by Piper Banks
“It’s okay,” Hannah said, missing the sarcasm altogether. “I’ll see what kind of mood everyone’s in. If I have to, I’ll wait until the morning to tell them. I can’t wait too long, though. Their appointment is Thursday afternoon.”
“That soon?” I asked, wondering how my dad and Peyton were going to take to this interference.
“They need the help now,” Hannah said. “It can’t wait. Besides, I have my first modeling job next week. I need to be well rested and destressed before then.”
“You got a modeling job?”
“Well, the job’s not mine yet. It’s just a casting call,” Hannah amended. “But still, it’s a start, right?”
She glanced at me, brushing her hair back from her face and holding it back in a ponytail.
“Absolutely! That’s great news!” I said.
“Thanks,” Hannah said. She smiled and let go of her hair. It fell back around her face with a silky swish. “Won’t it be amazing if I got the job? Just imagine—getting paid to have my hair and makeup done, and wear nice clothes!”
“Hmm,” I said, realizing just what a stark difference this was to my summer job of spending long days trying to coax a moody girl away from her piano. Still, I thought, with modeling, you don’t get the sort of job satisfaction I’d had today. Or, at least, probably not. Then again, maybe all of the money and glamour made up for the lack of social relevance.
“Hey, what was Dex doing at the mall today with Wendy Erickson?” Hannah asked, jarring me out of my contemplation.
“What?” I stared at Hannah, as cold horror mixed with a sense of unreality hit me square in the stomach. Dex . . . was with Wendy Erickson . . . at the mall? Why? When? When we had left the pool, Dex had told me his shift was ending at three. Had he gone straight to the mall? He hadn’t said anything about it to me. Had he arranged to meet her ahead of time? It would be bad enough if he’d just run into her and they decided to hang out together. But if they arranged it ahead of time . . .
“What were they doing there?” I croaked.
“I don’t know,” Hannah said. She had drifted over to admire her reflection in the mirror that hung over my dresser. “I didn’t really talk to them.”
“What does that mean? How do you not really talk to someone?” I asked. I realized that my teeth were clenched together, my teeth grinding down.
“I saw them in the food court, and I just sort of waved at them, and they waved back at me,” Hannah said. “I think Dex said hi. Does that count as talking?”
“I don’t know,” I said miserably.
Hannah, finally hearing the anguish in my voice, turned to look at me. “I don’t think they were together,” she said. “I mean, they were sitting at the same table, but it didn’t look at all romantic.”
“How can you tell?”
Hannah shrugged. “I just can. Body language, stuff like that. You know what probably happened? Dex was probably there buying T-shirts at the Gap or something, and got hungry. And then Wendy was probably passing by when she saw him at the food court, and she ended up sitting down at his table for a minute. And then I just happened to pass by at that exact moment,” Hannah said. She smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure that’s all it is. Don’t worry. Dex really likes you. I can tell. I’m sure he’s not interested in Wendy anymore.”
“Maybe he is. She’s really pretty,” I said.
“So? You’re pretty, too,” Hannah said.
I managed a smile. It was one of the nicer things Hannah had ever said to me.
“Or at least you would be if you defrizzed your hair,” she continued. “You know, there are products out there that would help with that. And why don’t you use the straightening iron on it like I showed you to?”
Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Hannah said.
The door opened, and my dad stuck his head in. “Dinner’s ready,” he said.
“Okay, we’ll be right there,” Hannah said.
“I won’t. I’m having dinner with Dex,” I said in a hollow voice.
“More for me, then,” Dad said.
His head disappeared, and Hannah headed off to the bathroom to wash her hands. I was slower to move. I couldn’t get the image of Dex and Wendy together out of my mind. They were so alike—both of them popular, funny, attractive. I knew Wendy would have fit in easily with Dex’s friends at the cookout. She would have joined the group of chattering girls, and known all about the clothes and makeup they were discussing. She would have flirted with the guys, who would have brightened under the attention and envied Dex for getting to go out with her. She wouldn’t have made Dex feel like he had to watch over her, as he had with me.
The mental image of Dex and Wendy together caused a sharp, shooting pain to stab in my chest. I couldn’t help wondering: What if it was Wendy—and not me—that Dex was meant to be with?
Chapter Fifteen
Dex and I went out for pizza that night. We ordered a large supreme with extra cheese and pepperoni, but for once in my life, I had no appetite. I picked at my pizza, and half listened to Dex telling a story about his friend Luke, who once attempted to make an enormous bowl of Jell-O in his family’s hot tub. Apparently, the Jell-O never set, and the experiment only succeeded in staining the tub purple. I nodded at intervals as Dex talked, the whole time imagining him and Wendy together at the mall, having a romantic liaison in the food court.
Finally, Dex asked, “Is something wrong? You’ve been really quiet all night.”
I didn’t know what to say. Obviously, something was wrong. He’d just spent the afternoon hanging out with his ex-girlfriend. What’s more, he knew that I knew, since my stepsister had seen them together. And yet neither one of us had said anything about it. I knew why I hadn’t—I was too scared to hear what he’d say. Was he just waiting for the right opportunity to break up with me? Was he about to tell me that I was a nice girl and he liked me well enough, but not in a way that could compete with the feelings he had for Wendy Erickson?
But why hadn’t he brought it up? I wondered. If it had all been some huge coincidence—if Hannah was right, and Dex and Wendy just happened to run into each other while buying sodas at the food court, and just sat down together for a few minutes . . . well, then, why didn’t he tell me about it? The fact that he was being so tight-lipped just proved that there was something to hide.
I realized Dex was waiting patiently for me to answer his question.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Why are you being so quiet?” Dex asked.
What was I supposed to say? Are you breaking up with me? Are you in love with Wendy Erickson? Are you in love with me? What if he said yes, yes, and no? I’d be stuck there, sitting in the middle of the pizzeria with a broken heart. But I also couldn’t just ignore what had happened.
So, keeping my voice as casual as possible, I said, “Hannah told me she saw you today. At the mall.”
“That’s right. I forgot I saw her,” Dex said, his voice even more casual than mine. So casual, in fact, I wanted to scream. “She had about twenty shopping bags with her.”
“That sounds like Hannah,” I said.
There was a long pause, where I waited for him to continue. He continued to eat his pizza. Finally, I realized he wasn’t going to say anything about being there with Wendy. My stomach gave a sickly twist.
“Hannah said she saw you there with Wendy,” I finally said, somehow forcing the words out of my too-tight throat.
“That’s right,” Dex said easily.
I took a sip of my Coke and waited for him to elaborate. But Dex just continued to eat his pizza.
“This is really good. I think they put extra cheese on it,” he said.
For the first time since Hannah had told me about seeing the two of them together, anger broke through the murky, sickly dread. Dex seemed to think that it was no big deal that he was hanging out with his ex-girlfriend. Who was a model. And who was obviously still in love
with him.
Well, he was wrong. It was a big deal. To me.
I set my Coke down on the table with a loud thump.
Dex looked up, startled. “What’s wrong?”
Was he being purposely obtuse, or was this one of those weird guy deficiencies I’d heard other girls complain about, but had never experienced myself? I decided it was time to be direct.
“Why were you at the mall with your ex-girlfriend?” I asked.
“I asked her to meet me there,” Dex said.
He’d asked her to meet him? Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh. The whole conversation was causing an unpleasant, sickly sensation to spread through my stomach.
“You did?” I asked. Then, taking a deep breath, I asked the question that was more to the point. “Why?”
Dex looked down at the slice of half-eaten pizza on his plate. After a long pause, during which Dex seemed to be deliberating something, he finally said, “Do you mind if I don’t tell you?”
I blinked at him. What was I supposed to say to that? Of course I minded.
“It has nothing to do with you and me,” Dex said. “Not directly anyway.”
What did that mean? But before I could ask him what was going on, the waitress appeared at our table.
“Can I get you anything else? Dessert or coffee?”
Dex looked at me. I shook my head.
“Just the check,” Dex said.
The waitress took a stack of checks out of her apron pocket and flipped through them until she found ours. She set it facedown on the table. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said.
After the waitress left, taking our empty pizza pan with her, Dex looked at the bill.
“I’ll pay half,” I said, reaching for my wallet.
“No, I’ve got it,” Dex said. He took out some money and set it on top of the bill.
The waitress reappeared. “Do you need change?”
“It’s all set,” Dex said.
“Y’all have a good night,” the waitress said.
“Thanks,” Dex said. And then, after she’d bustled off, he looked at me. “Are you ready to go? Or do you want to finish your soda?”
Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Do you still have feelings for her?”
“Who?”
“Wendy!”
“Wendy?” Dex blinked, and looked confused. Then he started to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. I just realized how it must look to you,” Dex said. “You thought that I was with Wendy. Like on a date or something.”
“So you weren’t?”
“No! Not at all. No. I was just . . . well, I had to talk to her about something. But it wasn’t at all romantic. It had nothing to do with her and me, or you and me. I needed some advice about something. Something she has firsthand knowledge of,” he said, as though this clarified everything.
“What?” I demanded.
Dex hesitated. He picked the straw up out of his Coke and twisted it. “That’s the part I don’t want to tell you.”
I stared at him for a long moment; then I stood abruptly, turned around, and marched out of the restaurant.
“Miranda, wait,” Dex said, following me out.
“No. I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” I said. I knew I sounded childish, but I didn’t care. I was fed up. First, he’d acted like it was no big deal that he’d been off with his ex-girlfriend, and then it turned out that they’d had some sort of private, personal conversation that I wasn’t allowed to know about.
“I swear, I will tell you what Wendy and I talked about! Just not right now,” Dex said. He caught up with me and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Why?”
“I have to make a decision about something first,” Dex said.
“About what? Whether you want to break up with me?” I asked, my anger making me reckless.
“No! It has nothing to do with you, or breaking up, or anything like that. I promise,” Dex said. He finally reached out and took my hand. “Miranda . . . I love you.”
This time, it wasn’t just my feet that stopped moving. My heart felt like it stalled in my chest . . . and then it suddenly exploded, racing at full speed. A warm, tingly sensation rushed through me, causing my hands to shake and my knees to go wobbly.
“You do?” I asked, looking up at him.
Dex nodded. Even in the dim light, I could see how serious his expression was, his eyes pale and intent on my face. He meant it. He was in love with me.
“Oh,” I said softly. “I love you, too.”
Chapter Sixteen
The next few days passed in a happy blur. Dex loved me! I loved him! How could life possibly get any better?
Okay, so there was still the lingering issue of whether I was going to London in the fall. But now that the L-word had been said, how could I possibly go? Which wasn’t to say I’d definitely made up my mind, but all of the reasons to go to London—the culture, the excitement, the adventure—seemed insignificant when compared to love.
I still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of why Dex and Wendy had been together at the mall the other day. All of my concerns that night had been swept away after Dex told me he was in love with me, and it hadn’t felt right to bring it up again since then. But I had to believe that Dex was telling the truth about not being romantically interested in Wendy. He wouldn’t have told me he was in love with me if he still had feelings for her.
But other than my lingering worries about Wendy, everything—for once—seemed to be going my way. I’d been taking Amelia to the pool every day, and under Dex’s tutelage, she was turning into a little fish. She clearly liked Dex better than she liked me. She laughed at his jokes and obviously wanted to please him with her progress during her lessons. Still, I thought that maybe she was lowering her defenses a bit with me, too. I wasn’t sure if Amelia’s mom knew about the swimming lessons. I’d mentioned we’d been to the pool, which had surprised Mrs. Fisher, although she hadn’t objected, especially once I’d assured her there were lifeguards on duty.
I was getting a lot of writing done while Amelia practiced. I’d been slowly expanding on How to Get Noticed, and was pleased with how well it was coming out.
At the beach house, there had been a sharp decrease in the amount of fighting. In fact, I hadn’t heard a raised voice since the night Hannah came home. Surprisingly, Dad and Peyton hadn’t been at all upset with Hannah for setting up an appointment with the marriage counselor. They’d just nodded thoughtfully, and said it was something they’d been thinking they should do, and thanked Hannah for her help. I couldn’t believe it. If I’d been the one to make the appointment, Peyton would have thrown a hissy. It seemed to be working, though. After only one counseling session, Peyton and Dad were going out of their way to be polite to each other and to us. Peyton even offered to make me toast one morning before I went to work, which nearly caused me to fall over in shock. Coming from Peyton, this was tantamount to her making a tearful announcement that she wanted to adopt me.
Finally, I was starting to think that maybe—just maybe—I might possibly pass my driving test after all. Or, at least, I was no longer convinced I would fail. Despite the mailbox incident, my dad had taken me out every night to practice driving, and I was definitely getting better. I could now perform a three-point turn, change lanes without sideswiping another vehicle, and had even successfully merged into traffic on the highway once. Still, success was by no means guaranteed. The looming possibility of epic failure continued to gnaw at me.
“What if I fail?” I said during dinner Sunday night.
Dad had grilled some fish, which we were eating taco-style, folded into tortillas with cheese, diced avocados, and sour cream. Or, at least, Dad and I were eating. Peyton never ate anything. She mostly just pushed her food around on the plate. Hannah, too, was picking at her food.
“Aren’t you hungry, Hannah?” Dad asked.
Hannah shook her head and pushed her plate away. “My casting cal
l is in the morning. I don’t want to look bulgy.”
“I don’t think that’s a word,” I said. “Besides, even if it was, you’re not.”
“But I will be if I eat a taco,” Hannah said.
“Why don’t you take the fish out and eat that?” Dad suggested.
Hannah considered this, and finally nodded, pulling her plate back and picking out the slices of white fish. This problem solved, Dad turned to me.
“You won’t fail,” he said. “You’re doing great.”
“I hit the garbage can when I was backing up today,” I reminded him.
He’d set up two garbage cans a few car lengths apart so I could practice backing up in a straight line. Instead, I’d backed into one garbage can and then, panicking, pulled forward, overcorrected, and backed up into the other.
Peyton noticeably stiffened, and I thought her eye might have twitched, but rather than criticizing me, she just took a deep breath and continued to pretend to eat.
That was unusual, I thought. Normally, Peyton relished every chance she got to criticize me.
“You’ve gone from mailboxes to garbage cans. That’s an improvement,” Dad said cheerily. “Besides, we needed a new garbage can anyway. The old one had a crack in the lid.”
I glanced at Peyton again. Still no reaction.
“I’m going to have to back up on a real road around actual cars during my driver’s test,” I said.
“We’ll keep practicing,” Dad promised. He glanced at Peyton. “Do you like your tacos, honey?”
“They’re wonderful, dear,” Peyton said smoothly, although I hadn’t seen her take a single bite. “Thank you for making dinner.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for setting the table,” Dad said.
“Happy to help,” Peyton replied.
Hannah and I glanced at each other. They were being bizarrely polite. It was the nicest they’d been toward each other in ages.
“Are you excited about your first modeling assignment tomorrow?” Dad asked Hannah.
