by Nancy Krulik
Alana poked Connor in the ribs. “Cut it out. You know I told you all about Sammy.”
Connor laughed. “Yeah, you did. Columbia guy, right?”
Sammy nodded. “That’s me. Funny, Alana never mentioned you to me, though.”
“Connor and I just met this week,” Alana explained. “And you and I didn’t get to talk until today. So I didn’t get a chance.”
Sammy nodded. “That makes sense. I guess I’ll have to find more time to talk to you if I want to keep up with your new life.”
“You’re the one with the new life,” Alana reminded him. “I’m still running with the same old crowd.”
“And Connor,” Sammy pointed out. “And that guy Leo.” He placed a strong arm around Alana’s shoulders and pulled her close. She smiled contentedly. It was nice to know she could still make him jealous—even when there was nothing for him to be jealous of.
“Leo?” Connor asked, his eyebrows rising slightly in a playful, curious way.
“A fellow dog walker. We hang out at the dog run in Riverside Park sometimes,” Alana explained. She started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Sammy asked her.
“Oh, just this conversation Leo and I heard at the dog run the other day,” Alana explained. “This woman Margaret was so totally freaked-out because her dog was rejected from a school she applied to.”
“A dog school?” Stella asked incredulously.
“Oh yes, a dog school,” Alana told her. “And not just any dog school, mind you. This was Paws Prep School.”
“Oh, come on, this is a joke, right?” Connor asked.
Alana shook her head. “I’m serious. It’s an obedience-training school. Very hard to get into. And this woman had gotten a rejection note from them in the mail. She was devastated.”
“Because an obedience school rejected her dog?” Connor sounded amazed.
Alana shook her head. “They didn’t reject her dog. They rejected her! The school said she and her husband didn’t seem like the kind of family they liked to work with at Paws Prep. I’m telling you, this woman was crushed. She was actually crying. And Leo and I were…well, we couldn’t help but start cracking up. I was able to sort of bury my head in my shirt, but Leo…I swear. I really thought he was going to pee in his pants, he was laughing so hard. I mean, do you believe these people?”
“Can you imagine what a school like that must cost?” Stella asked. She was laughing now too.
“I know,” Alana agreed. “It’s ridiculous. Someone should write a book about New York’s wealthiest dog families.”
“Forget it. No one would believe it!” Stella told her.
“I barely believe it, and I know people like that,” Connor chimed in.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Sammy remarked flatly.
Alana, Connor, and Stella all stopped laughing at once.
“You’re kidding, right?” Stella asked him.
“No,” Sammy said. “These people didn’t steal their money; they worked for it. And they have the right to spend it any way they want.”
“But they can train their own dogs,” Stella said. “Or take a class at the ASPCA. They don’t need some fancy, private dog school.”
“Private dog school,” Alana repeated, choking on her laughter. “I can just see the beagles and bloodhounds in their uniforms.”
“With blazers and ties,” Connor added.
“Only for the boys,” Alana reminded him. “The girls would have to wear skirts.”
“I’m serious,” Sammy insisted. “Who are you to criticize these people for wanting the best?”
“The money they spend could be used for so many more important things,” Stella told him. “Like helping Greenpeace save the rain forest. Or helping Habitat for Humanity buy more materials to build houses for the homeless.”
“I’m sure that woman at the dog run gives money to charity,” Sammy said. “She can take charitable donations as a tax deduction.”
“Gee, that sounds so magnanimous,” Stella replied sarcastically. “The rich give money to charity so they don’t have to pay taxes.”
“I don’t care why they give, as long as they do,” Alana said, trying to help Sammy out of this awful argument. “At Helping House we don’t question anyone’s motives for giving. We just take their cash. No questions asked.”
“Speaking of Helping House,” Connor interrupted. “How was the carnival today?”
“What carnival?” Sammy asked.
“You know, the one they have every year at Helping House,” Alana reminded him. “I asked you if you wanted to help, remember? But you had the game to go to this afternoon.” She turned to Connor. “Last year Sammy helped out at the cotton-candy machine. He kept giving the kids from the shelter oversize helpings. They were sugar crazed all night long.”
“I remember,” Sammy replied. “That was a fun day.”
“You make it sound like it was a hundred years ago,” Stella groaned. “It was only last fall.”
“How’d you know about that?” Sammy demanded of Connor, ignoring Stella’s comment completely.
“Alana mentioned it the other day,” Connor explained simply. “I guess it just stuck in my head. It sounds like a great organization. Too bad it’s even necessary, though. What kind of a guy would abuse his family? Doesn’t make any sense.”
“A lot of things don’t make sense,” Sammy said dismissively. He turned to Alana. “Did Helping House make a lot of money today?” he asked her.
Alana nodded. “There are always loads of people at that benefit. Even more importantly, the kids from the shelter had a blast.”
“I wish I could have been there to take some shots of their faces,” Connor said. “But I had something else scheduled.”
“Something break down?” Sammy asked him.
Connor looked at him strangely. “Break down…?” he began curiously. Then he paused. “Oh, no. I was actually shooting some head shots for an actor in my building. I do that sometimes for people I know. Starving actors don’t have a lot of cash.”
“Connor’s a photographer,” Alana told Stella.
“Yeah, you mentioned that earlier,” Stella replied. “A few times, actually.”
“Here comes the meatball pie!” Zach shouted, interrupting.
“Oh, yum!” Stella said, diving in for a slice.
“There’s this awesome pizza place up near Columbia,” Sammy told them. “It’s off on a side street, and you wouldn’t know it was there unless someone told you, but they make the most incredible Sicilian pie.”
“Mmm…I love Sicilian. We’ve got to go there one night,” Alana suggested.
“Absolutely,” Sammy replied. He turned his attention back to Connor. “I guess between working as a handyman and taking pictures, you don’t go to college.”
Connor shrugged. “It’s not for me. High school was enough formal education, I guess. I’m not one for sitting behind a desk. But I take photography classes at the New School a couple of nights a week.”
“That sounds like fun,” Stella said.
“You know what you want to be, and you’re going for it,” Alana agreed.
“Just like me,” Sammy interjected. “I’m actually here celebrating my new internship—in the marketing department at Shoreman Sporting Goods,” he boasted to Connor. “It was pretty competitive, but I pulled it off. I think I even beat out a few upperclassmen.”
Alana forced a smile to her lips. She was having a hard time with the whole Shoreman thing, but she felt she had to support Sammy. It was his life and his choice, and if it made him happy, then it should make her happy, too. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working that way.
“This internship actually doesn’t pay, but the next one I get will,” Sammy explained. He ran his fingers through Alana’s hair. “And then we’ll be able to go to places that serve more than pizza.”
“I like pizza,” Alana assured him.
“Me too,” Connor agreed, reaching over and takin
g a slice of the meatball pie. “That’s something pretty much everyone has in common.”
Sammy agreed and grabbed a slice of his own, which he scarfed down pretty quickly. A few minutes later he stood up. “I gotta make a quick call. The reception’s lousy in here, though,” he said. “Be back in a second.”
“Okay,” Alana said, wiping a bit of pizza grease off her chin and taking a sip of her Diet Coke. As he walked away, she turned her attention back to her matchmaking scheme. “Stella, tell Connor all about the recycling project you’re heading at school. It’s so cool. I swear, Stella’s going to save this whole planet single-handedly.”
“No one can save it single-handedly,” Stella corrected her. “We all have to work together. That’s the whole point.”
Alana listened for a few moments as Stella explained about their drive to force the school to stop using Styrofoam cups and to provide recycling bins for scrap paper, but her mind drifted. After a few minutes she realized Sammy had been gone awhile, and she hoped nothing was wrong.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Stella and Connor; then she got up and headed toward the door, to see if he was okay.
Seven
As she neared the entrance of the restaurant, Alana could hear Sammy talking on the phone. Obviously, his conversation was going on longer than he’d expected. No big deal. She turned to go back to her seat but stopped when she overheard what he was saying.
“Just give me a few more minutes, Tamara,” he pleaded into the phone. “It’s my old, high school friends. No. It’s not like it’s a big deal to me. But it is to them. They look up to me. I’m like a hero.”
Alana could feel her blood start to boil. Old, high school friends? Like a hero? What the hell was he talking about?
“Okay, I’ll be there in less than an hour,” he said, obviously finishing up his conversation. Quickly Alana turned and hurried back to the table, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.
“Whoa, you okay?” Stella asked as Alana flopped into her chair.
“Of course,” Alana replied, trying to sound as normal as possible. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know,” Stella said. “It’s just that you don’t normally dive-bomb into your seat like that.”
Alana shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Hey, ’Lana, where’s Sammy?” Evan called from the other end of the table.
“He’s making a phone call,” Alana called back. She was surprised at the sound of her own voice. It sounded kind of choked, like something was caught in her throat. She hoped no one noticed.
But Connor had. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Connor asked her gently. “You don’t sound like you. And you’re kind of flushed.”
“No. I’m definitely fine,” she assured him, trying to flash him a smile. Connor returned her smile with a curious look, making it clear he didn’t believe her.
A moment later Sammy reappeared at the table. “Hey, sorry I disappeared for so long,” he apologized to Alana. “I had to make plans with a friend of mine. He needs help with his economics project.”
Alana eyed him suspiciously. His economics project? Since when was a guy named Tamara?
“Anyway, I’ve gotta go,” Sammy continued, avoiding her eyes by staring at his pizza.
“So soon?” Alana asked. “You practically just got here.”
“I know, ’Lana. But this is kind of important,” Sammy insisted.
Alana stared at him with surprise. He was lying. She knew it. And the worst part was he was doing it with such ease. What had happened to him in those first few weeks of college, anyway?
“I understand. Helping people’s what I’m all about,” she said weakly.
“And that’s what I adore about you,” Sammy said. He leaned over and planted a kiss on her mouth. Alana tried to kiss him back, but it was hard. She was angry. Furious, actually. But she was also too confused to confront him. Especially here, in front of all these people. Besides, he’d probably lie his way out of anything she said anyway.
“Yo, Sammy, splitting so early?” Zach asked.
“Got things to do, places to be,” Sammy said.
“Are you going to homecoming?” Jessica asked him. “It’s in two weeks.”
“I’m gonna try,” Sammy assured her. “But stuff comes up, you know?”
And with that, he was gone, leaving Alana all alone in the pizza place. Well, not alone exactly. But she might as well have been. Everyone else was having a good time, scarfing down pizza, chatting, and laughing. Even Connor and Stella seemed to be lost in an intense conversation.
Which was good. After all, that was what she’d been hoping for, right? Of course it was. Connor and Stella. That was the plan. And to help them along, Alana decided to get out of the way. Quickly she got up and dragged her chair down to the other end of the table near Rebecca and Evan. With her at the other end of the long table, Stella and Connor would have no one to talk to but each other.
About an hour later, Stella and Alana were back on the subway, heading home to the Upper West Side. “So was I right? Isn’t Connor absolutely perfect?” Alana prodded.
Stella shrugged. “He’s a nice guy.”
Alana was amazed. “A nice guy? That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“But he’s so interesting,” Alana insisted. “And creative. And you have to admit he’s gorgeous.”
“Sure,” Stella agreed. “He’s all that. But there just weren’t any fireworks going off between us. And besides, I think he’s already into somebody else.”
Oh. Alana hadn’t counted on that. And for some reason, the thought of Connor being interested in some unknown girl made her uncomfortable. “What makes you think that?”
“He was talking about her all night,” Stella answered. “And every time he mentioned her name, his eyes lit up.”
Alana sighed. Lucky girl, whoever she was. “What’s her name?” she asked Stella, trying not to sound overly curious.
Stella smirked. “Alana.”
“Me?” Alana asked, her voice scaling up slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re just friends.”
“Maybe,” Stella mused. “But I got the sense he’d like it to be more. You should have heard him going on and on about how wonderful it was that you volunteered with those abused women and their kids. And how great you were with animals.”
“He was just making conversation,” Alana assured Stella. “I’m the only thing the two of you have in common. What else was he going to talk to you about?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” Stella replied sarcastically. “The weather? The pizza? Whether there’s life in outer space? There are plenty of things to talk about, Alana. But what he wanted to talk about was you. Well, you and Sammy, actually.”
“What do you mean me and Sammy?”
“He asked me how long you guys had been together and whether or not I thought Sammy was good for you.”
Alana wanted to ask Stella exactly what she had told Connor, but she stopped herself. It was better not to know. In fact, it was better to stop talking about Connor all together.
Not that she felt like talking about Sammy at the moment either. Alana knew better than to tell Stella about the phone conversation she’d overheard. She’d definitely jump all over that. And besides, it was probably all an innocent misunderstanding, anyway. Something she and Sammy would laugh about some day. At least, that’s what she hoped. Because the alternative was just too awful to imagine.
Eight
I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe you and I should start seeing other people. I’m not advocating breaking up completely, but we’re both young, and we need to experience life a little more before we settle down with one person. You may really hate me for this right now, but in a while you’ll see I was right. If we don’t date other people, how can we be sure that we’re in this for all the right reasons and not just settling for what’s comfortable?
Alana sat there on her bed, staring at the e-mail,
unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to think.
But Stella was far from speechless. She was furious. “What an asshole!” she exclaimed as she stared at the screen of Alana’s laptop. “An e-mail? You date the jerk for three years, and he breaks up with you in an e-mail? He’s such a chicken. He couldn’t face you, so he did this.” She wrapped her arm around Alana’s shoulders. “I’m glad I was home when you called. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”
Alana didn’t answer. She just sat there as the hot, salty tears began burning her eyes and trickling down her cheeks.
“It’s not even a good e-mail. ‘I’m not advocating breaking up.’ What kind of pretentious crap is that?” Stella continued, her blood obviously boiling. “And it’s a lie. Of course he’s advocating a breakup. He’s probably got his eye on someone already.”
Alana nodded slowly. “He does. Her name’s Tamara. I think he’s been dating her for a while, actually.”
“You knew about it?” Stella asked. “Since when? You never mentioned any suspicions to me.”
“I only figured it out last night,” Alana explained. “But I’d heard her name before.”
Stella flopped down on the bed. “He was never good enough for you,” Stella told her. “Pretentious snob.”
Alana thought about that. She pictured Sammy and herself at the antiwar protest in Central Park last summer. And at the Save Darfur rally in Washington, D.C. They’d gotten up at four in the morning just to make the bus for that one. In fact, Sammy had been the one to call her—three times!—on her cell phone, making sure she was out of bed and on time for that protest.
“Sammy was great for me, once,” Alana said slowly. “But he’s not Sammy anymore.”
“I know,” Stella agreed. “He’s Sam.” She held out her hand and imitated the phony, deep voice Sammy had used when he’d introduced himself to Connor last night. “And he works for child abusers.”
“That’s a little extreme,” Alana suggested.
“Is it?” Stella said. “Could you—of all people—honestly date someone who worked for Shoreman?”
