by Kieran Scott
David looked at me dubiously, and I paused, suddely hot with guilt. Did he realize I was trying too hard? When he’d asked me to come to the mall this afternoon to help him construct a new look for his band, I’d practically pole-vaulted at the chance, feeling like I somehow had to atone for all my Jakesession over the past week of morning detentions. But all I’d been thinking about since arriving at the Garden State Plaza an hour ago was how I had to break up with him. How I liked him too much to do this to him anymore. My stomach was in knots, my heart was in pain, and my brain felt like it was going to explode from trying to make myself appear chipper when I was anything but.
I kept thinking about that moment before Christmas. When he’d held my hand and jokingly made me promise that if I went to the Crestie going away party, I’d come back. He was so cute and clueless to the fact that I was the most awful girlfriend ever. And now it looked like I was never coming back.
“I don’t know. It’s kind of seventies,” he said. “Besides, do you really want my groupies to be all over me?”
He looped his arms around my waist and gave me a quick kiss on the lips.
I was a horrible person. A horrible, dishonest, nefarious person.
David turned away without waiting for an answer. As he flipped through a rack of plaid cowboy-style shirts, I felt like I was going to cry.
“What about this?” He lifted a distressed waffle-knit T-shirt off a separate rack.
“Jake has that shirt,” I said, before I could edit myself.
David’s face fell. He turned and jammed the shirt back on the rack. “Never mind.”
“Sorry. I just . . .” I followed after him, my underarms prickling. Was it always so damn hot in this place? “Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing,” David said facetiously. “But do you even realize that’s, like, the tenth time you’ve mentioned Jake today?”
He turned to face me between two huge racks of Tommy Hilfiger sweaters, his jacket folded over both hands. This was it. This was my chance. I had to tell him the truth. I had to tell him how I felt about Jake. He’d just given me the perfect opening.
“Ten times?” I said with a gulp. “Come on.”
Chicken. Sorry-ass chicken.
“Okay, ten is a stretch, but still. In the Gap that guy behind the counter looked just like him, and in the food court? That whole story about how he ate five Egg McMuffins one morning during detention?”
Crap. Was it really that bad?
“Um, that adds up to three,” I joked lamely.
“You like him, don’t you?” David said.
Okay. It was now or never. I took a deep breath and held it for a moment. This was going to suck. Hard. “David, I’m really sorry—”
“I knew it!” He turned away from me and started speed walking for the aisle. “I am such an idiot. The guy asked you to dance right in the middle of me asking you out. If that’s not a sign, what is?”
“David. Come on. Wait up!” I said, hustling after him as best I could with my bulky coat over my arm and my bag slung over my shoulder. “Can we just talk about this?”
We burst out into the aisle, and a woman wielding a perfume bottle squeaked as she sidestepped out of our way. David stopped in front of a Calvin Klein fragrance display and whirled on me. I’d never seen him angry before, and it was not a good look for him. His face was all blotchy, his nostrils flared, his eyes wet. My heart collapsed in on itself. It was my fault he looked like that. All my fault.
“What’s to talk about? My girlfriend likes some other guy,” he said, looking me dead in the eye. “So I guess she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”
Ouch. That hurt everywhere. David turned on his heel and stormed away.
“David. Wait!”
I wasn’t sure why I was calling after him. What I expected to say. I just didn’t want him to leave like that. I didn’t want him to leave hating me so much that his entire walk was different.
And just like that, my first relationship ended. With all the Macy’s fragrance-spritzing ladies as an audience. I supposed I should have been relieved. I’d known for weeks this was going to happen, and now it was finally over. But I’d hurt David. Just like Annie had predicted I would. And he was definitely one of the top four people I never wanted to see hurt.
february
God, I hate Valentine’s Day. Whose idea was this stupid holiday anyway? Are they dead, or can I still kill them?
Whatever. It’s one day.
Says the girl who has the boyfriend.
Well, don’t worry. I sent you a flower.
Ugh! The flowers! I forgot about the stupid flowers.
I only ever get the white ones. It’s so humiliating.
Well, the flower sale is the cheerleaders’ thing. Maybe you can just kill them.
Huh. That might make me feel better.
At least you’re not a leper like Ally Ryan. Now that
Dorkus Drake dumped her I bet she gets nothing.
Oh, sad. But that would make me feel better.
ally
Valentine’s Day. The moment Quinn bounced into my homeroom wearing a fake cotton diaper over her Seven For All Mankind jeans, carrying a foam bow and arrow and a quiver full of carnations, I knew I should have stayed in bed. It was an annual cheerleading fund-raiser, selling flowers for V-Day. White meant friendship. Pink meant secret admirer. Red, true love. The order forms had been handed out the week before. I’d torn mine up into exactly forty-eight pieces before tossing it into the garbage.
I wasn’t with David, who refused to return my texts, my e-mails, and my calls and was now sitting with his bandmates at lunch every day. I wasn’t with Jake, who I hadn’t spoken to since our detention stint had ended almost a month ago because he’d never approached me in public, which made me feel like I shouldn’t approach him—which, after all the fun we’d had together, seriously sucked. And my mom was going away to the Adirondacks with Gray Nathanson for the weekend. Valentine’s Day could bite me.
“Flower delivery! Someone loves you!” Quinn announced, bouncing down the aisle distributing flowers. When she stopped next to my desk, I almost dead-legged her. “Hi, Ally! Somebody loves you!”
My heart stopped as she reached into her quiver and extracted a huge bundle of pink carnations tied with a red ribbon. Her grin was wide as she placed them in front of me. Probably she felt happy that I wasn’t as big of a loser as she’d thought. I, however, was stunned speechless. Then she took out one lone pink and dropped that in front of me too.
“Who’re they from?” Annie asked as Quinn moved on.
I flipped over the white slip on the bouquet. It had been decorated by the cheerleaders with glittering heart stickers, but the message was simple and written in careful letters.
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY
—Your secret admirer
Next to the signature was a small drawing of a sword and shield.
My knight in shining armor. I almost laughed out loud. Unbelievable. Jake had sent me Valentine’s Day flowers. What did this mean? Did he like me? Was he going to ask me out? Or was he just trying to do something nice for me? Every day since detention ended, I had missed being with him. Maybe this was his way of telling me he missed me, too. That he wanted us to talk or something.
Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t all bad.
“Well?” Annie prodded.
“I don’t know,” I replied, avoiding eye contact. “Pink is secret admirer, remember?”
The tag on the second flower was blank. I had a feeling I knew who it was from, and I suddenly felt unpleasantly warm. Hammond had sent me a secret admirer flower that last Valentine’s Day before I left, even though he and Chloe were already going out. What was wrong with him? Was he just messing with me? Trying to be nostalgic? Or did he actually still like me?
But no. A person who likes you doesn’t help his friends prank you and invite you to parties that aren’t there. They don’t completely avoid talking to you for six months straight and the
n send you one lame flower. No. He was just messing with me. That had to be it.
Quinn deposited a white flower on Annie’s desk. I could see David’s handwriting on the slip and felt a momentary pang. If we’d never gone out, if we’d stayed just friends, I’d probably be receiving one from him now too. But I’d royally screwed up that one. Even though I understood why he wasn’t speaking to me, it sucked that he wouldn’t let me apologize. I missed him, too. Just in a completely different way than I missed Jake.
“Oh my God,” Annie said, staring at the flower.
“What?”
“Logan didn’t send me a flower,” she said, glancing at Quinn’s retreating back. “For the first time in three years, Logan Pincus did not send me a red flower.”
“But that’s a good thing, right?” I asked.
She slumped back in her chair. “I don’t know.”
I laughed. “Girl, you have some issues. Here. Want this one, too?” I said, tossing the extra pink at her.
“Oh, you have so many that you can give a few away to the pathetic masses?” she joked.
“Fine. Give it back,” I said lightly.
She held the flower to her chest with a pout. “No! It makes me feel loved.”
I laughed as the bell rang and everyone scrambled to their feet. I tried to shove my bouquet into my messenger bag, but there were too many. Instead I was forced to carry them in the crook of my arm like some pageant contestant.
“Well, obviously they’re from Jake,” Annie whispered as we hit the crowded corridor. All around us, people squealed over one another’s flowers, thanking one another and debating who their secret admirers were.
“Uh, no,” I said, even as I blushed.
“Why not? How many other guys have you besotted since you’ve been here?” Annie demanded, sidestepping another quiver-wielding cheerleader.
“Jake is not besotted by me,” I said through my teeth, looking around to make sure neither he nor any of his friends was in earshot. What was I going to do when I saw him? What was he going to do?
“Please. I have the evidence right here in my notes,” Annie said, whipping her sticker-covered notebook out of her bag. “He asks you to dance in front of all his anti-Ally friends, he takes back bad Shannen Moore pranks, he gets arrested for you and lands in detention. Look up besotted in the dictionary, my friend, because there will be a droopy-eyed picture of Jake Graydon. And you like him, too. Look! You’re all red!”
“Can we drop this?” I hissed.
I had just spotted Shannen, Faith, Chloe, and Trista up ahead, and Shannen was holding almost as many flowers as I was, but hers were almost all white.
“Wow. Who’re they all from?” Trista asked Shannen as we walked by.
“Pink’s from Trevor. He sends one every year. And I got a white one from all my friends,” she said, lifting them like a shrug. “Except Jake. He doesn’t do flowers.”
Annie and I exchanged a smile, and I could hardly contain my smug glee.
“He does flowers for some people,” Annie sang under her breath. And I cracked up, this bubbly, silly joy gurgling inside of me. Shannen shot us a look, but I was ninety-nine percent sure it was because we were being weird, not because she’d heard Annie.
I rounded the corner, expecting at every moment to see Jake. Should I say hello? Smile? Ignore him? Play it cool? But as I came into the front hall I found myself face to face not with Jake, but David. His eyes widened and his face paled. And then he noticed the flowers.
“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”
It was the first time he’d said anything to me in over a month. My spirits surged with hope.
“Hey, David!”
“Looks like you’re having a good Valentine’s Day,” he said flatly.
“Oh, these? Yeah, they’re probably from some loser freshman or something,” I said, waving the flowers around like a Fourth of July sparkler. “No biggie. How are you?”
“Fine.” He looked away.
“Good!” I replied brightly.
“Yeah, well . . . see ya.” He ducked his head and skirted around me. “Hey, Annie,” he muttered as he passed.
I let out a breath and leaned sideways against the brick wall. My heart couldn’t take this many emotional shifts so early in the morning. “Well. That sucked.”
“Don’t worry,” Annie said. “He’ll be all right.”
“Yeah. But will we ever be friends again?” I asked.
Annie lifted her shoulders. “Probably,” she said. “Unless you start going out with your ‘secret admirer,’” she added, tossing in some air quotes. “Then all bets are off.”
ally
That afternoon there was a pink slip on my desk in Spanish class. For the past two weeks all the juniors had been getting called to the guidance office to talk about college applications. Looked like it was my turn. As I strolled into the office, my heart instantly sank. Hammond Ross was sitting on the couch in the waiting area, slumped back with his legs splayed. He sat up straight the moment he saw me.
“I’m here for Mrs. Porter,” I said to the secretary.
“She’ll be with you in just a sec, hon,” she replied as she typed frantically on her keyboard. “Have a seat.”
I looked over at the couch. If possible, Hammond sat up even straighter, then shifted his bag to the floor to make room for me. Fabtastic. I walked over and dropped down next to him.
“Hey, Al. Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said.
“Yeah. You too,” I replied flatly.
“Got any big plans?” he teased.
I blew out a sigh. “No.”
“Looks like you got a lot of flowers there.” He leaned forward as if to see them better, his hands folded between his knees. “I’m impressed a Norm would spring for something like that.”
“How do you know they’re from a Norm?” I snapped.
He laughed. Like anything else was inconceivable. Imagine if he knew they were from his best friend.
“Come on, Al. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“I don’t know, Ham. They’re secret admirer flowers,” I said in a condescending tone.
“Huh.” He dropped down against the back of the couch again. “When you get a bunch like that, I guess you don’t notice one more.”
I turned and looked him in the eye for the first time, my heart pounding blood through my veins at an alarming rate. Hammond’s dark blue eyes danced happily, like he was oh so proud of himself.
“So, it was from you.”
He shrugged and looked away. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Have you forgotten that you have a girlfriend?” I said through my teeth, feeling warm and conspicuous and like I wanted to be anywhere but there.
“So?” he said, grinning at me. “Didn’t matter the last time.”
“You are such a pig!” I blurted.
The secretary looked over at us with that expression of impatience that half the faculty wore every day.
“I’m just kidding!” Hammond replied at a half whisper, like I was being so immature. “Calm down.”
“I am calm,” I said. “But just so we’re clear, that night was a mistake, okay?”
A slight, embarrassed blush rose up onto his cheeks, and I instantly felt bad for being so blunt.
“Whatever,” he said. He slumped down on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a petulant kindergartner. “I was just trying to be nice. I figured no one would send you flowers, and I didn’t want you to walk around school all day feeling all pathetic.”
“Well, guess what? I did get flowers. So you didn’t have to take pity on me,” I shot back.
Mrs. Porter walked out of her cubicle with another student and sent him on his way. I was out of my seat, clutching my bag and my carnations, before she could even say my name.
“And if you want to be nice to me, how about you stop acting like I don’t exist when you see me in the halls?” I said, looking back at Hammond. “I’d appreciate that a lot more than a flower
.”
He shook his head in exasperation, still staring straight ahead, but I could tell by the increased blotchiness of his face that he’d heard what I’d said. Maybe, just maybe, I’d finally gotten through to one of them.
ally
I sat in history class the following afternoon trying desperately to stay awake, my eyes crossing as I retyped Mr. Lewis’s notes from the board and into my laptop. Outside, snow swirled and the wind whistled past the windowpanes. I was just about to let it all lull me to sleep when I saw my phone light up out of the corner of my eye. It was inside my bag but sticking out of the interior pocket just enough for me to see the screen. I glanced at the back of Mr. Lewis’s balding head. He hadn’t turned around in at least fifteen minutes, so enthralled was he with his own musings and getting every word of them down on the board. I snatched the phone into my lap. My heart started to pound, and suddenly I was wide awake. The text was from Jake.
Will any1 notice if I start snoring?
I glanced over my shoulder at him. He smirked and flashed his phone at me under the desk. How had he even gotten my number? I texted quickly, my fingers trembling.
IDK. How loud do u snore?
His response was immediate.
IDK. Sleep over some time and u can tell me.
I laughed out loud and slapped my hand over my mouth. Chloe turned around and shot me a reproachful look, her perfectly pink lips pursed. That was Chloe for you. Captain of the Manners Police. I loved how she didn’t feel the need to acknowledge my existence unless she was silently telling me what to do.
“Something funny about the war of 1812, Miss Ryan?” Mr. Lewis asked.
“No,” I squeaked.
“Good. Then let’s get back to it,” he replied.
My phone lit up again.
Busted!
