Lola leaned in close to Elton John’s shiny face, studying the gap between his teeth. “He looks so real,” she said softly.
“I thought you went to the one in London.” Kyle pushed his bangs off his forehead. He walked past a wax figure of Tina Turner and touched her hair. She looked like she’d been attacked by a crimping iron.
They’d decided to go to Madame Tussauds tonight, while Kyle’s parents went to see a new off-off-Broadway play where a man disassembled a television set while singing opera.
“No, never,” Lola said, staring at Kyle for a second too long.
Since her “lesson” on Tuesday, Lola had been studying nonstop—tossing her hair in the mirror and walking down the sidewalk so carefully an old lady with a walker had passed her. She’d even memorized the Wikipedia article on football (er, soccer) word for word and knew all the field positions (goalie, fullback, forward, midfielder). She was ready.
Kyle sniffed the air like a dog trying to pick up a scent. “I keep smelling vanilla cake batter in here,” he said. “Weird.”
“That’s just my perfume,” Lola said softly, tossing her hair over her shoulder flirtatiously, the way Andie had shown her. She had on her favorite pair of Gap jeans, the only ones that actually came down past her ankles, and one of Stella’s “casual tops”—a bright green silk blouse. This morning had been better than Christmas. She’d discovered Stella’s missing boxes under her bed—DRESS TOPS III AND BEAUTY SUPPLIES—just in time for her date. She was considering them payment for Stella hanging out with Cate all week.
“Since when do you wear perfume?” Kyle asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Next to them, three older boys with Mahwah High sweatshirts tried to look up Tina Turner’s sequined skirt.
“Since always,” Lola said, turning away quickly. Her face felt hot and red. She felt a little silly acting, but it seemed to be working. Kyle had already complimented her once on her shirt, telling her she looked so…girly. He hadn’t mentioned the ice cream disaster, either. It was like he had selective amnesia, forgetting only the things Lola wanted him to.
“Look!” she cried, spotting a few familiar friends. “The Spice Girls!” Scary Spice was sticking out her tongue, showing off a silver stud. Victoria Beckham was crouched down in Posh Spice mode, her arms raised above her head. Lola smiled, seeing an opportunity. “I wish I got to see Becks play when he was on Manchester United.”
“Totally,” Kyle agreed, resting his hands on the waist of his mesh shorts. “Wait…” He paused. “You never told me you liked soccer. Or do you just like Beckham?”
Lola stared into Kyle’s big brown eyes and then shoved his shoulder playfully, just like she’d rehearsed with Andie. “I love football,” she lied. “It’s my favorite sport—right after snowboarding.”
“You snowboard?” Kyle smiled at Lola, revealing his dimples. A church group in blinding fluorescent yellow T-shirts strolled through, pausing to take pictures with Miley and Billy Ray Cyrus. “Impressive.”
Lola’s whole body warmed up. “Cheers.” She smiled, walking alongside him into the Hall of Presidents.
Lola stood next to Kyle, staring at a man with a nose so big it needed its own zip code. The rehearsal dinner was Saturday night, and her mum had told her she could bring anyone she wanted. Stella and Cate were bringing those daft girls who were always at the house, and Andie had said she’d probably bring Cindy. But Lola only had one person in mind. Her palms started to sweat just thinking about it.
“Do you know who any of these people are?” Kyle asked, glancing at a white-haired man with a saggy neck and a Will Smith look-alike. They were standing behind debate podiums in one corner of the room.
Lola laughed. “I don’t have a bloody clue.” She could stare at the big-nosed man all day long and she still wouldn’t know.
“Well, this is Richard Nixon—we learned about him in history class.” Kyle pulled his gum out of his mouth and pinched it between his fingers, a mischievous grin curling over his lips. “Dare me to stick some gum up his nose?”
“No!” Lola squealed, swatting him in the arm. She glanced around the hall, but the tourists had disappeared. There was only a middle-aged man in a tracksuit muttering furiously to “Bill Clinton.”
“Oh, come on. Remember when we used my mom’s hair dryer to melt all those crayons?” Kyle grinned wickedly, and Lola smiled too. Growing up, she and Kyle were always doing things they weren’t supposed to—using the buds of his mum’s rhododendrons as ammunition in their fort war, mixing Stella’s different creams to make a “potion.” She’d never had so much fun breaking the rules.
“Fine,” Lola said softly. “I dare you.” She put her hands on her hips. Kyle looked both ways before stuffing the wad of blue gum up Nixon’s big nose. Lola clapped her hands in front of her face and laughed.
“We have to get out of here—fast,” Kyle said, grabbing Lola’s thin arm. He pulled her toward the Hall of Sports Figures, the two of them erupting in a fit of giggles.
Lola ran toward the glowing red exit sign, feeling happier than she had since she’d arrived in New York. Kyle was already forgetting his old mate Sticks—the one who had terrible bangs and wore board shorts over her bathing suit when they went swimming in his pool in London.
Lola caught her reflection in the mirrored doors, her kelly green silk top looking perfect with her pale freckled skin. She was already forgetting Sticks too.