THIRTEEN | IVY

ANWAR LOOKED DOWN HIS nose at me as I slid into my chair. “Vivienne went home. She had one of her migraines. She wanted me to tell you that since we’re almost caught up here for the moment you should report to Rory in Marketing tomorrow.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I’ll be here, same as always.” His eyes clung to the credit slip in front of him, but his fingers danced over the keys like a virtuoso piano player.

From day one Anwar had felt more like my boss than Vivienne. If he actually were my boss, I wouldn’t care, but since he wasn’t it struck me as a minor annoyance. “Do you like this job, Anwar?” I asked.

“It beats picking up trash on the side of the highway,” he replied and didn’t return the question. “Maybe there’ll be more excitement for you in Marketing.”

I wasn’t searching for excitement. I was just looking to fully recover from chlamydia and get through the summer. Tomorrow I’d be finished with the pills. That was a good beginning, but staying positive was an uphill struggle. I was deeply lonely. I hadn’t felt lonely before Jeremy, but my chronic love rotted into hate sickness now had me swinging past his house whenever I was out in the Volkswagen, sadistically picking at my wounds.

Twice I’d driven by Betina’s too, and once on the weekend she’d called my cell, but I didn’t pick up. It wouldn’t be my fault if she couldn’t make babies. On the other hand, it was precisely her fault that I’d spilled the hideous love triangle story (minus infection details) to a guy I barely knew in a parking lot. What new level of desperation was next?

I didn’t want to know, and a stubborn inner rebelliousness made me exercise my willpower and refuse to drive by Jer’s house after work. When I got home I called possibly the only real friend I still had and asked her if she wanted to do something. “Tonight?” Shaye asked, not appreciating that I’d decided she was my sole remaining friend. “You mean you’re not out there saving the world with Wonder Boy?”

Fourteen is a ridiculously sarcastic age, a fact that Shaye often seemed intent on demonstrating, but it was going to take more than a few wisecracks to retract my invitation. Shaye was true to herself and unshockable. I needed that. She wasn’t prone to bursts of bad language either — another bonus.

“Wonder Boy couldn’t live up to his name,” I admitted. “We’ve gone our separate ways.”

“Are you serious? I always knew there was something wrong with that dude. The first time you guys came to the Side Door I caught him checking out my butt.”

“You don’t have a butt,” I pointed out. This may or may not have been a helpful thing to say to a recovering anorexic. Another by-product of my ex–best friend’s treachery. Insensitivity.

“I do so. You haven’t seen me in a while. My butt is probably bigger than yours.”

“If you say so, Shaye.” I wasn’t going to sit there on the phone with her arguing about whose butt was bigger. “So do you want to come out or not? I have no one to rant to about Jer. I’m going slowly insane. Not all that slowly, unfortunately. Today I actually spilled most of the twisted tale to the deli guy.”

“The deli guy?” she repeated. “Don’t tell me you guys played hide the salami.”

“Please. Jeremy and I just broke up. I’m so off sex that it isn’t funny.”

“Sorry,” she said, turning serious on me. “You’re really sad about it, huh? We can go out, but my mom’s busy with the baby so you’ll have to pick me up. What do you want to do?”

She asked if I had a camera and suggested we drive to the beach, where she proceeded to snap pictures of everything under the sun. She zoomed in on bratty kids, the ebb and flow of the surf, amorous couples, and sandcastles in progress. A rangy brown dog belonging to no one in particular padded over to lick me on the face, and she clicked that too. “So what happened to you guys?” she asked, finally switching off her camera.

I gave Shaye the unedited version, complete with former STI symptoms, while she smoothed sand over her bare legs. She was right. Her butt was bigger than the last time I’d seen her. You’d never guess she had an eating disorder.

“Sorry to say this,” she began, “but Jeremy and your friend Betina are totally nasty. It sounds like they deserve each other.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I sketched crop circles in the sand. “It’s complicated, though. For me, anyway. The old feelings didn’t disappear overnight. They’ve just warped. Sometimes I want bad things to happen to them. Then I feel evil for thinking that.”

“They’re sleazebags,” she said. “Of course you want bad things to happen to them.”

“It’s not just that. I keep wondering what was real. Any of it? I feel like I didn’t really know him, or her.” I stretched out on the sand. It was so comforting in its downy warmness that I didn’t care if I got any in my hair. Unfortunately, the sun was beginning to set. Shaye and I couldn’t camp out on the beach forever.

“I think some if it must have been real,” Shaye said, her dark eyes reflecting the sunset. “I think you would’ve known if none of it was true.”

True. What did that mean? Was I true? Was I always the person I seemed to be?

“I guess. Maybe.” I buried my left hand in the sand. “So what’s this new poem going to be about — from the pictures you snapped today?”

“I don’t know yet.” Shaye’s two front teeth perched on her lips as she smiled. “Maybe it will be about you.”

Rory in Marketing made me edit images of golf clubs, purses, razor-thin tablets, and a plethora of other images for Frasier-Hay’s incentive programs. It was a change of scenery, but not any more exciting than Accounts Receivable, a thought I reminded myself to share with Anwar.

I didn’t see Sheri around the office much. She’d treated me to lunch one day last week, like she’d promised. Aside from that I’d only run into her in the lunchroom once. Three-quarters of the way through my second day in Marketing I spotted her sipping coffee in the lunchroom for the second time and pulled up a chair. We made small talk until her cellphone rang.

After disconnecting she glanced hesitantly over at me and said, “Ivy, is there any possibility you could drop me home tonight? My apartment isn’t far. Just by the courthouse on Highway 10. My car’s waiting for a new alternator, and the garage just informed me that they don’t think they’ll be able to get a hold of it today.”

“Of course. That’s no problem.” Sheri had no idea that I didn’t have a social life to interfere with.

“Oh.” She snapped her fingers. “I just remembered. I normally pick up Lucan from the café on the way.”

“We can swing by there first and get him,” I told her. “I don’t mind.”

A couple of hours later I stopped by her desk on my way out and watched her pack up. We parked in front of the Mill Street Café and sat waiting for Lucan for nearly fifteen minutes. “I’m sorry about this,” Sheri said. “He’s normally finished at five. I’ll go get him.”

He showed up just as she was getting out of the car. Both of them climbed back in, Sheri explaining about the delayed alternator. When I pulled into her condo parking lot, Sheri said, “After I’ve taken you out of your way, why don’t you at least let me offer you some dinner, Ivy? I’ll call for pizza.”

“Okay, thanks,” I replied. Why protest when I had nothing else to do?

The Rossis had a corner suite on the fourth floor. It was exceptionally bright and airy. Sheri appeared to have the same decorating taste as my mother before Mom had decided contemporary was old school.

“So is the goon joining us?” Lucan asked as Sheri pulled a menu from the drawer under the stove.

“Lucan, don’t call him that,” Sheri said wearily. “And no, he won’t be over tonight.” She presented me with the menu card. “Are all teenage boys this moody, or is it just mine?”

“Just get whatever you normally order,” I told her, smiling as I handed back the menu. “Unless that’s pineapple or hot peppers. Otherwise I’m not fussy.”

“Do you want the tour?” Lucan asked, rocking on his heels. “It’ll be a while before the pizza shows up.”

I thought he meant a tour of the suite, but he led me out the front door and into the elevator. We looked in on the gym, pool room, library, and party room, but Lucan said we couldn’t check out the swimming pool unless we were wearing swimsuits. “They like rules here,” he said. “I got reamed out for dumping garbage after ten o’clock last month. Actually, it was Sheri who got the lecture, but it was me that did it. Big brother’s always watching.”

He guided me outside to the barbecue area, where we sat down on some patio furniture. It was at the back of the building, away from the parking lot, which meant it was actually quiet and peaceful. Nobody was barbecuing. Aside from a collection of crickets chirping nearby, we were the only ones there.

Then Lucan’s cell rang. Judging by his expression it took him by surprise. “Sorry,” he told me. “I’ll just be a second.”

“Hey,” he said into the phone. “No, I know … Nothing … Hanging with my second cousin, actually … Yeah, I’ve never heard anything about your second cousin, either.” He smiled at me as he said that last part. It’s always strange to hear people communicate with someone else. They never seem like exactly the same person they are to you. Does that mean they’re not true?

Lucan sounded a lot like himself over the phone with this other person, but not entirely. “So I can’t,” he summed up. “Tomorrow … All right, man.”

“Sorry,” he said again, switching his attention back to me. “I thought I had it off.”

Back in ninth and tenth grade I used to hang out with people who were constantly being interrupted by various ring tones. Jeremy wasn’t like that. He paid attention when he was with you.

“It’s okay.” That tender crying jag feeling clawed at my chest. “Have you talked to your friend about those numbers I sent you?” Violence was following me around. It hadn’t stopped because I was no longer with the AVL. So many people had worse problems than mine.

“I haven’t had a chance yet,” Lucan admitted. “It’s a hard thing to bring up.”

Delicate. But that joke was getting old between us.

“What about you?” he asked, changing the subject. “How’s life without the ex?”

“Same as it was two days ago.” I grinned, but it didn’t feel real. “So who’s the goon, anyway?”

Lucan groaned as he tossed his head back. His eyelashes blinked at me in the sun. “Sheri’s boyfriend, this guy Julian.”

“You don’t like him much, huh?”

“No. I don’t like him.” Lucan crossed his arms in front of his T-shirt, and for one gloriously angst-free moment I forgot to think of him as a friend or Sheri’s son and wondered what he looked like underneath. Then that decaying, maggot-infested lovesick feeling leaned in and took another bite of me. “Living up there is like living inside an amateur porn movie.”

I laughed in surprise. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He squeezed his lips together and slid down in his chair. “I’m, like, probably three days away from doing a sweep for webcams. The other day I heard them at it in the bathroom. I’m emotionally scarred.” He smiled semi-bitterly. “Do you ever hear your parents?”

“One time when I was eight I had the flu and I think I interrupted them in their bedroom, but other than that, no. I guess they’re quiet.” I suspected they didn’t have sex much anymore, but that wasn’t an intensely helpful bit of information. “I guess you can’t talk to your mom about it?”

Lucan’s eyes said it all.

“Maybe I should move out, leave them to it,” he said. “My dad’s place is bigger anyway. He has a whole house to himself.” I remembered my mom mentioning, a few years ago, that Sheri and her husband had split up, but I hadn’t thought about it again until now.

Lucan talked about his dad and his uncles a bit. He also mentioned that he wanted to be a paramedic, which prompted me to bring up my journalism plans. “I was really lucky. Because of my average I qualified for a single room in residence at Carleton.”

“That doesn’t sound like luck,” Lucan said, visibly impressed. “What was your average?”

“Ninety-one.”

“How the hell do you maintain a ninety-one percent average?”

I shrugged. I was good at focusing. I didn’t have to struggle with that the way lots of other people did.

“How old are you, anyway?” he said. “If you don’t mind me asking. You seem really mature for your age.”

“I’m seventeen. Eighteen at the end of September.” Every time I saw Lucan we ended up in a conversation about how massively screwed up I was about my ex-boyfriend. How did that qualify me as mature? “How old are you and what kind of people do you know that make me seem mature?”

“Just regular people.” He smiled again. He had a really nice smile that helped put you at ease. It was part of what I’d referred to as his sodium pentothal superpower before. “And I’ll be seventeen in November.”

I’d vaguely remembered that he was younger. There was a time when I was half a foot taller, despite there only being fourteen months between us. It was hard to believe we were the same Ivy and Lucan from all those years ago. I couldn’t remember anything of his sodium pentothal quality from back then, just the kryptonite hidden in our secret cupboard.

That evening we ate peanut butter–, pineapple-, and hot pepper–free pizza with Sheri. Two days later I saw Lucan in the Mill Street Café, and he made me another mouth-watering Reuben. I thought my life was stabilizing, what with at least one person regarding me as mature and another (with a healthy growing butt) willing to be real with me, but for some inexplicable reason I drove past Jeremy’s house on my way home from Frasier-Hay.

The driveway was empty, but a bundle of white fur lay stretched out on the shaded porch. Nanook was an escape artist; they should’ve named her Houdini. Nobody could ever figure out how she did it, and she’d obviously succeeded again because the Waites never left her outside on her own.

Jeremy never parked in the garage, either, which meant he was either at the Fire Hall or out somewhere with Betina. I parked in the driveway, stomped bravely towards the front door, and rang the doorbell. Nanook jumped up on my legs and barked like her life depended on it. I suppose she’d had enough of the great outdoors for the time being. It was sweltering, and who knew how long she’d been out there.

I willed Jer’s half-sister or step-mom to come to the door. I didn’t intend to call his cell, even as a last resort. It wasn’t my fault that he’d allowed himself to be seduced by my former best friend (or vice versa), and it wasn’t my fault that his escape artist dog was baking in the July heat.

Of course, it wasn’t Nanook’s fault either, and when no one answered the door I scooped her into my arms and put her in my backseat. I’d figure out how to return her without contacting Jeremy later. Most people probably would’ve invented a healthier solution, but evil anti-Jeremy thoughts invaded my mind as I started the engine. Jer was crazy about Nanook. He wouldn’t sleep through the night knowing she was missing. It was too tempting an opportunity to pass up.

With Nanook curled up safely in the backseat, I rummaged around in my purse for my cell. The knowledge that I was acting certifiable didn’t stop me for a second. I punched in Lucan’s number and prayed that he was home.

“Hi,” he said. “What’s up?”

“It’s Ivy,” I told him. If this was such a bad idea, how come the only thing I felt guilty about was asking Lucan for a favor?

“Yeah, I know. How’s it going?”

“Bizarre.” Nanook barked as we sped past a poodle heeling obediently on the sidewalk.

“Do you have a dog?” he asked.

“No. It’s my ex’s dog. She got locked out of the house.” My heart skipped two beats as I paused. Next to sleeping with Jer after he’d dumped me, this was the most impulsive thing I’d ever done. The recklessness thrilled me as much as it scared me. “This is going to sound nuts and make you entirely rethink my maturity level, but is there any possibility that you could keep her for a while?”

“Your ex’s dog? Ivy, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I guess you could call it revenge. I’d keep her myself, but there’s always the chance he could drop by or call and …” I’d forgotten about Sheri. Maybe she wouldn’t let Lucan keep a dog. “Are you allergic or —”

“No, I’m not allergic but …” His hesitancy made me self-conscious. If I could’ve talked my way out of the outrageous request, I would’ve. Would he call back if I hung up?

“I know,” I said, sliding from partial insanity to embarrassment in ten seconds flat. “I know. Sorry.”

“For how long?” he asked. “I mean, you’re going to give it back eventually, right?”

“Of course. Just a few days, maximum.” I hit the gas as the light ahead turned green. Did Lucan’s questions mean he was considering the matter? “I’d buy the dog food and whatever else she needs. She’s a really good dog. She likes everyone. I don’t think she’d be much trouble. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“This is crazy,” he said. “You really hate your ex that much?”

Not when he broke it off. Maybe not even after Betina, but after my chlamydia surprise, yes, I did. He’d decimated my trust. I wasn’t the same person I’d been before Jeremy.

“I do,” I said. I was still in love with him, too. That was the most humiliating part of the ordeal.

Lucan sighed into the phone. “Don’t you have someone else who can do this?”

I didn’t answer. Shaye’s mom wouldn’t let her dog-sit with a new baby in the house, so what were my options? Call Gabriel Fong or Beverley Pereira from AVL and convince them that kidnapping Jer’s dog was for the common good? No. There was no one else who could “do this.”

“I guess I can hold on to it for a couple days,” Lucan said hesitantly, “but you have to know I’m not permanently keeping someone else’s dog, no matter how much you hate this guy.”

Hearing him say yes made my scheme seem tangible. I almost changed my mind. Then I remembered chlamydia was a reportable STI, which meant my name was probably already occupying space on a government list of the infected. Possibly I had other things I didn’t know about courtesy of a pervert in Indiana too. Dr. Nayar would have to test me for every known STI before I’d be satisfied that I was infection-free.

Gratitude mingled with guilt and disgust as I cleared my throat. “Thanks, Lucan. I really owe you. I’m on my way over with her now.”