Complete Nothing (18 page)

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “No, Dad.”

“Now, Peter. He was marriage material,” my mom said, fiddling with her pearls.

“Mom!” I blurted.

“Bet you wouldn’t say that if you’d seen what he did at the pep rally today,” Casey said under her breath.

My stomach turned just thinking about it—Peter’s tongue shoved down Josie’s throat for everyone to see—but I pushed the image away as quickly as it had come. This was going to work. Somehow or other Peter was going to see me with Keegan tonight and remember what we had. What it meant. How good it was. That plus the insane spirit basket I’d left in front of his house earlier today were going to do the trick. He was going to dump Josie Big Lips on her perky butt and come running back to me.

“What?” my mother asked Casey.

“Nothing!” we both replied.

“Does your heart actually break when you get dumped?” my brother asked, looking up from his iPad, his red hair sticking out like he’d shoved a fork in an electrical socket as he sat on the bottom step of our curved staircase. “And like, how much does it break? Do pieces fall off? And how many pieces are there? Can it break so much that you up and die?”

“It feels like it can,” I replied.

“Corey, go upstairs and wash your face,” my mother said, dragging him up by the elbow. “You look like you’ve been rolling in ketchup.”

My brother barreled up the steps, tripping once before making it to the top.

“There he is!” Casey squealed, then flattened herself against the wall so he wouldn’t see her. She widened her eyes at me in a meaningful way. “Killer car.”

“Really?”

I glanced out the window and saw a black Mustang with a double royal-blue stripe painted from its nose to its windshield, across its top,
and down to its tail. It shone in the waning light of day as if it had just been washed and buffed, and the engine made a deep growly noise as he eased it toward the curb in front of our house.

For a long moment no one moved. I looked at my mom. She looked at my dad. He stood in front of the tall skinny window next to the door and pushed the curtain aside.

“He’s not getting out of the car,” my father said. “If he’s one of these kids who thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to honk the horn—”

Then the engine died, and we heard the door open and close. Relief flooded through me. It didn’t really matter what my parents thought of Keegan, because it wasn’t as if I was going to go out with him forever, but it would make this one night easier if they approved.

“Everyone get out of here!” I whispered. “You can’t be waiting by the door when he rings the—”

The doorbell rang. My mother and sister scurried toward the kitchen. I was surprised by how nervous I felt when I knew this was not a real date. What if he didn’t like me? What if we had nothing to talk about? But there was no going back now. My dad waited a couple of seconds, then opened the door.

“You must be Keegan!” he said, offering a hand.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Catalfo.” Keegan sounded completely confident and at ease. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too. Come on in.”

My mom and Casey peeked out from the kitchen as he entered, then disappeared the second he turned toward me. When my eyes met Keegan’s, my nervousness swelled, closing off my throat and prickling my palms. I swear it was like somehow, between Wednesday afternoon and Friday night, he’d grown exponentially better-looking. And he’d already been gorgeous on Wednesday. He
was wearing his St. Joe’s varsity jacket over a button-down shirt and jeans, and green was 100 percent his color. He was clean-shaven, and when he smiled his teeth were so straight it was almost wrong.

“Hi! Good to see you,” I said, feeling awkward in front of my dad.

“You too,” he replied. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, um . . . yeah.”

We stepped outside together and it was weird, just doing that with someone who wasn’t Peter. Everything about this was weird.

“Where’re you two off to?” my father asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Dad!” I hissed.

“I thought we’d hit Dave and Buster’s at the mall, if that’s cool with you,” Keegan said, smiling my way.

“Definitely! Sounds like fun.”

I’d been to Dave & Buster’s with Lauren’s family once, and we’d had the best time challenging each other on the random video games. Plus, they had good salads there, unlike most of the other chain restaurants. I could rank the salad selection of every establishment within a twenty-mile radius of my house.

Keegan led me to his car and walked around to the driver’s side. Peter always opened the passenger door for me, but it was no big deal. I slipped into the seat and took a deep, calming breath. The inside of Keegan’s car smelled like leather, fresh-cut grass, and french fries. I knew instantly that I was always going to associate those scents with this moment. My first date with someone other than Peter. As Keegan got in next to me, I whipped out my phone and texted True.

GOING TO DAVE & BUSTERS @ THE MALL

I hit send and shoved my phone back in my bag, saying a silent prayer that True would come through and find a way to get Peter out of his house.

“Have fun!” my dad called out with a wave. When I looked up, I was mortified to see my entire family, even Corey, gathered around him.

“Sorry about them,” I muttered, buckling my seat belt.

“Eh. They’re not so bad,” he replied.

I smiled as he gunned the engine and started down my block. If everything went according to plan, by this time tomorrow—maybe even later this evening—Peter and I would be getting back together. As Keegan started to ask questions about my family, I tried not to feel guilty over misrepresenting myself as someone who was on the market. Keegan wouldn’t mind that we’d have only one date. It wasn’t like he was invested in this. He barely knew me. For him, tonight was just about having fun.

For me, it was about so much more.

That night I was at the mall with Wallace and Lauren as we waited for Claudia’s text, discovering the hands-down coolest thing about cell phones—the huge variety of pretty cases. We had rounded the kiosk at the center of the wide marble hallway fourteen times as I pondered which of the many colors, patterns, and materials I wanted for my new phone.

If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be on this particular shopping errand, I would have exterminated them on the spot, but after countless millennia of the same old routine, I was starting to think that change was good.

“I don’t know,” I said, musing over my top three choices—a red-and-pink stripe, a purple plaid, and a blue with white polka dots. “I’m not sure any of them are me.”

“Oh my God, will you just pick one already! I’m starving!” Lauren groused.

“This is a very important decision,” Wallace told her calmly. “The case your cell wears means everything.”

Lauren widened her eyes at him, then let her arms and head slam into the top of the glass case dramatically. She turned to the
side, so that her cheek was pressed into the surface. “This is my least favorite trip to the mall ever.”

I glanced up at the proprietor of the stand, who was busy texting on his own phone. “Do you have anything with a heart on it?”

He finished his text and then, silently, opened a cabinet and pulled out a white case. He dropped it in front of me and I gasped. It was decorated with a fat pink heart made out of glittering rhinestones. I whipped out my wallet.

“I’ll take it.”

“See? When you know, you know,” Wallace said with a satisfied smile, pushing his hands into his pockets to draw out his own phone. His case was gray-and-black argyle—the only two colors the boy ever wore.

As the proprietor rang up my purchase, I took the case out of its plastic wrap and snapped it onto my phone. Right then, the screen lit up with a text from Claudia.

GOING TO DAVE & BUSTERS @ THE MALL

“They’re coming here!” I said, my heart starting to race. This was a sign. It had to be. “What’s Dave and Buster’s?”

“It’s this huge place with tons of video games and prizes and awesome desserts. Only the perfect place for a first date,” Wallace replied. “This guy is good.”

“And they have the best fries in the world.” Lauren grabbed Wallace’s hand and my arm and started to drag us toward the escalator, nearly tripping a woman with a walker on her way. “Let’s go!”

“Wait! Wait! Wait! We have to text Peter and get him over here,” I reminded them. I yanked my arm out of her grasp and
paused by the fountain in the center of the mall. “It’s kind of the whole reason we’re here?”

“Oh. I guess I forgot during the marathon case-browsing session,” Lauren sniped, rolling her eyes as she sat on the edge of the fountain. Then she grimaced. “Sorry. I get bitchy when I’m hungry.”

“Understood. Let’s get this over with, and then the fries are on me,” I said.

“Sah-weet!” she sang, perking up considerably. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

“Wallace? Can I borrow your phone?” I asked.

“What for?” he said, actually angling the pocket that held his phone away from me as if I were going to pickpocket him. Perhaps my reputation as a klepto had swelled. A pair of kids with wheels on their shoes parted to scoot around him.

“I’m going to text Peter, and I don’t want it to be traced back to me.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want it to get traced back to me,” he replied. “Peter Marrott could pound me into oblivion with his pinky toe.”

Lauren and I exchanged a glance. “Wallace, let me explain,” Lauren said patiently, rising from the stone frame of the fountain. “If this whole thing works and Claudia and Peter get back together, then Peter is eventually going to program True’s number into his phone, because True and Claudia are friends. Once he does that, he’ll be able to tell that tonight’s text came from her, and he’ll realize that this whole thing was one big setup. But if the text comes from you . . .”

“He’ll never trace it back to me, because there’s no reason that the great Peter Marrott would ever get the number of a dorkus like me,” Wallace finished flatly.

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but . . . yeah,” Lauren said.

Wallace shrugged and handed me his phone. “Makes sense.”

“Thank you!” I cried. “What’s Peter’s number?”

Lauren read it to me and I dialed it into the text box, which took way longer than I expected, since every number I hit came up as another number. I groaned in frustration. The one thing I couldn’t stand about this damn phone was the touch-screen keypad. If I could only use my powers . . .

“It takes a little while to master it,” Wallace said, patting me on the back. “Patience, Luddite.”

I gave a tense laugh, turned away, closed my eyes, and pictured the number. When I opened them again, the digits had appeared on the screen. It was just a small thing. Nothing Zeus would ever notice. I hoped.

“Okay. Here goes. Let’s pray he has his phone on.” I typed in my message.

AY SACE AMD VIDTWS. VLAIDOA HETR WORG AOE GIT HUT.

My lips pursed. Screw it. Sometimes a girl just had to use her powers. And until I had time to practice with this thing, this was a necessary evil. I kept my back to Wallace and Lauren, closed my eyes again, and pretended to text. When I opened them, the message was clear.

AT DAVE AND BUSTERS. CLAUDIA HERE WITH SOME HOT GUY.

I hit send and turned around. The three of us gathered close and stared at the screen, awaiting a reply. Finally the phone vibrated in my hands, startling me so much I almost dropped it
into the fountain. Wallace gasped and grabbed it from me.

“I got this.” He read the text to us. “He wants to know who I am.”

“Say ‘A friend,’ ” I instructed.

Wallace typed it in and hit send. Peter texted back.

“ ‘Is she with that Lance dude from Ridgefield?’ ” Wallace read.

Lauren sighed. “He is
so
paranoid about Lance, and I’m, like, ninety percent sure the guy is gay.”

“Type, ‘No. Someone from St. Joe’s’—”

“Say he’s wearing a varsity football jacket!” Lauren instructed. “That’ll get him.”

“But don’t tell him who it is,” I added. “We need the shock value.”

“Nice,” Lauren intoned, and we slapped hands. Wallace typed and hit send. We stared at the phone and waited. And waited. And waited. People shuffled around us and chatted, tossed coins into the fountain, tried to calm their overtired babies. The phone remained silent.

“He’s not texting back,” Wallace said finally.

“Do you think it worked?” Lauren asked.

“Definitely. He’s not texting because he’s on his way over here,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back for luck. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, since we were at the central gathering point of the mall, Harmonia would smile down at us and nudge things in the right direction. I looked up at the ceiling and smiled. “Guaranteed.”

“So how long have you been taking dance lessons?” Keegan asked before biting into a huge bacon cheeseburger. Nearby the video games dinged and clanged and exploded as people shouted and laughed. It was Friday night, and it seemed as if every twentysomething in a fifty-mile radius had decided to unwind here.

“Since I was three,” I replied, spearing a dainty bite of my salad. “My mom took me to see
The Nutcracker
at Carnegie Hall, and I thought I was in heaven. I wore a tutu everywhere I went for, like, a year after that.”

“Really?” He laughed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I bet you look cute in a tutu.”

I blushed. “Cuter then, probably.”

“Yeah. Now you probably look hot.”

I laughed nervously, feeling flattered. “Well, maybe you’ll come see me dance sometime, and then you can tell me.”

He sucked some ketchup off his pinky. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The waitress came by to refill my water glass and brought Keegan a new soda.

“Thanks,” I said as Keegan reached for his drink.

“Anytime,” she replied. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“So, big game tomorrow,” I said.

He grabbed a couple of fries. “Yeah, I guess.”

I stared. He casually chugged some soda, then picked up his burger again. Keegan was 100 percent Peter’s opposite. He’d never casually shrugged off a game in his life, and there was no way he’d be eating this much grease before a start.