The Book of Luke

by Jenny O'Connell

  I had no idea why I said that. The last thing I wanted to do was share personal information with Luke. This was a purely professional lunch—I was just doing my job.

  It was just that he made it seem so easy. Maybe because he didn’t seem to have any preconceived notions of what I’d do or say. Or maybe because I wasn’t supposed to give a crap about how he felt about what I did or said.

  I caught Luke eyeing my fries. “Mind if I have one?” he asked, his fingers already on their way toward the plate.

  “Actually, I do,” I told him, reaching for the plate and pulling it toward me and out of neutral territory where he could get the idea that I’d intended to share.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” I nodded, feeling a sense of power that I’d never quite felt before. “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

  Luke didn’t seem mad that I wouldn’t share my fries, he seemed slightly confused, if anything. Almost like he couldn’t figure out why I’d be so stingy with the fries and at the same time slightly impressed that I admitted I wanted them all to myself.

  Before I actually turned Luke down, I’d never realized how, by always being concerned about other people’s feelings, by always being so worried about what people would think of me, I’d learned not to say what I wanted. Because, let’s admit it, if I really cared about whether or not Luke liked me, I would have handed him the plate and told him to have at it. The old Emily would have passed the salt and ketchup, even though I hate ketchup on my fries. But that was me. I was always the crossing guard who spent so much time looking out for everyone else that she never sees the Mack truck barreling right toward her until it was too late. Sean was living proof of that.

  But what I wanted now were those fries. Every single one of them. They were mine and I wasn’t sharing. I’d had an epiphany, and all because of a little plate of fries.

  “Yeah,” I told Luke. “Really.”

  He sat back in the booth and went back to stirring his Fribble with a straw.

  “You know what else I remember? You were the first girl Owen felt up,” he continued. Maybe he was trying to punish me for the french fries.

  “He told you that?”

  Luke nodded. “Yep.”

  I was hoping my first Fribble in three years could be enjoyed without having to think about how I’d write about it later in the notebook, but Luke wasn’t making it easy. And this was just so glaring, there was no way I could avoid addressing the issue.

  I put down the french fry in my hand and prepared to play teacher. “See, that’s just wrong. You don’t go around telling your friends you felt some girl up.”

  “Didn’t you tell your friends what happened?”

  “Well, yeah, but that’s different.”

  “Why is it different?”

  “Because when I told Lucy and Josie I didn’t do it to be mean. I wasn’t bragging.”

  “How do you know Owen was bragging?”

  For some reason, I couldn’t help thinking about Luke’s jiggle scale. “That’s not very nice.”

  “What I meant is, Owen didn’t tell me to be mean, either. And he wasn’t bragging. He was just doing the same thing you were doing.”

  I didn’t believe that for a minute. “I seriously doubt that.”

  Luke shrugged, like it wasn’t his job to convince me. Unfortunately, he was right. It was my job to convince him.

  I pushed my Fribble away. I couldn’t drink the thickest milkshake known to mankind and convince Luke at the same time. Something had to give, and unfortunately, it was the Fribble. I always knew this plan would require some sacrifices.

  “Luke, it’s not the same thing,” I started, my voice trying to remain rational, like Mrs. Blackwell discussing the political and moral corruption in The House of Mirth. But we were talking about boobs here, my boobs, so I came off sounding less like a removed-and-unattached teacher imparting knowledge and more like a girl who was still wondering where she ranked on the jiggle scale. “And, in case you haven’t figured this out already, most girls don’t want to have their boobs or any other body part discussed by a group of guys—especially if one of them has hands-on experience, so to speak.”

  “Like I said, it wasn’t like that.” Luke pointed to my Fribble. “It’s going to melt.”

  I had to make this fast. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, Emily. I understand what you’re saying. I just don’t agree.”

  I had two choices: I could sit there trying to get through to Luke or I could go back to enjoying my Fribble before it melted. Besides, he’d said he understood, didn’t that count for something? Maybe it wasn’t exactly step two, but it was like step one and a half.

  I reached for my shake, but not before giving Luke one more piece of advice. “You should really try the chocolate next time, it’s way better than strawberry.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  I hoped he’d remember more than that, but at least it was something.

  After consuming enough calories to last the rest of the week, including every single french fry just on principle, Luke and I headed back to school.

  Needless to say, the idea of strapping a seat belt across my protruding stomach didn’t excite me. Who’d need a seat belt when it felt like I had my very own air bag swelling up inside me as it was? I swear, my stomach couldn’t hold one more thing and a seat belt wasn’t going to make me feel any better. That’s why the first thing I did when I got in the car was recline the seat back.

  “A little full?” Luke asked, noticing I kept rubbing my stomach. I’d once read if you rubbed your belly clockwise it aided digestion. Or maybe that was just for colicky babies.

  “No, I’m fine,” I answered, even though I knew Luke was dying to make a comment about the fries.

  “So, have you been by your old house yet?” Luke asked. We were about a mile from where I used to live. Maybe he remembered my address from the Valentine’s Day incident, but more likely he remembered that time Owen’s mom dropped me off after school.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Why not? Aren’t you curious?”

  “Not really.”

  “Come on. You have to be a little curious.”

  “Okay, maybe a little,” I admitted. “But not a lot.”

  “Then why haven’t you been by to see it?”

  “I just haven’t wanted to.” I knew that TJ had been by our old house the first week we were back. I could never bring myself to go see it. Partly it just seemed like a waste of time; I mean, it wasn’t our house anymore, so why bother? All it would do would remind me that the family who used to live in that house no longer existed. Now we were a family of three living in a different house about five miles away. You know how they say you can never go home again? Well, I wasn’t about to try.

  “Come on, we’ll drive by. It will take five minutes, we won’t even be late,” Luke assured me, anticipating my first excuse.

  “It’s okay, we don’t have to, really,” I objected, but Luke wasn’t about to listen.

  “No, we’re going.”

  “I really don’t want to,” I repeated, losing my patience. It was the babysitting scene all over again. Why couldn’t he just believe me?

  “Sure you do,” he insisted, but this time I wasn’t just going to repeat myself. This time he was going to listen.

  “No, Luke, I don’t,” I practically yelled. “Why can’t you just listen to what I say, okay? I think I know what I want.”

  He let it drop, but I knew he could tell something wasn’t right. It was the way he kept glancing over at me, shifting his eyes off the road to look at my face and try to figure out why I couldn’t even drive by a freaking house.

  “It’s just a house, Emily,” he finally said.

  “It wasn’t just a house. It was my home.” For some reason the word choice made a difference.

  Luke pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park. He flipped off the radio and turned to fac
e me. “What’s really going on with you? Nobody’s ever cared so much about a house before.”

  “My dad’s still in Chicago,” I blurted out, and even as the words were spilling out of my mouth, I couldn’t stop them. “He’s living in some corporate apartment until he decides what to do. He didn’t move back with us—yet,” I added at the last minute, as if that one word meant his moving back was an inevitability instead of a huge question mark.

  Luke draped his arm around the headrest of his seat, his knee bent and resting against the gear shift. “Why not?”

  I fixed my eyes on the glove box, avoiding his gaze. I’d just told Luke Preston the one thing nobody else knew. Not even my best friends. Why was I sitting here in Luke’s car spilling my guts like some patient on a therapist’s couch? And why did it almost seem easy? “That’s the million dollar question, I guess.”

  “Well, didn’t you ask him?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to make things worse.”

  I almost expected Luke to give me some clichéd words of encouragement, to tell me that it will all work out or that my dad still cared about us, blah, blah, blah.

  But he didn’t. Instead he said, “That’s got to suck.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Nobody’s family is perfect. Hell, anyone with a perfect family is ab normal, Emily, not normal.”

  I wanted to tell him that mine was perfect, or at least it used to be.

  “I know that. But this time it’s my family that’s screwed up.”

  “So now you can just join the rest of us.” Luke smiled and I knew he was trying to get me to smile, too, but I didn’t. “I still don’t get why you won’t go see your house, though.”

  “Well, first of all, because it isn’t even my house anymore. And secondly, it will just prove that everything is different now. I’d rather just remember it the way it was, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Your family isn’t a house, Emily.”

  Did he think I was an idiot? “I know that, Luke.”

  “Then let’s go take a look.”

  Luke reached for my hand and laid it on his knee, holding it there so I couldn’t pull away. “Look, if you don’t want to share your fries with me, that’s fine. But the least you can do is let me take you to see your old house.”

  I really was curious, but I was also afraid. What if it looked nothing like the place I remembered? What if the new owners had done something ridiculous, like that house down the street that replaced all their front shrubs with little bonsai trees and white rocks?

  Maybe I just wanted Luke off my back, but more likely it was that his thumb was stroking the palm of my hand and I couldn’t think straight.

  “Fine,” I agreed. “Let’s go.”

  “Do you know who lives here now?” Luke asked, slowing down as we approached the house.

  I avoided looking for as long as I could, instead focusing on everything but the house—the trees lining the road, the mailboxes, that dumb house with the miniature bonsai trees out front. But once Luke stopped the car I couldn’t avoid it any longer. And so I looked straight out my window and there it was. My old house. I’m not sure I would have recognized it if someone had just shown me a picture.

  “It was perfect the way it was, why’d they change it?” I asked, even though I didn’t expect Luke to have an answer.

  “It looks pretty good to me.”

  It wasn’t that it didn’t look good. It just wasn’t the same exact house I used to live in. They’d painted the gray shingles white and the black shutters were now a dark forest green. They’d cleared away a few trees, and even the trees that remained didn’t seem as tall or imposing as I remembered.

  “See over there?” I pointed toward the side yard. “There used to be a huge tree right there with a rope swing. Now it’s gone.”

  “Maybe the tree had a disease or something?” he guessed.

  “Maybe.” I had a hard time believing a tree could come down with an incurable disease in two years. It was fine when we left.

  Now, instead of the rope swing, there was a swing set in the backyard, complete with slide and attached tree house, and while we watched, a little girl stuck her head out of the tree house’s front door and started climbing down the ladder. She skipped the last three rungs altogether and jumped to the ground, then ran toward the back door.

  “Looks like someone doesn’t miss the rope swing,” Luke observed.

  He was right. The little girl probably thought a swing set with a tree house trumped an old rope swing any day. And the house didn’t look all that different, if you didn’t count the new paint job, which it probably needed. TJ used to try and hit baseballs over the back of the house and more often than not he ended up pounding the balls into the shingles. The curtains in the bedroom on the left even looked a little pink, just like mine used to be.

  “I always wanted one of those,” I told Luke, pointing to the swing set.

  “A slide?” he asked.

  “No, a tree house.” I turned to face Luke. “Hey, thanks for making me do this. It really wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

  Luke tipped his head to the side and scrutinized me. “I never would have guessed you were a tree house kind of girl.”

  “And I never would have guessed you were a strawberry Fribble kind of guy,” I told him. “See, we both have a lot to learn.”

  And even before I realized what I had said, I knew I was right. And that scared the crap out of me.

  Back in the school parking lot, Luke pulled into the same space we’d left. It was always empty unless Luke was here, almost like everyone knew it was reserved especially for him. Now that we were running late, I was almost thankful for the available spot and short walk up the hill to school.

  “So.” He turned off the car and sat there dangling the keys from his finger.

  “So.” I was already going to be late for class, but I didn’t make a move to leave. What were a few more minutes? “Can you do me a favor and not tell anyone about my dad.”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  “That’s what I want,” I told him.

  Luke leaned over and pulled me toward him. “I had a nice lunch.”

  “Me, too.”

  Before I could react, Luke’s mouth was on mine, his lips slowly parting until our tongues touched. He tasted vaguely of strawberries and, even though I’m not a huge fan of strawberry Fribbles, I could definitely see becoming a fan of kissing Luke after he’d had one.

  “Wait, one more thing,” I said as I pulled away from Luke. “Have you ever thought about apologizing to Josie for the way you broke up?”

  Luke shook his head. “This is why you stopped kissing me? To ask about Josie?”

  No, I stopped kissing you because kissing you makes me feel guilty about Josie. Only I couldn’t say that. “It’s just that it might be nice if you said you were sorry.”

  “Look, Em, I sent the e-mail. I probably should have called or told her in person, but it’s over. I’m not going to apologize for it three months later, that’s ridiculous.”

  Point taken.

  Even though I knew the bell was about ten seconds from ringing, I let Luke tip my head back onto the seat and continue kissing me. It was different from our first kiss in the Brocks’ doorway, and not just because this time I wasn’t practically knocking his front teeth out. It was different because, with my eyes closed, it didn’t feel like I was kissing Luke Preston, Super Prick. It felt like I was just kissing a guy. A guy who was someone I could see calling my boyfriend.

  “I should get going.” I pulled away and this time instead of swiping my fingers across my lips, I let the feeling of Luke stay there. “I’m already going to be late for history.”

  “I’ll call you tonight,” Luke told me before I closed the car door.

  And you know what? Even though I knew better, I actually believed him.

 
Chapter Thirteen

  The Guy’s Guide Tip #39:

  While we realize that air guitar doesn’t require any formal training, you really should have some idea of what you’re doing. Otherwise what you’re doing is looking like an idiot with finger spasms.

  I really overestimated myself. Or maybe I overestimated Luke. He hadn’t said exactly when he’d call me, but from the time I got home from school, I made sure our phone was free and I was close enough to hear it ring. But after two hours with no call, I started to worry.

  Six o’clock: nothing. I check to make sure our phone is still working. It is. I figure maybe Luke meant he’d call me on my cell, although I hadn’t given him the number. Even so, I made sure my phone was charged and the ringer was on. But still, nothing.

  Seven o’clock: Josie calls to see if I’ve heard from Luke. I have to tell her no. And then she asks if I’d gotten Luke to apologize to her, and I have to say no again. Then I start thinking about what a horrible friend I am, sipping Fribbles with Luke while I was supposed to be making him better for Josie. I suck.

  Eight o’clock: I call Lucy to see if maybe I should call Luke instead of waiting for him to call me.

  “No way, you can’t do that. It would be cheating. Besides, it’s not like you really want to talk to him. You just need Luke to call you so we can see if he’s learning anything from you.”

  I knew she was right. Sort of. Luke and I had talked all about calling when you say you’re going to call; it was practically the first lesson at the Brocks’ house. So, yes, he knew he should call. But there was another reason I kept picking at my cuticles with the kitchen scissors while I watched the phone. A reason so completely insane it made me almost wonder if I wasn’t cut out for this after all. Or if I was so weak, I’d let Luke get under my skin when I was supposed to be the one getting under his.

  A small part of me really did want to talk to Luke. Not a huge part, but a part big enough to make me feel like I was losing control over the situation. And if Josie and Lucy knew that, they’d call an end to my little mission ASAP. So I didn’t say anything.