She's cheating on Sean,
Mads thought. The idea took a while to sink in. How could anyone cheat on Sean? When your boyfriend was the hottest guy for miles around—
way hotter than Damien
, Mads thought, though he had his charms—why would you want to kiss someone else? Mads couldn't get her mind around it.
Should I do something? What should I do?
she wondered.
Should I tell Sean?
No,
she thought at first.
That's too mean. Too tattletale-y.
But her imagination began to run away with her. How would Sean react if he knew Jane was unfaithful to him? In her mind she saw a scene, as real as any in the play. She gently, hesitantly tells Sean what she has seen. She tries to play it down and say it was probably nothing. But Sean is hurt, then angry. Then hurt again, so sad … he needs someone to console him, to comfort him, and Mads just happens to be right in front of him. He reaches for her, tears brimming in his eyes …
You would never do something like that, would you?
he asks, leaning down to kiss Mads. One thing leads to another …
Man,
Mads thought.
That would be worth almost anything.
Jane was the one acting like a slut, after all,
she reasoned. Mads didn't force her to kiss Damien. But Sean should know about it. Otherwise, he was living a lie! And he really shouldn't be doing that.
All I'd be doing is telling the truth,
Mads thought.
That's supposed to be a good thing, right? If Jane pays a price for it, well, that's what happens when you go around kissing every cute guy who crosses your path.
That decided it. Mads was going to tell Sean the first chance she got. Jane was toast.
Here Comes the Bride
To: hollygolitely
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY'S HOROSCOPE: CAPRICORN: Well, well, well. Satisfied?
B
ritta? Why are you crying?” Britta had arrived on Holly's doorstep in tears again. She was so emotional, up, down, a regular roller coaster. Not that Holly blamed her; that was love for you. True love, anyway. As illustrated by Britta and Ed, at least.
“Oh, Holly, I can't stand it!” Britta sobbed. Holly hustled her inside and up to her room. “It's almost over! In a week he'll be gone!”
“Back to England?” Holly asked.
Britta nodded. “I don't know what I'll do. I feel like … like … my life will be over! Kill me now!”
Holly held Britta, who was crying so hard she soaked Holly's shirt. “Shh, shh,” Holly said, trying to soothe her. “Your life won't be over. He'll come back. And you can write him…. ” But Holly knew that wasn't the same.
“I don't have a life! Not without him.” Britta sobbed so violently Holly thought she could hear her heart actually breaking. She wanted to cry, too. It was so sad! But she had to stay strong for Britta.
“Think about what my life was like before,” Britta said when she'd calmed down a little. “Sheer emptiness! Lessons and practices and studying and blah blah blah. It wasn't even a life.”
Holly remembered. That was what had motivated her to fix Britta up in the first place. But now Britta had the most exciting life of anyone she knew. Sure there were lows, but the highs were so high, and even the sad times were kind of beautiful, in a tragic way. Holly understood how Britta felt—it would be devastating when Ed left. But she had to try to make her feel better, even if she knew it was hopeless.
“You can e-mail Ed, and write love letters to him,” Holly said. “And he'll be back sometime, won't he?”
“Not until Thanksgiving,” Britta wailed. “At the earliest.”
“Well, maybe you can go visit him in London,” Holly said. “This summer! That would be romantic …”
“My parents will never let me,” Britta said. “I'm supposed to spend this summer working in a research lab.” She flopped back on Holly's bed, wiping the tears away from her blotchy red face. “You know, a few weeks ago I was actually looking forward to it. Looking forward to spending the summer cooped up in a laboratory like a rat. It's pathetic.”
“Well, maybe you'll meet someone cute there,” Holly said. “I bet you'll find a great guy this summer, and things will be fun again. You can even take him to your beach house.”
Britta stared at Holly as if she had said she liked to kidnap puppies, boil them up, and eat them on toast.
“There will never be anyone like Ed,” she said solemnly. “No one can ever replace him. And I would never take some strange guy into
our
house.”
“I know, I'm sorry,” Holly said, backing away. Boiled puppies on toast, anyone?
Britta was calm now, steely and determined. “Ed was right,” she said quietly.
“Right about what?” Holly asked.
“He said we should get married, the day after I met him,” Britta said.
Holly was amazed. Ed proposed marriage after knowing Britta one day? “Wow, that's incredible,” Holly said. “He must really love you.”
Marriage! This was Holly's greatest matchmaking coup ever. Of course, she didn't actually fix up Britta with Ed, but she did try to fix her up with somebody, anybody, and it all happened because of Holly.
“He said it was the only way we could be together,” Britta said. “And it is. I'm going to do it. I'm going to marry him.”
“Well, yeah,” Holly said. “You two will get married for sure one day. I've never seen a couple so made for each other.”
“No,” Britta said. “Not one day. Now.”
“Now?” Holly wasn't sure she'd heard right. Britta wanted to get married? Now? At seventeen? In the middle of junior year?
“Why not?” Britta said. “I want to be with Ed every possible minute. My life is meaningless without him. The only way I can stay with him is if I marry him before he leaves. Then I can go to England with him. And we'll find a little English cottage all our own.”
“Wait a second. You want to marry him before he leaves? Like, by Monday?” Holly was shocked, but as the idea washed over her she saw what Britta meant. It was inevitable. Britta and Ed had to stay together any way they could. For them, being apart would just be wrong.
“There's no other way out,” Britta said. “If I don't, I might as well just lie down and die.”
“Married,” Holly said, letting the word linger on her tongue. “How will you do it?”
“We'll elope,” Britta said. “We've talked about it before.” Holly pictured Ed and Britta snuggling by the fire in the little beach house, planning their secret wedding. “I'll sneak out one night and he'll meet me at the end of the block. We'll spend the night together, and the next morning we'll drive to Las Vegas or someplace and get married. Once it's done, my parents won't be able to do anything about it. Maybe I won't even come home. I'll just fly off to England from there, and call my parents from the airport to say good-bye.”
“It's like a movie,” Holly said. “Did you ever see
Tr u e Romance
? It's like that without the killing spree.” Holly paused. They weren't planning a killing spree, were they? No, this was Britta and Ed.
Britta squeezed Holly's hands. “Listen—I'm going to do this. I'm going to marry him. But you can't tell my parents. Or yours. Or
anyone
. Do you promise?”
“Yes, okay. I promise.”
“Because if my parents find out they'll lock me up like Rapunzel in the tower. And my hair's not long enough to make a ladder to the ground—even from a second-story window. So you promise? You swear?”
“I swear,” Holly said. But as she said the words, an image of Britta's parents appeared in her mind. It was like that scene in
The Wizard of Oz,
when the Wicked Witch shows Dorothy her Aunt Em in the crystal ball. Auntie Em is calling for Dorothy and crying,
Where are you?
… The Fowlers would be crushed. Holly knew that. But on the other hand, Britta needed to be with Ed. If they were separated, she'd wilt back into the old, dull Britta, only half-alive. And wasn't that important, too?
“You swear on all that's good and beautiful in the world?” Britta pressed.
“Yes,” Holly said. “I promise. I won't tell anyone.”
Pot Luck
To: linaonme
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY'S HOROSCOPE: CANCER: Um, are you crazy?
I
hope you're wearing something good,” Ramona said as she and Lina stood on the threshold of Dan Shulman's one-story bungalow. “I mean underneath that sack.”
“What? You don't like it?” Lina glanced down at the simple navy blue shift dress she had picked out to wear to the Rosewood Writers Potluck. She'd borrowed it from her mother, so maybe it was a little big, but she thought it looked sophisticated. She added a string of pearls and put her hair up for even more adultivity. “Should I go home and change?”
“Too late for that now. I just hope you're wearing lingerie underneath. That's what counts.” Ramona shifted the salad she'd brought to one arm and rang the doorbell. Lina peered through the plastic wrap into Ramona's bowl. Inside was a pile of what looked like some kind of weird weed Ramona had dug out of the grass. Lina thought she still saw some dirt clinging to some of the leaves. “What have you got in there, anyway?” she asked.
“Salad,” Ramona said.
“I know that, but what kind?”
“Dandelion, frisee, and some herbs.”
“There's nothing poisonous, is there? Or anything that is part of a potion or spell?”
“You're so uptight.”
Dan opened the door. Lina's heart stopped, then sailed up to her esophagus and lodged in her throat. He looked adorable. His fine brown hair was a little too short, as if he'd just gotten it cut, which made him look like a little boy. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt that brought out his straight-shooter eyes, and jeans with a cloth belt decorated with Morse Code flags. Or something. All Lina knew was it was supposed to be nautical.
“Two of my favorite writers,” Dan said. “Come on in.”
Several students and teachers were already there.
Camille Barker, the French teacher, smiled and took Lina's dish from her. “It's wild rice,” Lina said.
“Smells good,” Camille said. She put the rice on the buffet table and peered into Ramona's bowl. “Salad! Grand.” She looked even prettier than usual that evening; her black bob with extra-short bangs was glossy and very French-looking. She wore a white shirt-dress, collar up, belted, full-skirted, fresh and stylish.
“Help yourselves to water, lemonade, or iced tea,” Dan said, holding out plastic cups.
“Do they have Jagermeister?” Ramona whispered to Lina. “Because I could really use a shot.”
“Why are
you
so nervous?” Lina asked, feeling shaky. “
I'm
the one who's taking a huge chance tonight. Risking severe humiliation and heartbreak. Or arrest. Or worse.”
“I'm your accomplice,” Ramona said. “And I'm feeling your pain. It's what friends do. In case you didn't know.”
Lina fixed herself some iced tea and surveyed the house. She'd been there once before, to deliver a love poem to Dan (God, that was so obvious and stupid, she thought now), but she hadn't gotten past the front hallway. The house was tiny. To the right of the entranceway, the party was centered around the living room/dining room/kitchenette with breakfast bar. To the left, Lina vaguely sensed a bathroom, a hall closet, and a bedroom. The bedroom door was closed. Off limits. But not for long.
More students and teachers arrived. The principal, John Alvarado, or “Rod,” as Dan, and now Lina, secretly called him, greeted everyone with as much warmth as he was capable of summoning. Three English teachers, including Frieda Gantner, the faculty advisor of the
Seer,
clustered around the guacamole and chips. Ramona's friends and fellow
Inchworm
editors, Siobhan Gallagher, Chandra Bledsoe, and Maggie Schwartzman, all dressed like Ramona in copycat black chiffon, black or purple nail polish, and heavy Goth makeup, fluttered around her.
Lina was lining up at the buffet when Walker came in. She smiled at him and nodded, offering him a place with her in line. Instead he turned around and started talking to Kate Bryson. Had he seen Lina? She thought he had. But maybe she was wrong.
She filled her plate and squeezed onto the couch. Ramona plopped down beside her.
“I scoped out the bedroom. Nice big closet in there. Should be a piece of cake,” Ramona whispered.
“How did you get in there? The door's closed.”
“I just pretended I had to go to the bathroom, then I slipped in. By the way, have you been to the bathroom yet? He's got nose-hair clippers in the medicine cabinet. There's something so cute about that. And an old leftover prescription with some girl's name on it, from like three years ago! Must be an old girlfriend.”
“What was her name?”
“Alice Calabresi.”
“Alice?” Lina said. “That's my middle name.”
“It's a sign,” Ramona said. Lina sifted this information through her mind. Could it be a sign of something? Maybe Dan had a thing for the name Alice. It might be a good idea to drop her middle name into a conversation with him if she could.
“Look, your two boyfriends are talking to each other,” Ramona said. Walker leaned on the breakfast bar, talking to Dan. What could they be talking about? Walker said something that made Dan laugh.
“He's not my boyfriend,” Lina said, and they both knew that she meant Walker.
Camille interrupted Walker and Dan, handing Dan a plate loaded with lasagna and salad. Lina thought she caught Dan doing a little bump against her, hip to hip.
“Did you see that?” she asked Ramona.
“Hip bump at one o'clock. Caught it,” Ramona said. “What is up with that?”
“I mean, I knew they were friends but—” Lina said.
“Yeah, I know. Is there more to it? It's hard to tell, since Mademoiselle is such a shameless flirt. Did I tell you I caught her in the art room one day, draped all over one of the tables, flirting her skinny little butt off with Frank?”
“Really? Why would she bother?” Frank Welling was the art teacher. Thin, weary-faced, long brown mustache. Not nearly as appealing as Dan.
“Maybe she's a compulsive flirt,” Ramona said. “Otherwise known as a slut.”