“Clarity?” I repeat, confused. I feel like she’s way ahead of me, and I’m only falling more and more behind.
She bites her lip and says slowly, “I liked Alex because he was so much sweeter to me than any guy has ever been before. He was just so nice, all the time, and not just to me, to everyone—”
“I like that about him too,” I say.
Our eyes meet, and Isabella lets out a sudden and surprising bark of rueful laughter. “There’s nice,” she says, “and then there’s good. They can be two different things. Being overly nice to more than one girl at a time—”
“—isn’t all that good.”
“Harry says I deserve better.”
“You do.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I haven’t had a lot of luck when it comes to guys.”
“Me neither.”
“Yeah, you did; you just didn’t appreciate it,” she says.
Someone knocks on the door. “You okay in there?” an adult woman’s voice asks. “There’s a line out here.”
“Oh, God.” I scramble to my feet. “We’d better go.”
Isabella shrugs indifferently. “We have every right to be in here.”
“Yeah,” I say, “but it’s the bathroom. People have needs, you know.”
“Fine.” She crosses to the door and flings it open. “All yours,” she says to the woman at the front of the line.
I’m stunned by our entire conversation, so I just follow her wordlessly, happy to let her lead the way.
Everyone’s back there now except for Julia and Manny, who are over by the bar, talking close together. The band is still playing, but the dance floor is empty.
Alex jumps up when we come close. He looks uneasily back and forth between me and Isabella, and then his gaze settles anxiously on her.
“Hello, everyone,” Isabella says, looking around the table. “I have an announcement to make. Since we’re all good friends here and since news travels fast anyway, I think you should all know right away that I’m breaking up with Alex.”
“What?” he says. “What?”
She turns to him. “I know you like secrets. But I’m different—I like to keep things very clear and honest.”
“Hear, hear,” Harry says, his voice lazy—but his eyes are keen and protective as they keep a close watch on his best friend.
“Anyway, it’s been real and now it’s over.” She sits down on one of the chairs. “I’m ready for another drink.”
Alex says to her, “Can we please talk about this? I don’t even know what’s going on.” He glances uncertainly in my direction. “What were you guys talking about in there?”
The glance isn’t lost on Isabella, who says, “Nothing you don’t already know. Don’t worry, Alex. Look at it this way: I’m setting you free. Spread your wings, little birdie. Fly away.” She wiggles her fingers at him.
“What exactly went on in that ladies’ room?” Lawrence asks Vanessa.
“Oh, to have been a fly on the wall,” she intones dramatically.
He says, “Ew, you want to be a fly in a bathroom?”
Alex touches Isabella on the arm. “Please. Come outside with me. Let’s just—”
Harry cuts him off. “She said she doesn’t want to talk to you. Leave her alone.”
Alex wheels around angrily. “This isn’t any of your business, Cartwright.”
“I promised Isabella’s father I’d look out for her while we were here,” Harry says calmly. “So, yeah, it is.”
“You did not!” Isabella says to him indignantly.
“I so did. When you were upstairs with your mother. He was all, ‘She’s my little girl, you know,’ and I was all, ‘Don’t worry, sir, I’ll take care of her,’ and he was all, ‘Good man, here’s my cell phone number.’” Harry raises his right hand. “Swear to God.”
“Oh. Well, you should have told him I don’t need looking after or any of his sexist crap—I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” Harry says. “But you can’t blame us both for caring. And for someone who can take care of herself, you make an awful lot of needy calls at two in the morning.”
“Is that a problem for you?” she asks.
He pats her head. “Never.”
Alex sinks into the chair next to Isabella. “I don’t understand any of this.” His blue eyes look sad.
And vaguely frog-like. They bulge maybe a little more than eyes should bulge.
Wait, what made me think that? I’ve always loved Alex’s beautiful blue eyes.
It’s Harry’s fault. He put that thought into my head.
Harry. I glance over at him. Why is Marie always basically right on top of him? It’s disgusting. I have a sudden urge to leap across the table, grab Marie by her honey-colored hair, and drag her face off Harry’s chest. And then maybe smash it into the edge of the table. Gently. Gently smash her face into the wood. Over and over again. At least it would wipe that smug little smile off her face.
No one says anything for a while.
Lawrence breaks the silence. “It’s getting close to curfew, guys.”
“Yes, as much fun as this is,” Vanessa says, “we should probably get the check and head out.”
I jump up. “I’ll get the waitress.” I’m grateful to have a reason to get away from the booth. I find the waitress, and she promises to bring the check right away; then I stop by the bar to tell Manny and Julia the rest of us are going to leave as soon as we’ve paid.
“Is everything okay?” Manny asks me, nodding toward our booth, where people look somber. He’s a pleasant-looking guy: not exactly hot, but appealing, with sandy hair, light gray eyes, and an impressively adoring gaze whenever he looks at Julia—which is probably all he needed to make their relationship work. “Did we miss something?”
“Yeah, about that . . .” I tell Julia she might want to talk to her brother, that he’s just been publicly dumped.
“Oh, poor Alex,” she says. “Why would she do it in front of everyone? That’s so mean.”
Neither Manny nor I try to answer that question.
We reach the table at the same time as the waitress. Vanessa grabs the check and starts telling people what they owe. “Good thing I rule at math,” she says. “Want to know what I got on my math SAT?”
“No,” we all say at the same time.
“Seven eighty,” she says anyway.
I pull some bills out of my wallet and look up to find Alex is watching me. He smiles tentatively. I smile back, then return to counting money.
We all wander outside. Harry wraps one arm around Isabella and lazily lodges the other across Marie’s shoulders. “See you,” he tosses back at the rest of us, and saunters off with them.
We watch them go. After a moment Vanessa says, “Weird night, huh?” and Lawrence leans over to me and whispers, “Aren’t you glad we made you come with us?”
I roll my eyes. “Remind me to say I’m busy the next time you ask.”
“Aw, come on. Would you really have wanted to miss all that?”
“No, you’re right. That was the most excitement I’ve had since coming here.”
We hug good night, and they follow the others back toward campus.
Julia puts her arm through her brother’s. “Come on,” she says. “Manny and I will take care of you. You coming, Franny?”
I shake my head. “I’m going back to my aunt’s—other direction.”
They say good-bye and I’m left alone, watching them all go back to the dorm together.
In separate groups, admittedly. The old gang isn’t what it used to be.
I turn and head back to Amelia’s. The most separate of all.
I’ve gone about a block when I hear footsteps. It’s dark out and it’s late and the street is quiet, so I whip my head around pretty quickly. Then I stop and wait for him to catch up.
“Hey,” Alex says, as he joins me.
“Hey.”
“I didn’t think you should walk back by yourself
.”
“It’s not far.”
“Still.”
“Thanks.” It’s Alex, I think. Alex. And he’s not with Isabella anymore. You’ve been waiting all summer for this.
He stands there, tall . . . handsome . . . available. “I feel like I owe you an apology, Franny. I put you in a weird place with Isabella. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “No worries. We had a good talk.”
“Really?” He seems a little unnerved by that, but he recovers. “Good. I’m glad.” There’s a pause. Then he says, “It’s over between her and me.”
“Yeah. I kind of got that impression.”
“Not just because of what she said—it would have been over anyway. I was trying to figure out a way to make that clear to her. That’s why I was so out of it tonight.”
I don’t say anything. I want to believe him. I’m just not sure I do.
He says, “All summer long, I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.” He reaches out for my hand. I let him take it. “I know it took me too long to say something. I didn’t want to hurt Isabella. Or you. Or Harry. It’s all been so complicated.. . .”
That, I believe. Alex is a nice guy. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt anyone.
It’s also possible he wanted to hedge his bets.
I’m not the one playing two girls against each other.
Harry said that last night. I wish he hadn’t, because now I can’t forget it.
Because it’s true.
“Something changed between us last night,” Alex says. “You and I both know that. I was just waiting for the right time to say something.” I look at our hands, Alex’s and mine. His is pulling me closer, winding me in toward him. “You got into my head,” he whispers. “I don’t know how, but you did. And I couldn’t get you out. Even when I tried to, for both our sakes.”
I raise my head to say something, but I don’t get a chance to. His lips are instantly on mine.
I close my eyes and stretch up into the kiss, summoning the thrill I felt the night before. Trying to summon it, anyway.
Now that we’re not rushing, I have time to pay attention, and I have to admit: he’s not as good a kisser as Harry.
But that’s probably to his credit. A good kisser is sometimes just someone who’s practiced a lot more. God knows how many lips Harry has practiced on.
On the other hand . . . it’s nice to be kissed well.
Not that Alex is awful. His lips are firm and warm and he’s not trying to eat my tonsils or anything gross like that. It’s just that Harry had this way of sending shivers through my body with the slightest flick of his tongue.. . .
A kiss is just a kiss.
I choose you, Pikachu.
I’m not the one playing two girls against each other.
Focus, Franny. You’re being kissed. Focus.
The kiss ends. We pull apart and look at each other.
“That was nice,” Alex says.
I nod and touch his forearm. Run my fingers lightly down to the wrist, curious. I’ve wanted to touch him like this for so long I’m amazed I can do it now. I imagine my eighth-grade self watching this, thrilled beyond belief. I wish she were really here. I wish this were happening back when we were both eighth graders and Alex Braverman was the epitome of hot wonderfulness to me.
He understandably takes my caress as an invitation for more contact and leans forward eagerly for another kiss.
I put up my hands, holding him off.
“One week ago,” I murmur, a little dazed. “Even just one day ago—”
“What?”
“Ever since we got here, all I’ve wanted was for you to be with me like this,” I say. “For us to be alone together.”
“Me too,” he says softly.
“But now it’s too late.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not—we still have a couple of weeks left here. And we live near each other—that’s the best part.”
“Too late for me, I mean.”
He looks surprised. Really surprised. He must have assumed I’d just be there, waiting, available to him whenever he wanted me, if he ever did.
Actually, I’d assumed that too, until today. Which doesn’t make me very proud of myself.
“I know I took longer than I should have to let you know how I was feeling,” he says. “But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“It’s not that. It’s . . .” What is it?
Well, it’s him, for one thing. It’s the fact that he kept making me think he liked me while he was going out with Isabella, which wasn’t fair to either of us. A guy does that kind of thing to you, or even to a friend, and he stops being worth waiting for, no matter how many books he buys you or how warm his smiles are.
But it’s not just that, either. I might have thought, Yeah, he screwed up, but he’s still cute and available and we could have fun for a while. But I’m not thinking anything like that at all.
Because of Harry.
Because of stupid Harry Cartwright. Who horses around like a giddy two-year-old, who flirts with anything that moves, and who’s walking back to the dorm right now with his arms slung around two girls who aren’t me. Harry, who said to me, “You decided what kind of person I was without even giving me a chance,” and who would have stayed by my side if I hadn’t pushed him away, if I hadn’t said mean, hurtful, unfair things to him because I thought what I wanted was exactly what I’m realizing I don’t want at all.
“Sometimes the timing is just off,” I say to Alex, a little impatiently. I’m in a hurry for him to go now, and he’s just not getting it. I have stuff to do.
“Franny . . .”
“It’s okay.” I force a smile. He’s a nice guy. I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to get rid of him. “We’re friends, right?”
I think it’s the fake smile that finally gets the message across. He bows his head briefly and gives up.
Once we’ve given each other awkward pecks on the cheek and said good night, he leaves, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
He’s had a rough night. Rejection from not one but two girls. It’s all his own fault, but I still feel kind of sorry for him.
I head to campus too, but I take a different route to get there. The last thing I want to do is bump into him again.
I move as fast as I can in heels. My feet are killing me—those shoes weren’t meant for this much walking—but I’ll survive. My phone buzzes and I grab it, hoping—
But it’s just Amelia. Estimated time of return?
Wow. She’s just asking, not telling me what time I have to be back by. Vanessa and Lawrence really did a job on her. I text back, Don’t wait up. I’ll be quiet.
The unexpected freedom from a curfew buoys me up. I’ll have time to find Harry and explain. I’m near the dorm when I see Alex approaching it from the other direction. I duck into the shadows until he’s safely inside. Through the windows, I can see him heading up the stairs.
Once he disappears completely, I try the front door, but it’s locked, of course. And I don’t have a key.
“Can’t get in?” says a voice behind me.
I turn around and almost groan out loud at my bad luck—it’s Marie.
On the plus side, she’s not with Harry.
She’s holding a Styrofoam takeout cup. Must have needed a warm drink before bed.
Blood, perhaps?
She sidles by with an “excuse me,” then looks back over her shoulder and says, “Oh, did you want to come in? It’s kind of too late, though. We have a curfew.” She knows I know that.
“I just needed to ask Vanessa something,” I say.
“I’ll tell her to come out.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll text her.”
She stares at me. “Why didn’t you do that in the first place?”
“I felt like taking a walk.”
“Huh.” The sound lets me know she doesn’t believe me. To be fair, there’s no reason why she should, since I�
�m lying. “Whatever.” She pulls the door shut after her.
I take out my phone: I’ll have to try sending Harry a text. I’m trying to figure out what I can say after I’m sorry, when I hear voices and look up to see Harry and Isabella strolling toward the dorm.
I should have known they’d run out for a smoke alone together before bedtime. Especially after all that’s happened tonight: they’d want to rehash it, talk it all out, share their thoughts and feelings. He probably told her she’s wonderful and beautiful and kind and deserves someone much better than Alex. She probably told him he deserves someone much better than Marie.
Someone much better than me.
Isabella notices me first. “Franny? What are you doing here?”
“Hi.” I wave awkwardly at her. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” I ask Harry.
He hesitates and glances toward Isabella like he’s asking her for permission. She studies me thoughtfully for a moment. I give her a pleading look. I know we’ve never been close friends, but I’m pretty sure we’re not enemies anymore.
“I think I hear my mother calling,” she says with a shrug, and runs up the steps and disappears inside the door.
Harry settles back against the railing, his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m an idiot.”
There’s a pause. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. “Are you waiting for me to argue?”
“More just hoping you’ll forgive me.”
“You’re an optimist.”
“Hoping,” I repeat. I’m afraid to look him in the eyes. Talking to Harry was always the easiest thing in the world. Until now.
He shifts, resting the other hip against the railing. “And I should do that because . . . ?”
“Because I want to be with you.”
His eyes flicker over me, distant and critical. “And what brought about this change in attitude?”
So he’s not going to make it easy on me. I can’t exactly blame him. But I wish he’d just open his arms to me. It’s the thought of eventually crawling into them that’s keeping me going right now. “I hate seeing you with Marie. I don’t want to hate it, but I do.”
The Trouble With Flirting Page 18
