Haley had a feeling that wasn’t the end of the story, but she decided not to press the issue—yet.
“Hot and sour soup?” A waiter appeared with a trayful of soup bowls and set them on the table.
“Take mine, Haley.” Irene passed her bowl down the table. “I’m sick of this stuff.”
“I’ll never get sick of it.” Shaun lifted his bowl and took a huge slurp of soup. “Ow! Hot! Mm, sour. Ow! Hot! Mm, sour.”
Irene rolled her eyes. “You do that every time. I told you to let it cool first.”
“Tsiser t’nac I doog os sllems ti tub, wonk I,” Shaun said.
“What did he say?” Darcy asked. “Can he speak Chinese?”
“ ‘I know, but it smells so good,’ ” Irene translated. “Sometimes Shaun talks backwards. Just one of his many endearing quirks. Takes a little getting used to.”
“Just like the rest of him,” Haley teased.
“That’s enough out of you, Red,” Shaun said, tugging on a chunk of Haley’s auburn hair.
“Shaun, no sticky fingers on other peoples’ faces,” Irene scolded.
“It’s okay,” Haley said. “I’m used to it. I’ve got a seven-year-old brother, remember?”
“Are my fingers chubby?” Shaun held up his thick, soft hand and stared at it in wonder. “I never thought of them that way.”
“Oh, please,” Irene said. “You’re totally self-conscious about it. When he’s alone in his room he secretly does this thing called hand aerobics in a vain attempt to make them thinner. It’s the only part of his body that hasn’t changed since he joined the track team.”
“The only part?” Devon asked slyly, causing Darcy to erupt in a fit of giggles.
“Artists’ hands should be slender,” Shaun said. “Slender and expressive. Hand aerobics is a secret, Irene. You weren’t supposed to tell.”
“Sorry,” Irene said. “I didn’t know it was a secret secret. I thought it was just one of those Shaun secrets, where you don’t care who knows about it.”
“What? Woman, from now on, assume everything I tell you is a secret secret unless otherwise informed.”
“Sure. Whatever you say,” Irene said.
“I’ve got skinny hands, Shaun, but it doesn’t make me a good artist,” Darcy said, lifting her left hand. On her wrist was a small, inky star.
“You are so a good artist,” Devon said.
“I love your tat,” Irene said, grabbing Darcy’s hand to examine the tattoo.
“It’s cool, isn’t it?” Devon said. Haley bristled slightly.
“It’s brutally awesome,” Shaun said. “I’ve been wanting to get a tattoo forever, but I can’t decide what to get. Like, as soon as I think for sure I want a mermaid, I change my mind and want a whale or something. There are too many choices out there.”
“Why not get both?” Darcy said.
“She’s right,” Irene said. “You’ve got plenty of skin to cover.”
Shaun grinned and slapped his rounded belly. Then he grabbed another dumpling. “The more of these I eat, the more skin I’ll have to tattoo.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Devon said.
“I told Dev he should get a tat of a coat of arms,” Darcy said. “You know, make one up. To play off his last name, McKnight.”
Dev? Haley had never heard anyone call Devon “Dev” before, and it annoyed her for some reason.
“You could put a camera on the coat of arms,” Irene said.
“And maybe a skateboard, or a thrift shop porkpie hat . . .”
“Or just do a big knight, in armor, on horseback, right across your chest.” Shaun mimed ripping open his shirt like Superman to show off the imaginary knight tattoo gleaming on his chest. “That would be major. Maybe I should write Willkommen on my forehead, so everybody who sees me will feel Germanically welcome.”
“What about you, Haley?” Devon asked. “What would you do if you got a tattoo?”
Haley wasn’t at all certain she wanted to permanently mark up her skin. But everyone else at the table seemed to be so into the idea, so she thought she’d better say something.
“Maybe a tiny four-leaf clover,” Haley said. “For luck. I like the star, too. But didn’t it hurt, having a needle poking your wrist, Darcy?” Haley stroked her own wrist, trying to imagine it. “It’s such a sensitive part of your body.”
“Not as sensitive as some parts,” Shaun said. Irene shot him a “shut up” look.
“It does hurt a little,” Darcy said. “But not for long. And it’s totally worth it.”
The waiter reappeared to fill their water glasses and drop a small pile of fortune cookies on the table. Haley took one and broke it open.
“Read your fortune out loud,” Irene said.
“ ‘A figure from your past will soon reappear,’ ” Haley read.
“Like a banana,” Shaun said.
“What?” Haley said.
“You’re supposed to add ‘like a banana’ at the end of your fortune, to make it more interesting,” Shaun said.
“That’s so stupid,” Irene said. She opened her cookie and read her fortune. “ ‘You have many talents.’ ”
“Like a banana,” Shaun said.
Irene smirked at him. “Read yours, Devon.”
“ ‘You will soon find happiness,’ ” Devon read.
“Like a banana,” Shaun added. “That’s way profound.” Haley thought she saw Devon blush. He looked down at the table so that he wouldn’t have to catch anyone’s eye. Darcy was staring right at him. She cracked open her cookie and read her fortune.
“ ‘Try to tame your restlessness,’ ” she read. “Like a banana.”
“That doesn’t really make sense,” Haley said.
“Sure it does,” Shaun said. “Bananas always makes sense.” He broke open another cookie. “ ‘You will have a comfortable old age’ like a banana! See!”
“But bananas get brown and gooey after, like, a week,” Irene protested.
“Speaking of old age,” Shaun said. “Did you cats and kitties hear the latest freaky world news? Mr. Von, Acid Rick himself, is cohabitating with Dave Metzger’s mommy dearest!”
“Are you kidding?” Haley said. Mr. Von was their eccentric art teacher, known for his rumpled clothes, permastubble beard and odd, whispery speaking voice. Dave Metzger, Annie Armstrong’s boyfriend, was a basket case of allergies and nerves, most of which he’d inherited from his neurotic mother.
“I’m so not kidding,” Shaun said. “Did you catch the last episode of ‘Inside Hillsdale’? You could see Mr. Von and Dave’s mom in the background for a second—holding hands! That’s, like, evidence!”
“Who’s Dave Metzger?” Darcy asked.
“He’s the kid who does that video podcast, ‘Inside Hillsdale.’ You know, the one ranting and raving about cafeteria portions and parking spaces.”
“He’s a geek,” Irene added.
“So Dave is living in Von’s house?” Devon asked.
“You heard it here first,” Shaun said. He belched for emphasis.
“What a freak show that must be,” Irene added.
“I can’t imagine living with a teacher,” Haley said. “Or one of my parents dating one. Especially Mr. Von.”
“Dave has always been kind of batty,” Devon mused. “This could push him over the edge.”
“Kind of batty?” Shaun said, fluffing his blond mullet. “Next to him I’m the poster child for normal. Who knows, maybe he likes it at Von’s. Seems like Madman Metzger’s found the cuckoo’s nest.”
“Do you think it’s really true?” Irene said. “Maybe this is just one of those crazy rumors.”
“Babe, a story that weird has got to be true,” Shaun said.
Haley’s just gotten a lot of new information to take in. Let’s start with this girl Darcy Podowski. Where did she materialize from? Just how long—and how well—has she known Devon? All that talk about parking, ex-girlfriends and what kind of tattoo he should get could make a gir
l wonder.
Haley’s always had a thing with Devon, a kind of mutual flirtation, but maybe she’s been taking his interest for granted too long. If you think she should make an effort to head off Darcy and spend more time alone with Devon, have her TAKE THE LEAD.
Maybe Devon’s not the one Haley should worry about. Dave Metzger’s gotten himself into an odd situation, and he’s not the best person to handle a sudden, difficult change. If you think Haley’s dying to know whether Dave is really living in Mr. Von’s spooky cottage these days, have her check it out on (GARAGE BANDWIDTH).
Then there’s all that talk of tattoos. The art crowd certainly seems fascinated by them, but is Haley? If you think she should focus on less permanent accessories, go to (FAMILY JEWELS).
Sure, Haley wants to make her mark on the world But will it be with a tattoo needle?
OUT OF COMMISSION
* * *
Sometimes accidents happen for a reason, and sometimes they just happen.
“Haley, come on in.” Barbara Highland greeted Haley at the front door. “What have you got there?”
“It’s a hot fudge sundae,” Haley said. “I picked it up on my way home from school. I heard what happened to Reese and I thought it might cheer him up.”
“How sweet of you,” Barbara said. “We just got back from the hospital. The X-rays were not good—he broke his foot in two places.”
“That’s terrible,” Haley said. “Is he in a lot of pain?”
“A little,” Mrs. Highland said. “He tries to be stoic, but I can tell he’s kind of low. Why don’t you take that sundae upstairs to his room? I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
It was early in the evening after the last boys’ soccer game of the season. In a heartbreaking loss to Old Tappan, Reese had injured his foot. Haley came home right away to find out how he was doing.
Upstairs, she found Reese propped up in bed, his left foot in a cast and elevated on a stack of pillows. He was absorbed in a history book, highlighter in hand. She tapped on the door and he turned his head.
“Hey.” He smiled and put down his book. “Come on in.”
“I brought you a treat.” Haley gave him the ice cream. “How are you feeling?”
Reese lifted the cast an inch off the pillows. “Not so hot. Basketball season’s out of the question, looks like.”
“What a shame,” Haley said, but secretly she couldn’t help feeling just a little relieved. If Reese wasn’t playing basketball, that left him lots of spare time—to spend, she hoped, with her. After all, he lived right next door, and with his foot in a cast he couldn’t get very far. He’d be her captive audience, her patient, her charge. She could stop by every day and check on him, and soon he’d depend on her to bring him things he couldn’t get for himself. . . .
“What will the Hawks do without you?” Haley said.
“They’ll be fine,” Reese said modestly. He was one of the star players. “Johnny Lane can carry the whole team by himself, practically.”
“That’s not true,” Haley said. “They need you. They’ll be terrible without you.” She watched for a second as he ate a spoonful of hot fudge. “So what are you going to do with your free time now that you can’t shoot hoops?”
“Well, in a way it’s a blessing in disguise,” Reese said. “I mean, not playing ball gives me that much more time to study.”
Haley suppressed a sigh of frustration. Great. Even with his foot in a cast, held hostage next door, Reese would be too busy to see her.
“I figure, basketball practice is two hours a day, three if you count locker-room time,” Reese said. “So each weekday I’ll spend that time on a different subject. Monday: AP Calculus. Tuesday: AP History. Wednesday: AP English. . . .”
“And do I get squeezed in on Thursday, at least?” Haley teased, hoping to change the subject.
He finished the ice cream sundae and set the bowl aside. “You’ll get all the time you want, as long as you promise to feed me. Can we go out to eat?”
Haley laughed. “You just demolished an entire hot fudge sundae.”
“I know, but I’m still starving.” Reese tapped his left leg. “I never realized how much energy healing a broken bone takes. Come on, let’s go to Hap’s. Some greasy comfort food ought to cure what ails me.”
Haley’s cell beeped. She checked the screen. It was a text from Sasha, asking her to come meet the crew at Bubbies Bistro. Haley guessed the usual suspects would be there: Sasha; her boyfriend, Johnny Lane; Cecily Watson and her boyfriend, Drew Napolitano; and probably Sasha’s new best friend, her soon-to-be-stepsister, Whitney Klein.
“What do you say?” Reese asked. Haley wasn’t sure how to respond.
Poor Reese. Out for the season. He doesn’t seem to be in too much pain, though, and he’s taking the whole broken-foot thing pretty well. Already up for going out to dinner. If only he’d schedule Haley into one of those empty afternoon basketball slots, she’d be all set.
That’s not to be. However, Haley has a few interesting choices here. She could go to Hap’s Diner with Reese, where they could be alone and talk. It would be about as close to a real date as they’ve gotten lately. If you think Haley needs to treasure every second she can get with Reese, send her to (CASTAWAY).
On the other hand, even with a broken foot, Reese can’t be bothered to pencil Haley into his precious college-bound schedule. So maybe Haley doesn’t have time for him, either. She has a life of her own, after all. She has friends. Plus, Hap’s is sort of a dive, and not only is Bubbies Bistro more upscale, they also have the best turkey panini in town. If you think Haley would much rather have a fun night out with Sasha’s crew at Bubbies, turn to (MAMMA MIA).
If you think Haley is too annoyed to indulge His Majesty another second but isn’t in the mood for a raucous night out with her friends either, send her to (FAMILY JEWELS) and take a time-out.
Haley’s choice is in your hands.
RIVALRIES RESUMED
* * *
Beware the sister who goes after your mister.
Haley rang the doorbell—more like door chimes—at the De Clerq McMansion. The door was opened by Consuela, the De Clerqs’ housekeeper.
“Hola, Miss ’Aley, come in.”
“Thank you, Consuela,” Haley said, following the housekeeper through the ornate foyer, under the crystal chandelier and into the media room, where Coco, Spencer and Coco’s older sister, Ali, lounged on matching leather couches. Ali and Spencer were in the middle of a fierce game of poker.
“You want something to drink?” Consuela asked Haley.
“Um, iced tea would be nice, I guess,” Haley said. She’d never get used to being waited on by household servants. It just felt too weird.
“Iced tea,” Spencer mocked. “It’s five-thirty—we’re well into cocktail hour. Make that a Long Island iced tea, Consuela.”
“No, really,” Haley said. “Plain old iced tea is fine for now.”
“Are you going to join the party, or are you going to be your usual prudish self?” Spencer slurred slightly on the word “prudish.”
Ali had been staring intently at the playing cards in her hand, but now she glanced up. “Leave her alone, Spencer,” she said. “And deal.” She took a swig of pale brown liquid from her crystal cocktail glass. Whiskey, no doubt.
Coco sat off to the side, curled on the couch with a pint of chocolate fudge ice cream in one hand and a soup spoon in the other. Uh-oh—trouble. The razor-thin, always-dieting Coco De Clerq eating ice cream—real, honest-to-God, full-fat ice cream—was an extremely bad sign. Something was seriously wrong.
“Haley,” Coco said without enthusiasm. “You came. Good.” She stuffed a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.
Haley sat down on Coco’s sofa and watched Spencer deal another hand. “Thank God Mom and Dad are in Palm Beach this weekend,” Ali said, studying her new cards. “I don’t think I could handle them breathing down our necks every second. After a few months in college you get used to doing th
ings your own way, know what I mean?”
Ali De Clerq was a freshman at Yale, home for the Thanksgiving holiday—which would explain the unhappy expression on Coco’s face. Coco and Ali were very competitive, and one thing they used to fight over all the time was Spencer. Ali and Spencer always claimed they were just very close friends, but Coco had never quite trusted her big sis. Even Haley had to admit that sometimes it seemed as though there was more going on between Ali and Spencer, no matter how heartily they protested their innocence.
“Totally,” Spencer said. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of here and be on my own. That’s one thing I miss about boarding school.”
Haley suppressed an incredulous laugh and glanced at Coco, who miserably sucked on her spoon. Coco had more freedom and less supervision than almost anybody at Hillsdale High except Spencer—at least, until his mother’s recent election. The De Clerq père and mère were always partying or jetting off to some glamorous destination, and Spencer’s mother was busy with her political career. No one could stop Spencer, who’d been kicked out of more than one boarding school, from doing whatever he wanted, certainly not his parents.
“College is like another universe,” Ali said. “The boys are so wild. And the parties! Your silly SIGMA bashes don’t come close, Spence.”
Spencer had started a secret society called SIGMA, which threw floating parties known for their reckless abandon—drinking, gambling, hooking up, whatever. Students could gain entrance to the bashes only by exclusive invitation or by knowing that night’s password. Trying to get into a SIGMA party was the goal of every high school student in North Jersey.
“SIGMA’s getting hotter this year,” Spencer vowed, sipping from his own tumbler of whiskey. “Bigger, too. I’m thinking of having a burlesque show, where the hotties of Hillsdale do a striptease—”
“Get over yourself, Spencer,” Coco snapped. “No one’s going to do a striptease at a SIGMA party.”
“They will if they’re drunk enough,” Spencer said. “You’ve come close a few times.”
What If ... Your Past Came Back to Haunt You Page 5
