Rachel and Izzy start talking about Scoop’s column again while I make my rounds with the coffee.
“You know what bugs me the most?” I ask, sliding back into the conversation. “That Mariah participated. She’s helping the enemy.”
“She’d never pass up a chance for exposure,” Izzy says. “I heard she’s mailing the calendar out with her demo to music video producers.”
Izzy picks up a ton of gossip at her parents’ salon. Mariah’s mother is a regular customer, as is Mac’s.
“The guys’ team isn’t technically the enemy,” Rachel reminds me. “We all want to win the holiday, so it’s in our best interest to cooperate.”
“Mac is participating in the girls’ date auction,” Izzy says. “His mother told my mother that he’s hoping Mariah will bid on him.”
“It’s a long shot,” I say. Mac’s sports-hero status only goes so far with Mariah. She generally only dates “up”—meaning seniors and occasional juniors if business is slow.
Izzy twists the green streak in her hair thoughtfully. “Rachel might be right—Mac could be Scoop. He gave some good ink to Mariah.”
“All the guys like Mariah,” I say.
“But he quoted that comment we overheard,” Rachel says. “You know, about putting ‘kick in the campaign.’”
“She could have said it to a lot of people,” I say. “It sounded like a slogan.”
“But would Mac be able to quote a designer?” Izzy asks.
I concede that Mac is probably only capable of quoting basketball stats. But another possible suspect comes quickly to mind. “Tyler Milano could probably quote a designer. Plus he said he wants to be a columnist.”
“A food critic,” Rachel says. “Besides, Tyler’s too nice to be Scoop.”
“You barely met him,” I say.
“Actually, I talked to him for ages last night.” She drinks the last of her coffee, a grin appearing around the rim of her mug. I stare at her until she adds, “Tyler and Jason walked me home after school.”
Izzy and I squeal so loud that Paz and crew imitate us from their booth.
“Fembos don’t squeal, Shorty,” Paz calls.
“Ignore him,” Izzy says. “We have important business here.”
Rachel explains that she happened to bump into Jason at his locker after class.
“How many passes did you have to make?” I ask. I know the technique and I’ve used it myself.
“Seven,” she admits with a laugh. “But it was worth it. I said I was walking home, and Jason said he was heading my way. It was all going perfectly until Tyler came along and joined us. Not that I have anything against Tyler,” she adds. “I just wanted to be alone with Jason.”
“Did you ask him out?” asks Izzy, who advocates a more direct approach, although she’s never used it.
Rachel shakes her head. “But I did mention we’d be here today, and he said he might stop by. Maybe he’ll bring Tyler, Lu.”
“Tyler might have FB potential, but if he also has Scoop potential, I’m not interested.”
“He isn’t Scoop,” Rachel insists. “I’m sure of it.”
I’m not sure, but there’s no denying that I’m happy when Tyler walks in with Jason ten minutes later. They’re with a third guy, who isn’t in a hurry to take off his sunglasses.
The guy in shades trips over the leg of Paz’s chair as he passes.
“Watch where you’re going,” Paz says, mopping up the soda that splashed onto his overalls.
“Shades” stops walking. “Your chair is in the middle of the aisle.”
“There’s plenty of room to go around,” Paz counters.
I feel that flutter of anxiety I always get when testosterone flares in the diner. This isn’t the first time Paz’s chair has leaped into the path of a non-Donner guy. The more affected someone looks, the more likely that chair is to move. Shades was asking for it.
Dan appears in the kitchen doorway. “Quit it, boys.”
“Sorry, sir,” Shades says. “Just a misunderstanding.” He waits till Dan is out of earshot and adds, “Maybe if these morons had stayed in school, they’d have learned the chair goes under the table.”
I feel the flutter again, and this time it’s accompanied by defensiveness. It’s one thing for me to make jokes about the Dunfield dropouts who join Donner’s “Chocolate Graduate Program,” but it’s another for some stranger to do it. Particularly when one of the dropouts is basically my brother-in-law.
Joey is the first to return fire. “Staying in school hasn’t done you much good. Or don’t they cover manners till college?”
“I guess you’ll never know,” Shades says.
Tyler tugs on his friend’s sleeve. “Leave it, Rico.”
Dan reappears from the kitchen, and the posturing ends instantly. By the time Jason, Tyler, and Rico reach us, they’re smiling and the testosterone is directed where it should be—at us. Rico finally takes off his sunglasses.
“Nice outfit,” Tyler says, smiling as he runs his eyes over my uniform.
“If I’d known Mr. Fantastic would be here, I’d have dressed up,” I say.
Tyler doesn’t get a chance to make a comeback before Jason and Rico start teasing him. I finally come to the rescue by telling them about my customer’s comic book collection.
With Dan watching Rico disapprovingly, I suggest that everyone move to a table.
Tyler is still looking at the menu when I go over to take their order. “It doesn’t get any better the longer you look at it,” I say. I point out the lassos, Dan’s specialty. They’re just onion rings, but the Texas allusion gives them some glamour. “Try those.”
“Lassos?” he asks, pulling out the empty chair beside him and motioning for me to sit. “Tell me about them.”
“The chef starts with the finest onions,” I begin, perching on the chair. “He slices them finely and dips them in a batter made from his mother’s secret recipe. Then he deep fries them to golden glory in oil that’s been around since the diner opened in ’73. You can taste the history on your tongue.”
“An excellent review,” Tyler says, laughing. “Very tempting.”
Paz’s falsetto rings out across the diner. “Oh, waitress! When you’re finished socializing, could you settle our tab? Some of us have to work for a living.”
Since Shirley is on break, I meet him at the cash register. “You don’t have to embarrass me, Paz.”
“I do, Shorty, and you’ll thank me later. Those guys are losers.”
“You started it.”
“You know I hate the smell of Dunfield dweeb,” he says. “Besides, it’s my job to remind them that school is not their only option: they have choices in life.”
I laugh in spite of myself. Paz is wasted on truffles. If he used that brain properly, he’d accomplish great things.
He punches me lightly on the arm. “Give Keira a kiss for me. But don’t tell Grace.”
“Okay, but I wish you’d tell Grace yourself.”
He takes the long way out so that he can clomp heavily past Rico’s table in his work boots.
Tyler pulls up in front of my building and cuts the engine on his Honda Civic.
I’m trying not to read too much into the fact that he offered to drive me home before meeting Jason, Rachel, Rico, and Izzy at the movie theater. It was only ten minutes out of his way, after all. He’s just a nice guy.
“Are you sure you can’t come with us?” he asks, turning the key so we can still hear the music.
“I wish I could, but I have plans.” More like orders to babysit, but I’d rather let him think I’m doing something more interesting. “Don’t you love this song? I’ve been playing it so much that my sister hid my CD.”
Tyler starts talking about the music, and I wait for a sign that he might be my FB. I could totally see myself with a guy like him; someone with an arty, intellectual edge. Last month I wouldn’t have aspired to arty/intellectual, but times have changed. I’m a columnist now.
When he stops talking, I unhook my seat belt and gather my things. I’m not going to ask him out. Izzy says I’m old-fashioned, but I think it works better if guys do the asking. “Thanks for the lift, Tyler. You’re going to miss the movie if you don’t hurry.”
“Maybe we can do this again sometime,” he says. “Better yet, we could go for dinner. I know this great Italian place.”
Arty FB’s always know the best Italian places.
“What about Sue Storm?” I ask. “I can’t afford to piss off the Invisible Woman.”
He gives me an FB smile. “I should probably do the right thing and break up with her first.”
I give him an FG smile. “You’d dump Sue for me?”
The sign from the Chinese restaurant across the street reflects in Tyler’s glasses, orange and pink and blue—his own neon rainbow. “Maybe,” he says. “Would you mind if I kissed you before I decide?”
“That seems fair. It’s a big decision.”
Fortunately, the shortage of B in my life doesn’t mean I’m a novice kisser. There was Porter Bell, of course, who kissed me at the eighth-grade prom. Shortly after that, I met Blake Wilson, whose family moved into an apartment just down the hall from ours. He kissed me in the elevator once, and I like to think he’d have made first FB status if Grace hadn’t been standing in the hall glaring when the doors opened.
Last, and definitely best, there was Anton, the dishwasher Dan hired for the summer before I started at Dumpfield. Three years my senior, Anton was the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen. I traded shifts all summer so that I could stare at his rippling muscles as he lifted trays of dishes, but I never got the nerve to say much to him before he quit for a new job at an upscale restaurant. When he was punching out for the last time, I walked into the staff office. We sort of circled each other for a second, and then he grabbed me and kissed me. I held on to his belt for dear life and didn’t let go until Grace walked in and glowered at us. She just stood there, and filled the tiny office with her attitude until Anton gave up and left with a muttered good-bye. I never saw him again.
That was over a year ago, and I hope I haven’t forgotten how it’s done. I lean toward Tyler and he leans toward me. Our lips touch for a mere moment before a sudden noise makes us leap apart. Someone is rapping on the windshield. With a sippy cup.
Grace stands over the car, glowering yet again, with Keira on one hip. Her eyebrow studs look like a row of nails drilled right into her head.
“Do you know her?” Tyler asks.
My plan was to avoid mentioning the teenage-mother issue before having the whole B thing locked down. Tyler might think I have similar ambitions. “My sister.”
I step out of the car, and Grace is on me instantly. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yeah, it’s a full hour before your shift starts.”
“I have to pick up some things on my way in.”
“You should have said so earlier. I can’t read your mind.”
Tyler opens his door and comes around the car to meet Grace, which is pretty brave of him.
“Grace,” I say, “This is—”
“I don’t care.” She thrusts Keira into my arms and walks away. “I’ve got a bus to catch.”
I apologize to Tyler. “I’d like to say she’s not usually that rude, but unfortunately she is.”
He reaches out to Keira and asks, “Who’s this?”
Keira recoils and unleashes an ear-piercing wail. “My niece.”
He backs away. “Sorry, sorry. I guess I should get to the movie.”
I hope Mr. Fantastic is up to a challenge.
I settle Keira in front of her favorite Barney movie and head into the bedroom to check my e-mail. The phone rings.
“Well?” Rachel asks.
“How come you’re not in the movie?” Tiptoeing to the bedroom door, I peek into the living room and confirm that Keira is now sound asleep on the couch. I close my door and settle onto the bed so that my voice doesn’t wake her.
“We snuck out for a minute,” Rachel says. “So we’ll have to talk fast.”
“How’d it go with Tyler?” Izzy calls from behind Rachel. “We couldn’t get much out of him before the movie started.”
“Well, for starters, he asked me out, and then he kissed me.” A general squawk of excitement reverberates at the other end. It sounds like eight people. “Where are you guys?”
“In the restroom,” Rachel says. “So then what happened?”
“He’s kissing me, and it’s great, and then Grace comes out with Keira and bangs on the window.”
“Oh, crap,” Izzy says.
“I know! He got out of the car to meet her, but you know how Grace is.”
Now there’s a chorus of dismay. “Grace ruins everything,” Rachel says.
My sentiments exactly!
“Well, don’t give up,” Izzy says. “If Tyler likes you, Grace won’t scare him off.”
If Grace could scare off Anton, she can scare off Tyler.
Rachel apparently agrees, because she suggests that I call him instead of waiting for him to call me. “I think he’s worth it, Lu. He’s smart and cute. Plus, he’s got a car. His parents just bought it for him because they’re moving to West Ridge and Tyler wants to finish the year at Dunfield.”
West Ridge is a pretty nice neighborhood. His parents’ catering business must be taking off.
“Maybe I will,” I say, just to get them off the subject. It works, too.
“We’ll strategize tomorrow,” Izzy says, before they hang up.
After checking on Keira again, I take out my iPod and lie down on the bed for a moment and replay the car scene in my mind the way it should have gone. I’d add about two minutes on to the kiss and then make a smooth, casual departure. “Call me,” I’d say as I opened the door. “We’ll see how fantastic you really are.”
Tyler. It’s a good name for a boyfriend. I know that he’s not my boyfriend yet, but he might be soon. And then I’ll be a whole new Lu Perez—the one with the boyfriend who has his own car. The one whose boyfriend lives in West Ridge. The one whose boyfriend wants to be a food critic someday.
Tyler and Lu. It works. It really works. It sounds like an upscale clothing store, or a swanky restaurant. A swanky restaurant that serves food worthy of a critic.
We’re in New York City at a hip, new restaurant Tyler is reviewing for the Times. He orders five or six different dishes to sample.
“Try the paella,” he says.
“I can’t,” I say. “I don’t do spicy.”
“You do now. You’ve got to expand your horizons, Lu. A girl cannot live on meat loaf alone.”
He extends a forkful of paella. It’s an explosion of flavor in my mouth. Hot, but not too hot. “Wow! Amazing!” I say.
“I know,” he says. “And so are you.”
We gaze at each other across the tiny, candlelit table. The moment is perfect…
Except for that annoying noise in the background.
I yank off my headphones and sit up, realizing that I’ve been sleeping. And my cell phone is ringing. I fumble for it, hoping it’s Tyler. If it is, I want to sound cool and casual.
“Hello?” Just right. I sound almost bored.
“You sound awfully calm,” Grace says.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
There’s a laugh at her end, but she doesn’t sound amused. “You don’t even know, do you?”
“Know what?” I ask, suddenly worried.
“How’s Keira?”
“Fine,” I say, already on my feet. “She’s asleep on the—Oh, no!”
“Missing something?”
I’m running around the apartment now, opening doors and pulling curtains aside. “Is this a trick, Grace? If it is, it isn’t funny.”
“No, it isn’t funny,” she agrees. “Where’s my baby, Lu?”
“You must know,” I say, getting down on my knees and peering under the couch. “Or you’d be freaking out too.”
; “But you’re the one looking after her.”
For a second I wonder if I’m actually having a nightmare right now. Maybe if I just admit the truth I’ll wake up. “I don’t know where she is, Grace. I don’t know.”
Grace lets my hysteria rise for a moment before saying, “Mrs. Maneiro found her wandering in the hall.”
I try to come up with a good excuse, but there is no good excuse. “I must have dozed off, Grace. Keira was asleep on the couch and I thought she’d be okay.”
“You’ve got to chain the door, Lu. You’ve got to watch her.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
It’s not enough. Grace is just getting warmed up. “You think you’re too good to watch my kid, now, don’t you?”
“Of course not. Don’t yell.” Everyone in the diner is probably staring at her and listening in. My regulars will realize I’m a terrible aunt.
“Ever since you started writing, you’re all full of yourself. Well here’s a news flash, Lu: you’re nothing special. You’re no better than the rest of us. In fact, you’re worse than the rest of us. You’re useless.”
Before I can say another word, she slams the phone down, nearly blowing out my eardrum.
Chapter 5
Rachel and I stop and wait for Izzy to catch up. Her stiletto boots keep getting stuck in the grass as we walk across Dunfield’s back field toward the bleachers.
“I don’t understand why they’re holding this outside,” Izzy grumbles, scraping dirt off her heels. “It’s not a sporting event.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” I say. “This is a competition. Expect a fistfight or two.”
“Over Mariah, probably,” Izzy says.
The date auction is taking place on a makeshift stage erected in the center of the track because attendance is expected to be so high. Hundreds of students are already milling around, although the auction itself doesn’t start for nearly an hour.
“It’s all material for Newshound, right, Lu?” Rachel asks.
When I shrug, Izzy asks, “What’s wrong?”
I start walking again, and they follow. “I’m thinking of quitting the Bulletin.”
“But you were so into it last week,” Izzy says. “It’s not because Scoop called you a dog, is it?”
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