Somewhere around line three or four, my heart literally stopped beating for a couple of seconds. If a doctor had checked my pulse at just the right moment, I would have been clinically dead. And I probably was dead, socially at least, because of what the batshit-crazy Icelandic prince had done. I mean, at least if Ryan the stalker Goodman had written a mushy love poem about me and dramatically acted it out in front of the class, I could have blown it off as a joke. But my best friend’s exotic new love-crush? I could already tell the whole twisted mess was going to bump Carla Pearson’s pregnancy right off the front page. The new headline would read: Frumpy Flora Fontain Sinks her Slutty Claws into Best Friend’s Boyfriend. Film at Eleven.
Four
I COULDN’T really tell you what happened for the rest of the day, except that after Honors English I became a pariah, an outcast, one of those girls. The problem was, it was all a hideous mistake. I already had a boyfriend. A boyfriend I loved more than life itself. And I absolutely had not tried to entice Nordic Boy away from Jessie. If anything, he was pursuing me—unless, of course, he was just doing a bang-up job on the English Elf’s lame assignment, which was a totally plausible explanation for the whole debacle.
Being an outcast has at least one advantage, though: Everyone stays out of your way, since they’re too busy pretending you don’t exist. In my case, the snubbing meant I ended up being way early to my usual seat in the back of the skuzzy old bus. And wouldn’t you know, the very next person to board was none other than….you guessed it: Nordic Boy. Just my luck.
I sank down into the grimy, smelly vinyl. But apparently Nordic Boy had x-ray vision, because he was heading right for me with a perfect, sparkling smile and a dopey, upbeat look on his face.
If there ever was a time for superpowers, this was it. A bunch of crazy physics-defying moves shot through my mind. Moves that could pluck me from the edge of doom and rescue me from the tyranny of high school social hell. But as much as I begged God to endow me with such kick-ass powers, I remained the same old Little Miss Ordinary I’d always been. And the Crowned Prince of Iceland was on a mission.
“Oh, hello Flora. Mind if I sit here?” Lars asked, pointing at the seat in front of me.
“Sure. Whatever,” I said. I had no idea if hostility and sarcasm would translate properly in Nordic Boy’s Icelandic brain, but I figured I’d give it a try anyway. Maybe if I was lucky, he’d take the hint and buzz off.
Lars dropped a pile of books into the empty seat and sat casually beside them. But as each new person boarded, he inexplicably tensed up. I could only hope he’d fallen as madly in love with Jessie as she had with him and was stricken with separation anxiety. Because honestly, the one thing that could fix the mess I was in (since I clearly wasn’t inheriting mad superpowers any time soon) was a mutual crush between my best friend and the Icelandic prince. Please, God.
As it turned out, though, Nordic Boy wasn’t waiting for Jessie at all. He was waiting for Elmer Fisk. Apparently the Fisks were Lars’ host family, a juicy detail Vivian had somehow failed to mention in homeroom—unless, of course, she’d purposely withheld the information because she was interested in the little hottie herself. I mean, why else would a seemingly normal teenage girl not tell another seemingly normal teenage girl that an exotic stud was temporarily sharing a bedroom with her baby brother? It made no sense.
“So how was it?” Elmer asked, sliding in next to Lars. “Meet anybody cool?” He glanced at me briefly. “Oh, hi Flora.”
“Hola,” I said in the flattest tone I could manage, which was no easy feat since all Spanish words sound excited.
“Everything was quite good,” Nordic Boy lied. Unintentionally, I’m sure. But still. Didn’t the numbskull realize he’d ruined my reputation in one fell swoop? I mean, there was no telling how much groveling I’d have to do to convince Jessie that I absolutely never, ever tried to steal the Icelandic prince out from under her. As for what everyone else thought…well, I didn’t really care. They could all go to hell. I didn’t need them. What I did need was my best friend in the world, the only person other than Mick who even came close to understanding me.
So I was busy pondering the odds of finding a suitable friend, or boyfriend, or—down the road—husband, when Jessie boarded the bus under my radar.
“Oh my God! I know! That was sooo ridiculous,” she shot rapid-fire at Vivian. “I can’t believe he didn’t notice.”
Viv giggled and rolled her eyes.
Even though I had no idea what Jessie and Viv were tee-heeing about, I had to give Jessie credit. She’d honed right in on the quickest possible route to Nordic Boy’s heart (or at least his bedroom): sucking up to the host.
“Ahem,” I mock-cleared my throat, hoping to get Jessie’s attention. So far, I couldn’t tell whether she hated me or not. But if I could get her to at least look at me, I’d know right away. It’s a benefit of spending nearly every day with someone for, well, forever: You can read them like a book, even without words. Especially without words.
About halfway up the aisle, Jessie turned in my direction. And even though the look on her face was subtle, I could tell she didn’t despise me. She looked concerned, maybe. And a little hurt and confused. But at least she didn’t hate me. It was the best news I’d had all day.
Then came the real test. If Jessie sat with me like normal, I could relax. Everything would be okay. But if she didn’t…well, I didn’t really know what would happen, since it had literally never happened before. We hadn’t sat apart on the bus one day in our whole lives.
Now, I swear, someday I’m going to learn to shut my big, fat mouth (and maybe even put a sock in my overactive brain). Because the minute I start saying—or even thinking—something will never happen because it never has before….wouldn’t you know, it happens.
Jessie and Viv took a seat together on the opposite side of the bus, three rows in front of me. I was on my own, which, when you think about it, is a suitable position for an outcast man-eater.
I must admit, though, as much as I’d sort of expected Jessie to snub me, her overt betrayal really stung. Could she actually disregard me so easily over a boy? A boy she’d only known for about five minutes? A boy who might not even like her back in the first place? I could hardly believe she’d flush a perfectly good friendship down the toilet over Nordic Boy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he is hot. But he’s no Mick Donovan. I could only imagine the lengths Jessie would go to for Mick’s love, if it ever came down to that.
We were still about eight blocks from my and Jessie’s normal stop when the Fisks and Nordic Boy stood up. “See you tomorrow?” Lars hesitantly asked.
Maybe he’d heard I was dropping Honors English, or maybe he’d picked up on my pissed-off sarcasm. Either way, he seemed to be getting the point.
I just shrugged.
“I hope to see you tomorrow,” he said, about as sincerely as anyone has ever said anything.
I wasn’t exactly sure why, but the sweetness in Lars’ voice almost made me burst into tears. Maybe it was because of Mick. The kind warmth in Nordic Boy’s voice reminded me of my sweet, sweet Mickey D.
“Mañana,” I said. It was the best I could do. Hopefully Lars understood Español. And hopefully he’d cut me a little slack. After all, I wasn’t trying to be an evil bitch or anything. I’d just had a really bad day.
For about half a second, I thought Jessie was going to get off the bus at Nordic Boy’s stop, which technically might have been a good move from a strategic standpoint. I mean, the closer she got to Lars’ inner circle, the better her chances probably were of landing the exotic hottie. In the end, though, only Elmer, Viv, and Lars disembarked. Jessie stayed put where she was and tortured me with silence for the rest of the ride. How ridiculous.
But when we finally got to the corner of Oliver and James, Jessie catapulted out of her seat, almost mowing down two sophomore jocks as she zoomed off the bus. As for me, I was teetering between chasing her down to angrily defend myself and pretending she’d never exis
ted. But as much as the kick-her-to-the-curb theory appealed to my ego, I still wanted my best friend. I needed my best friend. And I wasn’t going to let some overblown misunderstanding come between us. I was going to be the bigger woman and make the first move.
“Hey, c’mon! Wait up!” I called from about half a block away.
There was no response.
“Jess, c’mon! Slow down!” I begged.
Still nothing.
Okay…time for a new plan. “I DO NOT LIKE LARS JOHANNSSON!” I screamed. “I LOVE MICK DONOVAN!”
Jessie froze dead in her tracks. I’d had lots of crushes in my life, but I’d never actually used the l-word. She must have been seriously shocked.
In no time flat, I was at Jessie’s side explaining everything that had happened between me and Mick (and everything that hadn’t happened between me and Lars).
“He’s a gypsy? His cousins are criminals? You were arrested?!” Jessie yelped, as I recounted my summer exploits.
“Not exactly. Yes. And, yes,” I said, trying to simplify. I mean, I couldn’t blame Jessie for being a little freaked out. To be honest, thinking back on the whole crime-spree-arrest-fiasco was sort of unreal, even to me. “Mick’s not a gypsy; he’s a nomadic adventurer,” I explained further. “His family makes things—like sweaters and jewelry and scarves and stuff—and travels around selling them. Mick’s an artist. And a mechanic. He fixes cars.”
“What does he look like?”
It was kind of a strange question, really, considering the fact that I hadn’t explained my run-in with the law yet. But the chance to discuss my gorgeous boyfriend’s attractive qualities was an offer I just couldn’t refuse.
“Hmm…” How exactly does one describe a sex-god anyway? “Well, first of all, he’s very tall. At least six feet,” I said. “And, um, he has black wavy hair and the most gorgeous steel-blue eyes you’ve ever seen.”
I swear, I could disappear into those eyes.
“Ooh. Sounds hot.”
On second thought, maybe I’d better not make Mick sound so appealing. I mean, I didn’t want my best friend getting all warm and fuzzy over my long-distance love-muffin.
“He’s perfect for me,” I said. “I mean, his teeth are a little crooked and his hands are usually sort of dirty from working on cars. But he’s a really nice guy. He did the sweetest stuff for my birthday too. You wouldn’t believe…”
For the rest of the walk home, I told Jessie all about how Mick had picked me a bouquet of wildflowers, taken me on a romantic lake picnic, sung karaoke in my honor, and even put on a private fireworks display at a secluded beach to celebrate my sweet sixteen. I’m pretty sure that by the time I finished gushing like a lovesick maniac, she had forgotten all about Nordic Boy. And who could blame her? I mean, if Mick Donovan had never existed, Lars would have been the sexiest, most intriguing guy either of us had ever known. But Mick did exist, which meant I knew better. Nordic Boy was fine, but Jessie could have him. All I wanted was my sweet, sweet Mickey D.
Somehow we were already at Jessie’s house. “Wanna come in?” she asked. “You can finish spilling the details of your tryst while we chug some Yoo-hoo.”
I do love Yoo-hoo, and Jessie knew it, but…
“I can’t. My mother signed me up for some community service thing. The mayor’s drug task force or some bullshit.”
“Your mother is kinda cuckoo,” Jessie pointed out unnecessarily. “You do realize that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know. But I owe her money for bailing me out of jail,” I explained. “And if I don’t do this drug thing, she’ll expect actual cash, which I don’t have. So basically, I’m screwed.”
“Sucks to be you,” Jessie said. And right then, I knew she’d gotten over whatever hard feelings she had about the Lars situation. I mean, maybe Lars did sort of have a thing for me—which I was at a total loss to explain—but at least I’d been able to convince Jessie that the feeling wasn’t mutual. With me out of the picture, she was free to pursue Lars with wild abandon. And wild abandon was her trademark, so…
“Call ya later?” I asked.
She shoved her key into the lock. “Ab-so-freakin’-lutely. You owe me all the gory details of your life on the run. Otherwise, how am I going to know if I can trust you?” She flashed me a mischievous smirk. “You could be some sick, twisted psycho criminal.”
“Don’t worry, I am,” I said with an evil laugh. “But you can trust me. I swear.”
“That’s what they all say.”
Five
LIKE I’d figured, the mayor’s drug task force was a total waste of time. Not in the general sense, of course. Just in my specific case. I have no idea what the Mental Hygienist was thinking when she dreamt that one up. I mean, other than one sip of beer that got me in a whole heap of trouble, I’ve never taken anything illicit in my life. I don’t even take Tylenol. I couldn’t be more useless to a drug prevention program if I was Mother Theresa.
“You could’ve spoken up more,” my mother criticized, as we drove home from the meeting. “You just sat there like…like a bump on a log.”
Way to go, Mom. If all else fails, whip out a totally nonsensical cliché. That’ll really put me in my place.
“And you were so talkative,” I snapped back.
God, I wish Dr. Brown (he’s the dentist my mother works for) hadn’t talked her into buying a pickup truck. There was nowhere to escape.
The Mental Hygienist huffed, “Honestly, Flora, I have no idea what’s gotten into you. I have half a mind not to even…”
Ding, ding, ding. My secret-radar went off. My mother was keeping something from me. Something important. Something she knew I’d want to know.
Stay calm. Pretend not to care, I reminded myself. “Not to even…what?” I asked casually.
No dice. After all the crazy drama I’d been sucked into over the summer, my mother was pretty hesitant to buy my pathetic acting job.
“Never mind. It’s going to be your father’s decision anyway,” she said. “You’ll have to take it up with him.”
“Take what up with him?” I whined. Could she get any more ridiculous? I mean, it’s pretty hard to talk to someone about something if you don’t know what the something is you’re supposed to be talking about.
“Just let it go,” my mother said. “I’m sure your father will discuss it with you later.”
“Whatever.”
So my life had come down to arguing with my parents over mystery topics? How comical. Maybe if my brother hadn’t deserted me for college, things would’ve been different. At least then my parents would’ve had two convenient targets for their rapidly growing psychoses.
We pulled into our driveway just in time to see my dad pulling out. “Where’s Dad going?” I asked, as I hopped out of the pickup. My mother didn’t respond, so I cut in front of her at the door. “Where’s Dad going?” I asked again, shoving my way inside the house as soon as she turned the key.
“Since when are you so interested in your father’s activities?”
Busted again. Couldn’t I get away with anything around here anymore? “It’s just, um, strange that he’s not cooking dinner,” I said. “Unless we’re getting Chinese.”
See, in our house meals happen one of three ways: My father cooks; we have Chinese takeout; or, maybe twice a year, my mother whips up a delicious pan of lasagna—the only meal she can make proficiently enough to keep us out of the emergency room.
“If you must know, yes. Your father is on his way to Panda Palace. He wanted to surprise you,” my mother said, tossing a pile of mail into a wicker basket at the foot of the stairs. “He thought you might need a little pick-me-up with all you’ve been through lately.”
“Oh. Okay,” I muttered, shocked at the notion. I mean, were my parents actually starting to see me as a human being with thoughts and feelings of my own? Could they really be in tune to the ups and downs of my rollercoaster existence? And if they were paying attention, was it possible that they actu
ally cared—not in the parental sense, which is mandatory, but in the fellow human being sense, which is not? The idea defied my understanding of reality.
I trudged up the stairs with a billion random thoughts swimming through my mind. But no matter what was going on at school, or with Jessie, or with my parents, Mick was still the center of my world, and I hadn’t heard from him in what seemed like half a lifetime.
Face-first, I dove into my bed and buried my head in my pillow. And for no good reason other than the fact that I desperately missed Mick, I felt like crying. But instead, I did what I’d been doing for the last few weeks: I stuffed my hand under my bed and pulled out the jewelry box Mick had made for me. It was still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But what I was really after was the treasure inside—a sort of bittersweet love letter. And even though I knew the words by heart, I unfolded the paper and drank them in one more time.
Dear Flora,
I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I feel terrible about everything that happened with Donny and Cal, and I can’t help thinking you must blame me for getting you mixed up with them in the first place. I hate them for what they did to you. I mean it. Please believe I never would have introduced you to them if I had any idea what they were capable of. You’re too important to me.
With everything that’s happened, I hope you’re doing okay. And I hope your parents don’t hate me too much. Please explain to them that you are the most precious thing in the world to me, and I never would have knowingly put you in harm’s way. I hope they can understand how much I love you.
Do you like the jewelry box? I made it for you as a reminder of the wonderful times we spent together at camp. Did you know there’s a Roman goddess called Flora? I painted the top of the box to match a Botticelli painting of her, but I’m not sure it came out exactly right. I hope you like it anyway.
The butterfly necklace was Penny’s idea, because she felt bad about what Donny did and also because she knows how much I like Monarchs. We collect the wings when they die, and the girls turn them into jewelry. Please think of me when you wear it, and think about Michoacan and our future.
Film at Eleven Page 3
