I spend all day Sunday in my pj’s pretending to do my homework while Dad searches the paper for possible replacement vehicles and strips all the bedsheets to wash them in bleach. It’s not that we’re not speaking since our conversation last night—we are. But we’re doing a fairly sophisticated dance of avoiding a particular room if the other one is in it.
I can’t even think of Leo’s mouth without my cheeks burning. What I’m really doing in my room and have been doing since I got home last night—or early this morning—is reliving the kiss over and over in my mind from my perspective and from his. From my viewpoint, this is how it went down: it was the best five seconds of my life. Seriously. Every time I think of how gentle he was, how his breath burned like peppermint Altoids, how his tongue—soft and firm at the same time—darted out and touched my own, my knees get weak and I have to sit down and teach my lungs how to breathe, teach my heart how to beat, teach my eyes how to blink.
These feelings are going to be the end of me. Getting involved with Leo or any boy at Ant will end in social destruction for me. Saturday night made that very clear. Unless I’m willing to dig myself a bedroom behind the leafless bushes at 151 Hemlock Crescent, the only way I can survive this school is by keeping relationships at a cool distance.
Trouble is, that’s now become impossible.
“He kissed you?” Mandy squeals into the phone Sunday afternoon.
“Pretty much.”
“This is the guy from the changing room? The crazy chick’s boyfriend?”
“Ex,” I say. “I’ve wondered, about a thousand times, what it meant to him. Does he kiss just any old girl like that or does he actually like me?” I’ve also wondered whether it’s really over with Leo and Carling or if he was just using me to get back at her somehow. More important, does he feel faint when he thinks of being with me … if he thinks of it at all?
“He might come to school wondering the same thing about you.”
“You think guys are that insecure?”
“My brother sure spends a lot of time fussing with his hair when he likes a girl.”
“But what if Leo went to see Carling last night? She was planning to have sex with him. That’s got to be a big draw for any guy, whether he wants to stay with a girl or not.”
“You’ll know when you see him again,” Mandy says. “Tomorrow at school. Like it or not, the expression on his face will tell you what you need to know.”
“Right. You’re right. He’ll either turn the other way as if it didn’t happen or he’ll smile.”
“And then the real trouble starts. He learns who you are.”
I can’t think that far ahead, so I change the subject. “Any word from Eddie?”
“Just that his wretch of a fiancée is going to make her bridesmaids wear burnt orange. Can you picture it?”
“I can smell the rotten pumpkins.”
“I miss him so much, Sara. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over him.”
“You will. And I’m going to help you. Starting with our movie next Saturday. When Harry Met Sally is on. Nine o’clock. And I’ve decided we should both have the same snacks. Black licorice, sour cream and onion chips, and Diet Coke.”
“I can’t be alone that night. If you forget to call, you know I’ll drive out to our hotel and spy on them. And then I’ll see that the room is dark and I’ll know they’re doing it….” She starts choking back sobs.
“Don’t think that way for a second. I’ll keep you busy the whole night.”
“No cancelling to study this time, promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
It’s the first week of November, so Monday morning is Grub Day. Standing in front of my locker in my Docs and jeans, I fumble with my combination. There’s a lot of murmuring going on in the hallways, a lot of shocked faces. Like a fast-spreading brush fire, a hot piece of gossip is burning across the student body. I lean closer to the two girls whispering a few lockers down and can just make out what they’re saying.
“I heard she jumped on the T tracks,” says the one with super-short bangs as she stuffs a violin case into her locker. “And then he dumped her.”
Her friend says, “I heard he refused to save her because she made out with an interior designer at the warehouse party.”
“Whatever happened, one thing’s definite. Leo dumped her good. I saw her begging him to take her back this morning, on the second-floor landing. You know, on the sofa.”
“So Leo, he said no when Carling begged?”
“His exact words were, ‘This time, Carling, you don’t get what you want. You get what you need.’”
They walk away.
I want to believe it. I need to believe it. But do I dare?
I tug my locker door open, drop my backpack inside, and try to compose myself. I’ll be sitting behind Carling in about three minutes and I need to drum up some genuine sympathy. A pair of narrow shoes appears beneath my locker door. I peer around it to find Isabella leaning against the wall, her mouth all knotted to one side.
“Hey,” I say, hoping my thoughts aren’t visible.
“Have a good rest of the weekend?”
“Sure.”
“Get enough sleep?”
What is she up to? “I did. And you?”
She ignores me. “Did you hear about Carling and Leo? He actually dumped her.”
I duck my head inside my locker and allow myself a smile. So it’s true. So many emotions are swirling through my head, I’ve become top-heavy and can no longer stand up straight. Concern and embarrassment about Carling’s begging. Pride for Leo, for refusing to take her crap anymore. Newfound respect for the universe for giving Carling Burnack a consequence for all the havoc she wreaked on Saturday night. And, yes, a bit of sorrow for the pain she must be going through right now. But, sweeping away all of these feelings, mostly I feel pure joy because Leo Reiser is officially single.
“Yeah,” I say. “Pretty shocking.”
“Did you get in trouble for getting home so late?”
“I was quiet.”
“Cool.” She hugs her books to her abdomen and blinks. As usual, her nails are filed into paper-thin ovals. On her index finger is a flat gold ring with the initials IEL. I wonder what the E stands for. Encyclopedia of Horrors? She says, “I’ve been thinking about where you live….”
No. Don’t think about where I live. I forbid you to think about where I live. “Why?”
“It’s just kind of weird. I never saw a FOR SALE sign in front of that house. Or anybody moving in or out.”
My heart starts to thump in all the wrong places. My throat. My upper arms. My stomach. What were the odds anybody had ever noticed that street? Why couldn’t I have picked the next cul-de-sac over? Or the one after that? I try to shrug but my shoulders don’t move. “What can I say? We’re speedy movers.”
“Really.” She narrows her eyes and watches me.
“Really.”
“What makes it even weirder is my old housekeeper rents out the basement. Has lived there for years. She’s still in touch with my mother. You’d think she’d have mentioned something as big as moving, wouldn’t you?”
For a moment I consider saying we have a housekeeper tenant in the basement, but quickly realize it won’t work. “I wouldn’t know.”
“I’ll have to mention it to my mother.” Isabella shifts her books to her right arm. “Something about you smells funny, London.”
I slam my locker and walk away as if my life isn’t crumbling into too many dusty pieces to count. “Then keep your nose out of my business, Latini.”