You could always try apologizing to her.
RajBat:
But then I’d be letting her off the hook. I trusted her to write truthfully, and she made a huge mistake.
FrogPrincess:
Yeah. She knows she messed up. It’s just hard for her to admit it. She’s going through some family stuff right now, too. Maybe cut her some slack?
RajBat:
Maybe. She’d be a lot easier to work with if she were more open-minded about her new job. She’s not even giving it a chance.
Whoa. That was the second time I’d heard that in as many hours. First from Dad, and now from Raj. I was starting to take the hint. I swallowed down my pride and typed the next line slowly.
FrogPrincess:
She’ll do better next time. Give HER that chance, ok?
RajBat:
Ok.
We chatted for a bit more after that, about movies, books, different things. Our tastes weren’t always the same, but that only made it more exciting. Because even our debates over our differences were fun. Raj listened to my opinions and was never afraid to give his own. I felt like I could share anything with him, except who I really was. “Lise” never came up again, but I kept thinking about his “open-minded” comment.
We finally said good night, but I lay in bed for a long time afterward, replaying our conversation, and the one I’d had with Dad. I didn’t need Simone to tell me what I already knew. All these weeks, I hadn’t been giving Whitman, or my life here, a fair chance. Starting tomorrow, that was going to change.
“If I eat another bite, I’m going to be sick.” Kyan gripped his stomach and stared at the mound of bite-size mini burgers in the center of the table. Given how skinny he was, I wasn’t surprised. Where was he putting them all?
“Keep going,” I said, ignoring my own growing heartburn. I grabbed an avocado-and-black-bean burger from the platter. “We have to taste them all.”
I jotted down some notes on my ThinkPad. Creamy, rich, with a pico de gallo bite.
We’d been taste testing at Flare, the burger joint on Washington Lane, for the last two hours. I had notes on twenty different burgers I’d tasted so far today. That meant … “Only ten more to go,” I offered brightly.
Kyan groaned. “Isn’t there an easier way to make nice with Raj?”
“You know the answer to that,” I said. “This review of Flare has to be perfect.” I reached for the burger that had supposedly made Flare one of the top burger joints in New England. It was called the Independence Burger, and it was stacked with tomatoes, white onions, and—of all things—blue potato chips. (I guessed fitting in every patriotic color had been a stretch.) “I want Raj to see that I’m taking this job seriously. Even if it’s not the one I wanted.”
“You’ve been in the pressroom before and after school and during lunch every day this week. Trust me, he’s getting the message.”
“I’m not so sure,” I said. Since Monday’s disaster, I’d been putting in a lot of hours working on my two new assignments, but Raj had barely seemed to notice. He had muttered a two-syllable “Good work” when he’d skimmed my piece on Nino’s Trattoria, but other than that, he spent his time in the pressroom darting from one person’s desk to another, making grammar corrections, studying photo proofs, checking design layouts. He was never still for long, and I had the sense that he believed that was how it should be. “I’ve never seen anyone work so hard and look so miserable doing it.”
“I have,” Kyan said. “Viv.”
My mouth dropped. “Viv? When?” I’d never seen Viv when she wasn’t bubbling over with smiles and cheer.
Kyan shrugged. “I saw her doing a photo shoot at the mall once. She was sitting in a chair while this swarm of people flocked around her, fluffing her hair, smearing on layers of makeup. And her mom was harping on her the whole time, to smile this way, stand that way. Viv looked like a pill bug right before it curls up into its ball. Just … tired of being poked and pushed around.”
“She’s never told me about any of that,” I said.
“No,” Kyan said. “She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, probably because most kids at school think her modeling gig is so cool. She doesn’t want to come across as a whiner. But lately, she’s been venting a lot to me. Sometimes she calls me at night, just to talk.”
“Really?” I nudged him. “That’s great!”
But Kyan looked doubtful. “We’ll see. I’m not reading too much into it. I’ve been thinking I might actually have a shot with her if I was her token guy friend. You know, the shoulder to cry on after her next breakup.” He shrugged. “I mean, why not? Underdogs get gorgeous girls in movies all the time, right? But she’s so … flighty when it comes to guys.” His eyebrows knit together. “Look, she’s stringing Raj along like she likes him. She swears it’s all part of the plan. But I’m not so sure.”
My heart dipped, and I put down the rest of my burger, suddenly losing the rest of my appetite. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Kyan said. “Maybe she’s just stuck on the idea of actually having a nice boyfriend for a change. Sometimes I wonder if she really wants to fall for him. Not because they’re right for each other. But because he’s a decent option after a ton of bad ones.”
“Well, she’s allowed to be friends with him,” I said, squirming uncomfortably. “It’s good for her.”
“Sure it is,” he said forlornly. “We’re both thrilled.” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Lise, you don’t want her to be good friends with Raj any more than I do.”
“Of course I do,” I sputtered, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because. What guy hasn’t crushed on Viv at some point? I bet Raj is no exception. And you’re scared he might fall for her for real. It’s probably already happening.” He pushed his leftovers around his plate dejectedly. “Are you still chatting with him online?”
I blushed. “Pretty much every night. Last night we talked for two hours straight.” I smiled, remembering. “He emailed me a picture of a painting he’s working on and asked me what it needed. I gave him a list of my favorite books, and he says he wants to read every one. We never run out of things to say. But then I come to school, and he gives me the cold shoulder. It seriously messes with my head.”
“Well, that’s because he doesn’t know you … are you,” Kyan pointed out.
I sighed. “True. When we chat, he’s picturing Viv.” I felt my mouth turning down at the corners. “But really, what does it matter if Viv’s friends with Raj?” I asked, returning to the topic that was stressing me out. “She’s got a list of potential Winter Formal dates that’s a mile long. She showed it to us yesterday. And Raj isn’t on it.”
“Yet,” Kyan challenged. “But every time they hang out, the odds go up. What if he asks her to the dance?”
My stomach bottomed out. How could that have never crossed my mind? “He won’t,” I said definitively. But I sounded a lot more confident than I felt.
“He might, and then what?” Kyan asked. “How could she say no to a guy who thinks she’s a princess?”
I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it again. As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. A good one.
As I walked home, my stomach ached, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the burgers, or from what Kyan had said. When I’d come up with this plan, I’d been so sure it was foolproof. But what if Viv was starting to think of Raj as more than a friend? What then?
I tried to call Viv on her cell, but it went straight to voicemail. I knew she was missing school tomorrow for a photo shoot, but Friday was the field trip to Louisa May Alcott’s house, so maybe we’d have a chance to talk then.
I pocketed my cell phone, my stomach tightening uncomfortably, and opened the door to our house. The second I stepped across the threshold, Destry’s voice hit me square in the face.
“I don’t know where they are, Mom,” she was saying from the kitchen. “But don’t blame me. I
wouldn’t have touched them with a ten-foot pole!”
“Well, pickled eggs don’t just disappear!” That was Gail’s voice, edgier than I’d ever heard it.
I thought about making an escape. I could probably go back outside without anyone noticing. But then I remembered Dad’s words. Our family. For better and worse.
I shut the door, dropped my backpack and coat, and headed straight for the frontlines.
“Hey!” I called, walking into the kitchen wearing my cheeriest smile. “How’s everybody doing?”
“Humph,” said Destry, scowling.
Gail tried for a weary smile, without much success. “I’m looking for my jar of pickled eggs,” she said to me. “You haven’t seen them, have you?”
“No,” I said, and then watched her face fall. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Um … maybe they’re in the fridge?”
“We checked,” grumbled Destry. “Five times.” She heaved an enormous sigh. “Face it, Mom, you probably ate them and then forgot.”
Gail lasered her eyes at Destry. “I did not eat an entire jar of eggs by myself!”
“Nobody else in this house ate them,” Destry said, her voice rising to match Gail’s. “The rest of us eat normal food.”
I fought the urge to laugh. This may have been true, but now was definitely not the best time to point it out.
Gail straightened, pressing her hand against her back. “Well, then. Why don’t the normal people in this house go to the store to get me more? Destry?”
“What?” Destry frowned. “You’ve got to be kidding! I just got home from ballet!”
“Yes, and you’re still wearing your coat, which makes it easy.” Gail handed her a ten dollar bill. “I’m going to take a nap.” She waved as she left the kitchen.
“I cannot believe she’s making me go,” Destry seethed. “I have an Algebra test tomorrow, and I have so much studying to do …” Her voice wavered, and for a split second, her usually composed face faltered, and in its place was a softer, less guarded expression. It was like the curtain had suddenly been whisked back, and there was a stressed-out, ordinary girl behind it. How had I never seen her before? Maybe because Destry had been hiding her, or maybe because I hadn’t really been looking.
Before I knew what I was doing, I blurted, “I’ll go with you!”
We stared at each other, both in states of shock over the words that had come tumbling out of my mouth. I waited, wondering when the snarky remark would come. It never did.
“Um … okay,” she said quietly. And then, an even more shocking, “Thanks.”
I grabbed my own coat, and a few seconds later we were walking together down the street. I didn’t say anything for the first block, thinking that as soon as I spoke again, the spell would be broken. But then, Destry shook her head and muttered, “Pickled eggs? Repulsive.”
We looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“It’s true,” I gasped between hiccupping giggles. “And she probably did eat the whole jar. I saw her eat five in a row last night during dinner!”
We laughed so hard we had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk to catch our breath. Finally, once we could walk again, Destry said, “You know, part of me is dreading the baby coming, because it’s going to change everything. But another part of me can’t wait.” She smiled. “Because at least Mom won’t be a raving lunatic anymore.”
“Don’t bet on it,” I teased, and then we were laughing all over again.
“So … I think I probably owe you an apology.” Destry bit her lip, red with embarrassment. “I guess I’ve been a sort of wicked stepsister lately, haven’t I?”
“Um … are you going to put a curse on me if I say yes?” I asked hesitantly.
“No.” She laughed. “I knew I wasn’t making it easy on you.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “I’ve been kind of … jealous. Before you moved in, your dad was always bragging about you, telling Mom how great your grades were, and how proud he was of you being an editor-in-chief on the paper. I guess I was worried I’d never measure up to you.”
I gaped at her. “Are you kidding? But … you’re so beautiful! And popular! I don’t get why—”
“I may be popular,” she said, “but it’s not the same as being a good student in your dad’s book.” She bit her lip, staring at the ground. “I bet you didn’t know that I’m barely passing Algebra?”
“No,” I said quietly. “Dad said you were struggling, but I didn’t know how bad.”
“Well, you do now. My real dad has never been that involved in my grades and stuff, so it’s been tough having to listen to your dad, when my own is MIA half the time.”
“I get that.” I could tell from her beet-red cheeks that it was hard for her to be so honest, so I decided I owed it to her to bare all now, too. “And … I’ve been jealous of you.” Now it was her turn to gawk, and it made me laugh. “It used to be that whenever I saw Dad, it was just the two of us. But since I moved here, I haven’t spent that much one-on-one time with him.” I smiled sheepishly. “I guess I’m not that used to sharing him yet.”
“It’s funny, I feel like that about sharing Mom with you. And it’s only going to get harder when the baby comes,” Destry said.
I nodded. “But it’s exciting, too, don’t you think? A new baby brother or sister?”
Destry wrinkled her nose. “That means dirty diapers.”
“And babysitting,” I added, wrinkling mine. “But maybe it won’t be so bad if we work together.”
“And if they pay us,” Destry said. “I’ll do the babysitting for free, but the diapers?”
I laughed. “That’s definitely going to cost them.”
We walked the last block to the store in comfortable silence and got two jars of pickled eggs. “Just to be safe,” I told Destry. Then we headed for home.
“About your Algebra test,” I said tentatively as we reached the front porch. “I can help you study, if you want.” I waited, holding my breath, remembering what had happened the last time I’d offered to help her. This time, though, she gave me an open smile.
“That would be great.” She leaned toward me, adding in a whisper, “Because if your dad uses the Red Sox in one more math equation, I’ll scream.”
“Not a problem. We can use shoes instead.”
She grinned. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
We walked inside to a gushingly appreciative Gail, and when Dad got home, the four of us sat down to a dinner of easy conversation, talking about our days as if it were something we’d been doing forever. Gail and Dad swapped a few pleased smiles when Destry and I went to study together afterward. Then Destry offered to let me use the computer first to write my review of Flare and send emails to Mom and Simone.
I wasn’t sure if this new truce would last, but when I finally tiptoed past a sleeping Destry to go to bed, I saw twenty empty hangers and a generous chunk of newly cleaned out space on my side of the closet that hadn’t been there before.
Thursday morning before class, I headed for the pressroom, ready to drop my review on Raj’s desk. Because it was so early, I expected to find the room empty, but when I walked in, there was Raj bent over a table, a piece of charcoal in his hand, drawing. My heart instantly sped up at the sight of him with his sketchbook, his face intensely focused on the paper before him. I hadn’t seen him looking like that since that night at Swoonful of Sugar, and it brought the memories brimming to the surface.
He didn’t notice me at first, but then he suddenly looked up, smiling so genuinely that I was sure he was remembering that night, too. My breath caught in my throat as I waited, but a split second later, the smile dimmed.
“Hey,” I blurted. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to catch you by surprise.”
“No, you didn’t,” he said, quickly slapping his sketchbook shut. “I mean, that was weird.” He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head. “I thought you were Viv just now. The way you smiled reminded me of …”
>
“Who?” I was barely able to speak.
“Forget it.” He turned away, starting to turn on the computers in the room to get ready for the staff to come in. “It’s ridiculous. I mean, you don’t look anything like her.”
I forced a laugh while my insides wilted. A headline scrolled through my head: PRINCESS IS JUST AN ORDINARY FROG AFTER ALL. “No, I don’t,” I said softly. I felt his eyes questioning mine and quickly cleared my throat and pulled out my review, hoping to change the subject. “Here.” I thrust it into his hands. “I finished the Flare review.”
“Early, huh?” He nodded in approval. “That’s a plus.” I stood next to him and skimmed the words as he read them:
If your sizzle is getting frizzled by the same old boring burgers, it’s time to give them some Flare. If you haven’t visited this Whitman fave lately, then you’re missing out on some of the best burgers New England has to offer. With a recently expanded menu that includes vegan and gluten-free burger options, Flare has something for everyone to sink their teeth into. Of course, don’t forget about their Independence Burger. One bite, and you’ll be singing the praises of this star-spangled burger to all your friends and family….
I swallowed, so nervous about what Raj’s final verdict would be that I nearly jumped out of my skin when he laughed.
“Okay, I need you to translate,” I said with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “Is that an I-like-it laugh or a you’re-fired one?”
“I like it,” he said, plunking it down onto the Approved pile of articles that were going to run in next week’s issue. “It’s really clever.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling a strange pride in the work I’d done.
“Are you okay with it?” he asked. “I mean, with it not being one of those life-changing cover stories you used to write?” I was surprised that there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. Only genuine curiosity.
I was as surprised as he was to find myself nodding. “I am. I’m still going to say that, honestly, it’s not my favorite kind of writing. But … those are my words, and I had fun writing them.” Then I decided to take a risk and motioned toward his sketchbook. “When I came in, you looked like you were having fun, too. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Macarons at Midnight Page 9
