I parked my bike in the garage, then circled around to the side of the house to check the gutters. Cupping my hand against the sun, I saw that they were perfectly, flawlessly, don't-mess-with-me painted.
Looked like the frosh had just been messing with me. As if I needed more drama in my life.
Upstairs in my room, I flopped onto my bed and considered quitting high school. Going for an equivalency diploma would certainly save me from taking this whole Heartless heartache to heart, and from having to learn about kissing. Plus, it would make things right with my friends. I mean, if I wasn't at school, why would they have to worry about watching their mouths to protect my feelings?
Yeah, it was the answer. If you didn't take into account that (1) my parents would go postal, (2) a GED wasn't exactly the fast track to the kind of university I was targeting, and (3) it was pointless to get my friends back if I wasn't at school to hang out with them.
After a long sigh, I dragged myself over to my computer to see what the word kiss brought up in a search engine. I mean, was there a book called Kissing for Dummies or something?
I signed on to IM and saw a few people on, including Chrissandra.
Before I got the chance to double- click on her name, the house phone rang. I felt my breath catch as I rushed to grab the old- fashioned princess extension in my parents’ bedroom, hoping desperately it was for me.
“Hello?” I said, willing Chrissandra's voice to respond.
“Parker,” she said. “I saw you come online.”
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Hearing her voice again was just so great. Cheddar- cheese- popcorn-and-Drew-Barrymore-movies-at-two-a.m.-in-our-sleeping-bags great.
“Hey!” I said, practically yelling, I was so happy. But that was okay, because this was Chrissandra, and clearly things were getting back to normal.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone I called,” she said, her voice dropping.
What? No Hey, how have you been, my best friend Parker? I felt myself slowly going numb, from the inside out. “Okay. Why?”
“I'm not supposed to tell you—it kind of defeats the purpose. But when you see us from now on—Mandy, Elaine and me—we're not going to welcome you with open arms or anything. That's why I'm calling—we've decided to cut you loose.”
If complete and utter horror made a sound, I swear, I made it.
“It's because we love you, Parker,” she added quickly. “Since you're on JV again, you need to be free to hang out with your new teammates.”
Oh, God.
The thing was, despite the fact that Chrissandra came off as a queen bee, those who buzzed around liked to think it was pretty much an act. That deep down, she was thoughtful and caring, and she wouldn't do anything she didn't honestly think was right. At least, anything that had to do with us.
“No, Chrissandra,” I said, wrapping the phone cord around a finger and hearing the pleading in my voice, “I am not one of them. I don't belong on JV. It's only because that awful Rachael came back and that other girl transferred in from out of state.”
“We know that. But solidarity is the key to winning, after all, so you have to stay with your team. Just like we have to stay with ours.”
With fear constricting my throat, I did not respond.
“We know we're going to come off like total bitches to everyone else, but we need you to know the truth. That it's not personal, okay? And we really hope you make varsity soon and can come back to us.”
My brain reeling, I spoke with as much dignity as possible.
“Well, what if I quit soccer? Altogether?”
She was silent for a long moment, then finally said, “Don't you think that's overkill?”
Wait—like I was the drama queen? With her theatrical temperament, she had commanded JV soccer, as well as the freshman/sophomore corridors. As her grateful hangers- on, whatever Chrissandra did, Mandy, Elaine and I did. Whatever she wore, we wore. Whatever she thought was cool, we thought was cool. We even dug deep for authentic- sounding enthusiasm for yet another viewing of Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes as Romeo and Juliet, when what we really wanted to see again was Bend It Like Beckham.
Guys flocked around her, too. And last winter, when she decided she wanted catalog model Kyle Fenske, she went after him with the intensity of a white- hot sun. And he gave in without much of a fight. There had been some hallway jokes about how much prettier Kyle was than Chrissandra, including ones calling their relationship “interfacial.” But Kyle seemed as devoted to her as she was to him, and I had to admit, she'd been easier to get along with since she'd hooked up with him.
Until all this, of course.
“But if I weren't on a soccer team at all …,” I tried again, then sank down onto the carpet between my parents’ twin beds, holding on to the phone for dear life. My neck was tensing up, the sweat was back in my hairline, and I wasn't entirely sure the Starbursts I'd popped were going to stay down.
“Look, Park, it's only four days till school starts. I'm sure you'll work it out with Coach and everything will be okay.”
“Chrissandra …”
“It has to be this way. You know that.” She seemed to sigh. “See you at school. And make sure you look fab- u, okay? And act like you're totally in control. Do not show fear.”
“Yeah,” I simply said, knowing pure terror would prevent me from having any other emotions.
•
I spent the next couple of hours on the Internet, trying to absorb all I could about kissing. I told myself that Luke and I would impress the school with a kiss as beautiful as the one the couple shared in The Princess Bride, “the most passionate, the most pure” kiss of all time.
My vision was, of course, a gross exaggeration, since Westley and Buttercup were madly in love, and I was just madly committed to fooling Heartless. Still, it was something to aim for—and far better than worrying about a situation I could do very little about.
Knowing that Chrissandra would turn pea green with envy when I lip- smacked with Luke didn't hurt, either. Like so many others, she had it bad for him, and it amazed her that I didn't. I couldn't count how many times she'd asked if I'd accidentally- on- purpose seen parts of Luke I shouldn't have when he'd slept at our house, or if I'd ever overheard what really and truly turned him on in a girl.
Like I'd repeat those things if I had.
But now that she held my fate in her hands, I wished I did have dirt to dish. Anything to make her get behind me again. Because, as part of Chrissandra's inner circle, you were rewarded with unconditional protection from the cruel, cruel world. Sort of like being a goon for Tony Soprano, only with fewer F words and no guns. But like with Tony, when Chrissandra turned her back on you, you knew you'd better run.
A voice from my past blew like a hurricane through my thoughts. Something about What goes around comes around, but it was gone almost as fast as it had arrived, leaving me with sort of a bad taste in my mouth that might as easily have been from all the Starbursts I'd eaten. It seemed like a good time to put it all aside for a bit and wander downstairs toward the kitchen noise. Maybe dinner would help me feel a little better.
My mother, Joan Stanhope, stood before the open refrigerator in her stocking feet, the sleeves of her white blouse rolled back. She's one of the few grown- ups I've known who truly love their work—she teaches kindergarteners. And even though this week she was only doing classroom setup, it was still her style to give it her all and come home exhausted.
“What's the verdict on dinner?” I asked, and moved in for a fast hug, which included a welcome blast of refrigerated air.
My mother smiled. It was a pretty smile—white and wide. People said I had it, too, but I couldn't see it. “Omelets?”
“Yeah, but isn't Dad weird about having ‘breakfast for dinner’?”
“It's either that,” she said wearily, “or I go to the store.”
“Well, we could tell him that someone from the city was out to inspect the Murphys’ yard. He'll be so overjoyed, he won't notice what he's eating.”
She shot me a look. Ever since my father got promoted to regional manager at his insurance office, she'd instigated this strict “Do not stress out your father; he gets enough of that at work” rule. I'd noticed that lately it had been extended to not joking about him or talking bad about him behind his back, too, as if somehow those negative vibes would find their way to his psyche through the cosmos.
“Just saying,” I said, and shrugged.
She moved the egg carton to the counter and changed the subject to ask about my day. I thought about telling her about the gardeners’ truck, but that circled my thoughts back to the eyebrow kiss and neighbor boy's strange offer to teach me about kissing. Something I did not want to dwell on.
Instead, I talked about my idea for a first- day- of-school outfit (one that I was sure Chrissandra and the girls would love).
“Anna Banana's has this fab- u skirt in the window,” I said, using Chrissandra's favorite word. “Gray, with these ballerina- like frills peeking out of the bottom. With a tank top, and maybe a black cardigan and my rhinestone ballet flats, it could be really cute.”
“ Uh- huh. But how are you going to be paying for that?”
I did the duh look. She'd pay—like always. My parents were pretty generous when it came to my clothing allowance. But instead of grinning, she gave me a serious look, changing my duh to huh?
“Where are you standing with soccer right now?” she asked, which seemed like a radical change of subjects but which my heart of hearts told me was tragically related. “Are you still planning to show up for that first JV practice?”
“Yeah,” I said carefully.
“Okay, then. You can use my debit card. But Parker, we've talked about this. Your father and I want you to keep playing, even if it's on JV. Exercise, teamwork and staying busy are important components of high school success.”
Yeah, yeah. I'd heard this several times the past couple of weeks. And filed it away with their other pre packaged lectures about always doing one's best, reaching for the stars, saving oneself for marriage, etc. But this was the first time I'd heard an “or else” attached.
“So you're saying,” I said, and let out a laugh at the unfairness and sheer irony, “if I quit JV, no more new outfits?”
“I'm reminding you that your father and I have certain standards for you and your brother, and the ‘extras’ only come after you've met them. Cute outfits are extra.”
I felt my jaw drop to my feet. If I stayed on JV to please my parents, I could have a great wardrobe—and no friends. If I quit to try to get my friends back, I'd have to wear last year's rags, which would so not fly with Chrissandra. She'd give me the boot anyway.
The muscles in my shoulders and neck felt like they were creeping together to form one long, angry knot. And a wave of anger and panic and probably some other emotions I was too upset to identify swept me toward the back door. I grabbed the handle.
“Dinner's going to be ready in fifteen minutes.”
Like I could think about eating.
“Parker, where are you going?”
“Out,” I said, and slammed the door behind me.
Somewhere. Anywhere.
I stomped across the side lawn, the pressure of my footsteps reverberating in my head. I looked to see the white two- story house across the street, all pristine and perfect, thanks to my father's revenge obsession.
Cringing at what I suddenly knew I needed to do, I crossed the asphalt to go knock on the door. I needed to apologize for the rude way I'd left things before and see if Tristan was still game for helping me.
Because right now, Tristan Murphy seemed like my best shot at saving what remained of my life.