Farah’s eyes focused on her reflection. “Not bad,” she said, pulling on her thigh-high skirt. “Not bad at all.”
It was Friday night before the game. Farah stood in my bedroom preening in front of the mirror. I had the coolest mirror in the world. The frame had a zany comic strip collage I glued on three years ago. It took me forever to line the strips up perfectly, but I finally got them right and I still loved the dumb thing.
Farah, however, was not looking at the comic strips.
“You can’t sit in such a short skirt, can you?” I asked. “Your, you know…um… it’s just too short.”
I, on the other hand, was wearing parent-approved jeans and a pale yellow T-shirt. To be fair, it was my favorite T-shirt and I’d been complimented on it more than once. Sadly, I didn’t have Farah’s skill or style in putting together an outfit.
“What’s wrong with showing some skin, Emili? No harm in advertising.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you going to let my mom see you?”
“I’m not a total idiot.” She pulled on her long navy-blue pea coat, moved a step closer to me, and sniffed. “Mixing potions again?”
“Like it? It’s jasmine with a tinge of grapefruit oil.”
“Not bad. Anything’s better than the lemon-whatever you made last week. You smelled like dish detergent.”
“I know. I kind of screwed up that batch.”
“And by the way, your outfit is pathetic.” Farah shook her head.
She was right — my outfit sucked. But what difference did it make? I couldn’t begin to compare with her anyway.
For one thing, Farah had curves, a real hour-glass figure. I was on the skinny side, which meant a double-A bra and hardly any butt. Her eyes were an interesting green, mine were dirt brown. “Cow eyes,” my little sister called them.
Thanks a lot, Sarah.
At least my hair was decent, falling thick and cinder-black to the middle of my back. Recently, I’d spent hours in front of the mirror, trying to perfect the hair-behind-the-shoulder toss. I’d watched Farah do it enough times. But I couldn’t get beyond looking like a robot or an over-exuberant five-year-old.
I walked over to my dresser where Farah had thrown her purse, knocking all my perfume-making supplies over. I took her bag and laid it on the end of my bed. I was straightening everything up when she grabbed my arm.
“You moved my purse.” Her tone was sharp, accusing, and she had a panicked look in her eye.
“It knocked all my stuff over. You know how much these oils cost?”
Her grip tightened. “Did you get in it?”
I tried to shake off her hand. “Man, Farah, let go, will you? You’re hurting me.”
She dropped my arm and repeated, “Did you get in it?”
“No. What do I care about your stupid purse? What’s in there anyway?” I started rubbing the red mark she’d left on my arm.
She blinked rapidly, took a deep breath, and then pasted on a wobbly smile. “Uh, sorry. Just forget it, it’s nothing.” She leaned over, picked up the purse and slung it over her shoulder.
“I think your ‘nothing’ gave me a bruise.” I inspected my arm and turned back to the dresser to re-organize my perfumes. The glass bottles clinked against each other as I carefully lined them up according to size.
“Emili?” She spoke quietly.
“What?”
“I guess I kind of overreacted.”
“You think?”
“Sorry.”
Neither of us said anything for a long minute. Then Farah cleared her throat and started digging in her suitcase, which was balancing on the edge of my desk.
“Want to use some of my eye shadow? I’ve got some light gray in here somewhere. It’d look good on you.” Her voice was back to normal. She tossed me her cosmetic bag. “Where’s all the make-up I donated to your cause? And would you please quit cleaning? Your room is way too neat, it’s not natural. You’re a teenager, so it’s your duty to have a messy room. Come on and hurry up, it’s time to go.”
It was time to go, but I should’ve been getting ready to meet Marc. The guilt was kicking in again. Earlier in the day, I’d caught up with him outside algebra class.
“Marc, about the game…”
He’d come over to me, eagerness stamped all over his face. “Same plan as always, right? Meet me at the gate?”
“Farah wants me to go with her this time,” I said, insisting to myself — It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie.
Marc inclined his head. His hair, which was the color of warm cocoa, fell in waves across his forehead. Whenever he tilted his head, it swished to the side, looking exactly like Razor Wild, my most favorite singer in the world. I paused. What was I doing?
“She could come with us,” he said.
My eyes widened. “Um, you know Farah. She’s got this whole plan. We’re spending the night together and everything. She has a special sitting spot I think, and I had to say yes to her. She wouldn’t let up…” I couldn’t seem to stop my mouth.
Marc laughed. “Whoa, Emili! If it’s such a big deal to her, fine. I have a project due in Spanish anyway. And then we’ve got a bunch of History to do. Maybe it’s better if I skip the game.”
“Okay.”
“Have a good time, though,” he said. “The bell’s going to ring — catch you later.”
He was off. I’d stood there for a moment not moving. Had I just participated in Massive Deception 101?
No, I was being silly — everything was fine. I’d only told him the truth, right? No need to turn into a Drama Queen.
But my squirming stomach disagreed. I inhaled deeply and fingered Farah’s makeup.
I gave a final glance to my once-again tidy dresser, and dutifully put on eye shadow and mascara before leaving the room. When Mom saw my face, she raised her eyebrows, but thankfully said nothing.
“Mrs. Jones, we could’ve walked, but it’s so nice of you to drive us,” said Farah. “My mom is too busy like always. Emili’s lucky to have you for a mom. And thanks again for being so nice and letting me spend the night.”
Honestly, you’d think any mother could see through Farah’s load of syrup, but she never did.
Mom put her arm around Farah and gave her a squeeze. “You’re welcome, honey. You’re always welcome to stay with us.”
Farah bent quickly to fix the strap on her shoe. For a split second, I thought I saw actual tears spring to her eyes. But a moment later, she straightened back up and her eyes were desert-dry.
Guess I was wrong.
Mom grabbed her keys, and we headed to the car. I eyed the slouchy brown leather purse draped across Farah’s shoulder and stifled my burning questions. Right then, I could barely handle my quivering thoughts of Lance.
I’d have an ulcer before the night was over.
It only took a few minutes to drive to Bates Academy Ball Park. Mom dropped us off at the entrance. “Girls, I’ll pick you up at 10:30. There’s no way I’m letting you two walk home in the dark. Call me if it’s over early.”
“Oh, you don’t have to pick us up,” Farah said. “Jeannie Sander’s mom is bringing us home.”
“Okay, then, if you’re sure. I’ll see you at home. Have fun, girls!” She drove off.
I grabbed Farah’s sleeve. “Mrs. Sander isn’t bringing us home.”
Farah smiled. “I know she’s not, and you know she’s not. But your mom doesn’t have to know. Why can’t one of us have a driver’s license already? It’s a total handicap.”
“What difference does it make? I wouldn’t have anything to drive anyway.”
“Minor issue. You’re the A student, you should have your license. I don’t see why your parents are making you wait another six months.”
“Like I said, nothing to drive anyway.”
“Well, it’s cramping my style.”
I frowned at her. “I don’t see you with your license.”
“Yeah, well. Unfortunately, my parents don’t trust me.”
“Who would’ve guessed?” I said. “So are we walking home, or what? It’s going to be cold and dark. I’d rather have Mom pick us up.”
“You worry too much — it’s not good for your health. Besides, how can you doubt me? You ought to know I have a plan.”
And there it was. Another plan. My nervousness climbed another notch. I wasn’t feeling too excited about the possibilities. We entered the stadium and the field lights were blinding. They had recently been replaced by the Parent Booster Club and you’d have thought they’d personally bought the sun. The week the lights were installed, the paper ran an article every day boasting about the Booster Club, the unflagging Bates’ spirit, the football team, yada, yada, yada. But I had to admit, it was nice to see everything clearly for once. Our Bates players were already on the field, their orange and black uniforms nearly fluorescent in the light. I didn’t know who we were playing, and I didn’t care. The other team wore purple, so I guessed they might be our rivals from Gainesville down the road.
The salty smell of popcorn glutted the air, so I knew the Chess Club was busy at their booth. They continually bragged about how they could raise one hundred dollars in under two hours. The band was blasting out a new song the whole school had learned during Friday’s pep rally, and I could see the cheerleaders jumping from each other’s shoulders, landing in twisted contortions. The whipped-up crowd chanted and someone blew an air horn.
Farah kept walking toward the bleachers. “Lance has a brother. He’s, um, older. He’ll give us a ride home.” She spoke close to my ear over the throbbing noise.
It was stupid, but at the mention of Lance, my heart started to beat a bit faster. “Oh, so Lance’s brother and Lance will be with us?”
A look of delight passed over Farah’s face. “It’s all Lance, isn’t it? My, my, whatever will Marc say?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This has nothing to do with Marc.” I could feel my face go hot. I didn’t tell her about my earlier lie-fest with Marc. Whoa, what if Marc texted me during the game? I pulled my phone from my jean’s pocket and switched it off.
I nudged Farah. “I didn’t know Lance had a brother. How much older is he?”
“Old enough.” Farah’s eyebrows rose, and she continued in a dreamy tone, “Wait till you meet him. He’s fine.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Oh, Emili, you know I get around.”
“Did Lance say he was coming for sure?” I was practically yelling now as we got closer to the stands.
Farah ignored me, dashing ahead, starting up the bleachers two at a time.
“Wait,” I called. She wasn’t listening — she was on a mission.
A senior guy — I thought his name was Scott — grabbed Farah’s arm on her way up. He pulled her onto his lap amidst hoots and whistles from his friends. Farah’s initial surprised expression became a smile and a laugh. She pushed on his chest playfully, jumped off his lap, and kept moving.
I glanced upward and saw Lance and what could only be his brother. Both of them were watching Farah, and Lance had his arms open toward her. I took a deep breath. Even from where I was, I could see how hot he looked. I chewed my lip. What was I doing? I was prepping for a major guilt attack. But how would it look if I didn’t go up there? Farah would be annoyed.
And I’d told Lance I’d be there.
I took the steps slowly, climbing the bleachers as if they were Mt. Everest. While I climbed, I glanced down at my T-shirt and jeans and despaired of my choice of outfits. Next to Farah, I looked like I was ready to dig latrines at the local wilderness camp.
When I arrived, Farah was already sitting between the guys, laughing hugely and tossing her hair. Lance saw me approach. “Cecily, right?”
Farah slapped him on the arm. “It’s Emili. How many times do I have to tell you?”
She leaned in toward his brother. “I hope his stupidity isn’t genetic.” And I swear she fluttered her green eyes at him. She put her hand on his arm as if staking a claim. “Emili, this is Pete.”
“Hey, Pete,” I said, slightly out-of-breath. I glanced at Lance and sat down in front of him.
We were nearly to the top of the bleachers, giving me a bird’s-eye view of the colorful mass of spectators below. I spotted Jeannie, whose mother was supposedly taking us home. She was chatting it up with her groupies. Not too long ago, I would’ve been down there with them. A pang of regret squeezed my heart, but then I realized who was sitting right behind me. Without Farah, Lance would be nowhere close. Ditching old friends for Farah was paying off exactly like I’d hoped it would.
The game began and we settled in. I felt a bit silly sitting in front of the three of them by myself.
“Pete, how come I haven’t seen you at other games?” Farah asked.
“Didn’t know how good the scenery was going to be,” came his answer.
Farah giggled. Actually giggled. I nearly burst out laughing myself. I’d never heard her giggle in my life.
Lance stretched out his legs, dangling his feet across the bench where I sat. In one smooth move, he lifted himself down to sit next to me. We didn’t touch, but every cell in my body was on alert. With great effort, I kept my eyes on the game.
“Enjoying yourself, Cecily?” He spoke next to my ear. I felt his breath on my cheek.
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
“You smell good,” he said, and shifted so his leg touched mine. I stiffened, forcing myself to keep my eyes forward.
“It’s the perfume,” I said, ignoring the warmth from his leg.
“I figured.”
“I make it.”
“You make perfume?” I could tell by his tone I’d surprised him.
“Yeah. It’s not so hard.”
He moved again, his leg pressing more firmly into mine. “You like football?”
I took a quick breath. “Sure. It’s a cool sport.”
Oh, please. Did I say football was a cool sport? Smooth.
Lance snickered softly. “Yeah, a real cool sport.”
We continued to sit, legs touching. I’d never felt so deliciously miserable in my life.
“How badly do you want to see this game?” I heard Farah ask Pete. Oh no, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t leave me stranded here, sitting next to Lance and feeling like the biggest misfit who ever drew breath. But I knew she would.
“Not so much,” he answered and chuckled. “What do you have in mind?”
I stopped breathing and my entire body tensed.
“You have a car, don’t you?” she asked with undertones I didn’t even want to think about.
“Have car, will travel,” he answered. “Let’s go. Coming, Lance?”
Lance got up. “Not so big on the game myself.”
Why wasn’t I here with Marc like I was supposed to be? Now I was going to be left alone like a big loser.
“Coming, Cecily?” Lance reached out his hand to help me up. His expression was hypnotic, inviting.
I took his hand. Even though the evening was cool, his grasp was firm and warm. I got to my feet. “And I do know Cecily’s not your name. But I like it anyway.”
At that crazy, intoxicating moment, he could have called me Egg Salad Superstar for all I cared. He helped me down the bleachers, even though it was pretty obvious his eyes were watching every move Farah made. I couldn’t fault him. When Farah moved, everyone watched. I prayed my hand wouldn’t get clammy. I could sweat like a gymnast in under a minute — always when I was trying to impress someone.
Being with a guy still strained my sense of balance. It wouldn’t take much to topple me over. Marc was okay, though. I was fairly relaxed around him. We had been dating for almost two months — which, at my school, was like forever. Marc wasn’t experienced either, so we kind of bumbled along together. Everyone considered us a couple. Although sometimes when I was walking with him, the word “poser” echoed in my mind.
Last week, Marc and I had finally kissed. I’d never in a million years tell Farah, but it was a total disaster. Maybe I didn’t know what I was doing or maybe I was too self-conscious. Either way, it wasn’t close to what I saw in the movies or heard gushed about in the girls’ bathroom.
And the second time wasn’t any better than the first. I guess a person needs more than one kiss to be an expert.
So, being with Lance was way over the top, and I felt giddy. The fact he hadn’t let go of my hand sent actual heat up my spine. I nearly stumbled down each step, trying to keep our hands connected and to keep from falling into him. I willed myself not to sweat.
“Hey, Lance,” some girl yelled. It was Megan Rochester, standing and waving wildly. Lance tipped his head at her, and gave her a smile. I felt a ping in my heart and frowned. I wanted all his smiles, which was absurd considering I barely knew him and certainly had no claim on him.
Thinking about claims, it occurred to me we were in public view, and I was supposedly Marc’s girl. Crap.
This couldn’t go on. I needed to talk to Marc. It wasn’t right to feel this way about one guy while going out with another. I heard a commotion and then saw Jeannie lean over her friends and call out to me with a voice like an electric drill, “Hey, Emili, fancy seeing you here…”
Lance kept pulling me down the steps. I glanced back but didn’t have a chance to answer as the cheering exploded into a frenzy.
When we emerged from the heavy metal fence around the field, Farah made the pretense of adjusting her skirt. I knew that move. I’d seen her do it a hundred times in front of the mirror. She grasped the hem and tugged a bit; she almost always ended up hitching the skirt higher. Lance and Pete both had their eyes glued.
Lance dropped my hand. I sighed.
Well, it served me right. I shouldn’t have been holding his hand in the first place.
“Where’s your car?” Farah asked.
“This way.” Pete took her arm and we started across the street to the parking lot.
What happened next was like watching a bad movie. At the entrance gate, there was Marc being let off from his parents’ blue mini-van. I did a double take. Marc had clearly said he wasn’t coming, and since when did he ever change his plans?
For one mad moment, I almost ran over there and threw myself in his arms. Seeing him sent relief throughout my entire body. But then I realized where I was and who I was with. My relief morphed into cold dread.
I lurched ahead to the parking lot and tried to hide by walking directly in front of Lance, but I didn’t hold out much hope. Even with his muscles, he was thin and wouldn’t provide enough cover. There were heavy trees circling the parking lot, and even though their leaves were gone, I prayed they’d block us from Marc’s view.
We approached a red vintage Mustang convertible. I knew it was vintage because my cousin had one, and it cost him every cent he had and then some. Pete unlocked the door. “Emili and Lance, you’re in the back.”
Lance started to protest, but he must’ve seen the warning look of authority on his brother’s face, and decided against it.
I grabbed Farah’s arm and whispered, “Marc’s here and he might’ve seen me.”
She pulled her arm free and glared at me. “Emili, we’re ready to go,” she said aloud, her voice all candy-coated. She indicated the open door. “You first.”
I stared at her helplessly. “Did you hear? I don’t know what to do.”
She leaned close. “Marc’s boring! I’ve told you a million times. This is so much better. You’ll thank me later.” She laughed up at Pete. “Okay, Pete, unlock the other side, and I’ll slide right in.”