by Syms, Carly
"What happened? I can't imagine not loving these guys."
"I don't know," I admit, realizing it's true. "I just have this foggy memory of being a kid and having a horrible encounter with a dog."
"Were you bit or something?"
"Nope. My parents could never figure it out, either. I came home from my grandparents' house one day terrified of their dog Lucky. They looked all over me for a bite or a scratch but they didn't find anything. I don't know, maybe he growled at me and scared me or something. But ever since, I haven't wanted to be around dogs."
Russ is frowning. "Weird," he says at last. "But you didn't run from Wilbur."
"He obviously isn't a vicious man-eater."
"Most dogs aren't."
"I guess."
"Em, I wouldn't bring a dangerous dog to hike with us."
I wrinkle my forehead. "No, I know, I wasn't saying you would. I just wasn't expecting him to come running out of your car and it freaked me out."
He nods. "Sorry. I guess I should've told you he was coming. I always assume everyone's like me when it comes to dogs."
"You volunteer at an animal shelter," I point out. "You're probably doing more than most dog lovers out there."
"I just do what I can."
"Well, it's nice of you."
"You should come with me sometime."
I swing my head around to stare at him. "What?"
He shrugs and offers me a sheepish grin. "Too much? Just trying to keep you on your toes."
"Yeah, I don't think I'm ready for that yet. Wilbur's enough for me right now."
At the sound of his name, Wilbur looks up at me and does the whole panting-smile routine again, and it just makes me laugh.
"What kind of dog is he?"
"Border collie mix, I think," he says.
"He's a good dog. He should get adopted."
"There are a lot of good dogs in the shelters that never find a home," Russ says, and I don't miss the way his eyes flicker wirg sadness.
I blow out some air. I know what he's implying, that some dogs go into the shelters and never come out, and it makes my stomach twist, and it's almost enough for me to want to do something about it.
But that would mean going into the shelter with all these dogs, and I'm not sure I can handle that.
We get to the end of the trail and it dumps us back into the parking lot.
Russ gestures to my cast. "Need a ride?"
"You have to get Wilbur back."
He glances down at his watch. "I've got enough time to swing by your place."
"Okay," I agree. "Thanks."
I hop into the car while he helps Wilbur jump into the backseat, then pushes the driver's seat back and gets in. He smiles at me before sticking the key into the ignition and the old beater's loud, familiar engine roars to life.
"Indian Bend to the 101 is probably the fastest way to my place."
Russ eases out of the parking lot. "I remember where you live, Emma."
I don't say anything else as Russ drives me back home, and the only sound filling the car is the heavy panting coming from Wilbur.
I pull my phone out of my backpack and check my messages. Nothing from Blaine, but I'm not expecting there to be. Football season is in full swing now and Coach Pepp is big on weekend practice to go over the game from the night before.
But there's a message from Stella waiting for me.
"Ugh," I mutter under my breath as I read.
"What?" Russ asks.
"Nothing," I say, closing the message and putting my phone away without responding. "Apparently Richie is having a party tonight and Stella is about to go off the deep end."
Russ takes his eyes off the road long enough to look over at me with confusion. "Am I supposed to know who those people are?"
"Richie Silva? The starting defensive end on the football team?"
"You should know by now that I'm not exactly the kind of guy who's up on the high school football roster."
I smile tightly. "Fair enough. Anyway, he's also Blaine's best friend, and Stella is my best friend, and she'd really like something to happen there."
"Ah." Russ nods like it's all becoming clear to him. "Gotcha."
"Yeah, so it's not just like there's any old party tonight. It's Richie's party, which makes it ten times more dramatic for Stell." I sigh. "I'm so not looking forward to this."
"Then don't go."
Russ says this like it's the most obvious no-brainer in the world.
"Yeah right."
"What? I'm not kidding. If you don't want to go, then don't. Why do something you know will make you miserable?"
"You don't get it. I can't just not go to something unless I have a good excuse. And since it's Richie's party, I know Blaine's going to want to be there."
"If you say so," Russ says, flicking his right blinker on and moving over to exit the freeway. "But that doesn't sound like a good time to me."
I don't respond as he makes a bunch of turns and proves he hadn't been kidding when he said he remembers where I live. He pulls up in front of my house and I'm quick to get out of the car. I'm surprised when he gets out, too.
"Uh, I had fun," I say as he rests his elbow on the roof of his car and looks at me. "I hope Wilbur finds a home soon."
"Well, you've gone all awkward all of a sudden."
"I'm not awkward. I just don't appreciate you making fun of my life."
He rolls his eyes. "Please. I wasn't. I just think it's ridiculous that you're going to force yourself to do something that you make sound like torture."
"It's called being a good friend."
He goes quiet for a second. "You said Stella has been chasing Rocky for awhile, right?"
"Richie. And yeah."
"And he's shown no interest in her, right?"
I shrug. "Right. So?"
"So maybe you'd be a better friend if you told her it's probably time to move on."
"She can still land him."
"No halfway decent guy who's into a girl would string her along for this long, Em."
"Maybe he doesn't know she likes him," I say, but his point is hard to argue with. It's something that's been nagging in back of my mind for the last few weeks, but I haven't wanted to say anything to Stella.
"You don't really believe that."
No.
He's right.
I don't.
But I'm not about to tell him that.
"You think you're so smart about all of this, then you come to the party tonight and see for yourself," I tell him, raising an eyebrow.
"Challenge accepted," he replies with a cocky grin. He flips his sunglasses back down over his eyes. "Text me the address. See you tonight, Em."
And with that, he slides into the driver's seat and his car roars away from the curb. I watch until it disappears around the corner, then head up the driveway toward the house, wondering what I've just gotten myself into.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It takes me three hours to decide whether or not I'm actually going to send Richie's address to Russ, but something tells me he'll find it with or without my help, and I don't need to piss off the one ally I seem to have in the entire play.
All he'd sent back was a smiley face, leaving me wondering what on earth he has planned for tonight. Part of me is convinced I need to come down with a timely twenty-four-hour stomach bug, but the other part doesn't want to turn Russ loose on Richie's party without me there to make sure it doesn't get out of hand.
Ugh.
I'm dressed in worn jeans with a tear just above the knee and a boring white tank top. My hair is contained in a loose braid that's hanging over my shoulder. And, as always, I have my oh-so-chic cast to accessorize the entire outfit.
It's a far cry from Stella's attitude about her clothes. She's called me six times and texted more than twelve photos of different outfits. Trying to get her to wear jeans, flats and a cute shirt is going nowhere, and half of me is convinced she's going to show up in a ball gown.
I'm sitting in our front courtyard when Blaine's sleek black BMW glides silently to a stop at the curb. It's a heck of a lot different than hearing Russ coming from three miles away. I get to my feet and wave to him before he gets impatient and feels the need to honk and aggravate my dad.
"Hey babe," he says once I slide into the front seat. "What are you wearing?"
I glance down at my clothes like I somehow forgot what I'd just put on. "Uh, jeans and a T-shirt?"
"Did you forget where we're going?"
I don't bother dignifying that with a response. Besides, it's not like Blaine's looking all that sharp in a pair of khakis and a light blue polo anyway.
Sheesh.
We quietly make the quick ten-minute trip to Richie's place near Old Town Scottsdale, and maybe the silence with Blaine would have bothered me in the past, but it doesn't now.
Dozens of cars already line the street in front of his house, and I know it's not going to be a quiet, calm night where I'll be nestled warmly in my comfy bed around midnight.
Dang.
I scan the street for any sign of Russ' beater, but it's dark and even a car as completely unmistakable as his is impossible to pick out of the crowd. Hopefully he's thought better about coming.
We get out of the car and walk up the lighted path to Richie's front door. Unlike at Andrea Harris' party, no one is hanging out in the front courtyard tonight, but the steady rhythm of the bass makes it feel like the driveway is shaking with every step we take.
My head is already pounding, and I fight the urge to grab the keys hanging out of Blaine's back pocket and run for the car.
Nevermind that I can barely dress myself one-handed, let alone drive a car.
"Hey man!" Richie's standing just off the entrance when we first walk in. He and Blaine do that weird guy hug where they sort of pat each other on the back without really touching. "Emma, a pleasure as always."
I smile tightly at him. "Hi, Richie."
I'm about to break away from them and search for Stella -- and, okay, sweep the house for signs of Russ -- when my best friend takes the mystery out of the hunt and magically appears at my side.
"Em! Finally, thank God, you're here!" She shoots a look at Richie but says nothing to him, and I raise an eyebrow. "Let's get you a drink."
"I'm not drinking tonight," I say, but my protest falls on deaf ears as she clamps down on my arm and drags me away to the kitchen.
Stella parks herself in front of the giant fishbowl filled with some kind of orange liquid that I'm sure is oozing with alcohol and pours out two cups. She wordlessly hands one to me and I take it even though I have no plans to touch it.
"So, how's it going?" I ask as she downs her first cup of punch.
She looks over at me and waves the empty cup in my face. "Here's your first clue."
"What happened?"
"Oh, I don't know," she says with a heavy sigh. "It's just all a mess. Ignoring Richie has been even more of a disaster than it was when I tried to corner him by his locker everyday. I'm starting to think I'm just gonna need to get over it."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your advice backfired big time, Emma."
"Sorry," I say, thinking back to the last party where I told her ignoring Richie would be best. "How?"
She pours more punch into her cup. "I really didn't think it was possible for him to ignore me anymore than he was before. But not talking to him has made it even easier for him to pretend I don't exist. Maybe I really don't as far as he's concerned. You said not paying any attention to him would make him notice me more. Guess what, Em? It's not."
Stella's voice is getting more and more shrill with every word she speaks. And that's when I notice Russ step into the kitchen behind her. My mouth immediately runs dry, my belly tangling itself into knots.
I hadn't really thought he was going to come here.
I wish he hadn't.
Stella is still talking, but her words aren't registering with me. My eyes are locked on Russ' face; he hasn't seen me yet, and I briefly wonder if I can dart out of the room -- or maybe duck behind the island -- without him noticing.
But his gaze continues scanning the room and it's only seconds until they land on me.
His face breaks into a grin as soon as he sees me standing here, and I wait for him to interrupt and save me from Stella's ranting, but as soon as he gets closer and overhears her, he stops and folds his arms across his chest, like he's suddenly very interested in the dramatic life and times of Stella Gonzalez.
Grrr.
"And that is why I really don't think you know what you're talking about," Stella is saying when I tune back into the conversation. "I think you just lucked into Blaine or he's weird or something because there is no way this so-called strategy of yours actually gets the guy."
I shake my head and open my mouth to respond when Russ steps forward before I get a chance to say anything.
Or to stop him.
"You must be Stella," he says, holding out his hand to her.
Stella whirls around to look at him, frowns, looks over at me with an odd expression on her face, then stares at his hand for a solid three seconds before deciding she's good enough to shake it.
"Um," she says at last. "Yes. And you are?"
"I'm Russ. Can't say I'm shocked Emma hasn't mentioned me," he says, shooting a quick look at me. I refuse to meet his gaze.
"Yeah, I don't know anyone named Russ."
"I'm in the play," he says, and she nods, but doesn't look any more impressed. "With Emma."
"I figured."
True to form, Russ isn't deterred by her chilly attitude, and it kind of reminds me of how he acted when we first met.
"I'm guessing you're Stella based on what you're saying about guys," he says with a smile. "Emma told me about the advice she gave you and I knew it was doomed to be a disaster from the start."
"Oh, did she?" Stella shoots an irritated look at me. "That's so interesting that you know all about my personal business and here I am, just meeting you."
Russ laughs easily. "I know, it's a little weird. But I'm right, aren't I? Her advice was crap."
Now it's my turn to get pissy with Russ. "Excuse me," I say. "But my advice isn't crap. It worked just fine for me." I absently take a sip of the drink in my hand, blanch, and put it down on the island.
"No, he's right. It sucked."
"Let me guess," Russ goes on. "Ignoring him has only made him forget about you. It's like you're more invisible now than you were before, right?"
Stella looks at him, eyebrows raised, intrigue painted all over her face. "Yeah, that's right."
He nods. "Figures. Here's the thing. Guys and girls are wired differently. Guys tend to like to think things are their idea. When they say guys want to do the chasing, they're not kidding. But honestly? For the right girl, it doesn't matter. It's never about games with the right one. It's about spending as much time with them as you can and finding out things you never knew before. And if you're lucky, you like those things." He shakes his head. "Sorry, Stella, but if Richie doesn't notice that you're not paying attention to him anymore, he was never that into it from the beginning."
Stella bites down on her lip, and I throw up my arms in frustration.
"That's exactly what I was trying to tell her," I protest, but no one is listening to me.
"I don't want to give up," she says, her eyes clouding with tears.
Russ smiles at her, and I'm watching this completely unbelievable scene play out in front of me, hardly able to process what's happening.
"It's not giving up," he says. "It's just doing what's right for you."
"I've liked him forever." Stella's bottom lip quivers and I know we're just seconds away from waterworks.
And I can't wait to see Russ freak out when it happens.
But instead, I watch as he reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder and gives her a warm -- weird -- smile. "Everyone'll be where you are at least once. We al
l get a broken heart. It's like a rite of passage or something."
Stella manages a small, broken smile. "Not her," she sniffles, pointing to me, and I raise an eyebrow, not sure how else I'm about to be dragged into this shipwreck. "Emma and Blaine are perfect."
If I'd been drinking, I'd probably be choking on it right about now. My eyes sort of go buggy and I think I feel my left cheek twitch.
Russ is staring at me, an unreadable expression on his face, and I'm not sure I want to know what it means. He already told me on the day we met that he thinks I'm shallow and naive. I thought maybe we'd made some progress with that lately, but I can only imagine what he's thinking now, especially since he's right. My advice to Stella is stupid.
"We're not -- we're not perfect," I manage to say.
Stella rolls her eyes. "Whatever, Em. High school sweethearts, for sure."
A month ago, I would've been standing here smiling, absolutely certain that Stella's right, unable to imagine my life without Blaine. He'd come with me to college, of course, and we'd get engaged just before graduation, and married a year or two after that.
A perfect plan. A perfect life.
Now, I really don't know what I want.
Or what I'm supposed to want.
Heck, I don't even know where my boyfriend is right now.
I force a smile onto my face. "We'll see."
Russ' eyes are boring into me, and I make myself rip my eyes off him, and busy myself with admiring the painting hanging above Richie's kitchen table. I don't know how long it is before I hear him talking to Stella again, their voices low and rumbling, but I'm not listening.
And the longer I stand here, the hotter and hotter it gets inside until my cheeks feel like they're on fire and I think I might pass out.
I walk as fast as I can without full-on sprinting out of the tiny and getting tinier kitchen. I've been to Richie's two times before and I know the patio is just off the family room and even though it feels like I'm moving through a maze, I'm standing outside, gulping in fresh air in seconds.
I drop down onto one of the cushioned wicker patio chairs sitting in front of the pool and take a few deep breaths.
What the heck is wrong with me right now? I barely even recognize myself, getting flustered over a comment like the one Stella just made.
