I guess that kind of stuff doesn’t always make sense.
“Well . . .” Jeffrey’s voice trailed off as he studied the fountain. A little girl with pigtails and a pink dress was walking back and forth on the lip. If I were that little girl, I would have jumped in a long time ago. The clean water on a warm day was just too tempting.
“Maybe we should try again.”
Jeffrey’s sentence was so out of the blue that for a minute, I thought he was saying something about the fountain. But when I turned to face him, I saw that he was staring at me.
“Maybe we should start over.” Jeffrey picked up my hand and turned it over, studying my palm. I wondered vaguely whether my future was written there and if he could see it. “I mean, we have a lot of fun together, don’t we? You know—with shoot the freak, and the Polish food festival . . .”
“Right . . .” I said vaguely. I guess those things had been fun, in a bizarre kind of way. But, you know, not in a way that I necessarily wanted to repeat.
Jeffrey’s blue eyes were hopeful. My heart ached. He really was such a sweetheart. “Jeffrey,” I said, squeezing his hand, “I think you’re really great. . . .” I paused, unsure what else to say. The truth was, I really liked Jeffrey. And I still really wanted someone . . . especially now that it looked like Marcus was going to be with Glenn. I mean, it would be so great if the four of us worked out—we could all get married in a double wedding and have homes on the same block.
There was only one thing wrong with the picture.
“You’re really great,” I repeated.
My words hung in the air.
“It sounds like you want to add a ‘but’ to that sentence,” Jeffrey said after a few moments.
I looked down at our interlaced fingers. “But I just think we’re better off as friends.”
I felt Jeffrey’s body deflate as he let out a long sigh. But eventually he nodded.
I peered up into his face. “Is that okay?”
“Well . . .” Jeffrey shrugged. “I guess it will have to be.”
I gave his hand a squeeze. “So,” I said finally. “What are you doing right now?”
“I don’t have any plans.”
I felt in the pocket of my low-rise jeans and fished out a pair of movie tickets. “Well . . . since we’re friends . . . want to go see a movie with me?” I asked. “We missed the three-thirty, but there’s another show in about an hour.”
“Sure.” Jeffrey stood up, then tugged on my hand, pulling me up with him. “What’s the movie?”
I smiled down at the King Kong tickets in my hand. “Oh, you’ll love it,” I promised him. “It’s all about animal rights.”
“Quit hogging it,” Marcus griped as he reached for the popcorn.
I smacked his hand. “Hey—I did the cooking. I do the eating.” I stuffed a handful of kernels into my mouth.
Marcus rolled his eyes. “I’d hardly call shoving a bag of Orville Redenbacher’s into the microwave ‘cooking.’”
“That’s because you understand nothing about the domestic arts,” I told him. “If you’re going to complain so much, why don’t you just go hang out with your new boyfriend?” I teased.
My best friend gave me a bored look. “Saturday night is our night, remember?”
I grinned and held out the big bowl of popcorn. “Good answer.”
Marcus took a handful of kernels, then pressed play on the remote as I settled back onto the comfy old couch in his family’s rec room. I love the furniture at his place—all of it is old and sturdy and comfy, and Mr. Beauregard doesn’t care if you put your feet on the table or anything.
An Indian voice blared from the TV as the opening credits for Kal Ho Naa Ho rolled. It was a Bollywood musical, and I’d seen it before—but it was such a tearjerker that when Marcus had said he wanted to watch it, of course I’d said yes. Plus, it had this really great number called “It’s the Time to Disco.”
“Hey, kids!” Patricia chirped as she stuck her head into the room. “Whatcha watchin’?” She was wearing a pink straw cowboy hat and a pink blouse, long denim skirt, and cowboy boots.
Marcus eyed her skeptically and hit the mute button. “Where are you headed? Back to Line ’Em Up?”
“Not till tomorrow!” Patricia said brightly. “I’m just tryin’ on all my outfits. How about this one, honey?” she asked me.
“Perfect,” I told her.
“Arthur is picking me up at six. You two want to come with?” she asked, giving Marcus a heavily mascara-ed wink. “Another double date?”
Marcus looked at me, and I lifted my eyebrows at him. How are you going to handle this, Marcus? I thought at him. I knew he’d always played it off with her as though he and I were a kind of quasi couple. And I wasn’t about to blow his cover. But the fact was, he had a date with Glenn the next day—they were going to catch the Sunday double feature at the Fairlane.
“Actually,” Marcus said finally, “I’ve got a date with someone else tomorrow. This guy named Glenn.”
A popcorn kernel got lodged in my throat and I choked. Seriously. Like the face-turning-blue kind of choke.
“You okay, honey?” Patricia asked. “Marcus, sweetie, pass Frannie that glass of water.”
Marcus handed me the water that was sitting on the coffee table, and I took a long gulp. The kernel dislodged itself, and I stared at him, fish-eyed. He’d just come out with it! Just like that! What the hell? Had Patricia even noticed?
It was almost like, ever since Marcus had confronted Jeffrey, he just said stuff. Stuff that wasn’t in code. It took a little getting used to.
Marcus grinned at me as I finished the water and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. “Thanks,” I gasped. “I’m all better now.”
“So,” Patricia said to Marcus, “you finally have a boyfriend.” She walked over and sat on the arm of the couch. “Is he hot?”
Marcus looked a little weirded out. “B-b-but don’t you . . .” he sputtered. “I mean . . . you’re not . . .”
“Totally,” I answered for him. “He is totally and utterly hot.”
Patricia grinned. “That’s my boy!”
“Wait a minute,” Marcus said, staring at his grandmother. “Aren’t you surprised?”
“Surprised?” Patricia laughed. “I was just waiting for you to tell me!” She looked at me like, Can you believe this guy? and shook her head.
“I have to admit,” she continued, “I’m just a little jealous.”
“Jealous?” Marcus repeated. “What about Arthur?”
“Oh, Arthur,” Patricia said dismissively, waving her hand, “He wants a boyfriend too. Meanwhile, we’ve got each other.” She winked again, this time at me. “Just like you two.”
Marcus stared at me like he thought he’d just been beamed onto a strange planet. So—Patricia had had our number all along! She’d never bought that we were a couple. We should’ve known better than to try to put one over on a sharp Southern lady like her. What were we thinking?
“So, Frannie,” Patricia said, “sounds like you’re free tomorrow. Do you want to come with?” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “A certain super-cute cowboy was asking about you last week. . . .”
My heart did a skippy little thud at the thought of Sundance—his dark eyes and lean limbs. Maybe I’d actually ask him his name this time. “Sure,” I said.
“Great!” Patricia hopped off the arm of the couch. “Then it’s a date. See ya tomorrow!” Whistling, she bounced out of the rec room.
I turned back to Marcus, who was staring at me skeptically. “What?” I demanded.
“A cowboy?”
“Well . . . I’ve got boots. And a big belt buckle,” I told him. Besides, I mused, why not a cowboy? I thought about Glenn—about how Marcus had been so sure that he didn’t like him when, really, he’d been falling in love with him all along. And I thought about Jeffrey—how he was the perfect guy for me . . . on paper. But when it comes to love, these things don’t always make sense. “I guess
you just never know. Do you?”
Smiling, Marcus sat back against the couch and put his arm around me. I rested my head against his shoulder. “I guess you never do,” he said.
Coda
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<< TDIXON35: Tell you what. You come with me to the concert on Friday, and you can pick what we do on Sunday.>>
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Acknowledgements
Lisa Papademetriou
A big, fat THANK YOU to all who helped and supported me throughout the strange and wonderful collaborative process that was the creation of this book. Extra-special shout-outs to Kristen Pettit, Liesa Abrams, and—of course—the fabulous Christopher Tebbetts.
Chris Tebbetts
Many people have asked me what it’s like to write a book with someone else. The answer is that it’s a huge pleasure, as long as that someone else is Lisa Papademetriou. Working with her was like finding a room in my brain I never knew was there. Meanwhile, we had two fairy god-mothers at Razorbill, in Kristen Pettit and Liesa Abrams, who make me want to put quotation marks around the “work” that this whole thing was. Thanks also to the Friday night gang at Outright Vermont and the Champlain Valley Union High School GSA for their time and opinions. And, lastly—and always—thank you to Jonathan Radigan and Laura Wasserman, for being my real-life M and F.
M or F? Page 21
