The corners of Anthony’s mouth quivered, then he burst out laughing. “Man, you are hanging on by a thread! But how come I’m always the one around when it snaps?”
I smacked him. “Shut up.”
Back at the apartment, Anthony handed me a sheet of study notes to help me prepare for our quiz on Tuesday.
After he left, I called Georgia and told her about finding the cards and picture. I was waiting for her to cheer me up, tell me a long story about the latest drama going on at school, but Georgia was unusually quiet.
“G, you knew my parents better than anyone,” I went on. “You know how Mom stuck Post-it notes in Dad’s briefcase every day. And how she sat through all those Eagles games even though she hated sports. And remember on his fortieth birthday when she made that two-tier cake from scratch? I mean, she really loved him. Right? She wouldn’t have cheated on him, would she? Do you think this is linked to the apology?”
Georgia let out a long breath. “I don’t know. Maybe the Statue of Liberty thing was just an innocent friends thing.” She said what I wanted to hear, but her voice was flat and unconvincing.
“That’s what I was thinking.” I stared at my oversized shadow on the long bedroom wall. I could hear Georgia breathing. Again, I imagined rocking the jammed vending machine. When would the candy bar finally break free and rid me of this permanent state of dangle? I changed the topic. “Speaking of friends, have you ever seen When Harry Met Sally?”
“No. Why?”
“Jolie and Anthony said the whole movie is about whether guys and girls can be friends. It’s supposed to be really good. I want you to rent it and tonight at seven call me so we can watch it together.”
“Sounds like a plan. Oh, and Em?” She lowered her voice slightly. “Maybe you should lay off trying to understand your mom’s apology.”
I swallowed. “Well, what am I supposed to do now? Give up on finding my answers?” Now that I had finally found the courage to start searching, I knew there was no way I could stop—not with the feeling of possible revelation growing deep inside my gut—a feeling of both fascination and fear.
It was silent on the other end for a few seconds. Georgia let out another exhale. “Do what you have to do, Em. Okay, talk to you at seven.”
I invited Lindsey over, because to Jolie’s shock, she hadn’t seen the movie either.
Lindsey and I camped out on the floor, dressed in sweats, propped up against the coffee table. Jolie came home with two large boxes of pizza and paper plates.
At seven sharp, Georgia called. I handed the phone to Lindsey and my two friends finally met.
Lindsey handed the phone back to me. I plugged in my earpiece and we popped the DVD in.
Trent bounded through the door, a bag of popcorn in one hand and a six-pack of Diet Coke in the other. “I can’t believe you started the movie without me,” he whined.
“It’s just the opening credits,” Jolie said.
Trent pointed a finger at my phone and earpiece. “I need the 411 on this.”
“Georgia’s going to watch the movie with us,” I explained.
“Thank God for free nights and weekends,” Trent said, sitting on the couch next to Jolie. “The evolution of Sally’s hair through the years is the best part of this movie.”
“Shut up and let us watch,” Jolie said.
From the moment Harry and Sally took off toward a new life in New York, I knew I was going to like the movie. Trent grabbed my earpiece and debated with Georgia about which haircut best suited Sally.
Jolie, Lindsey, and I argued whether men and women could just be friends. After all, in the movie, Harry and Sally did get married.
“I just hope one day I can find my own Harry,” Lindsey said, turning around and propping her elbows on the coffee table.
“Me too,” I agreed.
“What do you mean?! You HAVE found your Harry! O-wen!” Lindsey sang.
“But he hasn’t called all weekend. And I gave him my number,” I said.
Trent flipped my phone shut. “Who hasn’t called? The hot player?”
Lindsey laughed.
“That’s because he’s off PLAYING!” Trent said. “I warned you about him . . .”
I felt my heart sink.
Jolie pointed to the door. “Out. See you tomorrow.”
Trent kissed Lindsey’s and my cheeks and made a playful scowl at Jolie.
“Well,” I said, standing up and stretching. “Maybe after your date with your horse guy, you’ll have your own Harry.”
“It’s not until Thursday. I still can’t get over that he said he would meet me in the city. Anyway, keep your freakish toes crossed for me,” Lindsey said, laughing. I tried not to seem scandalized by the tryst she was planning with a twenty-three-year-old riding instructor as Lindsey thanked us for the movie and left.
Jolie and I cleaned up the pizza boxes, then I went into my room. I lay on my bed, my mind racing. How does a girl prioritize her scrambling mind? (1) Wallow in the mystery of my dead mother’s apology? (2) Agonize over what seemed to be the impeding revelation that said mother was an adulterer? Or (3) Obsess over the mixed messages of Owen, hot God and apparent, but not positive, boyfriend?
Just then, my phone rang. The caller ID displayed Owen’s name. Obviously, my priorities shifted to number three.
“Hi,” I answered, trying to sound casual.
“Hey,” Owen said, sounding equally casual. “How was your weekend?”
“Boring,” I sighed, “and non-eventful.”
“Well, I was upstate visiting relatives, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. . . .”
“Oh, yeah?”
He couldn’t stop thinking about me!!! Take a breath.
We chatted for a few minutes about his trip and an upcoming test at school, then we hung up. I glided into the bathroom replaying every word of our conversation. As I washed my face for bed, all my other worries floated to the far corners of my mind and I found myself humming the song from When Harry Met Sally, “It Had to Be You.”
“HEY, GUESS WHAT,” I said, breaking open a bag of chips the following Monday at lunch.
Lindsey and Andi both turned to me, probably shocked that these weren’t the reduced-fat kind.
“Owen called me last night. He said he thought about me all weekend!”
“Ooh, that’s awesome!” Lindsey exclaimed while opening a bottle of seltzer.
“Did he book another date?” Andi asked.
“Not exactly . . .” I said, and stuck a chip in my mouth.
“Hmm,” Andi grumbled. “He’s obviously interested . . . You need to make him jealous, Emily. Let him realize that you’re not just sitting around and waiting for him.”
Unfortunately, sitting around and waiting is EXACTLY what I’m doing, I thought.
“But how?” I asked.
Andi twirled her long blond hair around her finger. “When the guys come over, just follow my lead.”
Lindsey and I exchanged doubtful glances.
As if on cue, the guys got up from their table and worked their way across the lunchroom.
“Quick,” Andi said. “Start laughing.” She opened her mouth and let out a loud, “Ha ha ha!”
Lindsey and I looked at each other and cracked up.
“What’s so funny?” Aidan asked, leaning over to peck Andi on her cheek.
“That’s a powerful laugh, kid,” Owen said.
I blushed.
Andi turned toward the guys. “We were just talking about Emily’s ex-boyfriend, Steve.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Why is that so funny?” Ethan asked, shooting a crumpled brown bag across the room into the trash can.
“Because,” Andi explained, twirling her blond hair. “He wants Emily back sooooooo bad. He keeps calling and sending her stuff. Right, Em?”
All eyes turned to me. “Um, right,” I mumbled.
Andi continued. “This weekend, he sent her a teddy bear with a note that said,
Remember last New Year’s and my parents’ hot tub.” She paused for a minute, the words hot tub lingering in the air. “A teddy bear! I mean, COME ON! The only time a teddy bear works is if there is a very sparkly piece of jewelry attached.” Andi threw her head back and laughed again.
She was pretty convincing. I made a mental note to encourage her to check out the drama department.
“Hot tub! That sounds interesting,” Ethan said, giving me a smarmy look.
My face started to burn. If they only knew that last New Year’s, Georgia and I spent the night watching New Year’s Rockin’ Eve.
Owen caught my eye. “And I thought you said your weekend was uneventful. While all along, you were receiving romantic packages . . .”
The bell rang and I quickly gathered up my things.
“Here, I’ll take that,” Owen said, grabbing my lunch tray.
“Thanks,” I said, picking up my backpack.
He walked slowly, waiting for me to catch up. He opened the door and we walked into the hallway.
“So how come I never knew about this Steve guy?” Owen asked.
I put on my best game face. “We broke up before I even moved here.”
“But apparently, that was not his decision . . .” Owen said, following me to my locker.
He leaned against the metal locker next to mine and locked eyes with me.
Thirteen . . . twenty-seven . . . six. The door wouldn’t budge. Damn. Think!
Thirteen . . . twenty-seven . . . five. Nothing. Shoot. I swear I heard Owen laughing.
“My parents have dinner plans Friday night,” he said. “And I get scared when I’m alone on Halloween. You want to come over? Help me give out candy to all the adorable brats who live in my building?”
“What?” I asked, sounding way too breathy.
“You—me—my house—Friday night?”
I cannot believe Andi’s plan worked! I smiled and shrugged. I hadn’t made any other Halloween plans anyway.
“Okay,” Owen said. “It’s a date.” Then he turned around and walked off to his class.
I whipped out my phone and text messaged Andi that she was brilliant.
Hey, Big Guy, I’m very sorry I lied about the whole Steve thing, but technically, it wasn’t my fault. I promise to try and avoid situations in the future that involve such blatant fabrication. By the way, do you think you could jog my memory about this combination? I really need my notebook.
The bell rang and I was late.
As my literature teacher droned on, I thought about the emotional power of jealousy. My mind wandered to the photo of Mom and the handsome man named “D.” Perhaps Mom also had a friend who had concocted an elaborate ruse to inspire jealousy and help re-ignite some extinguished sparks in her married life?
THAT AFTERNOON, I instant messaged Georgia and replayed my conversation with Owen.
Tennisfan500: Then he invited me over Fri. night to give out candy to the trick-or-treaters in his building. Cute, right?
CutiepieG: That’s GREAT! What are you going to wear?
Tennisfan500: NO IDEA. Maybe I’ll go shopping with Andi and Lindsey for something. Am I supposed to dress up? Like in a costume?
CutiepieG: I dunno. Sounds like you’ll be on the other side of the fence and should just look normal. ’Member in the movie when Harry tells Sally she should wear skirts more often? Maybe you should wear a skirt. By the way, did you tell Anthony we loved the movie? Does Anthony hang with Owen? You never mention them together.
Tennisfan500: It’s weird. Anthony is so nice, but he doesn’t seem to have any close friends. I mean, he gets along with everyone—it’s not like he’s a geek or something, but he’s never at any of the parties or anything.
CutiepieG: Maybe he’s a loner.
Tennisfan500: He doesn’t seem like loner material. Maybe I should wear a skirt . . .
CutiepieG: Scratch that. I changed my mind. No skirt, because remember my don’t shaveyour legs policy. That way you know things won’t go too far . . .
Tennisfan500: Give me a break.
CutiepieG: Just in case you get caught up in the moment, remember: hairy legs means the jeans stay on.
“THIS SAYS TO COOK THE STUFFING inside the turkey. Seriously, that can’t be right,” Jolie said, her nose pressed between the pages of The Joy of Cooking, a notebook in one hand.
“You’ve gotten at least fifty invitations to Thanksgiving dinners,” I said, gesturing toward a pile of fancy stationery stacked on top of the microwave. “And Thanksgiving isn’t for three more weeks.”
“None of those matter. We’ve always spent Thanksgiving as a family and that’s how it’s going to be,” Jolie insisted. “I just need to prepare. Now what’s that casserole thing your mom always made?”
“Sweet potato casserole.” I closed my chemistry book, crumpled up my paper, and threw it in the trash.
Jolie flipped to the index in the back of the book.
“Owen asked me to come over to his house Friday night,” I said.
Jolie looked up. “The player?” She air quoted player. “Asked you for another date?”
I shrugged casually. “Just a low-key Halloween thing.” “We need to tell Trent his theory, as always, was wrong.” She flipped back toward the front of the cookbook. “Are Owen’s parents going to be there?”
In life you are thrown so many opportunities to travel down the wrong path. I knew that if I simply said, Yes, they’ll be there, she would never check. I bit my lip, remembering my silent promise to the Big Guy, less than twenty-four hours ago, to stop telling so many little lies.
“Actually, I don’t think his parents will be there.” There, Big Guy. Are you happy? Now I probably just blew my opportunity for a date with Owen.
“Is he having a party?” Jolie asked, sticking a bookmark between the pages and laying the book down.
“No.” I got up from the table and sat on the couch. I turned on the TV and tried to act casual.
Jolie pursed her lips and was silent for what felt like an hour. “So it’ll be just the two of you?”
“You know, I’m not positive. I think he invited some other people . . .” He might have, I thought defensively, looking upward toward the ceiling, not sure whether I was defending myself to the Big Guy or my parents. Maybe both.
Jolie dug into her pocket and pulled out lip gloss. She rolled the tube over her lips, back and forth about twenty times. She capped the tube and returned it to her pocket.
“Fine,” she said authoritatively, smacking her lips. She locked eyes with me, looking nervous. “But if you are ever in a situation where you feel . . . uncomfortable . . . I want you to call me. Immediately. And I’ll come, no questions asked. Understood?”
This felt so—rehearsed—I wondered if Jolie had been secretly watching Gilmore Girls. My heart swelled.
I got up and gave her a hug. “Thank you.”
chapter eighteen
BY THE NEXT DAY, the entire student body knew of my approaching date with Owen. Apparently Halloween was not a “cool” holiday to celebrate in the city, because everyone had seen the big parade a million times before and just wanted to avoid traffic. Andi and Lindsey were going to rent some horror movies and chill. It was kind of sad for me, since Halloween back home had been a really big deal, and everyone at school wore costumes to the dance and played around with fake blood and drank dry ice punch. All that cheesy stuff.
That was why I was even more grateful to Owen for his invitation to spend Halloween together. It was so adorable that he wanted to give out candy to kids. All week, I marveled how, in the face of post-traumatic events, cryptic apologies, and mysterious findings, I, Emily Carson, was about to embark on a second date with the most eligible guy at school.
So, it was no surprise to me when my first few days of restored glory came crashing down like a curtain dropped at the end of a play.
I awoke Wednesday morning in a world of physical pain.
It was a foreign sensation that felt like
I had slept all night with an apple lodged between my teeth. My jaw felt rigid and creaky, and when I attempted to massage the area in front of my ears, I heard two loud POP, POPs.
“Jolie!” I called from my bed.
She flew into my room. “What’s wrong?” She pressed her hand to my forehead.
“My mouth hurts.”
She scrunched up her face. “Mouth? Like a toothache?”
“Not exactly,” I mumbled painfully. “I feel like I got punched on both sides of my face.”
Jolie’s forehead creased. She touched my cheeks and felt around my chin. “It doesn’t feel swollen.” She pursed her lips in thought, then grabbed my phone off the charger. “I’m going to make you an appointment with the dentist. I’ll see if they can squeeze you in this morning.”
I grimaced. “I have a quiz in English I really can’t miss.”
“Okay, I’ll make it for after school.” She walked out.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I was sitting on the edge of the tub, holding my cheeks, when Jolie reappeared with a Post-it note that listed the dentist’s name, address, number, and my four-thirty appointment time.
“I’ll do my best to meet you there,” Jolie said. “I may be a few minutes late.” She leaned down and kissed my cheek. “Gotta run.”
I searched in the medicine cabinet for some Advil but only found skin care products, dental floss, and a tube of toothpaste. I wandered down the hall to Jolie’s bathroom. It was a smaller version of the master bath with the same beige tile and decorative black diamond accents, only there was no oversized Jacuzzi tub, just a glass shower. I opened her medicine cabinet and found a similar array of beauty supplies. I tried the cabinet under the sink. There was a plastic Tupperware tub filled with an assortment of cold remedies and pain relievers. When I pulled the tub out of the dark cabinet, an oversized manila envelope dropped down from behind a pile of towels. It seemed like an odd place for an envelope to be. I reached back and grabbed it with curiosity, sending the towels tumbling to the floor. The envelope was fat and sealed with a strip of heavy packing tape. My heart began to race. Whatever was in this envelope seemed to be deliberately hidden. Hidden by Jolie. Since I was the only one Jolie had ever lived with, the envelope was hidden from me. My stomach turned. I tried to tear the top of the envelope, but the tape was too strong. I rifled through Jolie’s cabinets looking for scissors, finally settling on a pair of tweezers. I shoved the tweezers under the tape and ripped it open. The contents flew out and spilled on the floor. Letters. Maybe ten of them—each addressed to Jill Carson in the same perfect script I saw on the cards. D’s handwriting. Oh my God. My jaw throbbed. I grabbed the letters and a bottle of Advil and ran to my bedroom. I gave up on going to school, dove onto my bed with the letters, and started reading.
Lipstick Apology Page 14
