary. I've got an academic transcript that details my broken hearts."
He tilts my chin so that I'm looking at him. "I'm not going to break your heart."
I smile, even as fear prickles through me. He keeps saying things to reassure me, but I've started to focus on actions, not words. More than one drunk guy at a party has proclaimed undying love for me—if only I'd join him upstairs in an empty room. I've given up affirmations, snappy advice columns, blog gossip—I've got to find something that fits my scientific mind. Actions = empirical evidence.
Swoon at Your Own Risk Page 21
