Tristan appeared at his front door with one hand holding his cell phone to his ear, the other up in a give- me-a- minute gesture. I sighed and shifted my weight impatiently until he finished with a “See you tomorrow.”
I didn't care what he was up to—that was his own freshman business—but, for some reason, he felt the need to explain that he'd been talking about an English presentation.
Whatever.
“In case you didn't notice, our dads are having a showdown in the street,” I told him. “And this time, it's about us.”
He muttered something under his breath, followed me out and fell into step beside me. “Look, Parker, my dad saw us before. Kissing in the doorway. But I took care of it. I told him you'd lost a bet and had to kiss me.”
“You could have called and let me know.”
“I did. You were out.”
“Oh.” I had nothing to say to that. “Yeah, well, Chrissandra blew that cover for us, anyway, and now they think we're in love.”
“In love?”
He quickened his footsteps, and I had to break into a half jog to keep up. And while I understood the urgency, it wasn't like a house was on fire or anything. And was it really so completely offensive and out of the question that we could have feelings for each other?
Under the circle of light, our dads had stepped closer, like one was daring the other to make the first move.
Tristan took a couple of long strides, then busted in between them. He was the only other person who understood this paternal humiliation, and at that moment, I felt closer to him than to anyone on the planet.
“Dad, Mr. Stanhope. This thing between Parker and me, it's not real. I'm just helping her get on the varsity soccer team. It's almost over; then we'll pretty much go back to the way we were before.”
“Practically strangers,” I said, lunging forward. “Well, I mean, maybe we'll still be friends….”
Tristan ignored me. “She hatched some plan with Clayton and Luke, and it turned out she needed my help, too.”
I nodded, like, Yeah, what he said.
My father's gaze bounced from Tristan's to mine. I made sure to nod. “This plan—it's not going to get you into any trouble at school?”
“Not at all. In fact, that's why it's going to work, because it's totally within school rules. Clayton's got all that covered.”
A smile tugged at my father's mouth, and he aimed his next sentence at Mr. Murphy. “My son's planning to become a lawyer. Have I mentioned that before?”
“Only about a hundred times,” Mr. Murphy snapped.
Dad turned to me. “How much longer till this whole thing is over?”
“Just a few days. Sports fair's on Tuesday, and we totally have to be broken up by then.”
“And at no point will you quit playing soccer?”
“Right.”
My father pressed his lips into a flat line. Then looked at Mr. Murphy. “I can live with it if you can.”
Mr. Murphy glanced at his son. “What are you getting out of this?”
“Are you kidding?” Tristan laughed. “Uh … hanging with Parker? Status at school.”
His dad considered this. “I guess.” Then he draped an arm around Tristan's shoulder and steered him toward the house. “But this doesn't change anything between us, Stanhope!”
“I'm still going to own your ass!” my dad charged back.
Tristan threw me a weary smile that I returned, and I made my retreat back to my own house with my dad.
I couldn't wait to see Becca that next day and get her take on everything. Although as I waited for her by the grill truck, it was hard to miss the irony that the girl I'd pushed away so I could climb to greater social heights was now the one I turned to, to bring me back down to earth.
“Talk about living large, Parker,” Becca said later, when we were finally eating after I'd spilled my life's building drama. “All I did last night was homework.”
“Consider yourself lucky.”
I glanced up, to see Kyle crossing in front of us, shooting a grin my way. I was sure that Chrissandra had told him the latest and that he was laughing both behind my back and in my face now. Normally I looked away from his kind of trouble, but today I couldn't resist lifting my hand and waving. Just to make him cringe.
He pretended not to see me. “He's such a jerk,” I told Becca. “Staring. Smiling. Trying to rub salt in my wound.”
“Oh, he wants something from you, all right,” she said, and laughed. “But I promise you, it has nothing to do with salt.” I must have looked as confused as I felt, because she rolled her eyes and continued. “Duh, Parker. He's totally into you. Can't you tell?”
“Kyle? Uh- uh. He's with Chrissandra. And that's just his smile, I mean, the way he looks.”
“Yeah. At you.”
In the back of my mind, I remembered what CeeCee had said. Huh. I idly wondered if Chrissandra had heard anything like this, too. But Becca pushed those thoughts away by asking more about Chrissandra's plan.
“So basically,” she clarified, “she wants you to put a note under the door and run like the wind?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wouldn't Hartley recognize your handwriting?”
“I suppose I could write it in block letters or type it out on the computer.”
“Or you could always cut out letters from magazines, like in ransom notes in old TV movies. Be super-dramatic.”
I nodded, but my thoughts had slipped back to Kyle. I wondered now if those rides he'd offered me last year had had some sort of deeper meaning.
And I realized that it wouldn't have mattered. Even though he might be able to pass for Colin Farrell's younger brother, the fact that he let Chrissandra call all the shots in their relationship said volumes about his character. The more I had gotten to know him, the less I would have liked him.
I went for the take- charge types, the guys who weren't afraid to take risks or put themselves out there. Okay, not that I'd actually gone out with that kind of guy, but once this varsity mess was over and I had time to think about dating, I'd do a much better job of choosing.
“Parker?” Becca said. “You're not considering writing the note, are you?”
I snapped back to the present. “No … not really. I mean, it would be wonderful if it worked. It would save Luke, Clayton and me time and hassle and save me money—and it would totally take care of who got kicked off the team. But … well, I guess I just don't trust Chrissandra to have my back.”
“Yeah, unless you're okay with her stabbing it.”
The end- of- lunch bell rang, and Becca and I wandered inside. She was telling me about a guy she'd dated from the supermarket, and I was just about to ask if they'd tried any of the kisses I was learning from Tristan when some strained female voices, and a rush of feet, broke me from my musing.
Maybe I was paranoid, but I couldn't help jumping to the thought that it had to do with me.
“My locker again?” I muttered to Becca. It had been disturbingly clean that morning, making me think the girls were busy working on something grander than wrapping paper and coupons.
But we were still several classrooms away, so either the girls were still at work and had placed lookouts, or they'd done such a bang- up job that word had already spread. Or both.
Becca craned her neck. “Look away. I'll check and try to break it to you gently.”
I glanced off to the side—only to see my JV- soccer teammates Emma and Marg flanking my (big, strapping and incredibly accommodating) “boyfriend,” wrapping him with rolls of toilet paper from the shoes up. Marg was on one knee, perfecting a tie- off midthigh, while Emma stood, moving around the waist of his white T-shirt.
Several froshie girls watched at a respectable distance, enraptured by the whole process, their gazes flying between Tristan, Emma—and now me.
“ Uh- oh,” one girl muttered.
Emma turned, saw me and flinched. “Parker!”
“English presentation,” Tristan said from his frozen stance. “Remember, I told you.”
“You told me,” I parroted. Because I didn't know what to say, because I didn't know what I felt. I mean, who cared what Emma and Marg and Tristan did in their classes? Not me.
“It's about a summer read,” Emma told me. “With extra credit for props.”
“Tristan is the prop,” Marg volunteered, clearly thinking I was too dumb to do the math on that.
I kept my eyes on Emma, who was getting way, way, way too intimate with my faux beau's body parts. Which brought heat to my face and tension to my muscles. For while this public display might have been as innocent as they claimed, it didn't change the fact that “my” guy had given himself up to these girls. Which made me look like the fool who couldn't keep him happy.
“What book did you read?” I asked. “Captain Underpants?”
The peanut gallery cracked up. Beside me, Becca laughed, too.
“It was a book about King Tut,” she said defensively.
“King Tut,” I said, frowning madly, “was short.” Then I cringed, wondering where I'd come up with that and why.
“I think it's more the point of someone pretending to be Tut than the physical resemblance,” Marg explained, somewhat slowly. Like I was an idiot.
Fury—rational or not—engulfed me. I turned and stormed off. I'd deal with Emma and Marg later … as their “drill sergeant” on the soccer field. And Tristan … uh, Tristan … I'd have a good, long talk with him later, too. He'd have to know that he'd never make the A list if he let girls humiliate him in public.
“Slow down, Cleopatra,” Becca said, grabbing my arm.
I did, working to catch my breath, too.
“What was all that? ‘King Tut was short’?”
My face was still hot, but I didn't know if it was a wave of embarrassment or lingering anger. “I don't know. Emma and Marg get on my nerves— big- time.”
“Especially when they have their hands on your boyfriend?”
“He's not—” But I caught myself. Anyone could hear us. I gave her a stern look. “I guess.”
We paused in front of my locker. “Cradle Robber” had been written in red lipstick across the front, but I barely gave it a glance.
“You're jealous, Parker,” Becca said.
But there was no twinkle, no smile, no nothing. Nothing but the truth, hanging out there bolder than the message on my locker. And I couldn't deny it. Not to Becca; not to myself.
Oh, God, did this mean I'd started to like Tristan for real?
My life was only getting crappier.