Love and Other Secrets

by Christina Mandelski

  Mom pokes her head into my room, smiling big.

  “Did you look at it?” I ask.

  “Oh, Bailey…” she whispers. She’s acting like it’s some sort of holy relic. I roll my eyes, but I can’t really blame her.

  “You did.”

  She wedges her way into the tiny space. “I mean, holy cow. Where did it come from? It says it’s a Christian Dior! Is it real or one of those knock-offs? Even if it is, who cares? It’s gorgeous, the perfect color for you.”

  I shove the garment bag aside angrily so I can put down my backpack. “Of course it’s real. I told you he’s rich. It’s his grandma’s. Or his mom’s, now I guess. Whatever. I’m not keeping it.”

  I’m not keeping it, but I also can’t let it sit there, crumpled up like it is. It really is a thing of beauty, and it’s not its fault that Alex and I kissed and ruined everything. I pick it up and smooth it down and make a space for it in my closet.

  “I’ll return it Sunday or something. Don’t worry,” I tell her, “I’ll find something nice in Ocala.”

  Mom tuts and goes back to the dress like a bee to a flower, unzipping it and running her hand down the blue silk. Again, I can’t blame her.

  “Honey, come on. Why not keep it? He said his mom wants you to have it. I heard him.”

  “God, Mom.” I push my way in front of her and zip the garment bag up again. “Is there any part of that conversation that you didn’t hear?”

  She sits on the end of my bed. “Yes. There are whole parts I didn’t hear, but I heard enough. I think it’s sweet.”

  I laugh out loud. “Well, I think it’s charity.”

  Mom harrumphs. “I doubt that. I bet she’s very kind.”

  “She’s very rich and has more things than she knows what to do with.” I pull out a purple polo for another wild Thursday night at the Java Infusion. “And I didn’t say she wasn’t kind, but I’m still giving it back.”

  She stands up, slowly. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” I pull on my black jeans and change shirts, hopeful that she’ll leave now.

  No such luck.

  “So the promposal is tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.” I bend down to grab my black work shoes from the back of the closet.

  “Can Dad and I come?”

  I stop and stare at her like she’s gone mad. “No, Mom. You cannot come. It’s after the game. You’ll already be at work.” Thank God for small favors.

  She fluffs out her hair. My mom isn’t old, but she looks older than she is, and is always tired. I know she’s happy, but she works so hard. Both my parents do. I stop in front of her and kiss the top of her head. “It’s going to be embarrassing enough. Trust me. You don’t want to be there.”

  “But I’ll see it in the short film, right?”

  I redden thinking of it—that hadn’t really occurred to me. I guess lots of people will see it in the short film. I better be okay with that, and Caleb better say yes.

  “Yes, when it’s finished, I’ll show it to you.”

  She reclines back on the bed, sitting up on her elbows. “Will you invite him to Sunday dinner, maybe next week?”

  I run a brush through my hair and do a quick braid down the back. “Who?”

  She chuffs. “The Texas boy. Caleb? We’d like to meet him.”

  A wave of disappointment washes over me, because she’s right, of course. The next boy who comes to dinner at this house won’t be Alex Koviak. In fact, I’d say the odds are he’ll never come to dinner here again. “I don’t know. I mean, we’re not going to be instant boyfriend and girlfriend. We’re going to prom, that’s all.”

  “Then why are you asking him?”

  I shrug. “Because I like him.”

  She makes a sour face. “Do you like him, like him?”

  I inhale, summoning patience. So. Many. Questions. “Yes, Mom. I’m attracted to him, and I think he’s nice. So, we’ll see.”

  She sniffs and stands up. “Good, I guess, but for the record, I like Alex.”

  I turn away from her and finish my hair in the mirror. “Great, but for the record, he’s not looking for a serious relationship, even with a MILF like you.”

  “Oh, stop it.” She pffts, swats my butt, and finally leaves.

  I mean, I love spending time with my mother, but really? What I didn’t tell her was that I gave Caleb an apple today in the library. That doesn’t sound like a big thing, but after I talked to Ashley in the A/V room, I realized that I wasn’t exactly focusing on him when it comes to this promposal. I’ve seen him eat apples when he studies, so I went to the cafeteria and bought one for both of us.

  I felt much more inspired to get to know Caleb better when I walked through the cafeteria past the lacrosse table where Alex was sitting right next to Devon. Not a surprise, exactly, since they’re going to prom together, but it still pissed me off.

  He kissed me two nights ago!

  Meanwhile, Caleb, who is great in his own clean-cut, cowboy way—kind of like if young Matthew McConaughey and Superman had a baby—was so thankful, and also very sweet.

  “Hello, sir,” I said and handed him the shiny apple. “I was just in the cafeteria and thought of you.” I don’t flirt a whole lot, but I was pouring it on thick, batting the hell out of my eyelashes and smiling big.

  He smiled back and took the apple. “Thank you, kindly, ma’am,” he joked, and I laughed. I haven’t laughed in a few days, and even then it wasn’t like it was with Alex, but we’ll get there. “You here to study?”

  I nodded.

  “Pull up a chair.”

  So I sat with Caleb through lunch, which almost made me excited about tomorrow night. I’m pretty confident he’ll say yes, and then, like I told Mom, we’ll see what happens.

  As far as Alex goes, he can have Devon, and also, he can go to hell. They both can. Together. I don’t care.

  Ooh, I have a panicked realization, but not until he gives me the promposal props. I send him a quick text.

  Can you bring the promposal stuff to publix tomorrow I work 3-6? I’ll leave my car open Thx

  I purposely try to strike a friendly tone, even though I don’t feel exactly friendly toward him right now. I also don’t suggest we meet at school. I don’t want to talk to him, and it’s not like he has anything better to do between school and the game tomorrow night.

  Almost instantly, I get a response.

  Sure. No prob

  A few seconds later,

  How are you?

  That’s a loaded question that I choose to answer with one word: Fine

  Good what u up to tonight?

  He wants to have a conversation? No.

  Work

  I know he wanted more than that, or maybe not. Whatever. I don’t care. If he texts back, I don’t check. I have commitments and responsibilities, things he knows nothing about unless the commitment is putting a little ball in the net of a stick. So I leave him hanging and head to the coffee shop.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alex

  I wake up and immediately check my phone. Yesterday, even after she saw me with Devon in the caf, and after I saw her with Caleb in the library, she contacted me. Am I crazy to hold out some hope that this promposal won’t happen?

  We even had an almost normal text conversation, or we started to anyway. She said she needed the props—told me I should bring them to her today.

  It’s nuts how excited that one text made me. She wants me to come to Publix, and I can get in her line with my Sprite and Reese’s, and we’ll make eye contact, and we’ll both remember the kissing, and there’s no way she’ll be able to go through with it.

  But then I responded by telling her that I’d been looking at the U of Tampa majors and was seriously considering pursuing kickboxing.

  It was supposed to be a joke from a scene in Say Anything. That Lloyd guy tells Diane’s dad that he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, but he knows what he doesn’t want to do. The only thing that he knows for sure
is that he’s currently into kickboxing. Called it the “sport of the future.” The scene was hilarious. Bailey and I laughed our asses off. She kicked at me with her foot and said, “Alex, it’s you! You’re Lloyd Dobler!”

  She didn’t answer that text.

  I rub my temples and head for the shower. Standing under the stream of water, I think about laughing with her. We do it a lot. We did it a lot. Now, I’m supposed to be okay with losing that?

  No. I can’t.

  I get out, wrap a towel around my waist, and stare at myself in the mirror. I try to put my game face on, because damn, it’s game day.

  I know she’s right. I’m lazy. I’m spoiled. I’m selfish. I’m stubborn, too, though, and after that weird moment of clarity on my back in the middle of the lacrosse field yesterday, I can’t get her out of my mind.

  I don’t know if I ever will. It would require some kind of surgery that hasn’t been invented yet.

  I know that I need to adjust my priorities. They’re way out of whack. The game tonight is important. If I can channel all my frustration and anger and grief and want into kicking Lakeland’s ass, it could be my best game of the season.

  I slap one cheek then the other and scowl at my reflection. You’re a beast, Koviak. A fucking beast. You’re gonna tear up that field tonight.

  Yeah, I’ll do that. I just gotta see her first, take her her props. I know that we’re not the same, but she said we’re still friends. I need to talk to her to make sure that’s true.

  Shit. I sound like an addict. One more hit of Bailey, please. Then I’m done. It’s torture to think of bringing her all the things for her promposal, but it’s a good excuse to show myself. Plus, I need to get my post-game king-sized Reese’s and Sprite from her. It’s good luck, and who am I to spit in the face of luck?

  I get dressed, run a comb through my hair, and go to school.

  There’s no practice on game night, just a short team meeting. My plan is to head to Publix as soon as it’s over, but of course Coach talks longer than usual, and then afterwards some of the guys stop me, asking if there’s going to be a post-game party. I don’t care about any party; I need to talk to Bailey. I get in the Jeep, and it’s like this bass line is thrumming through my body, my own personal soundtrack, moving me forward.

  When I get inside, I don’t see her anywhere, so I go to the customer service desk. There’s an old woman working. Her nametag says EDNA. It’s the woman that Bailey said she interviewed for the short film.

  “Excuse me,” I say. She doesn’t seem to hear me, so I try again, louder. “Excuse me?!”

  Her eyes snap to me. Damn, that’s a lot of wrinkles. “You don’t have to yell! I have ears.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I try to imagine this old lady ever going to the prom. “Hi,” I say. Let’s try this again. “I’m looking for Bailey. Do you know where she is?”

  She pushes her glasses down her nose and scowls. “Who are you?”

  “A friend. She told me to come by.” I turn my head and check the row of registers again, hoping she’s back, hoping I can end this conversation with Edna. “She said she’d be here. I have something to give her.”

  “Oh.” She wags a wrinkled finger at me. “Yes. She mentioned that someone might come by. What’s your name?”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. “Alex. It’s Alex.” I hit her with the smile that most women find irresistible.

  She grunts. “No, that wasn’t the name.”

  I run a hand through my hair. Clearly Edna is not most women. “Ma’am, I’m sorry but I’m sort of in a hurry. Is she on break or something?”

  “Oh, beg your pardon.” She stares a hole in me. “He’s in a hurry. No. She is not on break.”

  I swear to God, Edna. “Can you tell me where she is, please?”

  This is useless. I take out my phone to send Bailey a text.

  “Put your phone away,” she barks. “If you are who you say you are, she’s doing some training in the back and can’t be disturbed. She said to leave those things in her car.”

  I break away from Edna’s glare. I feel weak, like I might need to sit down. Is this true, or is Bailey avoiding me? “Oh.” I’m disappointed, and I don’t hide it. I scan the registers one more time. “Okay. Cool,” I mumble.

  Edna puts her hands on her hips and sneers. “Don’t sass me, kid.”

  I lift my eyes. You’re straight up crazy, Edna.

  “You kids with your weird promposals.” She shakes her head. “Just tell a girl how you feel. You ever thought of that?”

  I level an annoyed gaze at sweet old Edna. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to prom.”

  “Huh.” She watches as I stick my phone in my pocket.

  “Thanks,” I mumble and turn away.

  “Wait,” she calls to my back. “What’s your name again?”

  Why, Edna, you gonna ride my ass some more? “Alex.”

  She reaches under the counter and pulls out a plastic bag. There’s a yellow Post-it on it that says ALEX. “She said to give this to you if you come in.”

  I reach out to take it, and she slaps a hand down on top of it.

  “You treat her right, you hear? She’s one of the good ones.”

  Edna moves her hand, and I take the bag. She shakes her head in disgust as I walk away. I can tell by the weight of it what’s in there.

  A king-sized Reese’s and a Sprite.

  There’s a note, too.

  Thanks for bringing the stuff and for your help with Caleb. Good luck tonight.

  I open the back of the Jeep, see the props in the back, and consider torching them again. What would she do? I could tell her I put them in her car and that someone stole them.

  No. She’d have time to make new posters. Plus, I know how much she thinks she needs this crazy promposal for her film. When she first brought it up to me, I thought it was mostly about that footage and less about Caleb. Or maybe that’s just what I was hoping for.

  After the apples in school yesterday, though, I assume that’s no longer the case. Another growl is growing in the pit of my stomach. I want to let it out, but there are people in this parking lot.

  The truth is I have to deal with the fact that she’s going to ask him to prom tonight. I have to face the inevitable, which is he’ll say yes. Even if she didn’t have the stupid props. Even without the cow, he’ll say yes. He’d be crazy not to.

  I make the transfer to her car, get back in the Jeep, and toss the bag into the empty passenger seat. Not having her in my life is going to suck. I imagine a sail, on a boat, with a giant hole in it. That’s me without her.

  Edna, you crazy old woman, you’re super weird, but you were right about one thing.

  Bailey is one of the good ones.

  Too good for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bailey

  Maybe I shouldn’t have left him the Reese’s and Sprite. I told myself that it would be best to let this friendship fade into the sunset, like the cowboy on a horse (not a cow, no one sits on a cow in real life) in an old western movie. In the end, even though I don’t really believe in luck, and in general I think that all these lacrosse superstitions of Alex’s are a waste of time, who am I to say for sure?

  Plus, he did help me with the promposal, and it wasn’t really his fault that I let myself fall so far. Not that I fell in love.

  I didn’t.

  It was a crush that got away from me, that’s all. Honestly. Alex was too much. Too handsome, too funny, too lovable, too easy-going, too available, too mine.

  Except I knew he wasn’t really mine. But all that time we spent together, the two of us, our friendship a total secret, that’s how I started to think of him. Mine.

  That was my mistake.

  I sit on our screened-in porch, an icy bottle of Dr. Pepper in my hand. I treated myself after work, and even though it reminds me of Alex who always has one for me at his house, I force myself to drink it. I even lift it and cheers. Mistakes are a part of life. You learn from
them, and you move on. If I can do that, maybe Alex and I can actually be friends, real friends, one day. Maybe.

  If not, at least I can put all this bullshit in a really great movie, written and directed by moi.

  When it’s time to get ready for the promposal, I walk through the house and toss the empty glass bottle in the recycling bin. My parents are at work, and the house is quiet as usual. Mom hit me with a ton of questions before she left. Dad gave me a hug and said, “Kill that promposal, Raven Girl. Go get that Oscar.”

  Now, as I push past the still hanging garment bag—which I swear to God is taunting me—I also push aside all the memories of my time with Alex. They’re popping up like those stupid mechanical rodents in a Whack-a-Mole game. Every time one comes up, I smack it, hard, with hammers made of Caleb, NYU, and future Oscar awards. I sit on my bed and stare at my list of goals. Focus on those goals, Raven Girl.

  Once I have my head on straight, I grab the pair of high-waisted jean shorts I scored at the thrift shop and a red plaid button-down shirt, also thrifted. Regardless of what Alex would say, they don’t have cooties.

  God, he’s such a snob.

  The shirt is flannel, and it’s hot and humid out, but I’m hoping this look gives off the proper cowgirl vibe so that when Caleb sees me, it’ll knock his socks off and he won’t be able to say no.

  When I’m dressed, I stare at myself in the warped full-length mirror on the back of my door. The thing makes me look like I’m in the funhouse at a carnival, but it’s all I’ve got.

  I sit down and put my hair in two braids. I do my eyes—liner, some shadow, lashes, and brows—and my lips. My stupid lips that still remember his, that won’t let me forget.

  Come on, Bailey. Whack that mole!

  As I try to make thoughts of Alex go away, a particularly pertinent memory resurfaces. One night, about a month ago, at his house, he’d been telling me the love story of Eli and Nora, how they’d gotten together, thanks to his intervention, and were now a couple.

  “That’s why they call me the Love Guru,” he’d said.

  We were eating some of Miriam’s baked chicken with mac and cheese, and his comment almost made me snort an elbow noodle out of my nose.