Love Lessons

by Daphne James Huff

  Bronx shrugs. “Not our place to tell you. Didn’t she come see you before she left?”

  “Yes, but…” I trail off, my stomach clenching with guilt. Rosalie was right. I didn’t let Zara explain. I’d just jumped down her throat when I thought she was doing something to hurt me. I didn’t stop to see how much she was hurting. “She just said she was leaving.”

  Rosalie lets out a noise in the back of her throat that’s more tiger than teenage girl.

  I sigh and stand up. “Look, I’m sorry to hear about her dad. But we can’t do anything about that. So maybe we can just…focus on fixing the play?”

  The girls exchange glances and nod, once. The guys still look like they would rather be anywhere else, but they stay too.

  It’s a painful hour, but somehow, we get through it. I almost yell again, twice, but bite it down each time. I want this over as soon as possible. I want to get back to my room. I need to call someone.

  My dad answers on the first ring.

  “Rex, is everything okay?” He sounds busy rather than concerned. I should be used to only having half of his attention, but it’s just one more thing that irks me today. “How are the, uh, sonnets going?”

  I take a deep breath. “It’s a play now.”

  “A play?” Now I have his attention. “Why on earth would you do a play?”

  I cringe and wonder briefly if I should have called my mom. But gentle reassurance isn’t what I need right now. I need the truth, from the one person who actually knows what I’m going through.

  “Because it’s better for collaboration,” I say, not mentioning it was Mr. Marcade’s idea. “We’re working with another group now too.”

  “More people? Rex, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m calling,” I say. I’ve been thinking about this for a few days, and as much as I don’t want to ask for his help, there’s no one else who’ll understand how frustrating this all has been for me. “How do I get them to do it my way?”

  “Are you even sure you can do it?”

  My heart drops at this. I know he doesn’t think much of my writing, but I thought he was confident I’d win. I’d been counting on that confidence today.

  “Don’t you think I can win?”

  “If you were on your own, sure,” he says. “But with all these others involved, who knows?”

  “Mr. Marcade said you were okay with the change.” Of course my voice would decide to uncontrollably shake right now. Funny how that always seems to happen during our conversations. “Why would you approve if it would make it harder on me?”

  There’s a pause. His silence says more than words ever could.

  “You don’t want me to win.” The breath leaves me in a rush. For the thousandth time in four years, I’m grateful for a single room. No one to witness what this kind of hurt does to me.

  He sighs, the long, tired one I’m so familiar with whenever I ask for something he doesn’t want to give me. “You don’t need this to become something. Look at me. This contest means nothing outside of Shelfbrooke.”

  As much as it hurts to think about her, I remember what I told Zara weeks ago, in between frozen kisses in the gardens. I wanted to win the Navarre Prize because it’s the one thing my dad hasn’t been able to do. I thought that would prove I was as good of a writer as he is.

  And maybe that’s exactly what he’s afraid of too.

  “Why don’t you want me to win, Dad? Wouldn’t it make you proud?”

  “Of course.” But his tone is dry and brittle, and I know he’s just saying it because he’s supposed to.

  “Then I’ll win it. But not for you. For me.”

  I hang up the phone, unsure what to do for the first time in a long time.

  I’m out for a run, alone in the dark gray morning. I knocked on Reggie and Bronx’s door as I have done all week, and it stayed firmly closed, just like every other morning.

  Looks like they’re still mad.

  I attack the trail at top speed. I’m sick and tired of everyone blaming me for something I had no control over.

  I’m not the one who made the competition a group project.

  I’m not the one who broke the ban by writing secret poems.

  I’m not the one who came up with the sonnet idea, or the play idea.

  I’m not the one who made Zara leave.

  And yet, somehow, it’s all my fault.

  I run faster than usual, angry music blasting in my ears. It’s so loud, I don’t hear Don and Jules arguing in the back courtyard until I nearly run into them.

  “Watch it, Navarre,” shouts Don, as I round a corner and almost plow into him.

  I take a step back and turn to go, but I glance at Jules. It looks like he’s about to cry.

  I take out my headphones. “What’s going on?”

  Don laughs, a mean, tinny sound in the cold April morning. “Nothing, just figuring out how to clean up his mess again.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Whose mess?”

  “This idiot’s, of course.” He waves a hand in Jules’s direction. “He was supposed to proofread our Navarre competition entry last night, but forgot, and now we’re behind. And I am not losing to you.” Don glares at me, but then smiles. “I like seeing you lose too much.”

  The itch to punch him is strong, but luckily Jules interrupts before I can make a move.

  “I didn’t forget,” says Jules. “I told you, I was in the infirmary all night. I was sick.”

  “Whatever, I don’t care about your lame excuses.” Don runs a hand through his hair. “Just like I don’t care about whatever stupid ideas you had for the project.”

  “Maybe they were good ideas,” I say, the unexpected urge to defend Jules rising out of me. “You could at least have listened to them.”

  Don snorts. “What would have been the point of pretending? He knows we’ll just do it my way anyway.”

  He looks over at Jules, whose face is red.

  “Whatever, just get it to me by lunch. I need to meet Jackie.” Don walks off in the direction of the garden shed. As far as secret make-out spots, it’s the most known—and the most used. All it would take is a casual mention to one of the teachers, and he’d be busted.

  But the thought of getting back at him holds no interest. It won’t change anything. Zara is still gone, and my friends are all still mad at me. As I watch Don walk off while Jules glares after him, the world suddenly tilts.

  Everything is my fault.

  All this time I thought I was so much better than Don. But we’re the same. Even if from a technical standpoint I’m better at writing, does it matter when I’m making everyone around me miserable?

  Jules barely gives me a glance as he trudges off in directions of the dorms, and I’m left reeling in my realizations alone in the gardens.

  Bronx and Reggie were so nervous about pitching the sonnet idea to me. The only time I’m that nervous is talking to my dad. Do I make them feel as crappy as my dad makes me feel? And then I was so mad at them when it turned out Mr. Marcade wouldn’t accept it. I blamed it all on them, when I should have stuck by them. I didn’t even stop to think what they might be feeling. I just assumed I knew better, like Rosalie pointed out oh-so helpfully the other day. I don’t even know what Zara saw in me. No wonder she left.

  What a first-class jerk I’m turning out to be. Worse than Don.

  I’m just like my dad.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Zara

  Paris feels different without Rosalie and Maria. Bigger and emptier at the same time.

  At least Ines and Ambroise are here. Along with my mom. We’ve been at the hospital all week. Now the scariest part of my dad’s surgery is over, and he’s home recovering.

  Whenever the phone rings now, I get a sudden jolt in my stomach, like the floor has dropped out from below me, just like when my mom called with the news. Biking through the streets between his restaurants was something my dad had been doing for years. Deca
des, even. And then last week, suddenly it didn’t matter anymore.

  It kills me that I wasn’t there. That I had to wait two agonizing days for my mom to arrange travel, and it felt like an eternal flight to get back. I never should have left.

  My mom, however, doesn’t agree.

  “I’m so glad you were safe with your friends,” she says from her perch at the kitchen counter. We’re in my parents’ apartment near the Jardin du Luxembourg, taking a break from hovering over my dad’s bed so he could nap. My brother and sister are out getting food. “I’m glad you got some time away from Paris. Even a familiar city can turn on you if you’re not careful.”

  I shake my head. “I hated it there. The only good thing was having Rosalie and Maria with me.”

  She gives me a small smile. “The only good thing? That’s not what Ines told me.”

  I grumble. “I thought part of the point of going away was that the family wouldn’t be involved in all of my business.”

  Except I had missed that more than anything while I’d been gone. Of course I had been calling them, but it wasn’t the same as being able to run home for an evening if I needed to see my mom, or pop into one of my dad’s restaurants to talk to him. I missed my brother’s art shows, and my weekly girls’ night with Ines.

  And yet, a small part of me thought it was nice to not have them around all the time. Clearly that small part was being punished now, with everything that had happened to my father.

  “Your sister loves you, we all do,” says my mom.

  “Then why did you send me away?” I don’t mean for it to come out so tearful. I’m actually a little surprised I even have any tears left after the week I’ve had.

  “Because you can’t live your life in this little bubble.” She puts a hand to my face and caresses my cheek. This I had missed most of all. “Was it really all that bad, living with Americans?”

  I twist my mouth, wondering how much Ines has told her. “Parts of it were okay,” I say. “But the food was wretched. And it didn’t go at all like I thought it would.”

  “Did you think it would be just like living here?”

  I hesitate, but nod. There’s no point lying to my mother.

  “Zara, ma chère, this is exactly why we sent you.” She leans over to pull me into her arms. “It was not for the English. It was to set you free from the smallness of your life.”

  “Not about the English?” I pull back. “Then I didn’t have to do that stupid competition at all?”

  “Ah yes, Ines told me,” she says. “How did it go?”

  “I don’t know. I left before the presentations. They’re next week.”

  Rosalie and Maria have been keeping me updated on their progress. They asked before I left if they should pull out and leave Rex in a bind. I was tempted in the moment, but I’m not that vengeful. I still hope he wins, despite everything. He’s a really great writer, though unfortunately afflicted by the ego so many writers seem to have. I wish now I hadn’t torn up his beautiful poem. Sam, the over-talker on the plane, helped me realize that Rex did love me, in his own way. I can’t be mad that he shows it in the wrong ways. Just disappointed.

  “Am I an idiot to still hope Re—my team wins? Even though I’m not there?”

  “Well, they don’t need to win to prove to me that your English has improved dramatically. I got a letter from the dean. You impressed all of your teachers in a very short amount of time.”

  “So I really didn’t have to do the contest.” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. Without the contest, Rex and I would never have gotten into a fight. Maybe he would have actually cared when I left and not taken it as some huge betrayal or plan for revenge.

  “Was it just about winning?” my mom asks.

  I shake my head and pull my coffee cup toward me. It’s a normal size—not the oversized gallon jugs they carried around Shelfbrooke.

  “I liked working with Rosalie and Maria,” I say. “I liked working with the boys…until the end.”

  “You need to be around people to be happy, but I don’t want you to think that’s the only way you can be happy.”

  “But nothing is more important than those you care about,” I say. “You and papa taught me that.”

  She puts her hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. “You can love someone and not need to be around them. You can think different things, and like different things.”

  I don’t know when I started crying, but my cheeks are wet with tears. “I don’t know how. I don’t think I can do it.”

  “Oh, ma chère Zara.” She pulls me into a hug, and I relax into her, breathing her in. “You can do so much. I’m sorry if we ever made you think you couldn’t.”

  “I’ll never be as good as Ines at English, or Ambroise at art.”

  “I don’t expect you to be,” she says. “They have their talents. You have yours.”

  I sniff into her shoulder. “I don’t seem to have any for the moment.”

  “You care so much for others that you forget yourself. That is a rare gift. But a dangerous one.”

  “I just want to have everyone I love where I am. And safe.”

  “That won’t always be possible.”

  “I know that. But do I really need to lose everyone at the same time?”

  She pulls back and looks at me. “We are not going to lose your father. He will be back on his bike soon enough. As for your friends…”

  She pauses. I hold my breath.

  “You can go back, if you want.” She nods, almost to herself. “You need to study for your exams. It would be easier if you had your friends to help you.”

  I take a deep, shuddering breath. It would make such a difference in how I’m feeling, if I could be around them and have their support. But everything else she said sits in the air, making me wonder what the right choice is.

  And I can’t ask anyone what they’d do. Not my mom, not my friends.

  She’s giving me a choice only I can make.

  And I have no idea what to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Rex

  Reggie and Bronx come into my room a week before the contest.

  We’ve all met once more, to read through the newest version, and it’s honestly pretty good. But they’re still sitting with the girls at lunch, so I know I’m not totally forgiven.

  And now that I know things are a mess because of me, I don’t know how to apologize. To see myself treating them the way Don treats Jules has been hard, and I barely spoke to them at the meeting. I don’t even know why they’re still doing the project. By all rights, they should have left and let me lose by default, unable to enter the competition on my own with just a week to go. It’s what I deserve.

  They come in without knocking, like they usually do, and my heart lifts a little. Maybe they’re almost over being mad.

  Bronx leans on my dresser. “So, we’re still super pissed at you.”

  Reggie nods. “But we have an idea about how you can make it up to us.”

  My stomach sinks. The last ideas they had didn’t go at all as planned.

  But they deserve to have their ideas listened to.

  “Whatever you want.”

  They glance at each other, surprised.

  “We want you to sit out at the presentation,” says Bronx.

  I inhale sharply. This is not what I expected.

  “This probably isn’t what you expected,” says Reggie.

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?” I fold my arms across my chest.

  Bronx rolls his eyes. “Because you’re not as complicated as you think you are. You’re pretty self-involved.”

  “And kind of intense.”

  “And stubborn.”

  “And pigheaded.”

  “That means the same thing as—”

  I snort and they both look my way. I hold up my hands. “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt.”

  Reggie sighs. “You’re also really caring…when you want to be.”
/>
  That I didn’t expect.

  “I just want to make sure you guys are okay.” I shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal?” Reggie throws his hands in the air. “Do you even remember freshman year? Bronx and I were both miserable on the track team, everyone was making fun of us.”

  “Hey, I was doing okay,” says Bronx.

  Reggie ignores him. “You decided you wanted to be friends with the two biggest losers on the team and nothing would change your mind. I think we even literally ran away from you.”

  Bronx nods. “Twice.”

  “So, what you’re trying to say is that I’m the psycho stalker?” I try to crack a smile at my bad joke and fail. The sting of losing Zara over my own stupidity is still hard to bear.

  “I still don’t get why you made that bet with Don,” says Bronx. “And why you didn’t tell us. I would have loved making that guy lose.”

  “More than you liked hanging out with Rosalie?”

  A slow smile creeps across his face. “Well, we could have helped you plot out a strategy at least. You didn’t have to do it all on your own.”

  “I’m starting to realize that,” I say quietly. “I should have let you all help more with everything from the beginning.”

  Bronx’s eyes widen dramatically.

  “Reggie, did you hear that?” he says, hands on his cheeks in mock surprise. “He needs us!”

  “Shut up.” I throw my pillow at him. “Or I’ll take it back.”

  “I don’t think you need to sit out of the presentation,” says Reggie, bringing us back to the topic at hand. He’s really good at that. I should find a way to tell him that when Bronx isn’t around to make a joke out of it.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, that was just a test to see how you’d react. If you’d gotten upset, and insisted on presenting, it would have been over.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “That’s quite the test.”

  Reggie blushes. “It was Maria’s idea. The girls have been doing things like that all semester, apparently.”

  “They’re quite devious.” Bronx nods approvingly.